Whate'er he speaks for madness goes,
With no effect on friends or foes.
T. The fcrubbieft cur in all the pack
Can fet the maftiff on your back.
I own, his madness is a jest,
If that were all. But he 's poffeft,
Incarnate with a thousand imps,
To work whose ends his madness pimps;
Who o'er each string and wire prefide,
Fill every pipe, each motion guide;
Directing every vice we find
In Scripture, to the devil affign'd;
Sent from the dark infernal region,
In him they lodge, and make him legion.
Of brethren he's a false accuser;
A flanderer, traitor, and feducer;
A fawning, bafe, trepanning liar;
The marks peculiar of his fire.
Or, grant him but a drone at beft;
A drone can raise a hornet's neft.
The Dean had felt their ftings before;
And muft their malice ne'er give o'er ?
Still fwarm and buzz about his nofe?
But Ireland's friends ne'er wanted foes.
A patriot is a dangerous poft,
When wanted by his country moft;
Perverfely comes in evil times,
Where virtues are imputed crimes.
His guilt is clear, the proofs are pregnant;
A traitor to the vices regnant.
What fpirit, fince the world began,
Could always bear to firive with man ?
Which God pronounc'd, he never would,
And foon convinc'd them by a flood.
Yet ftill the Dean on freedom raves ;
His fpirit always strives with slaves.
'Tis time at last to spare his ink,
And let them rot, or hang, or fink.
THE SECOND PART.
TRAULUS, of amphibious breed,
Motley fruit of mungril feed;
By the dam from lordlings fprung,
By the fire exhal'd from dung:
Think on every vice in both,
Look on him, and fee their growth.
View him on the mother's fide,
Fill'd with falfehood, fpleen, and pride;
Pofitive and over-bearing,
Changing still, and still adhering;
Spiteful, peevish, rude, untoward,
Fierce in tongue, in heart a coward;
When his friends he moft is hard on,
Cringing comes to beg their pardon;
Reputation ever tearing,
Ever dearest friendship fwearing;
Judgment weak, and paffion strong,
Always various, always wrong;
Provocation never waits,
Where he loves, or where he hates;
Talks whate'er comes in his head;
Wishes it were all unfa d.
Let me now the vices trace,
From the father's fcoundrel race.
Who could give the looby such airs ?
Were they masons, were they butchers?
Herald, lend the Mufe an answer
From his atavus and grandfire :
This was dextrous at his trowel,
That was bred to kill a cow well:
Hence the greafy clumfy mien
In his dress and figure seen ;
Hence the mean and fordid soul,
Like his body, rank and foul;
Hence that wild fufpicious peep,
Like a rogue that steals a sheep;
Hence he learnt the butcher's guile,
How to cut your throat and fmile;
Like a butcher, doom'd for life
In his mouth to wear his knife;
Hence he draws his daily food
From his tenants vital blood.
Laftly, let his gifts be try'd,
Borrow'd from the mafon's fide:
Some perhaps may think him able
In the ftate to build a Babel;
Could we place him in a station
To deftroy the old foundation.
True indeed, I fhould be gladder,
Could he learn to mount a ladder.
May he at his latter end
Mount alive, and dead defcend!
In him tell me which prevail,
Female vices moft, or male?
What produc'd him, can you tell?
Human race, or imps of hell?
OBIN to beggars, with a curfe,
Throws the last fhilling in his purfe
And, when the coachman comes for pay,
The rogue muft call another day.
Grave Harry, when the poor are preffing,
Gives them a penny, and God's bleffing;
But, always careful of the main,
With two-pence left, walks home in rain.
Robin, from noon to night, will prate,
Runs-out in tongue, as in estate:
And, ere a twelvemonth and a day,
Will not have one new thing to fay.
Much talking is not Harry's vice:
He need not tell a story twice :
And, if he always be fo thrifty,
His fund may last to five and fifty.
* Sons of Dr. Leflie. Harry was a colonel in the Spanish fervice. See above, p. 179. N.
It fo fell out, that cautious Harry,
As foldiers ufe, for love must marry,
And, with his dame, the ocean croft ;
(All for Love, or the World well Loft!)
Repairs a cabin gone to ruin,
Juft big enough to shelter two in ;
And in his houfe, if any body come,
Will make them welcome to his modicum.
Where Goody Julia milks the cows,
And boils potatoes for her spouse;
Or darns his hofe, or mends his breeches,
While Harry 's fencing up his ditches.
Robin, who ne'er his mind could fix
To live without a coach and fix,
To patch his broken fortunes, found
A mistress worth five thousand pound;
Swears he could get her in an hour,
If Gaffer Harry would endow her;
And fell, to pacify his wrath,
A birth-right for a mess of broth.
Young Harry, as all Europe knows,
Was long the quinteffence of beaux ;
But, when efpous'd, he ran the fate
That must attend the marry'd ftate;
From gold brocade and shining armour,
Was metamorphos'd to a farmer;
His grazier's coat with dirt besmear'd;
Nor twice a week will fhave his beard.
Old Robin, all his youth a floven,
At fifty-two, when he grew loving,
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