_Justice Woodcock._ Fy! fy! what a crowd’s this! Odds, I’ll put some of them in the stocks. (_Striking a fellow._) Stand out of the way, sirrah. _Hodge._ Now, your honour, now the sport will come. The gut-scrapers are here, and some among them are going to sing and dance. Why, there’s not the like of our Statute, mun, in five counties; others are but fools to it. _Servant Man._ Come, good people, make a ring; and stand out, fellow-servants, as many of you as are willing and able to bear a-bob. We’ll let my masters and mistresses see we can do something at least; if they won’t hire us it sha’n’t be our fault. Strike up the Servants’ Medley. AIR. _Housemaid._ I pray, gentles, list to me, I’m young and strong, and clean, you see; I’ll not turn tail to any she, For work that’s in the country. Of all your house the charge I take, I wash, I scrub, I brew, I bake; And more can do than here I’ll speak, Depending on your bounty. _Footman._ Behold a blade, who knows his trade. In chamber, hall, and entry: And what though here I now appear, I’ve served the best of gentry. A footman would you have, I can dress, and comb, and shave; For I a handy lad am: On a message I can go, And slip a billet-doux, With your humble servant, madam. _Cookmaid._ Who wants a good cook my hand they must cross; For plain wholesome dishes I’m ne’er at a loss; And what are your soups, your ragouts, and your sauce, Compared to old English roast beef? _Carter._ If you want a young man with a true honest heart, Who knows how to manage a plough and a cart, Here’s one to your purpose, come take me and try; You’ll say you ne’er met with a better than I, Geho, dobin, &c. _Chorus._ My masters and mistresses hither repair, What servants you want you’ll find in our fair; Men and maids fit for all sorts of stations there be, And as for the wages we sha’n’t disagree. Presuming that these memoranda may amuse a number of persons who, chiefly living in large towns and cities, have no opportunity of being otherwise acquainted with “Statutes,” or “Mops,” in country-places, I am, &c. _Birmingham._ W. PARE * * * * * HAM AND STILTON. _For the Table Book._ THE POET’S EPISTLE OF THANKS TO A FRIEND AT BIRMINGHAM. “Perlege Mæonio cantatas carmine ranas, Et frontem nugi, solvere disce meis.” MARY. Dear Friend,--I feel constrain’d to say, The present sent the other day Claims my best thanks, and while design’d To please the taste, it warm’d my mind. Nor, wonder not it should inspire Within my breast poetic fire!