little Matter fhould make fo much Noife; bur fince I am engaged, I take my felf obliged in Honour to go on in my Lucubrations, and by jhe Help of thefe Arts of which I am Mafter, s well as my Skill in Aftrological Speculaons, I fhall, as I fee Occafion, proceed to con ate other dead Men, who pretend to be in Being, that they are actually deceased. I therefore gwe all Men fair Warning to mend their Manns, for I fhall from Time to Time print Bills of Mortality; and I beg Pardon of all fuch o fhail be named therein, if they who are good for nothing fhall find themselves in the Number of the Deceased. The TATLER. [N° 2. From Tuefd. April 12. to Thurfd. April 14. 1709. Will's Coffee-houfe, April 13. Here has lain all this Evening on the Ta Tule, the following Poem. The Subject of it being Matter very useful for Families, I thought it deferved to be confidered, and made more publick. The Turn the Poet gives it, is very happy; but the Foundation is from a real Accident which happened among my Acquaintance. A young Gentleman of a great Estate, fell defperately in Love with a great Beauty, of very high Quality, but as ill-natured, as long Flattery and an habitual Self-will could make her. However, my young Spark ventures upon her, like a Man of Quality, without being acquainted with her, or having ever faluted. her, her, till it was a Crime to kiss any Woman elfe. Beauty is a Thing which palls with Poffeffion ; and the Charms of this Lady_foon wanted the Support of good Humour and Complaifancy of Manners. Upon this my Spark Hies to the Bottle for Relief from his Satiety, She difdains him for being tired with that for which all Men envied him; and he never came Home, but it was Was there no Sot that would ftay longer? Would any Man living but you? Did I leave all the World for this Ufage? To which he~~ Madam, Split me, you are very impertinent! In a Word, this Match was Wedlock in its most terrible Appearances. She,.at last weary of Railing to no Purpofe, applies to a good Uncle, who gives her a Bottle of Water: The Vertue of this Powerful Liquor (faid he) is fuch, that if the Woman you marry proves a Scold, (which, it feems, my dear Neece, is your Misfortune; as it was your good Mother's before you,) let her hold fix Spoonfuls in her Mouth, for a full half Hour after you come Home But I find I am not in Humour for telling a Tale, and nothing in Nature is fo ungrateful as Story-Telling against the Grain, therefore take it as the Author has given it you. The MEDECIN. A Tale--for the Ladies. Mis Molly, a fam'd Toaft, was Fair and Young, Had Wealth and Charms, but then the had a (Tongue! From Morn' to Night, th’Eternal Larum run, Which often loft thofe Hearts her Eyes had won. Sir John was fmitten, and confefs'd his Flare, Sigh'd out the ufual Time, then wed the Dame; Poffefs'd he thought of every Joy of Life, But his Dear Molly prov'd a very Wife. Excefs of Fondnefs did in Time decline, Madam lov'd Money, and the Knight lov'd (Wine.. From whence fome petry Difcords would arife, As, You're a Fool --- and, You are mighty Wife! Tho' he and all the World allow'd her Wit, Her Voice was fhrill, and rather loud than (Sweet; When fhe began,--for Hat and Sword he'd call. Then, after a faint Kifs,--- Cry, B'y, Dear Moll: Supper and Friends expect me at the Rofe. And, what, Sir John, You'll get your ufual Dofe: Go, fink of Smoak, and guzzle nafty Wine, Sure, never Virtuous Love was us'd like Mine! (Round, Oft, as the watchful Bellman march'd his At a fresh Bottle gay Sir John he found. By Four the Knight would get his Bulinefs done, And only then reel'd off, becaufe 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 ftill prepar'd, She rattled loud, and he impatient heard: 'Tis a fine Hour! In a fweet Pickle made! And this, Sir John, is ev'ry Day the Trade. Here I fit moping all the live-long Night, Devou'd with Spleen, and Stranger to Delight; Till Morn' fends ftagg'ring Home a Drunken (Beaft, Refolv'd to break my Heart, as well as Rest. Hey! (Spouse! Hey!'Hoop! d'ye hear my damn'd obftrep'rous What, can't you find one Bed about the Houfe!" Will that perpetual Clack lie never still! That Rival to the Softnefs of a Mill! Some Couch and diftant Room must be my (Choice, Where I may fleep uncurs'd with Wife and Noife.. Long this uncomfortable Life they led, With fnarling Meals, and each a feparate Bed.. To an old Uncle oft fhe would complain, Beg his Advice, and fcarce from Tears refrain.. Old Wifewood fmoak'd the Matter as it was, Cheer up, cry'd he! and I'll remove the Caufe.. A wond'rous Spring within my Garden flows, Of Sov'reign Virtue, chiefly to compofe Domeftick Jarrs, and Matrimonial Strife,, The beft Elixir t'appeafe Man and Wife; Strange are th'Effects, the Qualities Divine, 'Tis Water call'd, but worth its Weight in Wine. If in his fullen Airs Sir John fhould come,. Three Spoonfuls take, hold in your Mouth (then Mum Smile, and look Pleas'd, when he fhall Rage and (Scold, Still in your Mouth the Healing Cordial hold; One Month this Sympathetick Med'cin try'd, He'll grow a Lover, you a Happy Bride.But, deareft Neece, keep this Grand Secret clofe,, Or ev'ry prat❜ling Huffy'll beg a Dofe. A Water-Bottle's brought for her Relief, Not Nants could fooner eafe the Lady's Grief:: Her bufy Thoughts are on the Tryal bent, And Female-like, impatient for th'Event: The Bonny Knight reels Home exceeding clear,Prepar'd for Clamour, and Domestick War. Entring, he cries,--- Hey! Where's our Thunder (fled! No Hurricane! Betty's your Lady dead? (now? Nay, kifs me, Molly, for I'm much inclin'd. (árofe, Why, Necce, fays he.--- I prithee apprehend The Water's Water, Be thy felf thy Friend; Such Beauty would the coldelt Husband warm, But your provoking Tongue undoes the Charm: Be filent, and complying--- You'll foon find, Sir John, without à Med'cin, will be kind. a St. James's Coffee-house, April 13. Letters from Venice fay, The Difappointment of their Expectation to fee his Danish Majefty, has |