DERMOT.

When you faw Tady at long-bullets play,
You fate and lous'd him all a fun-fhine day.
How could you, Sheelah, listen to his tales,
Or crack fuch lice as his betwixt your nails?
SHEELAH.

When you with Onah stood behind a ditch,
I peep'd, and saw you kifs the dirty bitch.
Dermot, how could you touch thefe nafty fluts?
I almost wish'd this fpud were in your guts.

DERMOT.

If Onah 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

SHEELAH.

Dermot, I fwear, though Tady's locks could hold Ten thousand lice, and every loufe was gold;

Him on my lap you never more shall fee;"
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 mafs!
But fee, where Norah with the fowins comes
Then let us rife, and reft our weary bums. -

*Shoes with flat low heels.

ON

ON THE

FIVE LADIES AT SOT'S-HOLE*,

WITH THE DOCTOR† AT THEIR HÉAD. N. B. THE LADIES TREATED THE DOCTOR.

Sent as from an OFFICER in the ARMY. 1728.

AIR ladies, number five,

FAI

Who, in your merry freaks,

With little Tom contrive
To feaft on ale and steaks;

While he fits by a-grinning,

To fee you fafe in Sot's-hole,

Set up with greafy linen,

And neither mugs nor pots

Alas! I never thought,

whole:

A prieft would pleafe your palate;
Befides, I'll hold a groat,

He'll put you in a ballad;

Where I fhall fee your

faces

On paper daub'd fo foul,

They'll be no more like Graces,

Than Venus like an owl.

An alehoufe in Dublin, famous for beef-fteaks.

Dr. Thomas Sheridan.

F 2

And

To be a midnight pack
Of witches met together,
With Beelzebub in black.

It fills my heart with woe,
To think, fuch ladies fine
Should be reduc'd fo low
To treat a dull Divine.

Be by a Parfon cheated!

Had you been cunning ftagers,
You might yourselves be treated
By Captains and by Majors.

See how corruption grows,
While mothers, daughters, aunts,

Inftead of powder'd beaux,

From pulpits chufe gallants.

If we, who wear our wigs

With fan-tail and with fnake,
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,

1

And at The Rofe on Sunday,

The parfon fafe at church,
I'll treat you with burgundy.

* Dr. Sheridan was a school-mafter.

THE.

THE FIVE LADIES ANSWER

TO THE BEAU

With the WIG and WINGS at his HEAD.

OU little fcribbling beau,

Yo

What dæmon made you write?

Because to write you know
As much as you can fight.
For compliment fo fcurvy,
I wish we hád you here;
We'd turn you topsy-turvy
Into a mug of beer.

You thought to make a farce on

The man and place we chofe We're fure a fingle Parfon

Is worth an hundred Beaux.

And you would make us vaffals,
Good Mr. Wig and Wings,

To filver-clocks and taffels;

You would, you Thing of Things!

Because around your cane

A ring of diamonds is fet;

And you, in fome bye-lane,

Have gain'd a paultry grizette :

Shall we, of fenfe refin'd,

Your trifling nonfense bear,

As noify as the wind,

As empty as the air?

FIVE LADIES ANSWER.

WHY, how now dapper Black,

I fmell your gown and caffock,

As ftrong upon your back,
As Tifdall* fmells of a fock.

To write such scurvy stuff!
Fine Ladies never do 't;
I know you well enough,
And eke your cloven foot.

Fine Ladies, when they write,
Nor fcold, nor keep a fplutter:
Their verfes give delight,

As foft and fweet as butter.

But Satan never faw

Such haggard lines as these :

They ftick athwart my maw,
As bad as Suffolk-cheefe.

A clergyman in the North of Ireland, who had

pofals of marriage to Stella.

made prop

THE