Work’d with his friend, and wove the epilogue. 
Who weaves the chaplet, or provides the bays,
For such wool-gathering sonnetteers as these? 
Hence, then, ye homespun witlings, that persuade
Miss Chloe to the fashion of her maid. 
Shall the wide hoop, that standard of the town,
Thus act subservient to a poplin gown? 
Who’d smell of wool all over?  ’Tis enough
The under petticoat be made of stuff. 
Lord! to be wrapt in flannel just in May,
When the fields dress’d in flowers appear so gay! 
And shall not miss be flower’d as well as they? 
  In what weak colours would the plaid appear,
Work’d to a quilt, or studded in a chair! 
The skin, that vies with silk, would fret with stuff;
Or who could bear in bed a thing so rough? 
Ye knowing fair, how eminent that bed,
Where the chintz diamonds with the silken thread,
Where rustling curtains call the curious eye,
And boast the streaks and paintings of the sky! 
Of flocks they’d have your milky ticking full: 
And all this for the benefit of wool! 
  “But where,” say they, “shall we bestow these weavers,
That spread our streets, and are such piteous cravers?”
The silk-worms (brittle beings!) prone to fate,
Demand their care, to make their webs complete: 
These may they tend, their promises receive;
We cannot pay too much for what they give!

ON GAULSTOWN HOUSE

THE SEAT OF GEORGE ROCHFORT, ESQ. 
BY DR. DELANY

’Tis so old and so ugly, and yet so convenient,
You’re sometimes in pleasure, though often in pain in’t;
’Tis so large, you may lodge a few friends with ease in’t,
You may turn and stretch at your length if you please in’t;
’Tis so little, the family live in a press in’t,
And poor Lady Betty[1] has scarce room to dress in’t;
’Tis so cold in the winter, you can’t bear to lie in’t,
And so hot in the summer, you’re ready to fry in’t;
’Tis so brittle, ’twould scarce bear the weight of a tun,
Yet so staunch, that it keeps out a great deal of sun;
’Tis so crazy, the weather with ease beats quite through it,
And you’re forced every year in some part to renew it;
’Tis so ugly, so useful, so big, and so little,
’Tis so staunch and so crazy, so strong and so brittle,
’Tis at one time so hot, and another so cold,
It is part of the new, and part of the old;
It is just half a blessing, and just half a curse—­
wish then, dear George, it were better or worse.

[Footnote 1:  Daughter of the Earl of Drogheda, and married to George Rochfort, Esq.—­F.]

THE COUNTRY LIFE

PART OF A SUMMER SPENT AT GAULSTOWN HOUSE,
THE SEAT OF GEORGE ROCHFORT, ESQ.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The Baron, Lord Chief Baron Rochfort. George, his eldest son. Nim, his second son, John, so called from his love of hunting. Dan, Mr. Jackson, a parson.  Gaulstown, the Baron’s seat. Sheridan, a pedant and pedagogue. Delany, chaplain to Sir Constantine Phipps, when Lord Chancellor of Ireland.  Dragon, the name of the boat on the canal.  Dean Percival and his wife, friends of the Baron and his lady.