And rather than come in the same pair of sheets
With such a cross man, I would lie in the streets.
But, madam, I beg you, contrive and invent,
And worry him out, till he gives his consent.
Dear madam, whene'er of a barrack I think,
An I were to be hang'd, I can't sleep a wink:
For if a new crotchet comes into my brain,
I can't get it out, though I'd never so fain.
I fancy already a barrack contriv'd

At Hamilton's bawn, and the troop is arriv'd;

Of this to be sure Sir Arthur has warning,

And waits on the captain betimes the next morning.
Now see, when they meet, how their honors behave:

'Noble captain, your servant,'—' Sir Arthur, your slave; "You honor me much'- The honor is mine.'

"T was a sad rainy night'—' But the morning is fine

Pray how does my lady ?— My wife's at your service.' 'I think I have seen her picture by Jervas?

'Good-morrow, good captain’— I'll wait on you down.' 'You sha'n't stir a foot.'-' You'll think me a clown.' 'For all the world, captain, not half an inch farther.' You must be obey'd!- Your servant, Sir Arthur! My humble respects to my lady unknown.'

'I hope you will use my house as your own.””

"Go bring me my smock, and leave off your prate, Thou hast certainly gotten a cup in thy pate." "Pray, madam, be quiet; what was it I said? You had like to have put it quite out of my head. Next day, to be sure, the captain will come, At the head of his troop, with trumpet and drum. Now, madam, observe how he marches in state ; The man with the kettle-drum enters the gate: Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow, Tantarum, tantara; while all the boys hollow. See now comes the captain all daub'd with gold lace : Ola! the sweet gentleman! look in his face; And see how he rides like a lord of the land, With the fine flaming sword that he holds in his hand; And his horse, the dear CRETER, it prances and rears, With ribbons in knots at its tail and its ears:

At last comes the troop, by the word of command, Drawn up in the court; when the captain cries, STAND! Your ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen

(For sure I had dizen'd you out like a queen).

The captain, to show he is proud of the favor,
Looks up to your window, and cocks up his beaver
(His beaver is cock'd, pray, madam, mark that;
For a captain of horse never takes off his hat,
Because he has NEVER a hand that is idle:

FOR THE RIGHT HOLDS THE SWORD, AND THE LEFT HOLDS THE BRIDLE); 'Then flourishes thrice his sword in the air,

As a compliment due to a lady so fair;

(How I tremble to think of the blood it has spilt!) Then he lowers down the point and kisses the hilt. Your ladyship smiles, and thus you begin:

Pray, captain, be pleas'd to alight and walk in.’
The captain salutes you with congee profound,
And your ladyship curtsies half way to the ground.
Kit, run to your master, and bid him come to us;
I'm sure he'll be proud of the honour you do us.
And, captain, you'll do us the favor to stay,
And take a short dinner here with us to-day;
You're heartily welcome; but as for good cheer,
You come in the very worst time in the year;
If I had expected so worthy a guest'

Lord, madam! your ladyship sure is in jest:
You banter me, madam; the kingdom must grant-'
You officers, captain, are so complaisant!'"

66

Hist, hussy, I think I hear somebody coming!"
"No, madam; 'tis only Sir Arthur a-humming.
To shorten my tale (for I hate a long story),
The captain at dinner appears in his glory;

The Dean and the doctor have humbled their pride,

For the captain's entreated to sit by your side;

And because he's their betters, you carve for him first;

The parsons for envy are ready to burst.

The servants amaz'd are scarce ever able

To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the table;
And Molly and I have thrust in our nose

To peep at the captain in all his fine clo'es.

