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DERMOT.

No more that brier thy tender leg shall rake: (I spare the thistles for sir Arthur's * sake) Sharp are the stones; take thou this rushy mat; The hardest bum will bruise with sitting squat.

SHEBLAH.

Thy breeches, torn behind, stand gaping wide; This petticoat shall save thy dear backside ; Nor need I blush ; although you feel it wet, Dermot, I vow, 'tis nothing else but sweat.

DERMOT.

At an old stubborn root I chanc'd to tug, When the Dean threw me this tobacco-plug: A longer ha'p'orth * never did I see ; This, dearest Sheelah, thou shalt share with me,

SHEELAH.

In at the pantry door this morn I slipt,
And from the shelf a charming crust I whipt:
Dennis I was out, and I got hither safe ;
And thou, my dear, shalt have the bigger half.

DERMOT.
When you saw Tady at long bullets play,
You sate and lous'd him all a sunshine day:
How could you, Sheelah, listen to bis tales,
Or crack such lice as his between your nails?'

SHEELAH.

When

you

with Oonah stood behind a ditch, I peep'd, and saw you kiss the dirty bitch: Dermot, how could you touch these nasty sluts! I almost wished this spud were in your guts.

* Who was a great lover of Scotland. F. + Halfpennyworth. F. | Sir Arthur's butler. I

DERMOT.
If Oonah 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!

SHEELAH.

Dermot, I swear, though Tady's locks could hold Ten thousand lice, and every louse was gold; Him on my lap you never more shall see; Or may I lose my weeding knife-and thee!

DERMOT. O, could I earn for thee, my lovely lass, A pair of brogues * to bear thee dry to mass! But see, where Norah with the sowins † comesc Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.

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FIVE LADIES AT SO T'S-HOLE f.

WITH THE DOCTORS AT THEIR HEAD.

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SENT AS FROM AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY. 1728,

Fair ladies, number five,

Who, in your merry freaks,
With little Tom contrive

To feast on ale and steaks;

* Shoes with Aat low heels. F. + A sort of fummery. F. I An alehouse in Dublin famous for beef-steaks. F,

Dr. Thomas Sheridan. F.

While he sits by a grinning,

To see you safe in Sot's hole, Set up with greasy linen,

And neither mugs nor pots whole; Alas! I never thought,

A priest would please your palate ; Besides, I'll hold a groat,

He'll put you in a ballad;
Where I shall see your faces
On
paper

daub'd so foul, They'll be no more like Graces,

Than Venus like an owl. And we shall take you rather

To be a midnight pack Of witches met together,

With Beelzebub in black. It fills

niy

heart with woe, To think, such ladies fine Should be reduc'd so low,

To treat á dull divine. Be by a parson cheated !

Had you been cunning stagers, You might yourselves be treated

By captains and by majors. See how corruption grows,

While mothers, daughters, aunts, Instead of powder'd beaux,

From pulpits choose gallants. If we, who wear our wigs

With fantail and with snake, Are bubbled thus by prigs;

2-ds! who would be a rake?

Had I a heart to fight,

I'd knock the doctor down;
Or could I read or write,

Egad! I'd wear a gown,
Then leave him to his birch *;

And at the Rose on Sunday,
The parson safe at church,

I'll treat you with burgundy,

THE FIVE LADIES ANSWER TO THE BEAU,

BY DR. SHERIDAN.

WITH THL WIG AND WINGS AT HIS HEAD.

You little scribbling beau,

What demon made you write?
Because to write

you

know
As much as you can fight,
For compliment so scurvy,

I wish we had you here;
We'd turn you topsyturvy

Into a mug of beer.
You thought to make a farce on

The man and place we chose;
We're sure a single parson

Is worth a hundred beaux.

* Pr. Sheridan was a schoolmaster. F.

And you

would make us vassals,
Good Mr. Wig and Wings,
To silver clocks and tassels;

You would, you Thing of Thingsi
Because around your 'cane

A ring of diamonds is set;
And

you, in some by lane,
Have gain’d a paltry grisette:
Shall we, of sense refin'd,

Your trifling nonsense bear,
As noisy as the wind,

As empty as the air?
We hate your empty prattle ;

And vow and swear 'tis true,
There's more in one child's rattle,

Than twenty fops like you.

THE BEAU'S REPLY

TO THE FIVE LADIES ANSWER.

W

HY, how now dapper black,

I smell your gown and cassock,
As strong upon your back,

As Tisdal * smells of a sock.

* A clergyman in the North of Ireland, who had made propesals of marriage to Stella. F.

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