Imatges de pÓgina
[ocr errors]

The Spaniard, fore against his Will,
Must raise a Fort at Market-Hill.
And thus, the Pair of humble Gentry,
At North and South are posted Centry;
While in his lordly Castle 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 least 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 must 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 say'd a Bribe?
And, then in surly Mood come here
To Fifteen Hundred Pounds a Year,
And fierce against 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 Host 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 she wears : Then, left upon our firft Attack Her valiant Arm should 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 shall be caught as in a Noose : So well contriv'd her Toes to pinch, She'll not have Power to ftir an Inch : These gaudy Shoes must † Hannab place Direct before her Lady's Face. The Shoes put on; our faithful Portress Admits us in, to storm the Fortress ;


* A Village near Sir A - A + My Lady's Waiting-Maid.

n's Seat.

While tortur'd Madam bound remains,
Like Montezume in golden Chains :
Or, like a Cat with Walnuts shod,
Stumbling at ev'ry Step The trod.
Sly Hunters thus, in Borneo's Ine,
To catch a Monkey by a Wile,
The mimic Animal amuse;
They place before him Gloves and Shoes ;
Which when the Brute puts aukward on,
All his Agility is gone;
In vain to frisk or climb he tries ;
The Huntsmen seize the grinning Prize.

But, let us on our first Alfault
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 seize the Key,
And Chest, that keeps my Lady's Tea,
They must surrender at Discretion,
And soon 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, must not think, I tell him that,
Like || Lorimer, to wear his Hat,


* The Butler. + The House-keeper. li The Agent.

[ocr errors]

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. Leslie :
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’rest to get rid of her ; And when we execute our Plot, 'Tis best to hang her on the Spot ; As all your Politicians wise Dispatch the Rogues by whom they rife.

The Description of an Irish-Feast, tran

jated almost literally out of the Ori

ginal Irish.

Translated in the Year 1720.


ROURK'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 seven 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 rise with the Light,
In disorderly Sort,

From snoring all Night.
O how I was trickt,

My Pipe it was broke,
My Pocket was pickt,

I lost 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,

Bur first by your Favour,
Boy, give us a Cups

Ay, this hath some Savour :
O Rourk’s jolly Boys

Ne’er dreamt of the Matter,
Till rowz'd by the Noise,

And musical Clatter,


# Wooden Vessel, | Handkerchief,

« AnteriorContinua »