Hints to servants

by John Jones; Jonathan Swift

THE GOVERNESS.

My task is now just nearly ended,

And you may justly feel offended,

To be so low upon the wall,

Or placed upon the list at all.

No one suspects that you're a glutton,

And so you're served with cold boiled mutton;

Nor grudged, to aid your mental work,

That luxury—a silver fork!

Of course, you'll show no sort of blindness

To such extraordinary kindness.

A vulgar person, 'take your davy,'

Would have steel prongs, hot chops, and gravy;

I'd e'en be charged with platitude,

But what I'd show my gratitude!

Say that "Miss Laura's too precocious;

Jane so inert, Ruth so ferocious,

Rose quite an invalid; Miss Liddy

So most abominably giddy,—

You can make nothing—maugre raillery,

Of any of 'em but—the salary!"

A FEW RULES,
WHICH CONCERN ALL SERVANTS IN GENERAL.

Who comes when called for, all agree,

Is 'servant' good as good can be;

Therefore, to save a deal of bother,

Speak for yourself, and for no other.

To put your Masters off their mettle,

And all disputes the sooner settle,

The only way is not to 'bend,'

But 'give as good as they can send.'

Never tell tales of one another,

Except of some too favoured brother;

But there it seems a rule confest

To heap the faults of all the rest:

I quite agree with Mister Gray,

To get all favourites 'turn'd away.'

Bribe little masters and young misses

With sugar-plums and slobb'ring kisses.

Thus they will say, "How good you are!"

And tell no tales to Pa or Mar.

Let every servant feel as great,

As if his Master's whole estate

Were meant to furnish prog and pelf

But for his individual self.

The Cook, for instance, thinks it queer

If twenty thousand pounds a-year

Won't make the household richly dine,—

And so the Butler thinks of wine.

Groom, Coachman, all the rest 'run on,'

Till sometimes all the money's gone.

"Fortune's a jilt," and "plague upon her!"

You did it all for "Master's honour!"

And though yourselves alone have brought it,

You're first to cry out "Who'd ha' thought it?"

Yet this may caution some on entry,

Not to set up too soon for gentry.

When upon errands you are sent,

(On something else, of course, intent)

And absent more than half the day,

Come back 'not knowing what to say;'

Then is the time you'll see the uses

Of a whole set of 'good excuses:'

"A near relation came a distance,

And really needing your assistance,—

An uncle whom you'd never seen

From 'such times' you were seventeen,

And all that you could raise (alack!)

Was scarce enough to take him back."—

"Some one, to whom you'd money lent,

Was making for the Continent."—

Make out a story,—cram it full:

The cock won't fight?—then try the bull.

"A 'peeler' had the nation gnous

To clap you in the station-house,

Where you were 'kep' the morning 'through,'

Quite ignorant of what to do,

Although you'd rather lie in jail,

Than ask his honour to stand bail;

And all because (though past belief)

You bore some likeness to a thief!

A fifth, 'more betterer' than all,

Was shipping off 'towards Bengal.'

"You went to try to use your tongue,

To save a friend from being hung;

You wrench'd your foot 'aginst a stone,'

And 'laid' your ancle to the bone;

Which gave you such a horrid 'feel,'

The Doctor thinks 'twill never heal.

But still you must submit to fate,

And hope you're not a deal—too late."

Yet if, not mending much the case,

You swear till near 'black in the face;'

If each fresh story they despise,

Though doing all that in you lies;

Confess, and say from earliest youth

You've thought it "best to tell the truth."

Amongst the rest of my advices,

Defend all tradesmen 'as to prices:'

The very thought of an abatement

Was for the little, not the great meant.

And who'd oppose a little tricking,

Which brings yourself a deal of picking?

And where,—to use an honest course,

The saddle's put on the right horse?

Keep, then, those shopkeepers in view,

Who'll more than wink at all you do;—

In short, trust no one (to save trouble),

That won't make out a bill for double.

Mind nothing but your own affairs,

And let the rest attend to theirs.

Thus if, for instance, you are told

To shut the stable-door: make bold

To say (for that your only course is),

You "warn't brought up at all to horses."

The Footman's ask'd to drive a nail,

And must adopt a sim'lar tale;

He "can't in such a bus'ness stir,

But Tom can fetch th' upholsterer!"

To put out candles there are ways

Demanding more than common praise.

Some of you make no 'bones' at all

Of dabbing it against the wall;

Some twirl it round, and round, and round;

Some tread it out upon the ground:

Others will give the spark release,

By drowning it in its own grease!

But being mostly done in haste,

Much must depend on your own taste;

Only remember, aught prefer

To a downright extinguisher!

But candles, still, I've not quite done with,

They're things to make such store of fun with.

'Put out the light,' and still there's room

Its 'former' twinklings to 'relume.'

If once they're lighted, that's enough,—

All that is 'left' is kitchen-stuff:

But do not (never for your soul)

'Go for to' cut up candles whole!

