| |
| THE DEAN would visit Market Hill, | |
| Our invitation was but slight; | |
| I said, “Why let him, if he will.” | |
| And so I bade Sir Arthur write. | |
| |
| His manners would not let him wait, | 5 |
| Lest we should think ourselves neglected, | |
| And so we see him at our gate | |
| Three days before he was expected. | |
| |
| After a week, a month, a quarter, | |
| And day succeeding after day, | 10 |
| Says not a word of his departure, | |
| Though not a soul would have him stay. | |
| |
| I ’ve said enough to make him blush, | |
| Methinks, or else the devil ’s in ’t; | |
| But he cares not for it a rush, | 15 |
| Nor for my life will take the hint. | |
| |
| But you, my dear, may let him know, | |
| In civil language, if he stays, | |
| How deep and foul the roads may grow, | |
| And that he may command the chaise. | 20 |
| |
| Or you may say, “My wife intends, | |
| Though I should be exceeding proud, | |
| This winter to invite some friends, | |
| And, sir, I know you hate a crowd.” | |
| |
| Or, “Mr. Dean, I should with joy | 25 |
| Beg you would here continue still, | |
| But we must go to Aghnecloy, | |
| Or Mr. Moore will take it ill.” | |
| |
| The house accounts are daily rising; | |
| So much his stay doth swell the bills: | 30 |
| My dearest life, it is surprising | |
| How much he eats, how much he swills. | |
| |
| His brace of puppies, how they stuff! | |
| And they must have three meals a day, | |
| Yet never think they get enough; | 35 |
| His horses too eat all our hay. | |
| |
| O, if I could, how I would maul | |
| His tallow face and wainscot paws, | |
| His beetle brows, and eyes of wall, | |
| And make him soon give up the cause! | 40 |
| |
| Must I be every moment chid | |
| With Skinnybonia, Snipe, and Lean? | |
| O that I could but once be rid | |
| Of this insulting tyrant Dean! | |
| |
