36 Now pardon me, Morley, the windmill I spy,
But, faithful Achates, no house is there nigh.
Look again, says mild Morley; gadzooks! you are
blind:

The mill stands before; and the house lies behind.

37 O, now a low ruined white shed I discern,

Untiled and unglazed; I believe 'tis a barn.
A barn! why you rave, 'tis a house for a squire,
A justice of peace, or a knight of our shire.

realism

38 A house should be built, or with brick, or with stone. Why 'tis plaster and lath; and I think that's all

one;

And such as it is, it has stood with great fame,
Been called a hall, and has given its name

To Down, down, hey derry down.

39 O Morley! O Morley! if that be a hall,

The fame with the building will suddenly fall—
With your friend Jemmy Gibbs' about buildings

agree;

My business is land; and it matters not me.

40 I wish you could tell what a deuce your head ails: I showed you Down-hall; did you look for Ver

sailles!

Then take house and farm as John Ballet will let

you,

For better for worse, as I took my Dame Betty.

41 And now, Sir, a word to the wise is enough; You'll make very little of all your old stuff:

1 James Gibbs, architect of the Ratcliffe Library, Oxford, and many other buildings.

Cynical

And to build at your age, by my troth, you grow simple!

Are you young and rich, like the master of Wimple?1

42 If you have these whims of apartments and gardens,
From twice fifty acres you'll ne'er see five farthings:
And in yours I shall find the true gentleman's fate;
Ere
you finish
your house, you
'll have spent your

estate.

43 Now let us touch thumbs, and be friends ere we part.

Here, John, is my thumb, and here, Mat, is my heart;
To Halstead I speed, and you go back to town.
Thus ends the first part of the ballad of Down.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

VERSES

SPOKEN TO LADY HENRIETTA CAVENDISH-HOLLES HARLEY,
COUNTESS OF OXFORD.

IN THE LIBRARY OF ST JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, NOVEMBER 9, 1719.

MADAM,

SINCE Anna visited the Muses' seat

(Around her tomb let weeping angels wait!)
Hail thou, the brightest of thy sex, and best,
Most gracious neighbour,2 and most welcome guest.
Not Harley's self, to Cam and Isis dear,
In virtues and in arts great Oxford's heir;
Not he such present honour shall receive,
As to his consort we aspire to give.

To

Writings of men our thought to-day neglects,
pay due homage to the softer sex:
Plato and Tully we forbear to read,

And their great followers whom this house has bred,

1 Edward Earl of Oxford.-2 The family seat was then at Wimple.

10

To study lessons from thy morals given,
And shining characters, impressed by Heaven.
Science in books no longer we pursue,
Minerva's self in Harriet's face we view;
For, when with beauty we can virtue join,
We paint the semblance of a form divine.

Their pious incense let our neighbours bring,
To the kind memory of some bounteous king;
With grateful hand, due altars let them raise,
To some good knight's' or holy prelate's 2 praise:
We tune our voices to a nobler theme,

Your eyes we bless, your praises we proclaim;
Saint John's was founded in a woman's name.
Enjoined by statute, to the fair we bow;
In spite of time, we keep our ancient vow;
What Margaret Tudor was, is Harriet Harley now.

PROLOGUE TO THE ORPHAN,3

REPRESENTED BY SOME OF THE WESTMINSTER SCHOLARS, AT HICKFORD'S DANCING ROOM, FEBRUARY 2, 1720.

SPOKEN BY LORD DUPPLIN, WHO ACTED CORDELIO THE PAGE.

WHAT! Would my humble comrades have me say,
Gentle spectators, pray excuse the play;
Such work by hireling actors should be done,
Whom you may clap or hiss for half a crown.
Our generous scenes for friendship we repeat;
And, if we don't delight, at least we treat.
Ours is the damage, if we chance to blunder;
We may be asked whose patent we act under?'
How shall we gain you, à la mode de France?
We hired this room; but none of us can dance;

13

20

10

1 Sir T. White, founder of St John's College, Oxon.- Archbishop Laud also was a generous benefactor.- A few lines of this prologue occur in another, which has been given already.

In cutting capers we shall never please;
Our learning does not lie below our knees.

Shall we procure you symphony and sound, Then you must each subscribe two hundred pound. There we should fail too, as to point of voice; Mistake us not; we're no Italian boys;

True Britons born from Westminster we come;
And only speak the style of ancient Rome.
We would deserve, not poorly beg, applause;

11

And stand or fall by Friend's and Busby's laws.')
For the distressed, your pity we implore:

If once refused, we'll trouble you no more,
But leave our Orphan squalling at your door.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

H. OH! with what woes am I oppressed!
W. Be still, you senseless calf!
What if the gods should make you blessed?
H. Why then I'd sing and laugh:

But if they wont, I'll wail and cry.
W. You'll hardly laugh before you die.

TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.

A TALE.

ONCE on a time, in sunshine weather,
Falsehood and Truth walked out together,
The neighbouring woods and lawns to view,
As opposites will sometimes do.

Through many a blooming mead they past,
And at a brook arrived at last.

The purling stream, the margin green,
With flowers bedecked, a vernal scene,

1 Masters of Westminster school.

Invited each itinerant maid,

To rest a while beneath the shade.
Under a spreading beech they sat,
And passed the time with female chat;
Whilst each her character maintained;
One spoke her thoughts, the other feigned.
At length, quoth Falsehood, sister Truth,
(For so she called her from her youth)
What if, to shun yon sultry beam,
We bathe in this delightful stream;
The bottom smooth, the water clear,
And there's no prying shepherd near!—
With all my heart, the nymph replied,
And threw her snowy robes aside,
Stripped herself naked to the skin,
And with a spring leaped headlong in.
Falsehood more leisurely undressed,
And, laying by her tawdry vest,
Tricked herself out in Truth's array,
And 'cross the meadows tripped away.1

From this cursed hour, the fraudful dame,
Of sacred Truth usurps the name,
And, with a vile, perfidious mind,
Roams far and near, to cheat mankind;
False sighs suborns, and artful tears,
And starts with vain pretended fears;
In visits, still appears most wise,
And rolls at church her saint-like eyes;
Talks very much, plays idle tricks,
While rising stock 2 her conscience pricks;

When being, poor thing, extremely gravelled,
She secrets oped, and all unravelled.

1 Hence, perhaps, D'Israeli's famous sarcasm about 'Peel finding the Whigs bathing, and running away with their clothes.' South Sea, 1720.