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FOR BEC*. 1723-4.

RETURNING Janus now prepares,

of cares,

Sent in a bag to Doctor Swift,

Who thus difplays the New-year's-gift.
Firft, this large parcel brings you tidings
Of our good Dean's eternal chidings;
Of Nelly's pertnefs, Robin's leafings,
And Sheridan's perpetual teazings.
This box is cramm'd on every fide
With Stella's magifterial pride.
Behold a cage with fparrows fill'd,
First to be fondled, then be kill'd.
Now to this hamper I invite you,
With fix imagin'd cares to fright you.
Here in this bundle Janus fends


Concerns by thousands for



And here's a pair of leathern pokes,
To hold your cares for other folks.
Here from this barrel you may broach
A peck of troubles for a coach.

This ball of wax your ears will darken,
Still to be curious, never hearken.

Left you

the town may have lef's trouble in,'

Bring all your Quilca's + cares to Dublin,

For which he fends this empty fack;

And fo take all upon your back.

Mrs. Dingley, Stella's friend and companion.
A country-houfe of Dr. Sheridan.





A S O N G.

To the tune of, "Ye Commons and Peers."

DINGLEY and Brent,

Wherever they went,

Ne'er minded a word that was spoken;
Whatever was faid,

They ne'er troubled their head,

But laugh'd at their own filly joking.

Should Solomon wife

In majefty rife,

And fhew them his wit and his learning;

They never would hear,

But turn the deaf ear,
As a matter they had no concern in.

You tell a good jest,

And please all the reft;

Comes Dingley, and asks you, What was it?

And, curious to know,

Away she will go

To feek an old rag in the closet.

* Dr. Swift's house-keeper.

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Written on the DAY of her BIRTH, but not on


the SUBJECT, when I was fick in Bed.

ORMENTED with inceffant pains,
Can I devife poetic ftrains?

Time was, when I could yearly pay
My verfe on Stella's native day:
But now, unable grown to write,
1 grieve the ever faw the light.
Ungrateful! fince to her I owe
That I thefe pains can undergo.
She tends me, like an humble flave;
And, when indecently I rave,
When out my brutifh paffions break,
With gall in every word I speak,

She, with foft fpeech, my anguish chears,
Or melts my paffions down with tears :
Although 'tis cafy to defcry

She wants affiftance more than I;
Yet feems to feel my pains alone,
And is a Stoic in her own.
When, among scholars, can we find
So foft, and yet fo firm a mind?
All accidents of life confpire
To raise up Stella's virtue higher;
Or elfe to introduce the reft

Which had been latent in her breaft.

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Her firmnefs who could e'er have known,
Had the not evils of her own?

Her kindness who could ever guess,

Had not her friends been in diftrefs?
Whatever base returns you find
From me, dear Stella, ftill be kind.
In your own heart you 'll reap
the fruit,
Though I continue ftill a brute.
But, when I once am out of pain,
I promife to be good again :
Meantime, your other jufter friends
follies make amends:

Shall for my

So may we long continue thus,

Admiring you, you pitying us.




Somnia quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris,” &c. THOSE dreams, that on the filent night intrude, And with falfe flitting fhades our minds delude, Jove never fends us downward from the skies Nor can they from infernal manfions rife; But are all mere productions of the brain, And fools confult interpreters in vain.

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For, when in bed we rest our weary limbs,
The mind unburden'd fports in various whims ;
The bufy head with mimic art runs o'er
The fcenes and actions of the day before.


The drowsy tyrant, by his minions led,
To regal rage devotes fome patriot's head.
With equal terrors, not with equal guilt,
The murderer dreams of all the blood he fpilt.
The foldier fmiling hears the widow's cries,
And ftabs the fon before the mother's eyes.
With like remorfe his brother of the trade,
The butcher, fells the lamb beneath his blade.

The statesman rakes the town to find a plot,
And dreams of forfeitures by treafon got.
Nor lefs Tom-t-d-man, of true statesman mold,,
Collects the city filth in fearch of gold.

Orphans around his bed the lawyer fees,
And takes the plaintiff's and defendant's fees.
His fellow pick-purfe, watching for a job,
Fancies his finger's in the cully's fob.

The kind phyfician grants the husband's prayers,
Or gives relief to long-expecting heirs.

The fleeping hangman ties the fatal noose,
Nor unfuccefsful waits for dead mens fhoes.

The grave divine, with knotty points perplext,
As if he was awake, nods o'er his text:
While the fly mountebank attends his trade,
Harangues the rabble, and is better paid.

The hireling fenator of modern days
Bedaubs the guilty great with nauseous praise :
And Dick the fcavenger with equal grace.
Flirts from his cart the mud in ***** 's face.

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