t fea or land, if e'er you found kim
Vithout a miftrefs, hang or drown him.
ince Burnet's death, the bishop's bench,
ill Horte arriv'd, ne'er kept a wench:
Horte muft fink, fhe grieves to tell it,
he'll not have left one fingle prelate ;
or, to fay truth, fhe did intend him,
Ject of Cyprus in commerdam,

nd, fince her birth the ocean gave her,
e could not doubt her uncle's favour.
Then Proteus urg'd the fame request,
ut half in earneft, half in jet;
id he "Great fovereign of the main,
To drown him all attempts are vain;
Horte can affume more forms than I,
A rake, a bully, pimp, or spy;
Can creep or run, or fly or fwim;
All motions are alike to him:
Turn him adrift, and you fall find
He knows to fail with every wind;
Cr, throw him overboard, he 'll ride
As well againft, as with the tide.
But, Pallas, you 've apply'd too late;
For 'tis decreed, by jove and Fate,
That Ireland must be foon destroy'd,
And who but Horte can be employ'd?
You need not then have been fo pert,
In fending Bolton* to Clonfert.

I found you did it, by your grinning;
Your bufinefs is, to mind your fpinning.
But how you came to interpofe
In making bishops, no one knows :
Or who regarded your report;
For never were you feen at court.
And if you must have your petition,
There's Berkeley in the fame condition:
Look, there he ftands, and 'tis but just,
If one must drown, the other muft;
But, if you ll leave us bishop Judas,
We'll give you Berkeley for Bermudas.
Now, if 'twill gratify your fpiget,
To put him in a plaguy fright,
Although 'tis hardly worth the cost,
You foon fall fee him foundly toft.

H, heavenly-born! in deepest dells If fireft icience ever dwells Beneath the molly cave; Indulge the verdure of the woods; With azure beauty gild the floods, And flowery carpets lave; For melancholy ever reigns Delighted in the fylvan scenes With fcientific light;

While Dian, huntrefs of the vales, Seeks lulling founds and fanning gales,

Through wrapt from mortal fight. Yet, goddess, yet the way explore With magic rites and heathen lore

Obftructed and deprefs'd;

Till Wisdom give the facred Nine,
Untaught, not uninfpir'd, to shine,
By Reafon's power redrefs'd.
When Solon and Lycurgus taught
To moralize the human thought

Of mad opinion's maze,
To erring zeal they gave new laws.
Thy charms, O Liberty, the caufe
That blends congenial rays,
Bid bright Aftræa gild the mora,
Or bid a hundred funs be born,

To hecatomb the year;
Without thy aid, in vain the poles,

(And every moment take a dram)

His ghaftly vifage with an air

Of reprobation and despair:

Or elfe fome hiding-hole he feeks,

For fear the reft fhould fay he fqueaks ;
Or, as Fitzpatrick did before,
Refolve to perish with his whore;
Or elfe he rayes, and roars, and fwears,
And, but for shame, would fay his prayers.
Or, would you fee his fpirits fink,
Pelaxing downwards in a flink?
If fuch a fight as this can please ye,
Good madam Pallas, pray be easy,

Afterwards archbishop of Cashell. + Dr. George Berkeley, dean of Derry, and af oards bishop of Gleyne.

Brigadier Fitzpatrick was dreened in one of e packet-beats in the bay of Dublin, in a great

In vain the lunar sphere.

Come, faireft princefs of the throng, Bring fwift Philosophy along

In metaphyfe dreams;

While raptur'd bards no more behold
A vernal age of purer gold
In Heliconian ftreams.

Drive Thraldon with malignant hand,
To curfe fome other deftin'd land
By Folly led aftray:
Ierne bear on azure wing ;
Energic let her foar, and fing
Thy univerfal fway.

So, when Amphion bade the lyre
To more majestic found afpire,

Behold the madding throng,
In wonder and oblivion drown'd,
To fculpture turn'd by magic found
And petrifying fong.

STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY,

TU

MARCH 13, 1726.

HIS day, whate'er the fates decree,
Shall ftill be kept with joy by me:
This day then let us not be told,
That you are fick, and I grown old;
Nor think on your approaching ills,
And talk of ipectacles and pills :
To-morrow will be time enough
To hear fuch mortifying ftuff.
Yet, fince from reafon may be brought
A better and more pleafing thought,
Which can, in spite of all decays,
Support a few remaining days;
From not the gravest of Divines
Accept for once fome ferious lines.

Although we now can form no more
Long fchemes of life, as heretofore;
Yet you, while time is running fast,
Can look with joy on what is paft.

