They bounce from their Neft,
No longer will tarry,
They rife ready dreft,
Without one Ave Mary. They dance in a Round,
Cutting Capers and Ramping, A Mercy the Ground
Did not burft with their ftamping. The Floor is all wet
With Leaps and with Jumps, While the Water and Sweat, Splish, splash in their Pumps. Bless you late and early, Laughlin O Enagin;
By my Hand, you dance rarely,
* Margery Grinagin.
Bring Straw for our Bed,
Shake it down to the Feet,
Then over us fpread,
The winnowing Sheet.
To fhew, I don't flinch,
Fill the Bowl up again,
Then give us a Pinch
Of your Sneezing; || a Yean.
Good Lord, what a Sight,
After all their good Cheer,
For People to fight
In the Midft of their Beer:..
*The Name of an Irish Woman.
|| Another Irish Name for a Woman,
They rife from their Feast,
And hot are their Brains,
A Cubit at least
The Length of their * Skeans.
What Stabs and what Cuts,
What clatt'ring of Sticks,
What Strokes on the Guts,
What Baftings and Kicks!
With Cudgels of Oak,
Well harden'd in Flame,
An hundred Heads broke,
An hundred ftruck lame.
You Churle, I'll maintain
My Father built Lufk,
The Castle of Slane,
And Carrickdrumrusk : The Earl of Kildare,
And Moynalta, his Brother,
As great as they are,
I was nurs❜d by their Mother.
Afk that of old Madam,
She'll tell you who's who,
As far up as Adam,
She knows it is true; Come down with that Beam, If Cudgels are scarce,
A Blow on the Weam,
Or a Kick on the A-se.
Daggers, or fhort Swords.
On STEPHEN DUCK, the Thresher, and favourite Poet.
Written in the Year 1730.
HE Thresher Duck, could o'er the 2
The Proverb fays; No Fence against a Flayl.
From threshing Corn, he turns to thresh his Brains;
For which Her My allows him Grains..
Though 'tis confefs'd, that those who ever faw
His Poems, think them all not worth a Straw.
Thrice happy Duck, employ'd in threshing Stubble!
Thy Toil is leffen'd, and thy Profits double.
A Panegyrick on the D-----n, in the Perfon of a Lady in the North.
Written in the Year 1730.
ESOLV'D my Gratitude to fhow,
Thrice Rev'rend Dean for all I owe ;
Too long I have my Thanks delay'd
Your Favours left too long unpay'd;
But now in all our Sexes Name,
My artless Muse shall fing your Fame.
INDULGENT you to Female Kind,
To all their weaker Sides are blind;
Nine more fuch Champions as the D-n,
Would foon restore our ancient Reign.
How well to win the Ladies Hearts,
You celebrate their Wit and Parts !
How have I felt my Spirits rais'd,
By you fo oft, fo highly prais'd!
Transform'd by your convincing Tongue,
To witty, beautiful, and young.
I hope, to quit that aukward Shame
Affected by each vulgar Dame;
To Modesty a weak Pretence;
And foon grow pert on Men of Sense;
To fhow my Face with scornful Air ;
Let others match it if they dare.
IMPATIENT to be out of Debt,
O, may I never once forget
The Bard, who humbly deigns to chufe
Me for the Subject of his Mufe.
Behind my Back, before my Nofe,
He founds my Praife in Verfe and Profe.
My Heart with Emulation burns,
To make you fuitable Returns ;
VOL. II.
My Gratitude the World fhall know:
And, fee, the Printer's Boy below:
Ye Hawkers all, your Voices lift;
A Panegyrick on D--n Sft,
And then, to mend the Matter still;
By Lady Anne of * Market-Hill.
I THUS begin. My grateful Muse
Salutes the D-n in diffrent Views;
D-n, Butler, Ufher, Jefler, Tutor;
+ Robert and Darby's Coadjutor:
And, as you in Commiffion fit,
To rule the Dairy_next to || Kit.
In each Capacity I mean
To fing your Praise. And, first as D--n:
Envy must own, you understand your
Precedence, and support your Grandeur:
Nor, of your Rank will bate an Ace,
Except to give D-n D-/ place.
you fuch Dignity appears;
So fuited to your State, and Years!
With Ladies what a ftrict Decorum!
With what Devotion you adore 'um!
Treat me with fo much Complaifance,
As fits a Princess in Romance.
By your Example and Affistance,
The Fellows learn to know their Diftance,
* A Village near Sir ARTHUR ACHESON'S Houfe, where the
Author paffed two Summers.
The Names of two Overseers.
|