Fools may pursue their adverse fate, We laugh while they condemn us. For, being of that gen'rous mind, And quit the suffering side, If on our friends cross planets frown, Hence 'twas this choice we long delay'd, Whilst fortune held the scale; But [since] they're driven like mist before you, Our rising sun, we now adore you, Because you now prevail. Descend then from your lofty seat, With us to sing your praises; Calliope now strings up her lyre, 1 The theme their fancy raises. If then our nursery you will nourish, Encouraged by your favour; This is spelled Chloe, but evidently should be Clio; indeed, many errors appear in the transcription, which probably were mistakes of the transcriber.---Scott. We'll doctrines teach the times to serve, Now take our harp into your hand, In doleful sounds no more shall mourn. We, with sincerity of heart, To all your tunes shall bear a part, Unless we see the tables turn. If so, great sir, you will excuse us, May live to change our strain; To "the king enjoys his own again." AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG,' ON A SEDITIOUS PAMPHLET. 1720. To the tune of "Packington's Pound." BROCADES, and damasks, and tabbies, and gauzes, Are, by Robert Ballantine, lately brought over, With forty things more: now hear what the law says, Whoe'er will not wear them is not the king's lover. This ballad alludes to the Dean's "Proposal for the use of Irish Manufactures," for which Waters, the printer, was prosecuted with great violence. Lord Chief-Justice Whitshed sent the jury repeatedly out of court, until he had wearied them into a special verdict.---Scott. Though 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 spite of his deanship and journeyman Waters. In England the dead in woollen are clad, The Dean and his printer then let us cry fie on; To be clothed like a carcass would make a Teague mad, Since a living dog better is than a dead lion. Our wives they grow sullen At wearing of woollen, And all we poor shopkeepers must our horns pull in. Then we'll buy English silks for our wives and our daughters, In spite of his deanship and journeyman Waters. Whoever our trading with England would hinder, Our noble grand jury, When they saw the Dean's book, they were in a great fury; They would buy English silks for their wives and their daughters, In spite of his deanship and journeyman Waters. This wicked rogue Waters, who always is sinning, And before coram nobis so oft has been call'd, Henceforward shall 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 spite of his deanship and journeyman Waters. THE RUN UPON THE BANKERS.1 1720. THE bold encroachers on the deep The multitude's capricious pranks This poem was printed some years ago, and it should seem, by the late failure of two bankers, to be somewhat prophetic. It was therefore thought fit to be reprinted.--Dub. Ed. Money, the life-blood of the nation, Its motion and its heat maintains. Because 'tis lordly not to pay, Like peers, have levees every day Of duns attending at their gate. We want our money on the nail; The banker's ruin'd if he pays: They seem to act an ancient tale; The birds are met to strip the jays. • Riches," the wisest monarch sings, "Make pinions for themselves to fly;" They fly like bats on parchment wings, And geese their silver plumes supply. No money left for squandering heirs! "That they had never known their letters." Conceive the works of midnight hags, Conceive the whole enchantment broke; |