Chapter IV: Part 4

_Miss._ No, thank ye, Colonel; for they say, those that eat Black Pudden will dream of the Devil.

_Ld. Smart._ O, here comes the Venison-Pasty: Here, take the Soupe away.

_Ld. Smart._ [_He cuts it up, and tastes the Venison._] ’Sbuds! this Venison is musty.

[Neverout _eats a Piece, and it burns his Mouth_.

_Ld. Smart._ What’s the Matter, _Tom_? You have Tears in your Eyes, I think: What dost cry for, Man?

_Neverout._ My Lord, I was just thinking of my poor Grandmother; She died just this very Day Seven Years.

[Miss _takes a Bit, and burns her Mouth_.

_Neverout._ And, pray, Miss, why do you cry too?

_Miss._ Because you were not hang’d the Day your Grandmother died.

_Ld. Smart._ I’d have given Forty Pounds, Miss, to have said that.

_Col._ Egad, I think, the more I eat, the hungrier I am.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Why, Colonel, they say, one Shoulder of Mutton drives down another.

_Neverout._ Egad, if I were to fast for my Life, I would take a good Breakfast in the Morning, a good Dinner at Noon, and a good Supper at Night.

_Ld. Sparkish._ My Lord, this Venison is plaguily pepper’d; your Cook has a heavy Hand.

_Ld. Smart._ My Lord, I hope, you are Pepper-proof: Come, here’s a Health to the Founders.

_Lady Smart._ Ay; and to the Confounders too.

_Ld. Smart._ Lady _Answerall_, does not your Ladyship love Venison?

_Lady Answ._ No, my Lord, I can’t endure it in my Sight, therefore please to send me a good Piece of Meat and Crust.

_Ld. Sparkish_ [_drinks to Neverout._] Come, _Tom_; not always to my Friends, but once to you.

_Neverout_ [_drinks to Lady Smart._] Come, Madam; here’s a Health to our Friends, and hang the rest of our Kin.

_Lady Smart_ [_to Lady Answ._] Madam, will your Ladyship have any of this Hare?

_Lady Answ._ No, Madam; they say, ’tis melancholy Meat.

_Lady Smart._ Then, Madam, shall I send you the Brains? I beg your Ladyship’s Pardon; for they say, ’tis not good Manners to offer Brains.

_Lady Answ._ No, Madam; for perhaps it will make me hare-brain’d.

_Neverout._ Miss, I must tell you one thing.

_Miss_ [_with a Glass in her Hand._] Hold your Tongue, Mr. _Neverout_; don’t speak in my Tip.

_Col._ Well, he was an ingenious Man, that first found out Eating and Drinking.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Of all Vittles Drink digests the quickest: Give me a Glass of Wine.

_Neverout._ My Lord, your Wine is too strong.

_Ld. Smart._ Ay, _Tom_; as much as you are too good.

_Miss._ This Almond Pudden was pure good; but it is grown quite cold.

_Neverout._ So much the better, Miss; cold Pudden will settle your Love.

_Miss._ Pray, Mr. _Neverout_, are you going to take a Voyage?

_Neverout._ Why do you ask, Miss?

_Miss._ Because you have laid in so much Beef.

_Sir John._ You Two have eat up the whole Pudden betwixt you.

_Miss._ Sir _John_, here’s a little Bit left; will you please to have it?

_Sir John._ No, thankee; I don’t love to make a Fool of my Mouth.

_Col._ [_calling to the Butler._] _John_, is your Small Beer good?

_Butler._ An please your Honour, my Lord and Lady like it; I think it is good.

_Col._ Why then, _John_, d’yesee? if you are sure your Small Beer is good, d’yemark? Then, give me a Glass of Wine.

[_All laugh._

[_Colonel tasting the Wine._

_Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, how does your Neighbour _Gatherall_ of the _Peak_? I hear, he has lately made a Purchase.

_Sir John._ Oh, _Dick Gatherall_ knows how to butter his Bread, as well as any Man in _Darbyshire_.

_Ld. Smart._ Why, he us’d to go very fine, when he was here in Town.

_Sir John._ Ay; and it became him, as a Saddle becomes a Sow.

_Col._ I know his Lady, and I think she is a very good Woman.

_Sir John._ Faith, she has more Goodness in her little Finger, than he has in his whole Body.

_Ld. Smart._ Well, Colonel, how do you like that Wine?

_Col._ This Wine should be eaten; it is too good to be drunk.

_Ld. Smart._ I’m very glad you like it; and pray don’t spare it.

_Col._ No, my Lord; I’ll never starve in a Cook’s Shop.

_Ld. Smart._ And pray, Sir _John_, what do You say to my Wine?

_Sir John._ I’ll take another Glass first; second Thoughts are best.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Pray, Lady _Smart_, you sit near that Ham; will you please to send me a Bit?

_Lady Smart._ With all my Heart. [_She sends him a Piece._] Pray, my Lord, how do you like it?

_Ld. Sparkish._ I think it is a Limb of _Lot_’s Wife. [_He eats it with Mustard._] Egad, my Lord, your Mustard is very uncivil.

_Ld. Smart._ Why uncivil, my Lord?

_Ld. Sparkish._ Because it takes me by the Nose, egad.

_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, I find you are a very good Carver.

_Col._ O Madam, that is no Wonder; for you must know, _Tom Neverout_ carves a _Sundays_.

[Neverout _overturns the Salt-celler_.

_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, you have overturn’d the Salt, and that’s a Sign of Anger: I’m afraid, Miss and You will fall out.

_Lady Answ._ No, no; throw a little of it into the Fire, and all will be well.

_Neverout._ O Madam, the falling out of Lovers, you know.

_Miss._ Lovers! very fine! fall out with Him! I wonder when we were in!

_Sir John._ For my Part, I believe, the young Gentlewoman is his Sweetheart; there’s so much Fooling and Fidling betwixt them: I’m sure, they say in our Country, that — — — is the Beginning of Love.

_Miss._ I own, I love Mr. _Neverout_, as the Devil loves Holy Water; I love him like Pye, I’d rather the Devil had him than I.

_Neverout._ Miss, I’ll tell you one thing.

_Miss._ Come, here’s t’ ye, to stop your Mouth.

_Neverout._ I’d rather you would stop it with a Kiss.

_Miss._ A Kiss! marry come up, my dirty Cousin; are you no sicker? Lord, I wonder what Fool it was that first invented Kissing!

_Neverout._ Well, I’m very dry.

_Miss._ Then you’re the better to burn, and the worse to fry.

_Lady Answ._ God bless you, Colonel; you have a good Stroke with you.

_Col._ O Madam; formerly I could eat all, but now I leave nothing; I eat but one Meal a Day.

_Miss._ What! I suppose, Colonel, that’s from Morning till Night.

_Neverout._ Faith, Miss; and well was his Wont.

_Ld. Smart._ Pray, Lady _Answerall_, taste this Bit of Venison.

