When none the Drapier's praise fhall fing,
His figns aloft no longer fwing;
His medals and his prints forgotten,
And all his handkerchiefs are rotten ‡;
His famous Letters made wafte paper;
This hill may keep the name of Drapier :
In fpite of envy flourish still,

And Drapier's vie with Cooper's Hill.

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20

The GRAND QUESTION debated:

Whether HAMILTON BAWN * fhould be turned into a BARRACK or a MALTHOUSE.

Written in the year 1729.

The PREFACE to the ENGLISH EDITION.

THE author of the following poem is faid to be Dr. J. S. D. S. P. D. who writ it, as well as feveral other copies of yerfes of the like kind, by way of amusement, in the family of an honourable gentleman in the north of Ireland, where he spent a fummer about two or three years ago.

Medals were caft, many signs hung up, and handkerchiefs made with devices, in honour of the author, under the name of M. B. Drapier.

A bawn was a place near the house, inclosed with mud or stone walls to keep the cattle from being stolen in the night. They are now little ufed.

VOL. VIII.

M

A

A certain very great perfon †, then in that kingdom, having heard much of this poem, obtained a copy from the gentleman, or, as fome fay, the lady, in whofe houfe it was written; from whence, I know not by what accident, feveral other copies were tranfcribed, full of errors. As I have a great refpect for the fuppofed author, I have procured a true copy of the poem; the publication whereof can do him lefs injury than printing any of those incorrect ones which ran about in manufcript, and would infallibly be foon in the prefs, if not thus prevented

Some expreffions being peculiar to Ireland, I have prevailed on a gentleman of that kingdom to explain them, and I have put the feveral explanations in their proper places,

"HUS spoke to my Lady the. Knight full of

THUS

care,

5

Let me have your advice in a weighty affair.
This Hamilton's bawn*, whilst it sticks on my hand,
I lose by the house what I get by the land;
But how to difpofe of it to the beft bidder,
For a barrack for malthoufe, we now muft consider.
First, let me fuppofe I make it a malthoufe,
Here I have computed the profit will fall t'us;
There's nine hundred pounds for labour and grain,
I increase it to twelve, fo three hundred remain; 10
A handfome addition for wine and good cheer,
Three dishes a-day, and three hogfheads a-year:
With a dozen large veffels my vaults fhall be ftor'd;
No little fcrub joint fhall come on my board :
And you and the Dean no more fhall combine 15
To ftint me at night to one bottle of wine :

+ John Lord Carteret, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, afterwards Earl of Granville in right of his mother.

1 Sir Arthur Achefon, at whofe feat it was written.

A large old houfe, two miles f.om Sir Arthur Achefon's feat, The army in Ireland is lodged in ftrong buildings over the whole kingdom, called barracks.

Nor

Nor fhall I, for his humour, permit you to purloiu
A ftone and a quarter of beef from my firloin.
If I make it a barrack, the crown is my tenant;
My dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't : 20
In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent,
Whatever they give me, I must be content,
Or join with the court in ev'ry debate ;
And rather than that I would lose my estate.

Thus ended the Knight: thus began his meek wife;

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It must, and it fball be a barrack, my life,
I'm grown a mere mopus; no company comes,
But a rabble of tenants, and rufty dull rums .
With parfons what lady can keep herself clean?
I'm all over daub'd when I fit by the Dean.
But if you will give us a barrack, my dear,
The Captain, I'm fure, will always come here:
I then shall not value his Deanship a straw,
For the Captain, I warrant, will keep him in awe ;
Or fhould he pretend to be brisk and alert, 35
Will tell him that chaplains fhould not be fo pert;
That men of his coat fhould be minding their pray'rs,
And not among ladies to give themfelves airs.

Thus argu'd my Lady, but argu'd in vain;
The knight his opinion refolv'd to maintain.

40

But Hannah *, who liften'd to all that was paft, And could not endure fo vulgar a taste, As foon as her Ladyfhip call'd to be dress'd, Cry'd, Madam, why furely my mafter's poffefs'd, Sir Arthur the maltfter! how fine it will found! 45 P'd rather the Bawn were funk under ground.

A cant word in Ireland for a poor country-clergyman,
My Lady's waiting-woman.

But, Madam, I guess'd there would never come
good,
When I faw him fo often with Darby and Woodt.
And now my dream's out;
for I was a-dream'd
That I faw a huge rat ; O dear, how I fcream'd! 50
And after, methought, I had loft my new fhoes;
And Molly, the faid, I fhould hear fome ill news

Dear Madam, had you but the spirit to teafe, You might have a barrack whenever you please: And, Madam, I always believ'd you fo ftout, That for twenty denials you would not give out. If I had a hufband like him, I purteft,

55

Till he gave me my will, I would give him no reft;
And rather than come in the fame pair of sheets
With fuch a crofs man, I would lie in the streets: 60
But, Madam, I beg you contrive and invent.
And worry him out, till he gives his confent.

Dear Madam, whene'er of a barrack I think,
An I were to be hang'd I can't sleep a wink :
For if a new crotchet comes into my brain,
I can't get it out, though I'd never fo fain.
I fancy already a barack contriv'd

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At Hamilton's Bawn, and the troop is arriv'd;
Of this to be fure, Sir Arthur has warning,
And waits on the Captain betimes the next morn
ing.

70

Now fee when they meet how their honours be

have;

Noble Captain, your fervant-Sir Arthur, your

flave ;

You honour me much

'Twas a fad rainy night-but the morning is fine--

Pray, how does my Lady?

fervice.

-the honour is mine,

my wife's at your

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I think I have feen her picture by Jervis.

+ Two of Sir Arthur's managers

Good

— I'll wait on you

Good morrow, good Captain,

down

You fhan't ftir a foot-you'll think me a clownFor all the world, Captain, not half an inch farther

You must be obey'd-your fervant, Sir Arthur; 80 My humble refpects to my Lady unknown,

I hope you will use my house as your own.

"Go bring me my fmock, and leave off your ~

prate,

"Thou haft certainly gotten a cup in thy pate," 85 Pray, Madam, be quiet; what was it I faid? You had like to have put it quite out of my head.

Next day, to be fure, the captain will come
At the head of his troop, with trumpet and drum:
Now, Madam, obferve, how he marches in ftate:
The man with the kettledrum enters the gate : 91
Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow,
Tantara, tantara, while all the boys hollow.
See now comes the Captain all dawb'd, with gold
lace:

O law! the fweet gentleman! look in his face;
And fee how he rides like a lord of the land,
With the fine flaming fword that he holds in his

hand;

95

And his horfe, the dear creter, it prances and rears,
With ribbands in knots at its tail and its ears;
At laft comes the troop, by the word of command,
Drawn up in our court; when the Captain cries,

Stand.

101

Your Ladyfhip lifts up the fash to be seen, (For fure I had dizen'd you out like a queen): The Captain, to fhew he is proud of the favour,” Looks up to your window, and cocks up his beaver; (His beaver is cock'd; pray, Madam, mark that, For a captain of horse never takes off his hat; 106 Becaufe

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