Tho' a Printer and Dean

Seditiously mean

Our true Irish Hearts from old England to wean; We'll buy English Silks for our Wives and our Daughters,

In Spight of his Deanfhip and Journeyman Waters.

II.

In England the Dead in Woollen are clad,

The Dean and his Printer then let us cry Fye on; To be cloath'd like a Carcafs would make a Teague mad,

Since a living Dog is better than a dead Lyon, Our Wives they grow fullen

At wearing of Woollen,

And all we poor Shop-keepers must our Horns pull in.

Then we'll buy English Silks, &c.

III.

Whoever our Trading with England would hinder,
To inflame both the Nations do plainly conspire;
Because Irish Linen will foon turn to Tinder;
And Wool it is greasy, and quickly takes Fire.
Therefore I afsure ye,

Our noble Grand Jury,

When they faw the Dean's Book they were in a

great Fury:

They would buy English Silks, &c.

IV.

This wicked Rogue Waters, who always is finning, And before Corum Nobus fo oft' has been call'd, Henceforward fhall print neither Pamphlets nor Linen,

And, if Swearing can do't, shall be swingingly maul'd:

And as for the Dean,

You know whom I mean,

If the Printer will peach him, he'll scarce come off clean.

Then we'll buy English Silks for our Wives and our Daughters,

In Spight of his Deanship and Journeyman Waters.

The

The AUTHOR upon HIMSELF.

Written in the Year 1713.

A few of the first Lines were wanting in the Copy fent us by a Friend of the Author's from London.

Y an old

Β
BA" lazy

purfu'd,

A* crazy Prelate, and a† Royal Prude.
By dull Divines, who look with envious Eyes,
On ev'ry Genius that attempts to rife;
And paufing o'er a Pipe, with doubtful Nod,
Give Hints, that Poets ne'er believe in God.
So, Clowns on Scholars as on Wizards look,
And take & Folio for a conj'ring Book.

St had the Sin of Wit, no venal Crime; Nay, 'twas affirm'd, he fometimes dealt in Rhime: Humour, and Mirth, had Place in all he writ: He reconcil'd Divinity and Wit.

VOL. II.

He mov'd, and bow'd, and talk'd with too much

Grace;

Nor fhew'd the Parfon in his Gait or Face
Despis'd luxurious Wines, and coftly Meat;
Yet, ftill was at the Tables of the Great.
Frequented Lords; faw thofe that far the Queen;
At * Child's or Truby's never once had been;
Where Town and Country Vicars flock in Tribes,
Secur'd by Numbers from the Laymen's Gibes;
And deal in Vices of the graver Sort,
Tobacco, Cenfure, Coffee, Pride, and Port.

BUT, after fage Monitions from his Friends,
His Talents to employ for nobler Ends;
To better Judgments willing to submit,
He turns to Politicks his dang❜rous Wit.

And now, the publick Int'reft to fupport,
By Harley, St invited, comes to Court.
In Favour grows with Minifters of State;
Admitted private, when Superiors wait:
And, Harley, not afham'd his Choice to own,
Takes him to Windfor in his Coach, alone.
At Windfor, S-t no fooner can appear,
But, St. John comes and whispers in his Ear;

The

*A Coffee-Houfe and Tavern near St. Paul's, much frequented by the Clergy.

Then Secretary of State, now Lord BOLINGBROKE, the moft univerfal Genius in Europe.

The Waiters stand in Ranks; the Yeomen cry,
Make Room; as if a Duke were paffing by.

Now* Finch alarms the Lords; he hears for certain,

This dang❜rous Prieft is got behind the Curtain:
Finch, fam'd for tedious Elocution, proves
That St oils many a Spring, which Harley

moves.

|| Walpole and Aylaby, to clear the Doubt, Inform the Commons, that the Secret's out: "A certain Doctor is obferv'd of late,

"To haunt a certain Minister of State:

"From whence, with half an Eye we may discover, "The Peace is made, and Perkin must come over. York is from Lambeth fent, to fhew the QUEEN A dang❜rous + Treatife writ against the Spleen; Which by the Style, the Matter, and the Drift, 'Tis thought could be the Work of none but St. Poor York! the harmless Tool of others Hate, § He fues for Pardon, and repents too late.

*Late Earl of NOTTINGHAM, who made a Speech in the House of Lords against the Author.

Those two made Speeches in the Houfe of Commons against the Author, although the latter profeffed much Friendship for him. + The Tale of a Tub.

§ It is known that his Grace fent a Meffage to the Author, to defire his Pardon, and that he was very forry for what he had faid and done.