_Lady Answ._ I hope, your Lordship will set me a good Example.

_Ld. Smart._ Here’s a Glass of Cyder fill’d: Miss, you must drink it.

_Miss._ Indeed, my Lord, I can’t.

_Neverout._ Come, Miss; better Belly burst, than good Liquor be lost.

_Miss._ Pish! well in Life there was never any thing so teizing; I had rather shed it in my Shoes: I wish it were in your Guts, for my Share.

_Ld. Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, you han’t tasted my Cyder yet.

_Neverout._ No, my Lord: I have been just eating Soupe; and they say, if one drinks in one’s Porridge, one will cough in one’s Grave.

_Ld. Smart._ Come, take Miss’s Glass, she wish’d it was in your Guts; let her have her Wish for once: Ladies can’t abide to have their Inclinations cross’d.

_Lady Smart_ [_to Sir John._] I think, Sir _John_, you have not tasted the Venison yet.

_Sir John._ I seldom eat it, Madam: However, please to send me a little of the Crust.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Why, Sir _John_, you had as good eat the Devil as the Broth he’s boil’d in.

_Col._ Well, this Eating and Drinking takes away a body’s Stomach, as Lady _Answerall_ says.

_Neverout._ I have dined as well as my Lord Mayor.

_Miss._ I thought I could have eaten this Wing of a Chicken; but my Eye’s bigger than my Belly.

_Ld. Smart._ Indeed, Lady _Answerall_, you have eaten nothing.

_Lady Answ._ Pray, my Lord, see all the Bones on my Plate: They say, a Carpenter’s known by his Chips.

_Neverout._ Miss, will you reach me that Glass of Jelly?

_Miss_ [_giving it to him._] You see, ’tis but ask and have.

_Neverout._ Miss, I would have a bigger Glass.

_Miss._ What! you don’t know your own Mind; you are neither well, full nor fasting; I think that is enough.

_Neverout._ Ay, one of the Enough’s; I am sure it is little enough.

_Miss._ Yes; but you know, sweet Things are bad for the Teeth.

_Neverout_ [_to Lady Answ._] Madam, I don’t like that Part of the Veal you sent me.

_Lady Answ._ Well, Mr. _Neverout_, I find you are a true _Englishman_; you never know when you are well.

_Col._ Well, I have made my whole Dinner of Beef.

_Lady Answ._ Why, Colonel, a Belly-full’s a Belly-full, if it be but of Wheat-straw.

_Col._ Well, after all, Kitchen-Physic is the best Physic.

_Ld. Smart._ And the best Doctors in the World are Doctor _Dyet_, Doctor _Quiet_, and Doctor _Merryman_.

_Ld. Sparkish._ What do you think of a little House well fill’d?

_Sir John._ And a little Land well till’d?

_Col._ Ay; and a little Wife well will’d?

_Neverout._ My Lady _Smart_, pray help me to some of the Breast of that Goose.

_Ld. Smart._ _Tom_, I have heard, that Goose upon Goose is false Heraldry.

_Miss._ What! will you never have done stuffing?

_Ld. Smart._ This Goose is quite raw: Well, God sends Meat, but the Devil sends Cooks.

_Neverout._ Miss, can you tell which is the white Goose, or the gray Goose the Gander?

_Miss._ They say, a Fool will ask more Questions than the wisest body can answer.

_Col._ Indeed, Miss, _Tom Neverout_ has posed you.

_Miss._ Why, Colonel, every Dog has his Day; but, I believe, I shall never see a Goose again without thinking on Mr. _Neverout_.

_Ld. Smart._ Well said, Miss; faith. Girl, thou hast brought thyself off cleverly. _Tom_, what say you to that?

_Col._ Faith, _Tom_ is nonplust; he looks plaguily down in the Mouth.

_Miss._ Why, my Lord, you see he is the provokingest Creature in Life; I believe there is not such another in the varsal World.

_Lady Answ._ Oh, Miss! the World’s a wide Place.

_Neverout._ Well, Miss, I’ll give you Leave to call me any thing, if you don’t call me Spade.

_Ld. Smart._ Well, but, after all, _Tom_, can you tell me what’s _Latin_ for a Goose.

_Neverout._ O my Lord, I know that; why _Brandy_ is _Latin_ for a Goose, and _Tace_ is _Latin_ for a Candle.

_Miss._ Is that Manners, to shew your Learning before Ladies? Methinks you are grown very brisk of a sudden; I think the Man’s glad he’s alive.

_Sir John._ The Devil take your Wit, if this be Wit; for it spoils Company: Pray, Mr. _Butler_, bring me a Dram after my Goose; ’tis very good for the Wholsoms.

_Ld. Smart._ Come, bring me the Loaf; I sometimes love to cut my own Bread.

_Miss._ I suppose, my Lord, you lay longest a Bed To-day.

_Ld. Smart._ Miss, if I had said so, I should have told a Fib; I warrant you lay a Bed till the Cows came Home: But, Miss, shall I cut you a little Crust now my Hand is in?

_Miss._ If you please, my Lord, a Bit of Under-crust.

_Neverout._ [_whispering Miss._] I find, you love to lie under.

_Miss._ _aloud_ [_pushing him from her._] What does the Man mean! Sir, I don’t understand you at all.

_Neverout._ Come, all Quarrels laid aside: Here, Miss, may you live a thousand Years.

[_He drinks to her._

_Miss._ Pray, Sir, don’t stint me.

_Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, will you taste my _October_? I think it is very good; but I believe not equal to yours in _Darbyshire_.

_Sir John._ My Lord, I beg your Pardon; but they say, the Devil made Askers.

_Ld. Smart._ [_to the Butler._] Here, bring up the great Tankard full of _October_ for Sir _John_.

_Col._ [_drinking to Miss._] Miss, your Health; may you live all the Days of your Life.

_Lady Answ._ Well, Miss, you’ll certainly be soon marry’d; here’s Two Batchelors drinking to you at once.

_Lady Smart._ Indeed, Miss, I believe you were wrapt in your Mother’s Smock, you are so well belov’d.

_Miss._ Where’s my Knife? Sure I han’t eaten it. Oh! here it is.

_Sir John._ No, Miss; but your Maidenhead hangs in your Light.

_Miss._ Pray, Sir _John_, is that a _Darbyshire_ Compliment? Here, Mr. _Neverout_, will you take this Piece of Rabbit that you bid me carve for you?

_Neverout._ I don’t know.

_Miss._ Why, take it, or let it alone.

_Neverout._ I will.

_Miss._ What will you?

_Neverout._ Why, I’ll take it, or let it alone.

_Miss._ You are a provoking Creature.

_Sir John_ [_talking with a Glass of Wine in his Hand._] I remember a Farmer in our Country——

_Ld. Smart_ [_interrupting him._] Pray, Sir _John_, did you ever hear of Parson _Palmer_?

_Sir John._ No, my Lord; what of him?

_Ld. Smart._ Why, he used to preach over his Liquor.

