Hints to servants

by John Jones; Jonathan Swift

THE WAITING-WOMAN.

I pity you with all my heart!

Your ladies play so mean a part,

As now-a-days old clothes to barter

For china, trinkets, scented water,

Or use them up for chairs and screens,

Less'ning an honest servant's means;

Besides yet shabbier plans than these,

The prevalence of locks and keys!

Making you live, all hugger-mugger,

On bohea slops and coarse brown sugar.

There's yet another 'plaguy way,'

With ladies of the present day,

Of lessening your hilarity—

By 'giving way' to charity!

To make it up there's ways for certain,—

Not that I'd peep behind the curtain.

Perchance your Lord, if in his hey-day,

May like you better than his Lady,

Though she's an angel,—vastly stupid!

But that's a freak of Master Cupid,

(To whom, of course, you constant pray,

And offer vows both night and day).

He makes too free in hapless hour,

And from that moment's in your power.

To keep your countenance endeavour,

Lift up your hands, cry "Well, I never!

In all my life knew such assurance;

This cruelty is past endurance."

Swear that you'd neither bring disgrace

Upon a poor, but virtuous race,

"Nor have an 'impetation' hurl'd

'Aginst' your honour, for the world!"

Then see that ready cash enhances

What he may choose to call 'advances.'

Five guineas for the least gradation

That leads to aught like adoration;

And have at least a hundred down

For 'little journeys out of town!'

And don't, without loud indignation,

Be 'throw'd in such a flusteration;'

Make him fork out, or (ruthless lingo),

You'll "tell your Lady,—yes, by jingo!"

In such a family, if handsome,

Some one will offer for your ransom;

If stricken deep, the effects will show forth

In Chaplain, Steward, Gent, and so forth.

If from my Lord you've apprehension

Of what you can't genteelly mention,—

You must consider, with all def'rence,

To which of 'em to give the pref'rence:

My Lord's own gentleman, we'll say,

You've sense enough to keep at bay,

Because you stand of sin in fear,

And think him also insincere.

Only one caution, and I've done;

Beware of—my Lord's eldest son!

You may, if you've sufficient gnous,

Be future Lady of his house;

But if a common rake, then shun him,

Or you'll regret you either won him,

Or thought him worth the least attention,

Entailing ills too bad to mention!

But whilst I feel this anxious strife

About your settling well in life,

Still let us both remember, that of

Some other things we ought to chat of.

Perchance some morn your Lady's ill,

And should be kept exceeding still;

Yet footmen call from friends of wealth,

To make inquiries of her health.

Go bolt up stairs; if not awake,

Give her at least a gentle shake:

If she's offended, blame her blindness

To such a Lord or Lady's kindness;

'Tis time enough if fiercely curb'd,

To say, "She cannot be disturb'd."

If your young Mistress be an heiress,

'Jimini!' what a chance then there is.

If you don't get five hundred cool

When she gets married, you're a fool.

Ask where's the mortal can resist her?

Though none can, like yourself, assist her,

Yet make her fear that still you shan't,

Unless you're call'd a 'confidante.'

Put her in mind she's rich enough

To please herself,—has got the stuff;

Can choose from all mankind her prize,

Where'er she deigns to cast her eyes;

That friends are apt to feign rebuke

For love bestow'd e'en on a Duke;

That love's the dearest, sweetest thrall—

Almighty Love is all in all!

That worlds of gentlemen complete

Would die to languish at her feet;

That spite of fortune, or of birth,

"Love's—love's a heaven upon earth!"

Then a long string of rhymes run o'er

From Byron and 'dear Tommy Moore,'

Wishing—so much you dote upon 'em—

That you could recollect 'more on 'em.'

Then while your rhapsody she blames,

Though plain you've set her all in flames,

Of which, when giving some intense sign,

Tell her you know the sweetest Ensign,

"Who'd bleed to death to own her sway

Down on his knees, that very day."

How to her honour 'twou'd redound,

To give him forty thousand pound!

Till in the dreams of 'sweet fifteen,'

She feels half way to Gretna Green.

Take care that ev'ry body know shall

The sort of goods at your disposal;

How great a favourite you are,—

Consulted with the utmost care.

Oft to the Park a visit pay,

The fellows will find out the way,

And oftentimes, when much distrest,

Confide their secrets to your breast;

There place a note,—away you bound!

And fling it back upon the ground,

Unless the truly sapient ninnies

Shall with it lodge at least two guineas:

Yet still, to make it seem more funny,

Pretend you never found the money.

You drop the note; your Lady'll find it,

Is angry,—deuce a bit you mind it.

Then swear, to make the joke the better,

You never knew you had the letter;

You only just remember this,

A saucy fellow snatch'd a kiss,

And must, without the 'slightest leave,'

Have left it, 'somehow,' in your sleeve.

Another way you yet can turn it;

She needn't read it,—she can burn it.

Not so: she'll just reverse the case,

And burn some other in its place,—

Nay, howsoe'er she seem to frown,

Swallow it whole, when you've gone down.

Follow this rig with each fresh man,

As often as you safely can;

And make out him who tips the best,

More and more handsome than the rest.

Indignant seem, if you detect

A letter coming indirect:

If thus a Footman interfere,

Off with him! off! with flea in ear;

Call him rogue! villain! 'out of place!'

And bang the door right in his face:

Thus it will seem you scorn to league

In e'er so harmless an intrigue.

'Tis one thing this, but quite another

If slight flirtations please the mother.

'Twould fill a volume to impart

The intricacies of your art:

Now is the time, I must insist,

For you to play the moralist,

And use, as heretofore, your forces

To favour wedlock—not divorces!

Whilst you abhor, beyond denial,

The witness-box upon a trial.

You can detect each would-be 'Rover'

From the sincere Platonic lover;

Yet stir up jealousy's sensation

Among the 'lords of the creation,'

Causing the spouse compunctuous rubs,

Who dines too often at the Clubs.

Some one or other always spelling

To know the secrets of the dwelling,

Your plan must be (again confest)

To humour those who pay the best;

Nor yield, without remuneration,

'Pry-ority of information!'

But faith! with you 'tis too assuming,

And really over-much presuming,

To such a subject to advert:

Your sisterhood are so expert,

And all so perfectly discreet,

Really there's but one more to cheat,—

(Yes, really on my life it's true,)

When any one has diddled you.

Besides, the undefined result

Is fifty times more difficult

Than all the shuffling and evasions

Our Masters need on like occasions:

Wherefore, with diffidence, I bend to

Some abler pen than I pretend to.