I knew a girl who cut her sticks,

Because the chandler smoked the wicks,

Convinced there must be something rotten

With such a deuced heap of cotton:

It didn't ('nor ought it to') succeed,

Being a truly wicked deed!

Write both your own and sweetheart's names

(To show the height of both your flames,

Your love and learning both revealing)

With candle-smoke upon the ceiling,

And never mind whoever laughs,—

They're extra 'curious autographs!'

To shut or open doors if loath,

(And who'd be bother'd to do both?)

To keep from quarrels about either,

The shortest way is to do neither.

But if the 'shutting' (quite a poser)

Brings a command, that's quite a closer:

Do it, to cause their special wonder,

To vie with any clap of thunder!

Thus while you prove you know your trade,

They'll be convinced that they're obeyed.

Indulge yourself in bouncing airs,

Go, mutt'ring all the way down stairs,—

"They're people that you will not stop with;"

It's "rayther more than you'll put up with."

If you find out they somehow like you,

One thought will naturally strike you;

Give warning—instantly, and say

Your work is hard, with slender pay;

You really must have some advance,

"Service is no inheritance."

If they be not awake, the sages

Will 'bate your work and raise your wages:

But if you're balk'd, and time runs on,

Inquiry's made why you're not gone?

Your fellow-servants, you explain,

Prevail'd on you to 'stop again.'

But when you do go (you're the judge

Whether it's worth your while to budge),

Say "You have left so vile a race,

That none will venture on the place."

Now take an honest friend's advice,—

Answer, when call'd not less than thrice;

"Dogs only come at the first whistle,"

And then in hopes of bone or gristle.

"Who's there?" when some wiseacres call,

Who's there? is no one's name at all:

Keep quiet; let 'em 'make a page'

One of exactly 'their own age,'

And when you're found, the helpless elves

Have done the mighty job themselves.

Whate'er you do, abhor a tell-tale,

In all things else you scarce can well fail;

But when a servant turns his back,

Then all at once be at him smack,

And ev'ry fault the rest have done

Ascribe to him, when once he's gone.

First, then, (though you are no detractor,)

"He got in with a false charàcter;

He was ungrateful,—oh, most horrid!

Deceit itself 'rit in his forrid,'

And one 'more wastefuller' of store,

'Never set foot into a door;'

'Twas him that spoilt the street-door lock,

'Twas him that broke the parlour clock,

That did whatever he might please,

That had a 'perfect set of keys!'

That nothing 'went' but he receiv'd it,

And 'shipp'd it off' when once he'd thiev'd it."

If ask'd (which must be quite a bore),

"Pray why not tell all this before?"

Say that you thought it most judicious

Not to appear "the least malicious:"

And when you're tired of blaming flunkey,

Comes lap-dog, parrot, cat, and monkey.

'Twill vastly mend your situation,

To meet with one false accusation;

For ev'ry fault you thence commit,

Of course you think it just and fit

To make to that some pert allusion,

To all the family's confusion:

In short, your triumph's now so plain,

They never dare find fault again.

Well, then: don't go and be so hateful,

As to turn round, and prove ungrateful,

Drawing fresh pertness from my page,

E'en should you reach Methus'lem's age,

And whilst I've plann'd my whole endeavour,

For you and for your 'AIRS' for ever!

Now then for conjuration tricks:

Turn bottles into candlesticks,

And, unrestrained by vulgar rules,

Good four-legg'd chairs to three-legg'd stools.

Make dusters out of fancy-works,

Chew'd paper into patent corks,

With sundry excellent expedients,

Form'd from the most grotesque ingredients,

Which can't be quite politely spoken,

When any thing is lost or broken.

The tongs or shovel serves the stoker

When once you've broke the kitchen poker,

(A hardish job, as some may view it,

Yet some of you know how to do it);

Or Master's cane may go to wrack,

To keep it off the stoker's back!

Still 'one more word': I do beseech you,

If disapproving aught I teach you,—

(Which I not only won't resent,

But deem my highest compliment,

The true intent 'no how' mistook,

With which I really wrote this book,)

Simply from EVERY LESSON vary,

And 'take and do' the 'clean contráry!'

Your fellow-servants thus alarming,

Say that "variety is charming:"

Let 'em keep mimicking and watching,

And may they find that "mocking's catching!"

But one more rhyme I now can hitch in,

To swell the 'Glories of the Kitchen;'

Where you may romp and break the chairs,

Discuss all family affairs,

What to refuse, and what to grant,

What you 'shall' do, and what you 'shan't:'

Laugh, sing, and squall, vote care a viper,

Dancing while Master 'pays the piper,'

And boast the jovial, endless cheer,

Which makes it 'Christmas all the Year!'

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Transcriber's note: Only most obvious punctuation errors repaired. The opening quotes in the final poem are as printed in the original. The Coachman is located on page 61 although the table of contents places it at 60. The table of content has been changed to reflect the actual location of the poem.