Vam, longâ venti rabie, atque afpergine crebrâ Equorei laticis, fpecus imâ rupe cavatur: am fultura ruit, jam fumma cacumina nutant; am cadit in præceps moles, & verberat undas. Attonitus credas, hinc dejeciffe Tonantem Iontibus impofitos montes, & Pelion altum a capita anguipedum cœlo jaculâ fle gigantum. Sæpe etiam fpelunca immani apperitur hiatu xefa è fcopulis, & utrinque, foramina pandit, linc atque hinc a ponto ad pontum pervia Phcebo. autibus enorme junctis laquearia tecti ormantur; moles olim ruitura fupernè. ornice fublimi nidos pofuere palumbes, aque imo ftagni pofuere cubilia phocæ. Sed, cum fævit hyems, & venti, carcere rupto, nieufos volvunt fluctus ad culmina montis ; on obfeffe arces, non fulmina vindice dextrâ lilla Jovis, quoties inimicas fævit in urbes, xæquant fonitum undarum, veniente procellâ : ittora littoribus reboant; vicinia latè,

ens affueta mari, & pedibus percurrere rupes, erretur tamen, & longè fugit, arva relinquens, Gramina dum carpunt pendentes rupe capellæ, i falientis aquæ de fummo præcipitantur, t dulces animas imo fub gurgite linquunt. Pifcator terrâ non audet vellere funem ; d latet in portu tremebundus, & aëra fudum aud fperans, Nereum precibus votifque fatigat

CARBERY ROCKS.
TRANSLATED BY DR. DUNKIN.

O! from the top of yonder cliff, that shrouds Its airy head amidst the azure clouds, angs a huge fragment; deftitute of props, rone on the waves the rocky ruin drops; With hoarfe rebuff the fwelling feas rebound, rqm fhore to frore the rocks return the found: he dreadful murmur heaven's high convex cleaves,

nd Neptune fhrinks beneath his fubiect waves; or long the whirling winds and beating tides had scoop'd a vault into its nether fides. low yields the bafe, the fummits nod, now urge heir headlong courfe, and lafh the founding

furge.

Not towns beleaguer'd, not the flaming brand, Darted from Heaven by Jove's avenging hand, Ort as on impious men his wrath he pours, Humbles their pride, and blafts their gilded

towers,

Equal the tumult of this wild uproar :

Waves rush o'er waves, rebellows fhore to forc. The neighbouring race, though wont to brave the fhocks

Of angry feas, and run along the rocks,
Now pale with terror, while the ocean foams,
Fly far and wide, nor truit their native homes.
The goats, while pendent from the mountain-
top

The wither'd herb improvident they crop,
Wash'd down the precipice with fudden sweep,
Leave their fweet lives beneath th' unfathom'd
deep.

The frighted fifher, with defponding eyes, Though fare, yet trembling in the harbour lies, Not hoping to behold the kies ferene, Wearies with vows the monarch of the main.

UPON THE HORRID PLOT DISCOVERED BY HARLEQUIN, The Bishop of ROCHESTER's French Dog*. In a Dialogue between a WHIG and a TORY. 1723 ASK'D a Whig the other night,

He anfwer'd, that a dog of late

Inform'd a minifter of ftate.
Said, I, from thence I nothing know;
For are not all informers fo?
A villain who his friend betrays,
We ftyle him by no other phrafe;
And fo a perjur'd deg denotes
Porter, and Prendergaft, and Oates,
And forty others I could name.

WHIG. But, you must know, this dog was lame.

TORY. A weighty argument indeed! Come, help your lame dag o'er the yle. Your evidence was lame-proceed;

WHIG. Sir, you miftake me all this while: I mean a dog (without a joke)

Can howl, and bark, but never spoke.

TORY. I'm still to feek, which dog you mean ;
Whether cur Plunkeit, or whelp Skean,
An English or an Irish hound;

Or t' other puppy, that was drown'd;
Or Mason, that abandon'd bitch:
Then pray be free, and tell me which:
For every ftander-by was marking
That all the noise they made was barking.
Their dogs-heads in a porridge pot:
You pay them well; the dogs have got
And 'twas but jutt; for wife men say,
That every dog, must have his day.
Dog Walpole laid a quart of neg on 't,
He'd either make a hog or dog on 't ;

**See the "State Trials," Vol. VI,

་

And look'd, fince he has got his with,
As if he had thrown down a dish.
Yet this I dare foretel you from it,
He'll foon return to his own vomit.

WHIG. Befides, this horrid plot was found By Neynoe, after he was drown'd.

TORY. Why then the proverb is not right, Since you can teach dead dogs to bite.

