His manners would not let him wait, Three days before he was expected. After a week, a month, a quarter, Nor for my life will take the hint. But you, my dear, may let him know, ; Or, Mr. Moore will take it ill." The house accounts are daily rising; My dearest life, it is surprising, How much he eats, how much he swills. His brace of puppies how they stuff! Yet never think they get enough; The seat of Acheson Moore, esq., in the county of Tyrone, F. O! if I could, how I would maul And make him soon give up the cause! 'Must I be every moment chid With Skinnybonia, Snipe, and Lean? O! that I could but once be rid Of this insulting tyrant Dean! ON A VERY OLD GLASS AT MARKET-HILL. FRAIL glass! thou bear'st that name as well as I; Though none can tell, which of us first shall die. ANSWERED EXTEMPORE BY DR. SWIFT. ME only chance can kill; thou, frailer creature, Mays't die, like me, by chance; but must by nature. ON CUTTING DOWN THE OLD THORN AT MARKET-HILL. Ar Market-Hil), as well appears, The Dean used to call lady Acheson by those names. R Hither came every village maid, Sir Archibald, that valorous knight, (Sir Archibald, whose favourite name Wise Hawthornden and Stirling's lord t.) But time with iron teeth, I ween, Has canker'd all its branches round; No fruit or blossom to be seen, Its head reclining toward the ground. This aged, sickly, sapless thorn, Cuts down with sacrilegious hand. Dame Nature, when she saw the blow, She scarce recover'd in a week. The Sylvan powers, with fear perplex'd, *Sir Archibald Acheson, secretary of state for Scotland. F. Drummond of Hawthornden, and sir William Alexander earl of Stirling, who were both friends to sir Archibald, and famous for their poetry. F. The magpie, lighting on the stock, The owl foresaw, in pensive mood, Last trolled forth the gentle swine, All as she scrubb'd her meazly rump. The nymph who dwells in every tree, Thus, when the gentle Spina found But from the root a dismal groan "Thou chief contriver of my fall, And thy confederate dame, who brags Nor thou, lord Arthur *, shalt escape; Yet thou could'st tamely see me slain : Nor, when I felt the dreadful blow, Or chid the Dean, or pinch'd thy spouse; Since you could see me treated so (An old retainer to your house): May that fell Dean, by whose command Then who will own thee for a Scot? Pigs and fanaticks, cows and teagues, And thou, the wretch ordain'd by fate, When thou, suspended high in air, (For thou shalt steal thy landlord's mare), Then, bloody caitif! think on me." * Sir Arthur Acheson. F. |