The shoemakers came on the next.
And said they would much rather,
Than be by Wood's copper vext,
Take money stampt on leather.
O Dublin, &c.

The chandlers next in order came,
And what they said was right,

They hoped the rogue that laid the scheme
Would soon be brought to light.
O Dublin, &c..

}

And that if Woods were now withstood
To his eternal scandal,

That twenty of these halfpence should
Not buy a farthing candle.

O Dublin, &c..

The butchers then, those men so brave,
Spoke thus, and with a frowng

Should Woods, that cunning scoundrel knave,
Come here, we'd knock him down.

O Dublin, &c,

For any rogue that comes to truck
And trick away our trade,
Deserves not only to be stuck
But also to be flayed.

O Dublin, &c.

The bakers in a ferment were

And wisely shook their head;

Should these brass tokens once come here
We'd all have lost our bread.

O Dublin, &c./ mont

It set the very tinkers mad

The baseness of the metal,
Because they said it was so bad
It would not mend a kettle.
O Dublin, &c.

The carpenters and joiners stood
Confounded in a maze,

They seem'd to be all in a wood,
And so they went their ways.
O Dublin, &c.

This coin how well could we employ it
In raising of a statuuld

To those brave men that would destroy it,
And then old Woods have at you.
O Dublin, &c.

God prosper long our tradesmen then,
And so he will I hope,

May they be still such honest men,
When Woods has got a rope.

O Dublin is a fine town, &c.

VERSES ON THE UPRIGHT JUDGE,

WHO CONDEMNED THE DRAPIER'S PRINTER.

THE church I hate, and have good reason:
For there my grandsire cut his weasand:
He cut his weasand at the altar

I keepmy gullet for the halter.

;

IN church your grandsire cut his throat;
To do the job, too long he tarried:
He should have had my hearty vote,
To cut his throat before he married.

ON THE SAME.

(THE JUDGE SPEAKS.)

I'm not the grandson of that ass * Quin;
Nor can you prove it, Mr Pasquin.
My grand-dame had gallants by twenties,
And bore my mother by a 'prentice.

This when my grandsire knew, they tell us he
In Christ-church cut his throat for jealousy.
And, since the alderman was mad you say,
Then I must be so too, ex traduce.

An alderman, F.

In answer to the Dean's Verses on his own Deafness, p. 350.

WHAT though the Dean hears not the knell,

Of the next church's passing bell;

What though the thunder from a cloud,
Or that from female tongue more loud,
Alarm not; At the DRAPIER's ear,

Chink but Wood's halfpence, and he'll hear.

!

HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XIV.

PARAPHRASED, AND INSCRIBED TO IRELAND. 1726.

THE INSCRIPTION.

POOR floating isle, tost on ill fortune's waves,
Ordain'd by fate to be the land of slaves;
Shall moving Delos now deep-rooted stand;
Thou fix'd of old, be now the moving land!
Although the metaphor be worn and stale,
Betwixt a state, and vessel under sail;
Let me suppose thee for a ship a while,
And thus address thee in the sailor's style.

UNHAPPY ship, thou art returned in vain ;*
New waves shall drive thee to the deep again.

* O navis, referent in mare te novi

Fluctus ?

492

HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XIV. parapHRASED.

Look to thyself, and be no more the sport
Of giddy winds, but make some friendly port.
Lost are thy oars, that used thy course to guide,
Like faithful counsellors, on either side.†
Thy mast, which like some aged patriot stood, †
The single pillar for his country's good,
To lead thee, as a staff directs the blind,
Behold it cracks by yon rough eastern wind;
Your cable's burst, and you must quickly feel §
The waves impetuous enter at your
keel;
Thus commonwealths receive a foreign yoke.
When the strong cords of union once are broke.
Torn by a sudden tempest is thy sail,**
Expanded to invite a milder gale.

As when some writer in a public cause
His pen, to save a sinking nation, draws,
While all is calm, his arguments prevail;
The people's voice expands his paper
sail
1;
Till power, discharging all her stormy bags,
Flutters the feeble pamphlet into rags,
The nation scared, the author doom'd to death,
Who fondly put his trust in popular breath.
A larger sacrifice in vain you vow;
There's not a power above will help you now; tt
A nation thus, who oft Heaven's call neglects,
In vain from injur'd Heaven relief expects.

** Non tibi sunt integra lintea,

++ Non Dii, quos iterum pressa voces male.