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Under whose wise and careful guardship
I now despise fatigue and hardship:
Familiar grown to dirt and wet,
Tho' daggled round, I fcorn to fret :

110 chamber-damsels learn My broken hofe to patch and darn.

Now as a jefter I accost you ;
Which never yet one friend has lost you.
You judge so nicely to a hair,

How far to go, and when to spare.
By long experience grown fo wise,
Of ev'ry taste to know the size,
There's none so ignorant or weak
To take offence at what you speak* .
Whene'er you joke, 'tis all a case
Whether with Dermot, or his Grace ;
With Teague o'Murphy, or an Earl,
A Duchess or a kitchen-girl,
With such dexterity you fit

125 Their several talents with your wit, That Moll the chambermaid can smoke, And Gahagan t take ev'ry joke.

I now become your humble suitor To let me praise you as my tutori.

130 Poor I, a favage bred and born,

instructed ev'ry morn,
Already have improv'd so well,
That I have almost learn'd to spell :
The neighbours who come here to dine,

Admire to hear me speak fo fine.
How enviously the ladies look,
When they furprise me at my, book!
And, sure as they're alive, at night,
As soon as gone, will show their spight:

140 * The neighbouring ladies were no great understanders of raillery.

+ The clown that cut down the old thorn at Market-hill. Sce the poem, above, p. 330.

fla bad weather the author used to direct my Lady in her reading.

By you

Good Lord! what can my Lady mean,
Converfing with that rufty Dean !
She's grown so nice, and so penurioust,
With Socrates and Epicurius.
How could she fit the live-long day,

145 Yet never ask us once to play?

But I admire your patience most,
That when I'm duller than a post,
Nor can the plainest word pronounce,
You neither fume, nor fret; nor flounce; 150
Are fo indulgent, and so mild,.
As if I were a darling child.
So gentle is your whole proceeding,
That I could spend my life in reading.
You merit new employments daily :

Our thatcher, ditcher, gard'ner, baily.
And to a genius fo extensive,
No work is grievous or offensive;
Whether your fruitful fancy lies
To make for pigs convenient styes ;

Or ponder long with anxious thought,
To banish rats that haunt our vault :
Nor have you grumbled, Rey'rend Dean,
To keep our poultry sweet and clean ;
To sweep the mansion-house they dwell in, 165
And cure the rank unsav'ry smelling.

Now enter as the dairy handmaid :
Such charming batter I never man made.
Let others, with fanatic face,
Talk of their milk for babes of grace;

From tubs their snuffling nonsense utter:
Thy milk shall make us tubs of butter.

+ Ignorant ladies often mistake the word penurious for nice and dainty.

† A way of making butter for breakfast, by filling a bottle with cream, and leaking it till the butter comes.

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The Bishop with his foot may burn it*,
But with his hand the Dean can churn-it.
How are the servants overjoy'd
To see thy Deanship thus employ'd ?
Instead of poring on a book,
Providing butter for the cook!
Three morning-hours you tofs and fhake ,
The bottle till your fingers ake:
Hard is the toil, nor small the art,
The butter from the whey to part;
Behold a frothy substance rise ;
Be cautious, or your bottle fies.
The butter comes, our fears are ceas'd;
And out you squeeze an ounce at least.

Your Rev'rence thus, with like fuccess,
(Nor is your skill or labour less),
When bent upon some smart lampoon,
Will toss and turn your brain till noon ;
Which in its jumblings round the scull
Dilates, and makes the vessel full :
While nothing comes but froth at first,
You think your giddy head will burst :
But squeezing out four lines in rhyme,
Are largely paid for all your time.

But you have rais’d your gen'rous mind
To works of more exalted kind.
Palladio was not half so kill'd in
The grandeur or the art of building.
Two temples of magnific fize.
Attract the curious trav'ler's

eyes, That might be envy'd by the Greeks, Rais'd up by you in twenty weeks:





* It is a common saying, when the milk bums, That the devil or the bishop bas set his foot in it, the devil having been called bishop of hell. See a fatire on the Irish bishops, in vol. vii. faid to have been first printed in Pog's journal.: . Hawkef:

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Here gentle goddess Cloacine
Receives all off'rings at her shrine.
In fep'rate cells the he's and she's


their Vows:with bended knees :
For 'tis profane when sexes mingle ;
And ev'ry nymphi muft enter single z :
And when she feels an inward motion,
Come fill'd with rev'rence and devotion.
The bashful maid, to hide her blush,
Shall creep no more behind a bush ;
Here unobserv'd, she boldly goes,
As who thould say, to pluck a roje..

Ye who frequent this hallow'd scene,
Be not ungrateful to the Dean;
But duly, ere you leave your station,
Offer to him a pure libation,
Or of his own, or Smedley's I lay,
Or billetdoux, or lock of hay:
And, O! may all who hither come,.
Return with unpolluted thumb.

Yet when your lofty domes I praise,
I figh to think of ancient days.
Permit me then to raise my style, :
And sweetly moralize a while.

Theb, bounteous goddess Cloacine,
To temples why do we confine ?
Forbid in open air to breathe,
Why are thine altars Six'd beneath ? :

When Saturn ruld the skies alones
(That golden age to gold unknown),
This earthly globe to thee aflign'd
Receiv'd the gifts of all mankind.
Ten thousand altars smoaking round
Were built to thee,, with off'rings crown'd:

Scc his character below, p. 381,







And here the daily vot'ries plac'd
Their sacrifice with zeal and hafte :
The margin of a purling stream
Sent up to thee a grateful team.:
(Tho'sometimes thou wert pleas'd to wink, !
If Naiads swept them from the brink) :
Or where appointing lovers rove,
The shelter of a thady grove ;
Or offer'd in some flow'ry vale,
Were wafted by a gentle gale.
Thère many a flow'r obftersive grew,
Thy fav’rite flow'rs of yellow hue !
The crocus and the daffodil,
The cowslip soft, and fweet jonqail.

But when at laft uforping Jove
Old Saturn from his empire drove ;
Then Gluttony with greafy paws
Her napkin pinn'd up to her jaws,
With wat'ry chaps, and wagging ching.
Brac'd like a drum her oily skin ;
Wedg'd in a spacious elbow-chair,
And on her plate a treble fhare,
As if the ne'er could have enough,
Taught harmless man to oram and fuff.
She sent her priest in wooden shoes
From haughty Gaul to make rāgoos;
Instead of wholesome bread and cheese,
To dress their foops and fricassees ;
And for our home.bred British cheer,
Botargo, catsup, and caveer

This bloated harpy, fprung from hell,
Confind thee, goddess, to a cell ;
Sprung from her womb that impious line,
Contemners of thy rites divine.
First, lofling Sloth in woollen cap
Taking her after-dinner nap:





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