Or you may say--"My wife intends, Though I should be exceeding proud, This winter to invite some friends, And, sir, I know you hate a crowd." Or, "Mr. Dean--I should with joy Beg you would here continue still, But we must go to Aghnecloy;[1] Or Mr. Moore will take it ill." The house accounts are daily rising; So much his stay doth swell the bills: My dearest life, it is surprising, How much he eats, how much he swills. His brace of puppies how they stuff! And they must have three meals a-day, Yet never think they get enough; His horses too eat all our hay. O! if I could, how I would maul His tallow face and wainscot paws, His beetle brows, and eyes of wall, And make him soon give up the cause! Must I be every moment chid With [2] _Skinnybonia, Snipe_, and _Lean?_ O! that I could but once be rid Of this insulting tyrant Dean! [Footnote 1: The seat of Acheson Moore, Esq., in the county of Tyrone.] [Footnote 2: The Dean used to call Lady Acheson by those names. See "My Lady's Lamentation," next page.--_W. E. B._] ON A VERY OLD GLASS AT MARKET-HILL Frail glass! thou mortal art as well as I; Though none can tell which of us first shall die. ANSWERED EXTEMPORE BY DR. SWIFT We both are mortal; but thou, frailer creature, May'st die, like me, by chance, but not by nature. EPITAPH IN BERKELEY CHURCH-YARD, GLOUCESTERSHIRE Here lies the Earl of Suffolk's fool, Men call'd him Dicky Pearce; His folly served to make folks laugh, When wit and mirth were scarce. Poor Dick, alas! is dead and gone, What signifies to cry? Dickies enough are still behind, To laugh at by and by. Buried, June 18, 1728, aged 63. MY LADY'S[1] LAMENTATION AND COMPLAINT AGAINST THE DEAN JULY 28, 1728 Sure never did man see A wretch like poor Nancy, So teazed day and night By a Dean and a Knight. To punish my sins, Sir Arthur begins, And gives me a wipe, With Skinny and Snipe:[2], His malice is plain, Hallooing the Dean.