And tatter'd tapestry o'er her shoulders hung--
Her loins with patchwork cincture were begirt,
That more than spoke diversity of dirt.
Twain were her teeth, and single was her eye--
Cold palsy shook her head----
with "moon-struck madness," awards him all the wealth and fame she
could afford him for sixpence; and closes her orgasm with the sage
admonition--
The chequer'd world's before thee; go, farewell!
Beware of Irishmen; and learn to spell!
But in heaven, among the immortals, never was an unfortunate hero of
the vindicative Muses so reduced into nothingness! Jove, disturbed at
the noise of this thing of wit, exclaims, that nature had never proved
productive in vain before, but now,
On mere privation she bestow'd a frame,
And dignified a nothing with a name;
A wretch devoid of use, of sense, of grace,
The insolvent tenant of incumber'd space!