ing, Pray, Sir, where d' you dine? T, choice ven'fon, turkey, chine."55" awling me. Then say poor I

WITHIN the bus'nefs to deny.

A parish fam'it cares for fourteen meals a-day?
Of their owrown part I had rather flay

Who all his them now and then-and here and there,
It was abong to my present bill of fare.

Since he how I'm fingle: if you all agree
When heat by turns each will be fure of me."
Did to. Veftry all applauded with a hum,
Prom:he fev'n wifeft of them bad him come.
In lit

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WHEN the young people ride the skimmington There is a gen'ral trembling in a town: Not only he for whom the perfon rides Suffers, but they sweep other doors befides; And by that hieroglyphick does appear That the good woman is the mafter there. At Jenny's door the barb'rous Heathens swept, And his poor wife fcolded until fhe wept; The mob swept on, whilst she sent forth in vain Her vocal thunder and her briny rain. Some few days after two young sparks came there, And whilft she does her coffee fresh prepare One for difcourfe of news the mafter calls,

Th' other on this ungrateful subject falls.




Pray, Mrs. Jenny *, whence came this report, 15 "For I believe there is no great reafon for 't, "As if the folks th' other day fwept your door, "And half a dozen of your neighbours more?” "There isnothing in it," fays Jenny*; "that is done "Where the wife rules, but here Frule alone; "And Gentlemen, you'd much mistaken be If any one fhould not think that of me. "Within these walls my fuppliant vaffals know "What due obedience to their prince they owe, "And kiss the shadow of my papal toe.

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My word is a law: when I my pow'r advance "There is not a greater Monarch ev'n in France. "Not the Mogul or Czar of Mufcovy, "Not Prefter John or Cham of Tartary,


My houfe my castle is, and here I'm king; "I'm pope, I'm emp'ror, Monarch, ev'ry thing. "What tho' my wife be partner of my bed? "The Monarch's crown fits only on this head." His wife had plaguy ears as well as tongue, And hearing all thought his difcourfe too long: Her confcience faid he fhould not tell fuch lies, And to her knowledge fuch; the therefore cries, "D'ye hear-you-Sirrah-Monarch-there?-

"Come down



* “ And grind the coffee—or I 'll crack your crown.'

So in the copy from which we print, though it is evidently the Monarch himself who fpeaks.

Volume II.




both's Vineyard look'd fo fine

The king cry'd out " Would this were mine!"
And yet no reason could prevail

To bring the owners to a fale.
Jezebel faw with haughty pride
How Ahab griev'd to be deny'd,
And thus accofted him with scorn;

"Shall Naboth make a monarch mourn?
"A king and weep! The ground is your own;
"I'll veft the Garden in the crown."

With that she hatch'd a Plot, and made
Poor Naboth answer with his head;
And when his harmless blood was spilt
The ground became the forfeit of his guilt.
Poor Hall, renown'd for comely hair,
Whofe hands perhaps were not so fair,
Yet had a Jezebel as near.
Hall, of fmall Scripture conversation,
Yet howe'er Hungerford's quotation,
By fome strange accident had got
The story of this Garden Plot,
Wifely forefaw he might have reason
To dread a modern bill of treafon,
If Jezebel fhould please to want
His fmall addition to her grant,


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Therefore refolv'd in humble fort
To begin first and make his court;
And feeing nothing else would do

Gave a third part to fave th' other two.

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IG of food by British nurse design'd

make the ftripling brave and maiden kind; Delay not, Mufe! in numbers to rehearse

The pleasures of our life and finews of our verse;
Let Pudding's dish most wholesome be thy theme, 5
And dip thy fwelling plumes in fragrant cream.
Sing then that Dish so fitting to improve

A tender modesty and trembling love,
Swimming in butter of a golden hue,
Garnish'd with drops of rofe's fpicy dew.

Sometimes the frugal matron seems in haste,
Nor cares to beat her Pudding into paste ;
Yet milk in proper skillet she will place,
And gently spice it with a blade of mace,


Then fet fome careful damfel to look to 't,
And ftill to ftir away the bishop's foot;

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For if burnt milk fhould to the bottom stick,
Like over-heated zeal it would make folks fick.
Into the milk her flour she gently throws,
As valets now would powder tender beaux;


The liquid forms in Hafly Mass unite, . .
Forms equally delicious as they're white.
In shining dish the Haly Mass is thrown,
And seems to want no graces but its own;
Yet still the housewife brings in fresh supplies 25
To gratify the taste and please the eyes;
She on the surface lumps of butter lays, '
Which melting with the heat its beams displays,
From whence it caufes, wondrous to behold, -
A filver foil bedeck'd with streams of gold!



As Neptune when the three-ton gu'd fork he takes
With ftrength divine the globe terrestrial shakes,
The highest hills, Nature's ûupendous piles,
Break with the force and quiver into illes,
Yet on the ruins grow the lofty pines, ...

And fnow unmelted in the vallies fhines :.


Thus when the dame her Hedge-hog Pudding Her fork indents irreparable ftrcaks,


The trembling lump with butter all around ..

Seems to perceive its fall and then be drown'd; 40
And yet the tops appear, whilft almonds thick
With bright loaf fugar on the surface stick.


You, painter-like, now variegate the shade,
And thus from Puddings there is a landscape made:

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