In vain we make poor Sheelah[1] toil,
Fire will not roast, nor water boil.
Through all the valleys, hills, and plains,
The goddess Want in triumph reigns:
And her chief officers of state,
Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.
THE BLESSINGS OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 1725.
Far from our debtors; no Dublin letters;
Nor seen by our betters.
THE PLAGUES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.
A companion with news; a great want of shoes;
Eat lean meat, or choose; a church without pews.
Our horses astray; no straw, oats, or hay;
December in May; our boys run away; all servants at play.
BY DR. SHERIDAN.
DEAR Dean, since you in sleepy wise
Have op'd your mouth, and clos'd your eyes;
Like ghost, I glide along your floor,
And softly shut the parlour door:
For, should I break your sweet repose,
Who knows what money you might lose;
- ↑ The name of an Irish servant.
