« EelmineJätka »
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd,
THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED,
Whether Hamilton's Bawn should be turned into a Bar rack or a Malthouse?
THUS spoke to my lady the knight, full of care:
But how to dispose of it to the best bidder,
For a barrack or malthouse we now must consider.
First, let me suppose I make it a malthouse, Here I have computed the profit will fall t us;
There's nine-hundred pounds for labour and grain,
And rather than that I would lose my estate.'
Thus ended the knight; thus began his meek wife;
It must and it shall be a barrack, my life!
I'm grown a mere mopus; no company comes
A cant word in Ireland for a poor country clergyman.
I then shall not value his deanship a straw,
For the captain, I warrant, will keep him in awe :
Will tell him that chaplains should not be so pert;
Thus argu'd my lady, but argu'd in vain ; The knight his opinion resolv'd to maintain.
But Hannah, who listen'd to all that was past, And could not endure so vulgar a taste, As soon as her ladyship call'd to be dress'd, Cry'd, Madam, why surely my master's possess'd! Sir Arthur the maltster! how fine it will sound! I'd rather the Bawn were sunk under ground. But, madam, I guess'd there would never come good, When I saw him so often with Darby and Wood. And now my dream's out; for I was a-dream'd That I saw a huge rat; O dear! how I scream'd; And after, methought, I had lost my new shoes'; And Molly she said I should hear some ill news.
Dear madam! had you but the spirit to tease, You might have a barrack whenever you please:
And, madam, I always believ'd you so stout,
Till he gave me my will I would give him no rest;
‹ Dear madam, whene'er of a barrack I think,
At Hamilton's Bawn, and the troop is arriv'd:
'Now see when they meet how their honours behave : Noble captain! your servant-Sir Arthur! your slave. You honour me much-The honour is mine
'Twas a sad rainy night-but the morning is finePray how does my lady?—My wife's at your service— I think I have seen her picture by Jarvis―
Good-morrow, good captain!-I'll wait on you downYou sha'n't stir a foot-You'll think me a clown
For all the world, captain, not half an inch further-
Go bring me my smock, and leave off your prate; Thou hast certainly gotten a cup in thy pate.' Pray, madam, be quiet; what was it I said?— You had like to have put it quite out of my head.'
Next day, to be sure, the captain will come
See now comes the captain all daub'd with gold lace:
With the fine flaming sword that he holds in his hand;
At last comes the troop, by the word of command, Drawn up in our court, when the captain cries, stand! Your ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen,
(For sure I had dizen'd you out like a queen,)