'Tis not that I value the Money three Skips of a Louse ;

But the Thing I ftand upon, is the Credit of the House;

'Tis true, seven Pound, four Shillings, and fix Pence, makes a great Hole in my Wages, Befides, as they fay, Service is no Inheritance in these Ages.

Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every Body understands,

That tho' 'tis hard to judge, yet Money can't go without Hands.

The Devil take me, faid he, (bleffing her felf, if I ever saw't!

So the roar'd like a Bedlam, as tho' I had call'd her all to naught;

So you know, what could I fay to her any

more,

I e'en left her, and came away as wife as I was before.

Well: But then they would have had me gone to the Cunning Man;

No, faid I, 'tis the fame Thing, the Chaplain will be here anon.

So the Chaplain came in; now the Servants say, he is my Sweet-heart,

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,

Parfon, faid I, can you caft a Nativity, when a Body's plunder'd?

(Now you must know, he hates to be call'd Parfon, like the Devil. )

Truly, fays he, Mrs. Nab, it might become

to be more civil:

you

If your Money be gone, as a Learned Divine fays, d'ye fee,

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, faid I, don't be angry, I'm sure I never thought you fo;

You know, I honour the Cloth, I design to be a Parfon'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 fay,

Now you may go hang your felf for me, and fo went away.

Well, I thought I should have fwoon'd; Lord, faid I, what fhall I do?

I have loft my Money, and fhall lofe my True

Love too.

Then my Lord call'd me; Harry, faid my Lord, don't cry,

I'll give fomething towards thy Lofs; and fays my Lady, fo will I.

Oh but, faid I, what if after all my Chaplain won't come to?

For that, he faid, (an't please your Excellencies) I muft Petition You.

The Premises tenderly confider'd, I defire 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 inftead of Him, a Better:

And then your poor Petitioner, both Night and Day,

Or the Chaplain, (for 'tis his Trade) as in Duty bound, fhall ever Pray.

Lady

Lady B---- B------- finding in the Authors Room Some VerJes Unfinished, underwrit Stanza of her own, with Railery upon him, which gave Oc

cafion to this Ballade.

Ο

August, 17.02.

To the Tune of the Cutpurse.

I.

NCE on a time, as old Stories reherfe,

A Fryer would needs fhow his Talent in Latin ;

But was forely 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,