And could that mighty warrior fall,
And so inglorious, after all !

Well, since he 's gone, no matter how,
The last loud trump must wake him now:
And, trust me, as the noise grows stronger,
He'd wish to sleep a little longer.
And could he be indeed so old
As by the news-papers we 're told?
Threescore, I think, is pretty high;
'Twas time in conscience he should die !
This world he cumber'd long enough,
He burnt his candle to the snuff;
And that 's the reason, some folks think,
He left behind so great a s―k.
Behold his funeral appears,

Nor widow's sighs, nor orphan's tears,
Wont at such times each heart to pierce,
Attend the progress of his hearse.
But what of that? his friends may say,
He had those honours in his day.
True to his profit and his pride,
He made them weep before he dy'd.
Come hither, all ye empty things!
Ye bubbles rais'd by breath of kings!
Who float upon the tide of state;
Come hither, and behold your fate.
Let pride be taught by this rebuke,
How very mean a thing 's a duke;
From all his ill-got honours flung,

Turn'd to that dirt from whence he sprung.

DEAN SMEDLEY'S PETITION

TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON.

Non domus aut fundus

Ir was, my lord, the dextrous shift
Of t' other Jonathan, viz. Swift;
But now St. Patrick's saucy dean,
With silver verge and surplice clean,
Of Oxford, or of Ormond's grace,
In looser rhyme to beg a place.
A place he got, yclept a stall,
And eke a thousand pounds withal;
And, were he a less witty writer,
He might as well have got a mitre.

Hor.

Thus I, the Jonathan of Clogher, In humble lays my thanks to offer, Approach your grace with grateful heart, My thanks and verse both void of art, Content with what your bounty gave, No larger income do I crave; Rejoicing that, in better times, Grafton requires my loyal lines. Proud! while my patron is polite, I likewise to the patriot write! Proud! that at once I can commend King George's and the Muses' friend! Endear'd to Britain; and to thee (Disjoin'd, Hibernia, by the sea) Endear'd by twice three anxious years, Employ'd in guardian toils and cares; By love, by wisdom, and by skill ; For he has sav'd thee 'gainst thy will.

But where shall Smedley make his nest, And lay his wandering head to rest?

Where shall he find a decent house,
To treat his friends and cheer his spouse?
Oh! tack, my lord, some pretty cure;
In wholsome soil, and ether pure;
The garden stor'd with artless flowers,
In either angle shady bowers.
No gay parterre, with costly green,
Within the ambient hedge be seen:
Let Nature freely take her course,
Nor fear from me ungrateful force;
No sheers shall check her sprouting vigour,
Nor shape the yews to antic figure:
A limpid brook shall trout supply,
In May, to take the mimic fly;
Round a small orchard may it run,
Whose apples redden to the sun.
Let all be snug, and warm, and neat;
For fifty turn'd a safe retreat.
A little Euston may it be,
Euston I'll carve on every tree.
But then, to keep it in repair,
My lord-twice fifty pounds a year
Will barely do; but if your grace
Could make them hundreds-charming place!
Thou then wouldst show another face.

Clogher ! far north, my lord, it lies,

" Midst snowy hills, inclement skies ;
One shivers with the arctic wind;
One hears the polar axis grind.

Good John indeed, with beef and claret,
Makes the place warm that one may bear it.
He has a purse to keep a table,
And eke a soul as hospitable.

My heart is good; but assets fail,
To fight with storms of snow and hail,
Besides the country 's thin of people,
Who seldom meet but at the steeple:
The strapping dean, that 's gone to Down,
Ne'er nam'd the thing without a frown;
When, much fatigu'd with sermon-study,
He felt his brain grow dull and muddy;
No fit companion could be found,
To push the lazy bottle round;
Sure then, for want of better folks
To pledge, his clerk was orthodox.

Ah! how unlike to Gerard-street,
Where beaux and belles in parties meet;
Where gilded chairs and coaches throng,
And jostle as they trowl along;

Where tea and coffee hourly flow,

And gape-seed does in plenty grow;

And Griz (no clock more certain) cries,
Exact at seven, "Hot mutton-pies!"