Were future happiness and pain
A mere contrivance of the brain;
As atheifts argue, to entice
And fit their profelytes for vice
(The only comfort they propofe,
To have companions in their woes);
Grant this the cafe; yet fure 'tis hard
That virtue, ftyl'd its own reward,
And by all fages understood
To be the chief of human good,
Should acting die, nor leave behind
Some lafting pleasure in the mind,
Which by remembrance will affuage
Grief, heknefs, poverty, and age,
And irongly shoot a radiant dart
To fine through life's declining part.
Say, Stella, feel you no content,
Reflecting on a life well spent ;
Your kilful hand employ'd to fave
Defpairing wretches from the grave;
And then fupporting with your ftore

Thofe whom you dragg'd from death before?
So Providence on mortals waits,
Preferving what it first creates.
Your generous boldnefs to defend
An innocent and absent friend;

That courage which can make you just
To merit humbled in the duft;
The deteftation you exprefs..
For vice in all its glittering drefs;
That patience under tottering pain,
Where stubborn ftoicks would complain;
Muft thefe like empty fhadows pafs,
Or forms reflected from a glafs?
Or mere chimeras in the mind,
That fly, and leave no mark behind?
Does not the body thrive and grow
By food of twenty years ago?
And, had it not been fill supply'd,
It muft a thousand times have died.
Then who with reafon can maintain
That no effects of food remain?
And is not virtue in mankind
The nutriment that feeds the mind;

Upheld by each good action paft,
And ftill continued by the laft?
Then, who with reafon can pretend
That all effects of virtue end?

Believe me, Stella, when you fhow
That true contempt for things below,
Nor prize your life for other ends
Than merely to oblige your friends;
Your former actions claim their part,
And join to fortify your heart.
For Virtue, in her daily race,
Like Janus, bears a double face;
Looks back with joy where he has gone,
And therefore goes with courage on:
She at your fehly couch will wait,
And guide you to a better state.

O then, whatever Heaven intends, Take pity on your pitying friends! Nor let your ills affect your mind, To fancy they can be unkind. Me, furely ine, you ought to fpare, Who gladly would your fuffering share; Or give my fcrap of life to you, And think it far beneath your due ; You, to whofe care fo oft' I owe That I'm alive to tell you fo.

again.

Look to thyfelf, and be no more the sport
Of giddy winds, but make fome friendly port.
Loft are thy oars, that us'd thy courfe to guide,
Like faithful counselors, on either fide.
Thy mat, which like fome aged patriot stood
The fngle pillar for his country's good,
To lead thee, as a ftaff direfts the blind,
Behold it cracks by yon rough eafter wind.
Your cable 's burst, and you must quickly feel
The waves impetuous enter at your keel.
Thus commonwealths receive a foreign yoke,
When the ftrong cords of union once are broke.
Torn by a fudden tempeft is thy fail,"
Expanded to invite a milder gale.

As when fome writer in the public caufe
His pen, to fave a finking nation, draws,
While all is calm, his arguments prevail;
The people's voice expands his paper-fail;
Till power, difcharging all her ftormy bags,
Flutters the feeble pamphlet into rags.
The nation fcar'd, the author doom'd to death,
Who fondly put his truft in popular breath

A larger facrifice in vain you vow;
There's not a power above will help you now :
A nation thus, who oft' Heaven's call neglects,
In vain from injur❜d Esaven relief expects.

'Twill not avail, when thy ftrong fides are
broke,

That thy defcent is from the British oak; Or, when your name and family you boast, From fleets triumphant o'er the Gallic coaft. Such was Ierne's claim, as just as thine, Her fons defcended from the British line; Her matchlefs fons, whofe valour still remains On French records for twenty long campaigns: Yet, from an emprefs now a captive grown, She fav'd Britannia's rights, and loft her own. In fhips decay'd no mariner confides, Lur'd by the gilded ftern and painted fides; Yet at a ball unthinkining fools delight In the gay trappings of a birth-day night: They on the gold brocades and fattins rav'd, And quite forgot their country was enflav'd. Dear veffel, still be to thy fteerage juft, Nor change thy courfe with every fudden guft; Like fupple patriots of the modern fort, Who turn with every gale that blows from court. Weary and fea- fick when in thee confin'd, Now for thy fafety cares diftra& my mind; As those who long have flood the storms of state Retire, yet still bemoan their country's fate. Beware; and when you hear the furges roar, Avoid the rock on Britain's angry shore. They lie, alas! too eafy to be found; For thee alone they lie the island round.

Y holy zeal infpir'd, and led by fame, To thee, one favourite ine, with joy I came ; What time the Goth, the Vandal, and the Hun, Had my own native Italy* o'er-run. Jerne, to the world's remoteft parts, Renown'd for valour, policy, and arts.

