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"'Till morn sends stagg'ring home a drunken beast, "Resolv'd to break my heart, as well as rest." [spouse!

"Hey! Hoop! d'ye hear, my dam'd obstrep'rous "What, can't you find one bed about the house? "Will that perpetual clack lie never still? "That rival to the softness of a mill!" Some couch and distant room must be my choice, Where I may sleep uncurs'd with wife and noise. Long this uncomfortable life they led, With snarling meals, and each a separate bed. To an old uncle oft' she would complain, Beg his advice, and scarce from tears refrain. Old Wisewood smok'd the matter as it was, "Cheer up!" cry'd he, "and I'll remove the cause." "A wond'rous spring within my garden flows, "Of sov'reign virtue, chiefly to compose "Domestic jars, and matrimonial strife, "The best elixir t' appease man and wife;

Strange are th' effects, the qualities divine, 'Tis water call'd; but worth its weight in wine. If, in his sullen airs, Sir John should come, [mum "Three spoonfuls take, hold in your mouth-then "Smile, and look pleas'd, when he shall rage & scold, "Still in your mouth the healing cordial hold; "One month this sympathetic medicine try'd, "He'll grow a lover, you a happy bride. "But, dearest niece, keep this grand secret close, "Or ev'ry pratt'ling hussey 'll beg a dose." A water-bottle's brought for her relief; Not Nants could sooner ease the lady's grief: Her busy thoughts are on the trial bent, And, female-like, impatient for th' event.

The bonny knight reels home, exceeding clear, Prepar'd for clamour, and domestic war. Entering, he cries-" Hey! where 's our thunder "No hurricane? Betty's your lady dead ?" [fled? Madam. aside, an ample mouthful takes, Curt'sies, looks kind, but not a word she speaks.

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Wond'ring, he star'd, scarcely his eyes believ'd,
But found his ears agreeably deceiv'd.

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Why, how now, Molly, what's the crotchet now?" She smiles, and answers only with a bow. Then clasping her about-" Why, let me die! "These night clothes, Moll, become you mightily!" With that, he sigh'd, her hand began to press, And Betty calls, her lady to undress. Thus the fond pair to bed enamour'd went, The lady pleas'd and the good knight content.

For many days these fond endearments pass'd.. The reconciling bottle fails at last;

'Twas us'd and gone,-then midnight storms arose,
And looks and words the union discompose.
Her coach is order'd, and post-haste she flies
To beg her uncle for some fresh supplies;
Transported does the strange effects relate,
Her knight's conversion and her happy state!

"Why, niece," says he," I prithee apprehend, "The water's water, be thyself thy friend; "Such beauty would the coldest husband warm, "But your provoking tongue undoes the charm; "Be silent and complying;-you'll soon find, "Sir John, without a medicine, will be kind."

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Asses milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before;
Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more.
At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think when alone,
There's no pleasure in bed.--Mary, bring me my gown:
Slip it on ere you rise; let your caution be such;
Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too
Your pinners set right, your twitcher ty'd on, [much
Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done;
Retire to some author, improving and gay,
[day.
And with sense like your own, set your mind for the
At twelve you may walk, for at this time o' the year,
The sun, like your wit, is as mild as 't is clear:
But mark in the meadows the ruin of time;
Take the hint, and let life be improv'd in its prime.
Return not in haste nor of dressing take heed;
For beauty like yours, no assistance can need.
With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you sit,
Where the chief of the feast is the flow of your wit:
Let this be indulg'd, and let laughter go round;
As it pleases your mind, to your health 't will redound.
After dinner two glasses at least, I approve;
Name the first to the king, and the last to your love:
Thus cheerful, with wisdom, with innocence gay,
And calm with your joys, gently glide thro' the day.
The dews of the evening most carefully shun,
They are tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.
Then in chat, or at play, with a dance or a song,
Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along.
All care, but of Love, banish far from your mind,
And those you may end, when you please to be kind.

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MARY THE COOK-MAID'S LETTER TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1723.

Well, if ever I saw such another man since my mother bound my head!

You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred.

I'm sure such words do not become a man of your cloth;

I would not give such language to a dog, faith and

troth.

Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a shame

For a parson, who should know better things, to come out with such a name.

Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a shame, and a sin;

And the Dean my master is an honester man than you and all your kin:

He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have in your whole body:

My master is a parsonable man, and not a spindleshank'd hoddy-doddy.

And now, whereby Í find you would fain make an

excuse,

Because my master one day, in anger, call'd you

goose;

Which, and I am sure I have been his servant four years since October,

And he never call'd me worse than sweet-heart, drunk or sober:

Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge,

Though you and your come-rogi es keep him out so late in your college. You say you will eat grass on his grave: a christian tian eat grass!

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Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or

an ass:

But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye;

Well, well, that's as God pleases; and I don't b lieve that's a true story:

And so say I told you so, and you may go tell my master; what care I?

And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary. Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil;

I am but a poor servant; but I think gentle folks should be civil.

Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here;

I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in the

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year;

And Saunders the man says you are always jesting and mocking:

Mary, said he, (one day as I was mending my m ter's stocking;)

My master is so fond of that minister that keeps the

school

I thought my master a wise man, but that man make him a fool.

Saunders, said I, I would rather than a quart of ale He would come into our kitchen, and I would pina dish-clout to his tail.

And now I must go, & get Saunders to direct this letter; For I write but a sad scrawl, but my sister Marget, she writes better.

Well, but I must run and make the bed, before my master comes from prayers;

And see now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up stairs;

Whereof I could say more to your verses, if I cou write written hand:

And so I remain, in a civil way, your servant to com

mand,

MARY.

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