There lady Luna in her sphere

Once shone, when Paunceforth was not near;
But now she wanes, and, as 'tis said,
Keeps sober hours, and goes to bed.
There-but 'tis endless to write down

All the amusements of the town;

And spouse will think herself quite undone,
To trudge to Connor 2 from sweet London ;
And care we must our wives to please,
Or else we shall be ill at ease.

You see, my lord, what 'tis I lack; "Tis only some convenient tack,

Some parsonage-house, with garden sweet,

To be my late, my last retreat;

A decent church close by its side,

There preaching, praying, to reside;
And, as my time securely rolls,

To save my own and other souls.

THE DUKE'S ANSWER.

BY DR. SWIFT.

DEAR Smed, I read thy brilliant lines,
Where wit in all its glory shines;
Where compliments, with all their pride,
Are by their numbers dignified:
I hope to make you yet as clean
As that same Viz, St. Patrick's dean.
I'll give thee surplice, verge, and stall,
And may be something else withal;
And, were you not so good a writer,
I should present you with a mitre.
Write worse then, if you can-be wise-
Believe me, 'tis the way to rise.
Talk not of making of thy nest:
Ah! never lay thy head to rest!
That head so well with wisdom fraught,
That writes without the toil of thought!
While others rack their busy brains,
You are not in the least at pains.
Down to your deanry now repair,
And build a castle in the air.
I'm sure a man of your fine sense
Can do it with a small expense.
There your dear spouse and you together
May breathe your bellies full of ether.
When lady Luna is your neighbour,
She'll help your wife when she 's in labour;
Well skill'd in midwife artifices,
For she herself oft' falls in pieces.
There you shall see a raree-show
Will make you scorn this world below,
When you behold the milky way,
As white as snow, as bright as day;
The glittering constellations roll
About the grinding Brctic pole;
The lovely tingling in your ears,
Wrought by the music of the spheres-
Your spouse shall then no longer hector,
You need not fear a curtain-lecture;
Nor shall she think that she is undone
For quitting her beloved London.
When she 's exalted in the skies,
She 'll never think of mutton-pies;
When you 're advanc'd above dean Viz,
You'll never think of goody Griz.
But ever, ever, live at ease,
And strive, and strive, your wife to please;
In her you'll centre all your joys,
And get ten thousand girls and boys:
Ten thousand girls and boys you'll get,
And they like stars shall rise and set;

While you and spouse, transform'd, shall soon
Be a new sun and a new moon:
Nor shall you strive your horns to hide,
For then your horns shall be your pride.

DR. DELANY'S VILLA.

WOULD you that Delville I describe?
Believe me, sir, I will not gibe:
For who would be satirical
Upon a thing so very small?

You scarce upon the borders enter,
Before you 're at the very centre.
A single crow can make it night,
When o'er your farm she takes her flight
Yet, in this narrow compass, we
Observe a vast variety;

Both walks, walls, meadows, and parterres,
Windows and doors, and rooms and stairs,
And hills and dales, and woods and fields,
And hay, and grass, and corn, it yields;
All to your haggard brought so cheap in,
Without the mowing or the reaping:
A razor, though to say 't I'm loth,
Would shave you and your meadows both.
Though small 's the farm, yet here's a house
Full large to entertain a mouse,
But where a rat is dreaded more
Than savage Caledonian boar;
For, if it's enter'd by a rat,
There is no room to bring a cat.
A little rivulet seems to steal
Down through a thing you call a vale,
Like tears adown a wrinkled cheek,
Like rain along a blade of leek;
And this you call your sweet meander,
Which might be suck'd up by a gander,
Could he but force his nether bill
To scoop the channel of the rill:.
For sure you'd make a mighty clutter,
Were it as big as city-gutter.

Next come I to your kitchen-garden,
Where one poor mouse would fare but hard in;
And round this garden is a walk,
No longer than a taylor's chalk:

1 On the publication of Cadenus and Vanessa.

In lodgings like a poor grizette,
While there are lodgings to be let.
Howe'er, to keep her spirits up,
She sent for company to sup:
When all the while you might remark,
She strove in vain to ape Wood-park.
Two bottles call'd for (half her store;
The cupboard could contain but four) :
A supper worthy of herself,

Five nothings in five plates of delf.

