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MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION, 1699.

To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland*, the humble petition of Frances Harris,

who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries;

Humbly sheweth,

that I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's † chamber, because I was cold;

and I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, besides farthings, in money and

gold;

so, because I had been buying things for my Lady last night,

I was resolv'd to tell my money, to see if it was right. Now, you must know because my trunk has a very bad lock,

therefore all the money I have, which God knows, is a very small stock,

I keep in my pocket, ty'd about my middle, next to my smock.

So when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my smock was unript,

and instead of putting it into my pocket down it slipt; then the bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to bed;

and God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my maidenhead.

So when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light:

but when I search'd, and miss'd my purse, Lord! I thought I should have sunk outright.

Lord! Madam, says Mary, how d' ye do? Indeed, says I, never worse;

* The Earls of Berkeley and of Galway. + Lady Betty Berkeley, afterwards Germaine.

but pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my purse?

Lord help me! said Mary, I never stirr'd out of this

place;

nay, said I, I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain case.

So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm: however, she stole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm.

So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very well think,

but hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink. So I was adream'd, methought that we went and search'd the folks round,

and in a corner of Mrs. Dukes's * box, ty'd in a rag, the money was found. [swearing;

So next morning we told Whittle †, and he fell athen my dame Wadger ‡ came; and she, you know, is thick of hearing.

Dame, said I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know what a loss I have had?

Nay, said she, my Lord Colway's § folk are all very

sad; [out fail. for my Lord Dromedary || comes a Tuesday withPugh! said I, but that's not the business that I ail. Says Cary¶, says he, I have been a servant this five and twenty years come spring, [thing. and in all the places I liv'd I never heard of such a Yes, says the steward **, I remember, when I was at my Lady Shrewsbury's,

such a thing as this happen'd just about the time of gooseberries.

* Wife to one of the footmen. deaf housekeeper. Galway.

+ Earl of Berkeley's valet. The old The Earl of Droghada, who, with the

Primate, was to succeed the two Earls. ¶ Clerk of the kitchen. ** Ferris.

So I went to the party suspected, and found her full

of grief,

(now you must know, of all things in the world, I hate a thief.) [about: However, I am resolv'd to bring the discourse slily Mrs. Dukes, said I, here's an ugly accident has happen'd out;

't is not that I value the money three skips of a louse*; but the thing I stand upon is the credit of the house. "T is true seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, makes a great hole in my wages: [ages. besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in these Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body understands,

without hands.

that though 't is hard to judge, yet money can't go [I saw 't! The devil take me! said she (blessing herself) if ever so she roar'd like a bedlam, as tho' I had call'd her all to naught.

ning man!

So you know, what could I say to her any more? I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was before. Well; but then they would had me gone to the cun[here anon. no, said I, 't is the same thing, the chaplain will be So the chaplain † came in. Now the servants say he is my sweetheart, because he's always in my

take his part.

chamber, and I always

So as the devil would have it, before I was aware, out

I blunder'd,

Parson, said I, can you cast a nativity, when a body's plunder'd?

(now, you must know, he hates to be called parson like the devil!)

* An usual saying of her's. + Dr. Swift,

truly, says he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil;

if your money be gone, as a learned divine says, d'ye

see

[me; you are no text for my handling; so take that from I was never taken for a conjurer before, I'd have you

to know. [you so; Lord! said I, do n't be angry, I am sure I never thought you know I honour the cloth; I design to be a par

son's wife;

[life; I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all my with that he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say, [away. now you may go hang yourself for me, and so went Well: I thought I would have swoon'd. Lord! said I, what shall I do?

I have lost my money, and shall lose my true love too! Then my Lord call'd me: Harry, * said my Lord,

do n't cry;

I'll give you something towards thy loss; and, says my Lady, so will I.

[come to ? Oh! but, said I, what if, after all, the chaplain who n't For that, he said, (an't please your Excellencies) I must petition you.

The premises tenderly consider'd, I desire your Ex cellencies protection,

[tion; and that I may have a share in next Sunday's collecand over and above, that I may have your Excellencies letter, [of him a better; with an order for the chaplain aforesaid, or, instead and then your poor petitioner, both night and day, or the chaplain (for 't is his trade), as in duty bound shall ever pray.

* A cant word of Lord and Lady B. to Mrs. Harris.

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.

ON THE EVER-LAMENTED LOSS OF THE TWO YEW-TREES, in the Parish of Chilthorne, Somerset, 1708. Imitated from the Eighth Book of Ovid.

In ancient times, as story tells,

the saints would often leave their cells,
and stroll about, but hide their quality,
to try good people's hospitality.
It happen'd on a winter-night,
as authors of the legend write,
two brother hermits, saints by trade,
taking their tour in masquerade,
disguis'd in tatter'd habits, went
to a small village down in Kent;
where, in the stollers' canting strain,
they begg'd from door to door in vain,
try'd every tone might pity win;

but not

soul would let them in.

Our wandering saints, in woful state, treated at this ungodly rate,

having through all the village past,
to a small cottage came at last!
where dwelt a good old honest ye'man,
call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon,
who kindly did these saints invite
in his poor hut to pass the night;
and then the hospitable sire,
bid goody Baucis mend the fire;
while he from out the chimney took
a flitch of bacon off the hook,
and freely from the fattest side
cut out large slices to be fry'd;

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