Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every Body underftands, That tho' 'tis hard to judge, yet Money can't go without Hands. The Devil take me, faid fhe (bleffing her felf) if I ever faw't! So fhe 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 fay, 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.). A Truly, fays he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil: If your Money be gone, as a Learned Divine fays, d'ye lee, . You are no Text for my Handling, fo take that from më: I was never taken for a Conjurer before, I'd have you to know. Lord, faid I, don't be angry, I am fure, I never thought you fo; You You know, I honour the Cloth, I defign to be a Parfon's Wife. I never took one in Your Coat for a Conjurer in all my Life. With that, he twifted his Girdle at me like a Rope, as who fhould 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 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) The Premiffes tenderly confider'd, I defire & your And that I may have a fhare in next Sunday's With an Order for the Chaplain aforefaid; or inftead of him, a Better; And then your poor Petitioner, both Night and Lady BB-finding in the Author's Room Some Ver fes unfinished, under-writ a Stanza of her own, with Raillery upon him, which gave Occafion to this Ballad. August, 1702. To the Tune of the Cutpurse. O Ι NCE on a time, as old Stories rehearse, A Friar would needs fhew his Talent in Latin; But was forely put to't in the midst of a Merle, Because he could find no word to come pat in. Then all the Place He left a void Space, And fo went to Bed in a defperate Cafe. O 3 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 such an Affiant. II. This put me the Friar into an Amazement, And it needs must be one that could both 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 himself. Cho. Let Cenfuring, &c. III. Even fo Mafter Doctor had puzzled his Brains When he found a new Help from Invifible 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, N! Who would not write Vorfes with Juch an Af- V 's V'S HOUSE Built from the RUINS of WHITE-HALL that was Burnt. Written, 1703. N Times of Old, when Time was Young, I A Verfe could draw a Stone or Beam, Might raife a Houle about two Stories; 04 On |