[Footnote 1: The Poet Laureate.]       [Footnote 2: "Mrs. Brent, my housekeeper, famous in print for digging out the great bottle." "I dine tjte a tjte five days a week with my old presbyterian housekeeper whom I call Sir Robert." Swift to Pope. Pope's      "Works," edit. Elwin and Courthope, vii, pp. 145, 212.—W. E. B.]       [Footnote 3: She had a cast in her eyes.—Swift.]       [Footnote 4: The butler.]       [Footnote 5: The footman.]       [Footnote 6: Mrs. Dingley.]       [Footnote 7: The valet.] 

  

  

       STELLA AT WOOD PARK,     

      A HOUSE OF CHARLES FORD, ESQ., NEAR DUBLIN 1723         —cuicumque nocere volebat, Vestimenta dabat pretiosa.[1] 

      Don Carlos, in a merry spight, Did Stella to his house invite:      He entertain'd her half a year With generous wines and costly cheer. Don Carlos made her chief director, That she might o'er the servants hector. In half a week the dame grew nice, Got all things at the highest price:      Now at the table head she sits, Presented with the nicest bits:      She look'd on partridges with scorn, Except they tasted of the corn:      A haunch of ven'son made her sweat, Unless it had the right fumette. Don Carlos earnestly would beg,      "Dear Madam, try this pigeon's leg;"      Was happy, when he could prevail To make her only touch a quail. Through candle-light she view'd the wine, To see that ev'ry glass was fine. At last, grown prouder than the devil With feeding high, and treatment civil, Don Carlos now began to find His malice work as he design'd. The winter sky began to frown:      Poor Stella must pack off to town; From purling streams and fountains bubbling, To Liffey's stinking tide in Dublin:      From wholesome exercise and air      To sossing in an easy-chair:      From stomach sharp, and hearty feeding, To piddle[2] like a lady breeding:      From ruling there the household singly. To be directed here by Dingley:[3]      From every day a lordly banquet, To half a joint, and God be thank it:      From every meal Pontac in plenty, To half a pint one day in twenty:      From Ford attending at her call, To visits of Archdeacon Wall:      From Ford, who thinks of nothing mean, To the poor doings of the Dean:      From growing richer with good cheer, To running out by starving here. But now arrives the dismal day; She must return to Ormond Quay.[4]      The coachman stopt; she 

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