BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. "For four things the earth is disquieted, and five which it cannot bear." AGUR. This world is a delightful place to dwell in, And many sweet and lovely things are in it; Yet there are sundry, at the which I have A natural dislike, against all reason. I never like A TAILOR. Yet no man Likes a new coat or inexpressibles Better than I do--few, I think, so well: I can't account for this. The tailor is, A far more useful member of society Than is a poet;--then his sprightly wit, His glee, his humour, and his happy mind Entitle him to fair esteem. Allowed. But then, his self-sufficiency;--his shape So like a frame, whereon to hang a suit Of dandy clothes;--his small straight back and arms, His thick bluff ankles, and his supple knees, Plague on't!--'Tis wrong--I do not like a tailor. AN OLD BLUE-STOCKING MAID! Oh! that's a being, That's hardly to be borne. Her saffron hue, Her thinnish lips, close primmed as they were sewn Up by a milliner, and made water-proof, To guard the fount of wisdom that's within. Her borrowed locks, of dry and withered hue, Her straggling beard of ill-condition'd hairs, And then her jaws of wise and formal cast; Chat-chat--chat-chat! Grand shrewd remarks! That may have meaning, may have none for me. I like the creature so supremely ill, I never listen, never calculate. I know this is ungenerous and unjust: I cannot help it; for I do dislike An old blue-stocking maid even to extremity. I do protest I'd rather kiss a tailor.