Imatges de pàgina
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And boafts of his feats,
His grottos and feats;
Shews all his gew-gaws,
And gapes for applause;
A fine occupation
For one in his ftation!
A hole where a rabbit
Would fcorn to inhabit,
Dug out in an hour;

He calls it a bower.

To fee a wild calf

Dear friend, doctor Jenny, If I could but win ye,. Or Walmsley or Whaley, To come hither daily, Since Fortune, my foe, Will needs have it fo, That I'm, by her frowns, Condemn'd to black

gowns ;

But, oh! howwe laugh, No 'Squire to be found

Come, driven by heat,
And foul the green feat;
Or run helter-fkelter
To his arbor, for fhelter,
Where all goes to ruin
The Dean has been do-

ing:

The girls of the village Come flocking for pillage,

Pull down the fine briers And thorns, to make fires;

But yet are so kind To leave something behind:

No more need be faid

on't,

I smell when I tread on't.

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mit ye,

Come here, out of pity,
To ease a poor lady,
And-beg her a play-day.
So may you be feen
No more in the spleen!
May Walmsley give wine
Like a hearty divine!
May Whaley disgrace
Dull Daniel's whey-face!
And

may your three spouses

Let you lie at friends houses!

A PAS

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 1728.

DERMOT, SHEELAH.

A Nymph and fwain, Sheelah and Dermot hight,

Who wont to weed the court of Gosford

Knight;

While each with ftubbed knife remov'd the roots,
That rais'd between the ftones their daily fhoots ;
As at their work they fate in counterview,
With mutual beauty fmit, their paffion grew.
Sing, heavenly Mufe, in fweetly-flowing ftrain
The foft endearments of the nymph and fwain.

DERMOT

My love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt, Than strongest weeds that grow these ftones betwixt: My spud these nettles from the ftones can part; No knife so keen to weed thee from my heart.

SHEELA H.

My love for gentle Dermot fafter grows, Than yon tall dock that rises to thy nose. Cut down the dock, 'twill fprout again; but, O! Love rooted out, again will never grow.

DERMO T.

No more that brier thy tender leg fhall rake: (I fpare the thistles for Sir Arthur's † fake) Sharp are the stones; take thou this rushy mat; The hardest bum will bruise with fitting fquat.

* Sir Arthur Achefon.

Who was a great lover of Scotland.

SHEELAH.

SHEELA H.

Thy breeches, torn behind, ftand gaping wide; This petticoat shall fave thy dear back-fide; Nor need I blush; although you feel it wet, Dermot, I vow, 'tis nothing else but sweat.

DERMO T.

At an old stubborn root I chanc❜d to tug, When the Dean threw me this tobacco-plug: A longer ha'p'orth never did I fee;

*

This, dearest Sheelah, thou fhalt fhare with me.

SHEELA H.

In at the pantry-door this morn I flipt,
And from the fhelf a charming cruft I whipt:
Dennis † was out, and I got hither fafe;

And thou, my dear, shalt have the bigger half.

DERMO T.

When you faw Tady at long-bullets play, You fate and lous'd him all a fun-fhine day : How could you, Sheelah, liften to his tales, Or crack fuch lice as his betwixt your nails?

SHEELA H.

When you with Oonah ftood behind a ditch, I peep'd, and faw you kifs the dirty bitch: Dermot, how could you touch these nasty sluts? I almost wish'd this fpud were in your guts.

• Half-pennyworth.

+ Sir Arthur's butler.

DERMOT.

DERMO T.

If Oonah once I kifs'd, forbear to chide; Her aunt's my goffip by my father's fide: But, if I ever touch her lips again,

May I be doom'd for life to weed in rain!

SHEELA H.

Dermot, I fwear, though Tady's locks could hold Ten thousand lice, and every loufe was gold; Him on my lap you never more shall see; Or may I lofe my weeding-knife-and thee!

DERMO T.

O, could I earn for thee, my lovely lafs, A pair of * brogues to bear thee dry to mafs! But fee, where Norah with the † fowins comesThen let us rife, and reft our weary bums.

ΟΝ ΤΗ Ε

FIVE LADIES AT SOT'S-HOLE‡,

WITH THE DOCTORS AT THEIR HEAD.

N. B. THE LADIES TREATED THE DOCTOR.

Sent as from an OFFICER in the ARMY. 1728.

AIR ladies, number five,

FAIR

Who, in your merry freaks,

With little Tom contrive

To feast on ale and steaks;

Shoes with flat low heels.

+ A fort of flummery.

An alehoufe in Dublin, famous for beef-fteaks.

Dr. Thomas Sheridan.

2.

While

While he fits by a-grinning,

Set

To fee you fafe in Sot's-hole,
up with greafy linen,

And neither mugs nor pots whole:

Alas! I never thought,

A priest would please your palate; Befides, I'll hold a groat,

He'll put you in a ballad;

Where I fhall fee your faces
On paper daub'd fo foul,
They'll be no more like Graces,
Than Venus like an owl.

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Be by a Parfon cheated!

Had you been cunning ftagers, You might yourselves be treated By Captains and by Majors.

See how corruption grows,

While mothers, daughters, aunts,

Inftead of powder'd beaux,

From pulpits choose gallants.

1

If

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