The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/To Quilca
LET me thy properties explain:
A rotten cabin dropping rain;
Chimnies with scorn rejecting smoke;
Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke.
Here elements have lost their uses,
Air ripens not, nor earth produces;
In vain we make poor Sheelah toil,
Fire will not roast, nor water boil.
Through all the valleys, hills, and plains,
The goddess Want in triumph reigns:
And her chief officers of state,
Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.
THE BLESSINGS OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 1725.
Far from our debtors; no Dublin letters;
Nor seen by our betters.
THE PLAGUES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.
A companion with news; a great want of shoes;
Eat lean meat, or choose; a church without pews.
Our horses astray; no straw, oats, or hay;
December in May; our boys run away; all servants at play.
- The name of an Irish servant.