A VINDICATION OF THE LIBEL:

OR,

A NEW BALLAD, written by a SHOE-BOY, on an ATTORNEY Who was formerly a SHOE-BOY.

"Qui color ater erat, nunc eft contrarius atro."

W with inning of buckles, and blacking ITH finging of ballads, and crying of news,

of shoes,

Did Hartley* fet out, both fhoeless and shirtless,
And moneylefs too, but not very dirtlefs;
Two pence he had gotten by begging, that 's all;
One bought him a brufb, and one a black ball ;
For clouts at a lofs he could not be much,
The cloaths on Lis back as being but fuch;

A FRIENDLY APOLOGY.

FOR A CERTAIN JUSTICE OF PEACE,

By Way of Defence of Hartley Hutchinson, Ffq "But he by bawling news about, "And aptly using brush and clout, "A juftice of the peace became,

"To punish rogues who do the fame." HUD.

brufb,

He gallantly ventur'd his fortune to push :
Vefpafian thus, being bespatter'd with dirt,
Was omen'd to be Rome's emperor for 't.
But as a wife fidler is noted, you know,
To have a good couple of ftrings to one bow;
So Harley judiciously thought it too little,

To live by the fweat of his hands and his fpittle:
He finds out another profeflion as fit,
And straight he becomes a retailer of wit.
One day he cried-" Murders, and fongs, and
great news!"

Another as loudly-" Here blacken your shoes!"
At Domvile's full often he fed upon bits,
For winding of jacks up, and turning of fpits;
Lick'd all the plates round, had many a grubbing,
And now and then got froom the cook-maid a
drubbing:

Such baftings effect upon bim could have none; The dog will be patient, that 's struck with a bore.

Sir Thomas, obferving this Hartley withal
So expert and fo active at brushes and ball,
Was mov'd with compaflion, and thought it a
pity

A youth should be loft, that had been fo witty :
Without more ado, he vamps up my spark,
And now we 'll fuppofe him an eminent clerk;
Suppose him an adept in all the degrees
Of fcribbling cum dafhe, and hooking of fees;
Suppofe him a mifer, attorney per bill;
Suppofe him a courtier-suppose what you will
Yet would you believe, though I fwore by the
Bible,

That he took up two netus-boys for crying the
Libel?

See the next poem.

'Twas once the nobleft of his wishes
To fill his paunch with fcraps from dishes,
For which he'd parch before the grate,
Or wind the jack's flow-rising weight
(Such toils as beft his talents fit),
Or polish fees, or turn the spit:
But, unexpectedly grown rich in
'Squire Domvile's family and kitchen,
He pants to eternize his name,
And takes the dirty road to fame;
Believes that perfecuting wit
Will prove the fureft way to it;
So, with a Colonel at his back,
The Libel feels his first attack;
He calls it a feditious paper,
Writ by another Patriot Drapier;
Then raves and blunders nonfenfe thicker
Than aldermen o'ercharg'd with liquor;
And all this with defign, no doubt,
To hear his praises hawk'd about;
To fend his name through every reet,
Which erft he roam'd with dirty feet;
Well pleas'd to live to future times,
Though but in keen fatitic rhymes.

So Ajax, who, for aught we know,
Was juftice many years ago,
And minding then no earthly things,
But killing libelers of kings;
Or, if he wanted work to do,
To run a bawling news-boy through;
Yet he, when wrapp'd up in a cloud,
Entreated Father Jove aloud,
Only in light to fhew his face,
Though it might tend to his difgrace.

And fo th' Ephesian villain fir'd
The temple which the world admir'd,
Contemuing death, despifing shame,
To gain an ever-odious name,

office. N.

printer. IRISH ED.

DR.

A

DR. SHERIDAN's BALLAD

ON BALLYSPELLIN*:

LL you that would refine your blood,
As pure as fam'd Llewellyn,

By waters clear, come every year,
To drink at Ballyfpellin.

Though pox or itch your skins enrich

With rubies paft the telling,

"Twill clear your fkin before you 've been A month at Ballyfpellin.

If lady's cheek be green as leek

When the comes from her dwelling,
The kindling rofe within it glows
When she's at Ballyspellin.

The footy brown, who comes from town,
Grows here as fair as Helen;

Then back the goes, to kill the beaux
By dint of Ballyfpeilin.

