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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.

SHEELAH.

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 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 his 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. F

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 † comesThen let us rise, and rest our weary bums.

ON THE

FIVE LADIES AT SOT'S-HOLE‡,

WITH THE DOCTOR § AT THEIR HEAD.

N. B. THE LADIES TREATED

THE DOCTOR.

1728.

SENT AS FROM AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY.

FAIR ladies, number five,

Who, in your merry freaks,
With little Tom contrive
To feast on ale and steaks;

Shoes with flat low heels. F.

A sort of flummery. F.

An alehouse in Dublin famous for beef-steaks. F.

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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;

faces

Where I shall see your
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 my heart with woe,
To think, such ladies fine
Should be reduc'd so low,
To treat a 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;

Z-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.

1

WITH THE 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.

* Dr. 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 Things!

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.

WHY,

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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