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His torments projecting,
And sadly reflecting,
That a lover forsaken
A new love may get,
But a neck when once broken
Can never be set;
And, that he conld die
Whenever he would,
But, that he could live
But as long as he conld:
How grievous soever
The torment might grow,
He scorn'd to endeavour
To finish it so.
But bold, unconcern'd
At thoughts of the pain,
He calmly return'd
To his cottage again.

Walsh.

MARY THE COOKMAID'S LETTER TO DR. SHE

RIDAN. Well, if ever I saw such another man since my

mother bound my head! You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder

where you were bred. I'm sure such words do not become a man of your

cloth: I would not give such language to a dog, faith

and troth. Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. She

ridan, 'tis a shame For a parson, who should know better things, to

come out with such a name.

Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a

shame and a sin; And the dean, my master, is an honester man than

you and all your kin; He has more goodness in his little finger than you

have in your whole body; My master is a personable man, and not a spindle

shank'd hoddy-doddy. And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excuse,

[goose; Because my master one day, in anger, callid you Which, and I am sure I have been his servant four

years since October, And he never callid me worse than sweetheart,

drunk or sober: Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd,

to my knowledge, Though you and your come-rogues keep him out

so late in your college, You say you will eat grass on his grave: a Chris

tian eat grass! Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose

or an ass:

But that's as much as to say, that my master should

die before ye; Well, well, that's as God pleases; and I don't be

lieve that's a true story: And so say I told you so, and you may go

tell

my master, wliat care I?

[Mary. And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to, Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and

shame the devil; I am but a poor servant, but I think gentlefolks

should be civil. VOL. V.

AA

Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day

that you were here; I remember it was on a Tuesday, of all days in the

year; And Saunders the man says you are always jesting

and mocking: Mary,' said he one day as I was mending my

master's stocking, My master is so fond of that minister that keeps

the schoolI thought my master a wise man, but that man

makes him a fool.' ‘Saunders,' said I, 'I would rather than a quart

of ale He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin

a dishclout to his tail.' And now I must go and get Saunders to direct

this letter; For I write but a bad scrawl, but my sister Mar

get she writes better. Well, but I must run and make the bed, before

my master comes from pray'rs : And see now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming

up stairs; Whereof I could say more to your verses, if I

could write written band : And so I remain, in a civil way, your servant to command,

Swift.

MARY

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.

A well there is in the west-country,

And a clearer one never was seen, There is not a wife in the west-country

But has heard of the well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside,

And behind does an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above

Droops to the water below.
A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne,

Pleasant it was to his eye;
For from cock-crow he had been travelling,

And there was not a cloud in the sky.
He drank of the water so cool and clear,

For thirsty and hot was he, And he sat down upon the bank

Under the willow tree,

There came a man from the neighbouring town,

At the well to fill his pail, On the well-side he rested it,

And bade the stranger hail. Now art thou a batch’lor, stranger?' quoth he:

*For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day

That ever thou didst in thy life.
Or has your good woman, if one you have,

In Cornwall ever been ?
For an if she have, I'll venture my life,

She has drank of the well of St. Keyne.'

* I have left a good woman who never was here,'

The stranger made reply; * But that my draught should be better for that,

I pray you answer why.' ‘St. Keyne,' quoth the countryman, 'many a time,

Drank of this crystal well,
And before the angel summon'd her,

She laid on the water a spell.

If the husband of this gifted well

Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life.

* But if the wife should drink of it first,

God help the husband then!'
The stranger stoop'd to the well of St. Keyne,

And drank of the waters again.

"You drank of the well I warraut betimes?"

He to the countryman said: But the countryman smil'd as the stranger spake

And sheepishly shook his head.
* I haster'd as soon as the wedding was done,

Aud left my wife in the porch:
But i'faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to church.'

Anonymous.

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