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mour for telling a tale, and nothing in nature is so in. grateful as story-telling against the grain, therefore take it as the Author has given it you.


A Tale-for the Ladies.

Miss Molly, a fam'd Toast, was fais, and young,
Had wealth and charms--but then she had a tongue
From morn to night th' eternal larum rung,
Which often lost those hearts her eyes had won. :

Sir John was smitten, and confess'd his flame,
Sigh'd out the usual time, then wed the dame;
Poffess'd he thought of ev'ry joy of life;
But his dear Molly prov'd a very wife.
Excess of fondness did in time decline,
Madam lov'd money, and the Knight lov'd wine.
From whence fome petty discords would arise,
As, “ you’re a fool-and, “you are mighty wise !"

Tho' he and all the world allow'd her wit,
Her voice was fhrill, and rather loud than sweet;
When she began--for hat and sword he'd call,
Then after a faint kiss,-cry, B’y, dear Moll:
Supper and friends expect me at the Role.
And, wbat Sir John, you'll get your usual dose !
Go,, ftink of smoke, and guzzle nafty wine ;
Sure, never virtuous love was us'd like mine!

Oft as the watchful bell-man march'd his round,
At a fresh bottle gay Sir John he found.
By four the Knight would get his business done,
And only then reeld off, because alone ;
Full well he knew the dreadful storm to come,
But arm'd with Bourdeaux, he durft venture home.

My Lady with her tongue was still prepar'd,
She rattled loud, and he impatient heard :
'Tis a fine hour! In a sweet pickle made!
And this, Sir Jobn, is ev'ry day the trade.


Here I fit moping all the live-long night,
Devour'd with spleen, and tranger to delight;

Till morn sends ftaggʻring home a drunken bealt,
Resolv'd to break my heart, as well as reste,

Hey! hoop! d'ye hear my damn'd obftrep'rous fpoule, What, can't you find one bed about the house ? Will that perpetual clack lie never still ? That rival to the foftness of a mill! Some couch and ditant room must be my choice, Where I may deep uncurs'd with wife and noise.

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Long this uncomfortable life they led,
With Inarling meals, and each a sep'rate bed.
To an old Uncle oft she would complain,
Beg his advice, and scarce from tears refrain.
Old Wifewood smok'd the matter as it was,
Cheer up, cry'd he! and I'll remove the cause.

A wond'rous spring within my garden flows,
Of sov'reign virtue, chiefly to compose
Domestic jars, and matrimonial strife,
The best elixir t appease man and wife;
Strange are th' effects, the qualities divine,
'Tis water call'd, but worth its weight in wine.
If in his sullen airs Sir John should come,
Three spoonfuls take, hold in your mouth-then muin:
Smile, and look pleas’d, when he shall rage and scold,
Still in your mouth the healing cordial hold;
One month this fympathetic med'cine try'd,
He'll grow a lover, you a happy bride.
But, deareft niece, keep this grand secret close, .
Or ev'ry pratling hussey 'ill beg a dose.

A water-bottle's brought for her relief ;
Not Nants could sooner ease the Lady's grief:
Her busy thoughts are on the trial bent,
And, female like, impatient for th' event !

The bonny Knight reels home exceeding clear,
Prepar'd for clamour and domestic war:

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· Entrings

Ene'ring, he cries,-Hey! where's our thunderfled. !.
No.hurricane! Betty's your Lady dead?
Madam, aside, an ample mouthful takes,
Court’sies, looks kind, but not. a word the speaks :: .
Wand'ring, he star'd, scarcely his eyes believ'd,
Buti found his ears agreeably deceiv'd.
Why, how, now, Molly, what's the crotchet now
She smiles, and answers only with a bow.
Then clasping her about Why,, let me die!.
These night-cloaths, Moll, become thee mightily,
With that, he figh'd; her hand began to press,
And: Betry calls, her Lady to undress.
Nay, kiss me, Molly,-for. I'm much inclin'd:
Her lace the cuts, to take him in the mind.
Thus the fond pair to bed enamour'd went,
The Lady, pleas’d, and the good Knight content:

For many days these fond endearments palt,
The reconciling bottle fails at last;
'Twas us'd and gone, -Then midnight storms aroség,
And looks and words the union discompose.
Her coach is order'd,, and post-hafte. The flies,,
To beg her uncle for some fresh supplies,
Tranfported does the strange effects relate, .
Her Knight's converfion, and her happy state !!

