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By Sarah Leech

Wi’ heck weel-teeth’d and spit renew’d,

I sat me down to spin contented;
And your address to me reviewed,
Which set my head amaist demented.

My muse, impelled by gratitude,
Resolv’d your kindness to acknowledge,
Tho’ it should be in verses rude;
You ken I ne’er was at a college.

I am unskill’d in classic lord,
Tho’ I sometimes mak’ Scotch clink pat in -
Nae authors sage can I explore,
Like those who speak the Greek and Latin:

My muse kens nought o’ Sappho’s lays,
Who sung sublime on soaring pinion:
O! how the neighbours round would gaze,
If I, love-struck, should leap off Binion!

My Pegasus now fain would sink -
Grown dizzy wi’ sic classic matter -
So I maun light, and let him drink
A draught o’ Foyle’s inspiring water.

Then, fare you weel, may you ha’e health,
My correspondent, kind adviser -
And as you wish I may get wealth,
I, in return, pray you’ll grow wiser;

And when grim death shall quench life’s flame,
And you embark in Charon’s wherry,
O may your MONUMENTAL THEME
Be lasting as the walls of Derry.