The hermits then desir'd their host
To ask for what he fancy'd most.
Philemon, having paus'd a while,
Return'd them thanks in homely style;
Then said, 'My house is grown so fine,
Methinks I still would call it mine;
I'm old, and fain would live at ease;
Make me the Parson if you please.'
He spoke; and presently he feels
His grazier's coat fall down his heels;
He sees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-sleeve;
His waistcoat to a cassoc grew,
And both assum'd a sable hue,
But, being old, continued just
As threadbare and as full of dust.
His talk was now of tythes and dues;
He smok'd his pipe and read the news,
Knew how to preach old sermons next,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text;
At christenings well could act his part,
And had the Service all by heart;
Wish'd women might have children fast,
And thought whose sow had farrow'd last;
Against Dissenters would repine,
And stood up firm for right divine;
Found his head fill'd with many a system;
But classic authors,-he ne'er miss'd 'em.
Thus having furbish'd up a parson,

Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.
Instead of homespun coifs, were seen
Good pinners edg'd with Colberteen;
Her petticoat, transform'd apace,
Became black satin flounc'd with lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down;
"Twas Madam, in her grogram gown.
Philemon was in great surprise,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amaz'd to see her look so prim,
And she admir'd as much at him.

Thus happy in their change of life
Were several years this man and wife,
When on a day, which prov'd their last,
Discoursing o'er old stories past,

They went by chance, amidst their talk,
To the church-yard to take a walk,
When Baucis hastily cry'd out,

'My Dear, I see your forehead sprout!' 'Sprout! (quoth the man ;) what's this you tell us? I hope you don't believe me jealous : But yet, methinks, I feel it true; And really yours is budding too-Nay, now I cannot stir my foot; It feels as if 'twere taking root.'

་

Description would but tire my Muse;
In short, they were both turn'd to yews.
Old Goodman Dobson of the Green
Remembers he the trees has seen;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to show the sight:
On Sundays, after evening pray'r,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew,
Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew;
Till once a parson of our town,
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down,
At which 'tis hard to be believ'd
How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew scrubby, died a-top, was stunted,
So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it.

THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED,

Whether Hamilton's Bawn should be turned into a Barrack or a Malthouse?

Written in the Year 1729.

THUS spoke to my Lady the Knightt, full of care;

'Let me have your advice in a weighty affair. This Hamilton's Bawnt, whilst it sticks on 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 || or Malthouse, we now must consider. " First, let me suppose I make it a Malthouse, 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 stor❜d, 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 sirloin. 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!

A bawn was a place near the house, inclosed with mud or stone walls to keep the cattle from being stolen in the night. They are now little used.

† Sir Arthur Acheson, at whose seat it was written.

A large old house, two miles from Sir Arthur Acheson's seat.

The army in Ireland is lodged in strong buildings over the whole kingdom, called Barracks.

I'm grown a mére mopus; no company comes
But a rabble of tenants and rusty dull rums*.
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 pray'rs,
And not among ladies to give themselves airs.'
Thus argued my Lady, but argued in vain;
The Knight his opinion resolv'd to maintain.
But Hannaht, who listen'd to all that was past,
And could not endure so vulgar a taste,
As soon as her Ladyship call'd to be dress'd,
Cried, Madam, why, surely my master's possess'd:
Sir Arthur the Malster! how fine it will sound!
I'd rather the Bawn were sunk under ground.
But, Madam, I guess'd there would never come good,
When I saw him so often with Darby and Woodt.
And now my dream's out; for I was a-dream'd
That I saw a huge rat: O dear! how I scream'd!
And after, methought, I had lost my new shoes;
And Molly she said I should hear some ill news.
'Dear Madam! had you but the spirit to tease,
You might have a Barrack whenever you please:
And, Madam, I always believ'd you so stout,
That for twenty denials you would not give out.
If I had a husband like him, I purtest,

Till he gave me my will I would give him no rest;
And rather than come in the same pair of sheets
With such a cross man, I would lie in the streets.
But, Madam, I beg you contrive and invent,
And worry him out till he gives his consent.

* A cant word in Ireland for a poor country clergyman. My Lady's waiting woman.

Two of Sir Arthur's managers.

'Dear Madam! whene'er of a Barrack I think, An I were to be hang'd I can't sleep a wink; For if a new crotchet comes into my brain, I can't get it out, though I'd never so fain. I fancy already a Barrack contriv'd

At Hamilton's Bawn, and the troop is arriv'd; Of this, to be sure, Sir Arthur has warning, And waits on the Captain betimes the next morning. 'Now see when they meet, how their honours behave:

Noble Captain! your servant-Sir Arthur! your slave, You honour me much-The honour is mine

"Twas a sad rainy night-but the morning is finePray how does my Lady-My wife's at your service

I think I have seen her picture by Jarvis-—
Good morrow, good Captain!-I'll wait on you
down-

You sha'n't stir a foot-You'll think me a clown-
For all the world, Captain, not half an inch farther-
You must be obey'd-Your servant, Sir Arthur;
My humble respects to my Lady unknown-
I hope you will use my house as your own.'
'Go bring me my smock, and leave off your prate;
Thou hast certainly gotten a cup in thy pate.'
'Pray, Madam, be quiet; what was it I said?—
You had like to have put it quite out of my head.
'Next day, to be sure, the Captain will come
At the head of his troop, with trumpet and drum.
Now, Madam, observe how he marches in state;
The man with the kettledrum enters the gate :
Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow;
Tantara, tantara; while all the boys halloo.
See now comes the Captain, all daub'd with gold lace:
O law! the sweet gentleman! look in his face;
And see how he rides like a lord of the land,
With the fine flaming sword that he holds in his hand;
And his horse, the dear creter ! it prances and rears,
With ribands in knots at its tail and its ears.