Then anfwer'd 'Squire Morley; Pray get a calash, That in fummer may burn, and in winter may splash; I love dirt and duft; and 'tis always my pleasure, To take with me much of the foil that I measure.

But Matthew thought better: for Matthew thought right,

And hired a chariot so trim and fo tight,

That extremes both of winter and fummer might pass: For one window was canvafs, the other was glass.

Draw up, quoth friend Matthew; pull down, quoth friend John,

We fhall be both hotter and colder anon.

Thus, talking and fcolding, they forward did fpeed; And Ralpho pac'd by, under Newman the Swede.

Into an old inn did this equipage roll,

At a town they call Hodfon, the fign of the Bull,
Near a Nymph with an urn, that divides the high-way,
And into a puddle throws Mother of Tea.

Come here, my fweet Landlady, pray how d'ye do? Where is Cicily fo cleanly, and Prudence, and Sue? And where is the Widow that dwelt here below? And the Hoftler that fung about eight years ago?

And where is your Sifter, fo mild and fo dear, Whofe voice to her Maids like a trumpet was clear? By my troth! fhe replies, you grow younger, I think : And pray, Sir, what wine does the gentleman drink?

Why now let me die, Sir, or live upon truft,
If I know to which question to answer you firft:
Why things, fince I faw you, moft ftrangely have vary'd,
The Hoftler is hang'd, and the Widow is marry'd.

And Prue left a child for the parish to nurse;
And Cicily went off with a gentleman's purse;
And as to my fifter, fo mild and fo dear,
She has lain in the church-yard full many a year.

Well, peace to her ashes! what fignifies grief?
She roafted red Veal, and the powder'd lean Beef:
Full nicely fhe knew to cook up a fine difh;
For tough were her Pullets, and tender her Fish.

For that matter, Sir, be you 'Squire, Knight, or Lord,
I'll give you whate'er a good inn can afford:
I fhould look on myself as unhappily fped,
Did I yield to a fifter, or living, or dead.

Of Mutton a delicate neck and a breast

Shall fwim in the water in which they were dreft:
And, because you great folks are with rarities taken,
Addle-eggs fhall be next courfe, toft up with rank Bacon.

Then fupper was ferv'd, and the sheets they were laid;
And Morley moft lovingly whifper'd the Maid.
The Maid! was fhe handfome? why truly fo-fo.
But what Morley whisper'd we never shall know.
Then up
rofe thefe Heroes as brifk as the fun,
And their horfes, like his, were prepared to run.

Now when in the morning Matt afk'd for the score,
John kindly had paid it the evening before.

Their breakfast fo warm to be fure they did eat,

A custom in travelers mighty difcreet;

And thus with great friendship and glee they went on, To find out the place you fhall hear of anon,

Call'd Down, down, hey derry down.

But what did they talk of from morning till noon? Why, of fpots in the fun, and the man in the moon; Of the Czar's gentle temper, the ftocks in the city, The wife men of Greece, and the Secret Committee.

So to Harlow they came; and, hey! where are you all? Shew us into the parlour, and mind when I call : Why, your Maids have no motion, your Men have no

life;

Well, Mafter, I hear you have bury'd your Wife.

Come this very inftant, take care to provide Tea, Sugar, and Toaft, and a Horfe and a Guide. Are the Harrisons here, both the old and the young? And where ftands fair Down, the delight of my fong?

O 'Squire, to the grief of my heart I may fay, I have bury'd two wives fince you travel'd this way; And the Harrisons both may be presently here; And Down ftands, I think, where it ftood the laft year.

Then Joan brought the Tea-pot, and Caleb the Toaft; And the Wine was froth'd out by the hand of mine hoft: But we clear'd our extempore banquet so fast,

That the Harrifons both were forgot in the haste.

Now hey for Down-hall! for the guide he was got;
The chariot was mounted; the horfes did trot;
The guide he did bring us a dozen miles round;
But oh! all in vain ; for no Down could be found.

O thou Popish Guide, thou haft led us astray.
Says he, How the Devil fhould I know the way?
I never yet travel'd this road in my life:
But Down lies on the left, I was told by my Wife.

Thy Wife, anfwer'd Matthew, when she went abroad, Ne'er told thee of half the by-ways fhe had trod : Perhaps the met friends, and brought pence to thy house, But thou shalt go home without ever a fouse.

What is this thing, Morley, and how can you mean it? We have loft our eftate here, before we have seen it. Have patience, soft Morley in anger reply'd : To find out our way, let us fend off our guide.

O here I spy Down, caft your eye to the West, Where a Wind-mill so stately stands plainly confest. On the Weft, reply'd Matthew, no Windmill I find : As well thou may'st tell me, I see the Weft-wind.

Now pardon me, Morley, the Wind-mill I fpy,
But, faithful Achates, no houfe is there nigh.
Look again, fays mild Morley; gadzooks! you are blind:
The Mill stands before; and the house lies behind.

O, now a low ruin'd white Shed I difcern,
Until'd and unglaz'd; 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.

A Houfe fhould be built, or with brick, or with stone. Why 'tis plafter and lath; and I think that's all one; And fuch as it is, it has ftood with great fame, Been called a Hall, and has given its name

To Down, down, hey derry down.

O Morley! O Morley! if that be a Hall, The fame with the building will fuddenly fall— With your friend Jemmy Gibbs about buildings agree; My business is land; and it matters not me.

I wish you could tell what a duce your head ails: I fhew'd you Down-Hall; did you look for Versailles? Then take house and farm as John Ballet will let you, For better for worse, as I took my Dame Betty. And now, Sir, a word to the wife is enough; You'll make very little of all your old stuff: And to build at your age, by my troth, you grow fimple! Are you young and rich, like the Master of Wimple *?

If you have thefe whims of apartments and gardens, From twice fifty acres you'll ne'er see five farthings: And in your's I shall find the true gentleman's fate; Ere you finish your houfe, you'll have fpent your estate.

Now let us touch thumbs, and be friends ere we part. Here, John, is my thumb. And, here, Mat, is my Heart. To Halftead I fpeed; and you go back to town. Thus ends the First Part of the Ballad of Down.

De ry down, down, hey derry down.

* Edward Earl of Oxford.