_Sir John._ I beg your Pardon; here’s your Lordship’s Health: I’d drink it up, if it were a Mile to the Bottom.

_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, have you been at the new Play?

_Neverout._ Yes, Madam; I went the first Night.

_Lady Smart._ Well; and how did it take?

_Neverout._ Why, Madam, the Poet is damn’d.

_Sir John._ God forgive you! that’s very uncharitable: you ought not to judge so rashly of any Christian.

_Neverout_ [_whispers Lady Smart._] Was ever such a Dunce? How well he knows the Town! see, how he stares like a Stuck-Pig! Well, but, Sir _John_, are you acquainted with any of our fine Ladies yet? any of our famous Toasts?

_Sir John._ No; damn your Fireships, I have a Wife of my own.

_Lady Smart._ Pray, my Lady _Answerall_, how do you like these preserv’d Oranges?

_Lady Answ._ Indeed, Madam, the only Fault I find is, that they are too good.

_Lady Smart._ O Madam; I have heard ’em say, that too good is stark naught.

[Miss _drinking Part of a Glass of Wine_.

_Neverout._ Pray, let me drink your Snuff.

_Miss._ No, indeed; you shan’t drink after me, for you’ll know my Thoughts.

_Neverout._ I know them already; you are thinking of a good Husband: Besides, I can tell your Meaning by your Mumping.

_Lady Smart._ Pray, my Lord, did not you order the Butler to bring up a Tankard of our _October_ to Sir _John_? I believe, they stay to brew it.

[_The_ Butler _brings up the Tankard to_ Sir John.

_Sir John._ Won’t your Ladyship please to drink first?

_Lady Smart._ No, Sir _John_; ’tis in a very good Hand; I’ll pledge you.

_Col._ [_to Ld. Smart._] My Lord, I love _October_ as well as Sir _John_; and I hope, you won’t make Fish of one, and Flesh of another.

_Ld. Smart._ Colonel, you’re heartily welcome. Come, Sir _John_, take it by Word of Mouth, and then give it the Colonel.

[Sir John _drinks_.

_Ld. Smart._ Well, Sir _John_, how do you like it?

_Sir John._ Not as well as my own in _Darbyshire_; ’tis plaguy small.

_Lady Smart._ I never taste Malt Liquor; but they say, ’tis well hopt.

_Sir John._ Hopt! why, if it had hopp’d a little further, it would have hopp’d into the River. O my Lord, my Ale is Meat, Drink and Cloth; it will make a Cat speak, and a wise Man dumb.

_Lady Smart._ I was told, ours was very strong.

_Sir John._ Ay, Madam, strong of the Water; I believe the Brewer forgot the Malt, or the River was too near him: Faith, it is mere Whip-Belly-Vengeance; he that drinks most has the worst Share.

_Col._ I believe, Sir _John_, Ale is as Plenty as Water at your House.

_Sir John._ Why, faith, at _Christmas_ we have many Comers and Goers; and they must not be sent away without a Cup of _Christmas_ Ale, for fear they should —— behind the Door.

_Lady Smart._ I hear, Sir _John_ has the nicest Garden in _England_; they say, ’tis kept so clean, that you can’t find a Place where to spit.

_Sir John._ O Madam; you are pleased to say so.

_Lady Smart._ But, Sir _John_, your Ale is terrible strong and heady in _Derbyshire_, and will soon make one drunk and sick; what do you then?

_Sir John._ Why, indeed, it is apt to fox one; but our Way is, to take a Hair of the same Dog next Morning.——I take a new-laid Egg for Breakfast; and, faith, one should drink as much after an Egg as after an Ox.

_Ld. Smart._ _Tom Neverout_, will you taste a Glass of the _October_?

_Neverout._ No, faith, my Lord; I like your Wine, and I won’t put a Churle upon a Gentleman; your Honour’s Claret is good enough for me.

_Lady Smart._ What! is this Pigeon left for Manners? Colonel, shall I send you the Legs and Rump?

_Col._ Madam, I could not eat a Bit more, if the House was full.

_Ld. Smart_ [_carving a Partridge._] Well; one may ride to _Rumford_ upon this Knife, it is so blunt.

_Lady Answ._ My Lord, I beg your Pardon; but they say, an ill Workman never had good Tools.

_Ld. Smart._ Will your Lordship have a Wing of it?

_Ld. Sparkish._ No, my Lord; I love the Wing of an Ox a great deal better.

_Ld. Smart._ I’m always cold after Eating.

_Col._ My Lord, they say, that’s a Sign of long Life.

_Ld. Smart._ Ay; I believe I shall live till all my Friends are weary of me.

_Col._ Pray, does any body here hate Cheese? I would be glad of a Bit.

_Ld. Smart._ An odd kind of Fellow dined with me t’other Day; and when the Cheese came upon the Table, he pretended to faint; so somebody said, Pray, take away the Cheese; No, said I; pray, take away the Fool: Said I well?

[_Here a large and loud Laugh._

_Col._ Faith, my Lord, you serv’d the Coxcomb right enough; and therefore I wish we had a Bit of your Lordship’s _Oxfordshire_ Cheese.

_Ld. Smart._ Come, hang Saving; bring us a Halfporth of Cheese.

_Lady Answ._ They say, Cheese digests every thing but itself.

[_A Footman brings a great whole Cheese._

_Ld. Sparkish._ Ay; this would look handsome, if any body should come in.

_Sir John._ Well; I’m weily rosten, as they sayn in _Lancashire_.

_Lady Smart._ Oh! Sir _John_; I wou’d I had something to brost you withal.

_Ld. Smart._ Come; they say, ’tis merry in Hall, when Beards wag all.

_Lady Smart._ Miss, shall I help you to some Cheese? or will you carve for yourself?

_Neverout._ I’ll hold Fifty Pounds, Miss won’t cut the Cheese.

_Miss._ Pray, why so, Mr. _Neverout_?

_Neverout._ Oh there is a Reason, and you know it well enough.

_Miss._ I can’t for my Life understand what the Gentleman means.

_Ld. Smart._ Pray, _Tom_, change the Discourse; in Troth you are too bad.

_Col._ [_whispers Neverout._] Smoke Miss; faith, you have made her fret like Gum Taffety.

_Lady Smart._ Well, but Miss; (hold your Tongue, Mr. _Neverout_) shall I cut you a Piece of Cheese?

_Miss._ No, really, Madam; I have dined this half Hour.

_Lady Smart._ What! quick at Meat, quick at Work, they say.

[Sir John _nods_.

_Ld. Smart._ What! are you sleepy, Sir _John_? do you sleep after Dinner?

_Sir John._ Yes, faith; I sometimes take a Nap after my Pipe; for when the Belly is full, the Bones will be at Rest.

_Ld. Smart._ Come, Colonel; help yourself, and your Friends will love you the better. [_To Lady Answ._] Madam, your Ladyship eats nothing.

