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She had run on I think till now, but Meat
Came up, and suddenly she took her Seat:
I thought the Dinner would make some Amends,
When my good Host Cry'd out, “ You're all my

Friends:
Our own plain Fare, and the best Terse the

Ball
Affords, I give you, and your Bellies füll';
As for French Kick mavos,Cellery, and Champain,

Rágous and Fricasses, introth we’ave none: Here's a good Dinner toward, thought I, when

ftrait, Upcame a piece of Beef, full Horse-man weight; Hard as the Arse of M-, under which The Coach-man sweats, asriden by a Witch ; A Difh of Carrets, each of 'em as long As T- that to fair Countess did belong; Which her small Pillow could not so well hide, But visters his flaming Head espy'd: Pig, Goofe, and Capon follow'd in the Rear, With all thatCountry Bumpkins call goodCheer; Serv'd up with Sauces all of Eighty Eight, When our Tough Youth, wrestled, and threw

the Weight;
And now the Bottle briskly flies about,
Instead of Ice, wrapt up in a wet Clout ;
A Brimmer follows, the third bit we eat,
Small Beer becomes our Drink, and Wine our

Meat:
The Table was so large, that in less space,
A Man might Six old Sage Italians place:

Each

Each Man had as much Room as Porter Blunt,
Or Harris bad in Cullen's Bushel C
And now the Wine began to work, mine Hoft
Had been a Colonel, we must hear him boast,
Not of Towns won, but an Eltate he lost
For the King's Service, which indeed he spent,
Whoring, and Drinking bat with good Intent
He talkt much of a Plot and Money lent
In Cromwell's time : As for my Lady she
Complain'd our Love was course, our Poetry
Unfit for modest Ears, small Whores, and Play'rs,
Were of our Hair brain d Youth the only Cares;
Who were too wild for any Virtuous League,
Too rotten to consummate the Intrigue.
Falkland she prais'd, and Suckling's easie Pen,
And seem'd to taste their former Parts again.
Mine Hoft drinks to the best in Christendom,
And decently my Lady quits the Room.
Left to our selves, of several things we prate,
Some regulate the Stage, and some the State :
Halfwit, cries up.my Lord of Orrery,-
Ah! how well Mustapha, and Zanger die
His Sense so little forc'd that by one Line
You may the other easily Divine:
And which is worse, if any worse can be,
He never said one word of it to me.
There's lusci'ous Poetry! you'd swear't was

Prose,
So little on the Sense the Rhimes impose :
D...--m me (says Dingboy) in my Mind,

G---ds---żns, Etheridg writes Airy Songs, and Soft Lampoons, The best of any Man; as for

your Nouns, L 2

Gram

Grammar, and Rules of Art, he knows’ém not,
Yet writ two taking Plays, without one Plot.
Huff, was for Settle, and Morocco prais'd,
Said rumbling Words, like Drums, his Courage

rais'd;

}

Whose broad built Bulks the boystrous Billows

bear, Zaphee, and Sally, Mugadore, Oran, The fam'd Arzile, Alcazer, Tituan; Was ever braver Language writ by Man?. Kickum for Crown declar'd, said in Romance, He had out done the very wits of France : Witnefs Pandion; and his Charles the Eight, Where a young Monarch, careless of his Fate, Tho’ Foreign Troops, and Rebels shock his

State; Complains another Sight affli&s him more, (Viz.). The Queen's Galleys rowing from the

Shore, Fitting their Oars, and Tacking to be gon, Whilst Sporting Waves (mild on the Rising Sun. Waves smiling on the Sun! I am sure that's And, 'twas well thought on, give the Devil

his Due. My Host, who had said nothing in an hour, Rose up, and prais'd the Indian Emperor: As if our Old World modestly withdrew, And here, in private, had brought forth a New. These are two Lines, who but he durst presume To make th' Old World a new Withdrawing Room?

Where

new,

Where of another World she's brought to Bed; What a brave Midwife is a Laureat's Head!

But Pox upon theseScriblers, What d'ye think, Will Zouches this Year any Champain drink? Will Turene fight him? Without doubt, says

Huff, If they two meet, their Meeting will be rough. D--mme (lays Dingboy) the French Cowards are, They Pay, but th English, Scots, and Switzs

make War: In Gawdy Troops, at a Review they shine, But dare not with the Germans Battle joyn: What now appears like Courage, is not so, 'Tis a short Pride which from Success does grow. On their first Blow, they'll shrink into those

Fears They shew'd at Cresy, Agin-Court, Poitiers; Their Loss was infamous, Honour so stain'd Is by a Nation not to be regain'd. What they were then, I know not, now they're

brave, He that denies it, lies, and is a Slave (Says Huff, and frown'd ;) Says Dingboy, that

dol;

And at that word, at t'others Head let fly
A greasie Plate, when suddenly they all
Together by the Ears in Parties fall :
Halfwit with Dingboy joins, Kickum with

Huff,
Their Swords were safe,and so we let 'em Cuff,
Till, they, my Host, and I, had all enough.

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Their Rage once over, they begin to treat, And fix fresh Bottles must the Peace compleat; I ran down Stairs, with a vow never more, To drink Beer-Glasses, and hear Hectors roar.

Madam Nelley's Complaint: A SATIR.

By Sir George Etheridge.

F Sylla's Ghost made bloody Catline start,

And shook the Fabrick of his Marble Heart: If Samuel's shade could wicked Saul affright When Endor rais d him from the Depthof

Night, Pity poor Nell that's haunted by Moll Knight: You that have seen me in my Youthful Age, Preferr d from Stall of Turnips to the Stage, Those sympathetick Griefs you did bestow, And Tears to Scenic Sufferings once allow, Employ 'em on my real Torments now. Knight, cruel Knight, that once lay in my

Breast, My Constant Crony and eternal Guest, Th’Applauder of my Beauty and my Jest ; She, She, that cruel She to France is fled, Yet lets me not enjoy my quiet Bed; When e'er I lay' me down to love, or Sleep, She thro’ the opening Curtains seems to peep, Dreadful as Gorgon, turning all to Stone, Unpainted, and without her Plumpers on ;

Her

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