"Nor thou, lord* Arthur, fhalt escape: "To thee I often call'd in vain, Against that affaffin in crape; "Yet thou could'ft tamely fee me flain. "Nor when I felt the dreadful blow, "Or chid the dean, or pinch'd thy "fpoufe; "Since you could fee me treated fo (An old retainer to your house), "May that fell dean, by whose command "Was form'd this Machiavellian plot, "Not leave a thiftle on thy land; "Then who will own thee for a Scot? "Pigs and fanaticks, cows and teagues, "Through all thy empire I forefee, "To tear thy hedges, join in leagues; "Sworn to revenge my thorn and me. "And thou the wretch ordain'd by fate, "Neal Gagahan, Hibernian clown, "With hatchet blunter than thy pate, "To hack my hallow'd timber down, * Sir Arthur Achefon. "When "When thou, fufpended high in air, "Dy'ft on a more ignoble tree tr (For thoufhalt fteal thy landlord's mare), "Then, bloody caitif, think on me. Sot's-Hole, with at their head. N. B. The Ladies treated the Doctor. Sent as from an Officer in the Army. FA Written in the Year 1728. AIR ladies, number five, With little Tom contrive While he fits by a grinning, Set up And neither mugs nor pots whole. * An alehouse in Dublin + Dr. Thomas Sheridan. famous for beef-fteaks. Alas! 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 fo On paper daub'd so foul, They'll be no more like graces, Than Venus like an owl, rather And we shall take you It fills my heart with woe Be by a parfon cheated! Had you been cunning ftagers, See how corruption grows Inftead of powder'd beaus, If we, who wear our wigs With fan-tail and with fnake, Are bubbled thus by prigs; Zds, who would be a rake? Had I a heart to fight, I'd knock the doctor down; Ör could I read or write, Egad I'd wear a gown. Then leave him to his birch, Α On burning a Dull POEM. Written in the Year 1729. AN afs's hoof alone can hold cold. Methought, when I this poem read, Such frigid fuftian could contain; * He kept a school. 'The cold conceits, the chilling thoughts How could I more enhance its fame? Tho' born in fnow, it dy'd in flame. |