The author of the following poem is said to be Dr. J. S. D. S. P. D. who writ it, as well as several other copies of verses of the like kind, by way of amusement, in the family of an honourable gentleman in the north of Ireland, where he spent a summer, about two or three years ago.[2] A certain very great person,[3] then in that kingdom, having heard much of this poem, obtained a copy from the gentleman, or, as some say, the lady in whose house it was written, from whence I know not by what accident several other copies were transcribed full of errors. As I have a great respect for the supposed author, I have procured a true copy of the poem, the publication whereof can do him less injury than printing any of those incorrect ones which run about in manuscript, and would infallibly be soon in the press, if not thus prevented. Some expressions being peculiar to Ireland, I have prevailed on a gentleman of that kingdom to explain them, and I have put the several explanations in their proper places.--_First Edition_. Thus spoke to my lady the knight[2] full of care, "Let me have your advice in a weighty affair. This Hamilton's bawn, while it sticks in my hand I lose by the house what I get by the land; But how to dispose of it to the best bidder, For a barrack[6] or malt-house, we now must consider. "First, let me suppose I make it a malt-house, Here I have computed the profit will fall t'us: There's nine hundred pounds for labour and grain, I increase it to twelve, so three hundred remain; A handsome addition for wine and good cheer, Three dishes a-day, and three hogsheads a-year; With a dozen large vessels my vault shall be stored; No little scrub joint shall come on my board; And you and the Dean no more shall combine To stint me at night to one bottle of wine; Nor shall I, for his humour, permit you to purloin A stone and a quarter of beef from my sir-loin. If I make it a barrack, the crown is my tenant; My dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't: In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent, Whatever they give me, I must be content, Or join with the court in every debate; And rather than that, I would lose my estate." Thus ended the knight; thus began his meek wife: "It must, and it shall be a barrack, my life. I'm grown a mere _mopus_; no company comes But a rabble of tenants, and rusty dull rums.[5] With parsons what lady can keep herself clean? I'm all over daub'd when I sit by the Dean. But if you will give us a barrack, my dear, The captain I'm sure will always come here; I then shall not value his deanship a straw, For the captain, I warrant, will keep him in awe; Or, should he pretend to be brisk and alert, Will tell him that chaplains should not be so pert; That men of his coat should be minding their prayers, And not among ladies to give themselves airs." Thus argued my lady, but argued in vain; The knight his opinion resolved to maintain. But Hannah,[6] who listen'd to all that was past,