With Hoop expanded wide and light, ME* Phœbus in a † midnight Dream Teach Dennis how to ftir the Guile : BUT, Cloacina Goddess bright, Sleek, claims her as his Right: And Smedly, Flow'r of all Divines, Shall fing the D-n in Smedley's Lines. * Cynthius aurem vellit. Hor. † Gum fomnia vera. Hor In the Bottle to make Butter. Mrs. Dixon the Houfe-Keeper. § Ha tibi erunt artes. Virg. ↓ A very stupid, infolent, factious, deformed, conceited Parfon, a wile Pretender to Poetry, preferred by the D. of Grafton for his Wit. The The Defcription of an Irish-Feast, tranflated almost literally out of the Original Irish. Tranflated in the Year 1720. ROURK's noble Fare By those who were there, Fat Bullocks and Swine. In Pails was brought up, And a * Madder our Cup. From snoring all Night. My Pipe it was broke, My Pocket was pick't, Wooden Veel I'm rifled, quoth Nell, Of Mantle and † Kercher, The De'el take the Searcher, Ay, this has fome Savour: Ne'er dream't of the Matter, Till rowz'd by the Noise, And mufical Clatter, They bounce from their Neft, No longer will farry, 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 stamping, The Floor is all wet With Leaps and with Jumps, While the Water and Sweat, Splish, splash in their Pumps. Blefs you late and early, Laughlin O Enagin, By my Hand, you dance rarely, * Margery Grinagin. Bring Bring Straw for our Bed, Then over us spread, The winnowing Sheet. To fhow, I don't flinch, Fill the Bowl up again, Then give us a Pinch Of your Sneezing; † a Yean. In the Midft of their Beer: The Length of their 9 Skeans. Well harden'd in Flame, My Father built Lusk, The Caftle of Slain, And Carrickdrumrusk: ↑ Another Irish Name for a Woman. Daggers, or bort Savords. The The Earl of Kildare, And Moynalta, his Brother, I was nurs'd by their Mother. She knows it is true, A Blow on the Weam, Or a Kick on the A-fe. Clever Tom Clinch going to be hanged. As Written in the Year 1726. S clever Tom Clinch, while the Rabble was bawling, Rode stately through Holbourn, to die in his Calling; He ftopt at the George for a Bottle of Sack, And promis'd to pay for it when he'd come back. His Waistcoat and Stockings, and Breeches were white, His Cap had a new Cherry Ribbon to ty't. The Maids to the Doors and the Balconies ran, And faid, lack-a-day! he's a proper young Man. But, |