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A hen she had, whose tuneful clocks Drew after her a train of cocks; With eyes so piercing, yet so pleasant, You wou'd have fworn this hen a pheasant. All the plum'd beau-monde round her ga

thers;

Lord! what a brustling up of feathers ! Morning from noon there was no knowing, There was such flutt'ring, chuckling, crow

ing:

Each forward bird must thrust his head in,
And not a cock but wou'd be treading.
Yet tender was this hen fo fair,
And hatch'd more chicks than she could rear.
Our prudent dame bethought her then
Of fome dry-nurse to fave her hen :
She made a capon drunk; in fine
He eat the fopps, she sipp'd the wine;
His rump well pluck'd with nettles stings,
And claps the brood beneath his wings.

The feather'd dupe awakes content, O'erjoy'd to fee what God had fent; Thinks he'sthehen, clocks, keeps a pother, A foolish fofter-father-mother.

Such, lady Mary, are your tricks; But fince you hatch, pray own your chicks; You shou'd be better skill'd in nocks, Nor like your capons serve your cocks.

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Written in a Lady's Ivory Table-Book.

PERUSE my leaves through ev'ry part,

And think thou see'st my owner's heart, Scrawl'd o'er with trifles thus, and quite As hard, as senseless, and as light; Expos'd to ev'ry coxcomb's eyes, But hid with caution from the wife. Here you may read, dear charming faint ; Beneath, a new receipt for paint : Here in beau-fpelling, tru tel deth ; There in her own, far an el breth : Here, lovely nymph, pronounce my doom : There, a safe way to use perfume : Here a page fill'd with billet-doux; On t'other fide, laid out for shoes; Madam, I die without your grace ; Item, for half a yard of lace. Who that had wit wou'd place it here For ev'ry peeping fop to jeer? In pow'r of spittle, and a clout, Whene'er he please, to blot it out ; And then, to heighten the disgrace, Clap his own nonsense in the place. Whoe'er expects to hold his part In fuch a book, and fuch a heart,

VERSES ON A LADY'S TABLE-BOOK. 69

If he be wealthy, and a fool,
Is in all points the fittest tool;
Of whom it may be justly faid,
He's a gold pencil tipp'd with lead.

MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION.

!

Written in the Year 1701.

To their Excellencies the Lords Justices

of Ireland *.

The humble petition of Frances Harris,
Who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries,

Humbly sheweth,

That I went to warm myself in lady Betty's † chamber, because I was cold, And I had in a purse seven pound, four shillings, and fix pence, befides farthings, in money and gold :

So, because I had been buying things for my lady last night,

I was refolv'd to tell my money, to fee if it was right.

* Earl of Berkeley, and earl of Galway. † Lady Betty Berkeley.

Now you must know, because my trunk
has a very bad lock,

Therefore all the money I have, which,
God knows, is a very small stock,
I keep in my pocket, ty'd about my mid-
dle, next to my fmock.

So, when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my smock was unript, And, instead of putting it into my pocket, down it flipt:

Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady to bed;

And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my maidenhead. So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light:

But when I fearch'd, and miss'd my purse, Lord! I thought I shou'd have funk outright.

Lord! madam, fays Mary, how d'ye do? indeed, says I, never worse:

But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my purse ?

Lord help me! said Mary, I never stirr'd out of this place :

Nay, faid I, I had it in lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain cafe.

So

So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up

warm:

However, she stole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm.

So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very well think,

But hardly ever fet my eyes together, or slept a wink.

So I was a-dream'd, methought, that we went and search'd the folks round, And in a corner of mrs. Dukes's box ty'd in a rag the money was found. So next morning we told Whittle *, and he fell a swearing:

Then my dame Wadgar+ came; and she, you know, is thick of hearing: Dame, faid I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know what a loss I have had? Nay, faid she, my lord ‡ Colway's folks are all very sad;

For my lord § Dromedary comes a Tuesday without fail.

Pugh! said I, but that's not the bus'ness that I ail.

* Earl of Berkeley's valet.
+ The old deaf house-

keeper.

‡ Galway.

§ Drogheda, who with the primate was to succeed the two earls.

F4

Says

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