Thus for a week the farce went on;
When all her country savings gone,
She fell into her former scene,
Small beer, a herring, and the dean.
Thus far in jest: though now, I fear,
You think my jesting too severe ;
But poets when a hint is new,
No matter whether false or true:
Yet raillery gives no offence,

Where truth has not the least pretence;
Nor can be more securely plac'd
Than on a nymph of Stella's taste.
I must confess your wine and vittle
I was too hard upon a little :
Your table neat, your linen fine;
And, though in miniature, you shine:
Yet, when you sigh to leave Wood-park,
The scene, the welcome, and the spark,
To languish in this odious town,
And pull your haughty stomach down;
We think you quite mistake the case,
The virtue lies not in the place:
For, though my raillery were true,
A cottage is Wood-park with you.

COPY OF THE

BIRTH-DAY VERSES

ON MR. FORD.

COME, be content, since out it must,
For Stella has betray'd her trust;
And whispering, charg'd me not to say
That Mr. Ford was born to-day;
Or, if at last I needs must blab it,
According to my usual habit,
She bid me, with a serious face,
Be sure conceal the time and place;
And not my compliment to spoil,
By calling this your native soil;
Or vex the ladies, when they knew
That you are turning forty-two:
But, if these topics shall appear
Strong arguments to keep you here,
I think, though you judge hardly of it,
Good manners must give place to profit.
The nymphs with whom you first began
Are each become a harridan ;
And Montague so far decay'd,
Aer lovers now must all be paid;
And every belle that since arose
Has her contemporary beaux.
Your former comrades, once so bright,
With whom you toasted half the night,
Of rheumatism and pox complain,
And bid adieu to dear champaign.

Your great protectors, once in power,
Are now in exile or the Tower.
Your foes triumphant o'er the laws,
Who hate your person and your cause,
If once they get you on the spot,
You must be guilty of the plot :
For, true or false, they 'll ne'er inquire,
But use you ten times worse than Prior 1.
In London! what would you do there?
Can you, my friend, with patience bear
(Nay, would it not your passion raise
Worse than a pun, or Irish phrase?)
To see a scoundrel strut and hector,
A foot-boy to some rogue director,
To look on vice triumphant round,
And virtue trampled on the ground?
Observe where bloody **** * stands
With torturing engines in his hands;
Hear him blaspheme, and swear, and rail,
Threatening the pillory and jail :
If this you think a pleasing scene,
To London straight return again;
Where, you have told us from experience,
Are swarms of bugs and presbyterians.

I thought my very spleen would burst,
When fortune hither drove me first;
Was full as hard to please as you,
Nor persons, names, nor places knew:
But now I act as other folk,
Like prisoners when their jail is broke.

If you have London still at heart,
We'll make a small one here by art:
The difference is not much between
St. James's Park, and Stephen's Green;
And Dawson-street will serve as well
To lead you thither as Pall-Mall.
Nor want a passage through the palace,
To choke your sight, aud raise your malice:
The deanry-house may well be match'd,
Under correction, with the Thatcht 2.
Nor shall I, when you hither come,
Demand a crown a quart for stum.
Then, for a middle-aged charmer,
Stella may vie with your Monthermer;
The 's now as handsome every bit,
And has a thousand times her wit.
The dean and Sheridan, I hope,
Will half supply a Gay and Pope.
Corbet 3, though yet I know his worth not,
No doubt will prove a good Arbuthnot.
I throw into the bargain Tim;
In London can you equal him?
What think you of my favourite clan,
Robin and Jack, and Jack and Dan,
Fellows of modest worth and parts,
With cheerful looks and honest hearts?
Can you on Dublin look with scorn?
Yet here were you and Ormond born.
Oh! were but you and I so wise,
To see with Robert Grattan's eyes!
Robin adores that spot of earth,

That literal spot which gave him birth; And swears," Belcamp 5 is, to his taste, "As fine as Hampton-court at least."