The argument here turns on, what the author of course took for granted, the prefent Scots being the defcendants of Irish emigrants. This fact, however true, was not in Dr. Swift's time afcertained with any degree of precision. Ireland, even to this day, "remains fuperftitiously devoted to her ancient "hiftery," and "wraps herself in the gloom of "her own legendary annals.” Mr. Whitaker has difplayed an uncommon fund of knowledge on this very curious fubject, both in his « Hijtery of Marchefter," and in "The Genuine Hiftory of the Britons af"ferted." N.

"The Scots (says Dr. Robertson) carry their "pretenfions to antiquity as high as any of their "neighbours. Relying upon uncertain legends, and "the traditions of their bards, fill more uncertain, "they reckon up a series of kings feveral ages before "the birth of Chrift, and give a particular detail "of occurrences which happened in their reigns. In

the beginning of the fixteenth century, John "Major and Hector Boethius published their His"teries of Scotland; the former a fucciret and dry

writer, the latter a copious and florid one; and "both equally credulous. Not many years after, "Buchanan undertook the fame work; and if his "accuracy and impartiality had been in any degree "equal to the elegance of his tale, and to the purity "and vigeur of his hyle, his hiflory might be placed on a level with the moi admired competions of "the ancients. But, in ead of rejecting the improbable tales of Chronicle-writers, he was at "the utmo pains to adorn them, and bath cloathed "with all the beauties and graces of fiction these

legends which formerly had only its avil nefs and "extravagance."On the authority of Buchanan and his predeceffers the hiftorical part of this foem feems founted, as well as the notes figned IRISH ED. of which, I believe, were written by the Dean himself. N.

In the reign of King Henry II. Dermot McMorreugh, king of Leinster, being deprived of his kingdom by Rederick O'Conner, king of Connaught, he invited the English over as auxiliaries, and promifed Richard Strangbow, earl of Pembroke, his daughter and all his deminions as a fortion. By this affiftance, McMorrough recovered his crown, and Strangbow became possessed of all Leinster. IRISH ED.

Britain, by thee we fell, ungrateful isle!
Not by thy valeur, but fuperior guile;
Britain, with fhame, confefs this land of mine
Firft taught thee human knowledge and divine; *
My prelates and my ftudents, fent from hence,
Made your fons converts both to God and fenfe:
Not like the paftors of thy ravenous breed,
Who come to fleece the flocks, and not to feed.

Wretched Ierne! with what grief I fee
The fatal changes Time hath made on thee!
The Chriftian rites I introduc'd in vain :
Lo! infidelity return'd again!
Freedom and virtue in thy fons I found,
Who now in vice and flavery are drown'd,

By faith and prayer, this croter in my hand,
I drove the venom'd ferpent from thy land;
The fhepherd in his bower might flcep or fing,
Nor dread the adder's tooth, nor fcorpion's fting.
With omens oft' I strove to warn thy fwains,
Omens, the types of thy impending chains.
I fent the magpie from the British foil,
With reftlefs beak thy blooming fruit to spoil,
To din thine ears with unharmonious clack,
And haunt thy holy walls in white and black.
What else are those thou feeft in bishop's geer,
Who crop the nurseries of learning here;
Afpiring, greedy, full of fenfelefs prate,
Devour the church, and chatter to the state?
As you grew more degenerate and base,
I fent you millions of the croaking race;
Emblems of infects vile, who spread their spawn
Through all thy land, in armour, fur, and lawn;
A naufeous brood, that fills your fenate walls,
And in the chambers of your viceroy crawls!

See, where that new-devouring vermin runs, Sent in my anger from the land of Huns! With harpy-claws it undermines the ground, And fudden fpreads a numerous offspring round, Th' amphibious tyrant, with his ravenous band, Drains all thy lakes of fit, of fruits thy land.

Where is the holy well that bore my name? Fled to the fountain back, from whence it came ! Fair Freedom's emblem once, which fmoothly flows,

And bleflings equally on all bestows.
Here, from the neighbouring; nuriery of arts,
The ftudents, drinking, rais'd their wit and

parts;

Here, for an ago and more, improv'd their vein, Their Phœbus Ï, my spring their Hippocrene.

St. Patrick arrived in I eland in the year 4531, and completed the conversion of the natives, which had been begun by Palladius and others. A d, as bishop Nicholfen obferves, Ireland foon became the fountain of learning, to which all the Weftern Ghriftians, as well as the English, had recourse, not enly for influctions in the principles of religion, but in all forts of literature, viz. Legendi et fcholaftica eruditionis gratia. IRISH ED.

There are no snakes, wipers, or toads, in Ireland; and even frogs were not known here until about the year 1700. The magties cave fhort time before, and the Norway rats fince. IRISH ED.

7

The University of Dublin, called Trinity College, was founded by Queen Elizabeth in 1591. IRISH ED.

|

Difcourag'd youths now all their hopes muf fail:

Condemn'd to country cottages and ale;
To foreign prelates make a flavish court,
And by their sweat procure a mean fupport:
Or, for the clafficks, read "Th' Attorazy's
Guide;"

Collect excife, or wait upon the tide.

