A NYMPH and a swain, Sheelah and Dermot hight, * Sir Arthur Acheson. F. Sing, heavenly Muse, in sweetly-flowing strain DER MOT. My love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt, Than strongest weeds that grow these stones betwixt : SHEELAH. My love for gentle Dermot faster grows, DERMOT. No more that brier thy tender leg shall rake: SHEELAH. Thy breeches, torn behind, stand gaping wide; 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. * Who was a great lover of Scotland F. + Halfpennyworth. F. SHEELAH. In at the pantry door this morn I slipt, 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 his tales, Or crack such lice as his between your nails? SHEELAH. When you with Oonah stood behind a ditch, DER MOT. 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 broguest to bear thee dry to mass! *Sit Arthur's butler. F. + Shoes with flat low heels. F. But see, where Norah with the sowins* comes- 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 A sort of flummery. F. An alehouse in Dublin famous for beef-steaks. F. Dr. Thomas Sheridan. F. And we shall take you rather It fills my heart with wo, 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, If we, who wear our wigs Had I a heart to fight, I'd knock the doctor down; Then leave him to his birch ;* The parson safe at church, I'll treat you with burgundy. * Dr. Sheridan was a schoolmaster. F. |