Volume Ii Part 60 (1/2)

Poor Tom, wilt thou never accept a defiance, Though I dare you to more than quadruple alliance.

You're so retrograde, sure you were born under Cancer; Must I make myself hoa.r.s.e with demanding an answer?

If this be your practice, mean scrub, I a.s.sure ye, And swear by each Fate, and your new friends, each Fury, I'll drive you to Cavan, from Cavan to Dundalk; I'll tear all your rules, and demolish your pun-talk: Nay, further, the moment you're free from your scalding, I'll chew you to bullets, and puff you at Baldwin.

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

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

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

I'm sure such words does 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 personable man, and not a spindle-shank hoddy doddy.

And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excuse, Because my master, one day, in anger, call'd you a 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-rogues keep him out so late in your wicked college.

You say you will eat gra.s.s on his grave:[1] a Christian eat gra.s.s!

Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or an a.s.s: But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye; Well, well, that's as G.o.d pleases; and I don't believe 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.

Everybody knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil: I am but a poor servant; but I think gentlefolks 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 year.

And Saunders, the man, says you are always jesting and mocking: Mary, said he, (one day as I was mending my master's stocking;) My master is so fond of that minister that keeps the school-- I thought my master a wise man, but that man makes him a fool.

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

And now I must go, and 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 could write written hand; And so I remain, in a civil way, your servant to 'command, MARY.

[Footnote 1: See _ante_, p. 349.--_W.E.B_.]

A PORTRAIT FROM THE LIFE

Come sit by my side, while this picture I draw: In chattering a magpie, in pride a jackdaw; A temper the devil himself could not bridle; Impertinent mixture of busy and idle; As rude as a bear, no mule half so crabbed; She swills like a sow, and she breeds like a rabbit; A housewife in bed, at table a slattern; For all an example, for no one a pattern.

Now tell me, friend Thomas,[1] Ford,[2] Grattan,[3] and Merry Dan,[4]

Has this any likeness to good Madam Sheridan?

[Footnote 1: Dr. Thos. Sheridan.]

[Footnote 2: Chas. Ford, of Woodpark, Esq.]

[Footnote 3: Rev. John Grattan.]

[Footnote 4: Rev. Daniel Jackson.]

ON STEALING A CROWN, WHEN THE DEAN WAS ASLEEP

Dear Dean, since you in sleepy wise Have oped your mouth, and closed your eyes, Like ghost I glide along your floor, And softly shut the parlour door: For, should I break your sweet repose, Who knows what money you might lose: Since oftentimes it has been found, A dream has given ten thousand pound?