Our ladies are as fresh and fair

As Rofe, or bright Dunkelling;

And Mars might make a fair mistake,
Were he at Ballyfpellin.

We muft fubmit as they think fit,
And here is no rebelling:
The reafon's plain; the ladies reign,
They 're queens at Ballyfpellin.

By matchlefs charms, unconquer'd arms,
They have the way of quelling
Such defperate foes as dare oppofe
Their power at Ballyfpellin.

Cold water turns to fire, and burns,

I know, because I fell in

A ftream which came from one bright dame
Who drank at Ballyfpellin.

Fine beaux advance, equipt for dance,
To bring their Aune or Nell in

With fo much grace, I'm fure no place
Can vie with Ballyfpellin.

No politicks, no fubtle tricks,

No man his country felling:

We eat, we drink; we never think
Of thefe at Ballyfpellin.

The troubled mind, the puff'd with wind,
Do all come here pell-mell in;
And they are fure to work their cure
By drinking Ballyfpellin.

Though dropfy fills you to the gills,
From chin to toe though fwelling;
Pour in, pour out, you cannot doubt
A cure at Ballyfpellin.

* A famous fpa in the county of Kilkenny, where the Doctor had been to drink the waters with a favourite Lady. N.

Death throws no darts through all these parts,

No fextons here are knelling:

Come, judge and try, you 'll never die,

But live at Ballyspellin ;

Except you feel darts tipt with steel,

Which here are every belle in:

When from their eyes fweet ruin flies,
We die at Ballyfpellin.

Good cheer, fweet air, much joy, no care,
Your fight, your tafte, your smelling,
Your ears, your touch, tranfported much
Each day at Ballyspellin.

Within this ground we all fleep found,

BY DR. SWIFT. *

DARE you difpute, you faucy brute,

And think there's no refelling
Your fcurvy lays, and fenfelefs praise
You give to Ballyfpellin ?

Howe'er you bounce, I here pronounce,
Your medicine is repelling;

Your water's mud, and fours the blood,
When drunk at Ballyfpellin.

Thofe pocky drabs, to cure the scabs,

You thither are compelling,

Will back be fent, worse than they went,
From nafty Ballyfpellin.

Llewellyn why? As well may I

Name honeft doctor Pellin;

So hard fometimes you tug for rhymes,
To bring in Ballyfpellin.

No fubject fit to try your wit,

When you went colonelling,

But dull intrigues 'twixt jades and teagues
That met at Ballyfpellin.

Our laffes fair, fay what you dare,
Who fewing make with fheiling,

At Market-hill more beaux can kill,
Than yours at Ballyfpellin.

Would I was whipt, when Sheelah ftript
To wash herself our well in;

A bum fo white ne'er came in fight,
At paltry Ballyfpellin.

*This anfwer was refented by Dr. Sheridan, as an affront to hinfelf and the lady he attended to the spa. N.

Your

Your mawkins there fmocks hempen wear,

Of Holland not an ellin;

No, not a rag, whate'er you brag,

Is found at Ballyspellin.

But Tom will prate at any rate,
All other nymphs expelling;
Because he gets a few grifettes
At loufy Ballyfpellin.

There's bonny Jane, in yonder lane,
Juft o'er against The Bell-inn;
Where can you meet a lafs fo fweet,
Round all your Ballyfpellin ?
We have a girl deferves an earl;
She came from Enniskillin:
So fair, so young, no fuch among
The belles at Ballyfpellin.

How would you stare to see her there,

The foggy mist dispelling,
That clouds the brows of every blowse
Who lives at Ballyfpellin!

Now as live, I would not give
A ftiver for a fkellin,

To towse and kifs the fairest mifs
That leaks at Ballyfpellin.
Whoe'er will raife fuch lies as these

Deferves a good cudgelling;
Who fafely boafts of belles and toafts,

At dirty Ballyfpellin.

My rhymes are gone, to all but one, Which is, our trees are felling; As proper quite as thofe you write, To force in Bally spellin.

HORACE, PART OF BOOK I. SAT. VI.

F

PARAPHRASED.

