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Don Carlos now began to find

His malice work as he defign'd.
The winter-fky began to frown;
Poor Stella muft pack off to town:

From purling ftreams and fountains bubbling,
To Liffy's ftinking tide at Dublin:

From wholesome exercise and air,
To foffing in an easy chair :

From ftomach fharp, and hearty feeding,
To piddle like a lady breeding:
From ruling there the houshold fingly,
To be directed here by Dingley * :
From every day a lordly banquet,
To half a joint, and God be thanked:
From every meal Pontack in plenty,
To half a pint one day in twenty :
From Ford attending at her call,
To vifits of

From Ford, who thinks of nothing mean,

To the poor doings of the Dean :
From growing richer with good chear,
To running out by starving here.

But now arrives the difmal day;
She must return to Ormond Quay +.
The coachman ftopt; she look'd, and swore
The rafcal had mistook the door :
At coming in, you saw her stoop;
The entry brush'd against her hoop:

* The conftant companion of Stella,
+ Where the two ladies lodged.

Each

*Each moment rifing in her airs,
She curft the narrow winding stairs:
Began a thousand faults to spy;
The ceiling hardly fix feet high;
The smutty wainscot full of cracks ;
And half the chairs with broken backs:
Her quarter 's out at Lady-day;
She vows the will no longer stay
In lodgings like a poor Grizette,
While there are lodgings to be let.
Howe'er, to keep her fpirits up,
She fent for company to fup:
When all the while you might remark,
She ftrove in vain to ape Wood-park.
Two bottles call'd for (half her store;
The cupboard could contain but four):
A fupper worthy of herself,
Five nothings in five plates of delf.

Thus for a week the farce went on;
When, all her country-favings gone,
She fell into her former scene,

Small beer, a herring, and the Dean.

Thus far in jeft: though now, I fear,

You think my jefting too fevere;
But poets, when a hint is new,
Regard not whether falfe or true :
Yet raillery gives no offence,

Where truth has not the leaft pretence;
Nor can be more fecurely plac'd
Than on a nymph of Stella's tafte.

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I must confefs, your wine and vittle
I was too hard upon a little :
Your table neat, your linen fine;
And, though in miniature, you shine :
Yet, when you figh to leave Wood-park,
The scene, the welcome, and the spark,
To languish in this odious town,
And pull your haughty ftomach down;
We think you quite mistake the case,
The virtue lies not in the place :
For, though my raillery were true,

A cottage is Wood-park with you.

COPY OF THE BIRTH-DAY VERSES ON MR. FORD.

C

O ME, be content, fince out it muft,
For Stella has betray'd her trust;

And, whifpering, charg'd me not to fay
That Mr. Ford was born to-day;
Or, if at last I needs muft blab it,
According to my usual habit,

She bid me, with a serious face,
Be fure conceal the time and place;
And not my compliment to fpoil,
By calling this your native foil;
Or vex the ladies, when they knew
That you are turning forty-two:
But, if thefe topicks shall appear
Strong arguments to keep you here,

I think,

I think, though you judge hardly of it,
Good-manners must give place to profit.
The nymphs with whom you first began
Are each become a barridan;
And Montague fo far decay'd,
Her lovers now must all be paid;
And every belle that fince arofe
Has her contemporary beaux.
Your former comrades, once fo bright,
With whom you toafted half the night,
Of rheumatism and pox complain,
And bid adieu to dear champaign.
'Your great protectors, once in power,
Are now in exile or The Tower.
Your foes triumphant o'er the laws,
Who hate your perfon and your caufe,
If once they get you on the fpot,
You must be guilty of the plot :
For, true or falfe, they 'll ne'er enquire,
But ufe you ten times worse than Prior*.

In London! what would you do there?
Can you, my friend, with patience bear
(Nay, would it not your paffion raise
Worfe than a pun, or Irish phrase ?)
To fee a fcoundrel ftrut and hector,
A foot-boy to fome rogue director,
To look on vice triumphant round,
And virtue trampled on the ground?

The celebrated poet.

Obferve

T 3

Obferve where bloody ***** stands
With torturing engines in his hands,
Hear him blafpheme, and fwear, and rail,
Threatening the pillory and jail :
If this you think a pleasing scene,
'To London ftrait return again;

Where, you
have told us from experience,
Are fwarms of bugs and prefbyterians.
I thought my very fpleen would burst,
When Fortune hither drove me first;
Was full as hard to please as you,
Nor perfons names nor places knew:
But now I act as other folk,

Like prisoners when their jail is broke.
If you have London still at heart,
We'll make a fmall one here by art;
The difference is not much between
St. James's-Park and Stephen's-Green;
And Dawfon-ftreet will ferve as well
To lead you thither as Pall-Mall.
Nor want a passage through the palace,
To choque your fight, and raise your malice-
The Deanry-house may well be match'd,
Under correction, with the Thatcht *.
Nor fhall I, when you hither come,
Demand a crown a quart for ftum.
Then, for a middle-aged charmer,
Stella

may vye with your Monthermer;

* A famous tavern in St. James's-street.

She 's

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