Now as I live, I would not give

A ftiver for a skellin,

To towfe and kifs the faireft mifs

That leaks at Ballyfpellin.

Whoe'er will raife fuch lies as thefe
Deferves a good cudgélling;
Who falfely 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 those

you write,

To force in Ballyfpellin.

HORACE, PART OF BOOK I. SAT. VI. PARAPHRASE D.

F noify Tom* fhould in the fenate prate,

I'

"That he would anfwer both for church and flate;

"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 fham'd our isle, "That traitor, affaffin, informer vile!

* Sir Thomas Prendergaft. IRISH ED.

The father of Sir Thomas P, who engaged in a plot to murder king William III; but, to avoid being hanged, turned informer against his affociates, for which he was rewarded with a good eftate, and made a baronet. Ibid.

"Though by the female fide you proudly bring,
"To mend your breed, the murderer of a king;
"What was thy grandfire+ but a mountaineer,
“ Who held a cabin for ten groats a year;

"Whose master Mooret preferv'd him from the halter,
"For stealing cows; nor could he read the Pfalter!
"Durft thou, ungrateful, from the fenate chace
Thy founder's grandfon§, and usurp his place?

Juft heaven! to fee the dunghill baftard brood "Survive in thee, and make the proverb good||! "Then vote a worthy citizen** to jail, "In fpite of juftice, and refufe his bail!"

Cadogan's family. IRISH ED.

A poor thieving cottager, under Mr. Moore, condemned at Clonmell affizes to be hanged for ftealing cows.

Ibid.

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

Guy Moore 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 verfes in the following page. N.

On

On a PRINTER's being fent to NEWGATE.

B

ETTER we all were in our graves

Than live in flavery to slaves,

Worfe than the anarchy at fea,

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 see the varlet fcud,
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,
Aad, like Domitian, leap at flies.

THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT.*

ITH a whirl of thought opprefs'd,

WIT

I funk from reverie to reft.

An horrid vifion feiz'd my head,

I faw the graves give up their dead!
Jove, arm'd mith terrors, burft the fkies,
And thunder roars, and lightning flies!
Amaz'd, confus'd, its fate unknown,

The world stands trembling at his throne!

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

G4

While

While each pale finner hung his head,
Jove, nodding, fhook the heavens, and faid:
"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 fhamm'd,
"And come to fee each other damn'd

66

(So fome folk told you, but they knew "No more of Jove's defigns than you); 66 -The world's mad business now is o'er, "And I refent these pranks no more. "I to fuch blockheads fet my wit! "I damn fuch fools!-Go, go, you 're bit."

VERSES SENT TO THE DEAN

ON HIS BIRTH-DAY,

WITH PINE'S HORACE, FINELY BOUND,

Y

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 verfe to write it)

This ingenious young gentleman was unfortunately mur

dered in Italy. N.

Upor

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 taste Iernian;
But fearing that you might difpute
(Had I put on my common fuit)
My breeding and my politesse,
I vifit in a birth-day drefs;
My coat of pureft Turkey red,
With gold embroidery richly spread;
To which I 've fure as good pretenfions
As Irish lords who ftarve on penfions.
What though proud ministers of state
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 general's staff
And public cares, with you to laugh;
Yet I fome friends as good can name,
Nor lefs the darling fons of Fame;
For fure my Pollio and Mæcenas
Were as good statesmen, Mr. Dean, as
Either your Bolingbroke or Harley,
Though they made Lewis beg a parley;

And