I. if he both for

"That he would anfwer both for church and state;

"And, further to demonftrate his affection, "Would take the kingdom into his protection;" All mortals must be curious to inquire, Who could this coxcomb be, and who his fire? "What! thou, the fpawn of him who sham'd our ifle,

"That traitor, affaflin, informer vile! "Though by the female fide‡ you proudly bring, "To mend your breed, the murderer of a king; "What was thy grandûre|| but a mountaineer, "Who held a cabin for ten groats a year;

On a PRINTER's being fent to NEWGATE. BETTER we all were in our graves "han live in flavery to flaves,

Worse than the anarchy at sea,
Where fishes on each other prey;
Where every trout can make as high rants
O'er his inferiors as our tyrants,
And fwagger while the coaft is clear:
But, fhould a lordly pike appear,
Away you fee the varlet feud,
Or hide his coward fnout in mud.
Thus, if a gudgeon meet a roach,
He dare not venture to approach;
Yet ftill has impudence to rife,
And, like Domitian, leap at flies.

Cadogan's family. Ibid.

A poor thieving cottager, under Mr. Moore, condemned at Clonmell allizes to be hanged for ealing cows. Ibid. Vol. V.

§ The grandfather of Guy Moore, Esq. who procured him a pardon. Ibid.

Guy Moore, Efq. was fairly elected member of parliament for Clonmell; but Sir Thomas, depending upon his intereft with a certain party then prevailing, and fince known by the title of parfon-hunters, petitioned the house against him; out of which he was turned, upon pretence of bribery, which the paying of his lawful debts was then voted to be. Ibid.

** Save a thief from the gallows, and he will cut your throat." Ibid.

§§ Mr. George Faulkner. See the fucceeding verfes N.

That this poem is the genuine production of the Dean, Lord Chesterfield bears ample teftimony in his Letter to M. Voltaire, August 27, 1752. N. lii

66

Offending

Offending race of human-kind, "By nature, reafon, learning, blind; "You who, through frailty, ftepp'd afide; "And you who never fell, through pride; "You who in different fects were shamm'd, "And come to fee each other damn'd

(So fome folk told you, but they knew "No more of Jove's defigus than you); "The world's mad business now is o'er, And I refent thefe pranks no more. "I to fuch blockheads fet my wit! "1 damn fuch fools!-Go, go, you're bit.”

VERSES SENT TO THE DEAN

ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.

With Pine's Horace, finely bound.

BY DR J. SICAN. *
[Horace fpeaking]

OU'VE read, Sir, in poetic ftrain,

Have on my birth-day been invited (But I was forc'd in verse to write it) Upon a plain repaft to dine,

And tafte my old Campanian wine
But I, who all punctilios hate,
Though long familiar with the great,
Nor glory in my reputation,
Am come without an invitation;

And, though I'm us'd to right Falernian,
I'll deign for once to talte lernian;
But fearing that you might difpute
(Had I put on my common fuit)
My breeding and my politeffe,
I vifit in a birth-day dress;
My coat of purest Turkey red,
With gold embroidery richly spread;
To which I've fure as good pretenfions
As 'rish Lords who ftarve on penfions.
What though proud minifiers of ftate
Did at your anti-chamber wait;

What though your Oxfords and your St. Johns
Have at your levee paid attendance;
And Peterborough and great Ormond,
With many chiefs who now are dormant,
Have laid afide the gener I's staff
And public cares with you to laugh;
Yet I fome friends as good can name,
Nor less the darling fons of Fame;
For fure my Pollio and Mæcenas
Were as good fatefmen, Mr. Dean, as
Either your Bolingbroke or Harley,
Though they made Lewis beg a parley;
And as for Mordaunt, your lov'd hero,
I'll match him with my Drufus Nero.
You'll boast, perhaps, your favourite Pope;
But Virgil is as good, I hope.
I own indeed I can't get any
To equal Helsham and Delany;

*This ingenious young gentleman was unfortunately murdered in Italy. N.

Since Athens brought forth Socrates,
A Grecian ifle Hippocrates;
Since Tully liv'd before my time,
And Galen blefs'd another clime.

You'll plead perhaps, at my request,
To be admitted as a gueft,

Your hearing 's bad!"-But why fuch fears
I fpeak to eyes, and not to ears;
And for that reason wifely took
The form you see me in a book.
Attack'd by flow-devouring moths,
By rage of barbarous Huns and Goths;
By Bentley's notes, my deadlieft foes,
By Creech's rhymes and Dunfter's profe ;
I found my boafted wit and fire
In their rude hands almost expire:
Yet ftill they but in vain affail'd;
For, had their violence prevail'd,
And in a blaft deftroy'd my fame,

They would have partly miss'd their aim ;
Since all my fpirit in thy page
Defies the Vandals of this age.
'Tis yours to fave these fmall remains
From future pedants' muddy brains,
And fix my long-uncertain fate,

You best know how-which way?—TRANSLATE.