_Lady Answ._ Lord, Madam, I have fed like a Farmer; I shall grow as fat as a Porpoise; I swear my Jaws are weary of chawing.

_Col._ I have a Mind to eat a Piece of that Sturgeon; but fear it will make me sick.

_Neverout._ A rare Soldier indeed! Let it alone, and I warrant it won’t hurt you.

_Col._ Well; but it would vex a Dog to see a Pudden creep.

[Sir John _rises_.

_Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, what are you doing?

_Sir John._ Swolks, I must be going, by’r Lady; I have earnest Business; I must do as the Beggars do, go away when I have got enough.

_Ld. Smart._ Well, but stay till this Bottle’s out; you know, the Man was hang’d that left his Liquor behind him: And besides, a Cup in the Pate is a Mile in the Gate; and a Spur in the Head is worth two in the Heel.

_Sir John._ Come then; one Brimmer to all your Healths. [_The Footman gives him a Glass half full._] Pray, Friend, what was the rest of this Glass made for? An Inch at the Top, Friend, is worth two at the Bottom. [_He gets a Brimmer, and drinks it off._] Well, there’s no Deceit in a Brimmer, and there’s no false _Latin_ in this; your Wine is excellent good, so I thank you for the next, for I am sure of this: Madam, has your Ladyship any Commands in _Darbyshire_? I must go Fifteen Miles To-night.

_Lady Smart._ None, Sir _John_, but to take Care of Yourself; and my most humble Service to your Lady unknown.

_Sir John._ Well, Madam, I can but love and thank you.

_Lady Smart._ Here, bring Water to wash; tho’, really, you have all eaten so little, that you have no need to wash your Mouths.——

_Ld. Smart._ But, pr’ythee, Sir _John_, stay awhile longer.

_Sir John._ No, my Lord; I am to smoke a Pipe with a Friend before I leave the Town.

_Col._ Why, Sir _John_, had not you better set out To-morrow?

_Sir John._ Colonel, you forget To-morrow is _Sunday_.

_Col._ Now I always love to begin a Journey on _Sundays_, because I shall have the Prayers of the Church, to preserve all that travel by Land, or by Water.

_Sir John._ Well, Colonel; thou art a mad Fellow to make a Priest of.

_Neverout._ Fie, Sir _John_, do you take Tobacco? How can you make a Chimney of your Mouth?

_Sir John_ [_to Neverout._] What! you don’t smoke, I warrant you, but you smock. (Ladies, I beg your Pardon.) Colonel, do you never smoke?

_Col._ No, Sir _John_; but I take a Pipe sometimes.

_Sir John._ I’faith, one of your finical _London_ Blades dined with me last Year in _Darbyshire_; so, after Dinner, I took a Pipe; so my Gentleman turn’d away his Head: So, said I, What, Sir, do you never smoke? So, he answered as you do, Colonel; No, but I sometimes take a Pipe: So, he took a Pipe in his Hand, and fiddled with it till he broke it: So, said I, Pray, Sir, can you make a Pipe? So, he said No; so, said I, Why, then, Sir, if you can’t make a Pipe, you should not break a Pipe; so, we all laugh’d.

_Ld. Smart._ Well; but, Sir _John_, they say, that the Corruption of Pipes is the Generation of Stoppers.

_Sir John._ Colonel, I hear, you go sometimes to _Darbyshire_; I wish you would come and foul a Plate with me.

_Col._ I hope, you’ll give me a Soldier’s Bottle.

_Sir John._ Come, and try. Mr. _Neverout_, you are a Town-Wit, can you tell me what kind of Herb is Tobacco?

_Neverout._ Why, an _Indian_ Herb, Sir _John_.

_Sir John._ No,’tis a Pot Herb; and so here’s t’ye in a Pot of my Lord’s _October_.

_Lady Smart._ I hear, Sir _John_, since you are married, you have forsworn the Town.

_Sir John._ No, Madam; I never forswore any thing but building of Churches.

_Lady Smart._ Well; but, Sir _John_, when may we hope to see you again in _London_?

_Sir John._ Why, Madam, not till the Ducks have eat up the Dirt; as the Children say.

_Neverout._ Come, Sir _John_; I foresee it will rain terribly.

_Lady Smart._ Come, Sir _John_, do nothing rashly; let us drink first.

_Ld. Sparkish._ I know Sir _John_ will go, tho’ he was sure it would rain Cats and Dogs: But pray, stay, Sir _John_; you’ll be time enough to go to Bed by Candle-light.

_Ld. Smart._ Why, Sir _John_, if you must needs go; while you stay, make good Use of your Time: Here’s my Service to you, a Health to our Friends in _Darbyshire_: Come, sit down; let us put off the evil Hour as long as we can.

_Sir John._ Faith, I could not drink a Drop more, if the House was full.

_Col._ Why, Sir _John_, you used to love a Glass of good Wine in former Times.

_Sir John._ Why, so I do still, Colonel; but a Man may love his House very well, without riding on the Ridge: Besides, I must be with my Wife on _Tuesday_, or there will be the Devil and all to pay.

_Col._ Well, if you go To-day, I wish you may be wet to the Skin.

_Sir John._ Ay; but they say, the Prayers of the Wicked won’t prevail.

[Sir John _takes Leave, and goes away_.

_Ld. Smart._ Well, Miss, how do you like Sir _John_?

_Miss._ Why, I think, he’s a little upon the silly, or so: I believe, he has not all the Wit in the World; but I don’t pretend to be a Judge.

_Neverout._ Faith, I believe, he was bred at _Hogs-Norton_, where the Pigs play upon the Organs.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Why, _Tom_, I thought You and He were Hand and Glove.

_Neverout._ Faith, he shall have a clean Threshold for me; I never darkned his Door in my Life, neither in Town nor Country; but he’s a quere old Duke by my Conscience; and yet, after all, I take him to be more Knave than Fool.

_Lady Smart._ Well, come; a Man’s a Man, if he has but a Nose on his Head.

_Col._ I was once with Him and some other Company over a Bottle; and, egad, he fell asleep, and snor’d so hard, that we thought he was driving his Hogs to Market.

_Neverout._ Why, what! you can have no more of a Cat than her Skin; you can’t make a Silk Purse out of a Sow’s Ear.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Well, since he’s gone, the Devil go with him and Sixpence; and there’s Money and Company too.

_Neverout._ Faith, he’s a true Country Put. Pray, Miss, let me ask you a Question?

_Miss._ Well; but don’t ask Questions with a dirty Face: I warrant, what you have to say will keep cold.

_Col._ Come, my Lord, against you are disposed; Here’s to all that love and honour you.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Ay, that was always _Dick Nimble_’s Health. I’m sure you know he’s dead.

_Col._ Dead! Well, my Lord, you love to be a Messenger of ill News: I’m heartily sorry; but, my Lord, we must all die.

_Neverout._ I knew him very well: But, pray, how came he to die?

_Miss._ There’s a Question! you talk like a Poticary: Why, because he could live no longer.

