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Then shaking him Wake swineherd Allen cries,
I've joyful news-What? grumbling sim replies.
I am the luckiest Rogue by this no light,
I have had full employment all the night.
The daughter kindly paid her father's score,
All night I have embrac'd her the whore !
O thou false traytor, clark! thou haft defild
Our honest family, deflower'd our child!
Thy life shall answer it;with that he caught
At Allen's throat ; young Allen stoutly fought.
Both give and take, returning blows with blows;
But Allen stroke the miller on the nose
With all his force; out flies the freaming gore,
And down it runs. They tumble on the floor:
Then up they get, lab'ring with equal ftrife:
Sim stumbled backward quite a-cross his wife.
She fast a-fleep, none of this scuffle heard.
Wak'd by his fall, and heartily afraid;
Help holy cross of Broholme! (O I faint)
Help my good angel! help my patron saint !
The Fiend lies on me like a load of lead!
Remove this devil, this night-mare, or I'm dead!
Then up starts John, and turns 'em from the wife,
Hunts for a cudgel to conclude the strife.

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· Up gets the miller, Allen grasps him close,
Both play at hard-head, ftrugling to get loose.
Out steps the wife, well knowing where there ftood,
In a by-corner, a tough piece of wood;
On this she feiz'd, and by a glimm'ring light
Which enter'd at a chink saw something white.
But, by a foul mistake, 'twas her ill hap
To take his bald pate for the scholars cap.
She lifts the staff, it fell on his bare crown,
Strong was the blow, the knock'd her husband down.
O I am Main, the miller loudly cry'd.
Live to be hang'd, thou thief, Allen reply'd.
Away they go, first take their meal and cake,
Then lay the grift upon their horse's back.
To Scholar's-ball they march, for now 'twas light,
Pleas'd with the strange adventures of the night.

The wife the scholars curses, binds his head,
Then lift him up, and lays him on the bed.

wife, says Sim, our daughter is defild,
That villain Allen has debauch'd our child.
Mistaken me for John, he told me all;
Ten thousand furies plague that Scholar's-hall !

false abusive knave! (the wife reply'd) In ev'ry word the villain spake he ly’d.

I wak'd

I wak’d, and heard our harmless child complain,
And rose, to know the cause, and ease her pain.
I found her torn with gripes, a dram I brought,
And made her take a comfortable draught.
Then lay down by her, chaff'd her swelling breast,
And lull'd her in these very arms to resto
All was contrivance, malice all and spight,
I have not parted from her all this night.
Then is the innocent ? Ay by my life,
As pure and spotless as thy bosom wife.
I'm fatisfy'd, says Sim. O that damn'd Hall!
I'll do the best I can to starve 'em all.

And thus the miller of his fear is eas'd,
The mother and the daughter both well pleas’d.

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С

HLO E a coquet in her prime,

The vainest ficklest thing alive;
Behold the strange effe&s of time!
Marries and doats at forty five.

Thus weather-cocks, who for a while
Have turn'd about with every blaft,
Grown old and destitute of oil,
Ruft to a point, and fix at last.

EPITAPH

888888 EPITAPH on the MONUMENT

of the Marquis of Winchester.

By Mr. DRY DEN.

H

E who in impious times undaunted stood,

And midst rebellion durft be just and good; Whofe arms afferted, and whofe fuff'rings more Confirm'd the cause for which he fought before, Rests here rewarded by an heavenly prince, For what his earthly could not recompense. Pray (reader) that such times no more appear, Or if they happen, learn true honour here. Ark of thy ages faith and loyalty, Which (to preserve them) heaven confin’d in thee. Few subjects could a king like thine deserve, And fewer such a king so well cou'd serve. Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate. Such souls are rare; but mighty patterns giv'n To carth, were meant for ornaments to heav'n.

EPITAPH

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