AMES BRYDGES and the Dean had long been friends:

James is beduk'd; of courfe their friendship ends
But fure the Dean deferves a fharp rebuke,
From knowing James, to boast he knows the Duke.
Yet, fince juft Heaven the Duke's ambition mocks,
Since all he got by fraud is loft by ftocks,

* Mrs. Sican, a very ingenious well-bred lady, mother to the author of the preceding poem. N.

His wings are clipp'd: he tries no more in vain
With bands of fidlers to extend his train
Since he no more can build, and plant, and reve!,
The Duke and Dean feem near upon a level.
Oh! wert thou not a Duke, my good Duke
Humphry,

From bailiffs' claws thou fcarce could't keep thy bum free.

A Duke to know a Dean! go, smooth thy crown:
Thy brother (far thy betters) wore a gown
Well, but a Duke thou art; fo pleas'd the king:
Oh! would his Majefty but add a string!

ON

DR. RUNDLE, BISHOP OF DERRY.*

M®

AKE Rundle bifhop! fie for fhame!
An Arian to ufurp the name!

A bishop in the ifle of Saints!

How will his brethren make complaints!
Dare any of the mitred hoft

Confer on him the Holy Ghoft;

In mother-church to breed a variance,
By coupling Orthodox with Arians?

Yet, were he Heathen, Turk, or Jew,
What is there in it ftrange or new?
For, let us hear the weak pretence.
His brethren find to take offence;
Of whom there are but four at most,
Who know there is an Holy Ghost :
The reft, who boast they have conferr'd it,
Like Paul's Ephefians, never heard it ;
And, when they gave it, well 'tis known,
They gave what never was their own.

Rundle a bithop ! well. he may ; He's ftill a Chriftian more than they.

We know the fubject of their quarrels ; The man has learning, fenfe, and morals, There is a reason still more weighty; 'Tis granted he believes a Deity; Has every circumstance to please us, Though fools may doubt his faith in Jefus. But why fhould he with that be loaded, Now twenty years from court exploded? And is not this objection odd From rogues who ne'er believ'd a God? For liberty a champion flout, Though not fo gofpel-ward devout ; While others, hither fent to fave us, Came but to plunder and enflave us; Nor ever own'd a power divine But Mammon and the German line. Say, how did Rundle undermine 'em? Who fhew'd a better jus divinum? From ancient canons would not vary, But thrice refus'd epifcopari.

Our bishop's predeceffor, Magus, Would offer all the fands of Tagus,

Promoted to that fee in Feb. 1734-5. N.

Or fell his children, house, and lands,
For that one gift, to lay-on hands:
But all his gold could not avail
To have the Spirit fet to fale.

Said furly Peter, "Magus, pr'ythee,
"Be gone: thy money perifh with thee."
Were Peter now alive, perhaps
He might have found a fcore of chaps,
Could he but make his gift appear
In rents three thousand pounds a year.
Some fancy this promotion odd,
As not the handy-work of God';
Though e'en the bishops difappointed
Muft own it made by God's anointed,
And, well we know, the conge regal
Is more fecure as well as legal;
Because our lawyers all agree,
That bishopricks are held in fee.

Dear Baldwin chafte, and witty Croffe,
How forely I lament your lofs!
That fuch a pair of wealthy ninnies
Should flip your time of dropping guineas;
For, had you made the king your debtor,
Your title had been fo much better.

Α

SIftroll the city, oft' I

See a building large and lofty, Not a bow-fhot from the college;

Half the globe from fenfe and knowledge:
By the prudent architect,

Plac'd against the church direc,
Making good my grand-dame's jeft,

Near the church"-you know the reft.
Tell us, what the pile contains ?
Many a head that holds no brains.
Thefe demoniacks let me dub
With the name of Legion-club.
Such affemblies, you might fwear,
Meet when butchers bait a bear;
Such a noife, and fuch haranguing,
When a brother thief is hanging:
Such a rout and fuch a rabble
Run to hear Jack-pudden gabble;
Such a crowd their ordure throws
On a far lefs villain's nofe.

Could I from the building's top Hear the rattling thunder drop, While the devil upon the roof (If the devil be thunder-proof) lii a

Should