Thus time beguil’d in social chat was past, When John reflected he’d not broke his Fast. When from the Road a narrow path he took, And gain’d a Rocky Bank, hard by a Brook. For now friend Sol had his meridian got-- John felt uneasy, ’twas so scorching hot. With eager look a survey round he made, To take advantage of some friendly Shade. Alas! no friendly Bough would interpose A shadow large enough to screen his nose, So, near the spot at which his Dobbins drank, He crept beneath the shelving of the Bank; Whilst Teague, regardless of the Sultry ray, Unpack’d the load, and let the Dobbins stray: Then spread the Breakfast, which, to John’s relief, Proved a good store of Biscuit, Ham, and Beef. John, now refresh’d, still closer in did creep, With Brandy quench’d his thirst, and fell asleep. Teague hearing now his Master snore profound, With great composure squatted on the ground; Then with the Brandy filled the largest Cup-- ‘Here’s to good luck!’ said he, then drank it up. Again replenish’d, down again it goes,-- ‘And that’s,’ said Teague, ‘in honour of my Nose.’ Another filled, Teague thought it mighty clever, Though last, not least, ’twas ‘Ireland for ever.’ Then cast a look around, to see all right, Fell on his back, and wish’d himself good Night. When now the Sun had three parts clear’d his Course, Teague started up, and look’d for Mule and Horse; Pack’d up and loaded, and with gentle stroke, Touching his Master’s shoulder, he awoke; ‘’Tis time to March, Sir, and more cool the weather.’ John was content, so off they went together; Reach’d Gallega that night; Punhete next day. Poor John knock’d up, began to curse the Way. ‘Such Bl--st--d Roads will make a Fellow crazy!’ ‘O plase you, Sir,’ said Teague, ‘do just be asy; ‘By Ja--s ’tis a turnpike, let me tell ye, ‘To what you’ll meet with at that Villa Velhe.’ John interrupted Teague in his Oration, To know, was not Abrantes the next Station? ‘Faith, and it is,’ said Teague, ‘there is no doubt; ‘Is it not mintioned in your Honour’s Route?’ ‘O! D----n the Route,’ said John; ‘I want to know, ‘I’m so curst tired, how far we have to go!’ Abrantes Castle now came full in sight, Much to John’s consolation and delight. A T----r was its Juiz; as folk say, If not belied, and in the Frenchman’s pay, A Brutish Coxcomb--rough, and most uncivil, Who slily wish’d our Army at the Devil; On all occasions, it was his delight, On British Officers to vent his spite; Kept John, with Teague and Baggage, at his Door, Kicking their heels for full three hours and more. John fumed and fretted--but ’twas all in vain; Till tired to death, his Billet did obtain. But such a filthy, loathsome, beastly Hut Mud walls, Mud floor, besmear’d with Slime & Smut! ‘O L--d!’ says John, ‘pray how shall I contrive, ‘In this D----n’d hole, to keep myself alive?’ A half-starved Taylor, vamping up old breeches,