Dermot, I swear, though Tady’s locks could hold
Ten thousand lice, and every louse was gold;
Him on my lap you never more shall see;
Or may I lose my weeding knife—­and thee!

DERMOT

O, could I earn for thee, my lovely lass,
A pair of brogues [5] to bear thee dry to mass! 
But see, where Norah with the sowins [6] comes—­
Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.

[Footnote 1:  Sir Arthur Acheson, whose great-grandfather was Sir Archibald, of Gosford, in Scotland.]

[Footnote 2:  Who was a great lover of Scotland.]

[Footnote 3:  Halfpenny-worth.]

[Footnote 4:  Sir Arthur’s butler.]

[Footnote 5:  Shoes with flat low heels.]

[Footnote 6:  A sort of flummery.]

THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED: 

WHETHER HAMILTON’S BAWN[1] SHOULD BE TURNED INTO A BARRACK OR MALT-HOUSE. 1729

THE PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

The author of the following poem is said to be Dr. J. S. D. S. P. D. who writ it, as well as several other copies of verses of the like kind, by way of amusement, in the family of an honourable gentleman in the north of Ireland, where he spent a summer, about two or three years ago.[2] A certain very great person,[3] then in that kingdom, having heard much of this poem, obtained a copy from the gentleman, or, as some say, the lady in whose house it was written, from whence I know not by what accident several other copies were transcribed full of errors.  As I have a great respect for the supposed author, I have procured a true copy of the poem, the publication whereof can do him less injury than printing any of those incorrect ones which run about in manuscript, and would infallibly be soon in the press, if not thus prevented.  Some expressions being peculiar to Ireland, I have prevailed on a gentleman of that kingdom to explain them, and I have put the several explanations in their proper places.—­First Edition.

Thus spoke to my lady the knight[2] full of care,
“Let me have your advice in a weighty affair. 
This Hamilton’s bawn, while it sticks in my hand
I lose by the house what I get by the land;
But how to dispose of it to the best bidder,
For a barrack[6] or malt-house, we now must consider. 
  “First, let me suppose I make it a malt-house,
Here I have computed the profit will fall t’us: 
There’s nine hundred pounds for labour and grain,
I increase it to twelve, so three hundred remain;
A handsome addition for wine and good cheer,
Three dishes a-day, and three hogsheads a-year;
With a dozen large vessels my vault shall be stored;
No little scrub joint shall come on my board;
And you and the Dean no more shall combine
To stint me at night to one bottle of wine;
Nor shall I, for his humour, permit you to purloin