The Dean would visit Market-hill; <br />Our invitation was but slight; <br />I said—why—Let him if he will, <br />And so I bid Sir Arthur write. <br /> <br />His manners would not let him wait, <br />Lest we should think ourselves neglected, <br />And so we saw him at our gate <br />Three days before he was expected. <br /> <br />After a week, a month, a quarter, <br />And day succeeding after day, <br />Says not a word of his departure <br />Though not a soul would have him stay. <br /> <br />I’ve said enough to make him blush <br />Methinks, or else the Devil’s in’t, <br />But he cares not for it a rush, <br />Nor for my life will take the hint. <br /> <br />But you, My Life, must let him know, <br />In civil language, if he stays <br />How deep and foul the roads may grow, <br />And that he may command the chaise. <br /> <br />Or you may say—my wife intends, <br />Though I should be exceeding proud, <br />This winter to invite some friends, <br />And Sir, I know you hate a crowd. <br /> <br />Or, Mr. Dean—I should with joy <br />Beg you would here continue still, <br />But we must go to Aghnaclay, <br />Or Mr. Moor will take it ill. <br /> <br />The house accounts are daily rising <br />So much his stay does swell the bills; <br />My dearest Life, it is surprising <br />How much he eats, how much he swills. <br /> <br />His brace of puppies how they stuff, <br />And they must have three meals a day, <br />Yet never think they get enough; <br />His horses too eat all our hay. <br /> <br />Oh! if I could, how I would maul <br />His tallow face and wainscot paws, <br />His beetle-brows and eyes of wall, <br />And make him soon give up the cause. <br /> <br />May I be every moment chid <br />With Skinny, Honey, Snip, and Lean, <br />Oh! that I could but once be rid <br />Of that insulting tyrant Dean.<br /><br />Jonathan Swift<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lady-acheson-weary-of-the-dean/