WHIG. I prov'd my propofition full:
But jacobites are frangely dull.
Now let me tell you plainly, Sir,
Our witnefs is a real cur,

A dog of fpirit for his years,

Has twice two legs, two hanging ears;
His name is Harlequin, I wot,
And that's a name in every plot :
Refolv'd to fave the British nation,
Though French by birth and education;
His correfpondence plainly dated,
Was all decypher'd and tranflated:
His answers were exceeding pretty
Before the fecret wife committee:
Confefs'd as plain as he could bark;
Then with his fore-foot fet his mark.

A haunch of venifon made her fweat,
Unless it had the right fumette.
Don Carlos carnettly would beg,
Dear madam, try this pigeon's leg;
Was happy, when he could prevail
To make her only touch a quail.
Through candle-light the view'd the wine,
To fee that every glass was fine.
At laft, grown prouder than the devil
With feeding high and treatment civil,
Don Carlos now began to find
His malice work as he defign'd.
The winter-fly began to frown;
Poor Stella muft pack off to town:
From purling ftreams and fountain's bublling,
To Liffy's ftinking tide at Dublin;
From whole fome exercife and air,
To foffing in an easy chair;

From ftomach arp, and hearty feeding,
To piddle like a lady breeding;

From ruling there the houshold fingly,
To be directed here by Dingley*;
From every day a lordly banquet,
To half a joint, and God be thanked;

bled,

I thought it was a dog in doublet:
The matter now no longer sticks;
For ftatefmen never want dog-trichs.
But fince it was a real cur,
And not a dog in metapher,

I give you joy of the report,
That he 's to have a place at court.

To half a pint one day in twenty;
From Ford attending at her call,
To vifts of

From Ford who thinks of nothing mean,
To the poor doings of the Dean;
From growing richer with good chear,
To running-out by ftarving here.
But now arrives the difmal day :

A turn-fpit in the royal kitchen.
Sir, to be plain, I tell you what,
We had occafion for a plot :

And, when we found the deg begin it,
We guess'd the bishop's foot was in it.

TORY. I own it was a dangerous project;
And yon have prov'd it by deg-logick.
Sure fuch intelligence between
A dog and bishop ne'er was feen,
Till you began to charge the breed;
Your bishops all are degs indeed!

STELLA AT WOOD-PARK,

A HOUSE of CHARLES FORD, Efq, near

DUBLIN. 1723.

"-Cuicumque nocere volebat, "Veftimenta dabat pretiofa,"

Did stella to his houfe invite;

ON Carlos, in a merry spight,

He entertain'd her half a year
With generous wines and coftly chear.
Don Carlos made her chief director,
That he might o'er the fervants hecter.
In half a week the dame grew nice,
Got all things at the highest price:
Now at the able-head the fits,
Prefented with the niceft bits:
She look'd on partridges with fcorn,
Except they tafted of the corn;

The coachman ftopt; the look'd and fwore
The rafcal had miftook the door:

At coming in, you faw her foop;
The entry brush'd againft her hoop:
Each moment ring in her airs,
She curft the narrow winding stairs;
Began a thousand faults to fpy:
The cieling hardly fix feet high;
The fmutty wainfcot full of cracks;
And half the chairs with broken backs:
Her quarter 's out at Lady-day;
She vows he will no longer ftay
In lodgings like a peor Grizette,
While there are lodgings to be let.

Howe'er, to keep her spirits up,
She fent for company to fup:
When all the while you might remark,
She ftrove in vain to ape Wood-park.
Two bottles call'd for (half her store;
The cupboard could contain but four):
A fupper worthy of herself,
Five nothings in five plates of delf.

Thus for a week the farce went on;
When, all her country-favings gone,
She fell into her former fcene,
Small beer, a herring, and the Dean.

Thus far in jeft: though now, I fear,
You think my jefting too severe ;

*The confiant companion of Stella. † Where the two ladies lodged.

ut poets, when a hint is new,
o matter whether falfe or true :
et raillery gives no offence,

here truth has not the leaft pretence;
or can be more fecurely plac'd
an on a nymph of Stella's taste.
muft confefs, your wine and vittle
was too hard upon a little :
our table neat, your linen fine;
ad, though in miniature, you fhine:
et, when you figh to leave Wood-park,
ae fcene, the welcome, and the fspark,
>languish in this odious town,

d pull your haughty ftomach down; e think you quite miftake the cafe, e virtue lies not in the place: r, though my raillery were true, cottage is Wood-park with you.

COPY OF THE BIRTH-DAY VERSES ON MR. FORD.

