It would be an exploit to brag on, And fav'd his oar, but loft his hat: But now, fince I have gone fo far on, And fince he owns the king of Sweden "Down the black fea, and up the ftreights, By Christmas we fhall fee ftrange things.' Why should I tell of ponds and drains, What carps we met with for our pains; Of fparrows tam'd, and nuts innumerable Tochoak the girls, and to confume a rabble? But you, who are a scholar, know How tranfient all things are below, How prone to change is human life! Laft night arriv'd Clem. ‡ and his wifeThis grand event hath broke our measures; Their reign began with cruel feizures : *Mr. Rochfort's father. A tory news-writer. The The dean must with his quilt fupply A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. Written in the Year 1728. DERMOT, SHEELAH. A Nymph and fwain, Sheelah and Der mot hight, Who wont to weed the court of Gosford knight*, While each with stubbed knife remov'd the roots That rais'd between the ftones their daily fhoots; *Sir Arthur Achefon, whofe great grandfather was Sir Archibald of Gosford in Scotland. As at their work they fat in counterview, With mutual beauty fmit, their paffion grew. Sing, heavenly mufe! in fweetly-flowing ftrain The foft endearments of the nymph and fwain. DERMOT. My love to Sheelab is more firmly fixt, Than strongest weeds that grow these stones betwixt : My spud these nettles from the stones can part, No knife fokeen to weed thee from my heart. SHEELAH. My love for gentle Dermot fafter grows, Than yon tall dock that rises to thy nose. Cut down the dock, 'twill sprout again; but oh! Love rooted out again will never grow. DERMOT. No more that brier thy tender legs fhall rake; (I spare the thistle for Sir Arthur's * fake.) Who is a great lover of Scotland. Sharp Sharp are the stones; take thou this rushy matt; The hardest bum will bruife with fitting fquat. SHEELAH. Thy breeches torn behind stand gaping wide; This petticoat shall save thy dear backfide; 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, deareft Sheelah, thou fhalt share with me. SHEELAH. In at the pantry door this morn I flipt, And from the fhelf a charming cruft I whipt; * Dennis was out, and I got hither fafe; And thou, my dear, fhalt have the bigger half. *Sir Arthur's butler. R 4 DERMOT. |