Why, niece, says he,-) pr’ýthee apprehend,
The water's water-be. thyself ihy, friend;
Such beauty would the coldest husband warm,
But your provoking tongue undoes the charm:.
Be filent and complying. You'll soon find,
Sir John,, without a med?cine will be kind.

St. James's Coffee-houfe, April 13. Letters from Venice say, the disappointment of their expectation to see his Danish Majesty has very much dift. quieted the Court of Rome. Our last advices from Gere many inform us, that the Minister of Hanover has urged the Council ar Ratisbonne to exert themselves in behalf of the common cause, and taken the liberty to say, That the dignity, the virtue, the prudence of his Électoral


Highness, his Master, were called to the head of their affairs in vain, if they thought fit to leave him naked of the proper means, to make those excellencies useful for the honour and safety of the empire. They write from

Berlin of the thirteenth, 0. S. T'hat the true design of -General Fleming's visit to that Court was, to infinuate

that it will be for the mutual interest of the King of Pruf. fia and King Augustus to enter into a new alliance ; but that the Ministers of Prussia are not inclined to his senti. ments. We hear from Vienna, that his Imperial Majesty has expressed grcat satisfaction in their High Mightinesses having communicated to him the whole that has passed in the affair of a peace. Though there have been prac. tices used by the agents of France, in all the Courts of Europe, to break the good underftanding of the Allies, they have had no other effect, but to make all the mem. bers concerned in the alliance, more doubtful of their fafety from the great offers of the enemy. The Emperor is roused by this alarm, and the frontiers of all the French dominions are in danger of being insulted the ensuing campaign. Advices from all parts confirm, that it is impoffible for France to find a way to obtain so much cre. dit, as to gain any one potentate of the allies, or conceive any hope for safety from other

From my own Apartment, April 13. I find it of great use, now I am setting up for a writer of News, that I am an adept in astrological speculations ; by which means I avoid speaking of things which may offend great persons. But, at the same time, I must not profitute the liberal sciences so far, as not to utter the truth in cases which do immediately concern the good of my native country. I must therefore contradict what has been so assuredly reported by the News-writers of England, That France is in the most deplorable condition, and that their people die in great multitudes. I will: therefore let the world know, that my correspondent, by the way of Brufels, informs me upon his honour, That the Gentleman who writes the Gazette of Paris, and ought to know as well as any man, has told him, that over ance the King has been past his fixty-third year, or

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- grand

grand climacteric, there has not died one man of the French nation, who was younger than his Majefty, except very few, who were taken suddenly near the village of Hocffet in Germany; and some more, who were straitened for lodging at a place called Ramelies, and died on the road to Ghent and Bruges. There are also other things given out by the Allies, which are fhifts below a con quering nation to make use of. Among others it is said, There is a general murmuring among the people of France, though at the same time all my letters agree, that there is so good an understanding among them, that there is not one morsel carried out of any market in the kingdom, but what is delivered upon credit.

N° 3.

Saturday, April 16, 1709.

Will's Coffee-house, April 14.

T HIS evening the Comedy, called the Country

I Wife, was acted in Drury-Lane, for the benefit of Mrs. Bignell. The part which gives name to the Play was performed by herself. Through the whole action the made a very pretty figure, and exactly entered into the nature of the part. Her huband, in the Drama, is represented to be one of those debauchees, who run through the vices of the town, and believe, when they think fit, they can marry and settle at their ease. His own knowledge of the iniquity of the age makes him choose a wife wholly ignorant of it, and place his secu. rity in her want of skill to abuse him. The Poet, on many occafions, where the propriety of the character will admis of it, infinuates, that there is no defence against vice, but the contempt of it: And has, in the natural ideas of an untainted innocent, shown the gradual steps to ruin and destruction, which persons of condition run incò, without the help of a good education to form their conduct. The torment of a jealous Cox,


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