NOME, be content, fince out it must,

For Stella has betray'd her truft;

nd, whispering, charg'd me not to say hat Mr Ford was born to-day; , if at last I needs muft blab it, cording to my ufual habit, e bid me, with a serious face, fure conceal the time and place; nd not my compliments to fpoil, y calling this your native foil; rvex the ladies, when they knew hat you are turning forty-two: ut, if thefe topicks hall appear rong arguments to keep you here, think, though you judge hardly of it, ood-manners must give place to profit. The nymphs with whom you firft began re each become a harrid.n; nd Montague fo far decay'd, ler lovers now muft all be paid; und every belle that since arose las her contemporary beatix. four former comrades, once fo bright, With whom you toasted half the night, Of rheumatism and pox complain, And bid adieu to dear champaign. our great protectors, once in power, Are now in exile or the Tower. four foes triumphant o'er the laws, Who hate your person and your cause, If once they get you on the fpot, You must be guilty of the plot, For, true or falfe, they'll ne'er enquire, But ufe you ten times worfe than Prior*. In London! what would you do there? Can you, my friend, with patience bear Nay, would it not your paffion raise Worfe than a pun, or Irish phrase?) To fee a fcoundrel ftrut and hector, A foot-boy to fome rogue director,

To look on vice triumphant round,
And virtue trampled on the ground?
Obferve where bloody ***** ftands
With torturing engines in his hands;
Hear him blafpheme, and fwear, and rail,
Threatening the pillory and jail :
If this you think a pleafing fcene,
To London ftraight return again;
Where, you have told us from experience,
Are, fwarms of bugs and prefbyterians.

I thought my very fpleen would burst,
When fortune hither drove me firft;
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 ftill 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-street will ferve as well
To lead you thither as Pall-Mall,
Nor want a paffage through the palace,
To choque your fight, and raife your
malice
The Deaury-houfe may well be match'd,
Under correction, with the Thatcht*.
Nor shall I, when you hither come,
Demand a crown a quart for ftum.
Then, for a middle-aged charmer,
Stella may vie with your Monthermer ;
She's now as handsome every bit,
And has a thousand times her wit.
The Dean and Sheridan, I hope,
Will half fupply a Gay and Pope.
Corbett, though yet I 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 cheerful looks and honeft hearts?
Can you on Dublin look with fcorn?
Yet here were you and Ormond born.

Ch! were but you and I so wife,
To fee with Robert Grattan's eyes!
Robin adores that fpot of earth,
That literal spot which gave him birth;
And fwears," Belcamps is, to his tafte,
"As fine as Hampton-court at least."
When to your friends you would enhance
The praife of Italy or France,
For grandeur, elegance, and wit,
We gladly hear you, and fubmit:
But then, to come and seep a clutter,
For this or that fide of the gutter,
To live in this or t' other ifle,
We cannot think it worth your while;
For, tale it kindly or amifs,

The difference but amounts to this:

A famous tavern in St. James's-Areet.. Dr. Corbet, afterwards dean of St. Patricks. R. and J. Grattan, and J. and D. Jackson.. SI Fingall, about fine milos from Dublin,

T t

We bury on our fide the channel
In linen; and on yours 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 ítreet;
While we may trace all Dublin c'er
Before we find out half a score.

You fee my arguments are ftrong;
I wonder you held out fo long:
But, fince you are convinc'd at lait,
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. 1723.
JOAN cudgels Ned, yet Ned a bully

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 the combs his head.

Charon in him will ferry fouls to hell;
A trade our Boat✶ hath practis'd here so well:
And Cerberus hath ready in his paws
Both pitch and brimftene, to fill up his flaws.
Yet, fpite of death and fate, I here maintain
We may place Beat in his old poft again.
The way is thus ; and weH deferves your thanks:
Take the three ftrongest of his broken planks,
Fix them on high, confpicuous to be seen,
Form'd like the triple-tree near Stephen's-greent;
And, when we view it thus with thief at end on 't,
We'll cry, Look, here's our Boat, and there
the fendant!

O mournful ditties, Clio, change thy note, Tsimo cruel fate bath funk our justice Boat. Why fhould he fink, where nothing seem'd to prefs,

His lading little, and his balla lefs?

Toft in the waves of this tempeflucus world,
At length, his anchor fixt and canvas furld,
To Lazy-hill retiring from his court,
At his Ring's-end he founders in the fert.
With water fill'd, he could no longer foat,
The common death of many a fronger boat.

A poft fo fill'd on nature's laws entrenches:
Benches on boats are plac'd, not beats on benches,
And yet our Bent (how fall I reconcile it?)
Was both a Boat, and in one fenfe a pilet."
With every wind he faild, and well could tack;
Had many pendents, but abhorr❜d a Jocks.
He's gone, although his friends began to hope
That he might yet be lifted by a refe.

Dehold the awful berch, on which he fat!
He was as hard and ponderous wood as that:
Yet, when his fund was out, we find at laft,
That death has everfet him with a blast.

