I think, by this good candle-light, You've earn'd a drubbing.' Pho! peace,' said I, 'I'll blot it quite ; Aye, by St. Dobbin.* Witness therefore, by my small finger, In trade full thriving; Know then, old bellman, barber, tinker, John Baynham's living. WILL GORMAN, THE KILLEIGH WEAVER. A piteous elegy, indeed, Endited sad on gabbling Gorman; Who, from his loom and shuttle freed, SO dapper was he in his size, And stint him short; Yet would he merry tales devise * With mickle sport. The Killeigh Mercury he was, With cautious look. I' faith, we have a piteous loss, Since he forsook. * Much. When o'er his loom the great mon *sat, On Norah's stockings, Nelly's hat, Or Nancy's garters ; Or satires pen black as my hat, And cut in quarters. Not Hudibras himself was greater And ne'er the worse: I think his numscull was completer Stor'd than his purse. Know then (for him you'll ne'er ken more, man), Here lies the shell-work of Will Gorman. .* Man. A LAMENTABLE ELEGY ON NICHOLAS, THE KILLEIGH TAYLOR. L THY namesake saw thy worth at last; Ill-fated Nichol; Auld don t thy carcase threw with haste Now you may deck the prince of soot For since his fall But an old pall. He's got no tolerable suit, • Old Nick (as we say). + The old Don (explained in the preceding note). Much good may this new custom do thee! May the coquettes of lowland woo thee, And am'rous scratch thy cheeks so ruddy With tooth and nail; And when thou enter'st on thy study, Bid thee all-hail! Cæsar may want thy aid, sir, there; Pawn his lank knapsack in despair, To get thee credit: For authors say, queer clothes they wear, As you may read it. We'll give thee joy of thy free trade. And never be by duns dismay'd; Save now and then, By some fair brimstone-blooded jade! John says,Amen.' What pompous words thy tongue adorn'd! For monosyllables were scorn'd. Full many a husband hast thou horn'd; For which sweet sport, Forefend you be not now suborn'd In Pluto's court! |