Oh! that I had been apostle to the Swifs, Oa hardy Scot, or any land but this: Combi'd in arms, they had their foes defed, And kept their liberty, or bravely died. Thou ftill with tyrants in fucceffion curft, The laft invaders trampling on the firit: Now fondly hope for fome reverse of fate, Virtue herfelf would now return too late. Not half thy courfe of mifery is run, Thy greateft evils yet are fearce begun. Soon fall thy fons (the time is juft a: hand) Be all made captives in their native land; When, for the ufe of no Hibernian born, Shall rife one blade of grafs, one car of corn; When shells and leather fall for money pass, Nor thy oppreffing lords afford thee brafs. But all turn leafers to that mongrel breed, Who, from thee fprung, yet on thy vitals feed; Who to yon ravenous ifle thy treasures bear, And waste in luxury thy harvests there; For pride and ignorance a proverb grown, The jeft of wits, and to the court unknown. I fcorn thy fpurious and degenerate line, And from this hour my patronage refign.

On Reading DR. YOUNG's Satires

CALLED

THE UNIVERSAL PASSION,
By which he means Fride
1726.

there be truth in what you fing,

Such god-like virtues in the king

A minifter* fo fll'd with zeal

And wisdom for the common-weal :
So fteadily the fenate guides:
If he who in the chair predes

If others, whom you make your theme,
Are feconds in the glorious fcheme :
If every peer whom you commend.
To worth and learning be a friend:
If this be truth, as you atteft,
What land was ever half fo bleft
No falfehood now among the great,
And tradefmen now no longer cheat;

* Wood's ruineus project in 1724. IRISH ED.

The abfentees, who spent the income of their Irish eftates, places, and fenfions, in England

IRISH ED.

* Sir Robert Walpole, afterwards Earl of Or

ford. ↑ Sir Spencer Compten, then speaker, after warlı Earl of Wilmington.

ow on the bench fair Juftice frines,
er fcale to neither fde inclines;
ow Pride and Cruelty are flown,
nd Mercy here exalts her throne :
or fuch is good example's power.
does its office every hour,
here governors are good and wife;
elfe the trueft maxim lyes:
r fo we find all ancient fages
cree, that, ad exemplum regis,
rough all the realm his virtues run,
pening and kindling like the fun.
this be true, then how much more
hen you have cam'd at least a score
courtiers, each in their degree,
poffible, as good as he?

Or take it in a different view.
fk (if what you fay be true)
you affiran the prefent age
ferves your fatire's keenest rage:
that faine riverfal peffion

th every vice hatt fill'd the nation :
virtue dares not venture down
ngle ftep beneath the crown:
clergymen, to fhew their wit,
life clafficks more than holy writ:
bankrupts, when they are undone,
o the fenate-house can run,
d fell their votes at such a rate
will retrieve a loft estate :
law be fuch a partial whore,

spare the rich, and plague the poor : thefe be of all crimes the worst, nat land was ever half fo curft?

From London they come, filly people to chouse, Their lands and their faces unknown:

Who 'd vote a rogue into the parliament-house, That would turn a man out of his own?

ADVICE

TO THE

GRUB STREET VERSE-WRITERS.

1726.

YE poets ragged and forlorn,

Down from your garrets hafte :
Ye rhymers dead as foon as born,
Not yet confign'd to paste;

I know a trick to make you thrive
O, 'tis a quaint device:
Your ftill-born poems shall revive,
And fcorn to wrap up fpice.

Get all your verses printed fair,

Then let them well be dried;
And Curll must have a fpecial care
To leave the margin wide.
Lend thefe to paper-sparing *Pope
And when he fits to write,
No letter with an envelope

Could give him more delight.
When Pope has fill'd the margins round,
Why then recall your loan;
Sell them to Curll for fifty pound,
And fwear they are your own.

THE DOG AND THIEF.

1726.

UOTH the thief to the dog, let me into your door,

d I'll give you these delicate bits.

FTER venting all my fpite,

you're,

And beides must be out of my wits.

our delicate bits will not ferve me a meal,

But my maiter each day gives me bread;

u'll fly, when you get what you came here to fteal,

And I must be hang'd in your stead.

Every error I could find

Through the mazes of your mind,
Have my bufy Mufe employ'd
Till the company was cloy'd.
Are you positive and fretful,
Heedle, ignorant, forgetful?
Those, and twenty follies more,

down,

Hearken what my lady fays: Have I nothing then to praife? Ill it fits you to be witty,

Where a fault should move your pity.

The original copy of Mr. Pote's celebrated tranf lation of Homer (preler in the British Museum) is almost entirely written on the covers of letters, and sometimes between the lines of the letters them➡ jelves. N.

Y T