Imatges de pÓgina

For, what was ever understood
By human Kind, but Flesh and Blood ?
And if your Flesh and Blood be new,
You'll be no more your former You;
But for a blooming Nymph will pass,
Just Fifteen, coming Summer's Grass :
Your jetty Locks with Garlands crown'd,
While all the Squires from nine Miles round,
Attended by a Brace of Curs,
With Jocky Boots, and Silver Spurs ;
No less than Justices o' Quorum,
Their Cow-boys bearing Cloaks before 'um,
Shall leave deciding broken Pates,
To kiss your Steps at Quilca Gates ;
But, lest
Come back before you're out of Case;
For if to Michaelmas you stay,
The new-born Flesh will melt away;
The Squires in Scorn will fly the Houfe
For better Game, and look for Grouse :
But here, before the Frost can marr it,
We'll make it firm with Beef and Clarec.

you should

should my

Skill disgrace,


To Quilca, a Country House in no very

good Repair, where the supposed Author, and some of his Friends,

Spent a Summer, in the Year 1725. LE

ET me thy Properties explain,

A rotter Cabbin, dropping Rain;
Chimnies with Scorn reje&ting Smoak;
Stools, Tables, Chairs, and Bed-steds broke :
Here Elements have lost their Uses,
Air ripens not, nor Earth produces :
In vain we make poor Sheelab toil,
Fire will not roast, nor Water boil.
Thro' all the Vallies, Hills, and Plains,
The Goddess Want in Triumph reigns ;
And her chief Officers of State,
Sloth, Dirt, and Theft around her wait.


Paftoral DIALOGUE.


Nymph and Swain, Sheelab and Dermot

hight, Who wont to weed the Court of g Gosford Knight.

Sir Arthur Acheson, whose Great Grand-Father was Str Archibald of Gosford in Scotland.

While each with stubbed Knife remov'd the Roots
That rais'd between the Stones their daily Shoots;
As at their work they fat in counterview,
With mutual Beauty smit, their Passion grew.
Sing heavenly Muse in sweetly flowing Strain,
The soft Endearments of the Nymph and Swain.

DERMOT. My Love to Sheelab is more firmly fixt, Than strongest Weeds that grow these Stones be

twixt : My Spud these Nettles from the Stones cán part; No Knife so keen to weed thee from



My Love for gentle Dermot faster


tall Dock that rises to thy Nose. Cut down the Dock, 'twill sprout again; but O! Love rooted out, again will never grow.

DERMOT. No more that Bry’r thy tender Leg shall rake: (I spare the Thistle for + Sir Arthur's Sake.)


Who is a great Lover of Scotland,

Sharp are the Stones, take thou this rushy Mat;
The hardest Bum will bruise with fitting squat.


Thy Breeches torn behind, stand gaping wide; This Petticoat shall fave thy dear Back-side; Nor need I blush, although you feel it wet; Dermot, I vow; 'tis nothing else but Sweat.

DERMOT. Af an old stubborn Root I chanc'd to tug, When the Dean threw me this Tobacco-plug: A longer Half-p’orth never did I fee; This, dearest Sheelah, thou shalt share with me.


In át che Pantry-door this Morn' I lipt, And from the Shelf a charming Crust I whipt: # Dennis was out, and I

got hither fafe; And thou, my Dear, shalt have the bigger Half.


you saw Tady at Long-bullets play; You fat and lous'd him all a Sun-fhine Day.


+ Sir Arthur's Butler,

How could you, Sheelab, listen to his Tales,
Or crack such Lice as his betwixt your Nails?

SHEELA H. When you with Oonah stood behind a Ditch, , I peept, and saw you kiss the dirty Bitch. . Dermot, how could you touch those nasty Sluts! I almost wisht this Spud were in your Guts.

If Oonab once I kiss'd, forbear to chide;
Her Aunt's my Gossip by my Father's Side :
But, if I ever touch her Lips again,
May I be doom'd for Life to weed in Rain.

SHE E L A H. DERMOT, I swear, tho' Tady's Locks could

hold Ten Thousand Lice; and ev'ry Louse was Gold; Him on my Lap you never more should see ; Or

may I lose my Weeding-Knife---and thee.

O, could I earn for thee, my lovely Lass,
A Pair of Brogues to bear thee dry to Mass!


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