All spread around the land, you'd swear That every day we kept a fair. My fields are brought to such a pass, I have not left a blade of grass; That all my wethers and my beeves Are slighted by the very thieves. At night right loath to quit the park, His work just ended by the dark, With all his pioneers he comes, To make more work for whisk and brooms. Then seated in an elbow-chair, To take a nap he does prepare; While two fair damsels from the lawns, Lull him asleep with soft cronawns. Thus are his days in delving spent, His nights in music and content; He seems to gain by his distress, His friends are more, his honours less. TO QUILCA A COUNTRY-HOUSE OF DR. SHERIDAN, IN NO VERY GOOD REPAIR. 1725 Let me thy properties explain: A rotten cabin, dropping rain: Chimneys, with scorn rejecting smoke; Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke. Here elements have lost their uses, Air ripens not, nor earth produces: In vain we make poor Sheelah[1] toil, Fire will not roast, nor water boil. Through all the valleys, hills, and plains, The goddess Want, in triumph reigns; And her chief officers of state, Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait. THE BLESSINGS OF A COUNTRY LIFE 1725 Far from our debtors; no Dublin letters; Not seen by our betters. THE PLAGUES OF A COUNTRY LIFE A companion with news; a great want of shoes; Eat lean meat or choose; a church without pews; Our horses away; no straw, oats, or hay; December in May; our boys run away; all servants at play. A FAITHFUL INVENTORY OF THE FURNITURE BELONGING TO ---- ROOM IN T. C. D. IN IMITATION OF DR. SWIFT'S MANNER. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1725 ----quaeque ipse miserrima vidi.[1] This description of a scholar's room in Trinity College, Dublin, was found among Mr. Smith's papers. It is not in the Dean's hand, but seems to have been the production of Sheridan.