How prone to change is human life! A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. Written in the Year 1728. DERMOT, SHEELAH. A Nymph and fwain, Sheelah and Dermot hight, Who wont to weed the court of Gosford knight ti Mr. Clement Barry. Sir Arthur Acbefon, whofe great grandfather was Sir Archibald of Gosford in Scotland. 3 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 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 Sheelah is more firmly fixt, Than strongest weeds that grow these stones betwixt: My fpud these nettles from the stones can part, No knife fo keen 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 fpare the thiftle for Sir Arthur's * fake.) Sharp are the ftones; take thou this rushy matt; The hardest bum will bruife with fitting fquat. * Who is a great lover of Scotland, SHEE SHEELAH. Thy breeches torn behind stand gaping wide; This petticoat fhall fave thy dear backfide; Nor need I blush, although you feel it wet ; Dermot, I vow, 'tis nothing else but fweat. 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 fee; This, dearest Sheelah, thou fhalt fhare 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. When you faw Tady at long-bullets play, You fat and lous'd him all the fun-fhine day. How could you, Sheelah, listen to his tales, Or crack fuch lice as his between your nails? SHEELAH. When you with Oonah stood behind a ditch, I peep'd, and faw you kiss the dirty bitch. Dermot, how could you touch those nasty sluts! I almost wifh'd this fpud were in your guts. Sir Arthur's butler. DER DERMOT. If Oonab once I kifs'd, forbear to chide; May I be doom'd for life to weed in rain. Dermot, I fwear, though Tady's locks could hold Ten thousand lice, and ev'ry louse was gold, Him on my lap you never more should fee; Or may I lose my weeding-knife-and thee. DERMOT. Oh! could I earn for thee, my lovely lafs, A pair of brogues to bear thee dry to mafs! But fee, where Norah with the fowins comesThen let us rife, and reft our weary bums. MARY the Cook-maid's Letter to Dr. SHERIDAN. W Written in the Year 1723. ELL, if ever I faw fuch another man fince my mother bound my head! You a gentleman! marry come up, I wonder where you were bred. I am I am fure fuch words do not become a man of your cloth; I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you call'd my mafter a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a fhame For a parfon, who should know better things, to come out with fuch a name : Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a fhame and a fin; And the dean my mafter is an honefter man than you and all your kin: He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have in your whole body:. My mafter is a perfonable man, and not a fpindle-fhank'd hoddy-doddy. And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excufe, Because my mafter one day in anger call'd you goofe; Which, and I am fure I have been his fervant four years fince October, And he never call'd me worfe than fweetheart, drunk or fober : Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge, Though you and your come-rogues keep him out fo late in your wicked college. You fay you will eat grafs on his grave: a christian eat grafs ! Whereby you now confefs yourself to be a goose or an ass: But |