AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG

UPON HIS GRACE OUR GOOD LORD ARCHBISHOP

OF DUBLIN.

DR. KING, Archbishop of Dublin, rose high in Swift's estimation by his opposition to Wood's coinage. These verses are written in the style which Swift knew so well how to assume when he addressed the common people.---Scott.

BY HONEST JO, ONE OF HIS GRACE'S FARMERS
IN FINGAL.

Wood,

To the Tune of

I SING not of the Drapier's praise, nor yet of William [good; But I sing of a famous lord, who seeks his country's Lord William's grace of Dublin town, 'tis he that first appears, [years. Whose wisdom and whose piety do far exceed his In ev'ry council and debate he stands for what is right, And still the truth he will maintain, whate'er he

loses by't.

And though some think him in the wrong, yet still there comes a season

When every one turns round about, and owns his [it swore,

grace had reason.

His firmness to the public good, as one that knows 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. [very name, "A bishop," says the noble squire, "I hate the To have two thousand pounds a-year—O 'tis a burning shame! [have but five!" Two thousand pounds a-year! good lord! And I to And under him no tenant yet was ever known to [of ground, Now from his lordship's grace I hold a little piece And all the rent I pay is scarce five shillings in the pound. ["Honest Jo,

thrive:

you go."

Then master steward takes my rent, and tells me, Come, you must take a cup of sack or two before [money locks, He bids me then to hold my tongue, and up the 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 ;

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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, [you can; Pray never press yourself for rent, but pay me when I find you bear a good report, and are an honest man. Then said his lordship with a smile, “I must have lawful cash,

[trash!" I hope you will not pay my rent in that same Woods's "God bless your Grace," I then replied, "I'd see him hanging higher, [kin spire." Before I'd touch his filthy dross, than is ClandalTo every farmer twice a-week all round about the [us honest folk, Our parsons read the Drapier's books, and make And then I went to pay the squire, and in the way I found,

Yoke,

His bailie driving all my cows into the parish pound;

66

Why, sirrah," said the noble squire, "how dare

you see my face,

[grace."

Your rent is due almost a week, beside the days of And yet the land I from him hold is set so on the rack, [break my back. That only for the bishop's lease 'twould quickly Then God preserve his lordship's grace, and make him live as long

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

TO HIS GRACE THE ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN.

A POEM.

Serus in cœlum redeas, diuque
Lætus intersis populo.---HOR.

GREAT, good, and just, was once applied
To one who for his country died ;1

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;

1 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.

TO THE CITIZENS. 1

AND shall the Patriot who maintain'd your cause,
From future ages only meet applause ?

Shall he, who timely rose t'his country's aid,
By her own sons, her guardians, be betray'd?
Did heathen virtues in your hearts reside,
These wretches had been damn'd for parricide.
Should you behold, whilst dreadful armies threat
The sure destruction of an injured state,

The Address to the Citizens appears, from the signature M. B., to have been written by Swift himself, and published when the prosecution was depending against Harding, the printer of the Drapier's Letters, and a rewardhad been proclaimed for the discovery of the author. Some of those who had sided with the Drapier in his arguments, while confined to Wood's scheme, began to be alarmed, when, in the fourth letter, he entered upon the more high and dangerous matter of the nature of Ireland's connection with England. The object of these verses is, to encourage the timid to stand by their advocate in a cause which was truly their own.-Scott.