‘Some Flocks there are, the produce of those Lands, ‘Whose Shepherds were not reckon’d able Hands: ‘’Twas evident their Stock should be new moulded, ‘And under skilful Hands, fresh Penn’d, and Folded.[92] ‘An Irish Shepherd,[93] now a Patron named, ‘Who for Interior management was famed, ‘Was bid to put, and in good order keep, ‘This Lot of loose, disorder’d, scurvy Sheep. ‘It was an arduous job, with danger fraught, ‘And justly so describ’d by Mr. Scott. ‘But, ere he could this business undertake, ‘Some Shepherds,[94] Herdsmen, Hinds, was forced to make, ‘Many from Britain, most from Ireland chose, ‘Interest, they say, in this did interpose. ‘There’s something always blameable appears, ‘Whate’er’s the job, where interest interferes; ‘But in this case, amongst the Numbers sent, ‘Saving a Few, the rest were excellent,-- ‘Who by their Skill, and active perseverance, ‘Soon gave the Flocks a different appearance,-- ‘And in small Herds, now Brousing with the rest, ‘Are estimated as the Second best. ‘Their Herdsmen too, once ignorant no doubt, ‘Seem now to understand what they’re about. ‘There’s also come, I’m told, some Fam’d Borachios,[95] ‘With shortish Tails, but monstrous large Mustachios; ‘One really would suppose, from their D----d braying, ‘No Vermin in the Country dare be staying. ‘They’re wondrous favourites with the Squire, I’ve heard,-- ‘Some think their Trappings foolish, and absurd. ‘Their Herdsman too, tho’ he so often blunders, ‘At home has got the Name for doing wonders. ‘Be that as’t may--tho’ this Drove came the latest, ‘They’re much the finest Asses, and the Greatest: ‘But really I do think, when forward Straying, ‘They’ll in a Gallant Style make good their Braying. ‘From Lisbon, also, on the Road to join, ‘Is a prime Lot of Large, and Royal Swine;[96] ‘They’re no great Favourites with the Farmer’s Heir, ‘And that He’d sell them all did oft declare. ‘He’s of a different turn, and rests his Basis ‘On rearing up a famous Breed of Asses. ‘As for these Swine, I’m told they’re large, and good, ‘At first were much averse to foreign Food. ‘Such a wild Row was kick’d up by the Brutes, ‘’Twas all dismay, disasters, and disputes: ‘As for dismay each bristled up his Chine, ‘Grunted for finest Wheat, and then for Wine, ‘Then for disaster, their Swineherds pretend, ‘They chose to Roam, refused to be close Penn’d. ‘Disputes they had, no doubt, one with another, ‘The Swine, and Swineherds grunted at each other. ‘No wonder that these Animals play’d tricks, ‘Their Senior Swineherds all, they say, are Sticks.[97] ‘A drove from Oxford too, are with the rest, ‘And judges say, are much by far the Best. ‘Loose as they are, the Patron has no doubt, ‘Bold as the best, they’ll route the Vermin out.