Dear madam, be sure he's a fine-spoken man;

·

Do but hear on the clergy how glib his tongue ran;
And 'madam,' says he, if such dinners you give,
You'll ne'er want for parsons as long as you live.
I ne'er knew a parson without a good nose;
But the devil's as welcome wherever he goes.
G-d-n me! they bid us reform and repent,
But z-nds! by their looks they never keep Lent.
Mister Curate, for all your grave looks, I'm afraid
You cast a sheep's eye on her ladyship's maid:

I wish she would lend you her pretty white hand

In mending your cassock, and smoothing your banď
(For the Dean was so shabby, and look'd like a ninny,
The captain suppos'd he was curate to Jinny).*
Whenever you see a cassock and gown,

A hundred to one but it covers a clown.
Observe how a parson comes into a room;
G-d-n me! he hobbles as bad as my groom;
A scholard, when just from his college broke loose,
Can hardly tell how to cry bo to a goose;

Your NOVEDS, and BLUTURCKS, and OмURS, and stuff,†
By G―, they don't signify this pinch of snuff.
To give a young gentleman right education,
The army's the only good school in the nation;
My schoolmaster call'd me a dunce and a fool,
But at cuffs I was always the cock of the school:
I never could take to my book for the BLOOD O' ME,
And the puppy confess'd he expected no GOOD O' ME.
He caught me one morning coquetting his wife;
But he mauld me, I ne'er was so mauld in my life:
So I took to the road, and, what's very odd,
The first man I robb'd was a parson, by G-.
Now, madam, you'll think it a strange thing to say,
But the sit of a book makes me sick to this day.'

"Never since I was born did I hear so much wit,
And, madam, I laugh'd till I thought I should split
So then you look scornful, and snift at the Dean,
As who should say, Now am I skinny and lean?
But he durst not so much as once open his lips,
And the doctor was plaguily down in the hips.”
Thus merciless Hannah ran on in her talk,

Till she heard the Dean call, "Will your ladyship walk?"
Her ladyship answers, "I'm just coming down :"
Then turning to Hannah, and forcing a frown,
Although it was plain in her heart she was glad,
Cry'd, "Hussy, why sure the wench is gone mad!
How could these chimeras get into your brains?—
Come hither and take this old gown for your pains;
But the Dean, if this secret should come to his ears,
Will never have done with his gibes and his jeers:
For your life not a word of this matter I charge ye;
Give me but a barrack, a fig for the clergy."

• Dr. Jinny, a clergyman in the neighborhood. † Ovids, Plutarchs, and Homers.

The Grand Question Debated.-" Hamilton's Bawn" was a large old house belonging to Sir Arthur Acheson, Bart., ancestor of the Earls of Gosford. His lady was Anne Savage, daughter of an Irish Chancellor of the Exchequer. A merry war, perhaps not always pleasant, was in the habit of passing between her and Swift, in which he bantered her thinness, and Sir Arthur used to take his part. She is the heroine of the witty but coarse verses, beginning

"Sure never did man see
A wretch like poor Nancy,
So teas'd day and night
By a Dean and a Knight;

To punish my sins

Sir Arthur begins,

And gives me a wipe
With Skinny and Snipe:
His malice is plain,
Hallooing the Dean.
The Dean never stops,
When he opens his chops.
I'm quite over-run

With rebus and pun."

2 G― d―n me, they bid us reform and repent, &c.-I do not apologize to the reader for repeating these oaths, because Swift's object in recording them was intended for anything but approba tion of swearing-a practice which, tough accused of having been a swearer himself, he held in special contempt, and officers of the army (it must be added) along with it. He looked upon them as a set of ignorant coxcombs; and, doubtless, too many such persons are to be found mixed with their betters in the service, especially in the regiments raised in the provinces. The reader would be surprised if he knew how much ignorance of common writing and reading was betrayed in communications of country officers with head-quarters.

Fielding seems to have had his eye on this passage when he introduced his Ensign Northerton in Tom Jones. It is one of the happiest in Swift's verses; exquisite for its ease, its straightfor wardness, its humor, its succession of pictures, its maid-servan tone of mind.

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

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 spindle-shank'd 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 sweetheart, 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 college.
You say you will eat grass on his grave: a Christian eat grass!
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 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 ;

Every one 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 mukes 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.