tion, which lasted forty-eight hours, three quarters, seven minutes and eleven seconds ; which may truly be called the most wife and moft honest of all admi. niftrations ; the minister having, to the astonishment of all men, never transacted one rash thing; and, what is more marvellous, left as much money in the treasury as he found in it. This worthy history I have faithfully recorded in this mighty volume, that it may

be read with the valuable works of our immortal countryman Thomas Thumb, by our chil. dren, grand-children, and great-grand-children, to the end of the world.


RICHLIEU. Mr. Campoa, Savoyard and Frier, of the holy order of St. Bennet, is to be the bearer to you of some news from me, by means of this letter : he is one of the most discreet,


and leaft vicious persons that I ever yet knew, amongst all I have conversed with, and hath earnestly desired me to write to you in his favour, and to give him a letter for you of credence in his behalf and my recommendation, which to his merit (I assure you) rather than his importunity I have granted; for he deterves greatly your esteem, and I Mould be sorry you should be backward to oblige him by being mistaken in not knowing him, I thou'd be concern'd if you were 23 very many others have been already upon that account, who are

beft friends. Hence, and for no other motive, 1 am desirous to advertise you tyat you are obliged for my fake to take especial notice of him, to pay him all posible respect, and to say nothing before him that may offend or displease him in any fort; for I may truly fay, he is a worthy man, and affire you, there can't be a more convincing argument


an unworthy person in the world, than to be able to injure him. I am sure, that as soon as you ceafe being a stranger to his virtue,& Have any acquaintance with him, you will love him as well as I, and I shall receive thanks for the advice. The affurance I have of your Civility hindereth


to write farther of him to you, os to say any more on the subjects


of my


GOD prosper long our noble king!

Our lives and safeties all ;
A woful horse-race late there did

At Whittington befall.

Great Bedford's duke, a mighty prince!

A folemn vow did make, His pleasure in fair Staffordshire

Three Summer's days to take,

At once to grace his father's race,

And to confound his foes.:
But ah ! (with grief my Muse does speak)

A luckless time he chose.

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For some rude clowns, who long had felt

The weight of Tax and Levy, Explain'd their case unto his Grace

By arguments full heavy.

* At Litchfield races, in 1748, a riot happened upon the race-ground (Whittington Heath), in which the late duke of Bedford, and other gentlemen, were insulted and beaten. The rioters (the chief of whom was a Mr. Toll, dancing-master) were afterwards tried at the next Stafford aflizes, and fined 6s. 6d. each for this offence,

“ No Gow'r ! they cry'd ; no tool of pow'r !"

At that the emol turn'd pale :“ No Gow'r, no Gow'r, no tool of pow'r.!"

Re-echo'd from each dale.

Then Bedford's mighty breast took fire,

Who thus, enrag'd, did cry, “ To horse, my Lords, my Knights, and 'Squires ;

“ We'll be reveng’d, or die.”

They mounted straight, all men of birth,

Captains of land and fea;
No prince or potentate on earth

Had such a troop as he.
Great lords and lordships close conjoin'd,

A shining squadron stood :
But to their cost, the yeoman host

the better blood.

A Gow'r, a Gow'r! ye fons of whore,

“ Vile spawn of Babylon !” This said, his G-ce did mend his

pace, And came full fiercely on.

Three times he smote a sturdy foe;

Who undismay'd reply'd, " Or be thou devil, or be thou d-ke,

“ Thy courage thall be try'd."


The charge began; but on one side

Some slackness there was found; The smart cockade in duft was laid,

And trampled on the ground.

Some felt sore thwacks upon

their backs, Some, pains within their bowels; AN who did joke the Royal Oak

Were well rubb'd with its towels.

Then terror seiz'd the plumed troop,

Who turn'd themselves to flight; Foul rout and fear brought up

the rear : Oh ! 'twas a piteous fight!

Each warrior urg'd his nimble fteed ;

But none durft look behind ; Th'insulting fot, they well did know

Had got them in the wind ;

Who ne'er loft scent until they came

Under the gallows tree : “ Now, said their foes, we'll not oppose

“ Your certain destiny.

“ No farther help of our's ye lack,

Grant mercy with your doom ! " Truft to the care o'th' three-legg'd mare ;

“ She'll bring you all safe home.”


Then wheel'd about, with this loud fhout,

“ Confusion to the Rump !” Leaving each knight to mourn his plight

Beneath the triple stump.

Now Heav'n preserve such hearts as these

From secret treachery !
Who hate a knave, and scorn a slave,

May such be ever free!




JACK reckons up the admirals we have,
And wonders what a plague we mean by new :
Why, faith! half these might ferve, if half were

But twice as many cowards are too few.

A NE PIG RA M. Says Watkin to Cotton, “I thought my lord Gower

(You told me) intended to leave us no more." Says Cotton, “He has not.'--Says Watkin, “You lye. And you too, Sir John, have a place + by the bye. “ I thought all your boastings would end in a farce; « Pray where's the Broad Bottom?” Says Cotton,

My arse.'

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+ Which happened to prove true.


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