A PASTORAL DIALOGUE
DERMOT, SHEELAH (1729)

Banter between a couple of local workers while weeding around Sir Arthur Acheson's house. Dennis was Sir Arthur's Butler.

A NYMPH and Swain, Sheelah and Dermot hight,
Who wont to weed the Court of Gosford Knight,
While each with stubbed Knife remov'd the Roots
That rais'd between the Stones their daily Shoots;
As at their Work they sate in counterview,
With mutual Beauty smit, their Passion grew.
Sing heavenly Muse in sweetly flowing Strain,
The soft Endearments of the Nymph and Swain.

DERMOT

My Love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt
Than strongest Weeds that grow these Stones betwixt:
My Spud these Nettles from the Stones can part,
No Knife so keen to weed thee from my Heart.

SHEELAH

My Love for gentle Dermot faster grows
Than yon tall Dock that rises to thy Nose.
Cut down the Dock, 'twill sprout again: but O!
Love rooted out, again will never grow.

DERMOT

No more that Bry'r thy tender Leg shall rake:
(I spare the Thistle for Sir Arthur's sake.)
Sharp are the Stones, take thou this rushy Matt;
The hardest Bum will bruise with sitting squat.

SHEELAH

Thy Breeches torn behind, stand gaping wide;
This Petticoat shall save thy dear Back-side;
Nor need I blush, although you feel it wet;
Dermot, I vow, 'tis nothing else but Sweat.

DERMOT

At an old stubborn Root I chanc'd to tug,
When the Dean threw me this Tobacco-plug:
A longer half-p'orth never did I see;
This, dearest Sheelah, thou shalt share with me.

SHEELAH

In at the Pantry-door this Morn I slipt,
And from the Shelf a charming Crust I whipt:
Dennis was out, and I got hither safe;
And thou, my dear, shalt have the bigger half.

DERMOT

When you saw Tady at long-bullets play,
You sat and lows'd him all the Sun-shine Day.
How could you, Sheelah, listen to his Tales,
Or crack such Lice as his betwixt your Nails?

SHEELAH

When you with Oonah stood behind a Ditch,
I peept, and saw you kiss the dirty Bitch.
Dermot, how could you touch those nasty Sluts!
I almost wisht this Spud were in your Guts.

DERMOT

If Oonah once I kiss'd, forbear to chide:
Her Aunt's my Gossip by my Father's Side:
But, if I ever touch her Lips again,
May I be doom'd for Life to weed in Rain.

SHEELAH

Dermot, I swear, tho' Tady's Locks could hold
Ten thousand Lice, and ev'ry Louse was gold,
Him on my Lap you never more should see;
Or may I loose my Weeding-knife - and Thee.

DERMOT

O, could I earn for thee, my lovely Lass,
A pair of Brogues to bear thee dry to Mass!
But see, where Norah with the Sowins comes -
Then let us rise, and rest our weary Bums.