_Neverout._ Well; rest his Soul: We must live by the Living, and not by the Dead.

_Ld. Sparkish._ You know, his House was burnt down to the Ground.

_Col._ Yes; it was in the News: Why Fire and Water are good Servants, but they are very bad Masters.

_Ld. Smart._ Here, take away, and set down a Bottle of _Burgundy_: Ladies, you’ll stay, and drink a Glass of Wine before you go to your Tea.

[_All taken away, and the Wine set down_, &c.

[Miss _gives_ Neverout _a smart Pinch_.

_Neverout._ Lord, Miss, what d’ye mean! D’ye think I have no Feeling?

_Miss._ I’m forc’d to pinch, for the Times are hard.

_Neverout_ [_giving Miss a Pinch._] Take that, Miss; what’s Sauce for a Goose is for a Gander.

_Miss_ [_screaming._] Well, Mr. _Neverout_, if I live, that shall neither go to Heaven nor Hell with you.

_Neverout_ [_takes Miss’s Hand._] Come, Miss; let us lay all Quarrels aside, and be Friends.

_Miss._ Don’t be so teizing! You plague a body so!——Can’t you keep your filthy Hands to yourself?

_Neverout._ Pray, Miss, where did you get that Pick-Tooth Case?

_Miss._ I came honestly by it.

_Neverout._ I’m sure it was mine, for I lost just such a one; nay, I don’t tell you a Lye.

_Miss._ No; if You lye, it is much.

_Neverout._ Well; I’m sure ’tis mine.

_Miss._ What! you think every Thing is yours, but a little the King has.

_Neverout._ Colonel, you have seen my fine Pick-Tooth Case; don’t you think this is the very same?

_Col._ Indeed, Miss, it is very like it.

_Miss._ Ay; what he says, you’ll swear.

_Neverout._ Well; but I’ll prove it to be mine.

_Miss._ Ay; do if you can.

_Neverout._ Why, what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is my own.

_Miss._ Well, run on till you’re weary, nobody holds you.

[Neverout _gapes_.

_Col._ What, Mr. _Neverout_, do you gape for Preferment?

_Neverout._ Faith, I may gape long enough, before it falls into my Mouth.

_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, my Lord and I intend to beat up your Quarters one of these Days: I hear, you live high.

_Neverout._ Yes, faith, Madam; live high, and lodge in a Garret.

_Col._ But, Miss, I forgot to tell you, that Mr. _Neverout_ got the devilishest Fall in the Park To-day.

_Miss._ I hope he did not hurt the Ground: But how was it, Mr. _Neverout_? I wish I had been there, to laugh.

_Neverout._ Why, Madam, it was a Place where a Cuckold has been bury’d, and one of his Horns sticking out, I happened to stumble against it; that was all.

_Lady Smart._ Ladies, let us leave the Gentlemen to themselves; I think it is Time to go to our Tea.

_Lady Answ._ & _Miss._ My Lords and Gentlemen, your most humble Servant.

_Ld. Smart._ Well, Ladies, we’ll wait on you an Hour hence.

[_The Gentlemen alone._

_Ld. Smart._ Come, _John_, bring us a fresh Bottle.

_Col._ Ay, my Lord; and, pray, let him carry off the dead Men (as we say in the Army.)

[_Meaning the empty Bottles._

_Ld. Sparkish._ Mr. _Neverout_, pray, is not that Bottle full?

_Neverout._ Yes, my Lord; full of Emptiness.

_Ld. Smart._ And, d’ye hear, _John_? bring clean Glasses.

_Col._ I’ll keep mine; for I think, the Wine is the best Liquor to wash Glasses in.

POLITE CONVERSATION, ETC.

DIALOGUE III.

_The Ladies at their Tea._

_Lady Smart._ Well, Ladies; now let us have a Cup of Discourse to ourselves.

_Lady Answ._ What do you think of your Friend, Sir _John Spendall_?

_Lady Smart._ Why, Madam,’tis happy for him, that his Father was born before him.

_Miss._ They say, he makes a very ill Husband to my Lady.

_Lady Answ._ But he must be allow’d to be the fondest Father in the World.

_Lady Smart._ Ay, Madam, that’s true; for they say, the Devil is kind to his own.

_Miss._ I am told, my Lady manages him to Admiration.

_Lady Smart._ That I believe; for she’s as cunning as a dead Pig; but not half so honest.

_Lady Answ._ They say, she’s quite a Stranger to all his Gallantries.

_Lady Smart._ Not at all; but, you know, there’s none so blind as they that won’t see.

_Miss._ O Madam, I am told, she watches him, as a Cat would watch a Mouse.

_Lady Answ._ Well, if she ben’t foully belied, she pays him in his own Coin.

_Lady Smart._ Madam, I fancy I know your Thoughts, as well as if I were within you.

_Lady Answ._ Madam, I was t’other Day in Company with Mrs. _Clatter_; I find she gives herself Airs of being acquainted with your Ladyship.

_Miss._ Oh, the hideous Creature! did you observe her Nails? they were long enough to scratch her Granum out of her Grave.

_Lady Smart._ Well, She and _Tom Gosling_ were banging Compliments backwards and forwards; it look’d like Two Asses scrubbing one another.

_Miss._ Ay, claw me, and I’ll claw thou: But, pray, Madam; who were the Company?

_Lady Smart._ Why, there was all the World, and his Wife; there was Mrs. _Clatter_, Lady _Singular_, the Countess of _Talkham_, (I should have named her first;) _Tom Goslin_, and some others, whom I have forgot.

_Lady Answ._ I think the Countess is very sickly.

_Lady Smart._ Yes, Madam; she’ll never scratch a grey Head, I promise her.

_Miss._ And, pray, what was your Conversation?

_Lady Smart._ Why, Mrs. _Clatter_ had all the Talk to herself, and was perpetually complaining of her Misfortunes.

_Lady Answ._ She brought her Husband Ten Thousand Pounds; she has a Town-House and Country-house: Would the Woman have her —— hung with Points?

_Lady Smart._ She would fain be at the Top of the House before the Stairs are built.

_Miss._ Well, Comparisons are odious; but she’s as like her Husband, as if she were spit out of his Mouth; as like as one Egg is to another: Pray, how was she drest?

_Lady Smart._ Why, she was as fine as Fi’pence; but, truly, I thought, there was more Cost than Worship.

_Lady Answ._ I don’t know her Husband: Pray, what is he?

_Lady Smart._ Why, he’s a Concealer of the Law; you must know, he came to us as drunk as _David_’s Sow.

_Miss._ What kind of Creature is he?

_Lady Smart._ You must know, the Man and his Wife are coupled like Rabbets, a fat and a lean; he’s as fat as a Porpus, and she’s one of _Pharaoh_’s lean Kine: The Ladies and _Tom Gosling_ were proposing a Party at Quadrille, but he refus’d to make one: Damn your Cards, said he, they are the Devil’s Books.

