My wine will inspire you with joy and delight,
'Tis mellow, and old, and sparkling, and bright;
An emblem of one that you love, I suppose,
Who gathers more lovers the older she grows.[4]
Let me be your Gay, and let Stella be Pope,
We'll wean you from sighing for England I hope;
When we are together there's nothing that is dull,
There's nothing like Durfey, or Smedley, or Tisdall.
We've sworn to make out an agreeable feast,
Our dinner, our wine, and our wit to your taste.
Your answer in half-an-hour, though you are at prayers;
you have a pencil in your pocket.
[Footnote 1: A village near Dublin, where Dr. Sheridan had a country
house.]
[Footnote 2: Stella was at this time in a very declining state of health.
She died the January following.--_F._]
[Footnote 3: The youth who died for love of his own image reflected in a
fountain, and was changed into a flower of the same name. Ovid, "Metam.,"
iii, 407.--_W. E. B._]
[Footnote 4: He means Stella, who was certainly one of the most amiable
women in the world.--_F._]
ON THE FIVE LADIES AT SOT'S HOLE[1]
WITH THE DOCTOR[2] AT THEIR HEAD
N.B. THE LADIES TREATED THE DOCTOR.
SENT AS FROM AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY. 1728
Fair ladies, number five,
Who in your merry freaks,
With little Tom contrive
To feast on ale and steaks;
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.
Pages:
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413