DR.

A

SHERIDAN'S BALLAD

ON BALLYSPELLIN*.

LL you that would refine your blood,
As pure as fam'd Llewellyn,

By waters clear, come every year,
To drink at Ballyfpellin.

Though pox or itch your fkins enrich
With rubies paft the telling,

"Twill clear your skin before you 've been
A month at Ballyfpellin.

If lady's cheek be green as leek
When she comes from her dwelling,
The kindling rose within it glows
When the 's at Ballyspellin.

The footy brown, who comes from town,
Grows here as fair as Helen;

Then back fhe goes, to kill the beaux
By dint of Ballyfpellin.

Our ladies are as fresh and fair

As Rofe, or bright Dunkelling;

And Mars might make a fair mistake,
Were he at Ballyfpellin.

A famous fpa in the county of Kilkenny, where the Doctor had been to drink the waters with a favourite Lady. N.

We

We men fubmit as they think fit,
And here is no rebelling:

The reafon 's plain; the ladies reign,
They 're queens at Ballyspellin.

By matchlefs charms, unconquer'd arms,
They have the way of quelling
Such defperate foes as dare oppofe
Their power at Ballyspellin.

Cold water turns to fire, and burns,

I know, because I fell in

A ftream which came from one bright dame
Who drank at Ballyfpellin.

Fine beaux advance, equipt for dance,
To bring their Anne or Nell in
With so much grace, I 'm fure no place
Can vie with Ballyfpellin.

No politicks, no fubtle tricks,

No man his country felling:

We eat, we drink; we never think
Of thefe at Ballyfpellin.

The troubled mind, the puff'd with wind,

Do all come here pell-mell in;

And they are fure to work their cure

By drinking Ballyfpellin.

Though dropfy fills you to the gills,

From chin to toe though fwelling;

Pour in, pour out, you cannot doubt
A cure at Ballyfpellin.

VOL. XLIV.

G

Death

Death throws no darts through all these parts,
No fextons here are knelling:

Come, judge and try, you'll never die,

But live at Ballyspellin;

Except you feel darts tipt with steel,

Which here are every belle in:

When from their eyes

fweet ruin flies,

We die at Ballyfpellin.

Good cheer, fweet air, much joy, no care,
Your fight, your tafte, your fmelling,
Your ears, your touch, transported much
Each day at Ballyspellin.

Within this ground we all fleep found,

No noify dogs a-yelling;
Except you wake, for Cælia's fake,
All night at Ballyspellin.

There all you fee, both he and fhe,
No lady keeps her cell in;

But all partake the mirth we make,
Who drink at Ballyfpellin.

My rhymes are gone; I think I've none,
Unless I should bring hell in;

But, fince I'm here to heaven so near,
I can't at Ballyfpellin!

ANSWER.

ANS

W E R.

BY DR. SWIFT. *

ARE you difpute, you faucy brute,

DAR

And think there's no refelling

Your fcurvy lays, and fenfeless praise
You give to Ballyfpellin?

Howe'er you bounce, I here pronounce,

Your medicine is repelling;

Your water 's mud, and fours the blood,
When drunk at Ballyfpellin.

Thofe pocky drabs, to cure their scabs,
You thither are compelling,

Will back be fent, worse than they went,
From nafty Ballyfpellin.

Llewellyn why? As well may I
Name honeft doctor Pellin;

So hard fometimes you tug for rhymes,
To bring in Ballyfpellin.

No fubject fit to try your wit,

When you went colonelling,

But dull intrigues 'twixt jades and teagues

That met at Ballyfpellin.

This anfwer was refented by Dr. Sheridan, as an affront on

himself and the lady he attended to the fpa. N.

Our laffes fair, say what you dare,
Who fowing make with fhelling,
At Market-hill more beaux can kill,
Than yours at Ballyfpellin.

Would I was whipt, when Sheelah ftript
To wash herself our well in;

A bum fo white ne'er came in fight,
At paltry Ballyfpellin.

Your mawkins there fmocks hempen wear,

Of Holland not an ell in;

No, not a rag, whate'er you brag,

Is found at Ballyfpellin.

But Tom will prate at any rate,

All other nymphs expelling;
Because he gets a few grifettes
At loufy Ballyfpellin.

There's bonny Jane, in yonder lane,
Juft o'er against The Bell-inn;
Where can you meet a lafs fo fweet,
Round all your Ballyfpellin ?

We have a girl deferves an earl;
She came from Enniskillin:

So fair, fo young, no fuch among

The belles at Ballyfpellin.

How would you ftare to fee her there,

The foggy mift difpelling,

That clouds the brows of every blowie
Who lives at Ballyfpellin!

Now