Has lost his grace for ten years past ten thousand pounds and more.

Then come the poor and strip him so, they leave him not a cross,

For he regards ten thousand pounds no more than Woods's dross.

To beg his favour is the way new favours still to win, He makes no more to give ten pounds than I to give a pin.

Why, there's my landlord now, the squire, who all in money wallows,

He would not give a groat to save his father from the gallows.

"A bishop," says the noble squire, "I hate the very

name,

To have two thousand pounds a-year-O 'tis a burning shame!

Two thousand pounds a-year! good lord! And I to have but five!"

And under him no tenant yet was ever known to thrive :

Now from his lordship's grace I hold a little piece of ground,

And all the rent I pay is scarce five shillings in the pound.

Then master steward takes my rent, and tells me, "Honest Jo,

Come, you must take a cup of sack or two before you go.

He bids me then to hold my tongue, and up the money locks,

For fear my lord should send it all into the poor

man's box.

And once I was so bold to beg that I might see

his grace,

Good lord! I wonder how I dared to look him in the face:

Then down I went upon my knees, his blessing to obtain ;

He gave it me, and ever since I find I thrive amain. "Then," said my lord, "I'm very glad to see thee, honest friend,

I know the times are something hard, but hope they soon will mend,

Pray never press yourself for rent, but pay me when

you can ;

I find you bear a good report, and are an honest man."

Then said his lordship with a smile, "I must have lawful cash,

I hope you will not pay my rent in that same Woods's trash!"

"God bless your Grace," I then replied, "I'd see him hanging higher,

Before I'd touch his filthy dross, than is Clandalkin spire."

To every farmer twice a-week all round about the

Yoke,

Our parsons read the Drapier's books, and make us honest folk.

And then I went to pay the squire, and in the way I found,

His bailie driving all my cows into the parish pound; "Why, sirrah," said the noble squire, "how dare you see my face,

Your rent is due almost a week, beside the days of grace.

"

And yet the land I from him hold is set so on the rack,

That only for the bishop's lease 'twould quickly break my back.

Then God preserve his lordship's grace, and make him live as long

As did Methusalem of old, and so I end my song.

[From a broadside printed by Harding.]

GREAT, GOOD, and JUST, was once applied
To one who for his country died; *
To one who lives in its defence,
We speak it in a happier sense.
O may the fates thy life prolong!
Our country then can dread no wrong:
In thy great care we place our trust,
Because thou'rt great and good, and just :
Thy breast unshaken can oppose
Our private and our public foes:
The latent wiles, and tricks of state,
Your wisdom can with ease defeat.
When power
in all its pomp appears,
It falls before thy rev'rend years,
And willingly resigns its place
To something nobler in thy face
When once the fierce pursuing Gaul
Had drawn his sword for Marius' fall,
The godlike hero with a frown
Struck all his rage and malice down;

* The Marquis of Montrose thus commences his epitaph on Charles I.:

"Great, good, and just! could I but rate

My griefs to thy too rigid fate."

Then how can we dread William Wood,
If by thy presence he's withstood?
Where wisdom stands to keep the field,
In vain he brings his brazen shield;
Though like the sibyl's priest he comes,
With furious din of brazen drums,
The force of thy superior voice

Shall strike him dumb, and quell their noise.

PUNCH'S PETITION TO THE LADIES.

-Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,
Auri sacra fames?-

THIS poem partly relates to Wood's halfpence, but resembles the style of Sheridan rather than of Swift. The latter would not have used such frequent elisions, or left so many bad rhymes; though some of the last may be the errors of the transcriber. It is copied from a manuscript occurring in a thick volume of broadsides and loose tracts, chiefly printed, containing several of the Dean's. In the same hand and volume I find a manuscript of the Dean's version of Horace, Book I. Ode XIV., and Mr. Hartstonge inclines to think the hand-writing of both corresponds with that of the Lanesborough MS. Hoppy, or Hopkins, here mentioned, seems to be the same rapacious master of the revels satirized in Vol. XIV. p. 143. He was secretary to the Duke of Grafton, when Lord-Lieutenant. Verses on the Puppet-Show occur in the same volume, p. 200.

FAIR ones who do all hearts command,
And gently sway with fan in hand
Your favourite-Punch a suppliant falls,
And humbly for assistance calls ;

He humbly calls and begs you'll stop
The gothic rage of Vander Hop,
Wh' invades without pretence and right,
Or any law but that of might,

Our Pigmy land-and treats our kings
Like paltry idle wooden things;
Has beat our dancers out of doors,
And call'd our chastest virgins whores;
He has not left our Queen a rag on,
Has forced away our George and Dragon,
Has broke our wires, nor was he civil
To Doctor Faustus nor the devil;
E'en us he hurried with full rage,
Most hoarsely squalling off the stage;
And faith our fright was very great
To see a minister of state,

Armed with power and fury come
To force us from our little home-
We fear'd, as I am sure we had reason,
An accusation of high-treason;
Till, starting up, says Banamiere,

Treason, my friends, we need not fear,
For 'gainst the Brass we used no power,
Nor strove to save the chancellor.*
Nor did we shew the least affection
To Rochford or the Meath election;
Nor did we sing,- Machugh he means.'
"You villain, I'll dash out your brains,
'Tis no affair of state which brings
Me here or business of the King's;
I'm come to sieze you all as debtors,
And bind you fast in iron fetters,

* Lord Chancellor Middleton, against whom a vote of censure passed in the House of Lords for delay of justice occasioned by his absence in England. It was instigated by Grafton, then LordLieutenant, who had a violent quarrel at this time with Middleton.