Or

but proceed we in our journal

At two, or after, we return all:

From the four elements affembling,

Warn'd by the bell, all folks come trembling :
From airy garrets fome defcend,

Some from the lake's remoteft end:

My Lord and Dean the fire forfake,
Dan leaves the earthly fpade and rake:

25

The loit'rers quake, no corner hides them,
And Lady Betty foundly chides them.

30

Now water's brought, and dinner's done :

With church and king the Lady's gone;

(Not reck'ning half an hour we pass.
In talking o'er a mod'rate glafs).
Dan, growing drowsy, like a thief
Steals off to dose away his beef;

35

And this must pass for reading Hammond-
While George and Dean go to backgammon.
George, Nim, and Dean fet out at four,.

45

And leave the flood, when he goes in it.

Now ftinted in the short'ning day,

We go to pray'rs, and then to play,

Till fupper comes; and after that

We fit an hour to drink and chat.
"Tis late- the old and younger pairs,
By Adam* lighted, walk up ftairs.
The weary Dean goes to his chamber;
And Nim and Dan to garret clamber.
So when the circle we have run,
The curtain falls, and all is done.
* The butler.

59

55

I might have mention'd fev'ral facts, Like episodes between the acts;

And tell who lofes and who wins,

How Dan caught nothing in his net,

Who gets a cold, who breaks his fhins ;

60

And how the boat was overfet.

For brevity I have retrench'd

How in the lake the Dean was drench'd:
It would be an exploit to brag on,

How valiant George rode o'er the Dragon,
How fteady in the ftorm he fat,

And fav'd his oar, but loft his hat :

65

How Nim (no hunter e'er could match him)
Still brings us hares, when he can catch 'em :
How skilfully Dan mends, his nets;

70

How fortune fails him when he fets:
Or how the Dean delights. to vex
The ladies, or lampoon the fex:
Or how our neighbour lifts his nose,
To tell what ev'ry schoolboy knows ;
Then with his finger on his thumb
Explaining, ftrikes oppofers dumb:
Or how his wife, that female pedant,
(But now there need no more be faid on't),
Shews all her fecrets of houfekeeping;
For candles how the trucks her dripping;
Was forc'd to fend three miles for yeast,
To brew her ale, and raise her paste ;

Tells every thing that you can think of,

How the cur'd Tommy of the chincough;
What gave her brats and pigs the meafles,
And how her doves were kill'd by weafels;
How Jowler howl'd, and what a fright

She had with dreams the other night.

75.

80

85

go

BUT now, fince I have gone fo far on,

word or two of Lord Chief Baron * ;
Mr Rochfort's father.

And tell how little weight he fets

On all Whig papers, and gazettes;
But for the politics of Pue *,

Thinks ev'ry fyllable is true.

And fince he owns the King of Sweden
Is dead at last, without evading,

Now all his hopes are in the Czar :

"Down the Black fea, and up the Streights,
"And in a month he's at your gates;
"Perhaps, from what the packet brings,
"By Christmas we fhall fee trange things."
Why fhould I tell of ponds and drains,
What carps we met with for our pains`;
Of sparrows tam'd, and nuts innumerable

To choak the girls, and to confume a rabble ?
But you, who are a scholar, know

95

100

105

How tranfient all things are below,

110

1

How prone to change is human life!

Laft night arriv'd Clem. † and his wife-
This grand event hath broke our measures;
Their reign began with cruel feizures:
The Dean muft with his quilt fupply
The bed in which those tyrants lie:
Nim loft his wig-block, Dan his jordan,
(My Lady fays, fhe can't afford one);
George is half fcar'd out of his wits,
For Clem.. gets all the dainty bits.
Henceforth expect a diff'rent furvey,
This house will foon turn topsy-turvey:
They talk of further alterations,
Which caufes many fpeculations..

A Tory News writer. + Mr Clement Barry

145

120

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

A

Written in the year 1728.

DERMOT, SHEELAH.

Nymph and swain, Sheelab and Dermot hight, Who wont to weed the court of Gosford Knight*, While each with ftubbed knife remov'd the roots That rais'd between the ftones their daily fhoots; As at their work they fat in counter view, With mutual beauty fmit, their paffion grew. Sing heav nly mufe! in fweetly flowing ftrain, The foft endearments of the nymph and fwain.

5

Der. My love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt, Than strongest weeds that grow thofe ftones betwixt : My fpud these nettles from the ftones can part, No knife fo keen to weed thee from my heart.

She. My love for gentle Dermot fafter grows, Than yon tall dock that rifes to thy nofe. Cut down the dock, 'twill sprout again; but oh! 15 Love rooted out, again will never grow.

Der. No more that brier thy tender legs shall rake; I fpare the thiftle for Sir Arthur's + fake). Sharp as the ftones; take thou this rufhy mat; The hardest bum will bruife with fitting squat.

20

She. Thy breeches torn behind ftand gaping wide; This petticoat fhall fave thy dear backfide : Nor need I blush, altho' you feel it wet;

Dermot, I vow, tis nothing else but fweat.

Sir Arthur Achefon, whofe great-grandfather was Sir Archibald of Gosford in Scotland.

Who is a great lover of Scotland.

Der. At an old ftubborn root I chanc'd to tug, 25 When the Dean threw me this tobacco plug; A longer ha'-p'orth never did I fee ;

This, deareft Sheelah, thou shalt fhare with me.

She. In at the pantry door this morn I flipt, And from the shelf a charming crust I whipt; 30 Dennis was out, and I got hither fafe; And thou, my dear, fhalt have the bigger half.

Der. When you faw Tady at long bullet's play, You fat and lous'd him all the fun-fhine day. How could you, Sheelah, liften to his tales, Or crack fuch lice as his between your nails?

She. When you with Oonah ftood behind a ditch,
I peep'd, and faw you kifs the dirty bitch.
Dermot, how could you touch those nafty sluts!
I almost wish'd this fpud were in your guts.

Der. If Oonah once I kifs'd, forbear to chide:
Her aunt's my goffip by my father's fide:
But if I ever touch her lips again,

May I be doom'd for life to weed in rain.

35

40

She. Dermot, I fwear tho' Tady's locks could hold Ten thousand lice, and ev'ry loufe was gold, Him on my lap you never more should fee; Or may I lose my weeding-knife-and thee.

46

Der. Oh! could I earn for thee, my lovely lafs, A pair of brogues to bear thee dry to mass ! But fee where Norah with the fowins comes Then let us rife, and reft our weary bums.

Sir Arthur's butler.

50

MARY