Obferve where bloody ***** stands
With torturing engines in his hands,
Hear him blafpheme, and fwear, and rail,
Threatening the pillory and jail :
If this you think a pleasing scene,
To London ftrait return again;
Where, you have told us from experience,
Are fwarms of bugs and prefbyterians.
I thought my very spleen would burft,,
When Fortune hither drove me first;
Was full as hard to please as you,
Nor perfons names nor places knew:
But now I act as other folk,..
Like prifoners when their jail is broke.
If you have London still at heart,
We'll make a small one here by art;
The difference is not much between
St. James's Park and Stephen's-Green;
And Dawfon-ftreet will ferve as well

malice

To lead you thither as Pall-Mall.
Nor want a paffage through the palace,
To choque your fight, and raise
your
The Deanry-houfe may well be match'd,
Under correction, with the Thatcht *.
Nor fhall I, when you hither come,
Demand a crown a quart for ftum.
Then, for a middle-aged charmer,

Stella may vye with your Monthermer;

*A famous tavern in St. James's-street.

She's

She's now as handfome every bit,
And has a thousand times her wit.
The Dean and Sheridan, I hope,
Will half fupply a Gay and Pope.

Corbet*, though yet 1 know his worth not,

No doubt, will prove a good Arbuthnot.
I throw into the bargain Tim;

In London can you equal him?
What think

you of my. favourite clan,
Robin †, and Jack, and Jack and Dan ;
Fellows of modeft worth and parts,
With chearful looks and honest hearts?
Can you on Dublin look with fcorn?
Yet here were you and Ormond born.
Oh! were but you and I so wise,
To fee with Robert Grattan's eyes
Robin adores that fpot of earth,
That literal fpot which gave him birth;
And fwears," Belcamp is, to his taste,
"As fine as Hampton-court at least."
When to your friends you would enhance
The praise of Italy or France,
For grandeur, elegance, and wit,
We gladly hear you, and submit:
But then, to come and keep a clutter,
For this or that fide of a gutter,

Dr. Corbet, afterwards dean of St. Patrick's. + R. and J. Grattan, and J. and D. Jackson. In Fingall, about five miles from Dublin.

J

To live in this or t' other ifle,

We cannot think it worth your while;
For, take it kindly or amifs,

The difference but amounts to this,
We bury on our fide the channel
In linen; and on your's in flannel*.
You for the news are ne'er to feek;
While we, perhaps, may wait a week ::
You happy folks are fure to meet
An hundred whores in every ftreet;
While we may trace all Dublin o'er
Before we find out half a fcore.

You fee my arguments are strong;
I wonder you held out fo long:
But, fince you are convinc'd at last,
We'll pardon you for what is past.
So let us now for whift prepare;

Twelve-pence a corner, if you dare..

JOAN CUDGELS NED. 17239.

[OAN cudgels Ned, yet Ned 's a bully;

J

Will cudgels Befs, yet Will 's a cully..

Die Ned and Befs; give Will to Joan,
She dares not fay her life 's her own.
Die Joan and Will; give Befs to Ned,.
And every day fhe combs his head.

* The law for burying in woolen was extended to Ireland in 1733.

3

A QUIB

T

A QUIBBLING ELEGY,
ON JUDGE BOAT. 1723.

O mournful ditties, Clio, change thy note,

Since cruel fate hath funk our justice Boat. Why fhould he fink, where nothing feem'd to prefs, His lading little, and his ballaft lefs?

Toft in the waves of this tempestuous world,
At length, his anchor fixt and canvas furl'd,
To Lazy-hill retiring from his court,
At his Ring's-end he founders in the port.
With water + fill'd, he could no longer float,
The common death of many a ftronger boat.

A post so fill'd on nature's laws entrenches :
Benches on boats are plac'd, not boats on benches.
And yet our Boat (how fhall I reconcile it?).
Was both a Boat, and in one fenfe a pilot.
With every wind he fail'd, and well could tack:
Had many pendents, but abhorr'd a Jack ‡.
He 's gone, although his friends began to hope,
That he might yet be lifted by a rope.

Behold the awful bench, on which he fat!"
He was as hard and ponderous wood as that:
Yet, when his fand was out, we find at last,,
That death has overfet him with a blast.

* Two villages near the fea.
+ It was faid he died of a dropfy..

A cant word for a Jacobite.

Our

Our Boat is now fail'd to the Stygian ferry,
There to fupply old Charon's leaky wherry:
Charon in him will ferry fouls to hell;
A trade our Boat * hath practis'd here fo well:
And Cerberus hath ready in his paws

Both pitch and brimftone, to fill up his flaws.
Yet, fpite of death and fate, I here maintain
We may place Boat in his old post again.
The way is thus; and well deferves thanks:
your
Take the three strongest of his broken planks,
Fix them on high, confpicuous to be feen,
Form'd like the triple-tree near Stephen's-green +;
And, when we view it thus with thief at end on 't,
We'll cry; look, here's our Boat, and there's the pendant.

HERE lies judge Boat within a coffin';
Pray, gentle-folks, forbear your scoffing.
A Boat a judge! yes; where's the blunder ?
A wooden judge is no fuch wonder.
And in his robes, you must agree,
No Boat was better deckt than he.
'Tis needlefs to defcribe him fuller;
In fhort, he was an able sculler.

* In condemning malefactors, as a judge.
+ Where the Dublin gallows ftands.