PHILLIS.

And yet Crepundia, that conceited fair,
Amid her toys, affects a saucy air,
And views me hourly with a scornful eye.

CORYDON.

She might as well with bright Cleora vie.

PHILLIS.

With this large petticoat I strive in vain
To hide my folly past, and coming pain;
'Tis now no secret; she, and fifty more,
Observe the symptoms I had once before:
A second babe at Wapping must be plac'd,
When I scarce bear the charges of the last.

CORYDON.

What I could raise I sent; a pound of plums,
Five shillings, and a coral for his gums;
To-morrow I intend him something more.

PHILLIS.

I sent a frock and pair of shoes before.

CORYDON.

However, you shall home with me to-night,
Forget your cares, and revel in delight.
I have in store a pint or two of wine,
Some cracknels, and the remnant of a chine,

And now on either side, and all around, The weighty shop-boards fall, and bars resound; Each ready sempstress slips her pattens on, And ties her hood, preparing to begone.

L. B. W. H. J. S. S. T.

A CONFERENCE

BETWEEN

Sir H. p-ce's CHARIOT, AND MRS D. ST-D'S CHAIR.

[This dialogue, which bears strong internal marks of Swift's humour, was among those published by Dr Barrett, from the Whimsical Medley. The lady so severely handled was Miss Dorothy Stopford, afterwards Countess of Meath, and termed by Swift, in his Journal to Stella, "that owl Doll, Countess of Meath." She married General Gorges on the death of Lord Meath; and as her second husband and she died within a few days of each other, the circumstance occasioned a second satirical effusion of Swift's humour, entitled Dicky and Dolly.]

CHARIOT.

My pretty dear Cuz, tho' I've rov'd the town o'er,
To dispatch in an hour some visits a score;
Tho', since first on the wheels, I've been every day
At the 'Change, at a raffling, at church, or a play;
And the fops of the town are pleas'd with the notion
Of calling your slave the perpetual motion ;-
Tho' oft at your door I have whin'd [out] my love,
As my Knight does grin his at your Lady above;
Yet ne'er before this, tho' I used all my care,
I e'er was so happy to meet my dear Chair;
And since we're so near, like birds of a feather,
Let's e'en, as they say, set our horses together.

CHAIR.

By your awkward address, you're that thing which should carry,

With one footman behind, our lover Sir Harry.
By your language, I judge, you think me a wench;
He that makes love to me, must make it in French.
Thou that's drawn by two beasts, and carry'st a brute,
Canst thou vainly e'er hope, I'll answer thy suit?
Tho' sometimes you pretend to appear with your six,
No regard to their colour, their sexes you mix:
Then on the grand-paw you'd look very great,
With your new-fashion'd glasses, and nasty old seat.
Thus a beau I have seen strut with a cock'd hat,
And newly rigg'd out, with a dirty cravat.

You may think that you make a figure most shining,
But its plain that you have an old cloak for a lining.
Are those double-gilt nails? Where's the lustre of
Kerry,

To set off the Knight, and to finish the Jerry?
If you hope I'll be kind, you must tell me what's due
In George's-lane for you, ere I'll buckle to.

CHARIOT.

Why, how now, Doll Diamond, you're very alert ;
Is it
your French breeding has made you so pert?
Because I was civil, here's a stir with a pox:

Who is it that values your

or your

fox?

Sure 'tis to her honour, he ever should bed

His bloody red hand to her bloody red head.

You're proud of your gilding; but I tell you, each nail

Is only just ting'd with a rub at her tail :

And although it may pass for gold on a ninny, Sure we know a Bath shilling soon from a guinea.

Nay, her foretop's a cheat; each morn she does black it,

Yet, ere it be night, it's the same with her placket. I'll ne'er be run down any more with your cant; Your velvet was wore before in a mant,

On the back of her mother; but now 'tis much duller,

The fire she carries hath changed its colour.

Those creatures that draw me you never would mind, If you'd but look on your own Pharaoh's lean kine; They're taken for spectres, they're so meagre and

spare,

Drawn damnably low by your sorrel mare.

We know how your lady was in you befriended;
You're not to be paid for 'till the lawsuit is ended:
But her bond it is good, he need not to doubt;
She is two or three years above being out.
Could my Knight be advis'd, he should ne'er spend
his vigour

On one he can't hope of e'er making bigger.

A DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

SIR WILLIAM HANDCOCK AND THADY FITZPATRICK, IN THE DEVIL'S ANTICHAMBER.

Also from the Whimsical Miscellany.

THADY.

YOU'RE Welcome Sir William; by my shoul and salvation,

I rejoice for to see one from my own nation:

We have long wanted news: was it growing wealthy, Has made all my brothers so damnable healthy ? When I think of their number, I look for them faster ;

Sure they are not grown honest, and quitted their
Master.

Come, never look squeamish, nor be out of order,
We're here on a level, good Master Recorder.
Let me know what has pass'd, and you'll find I'll
be civil,

And speak a good word for you here to the Devil.

SIR WILLIAM.

Oh, thank you, dear Thady, and must own for my part,

It's much more your goodness than it is my desert;
But, to speak for his fee, you know 'twas our calling;
Which because I could not, I then fell a-bawling.
I never stuck out to quote a false case:

And to back it, I e'er had an impudent face;
Or on my right hand I had always my brother,
To vouch, which we still did, the one for the other,