MRS. FRANCES HARRIS’S PETITION, 1699

This, the most humorous example of vers de societe in the English language, well illustrates the position of a parson in a family of distinction at that period.—­W.  E. B.

To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland,[1]
  The humble petition of Frances Harris,
Who must starve and die a maid if it miscarries;
Humbly sheweth, that I went to warm myself in Lady Betty’s[2] chamber,
  because I was cold;
And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence,
  (besides farthings) in money and gold;
So because I had been buying things for my lady last night,
I was resolved to tell my money, to see if it was right. 
Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock,
Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows, is a very small stock,
I keep in my pocket, ty’d about my middle, next my smock. 
So when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my smock was
  unript,
And instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipt;
Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady to bed;
And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my maidenhead. 
So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light;
But when I search’d, and miss’d my purse, Lord!  I thought I should have
  sunk outright. 
“Lord! madam,” says Mary, “how d’ye do?”—­“Indeed,” says I, “never worse: 
But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my purse?”
“Lord help me!” says Mary, “I never stirr’d out of this place!”
“Nay,” said I, “I had it in Lady Betty’s chamber, that’s a plain case.” 
So Mary got me to bed, and cover’d me up warm: 
However, she stole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm. 
So I tumbled and toss’d all night, as you may very well think,
But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink. 
So I was a-dream’d, methought, that I went and search’d the folks round,
And in a corner of Mrs. Duke’s[3] box, ty’d in a rag, the money was
  found. 
So next morning we told Whittle,[4] and he fell a swearing: 
Then my dame Wadgar[5] came, and she, you know, is thick of hearing. 
“Dame,” said I, as loud as I could bawl, “do you know what a loss I have
  had?”
“Nay,” says she, “my Lord Colway’s[6] folks are all very sad: 
For my Lord Dromedary[7] comes a Tuesday without fail.” 
“Pugh!” said I, “but that’s not the business that I ail.” 
Says Cary,[8] says he, “I have been a servant this five and twenty years
  come spring,
And in all the places I lived I never heard of such a thing.” 
“Yes,” says the steward,[9] “I remember when I was at my Lord
  Shrewsbury’s,
Such a thing as this happen’d, just about the time of gooseberries.” 
So I went to the party suspected, and I found her full of grief: 
(Now, you must know, of all things in the world I