From Stomach sharp and hearty feeding,
To piddle like a Lady breeding :
From ruling there the Houshold singly,
To be directed here by * Dingly :
From ev'ry Day a lordly Banquet,
To half a Joint, and God be thank it ;
From ev'ry Meal Poatack in plenty,
To half a Pint one Day in twenty,
From Ford attending at her Call,
To Vifits of
From Ford, who thinks of nothing mean,
To the poor. Doings of the D-n.
From growing Riches with good Chearą
To running out by starving here,
But now arrives the dismal Day :
She must return to † Ormond Key:
The Coachman stopt, she lookt, and swore
The Rafcal had miftook the Door:
At coming in you saw her stoop;
The Entry brusht against her Hoop:
* A Lady. The two Ladies lodged together, t
W bere both the Ladies lodged.
Each Moment rifing in her Airs,
She curft the narrow winding Stairs :
Began a Thousand Faults to spy;
The Ceiling hardly fix Foot high ;
The smutty Wainscot full of Cracks,
And half the Chairs with broken Backs:
Her Quarter's out at Lady-Day,
She vows she will no longer stay,
In Lodgings, like a poor Grizette,
While there are Lodgings to be lett.
Howe'er, to keep her Spirits up,
She sent for Company to sup;
When all the while you might remark,
She strove in vain to ape Wood-Park.
Two Bottles callid for, (half her Store ;
The Cupboard could contain but four ;)
A Supper worthy of her self,
Five Nothings in five Plates of Delpb.
Thus, for a Week the Farce went on;
When all her County-Savings gone,
She fell into her former Scene.
Small Beer, a Herring, and the D-n.
Thus, far in jest. Though now I fear
You think my jesting too fevere :
But Poets when a Hint is new
Regard not whether falfe or true:
Yet Raillery gives no Offence,
Where Truth has not the least Pretence
Nor can be more securely plac't
Than on a Nymph of Stella's Taste.
I must confess, your Wine and Vittle
I was too hard upon a little ;
Your Table neat, your Linnen fine;
And, though in Miniature, you shine.
Yet, when you figh to leave Wood-Park,
The Scene, the Welcome, and the Spark,
To languish in this odious Town,
And pull your haughty Stomach down;
We think you quite mistake the Case;
The Virtue lies not in the Place :
For though my Raillery were true,
A Cottage is Wood-Park with you.
?HE Scottish Hinds too poor to house
In frosty Nights their starving Cows,
While not a Blade of Grass, or Hay,
Appears from Michaelmas to May;
Must let their Cattle range in vain
For Food, along the barren Plain;
Meager and lank with fafting grown,
And nothing left but Skin and Bone ; ;
Expos'd to Want, and Wind, and Weather,
They just keep Life and Soul together,
'Till Summer Show'rs and Ev’ning Dew,
Again the verdant Glebe renew;
And as the Vegetables rise,
The familh't Cow her Want supplies ;
Without an Ounce of last Year's Flesh,
Whate'er she gains is young and fresh;
Grows pļump and round, and full of Mettke,
As rising from Medea's Kettle;
With Youth and Beauty to enchant
Europa's counterfeit Gallant.
Why, Stella, should
you
knit your Brow,
If I compare you to the Cow?
'Tis just the Case: For you have fafted
So long till all your Flesh is wasted,
And must against the warmer Days
Be sent to * Quilca down to graze ;
Where Mirth, and Exercise, and Air,
Will soon your Appetite repair.
The Nutriment will from within
Round all your Body plump your Skin ;
;
Will agitate the lazy Flood,
And fill your Veins with sprightly Blood :
Nor Flesh nor Blood will be the same,
Nor ought of Stella, but the Name;
* A Friend's House seven or eight Miles from Dublin.
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