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We have lost our estate here, before we have seen it.
Have patience, soft Morley in anger replied:
To find out our way, let us send off our guide.

O here I spy Down, cast your eye to the west, Where a windmill so stately stands plainly confest. On the west, replied Matthew, no windmill I find; As well thou mayst tell me, I see the west wind:

Now pardon me, Morley, the windmill I spy,
But, faithful Achates, no house is there nigh.
Look again, says mild Morley; gadzooks! you are

blind:

The mill stands before; and the house lies behind.

O, now a low ruin'd white shed I discern,
Until'd and unglaz'd; I believe 'tis a barn.

A barn! why you rave: 'tis a house for a squire,
A justice of peace, or a knight of our shire.

A house should be built, or with brick, or with stone.

Why 'tis plaster and lath; and I think that's all

one;

And such as it is, it has stood with great fame, Been called a hall, and has given its name

To Down, down, hey derry down.

O Morley! O Morley! if that be a hall,
The fame with the building will suddenly fall-

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With your friend Jemmy Gibbs* about buildings

agree;

My business is land; and it matters not me.

I wish you could tell what a deuce your head ails: I show'd you Down-Hall; did you

sailles?

look for Ver

[you,

Then take house and farm as John Ballet will let For better for worse, as I took my Dame Betty.

And now, Sir, a word to the wise is enough:
You'll make very little of all your old stuff:
And to build at your age, by my troth, you grow
simple!

Are you young and rich, like the master of Wimple?+

If you have these whims of apartments and gardens, From twice fifty acres you'll ne'er see five farthings: And in yours I shall find the true gentleman's fate; Ere you finish your house, you'll have spent your

estate.

part.

Now let us touch thumbs, and be friends ere we [heart. Here, John, is my thumb. And here, Mat, is my To Halstead I speed; and you go back to town. Thus ends the first part of the ballad of Down. Derry down, down, hey derry down.

* James Gibbs, architect of the Ratcliffe Library, Oxford, and many other buildings.

+ Edward Earl of Oxford.

VERSES

SPOKEN TO LADY HENRIETTA CAVENDISH-HOLLES

HARLEY, COUNTESS OF Oxford.

IN THE LIBRARY OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,

NOVEMBER 9, 1719.

MADAM,

SINCE Anna visited the muses' seat

(Around her tomb let weeping angels wait!)
Hail thou, the brightest of thy sex, and best,
Most gracious neighbour,* and most welcome guest.
Not Harley's self, to Cam and Isis dear,

In virtues and in arts great Oxford's heir;
Not he such present honour shall receive,
As to his consort we aspire to give.

Writings of men our thoughts to-day neglects,
To pay due homage to the softer sex:
Plato and Tully we forbear to read,

And their great followers whom this house has bred,
To study lessons from thy morals given,
And shining characters, impress'd by Heaven.
Science in books no longer we pursue,
Minerva's self in Harriet's face we view;
For, when with beauty we can virtue join,
We paint the semblance of a form divine.

*The family seat was then at Wimple.

Their pious incense let our neighbours bring,
To the kind memory of some bounteous king;
With grateful hand, due altars let them raise,
To some good knight's* or holy prelate's † praise :
We tune our voices to a nobler theme,

Your eyes we bless, your praises we proclaim,
Saint John's was founded in a woman's name.
Enjoin'd by statute, to the fair we bow;

In spite of time, we keep our ancient vow;
What Margaret Tudor was, is Harriet Harley now.

PROLOGUE TO THE ORPHAN,

REPRESENTED BY SOME OF THE WESTMINSTER
SCHOLARS, AT HICKFORD'S DANCING

ROOM, FEBRUARY 2, 1720.

SPOKEN BY LORD DUPPLIN, WHO ACTED CORDELIO
THE PAGE.

WHAT! Would my humble comrades have me say,
Gentle spectators, pray excuse the play?

Such work by hireling actors should be done,
Whom you may clap or hiss for half a crown.
Our generous scenes for friendship we repeat;
And, if we don't delight, at least we treat.

* Sir T. White, founder of St. John's College, Oxon. + Archbishop Laud also was a generous benefactor. A few lines of this prologue occur in another, which is printed at p. 206.

Ours is the damage, if we chance to blunder;
We may be ask'd "whose patent we act under?"
How shall we gain you, à la mode de France?
We hir'd this room; but none of us can dance;
In cutting capers we shall never please:
Our learning does not lie below our knees.

Shall we procure you symphony and sound?
Then you must each subscribe two hundred pound.
There we should fail too, as to point of voice:
Mistake us not; we're no Italian boys:
True Britons born; from Westminster we come ;
And only speak the style of ancient Rome.
We would deserve, not poorly beg, applause;
And stand or fall by Friend's and Busby's laws.*
For the distress'd, your pity we implore:

If once refus'd, we'll trouble you no more,
But leave our Orphan squalling at your door.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

H. OH! with what woes am I oppress'd!
W. Be still, you senseless calf!
What if the gods should make you blest?
H. Why then I'd sing and laugh:

But if they wont, I'll wail and cry.
W. You'll hardly laugh before you die.

* Masters of Westminster school.

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