The dullest beast, and a shameful jeer,
Without it a lady should never appear.
I writ all these before I went to bed. Pray explain them for me, because I cannot do it.
A LONG-EAR'D beast, and a field-house for cattle,
Among the coals doth often rattle.
A long-ear'd beast a bird that prates,
The bridegrooms' first gifts to their mates,
Is by all pious christians thought
In clergymen the greatest fault.
A long-ear'd beast, and woman of Endor,
If your wife be a scold, that will mend her.
With a long-ear'd beast, and medicine's use,
Cooks make their fowl look tight and spruce.
A long-ear'd beast, and holy fable,
Strengthens the shoes of half the rabble.
A long-ear'd beast, and Rhenish wine,
Lies in the lap of ladies fine.
A long-ear'd beast, and Flanders college,
Is Dr. T-1, to my knowledge.
A long-ear'd beast, and building knight,
Censorious people do in spite.
A long-ear'd beast, and bird of night,
We sinners are too apt to slight.
A long-ear'd beast, and shameful vermin,
A judge will eat, though clad in ermine.
A long-ear'd beast, and Irish cart,
Can leave a mark and give a smart.
A long-ear'd beast, in mud to lie,
No bird in air so swift can fly.
A long-ear'd beast, and a sputt'ring old Whig,
I wish he were in it, and dancing a jig.
A long-ear'd beast, and liquor to write,
Is a damnable smell both morning and night.
A long-ear'd beast, and the child of a sheep,
At whist they will make a desperate sweep.
A beast long-ear'd, and till midnight you stay,
Will cover a house much better than play.
A long-ear'd beast, and the drink you love best,
A long-ear'd beast, and the sixteenth letter,
I'd not look at all unless I look'd better.
A long-ear'd beast give me, and eggs unsound,
Or else I will not ride one inch of ground.
A long-ear'd beast, another name for jeer,
To ladies' skins there nothing comes so near.
A long-ear'd beast, and kind noise of a cat,
Is useful in journeys, take notice of that.
A long-ear'd beast, and what seasons your beef,
On such an occasion the law gives relief.
A long-ear'd beast, a thing that force must drive in,
Bears up his house, that's of his own contriving.
POEMS COMPOSED AT MARKET HILL.
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 1728.
A NYMPH and swain, Sheelah and Dermot hight,
Who wont to weed the court of Gosford knight,'
While each with stubbed knife removed the roots
That raised between the stones their daily shoots,
As at their work they sate in counterview,
With mutual beauty smit, their passion grew,
Sing, heavenly Muse, in sweetly-flowing strain,
The soft endearments of the nymph and swain.
My love to Sheelah is more firmly fix'd
Than strongest weeds that grow these stones betwixt;
My spud these nettles from the stones can part;
No knife so keen to weed thee from my heart.
My love for gentle Dermot faster 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.
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.
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.
At an old stubborn root I chanced 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.
In at the pantry door this morn I slipp'd,
And from the shelf a charming crust I whipp'd;
Dennis was out, and I got thither safe;
And thou, my dear, shalt have the bigger half.
When you saw Tady at long bullets play,
You sate and loused him all a sunshine day;
How could you, Sheelah, listen to his tales,
Or crack such lice as his between your nails?
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 wish'd this spud were in your guts.
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!
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 wedding-knife- and thee!
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' comes-
Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.
'Halfpenny-worth.
* Shoes with flat low heels.
2 Sir Arthur's butler.
A sort of flummery.
THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED:
WHETHER HAMILTON'S BAWN SHOULD BE TURNED INTO A BARRACK OR
MALT-HOUSE. 1729.
THUS spoke to my lady the knight' full of care,
"Let me have your advice in a weighty affair.
This Hamilton's bawn, while it sticks in my hand,
I lose by the house what I get by the land;
But how to dispose of it to the best bidder,
For a barrack or malt-house we now must consider.
"First, let me suppose I make it a malt-house,
Here I have computed the profit will fall t'us:
There's nine hundred pounds for labor and grain,
I increase it to twelve, so three hundred remain;
A handsome addition for wine and good cheer,
Three dishes a-day, and three hogsheads a-year;
With a dozen large vessels my vault shall be stored,
No little scrub joint shall come on my board;
And you and the dean no more shall combine
To stint me at night to one bottle of wine;
Nor shall I, for his humor, permit you to purloin
A stone and a quarter of beef from my sirloin.
If I make it a barrack the crown is my tenant;
My dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't:
In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent;
Whatever they give me, I must be content,
Or join with the court in every debate;
And rather than that, I would lose my estate."
Thus ended the knight; thus began his meek wife
"It must and it shall be a barrack, my life.
I'm grown a mere mopus; no company comes
But a rabble of tenants and rusty dull rums.3
With parsons what lady can keep herself clean?
I'm all over daub'd when I sit by the dean.
But if you will give us a barrack, my dear,
The captain I'm sure will always come here;
I then shall not value his deanship a straw,
For the captain, I warrant, will keep him in awe;
Or, should he pretend to be brisk and alert,
Will tell him that chaplains should not be so pert;
That men of his coat should be minding their
prayers,
And not among ladies to give themselves airs."
Thus argued my lady, but argued in vain;
The knight his opinion resolved to maintain.
But Hannah, who listen'd to all that was pass'd,
And could not endure so vulgar a taste,
As soon as her ladyship call'd to be dress'd,
Cried,
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Madam, why surely my master's possess'd.
'Sir Arthur Acheson, at whose seat this was written.
A large old house, two miles from sir Arthur's seat.
A cant word in Ireland for a poor country clergyman. 'My lady's waiting-woman.
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.
At an old stubborn root I chanced 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.
In at the pantry door this morn I slipp'd,
And from the shelf a charming crust I whipp'd;
Dennis was out, and I got thither safe;
And thou, my dear, shalt have the bigger half.
When you saw Tady at long bullets play,
You sate and loused him all a sunshine day;
How could you, Sheelah, listen to his tales,
Or crack such lice as his between your nails?
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 wish'd this spud were in your guts.
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!
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 wedding-knife- and thee!
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 comes-
Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.
Halfpenny-worth.
3 Shoes with flat low heels.
2 Sir Arthur's butler.
A sort of flummery.
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