_Lady Answ._ A dull unmannerly Brute! Well, God send him more Wit, and me more Money.

_Miss._ Lord! Madam, I would not keep such Company for the World.

_Lady Smart._ O Miss, ’tis nothing when you are used to it: Besides, you know, for Want of Company, welcome Trumpery.

_Miss._ Did your Ladyship play?

_Lady Smart._ Yes, and won; so I came off with Fidlers Fare, Meat, Drink, and Money.

_Lady Answ._ Ay; what says _Pluck_?

_Miss._ Well, my Elbow itches; I shall change Bed-fellows.

_Lady Smart._ And my Right Hand itches; I shall receive Money.

_Lady Answ._ And my Right Eye itches; I shall cry.

_Lady Smart._ Miss, I hear your Friend Mistress _Giddy_ has discarded _Dick Shuttle_: Pray, has she got another Lover?

_Miss._ I hear of none.

_Lady Smart._ Why, the Fellow’s rich; and I think she was a Fool to throw out her dirty Water before she got clean.

_Lady Answ._ Miss, that’s a very handsome Gown of yours, and finely made; very genteel.

_Miss._ I’m glad your Ladyship likes it.

_Lady Answ._ Your Lover will be in Raptures; it becomes you admirably.

_Miss._ Ay; I assure you I won’t take it as I have done; if this won’t fetch him, the Devil fetch him, say I.

_Lady Smart_ [_to Lady Answ._] Pray, Madam, when did you see Sir _Peter Muckworm_?

_Lady Answ._ Not this Fortnight; I hear, he’s laid up with the Gout.

_Lady Smart._ What does he do for it?

_Lady Answ._ Why I hear he’s weary of doctoring it, and now makes Use of nothing but Patience and Flannel.

_Miss._ Pray, how does He and my Lady agree?

_Lady Answ._ You know, he loves her as the Devil loves Holy Water.

_Miss._ They say, she plays deep with Sharpers, that cheat her of her Money.

_Lady Answ._ Upon my Word, they must rise early that would cheat her of her Money; Sharp’s the Word with her; Diamonds cut Diamonds.

_Miss._ Well, but I was assur’d from a good Hand that she lost at one Sitting to the Tune of a hundred Guineas; make Money of that.

_Lady Smart._ Well, but do you hear, that Mrs. _Plump_ is brought to Bed at last?

_Miss._ And, pray, what has God sent her?

_Lady Smart._ Why, guess, if you can.

_Miss._ A Boy, I suppose.

_Lady Smart._ No, you are out; guess again.

_Miss._ A Girl then.

_Lady Smart._ You have hit it; I believe you are a Witch.

_Miss._ O Madam; the Gentlemen say, all fine Ladies are Witches; but I pretend to no such thing.

_Lady Answ._ Well, she had good Luck to draw _Tom Plump_ into Wedlock; she ris’ with her —— upwards.

_Miss._ Fie, Madam! what do you mean?

_Lady Smart._ O Miss; ’tis nothing what we say among ourselves.

_Miss._ Ay, Madam; but they say, Hedges have Eyes, and Walls have Ears.

_Lady Answ._ Well, Miss, I can’t help it; you know, I am old Tell-Truth; I love to call a Spade a Spade.

_Lady Smart_ [_mistakes the Tea-tongs for the Spoon._] What! I think my Wits are a Wool-gathering To-day.

_Miss._ Why, Madam, there was but a Right and a Wrong.

_Lady Smart._ Miss, I hear, that You and Lady _Coupler_ are as great as Cup and Can.

_Lady Answ._ Ay, Miss; as great as the Devil and the Earl of _Kent_.

_Lady Smart._ Nay, I am told, you meet together with as much Love, as there is between the old Cow and the Hay-stack.

_Miss._ I own, I love her very well; but there’s Difference betwixt staring and stark mad.

_Lady Smart._ They say, she begins to grow fat.

_Miss._ Fat! ay, fat as a Hen in the Forehead.

_Lady Smart._ Indeed, Lady _Answerall_, (pray, forgive me) I think, your Ladyship looks thinner than when I saw you last.

_Miss._ Indeed, Madam, I think not; but your Ladyship is one of _Job_’s Comforters.

_Lady Answ._ Well, no matter how I look; I am bought and sold: but really, Miss, you are so very obliging, that I wish I were a handsome young Lord for your Sake.

_Miss._ O Madam, your Love’s a Million.

_Lady Smart_ [_to Lady Answ._] Madam, will your Ladyship let me wait on you to the Play To-morrow?

_Lady Answ._ Madam, it becomes me to wait on your Ladyship.

_Miss._ What, then, I’m turn’d out for a Wrangler.

[_The Gentlemen come in to the Ladies to drink Tea._

_Miss._ Mr. _Neverout_, we wanted you sadly; you are always out of the Way when you should be hang’d.

_Neverout._ You wanted me! Pray, Miss, how do you look when you lye?

_Miss._ Better than you when you cry. Manners indeed! I find, you mend like sour Ale in Summer.

_Neverout._ I beg your Pardon, Miss; I only meant, when you lie alone.

_Miss._ That’s well turn’d; one Turn more would have turn’d you down Stairs.

_Neverout._ Come, Miss; be kind for once, and order me a Dish of Coffee.

_Miss._ Pray, go yourself; let us wear out the oldest first: Besides, I can’t go, for I have a Bone in my Leg.

_Col._ They say, a Woman need but look on her Apron-string to find an Excuse.

_Neverout._ Why, Miss, you are grown so peevish, a Dog would not live with you.

_Miss._ Mr. _Neverout_, I beg your Diversion; no Offence, I hope: but truly in a little time you intend to make the Colonel as bad as yourself; and that’s as bad as bad can.

_Neverout._ My Lord, don’t you think Miss improves wonderfully of late? Why, Miss, if I spoil the Colonel, I hope you will use him as you do me; for, you know, love me, love my Dog.

_Col._ How’s that, _Tom_? Say that again: Why, if I am a Dog, shake Hands, Brother.

[_Here a great, loud, long Laugh._

_Ld. Smart._ But, pray, Gentlemen, why always so severe upon poor Miss? On my Conscience, Colonel and _Tom Neverout_, one of you two are both Knaves.

_Col._ My Lady _Answerall_, I intend to do myself the Honour of dining with your Ladyship To-morrow.

_Lady Answ._ Ay, Colonel; do if you can.

_Miss._ I’m sure you’ll be glad to be welcome.

_Col._ Miss, I thank you; and, to reward You, I’ll come and drink Tea with you in the Morning.

_Miss._ Colonel, there’s Two Words to that Bargain.

_Col._ [_to Lady Smart._] Your Ladyship has a very fine Watch; well may you wear it.

_Lady Smart._ It is none of mine, Colonel.

_Col._ Pray, whose is it then?

_Lady Smart._ Why, ’tis my Lord’s; for they say, a marry’d Woman has nothing of her own, but her Wedding-Ring and her Hair-Lace: But if Women had been the Law-Makers, it would have been better.

