For, should I break your sweet reposé,
Who knows what money you might lose :
Since oftentimes it has been found,
A dream has given ten thousand pound?
Then sleep, my friend; dear Dean, sleep on,
And all you get shall be your own;
Provided you to this agree,
SO, about twelve at night, the punk
Steals from the cully when he's drunk :
Nor is contented with a treat,
Without her privilege to cheat,
Nor can I the least difference find,
But that you left no clap behind.
But, jest apart, restore, you capon ye,
My twelve thirteens and sixpence ha'penny.
To eat my meat, and drink my medlicot,
And then to give me such a deadly cut--
But 'tis observ'd, that men in gowns
Are most inclin'd to plunder crowns.
Could you but change a crown as easy
As you can steal one, how 'twould please ye!
I thought the lady † at St Catharine's
Knew how to set you better patterns;
* A shilling passes for thirteen pence in Ireland. F. † Lady Mountcashel. N.
For this I will not dine with Agmondisham,*
And for his victuals let a ragman dish 'em.
PALLAS, a goddess chaste and wise,
Descending lately from the skies,
To Neptune went, and begg'd in form
He'd give his orders for a storm;
A storm, to drown that rascal Horte,
And she would kindly thank him for❜t:
A wretch! whom English rogues, to spite her,
Had lately honour'd with a mitre.
The god, who favour'd her request,
Assur'd her he would do his best:
But Venus had been there before,
Pleaded the bishop lov'd a whore,
And had enlarg'd her empire wide;
He own'd no deity beside.
At sea or land, if e'er you found him
Without a mistress, hang or drown him.
Since Burnet's death, the bishop's bench,
Till Horte arriv'd, ne'er kept a wench;
If Horte must sink, she grieves to tell it,
She'll not have left one single prelate;
For, to say truth, she did intend him,
Elect of Cyprus in commendam.
Agmondisham Vesey, esq., of Lucan, in the county of Dublin, comptroller and accomptant general of Ireland, a very worthy gentleman, for whom the Dean had a great esteem. F.
And, since her birth the ocean gave her,
She could not doubt her uncle's favour.
Then Proteus urg'd the same request,
But half in earnest, half in jest;
Said he "Great sovereign of the main,
To drown him all attempts are vain.
Horte can assume more forms than I,
A rake, a bully, pimp, or spy;
Can creep or run, or fly or swim;
All motions are alike to him:
Turn him adrift, and you shall find
He knows to sail with every wind;
Or, throw him overboard, he'll ride
As well against as with the tide.
But, Pallas, you've apply'd too late;
For 'tis decreed, by Jove and Fate,
That Ireland must be soon destroy'd,
And who but Horte can be employ'd?
You need not then have been so pert,
In sending Bolton to Clonfert.
I found you did it, by your grinning;
Your business is to mind your spinning.
But how you came to interpose
In making bishops, no one knows;
Or who regarded your report;
For never were you seen at court.
And if you must have your petition,
There's Berkeley † in the same condition;
Look, there he stands, and 'tis but just,
If one must drown the other must;
* Afterwards Archbishop of Cashell. F.
† Dr. George Berkeley, Dean of Derry, and afterwards bishop of Cloyne. F.
But, if you'll leave us bishop Judas,
We'll give you Berkeley for Bermudas.
Now, if 'twill gratify your spight,
To put him in a plaguy fright,
Although 'tis hardly worth the cost,
You soon shall see him soundly tost.
You'll find him swear, blaspheme, and damn
(And every moment take a dram)
His ghastly visage with an air
Of reprobation and despair :
Or else some hiding-hole he seeks,
For fear the rest should say he squeaks;
Or, as Fitzpatrick* did before,
Resolve to perish with his whore;
Or else he raves, and roars, and swears,
And, but for shame, would say his prayers.
Or, would you see his spirits sink,
Relaxing downwards in a stink?
If such a sight as this can please ye,
Good madam Pallas, pray be easy,
To Neptune speak, and he'll consent;
But he'll come back the knave he went.
The goddess, who conceiv'd an hope
That Horte was destin'd to a rope,
Believ'd it best to condescend
To spare a foe, to save a friend :
But, fearing Berkeley might be scar'd,
She left him virtue for a guard.
Brigadier Fitzpatrick was drowned in one of the packet-boats in the bay of Dublin, in a great storm. F.
O, HEAVENLY born! in deepest dells
If fairest science ever dwells
Beneath the mossy cave;
Indulge the verdure of the woods,
With azure beauty gild the floods,
And flowery carpets lave.
For, melancholy ever reigns
Delighted in the sylvan scenes.
With scientific light;
While Dian, huntress of the vales,
Seeks lulling sounds and fanning gales,
Though wrapt from mortal sight.
Yet, goddess, yet the way explore
With magic rites and heathen lore
Obstructed and depress'd:
Till Wisdom give the sacred Nine,
Untaught, not uninspir'd, to shine,.
By Reason's power redress'd.
When Solon and Lycurgus taught,
To moralize the human thought
Of mad opinion's maze,
To erring zeal they gave new laws,
Thy charms, O Liberty, the cause
That blends congenial rays.
* This is written in the same style, and with the same design, as his "Love Song in the modern Taste." H.
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