She swills like a sow, and she breeds like a rabbit: A housewife in bed, at table a slattern;
For all an example, for no one a pattern.
Now tell me, friend Thomas,1 Ford, Grattan,3 and Merry Dan, 4
Has this any likeness to good Madam Sheridan ?
ON STEALING A CROWN, WHEN THE
DEAN WAS ASLEEP.
DEAR Dean, since you in sleepy wise
Have oped your mouth, and closed your eyes,
Like ghost I glide along your floor,
And softly shut the parlour door :
For, should I break your sweet repose,
Who knows what money you might lose :
Since oftentimes it has been found,
A dream has given ten thousand pound?
Then sleep, my friend; dear Dean, sleep on,
And all you get shall be your own;
Provided to this agree,
That all you lose belongs to me.
1 Dr. Thos. Sheridan.---F.
2 Chas. Ford, of Woodpark, Esq.---F.
3 Rev. John Grattan.---F.
Rev. Daniel Jackson.---F.
So, about twelve at night, the punk
Steals from the cully when he's drunk :
Nor is contented with a treat,
Without her privilege to cheat:
Nor can I the least difference find,
But that you left no clap behind.
But, jest apart, restore, you capon ye,
My twelve thirteens1 and sixpence-ha'penny.
To eat my meat and drink my medlicot,
And then to give me such a deadly cut-
But 'tis observed, that men in gowns
Are most inclined to plunder crowns.
Could you but change a crown as easy
As you can steal one, how 'twould please ye!
I thought the lady 2 at St. Catherine's
Knew how to set you better patterns;
For this I will not dine with Agmondisham,3
And for his victuals, let a ragman dish 'em.
Saturday night.
1 A shilling passes for thirteen pence in Ireland.---F. 2 Lady Mountcashel.---F.
3 Agmondisham Vesey, Esq. of Lucan, in the county of Dublin, comptroller and accomptant-general of Ireland, a very worthy gentleman, for whom the Dean had a great esteem.---Scott.
A PROLOGUE TO A PLAY,
PERFORMED AT MR. SHERIDAN'S SCHOOL.
SPOKEN BY ONE OF THE SCHOLARS.
As in a silent night a lonely swain,
'Tending his flocks on the Pharsalian plain,
To Heaven around directs his wandering eyes,
And every look finds out a new surprise;
So great's our wonder, ladies, when we view
Our lower sphere made more serene by you.
O! could such light in my dark bosom shine,
What life, what vigour, should adorn each line!
Beauty and virtue should be all my theme,
And Venus brighten my poetic flame.
The advent'rous painter's fate and mine are one,
Who fain would draw the bright meridian sun;
Majestic light his feeble art defies,
And for presuming, robs him of his eyes.
Then blame your power, that my
Sink far below your too exalted praise:
Don't think we flatter, your applause to gain;
No, we're sincere,-to flatter you were vain.
You spurn at fine encomiums misapplied,
And all perfections but your beauties hide.
Then as you're fair, we hope you will be kind,
Nor frown on those you see so well inclined
To please you most. Grant us your smiles, and then
Those sweet rewards will make us act like men.
Now all is done, ye learn'd spectators, tell,
Have we not play'd our parts extremely well?
We think we did, but if you do complain,
We're all content to act the play again :
'Tis but three hours or thereabouts, at most,
And time well spent in school cannot be lost.
But what makes you frown, you gentlemen above?
We guess'd long since you all desired to move:
But that's in vain, for we'll not let a man stir,
Who does not take up Plautus first, and construe.'
Him we'll dismiss, that understands the play;
He who does not, i'faith, he's like to stay.
Though this new method may provoke your laugh-
To act plays first, and understand them after; We do not care, for we will have our humour, And will try you, and you, and you, sir, and one
you stir? there's not a man will budge; How much they've read, I leave you all to judge.
1 The author appears to have intended that the vulgar pronunciation, conster, should be here adopted.---Scott.
A parody on the popular song beginning, "My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent."
My time, O ye Grattans, was happily spent,
When Bacchus went with me, wherever I went;
For then I did nothing but sing, laugh, and jest;
Was ever a toper so merrily blest?
But now I so cross, and so peevish am grown,
Because I must go to my wife back to town;
To the fondling and toying of "honey," and " dear,"
And the conjugal comforts of horrid small beer.
My daughter I ever was pleased to see
Come fawning and begging to ride on my knee :
My wife, too, was pleased, and to the child said,
Come, hold in your belly, and hold up your head:
But now out of humour, I with a sour look,
Cry, hussy, and give her a souse with my book; And I'll give her another; for why should she
Since my Bacchus, and glasses, and friends, are away?
Wine, what of thy delicate hue is become, That tinged our glasses with blue, like a plum? Those bottles, those bumpers, why do they not smile,
While we sit carousing and drinking the while?
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