"The devil take me!" said she (blessing herself) "if ever I saw't!"

So she roar'd like a bedlam, as though I had call'd her all to naught.

So you know, what could I say to her

any more? I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was

before.

Well; but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man!

"No," said I, "Tis the same thing, the CHAPLAIN* will be here anon."

So the Chaplain came in. Now the servants say he is my sweetheart,

Because he's always in my chamber, and I always take his part.

So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware, out I blunder'd,

"Parson," said I, "can you cast a nativity, when a body's plunder'd?"

(Now you must know, he hates to be call'd Parson, like the devil!)

Truly," says he, "Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil;

If your money be gone, as a learned Divine says, d'ye see,

You are no text for my handling; so take that from me:

I was never taken for a Conjurer before, I'd have you to know."

"Lord!" said I, "don't be angry, I am sure I

never thought you so;

* Dr. Swift. H.

E 2

You

You know I honour the cloth; I design to be a Parson's wife;

I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all my life."

With that he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say,

"Now you may go hang yourself for me!" and so went away.

Well: I thought I should have swoon'd. "Lord!" said I, what shall I do?

I have lost my money, and shall lose my true love too!"

Then my lord call'd me: "Harry,*" said my Lord, "don't cry;

I'll give you something toward thy loss: "And," says my lady, "so will I."

Oh! but, said I, what if, after all, the Chaplain won't come to?

For that, he said, (an't please your Excellencies,) I must petition you.

The premises tenderly consider'd, I desire, your Excellencies protection,

And that I may have a share in next Sunday's collection;

And, over and above, that I may have your Excellencies' letter,

With an order for the Chaplain aforesaid, or, instead of him, a better:

And then your poor petitioner, both night and day,

Or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound, shall ever pray.

* A cant word of lord and lady Berkeley to Mrs. Harris. H.

A BALLAD,

A BALLAD, ON THE GAME OF TRAFFIC.

WRITTEN AT THE CASTLE OF DUBLIN, 1699.

My Lord,* to find out who must deal,

Delivers cards about,

But the first knave does seldom fail
To find the doctor out.

But then his honour cry'd, gad zooks!
And seem'd to knit his brow:

For on a knave he never looks
But h'thinks upon Jack How.t

My lady, though she is no player,
Some bungling partner takes,
And, wedg'd in corner of a chair,
Takes snuff, and holds the stakes.
Dame Floyd looks out in grave suspense
For pair royals and sequents;
But, wisely cautious of her pence,
The castle seldom frequents.

Quoth Herries, fairly putting cases,
I'd won it on my word,

If I had but a pair of aces,
And could pick up a third.

But Weston has a new-cast gown
On Sundays to be fine in,

And, if she can but win a crown,
Twill just new dye the lining.

"With these is parson Swift,

"Not knowing how to spend his time,

"Does make a wretched shift,

"To deafen them with puns and rhyme."

* The earl of Berkeley. H. † Paymaster to the army. H.

A BALLAD,

A BALLAD, TO THE TUNE OF, THE

CUT-PURSE.*

WRITTEN IN AUGUST 1702.

I.

ONCE on a time, as old stories rehearse,

A friar would need show his talent in Latin; But was sorely put to't in the midst of a verse, Because he could find no word to come pat in: Then all in the place

He left a void space,

And so went to bed in a desperate case: When behold the next morning a wonderful riddle! He found it was strangely fill'd up in the middle. CHO. Let censuring critics then think what they list on't;

Who would not write verses with such an

assistant?

II.

This put me the friar into an amazement:

For he wisely considered it must be a sprite; That he came through the keyhole or in at the

casement;

And it needs must be one that could both read and write:

*Lady Betty Berkeley, finding the preceding verses in the author's room unfinished, wrote under them the concluding stanza; which gave occasion to this ballad, written by the author in a counterfeit hand, as if a third person had done it. SWIFT.

Yet

Yet he did not know

If it were friend or foe,

Or whether it came from above or below: However, 'twas civil, in angel or elf,

For he ne'er could have fill'd it so well of himself. CHO. Let censuring, &c.

III.

Even so Master Doctor had puzzled his brains
In making a ballad, but was at a stand:
He had mixt little wit with a great deal of pains,
When he found a new help from invisible hand.
Then, good doctor Swift,

Pay thanks for the gift,

For you freely must own, you were at a dead

lift ;

And, though some malicious young spirit did do't,

You

may know by the hand it had no cloven foot. CHO. Let censuring, &c.

THE DISCOVERY.

WHEN wise lord Berkeley first came here,*

Statesmen and mob expected wonders,

Nor thought to find so great a peer

Ere a week past committing blunders.

Till on a day cut out by fate,

When folks came thick to make their court,

Out slipt a mystery of state,

To give the town and country sport.

* To Ireland, as one of the lords justices. H,