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Poems

or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson
 
 

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To Tom. Sharington, Commendations to mine Hostess, where his Mare was at Cure.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

To Tom. Sharington, Commendations to mine Hostess, where his Mare was at Cure.

Commend us (Tom) to all at Bale,
Where once we drank a Cup of Ale.

83

How does your good old friend there fare,
Sh'has been a Mother to your Mare;
You may remember who I mean,
In truth, I have forgot her clean.
Forget her clean, how can I too.
Whom clean indeed I never knew.
Or, if I ever did, 'tis yet
So long ago, I may forget.
I know not but she may be clean,
By this, for she was washing then.
And, if she be not; No way but
To give her over for a Slut.
And when e'er her washing's done,
Hang her and let her cloaths alone.
Do you not call to mind the Kitchin,
My Landlady sate like a Witch in.
There where we did Mundungo smoak,
No Guynie Pepper wou'd so choak;
Nothing (except her Washbowl) could;
A sense-confusion with it hold.
You know the Cellar's just between,
Kitching and Stable, there I mean.
There where your eye-sore Mare turn'd taile,
Upon the bowsing Tub of Ale;
And with her launt did it supply,
Fast as mine Hostess drew it dry.
Where she did batten on the dung,
And bake it for a good Ale Bung.

84

O! if you chance pass by her Door,
I prithee (Tom) commend me to her:
And send me word next Post, that I may tell
Our Mother Damnable, her Sisters well.