An EPITAPH by Dr. SWIFT to the memory of FREDERICK duke of SCHOMBERG, who was unhappily killed in croffing the river Boyne on the 1st of July 1690, and was buried in St. Patrick's cathedral, where the dean andchapter erected a small monument to his honour at their own expence. Hic infra fitum eft corpus FREDERICI DUCIS DE SCHOMBERG, ad BUDINDAM occifi, A. D. 1690. DECANUS et CAPITULUM maximopere etiam atque etiam petierunt, Ut HEREDES DUCIS monumentum In memoriam PARENTIS erigendum curarent: Sed poftquam per epiftolas, per amicos, diu ac fæpè orando nil profecêre; Hunc demum lapidem ipfi ftatuerunt, * Saltem ut fcias, hofpes, Ubinam terrarum SCONBERGENSES cineres delitefcunt. Plus potuit fama virtutis apud alienos, *The words that Dr. Swift firft concluded the epitaph with, were Saltem ut fci 4. at viator indignabundus, quali in cellula tanti ductoris cineres delitefcunt. A BAL * A BALLAD ON The Game of TRAFFICK. Written at the castle of Dublin, in the time of the earl of Berkley's government. Y + lord, to find out who muft deal MY But the first knave does feldom fail But then his honour cry'd, godzooks! For on a knave he never looks My lady, though fhe is no player, This ballad occafioned purfe. See Vol. VI. p. 76. another to the tune of the cut- The earl of Berkley. Dame Dame Floyd *looks out in grave fufpence For pair-royals and fequents; Quoth Herries, fairly putting cafes, If I had but a pair of aces, But Wefton has a new-caft gown "With thefe is parfon Swift, "Not knowing how to spend his time, "Does make a wretched fhift, "To deafen them with puns and "rhime." Biddy Floyd. See letter to col. Hunter, vol. XII. VERSES faid to be written on the UNION. THE HE * queen has lately loft a part Of her entirely-English heart, For want of which, by way of botch, She piec'd it up again with Scotch. Bleft revolution, which creates Divided hearts, united states! See how the double nation lies; Of kingdoms without faith or law? VOL. VII. * Anne. Cc WILL WILL WOOD's Petition to the People of IRELAND, Being an excellent NEW SONG, Supposed to be made and fung in the street of Dublin, by William Wood, iron-monger and balfpenny-monger, 1725. Y My dear Irish folks, Come leave off your jokes, And buy up my half-pence fo fine; They'll give you delight; Obferve how they gliften and fhine. They'll fell, to my grief, As cheap as neck-beef, For counters at cards to your wife; Your children may play Span-farthing or tofs on the knife. Come hither, and try; I ask you no more, And a fig for the Drapier and* Harding. *The Drapier's printer. |