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 Juftices o' Quorum,

Their Cow-boys bearing Cloaks before 'um,
Shall leave deciding broken Pates,
To kifs your Steps at Quilca Gates;
But, left you fhould my Skill difgrace,
Come back before you're out of Case;
For if to Michaelmas you ftay,
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 Froft can marr it,
We'll make it firm with Beef and Claret.

To Quilca, a Country House in no very good Repair, where the fuppofed Author, and fome of his Friends, Spent a Summer, in the Year 1725. ET me thy Properties explain,

L

A rotten Cabbin, dropping Rain;
Chimnies with Scorn rejecting Smoak;
Stools, Tables, Chairs, and Bed-steds broke :
Here Elements have loft their Ufes,
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.

Who wont to weed the Court of 5 Gosford Knight.

Sir Arthur Achefon, whofe Great Grand-Father was Sir Archibald of Gosford in Scotland.

While each with ftubbed 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 fmit, their Paffion grew.
Sing heavenly Muse in sweetly flowing Strain,
The foft Endearments of the Nymph and Swain.

DERMOT.

My Love to Sheelab is more firmly fixt,

Than strongest Weeds that grow these Stones betwixt :

My Spud thefe Nettles from the Stones can part;
No Knife so keen to weed thee from my Heart.

SHEELAH.

Mr Love for gentle Dermot fafter grows, Than yon 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

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

SHEELAH.

THY Breeches torn behind, stand gaping wide; This Petticoat fhall fave thy dear Back-fide; feel it wet;

Nor need I blush, although you feel it

Dermot, I vow, 'tis nothing else but Sweat.

DERMOT.

Ar an old ftubborn 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.

SHEELA H.

IN at the Pantry-door this Morn' I flipt,
And from the Shelf a charming Cruft I whipt:
† Dennis was out, and I got hither fafe;
And thou, my Dear, fhalt have the bigger Half.

DERMOT.

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

Sir Arthur's Butlers

How

How could you, Sheelah, liften to his Tales,

Or crack fuch Lice as his betwixt

your Nails?

SHEELAH.

I

WHEN

HEN you with Oonah stood behind a Ditch, and faw you kiss the dirty Bitch.

peept, and faw

Dermot, how could you touch those nafty Sluts!
I almost wisht this Spud were in your Guts.

DERMOT.

If Oonab once I kifs'd, forbear to chide; Her Aunt's my Goffip by my Father's Side : But, if I ever touch her Lips again,

May I be doom'd for Life to weed in Rain.

SHEELAH.

DERMOT, Ifwear, tho' Tady's Locks could

hold

Ten Thousand Lice, and ev'ry Loufe was Gold;
Him on my Lap you never more should fee;
Or may I lose my Weeding Knife---and thee.

DERMOT.

O, COULD I earn for thee, my lovely Lafs, A Pair of Brogues to bear thee dry to Mafs!

But