Our Boct is now faid to the Stygian ferry,
There to fupply old Charon's leaky wherry:

*The lay for burying in woollen was extended to Ireland in 1733

Two villages near the fea. It was faid he died of a dropfy § A cant word for a Jacobite,

Nor can the filful herald trace
The founder of thy ancient race;
Whether thy temper, full of fire,
Difcovers Vulcan for thy fre,
And round his margin fing❜d the foil
The god who made Scamander boil,
(From whence, philofophers agree,
An equal power defcends to thee);
Whether from dreadful Mars you claim
The high defcent from whence you came,
And, as a proof, fhew numerous fcars
By fierce encounters made in wars,
Thofe honourable wounds you bore
From head to foot, and all before,
And still the bloody field frequent,
Familiar in each leader's tent;
Or whether, as the learn'd contend,
You from the neighbouring Gaul defcend;
Or from Parthenope the proud,
Where numberlefs thy votaries croud;
Whether thy great forefather came
From realms that bear Vefputio's name
(For fo conjecturers would obtrude,
And from thy painted skin conclude);
Whether, as Epicurus fhows,
The world from juttling feeds arose,
Which, mingling with prolific ftrife
In chaos, kindled into life:
So your production was the fame,
And from contending atoms came.

In condemning malef. Elers, as a judge. Where the Dublin gallows flands. *This name is plainly an anagram.

MARY THE COOK-MAID'S LETTER

Thy fair indulgent mother crown'd
y head with fparkling rubies round:
neath thy decent fteps the road
all with precious jewels ftrow'd.
e bird of Pallas knows his poft,
ee to attend, where'er thou goest.
Byzantians boaft, that on the clod
here once their Sultan's horfe had trod,
ows neither grais, nor fhrub, nor tree;
e fame thy fubjects.boast of thee.
The greatest lord, when you appear,
ill diga your livery to wear,
all the various colours feen

red and yellow, blue and green.
With half a word, when you require,
e man of bufinefs must retire.
The haughty minister of flate

ith trembling muft thy leifore wait;
d, while his fate is in thy hands,
bufinefs of the nation ftands.
Thou dar'ft the greateft prince attack,
aft hourly fet him on the rack;
d, as an instance of thy power,
clofe him in a wooden tower,
ith pungent pains on every fide:
Regulus in torments dy'd.

From thee our youth all virtues learn, ngers with prudence to difcern; id well thy fcholars are endued ith temperance, and with fortitude; ith patience, which all ills fupports;' ad fecrefy, the art of courts." The glittering beau could hardly tell, ithout your aid, to read or fpell; it, having long convers'd with you, nows how to write a billet-doux. With what delight, methinks, I trace our blood in every noble race!whom thy features, fhape, and mien, re to the life diflindly feen!" he Britons, once a favage kind, y you were brighten'd and refin'd, efcendants to the barbarous Hans, th limbs robuft, and voice that stuns; ut you have moulded them afresh, emov'd the tough superfluous flesh, aught them to modulate their tongues, and speak without the help of lungs. Proteus on you bestow'd the boon o change your vifage like the moon; ou fometimes half a face produce, eep t'other half for private use. How fam'd thy conduct in the fight With Hermes, fon of Pleias bright! ut-number'd, half encompafs'd round, You ftrove for every inch of ground; Then, by a foldierly retreat, Retir'd to your imperial feat. The victor, when your steps he tracʼd, ound all the realms before him watte: Hou, o'er the high triumphal arch ontific, made your glorious march; The wondrous arch behind you fell, And left a chasm profound as hell: You, in your capitol fecur'd, fege as long as Troy endur'd,

TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1723.

WELL,

if ever I faw fuch another man fince my mother bound my head!

You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred.

I'm fure fuch words do not become a man of your cloth;

I would not give fuch language to a dog, faith and troth.

Yes, you call'd my mafter a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a shame

For a parfon, who should know better things, to come out with fuch a name.

Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a fhame and a fin;

And the Dean, my mafter, is an honefter man than you and all your kin:

He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have in your whole body:

My mafter is a parfonable man, and not a spindlefhank'd hoddy-doddy.

And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excufe,

Because my mafter one day, in anger, call'd you goofe;

Which, and I am fure I have been his fervant four years fince October,

And he never call'd me worfe than fweet-heart, drunk or fober:

Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge,

Though you and your come-rogues keep him out fo late in your college.

You fay you will eat grafs on his grave: a chriftian eat grafs!

Wherchy you now confefs yourself to be a goofe or an afs:

But that's as much as to fay, that my mafter fhould die before ye;

Well, well, that 's as God pleases; and I don't believe that's a true ftory:

And fo fay I told you fo, and you may go tell my mafter; what care I?

And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary.

Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and fhame the devil:

I am but a poor fervant; but I think gentlefolks fhould be civil.

Befdes, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here:

I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in

in the year.

And Saunders the man fays you are always jefting and mocking :

Mary, faid he, (one day as I was mending my mafter's ftocking)

My matter is fo fond of that minifter that keeps the school

I thought my mafter a wife man, but that man makes him a fool.