_Col._ This Watch seems to be quite new.

_Lady Smart._ No, Sir; it has been Twenty Years in my Lord’s Family; but _Quare_ put a new Case and Dial-Plate to it.

_Neverout._ Why, that’s for all the World like the Man who swore he kept the same Knife forty Years, only he sometimes changed the Haft, and sometimes the Blade.

_Ld. Smart._ Well, _Tom_, to give the Devil his Due, thou art a right Woman’s Man.

_Col._ Odd-so! I have broke the Hinge of my Snuff-box; I’m undone beside the Loss.

_Miss._ Alack-a-day, Colonel! I vow I had rather have found Forty Shillings.

_Neverout._ Why, Colonel; all that I can say to comfort you, is, that you must mend it with a new one.

[Miss _laughs_.

_Col._ What, Miss! you can’t laugh, but you must shew your Teeth.

_Miss._ I’m sure you shew your Teeth when you can’t bite: Well, thus it must be, if we sell Ale.

_Neverout._ Miss, you smell very sweet; I hope you don’t carry Perfumes.

_Miss._ Perfumes! No, Sir; I’d have you to know, it is nothing but the Grain of my Skin.

_Col._ _Tom_, you have a good Nose to make a poor Man’s Sow.

_Ld. Sparkish._ So, Ladies and Gentlemen, methinks you are very witty upon one another: Come, box it about; ’twill come to my Father at last.

_Col._ Why, my Lord, you see Miss has no Mercy; I wish she were marry’d; but I doubt, the grey Mare would prove the better Horse.

_Miss._ Well, God forgive you for that Wish.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Never fear him, Miss.

_Miss._ What, my Lord, do you think I was born in a Wood, to be afraid of an Owl?

_Ld. Smart._ What have you to say to that, Colonel?

_Neverout._ O my Lord, my Friend the Colonel scorns to set his Wit against a Child.

_Miss._ Scornful Dogs will eat dirty Puddens.

_Col._ Well, Miss; they say, a Woman’s Tongue is the last thing about her that dies; therefore let’s kiss and Friends.

_Miss._ Hands off! that’s Meat for your Master.

_Ld. Sparkish._ Faith, Colonel, you are for Ale and Cakes: But after all, Miss, you are too severe; you would not meddle with your Match.

_Miss._ All they can say goes in at one Ear, and out at t’other for me, I can assure you: Only I wish they would be quiet, and let me drink my Tea.

_Neverout._ What! I warrant you think all is lost, that goes beside your own Mouth.

_Miss._ Pray, Mr. _Neverout_, hold your Tongue for once, if it be possible; one would think, you were a Woman in Man’s Cloaths, by your prating.

_Neverout._ No, Miss; it is not handsome to see one hold one’s Tongue: Besides, I should slobber my Fingers.

_Col._ Miss, did you never hear, that Three Women and a Goose are enough to make a Market?

_Miss._ I’m sure, if Mr. _Neverout_ or You were among them, it would make a Fair.

[Footman _comes in_.

_Lady Smart._ Here, take away the Tea-table, and bring up Candles.

_Lady Answ._ O Madam, no Candles yet, I beseech you; don’t let us burn Day-Light.

_Neverout._ I dare swear, Miss, for her Part, will never burn Day-Light, if she can help it.

_Miss._ Lord, Mr. _Neverout_, one can’t hear one’s own Ears for you.

_Lady Smart._ Indeed, Madam, it is Blind-Man’s Holiday; we shall soon be all of a Colour.

_Neverout._ Why, then, Miss, we may kiss where we like best.

_Miss._ Fogh! these Men talk of nothing but kissing.

[_She spits._

_Neverout._ What, Miss, does it make your Mouth water?

_Lady Smart._ It is as good be in the Dark as without Light; therefore pray bring in Candles: They say, Women and Linen shew best by Candle-Light: Come, Gentlemen, are you for a Party at Quadrille?

_Col._ I’ll make one with you three Ladies.

_Lady Answ._ I’ll sit down, and be a Stander-by.

_Lady Smart._ [_to Lady Answ._] Madam, does your Ladyship never play?

_Col._ Yes; I suppose her Ladyship plays sometimes for an Egg at _Easter_.

_Neverout._ Ay; and a Kiss at _Christmas_.

_Lady Answ._ Come, Mr. _Neverout_; hold your Tongue, and mind your Knitting.

_Neverout._ With all my Heart; kiss my Wife, and welcome.

[_The_ Colonel, _Mr._ Neverout, _Lady_ Smart _and_ Miss _go to
Quadrille, and sit till Three in the Morning_.

[_They rise from Cards._]

_Lady Smart._ Well, Miss, you’ll have a sad Husband, you have such good Luck at Cards.

_Neverout._ Indeed, Miss, you dealt me sad Cards; if you deal so ill by your Friends, what will you do with your Enemies?

_Lady Answ._ I’m sure ’tis time for honest Folks to be a-bed.

_Miss._ Indeed my Eyes draws Straw.

[_She’s almost asleep._

_Neverout._ Why, Miss, if you fall asleep, somebody may get a Pair of Gloves.

_Col._ I’m going to the Land of _Nod_.

_Neverout._ Faith, I’m for _Bedfordshire_.

_Lady Smart._ I’m sure I shall sleep without rocking.

_Neverout._ Miss, I hope you’ll dream of your Sweetheart.

_Miss._ Oh, no doubt of it: I believe I shan’t be able to sleep for dreaming of him.

_Col._ [_to Miss._] Madam, shall I have the Honour to escort you?

_Miss._ No, Colonel, I thank you; my Mamma has sent her Chair and Footmen. Well, my Lady _Smart_, I’ll give you Revenge whenever you please.

[Footman _comes in_.

_Footman._ Madam, the Chairs are waiting.

[_They all take their Chairs, and go off._

FINIS.

ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES.

PAGE 5, l. 1. 1695.—This date, and the previous “more than forty years past,” are of course adjusted to the date of the book’s appearance. See Introduction for its probable chronology.

PAGE 5, l. 18. For “because” I am half inclined to read “became”—a very likely misprint.

PAGE 6, ll. 4-10. “_Twelve ... Sixteen._”—This would bring us to 1723, which may or may not mark the date of a version of the “Conversation.” The first “Twelve” would almost exactly coincide with the “Essay on Conversation” referred to above.

PAGE 12, l. 18. “_Isaac the Dancing-Master._”—Called by Steele in “Tatler,” No. 34, “my namesake Isaac.” He is best known by Soame Jenyns’ couplet:—

“And Isaac’s rigadoon shall live as long
As Raphael’s painting or as Virgil’s song.”

He was, as became his profession, a Frenchman. Southey refers to him in “The Doctor.”

PAGE 16, l. 6. “_Comedies and other fantastick Writings._”—Where they will be found, as the ingenious Mr. Wagstaff says, “strewed here and there.”

