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 fhould have fwoon'd; Lord, faid I, what fhall I do?

I have loft my Money, and fhall lofe my TrueLove 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 must 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 aforefaid; 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, fhall ever Pray.

Lady B- B---- finding in the Author's Room fome Verfes unfinifhed, underwrit a Stanza of ber own, with Raillery upon him, which gave Occafion to this Ballad.

O

August, 1702.

To the Tune of the Cutpurfe.

I.

NCE on a time, as old Stories rehearse,

A Friar 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 at the Place

He left a void Space,

And so went to Bed in a desperate Cafe.

A a 4

When,

When, behold the next Morning, a wonderful
Riddle,

He found it was ftrangely fill'd in the Middle.

Cho. Let Cenfuring Criticks then think what they
lift on't,

Who would not write Verfes with fuch an
Affiftant.

II.

This put me the Friar into an Amazement,
For he wifely confider'd it must be a Sprite,
That came through the Key-Hole, or in at the
Cafement,

And it needs must be one that could both
Read and Write:

Yet he did not know

If it were Friend or Foe,

Or whether it came from Above or Below. Howe'er, it was civil in Angel or Elf,

For he ne'er could have fill'd it fo well of himfelf.

III.

Even fo Mafter 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 Dr. S—

Pay Thanks for the Gift,

For you freely must own you were at a dead
Lift;

'And tho' fome malicious young Spirit did do't, You may know by the Hand, it had no Cloven Foot,

Cho. Let Cenfuring Criticks then think what they lift on't,

Who would not write Verfes with such an
Affifiant.

V-----'s