The Spaniard, fore against his Will,
Muft raise a Fort at Market-Hill.
And thus, the Pair of humble Gentry,
At North and South are pofted Centry;
While in his lordly Caftle fixt,
The Knight triumphant reigns betwixt :
And, what the Wretches most resent,
To be his Slaves must pay him Rent;
Attend him daily as their Chief,
Decant his Wine, and carve his Beef,
O FORTUNE, 'tis a Scandal for thee,
To smile on those who are leaft worthy,
Weigh but the Merits of the three,
His Slaves have ten times more than he.
PROUD Baronet of Nova Scotia,
The Dean and Spaniard muft reproach ye;
Of their two Fames the World enough rings;
Where are thy Services and Suff'rings?
What, if for nothing once you kist,
Against the Grain, a M's Fift?
What, if among the courtly Tribe,
You loft a Place, and fav'd a Bribe?
And, then in furly Mood come here
To Fifteen Hundred Pounds a Year,
And fierce againft the Whigs harangu'd;
You never ventur'd to be hang'd.
How dare
you treat your Betters thus? Are you to be compar❜d to Us?
COME, Spaniard, let us from our Farms
Call forth our Cottagers to Arms;
Our Forces let us both unite,
Attack the Foe at Left and Right;
From Market-Hill's exalted Head
Full Northward let your Troops be led:
While I from Drapier's-Mount descend,
And to the South my Squadrons bend:
New River walk with friendly Shade,
Shall keep my Hoft in Ambuscade;
While you, from where the Bafon ftands,
Shall scale the Rampart with your Bands.
Nor need we doubt the Fort to win
I hold Intelligence within.
True, Lady Anne no Danger fears,
Brave as the Upton Fan fhe wears:
Then, left upon our first Attack
Her valiant Arm fhould force us back,
And we of all our Hopes depriv'd;
I have a Stratagem contriv'd;
By these embroider'd high Heel Shoes,
She fhall be caught as in a Noose :
So well contriv'd her Toes to pinch,
She'll not have Power to ftir an Inch:
Thefe gaudy Shoes must † Hannah place
Direct before her Lady's Face.
The Shoes put on; our faithful Portress
Admits us in, to ftorm the Fortress;
While tortur'd Madam bound remains,
Like Montezume in golden Chains
Or, like a Cat with Walnuts fhod,
Stumbling at ev'ry Step she trod.
Sly Hunters thus, in Borneo's Isle,
To catch a Monkey by a Wile,
The mimic Animal amufe;
They place before him Gloves and Shoes;
Which when the Brute puts aukward on,
All his Agility is gone;
In vain to frifk or climb he tries;
The Huntsmen feize the grinning Prize.
BUT, let us on our firft Affault
Secure the Larder, and the Vault:
The valiant Dennis you must fix on,
And, I'll engage with † Peggy Dixon :
Then, if we once can feize the Key,
And Chest, that keeps my Lady's Tea,
They must surrender at Discretion,
And foon as we have got Poffeffion,
We'll act as other Conqu❜rors do;
Divide the Realm between us two.
Then, (let me fee) we'll make the Knight
Our Clerk, for he can read and write;
But, muft not think, I tell him that,
Like || Lorimer, to wear his Hat,
*The Butler.
+ The House-keeper.
The Agent.
Yet, when we dine without a Friend,
We'll place him at the lower End.
Madam, whose Skill does all in Dress lye,
May serve to wait on Mrs. Leflie:
But, left it might not be fo
proper, That her own Maid should overtop her; To mortify the Creature more,
We'll take her Heels five Inches lower.
FOR Hannab; when we have no need of her:
'Twill be our Int'reft to get rid of her; And when we execute our Plot,
'Tis best to hang her on the Spot;
As all your Politicians wife
Dispatch the Rogues by whom they rise.
The Description of an Irish-Feast, tranflated almoft literally out of the Original Irifh.
Tranflated in the Year 1720.
OROURK's noble Fare
Will ne'er be forgot,
By those who were there,
Or those who were not.
His Revels to keep,
We fup and we dine,
On feven Score Sheep,
Fat Bullocks and Swine.
Ufquebagh to our Feast
In Pails was brought up,
An Hundred at least,
And a Madder our Cup.
O there is the Sport,
We rife with the Light,
In disorderly Sort,
From fnoring all Night.
O how I was trickt,
My Pipe it was broke,
My Pocket was pickt,
I loft my new Cloak:
I'm rifled, quoth Nell,
Of Mantle and || Kercher,
Why then fare them well,
The De'il take the Searcher.
Come, Harper, strike up,
But first by your Favour,
Boy, give us a Cup;
Ay, this hath fome Savour:
O Rourk's jolly Boys
Ne'er dreamt of the Matter,
Till rowz'd by the Noise,
And musical Clatter.
* Wooden Veffel.
Handkerchief,
|