Don Carlos now began to find

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

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

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

From ftomach sharp, 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,

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; fhe look'd, and swore
The rafcal had miftook the door :

At coming in, you faw 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 ftairs:
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 ftay
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 ftore;
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 fcene,
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 least pretence ;
Nor can be more fecurely plac'd
Than on a nymph of Stella's tafte.

Ta

I must

I muft confefs, your wine and vittle
I was too hard upon a little :
Your table neat, your linen fine;
And, though in miniature, you fhine:
Yet, when you figh to leave Wood-park,
The scene, the welcome, and the fpark,
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

C

ON MR. FORD.

SOME, be content, fince out it must,
For Stella has betray'd her truft;

And, whispering, charg'd me not to say
That Mr. Ford was born to-day;
Or, if at last I needs must 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 spoil,
By calling this your native foil;
Or vex the ladies, when, they knew
That you are turning forty-two:
But, if thefe topicks fhall appear
Strong arguments to keep you here,

I think,

I think, though you judge hardly of it,
Good-manners muft give place to profit.
The nymphs with whom you first began

Are each become a harridan;
And Montague fo far decay'd,

Her lovers now must all be paid;
And every belle that fince arose
Has her contemporary beaux.
Your former comrades, once fo bright,
With whom you toasted 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 person and your cause,
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 firft;
Was full as hard to please as you,
Nor perfons names nor places knew:
But now I act as other folk,

Like prifoners when their jail is broke.

If you have London still at heart,
We'll make a fall 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 paffage through the palace,
To choque your fight, and raise your malice
The Deanry-houfe 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