He has more goodness in his little finger, than

in your whole body :

My master is a parfonable man, and not a spindle-shank'd hoddy-doddy.

And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excufe,

Because my mafter one day, in anger, call'd you goofe; Which, and I am fure I have been his fervant four years fince October,

And he never call'd me worse than fweet-heart, drunk or fober :

Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge,

Though you and your come-rogues keep him out fo late in your college.

You fay you will eat grafs on his grave: a chriftian eat grafs !

Whereby you now confefs yourself to be a goose or an

afs:

But that's as much as to fay, that my master should die before ye;

Well, well, that 's as God pleases; and I don't believe that's a true ftory:

And fo fay I told you fo, and you may go tell my mafter; what care I?

And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary. Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil;

I am but a poor fervant; but I think gentlefolks should

be civil.

Befides,

Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that

you was here;

I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in the year. And Saunders the man fays you are always jefting and mocking:

Mary, faid he, (one day as 1 was mending ny mafter's ftocking ;)

My master is so fond of that minifter that keeps the fchool

I thought my master a wife man, but that man makes him a fool.

Saunders, said I, I would rather than a quart of ale He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a difh-clout to his tail.

And now I must go, and get Saunders to direct this letter ;

For I write but a fad fcrawl; but my fifter Marget, fhe

writes better.

Well, but I muft run and make the bed, before my mafter comes from prayers;

And fee now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up ftairs;

Whereof I could fay more to your verses, if I could write written hand:

And so I remain, in a civil way, your fervant to com

mand,

MARY.

A NEW

A NEW-YEAR'S-GIFT
FOR BEC*. 1723.4.

RETURNING Janus now prepares,

For Bec, a new supply 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 side
With Stella's magisterial pride.
Behold a cage with fparrows fill'd,
Firft 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 your
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.

friends:

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

Left you the town may have lefs trouble in,
Bring all your Quilca's + cares to Dublin,
For which he fends this empty fack;

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

VOL. I.

U

DINGLEY

3

DINGLEY AND BRENT*.

A

SON

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 the will go

To feek an old in the closet.

rag

* Dr. Swift's houfe-keeper.

TO

TO STELLA.

1723-4.

Written on the DAY of her BIRTH, but not on

the SUBJECT, when I was fick in Bed.

TORMENTED with inceffant pains,
Can I devise poetic strains?

Time was, when I could yearly pay
My verfe on Stella's native day :
But now, unable grown to write,
I 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 fpeak,

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

>She wants affistance more than I;
Yet seems 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 rest

Which had been latent in her breast.