Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/207



ARE you dispute, you saucy brute, And think there's no reselling Your scurvy lays, and senseless praise You give to Ballyspellin? Howe'er you flounce, I here pronounce, Your medicine is repelling; Your water's mud, and sours the blood When drunk at Ballyspellin. Those pocky drabs, to cure their scabs, You thither are compelling, Will back be sent worse than they went, From nasty Ballyspellin. Llewellyn why? As well may I Name honest doctor Pellin; So hard sometimes you tug for rhymes, To bring in Ballyspellin. No subject fit to try your wit, When you went colonelling; But dull intrigues 'twixt jades and teagues, You met at Ballyspellin. Our lasses fair, say what you dare, Who sowins make with shelling, At Market-hill more beaux can kill, Than yours at Ballyspellin. Would I was whipt, when Sheelah stript, To wash herself our well in; A bum so white ne'er came in sight At paltry Ballyspellin. Rh