But see, where Norah with the sowins* comes THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED: WHETHER HAMILTON'S BAWN SHOULD BE TURNED INTO A BARRACK OR MALT-HOUSE. † THUS spoke to my lady the knight † full of care, * A sort of flummery.-F. + The author of the following poem wrote 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. A certain very great person, * 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, we have explained them, and put the several explanations in their proper places.-First ed. Sir Arthur Acheson, at whose seat this was written.-F. § A large old house, two miles from Sir Arthur's seat.-F. John, Lord Carteret, then lord-lieutenant of Ireland, since Earl of Granville, in right of his mother.-F. But how to dispose of it to the best bidder, * For a barrack or malt-house, we now must con sider. "First, let me suppose I make it a malt-house, No little scrub joint shall come on my board; And rather than that, I would lose my estate." "It must, and it shall be a barrack, my life. *The army in Ireland was lodged in strong buildings, called barracks, which have lately been introduced into this country likewise.-H. A cant-word in Ireland for a poor country clergyman.-F. But if you will give us a barrack, my dear, Thus argued my lady, but argued in vain ; The knight his opinion resolv'd to maintain. But Hannah,* who listened to all that was past, And could not endure so vulgar a taste, As soon as her ladyship call'd to be drest, Cry'd, "Madam, why surely my master's possest. Sir Arthur the maltster! 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 Wood. † 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: My lady's waiting-woman.-F. But, madam, I beg you, contrive and invent, At Hamilton's bawn, and the troop is arriv'd; 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'"Twas a sad rainy night' The honour is mine.' But the morning is fine.' Pray, how does my lady?' My wife's at your service.' 'I think I have seen her picture by Jervas.'Good-morrow, good captain.'-'I'll wait on you down.' 'You sha'nt 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 troops, with trumpet and drum. Now, madam, observe how he marches in state: The man with the kettle-drum enters the gate: Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow. See now comes the captain all daub'd with gold lace: O la! 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 ribbons in knots at its tail and its ears: At last comes the troop, by word of command, Your ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen, For the right holds the sword, and the left holds the bridle.) Then flourishes thrice his sword in the air, (How I tremble to think of the blood it has spilt!) Then he lowers down the point, and kisses the hilt. Your ladyship smiles, and thus you begin: Pray, captain, be pleas'd to alight and walk in.' The captain salutes you with congée profound, And your ladyship curtsies half-way to the ground. Kit, run to your master, and bid him come to us, I'm sure he'll be proud of the honour you do us, And, captain, you'll do us the favour to stay, And take a short dinner here with us to-day : You're heartily welcome; but as for good cheer, You come in the very worst time of the year; |