A NYMPH and a swain, Sheelah and Dermot hight,
Who wont to weed the court of Gosford knight ;*
While each with stubbed knife remov'd the roots,
That rais'd between the stones their daily shoots;
As at their work they sate in counterview,
With mutual beauty smit, their passion grew、

* Sir Arthur Acheson. F.

Sing, heavenly Muse, in sweetly-flowing strain
The soft endearments of the nymph and swain.

DER MOT.

My love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt,

Than strongest weeds that grow these stones betwixt :
My spud these nettles from the stones can part;
No knife so keen to weed thee from my heart.

SHEELAH.

My love for gentle Dermot faster grows,
Than yon tall dock that rises to thy nose.
Cut down the dock, 'twill sprout again; but O!
Love rooted out, again will never grow.

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.

* Who was a great lover of Scotland F.

+ Halfpennyworth. F.

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 wish'd this spud were in your guts.

DER MOT.

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 broguest to bear thee dry to mass!

*Sit Arthur's butler. F.

+ Shoes with flat low heels. F.

But see, where Norah with the sowins* comes-
Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.

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;

Where I shall see your faces
On paper daub'd so foul,
They'll be no more like Graces,
Than Venus like an owl.

A sort of flummery. F.

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

Dr. Thomas Sheridan. F.

And we shall take you rather
To be a midnight pack
Of witches met together,
With Beelzebub in black.

It fills my heart with wo,
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.

* Dr. Sheridan was a schoolmaster. F.