PAGES 16, 17.—“_Graham. D. of R. E. of E. Lord and Lady H._”—I do not know that attempts at identifying these shadowy personages would be very wise. But the date assigned to the Colonel is one of the marks of long incubation. “Towards the end” of Charles II.’s reign would be about 1684. A fine gentleman of that day might very well have been Mr. Wagstaff’s “companion” had the latter written in 1710—less well had he written a quarter of a century later.

PAGE 18, l. 24.—Swift, like a good Tory and Churchman, never forgave Burnet.

PAGE 21, l. 2. “_Selling of Bargains_” is the returning of a coarse answer to a question or other remark. So in Dorset’s charming poem about “This Bess of my heart, this Bess of my soul.”

PAGE 24, l. 26. “_Great Ornaments of Style_,” or, as it hath been put otherwise, “_a grand set-off to conversation_.”—Observe that in these passages as to Free-Thinking and Oaths, Swift maintains his invariable attitude as to profanity.

PAGE 25, last line. “_Poet._”—I know him not, if he ever existed save as a maggot of Swift’s brain.

PAGE 26, l. 13. “_Sir John Perrot._”—Deputy of Ireland and a stout soldier, but an unlucky politician. He died in the Tower, where he is not unlikely to have had leisure and reason to perfect himself in commination.

PAGE 31, l. 16. “_Lilly._”—The Latin grammarian, of course, not the astrologer.

PAGE 32, l. 12. “_e’n’t_” I presume to be identical with _ain’t_.

PAGE 36, l. 21. It may seem strange that Mr. Wagstaff, who loves not books and scholars, should refer to a grave philosopher. But fine gentlemen in his youth had to know or seem to know their Hobbes.

PAGE 38, l. 26. “_Please._”—_sic_ in orig.

PAGE 41.—In this page Swift strikes in with his friends against the “dunces.” One may suspect that Tom Brown was in the first draught, and perhaps Dennis, Ward and Gildon being added later.

PAGE 42, l. 6.—Ozell, the translator of Rabelais. Stevens I do not know or have forgotten, and the “Dunciad” knows him not.

PAGE 44, l. 26. “_The Craftsman._”—This must be one of the latest additions, the “Craftsman” being the organ of Pulteney and the Opposition in the great Walpolian battle.

PAGE 46, ll. 11, 17. “_Another for Alexander!_”

PAGE 50, l. 21. “_Those of Sir Isaac._”—Mr. Craik and others have noticed that Swift’s grammar, especially in unrevised pieces, is not always impeccable. But this, like other things in this Introduction, is clearly writ in character, the character of the more polite than pedantic Wagstaff.

PAGE 56, l. 26. “_Wit at Will._”—Readers of the minor and even of the greater writers of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries will remember the interminable jingles and plays on these two words wherever they could be introduced. The phrase “Wit at will” survived most of its companions as a catchword.

PAGE 58, l. 3. “_Queen Elizabeth’s dead._”—A minute philosopher might be pleased with the inquiry when Queen Anne superseded her gracious predecessor in this phrase. Naturally that time had not come when the “Conversation” was first planned.

PAGE 59, l. 2. “_Push-pin._”—Allusions to this old children’s game are very common in the seventeenth century; rare, I think, in the eighteenth.

PAGE 64, l. 20. “_Vardi._”—See Introduction, p. 32, where the form is “Verdi.”

PAGE 65, l. 28. “_Lob’s pound_” means an inextricable difficulty. In Dekker’s paraphrase of the “Quinze Joyes du Mariage,” it is used to render the French _dans la nasse_.

PAGE 72, l. 1. I do not understand “_Map-sticks_.”

PAGE 76, ll. 3, 4. “_Cooking._”—_I.e._ (as I suppose), putting the bread-and-butter in the tea. I believe this atrocious practice is not absolutely obsolete yet.

PAGE 76, last line but one. “_Head for the washing._”—I think this is quite dead in English; _laver la tête_ is of course still excellent French for to scold or rate.

PAGE 79, l. 3. “_A Lord._”—Lord Grimstone, whose production made the wits merry for a long time. He is Pope’s “booby Lord,” and this absurd play (which, however, he is said to have written at the age of 13), was reprinted in his despite by the Duchess of Marlborough, with whom he had an election quarrel. _Lady Sparkish_ is in orig., but is probably a slip for Lady Answerall.

PAGE 82, l. 23. “_The Lord of the Lord knows what._”—A peerage revived with slightly altered title by Peter Simple’s shipmates in favour of “the Lord Nozoo.”

PAGE 103, l. 4. “_Ld. Smart._”—Erratum for “Ld. Sparkish.”

PAGE 103, l. 13. “_Tantiny Pig._”—The pig usually assigned as companion to St. Anthony.

PAGE 105, l. 26. “_Poles._”—St. Paul’s.

PAGE 109, l. 4. “_Jommetry._”—See Introduction.

PAGE 110, l. 7.—I do not know the origin of Miss’s catchword. Julia, the heroine of Dryden’s “Amboyna,” had used it beforehand.

PAGE 111, l. 25. “_Tansy_” has two senses, a plant and a sort of custard. The reader may choose which suits the circumstances best for metaphorical explanation.

PAGE 112, l. 11. “_Otomy_,” for “anatomy,” “skeleton.”

PAGE 114, l. 17. “_Ld. Smart_” again for “Ld. Sparkish;” at the foot of the next page for “_Lady_ Smart.”

PAGE 117, last line. “_Smoke_,” “look at;” later, “twig.”

PAGE 118, l. 13. “_Lady Sparkish_,” probably for “Lady Smart,” as being hostess.

PAGE 121, last line. “_Inkle._”—Ribbon or tape.

PAGE 129, l. 8. Scott has borrowed this vigorous protest of Miss in one of his private letters.

PAGE 131, l. 7. “_Ld. Sparkish_” should evidently be “Ld. Smart.”

PAGE 135, l. 14. “_Kept a Corner for a Venison Pasty._”—Which Dr. Goldsmith remembered in immortal verse.

PAGE 140, l. 12. I do not know whether this speech was meant for Lord Sparkish or Lady Answerall.

PAGE 143, ll. 1, 3. An unnecessary double entry, but right in the attribution.

PAGE 145, l. 9. “_In my Tip_,” “as I am drinking.”

PAGE 161, l. 4. “_Weily rosten_,” should probably be “_b_rosten,” _i.e._, “well-nigh burst.”

PAGE 162, l. 9. Lord Smart might make this speech; but from the answer it would seem to be his Lady’s.

PAGE 165, l. 13.—I don’t know whether Swift, who never forgot his feud with “Cousin Dryden,” was indulging in a half-gird at “The corruption of a poet is the generation of a critic.”

PAGE 176, l. 8. “_Concealer._”—A brilliant pun on “Counsellor.”

PAGE 181, l. 24. “_A Bone in my Leg._”—This odd phrase for a peculiar cramp in the leg is not dead yet.