The doctors all in concert join'd,

To see if they the cause could find;
And tried a world of remedies,
But none could conquer the disease.
The lion in this consternation,
Sends out his royal proclamation,
To all his loving subjects greeting,
Appointing them a solemn meeting:
And when they're gather'd round his den,
He spoke,-My lords and gentlemen,
I hope you're met full of the sense,
Of this devouring pestilence;
For sure such heavy punishment,
On common crimes is rarely sent;
It must be some important cause,
Some great infraction of the laws.
Then let us search our consciences,
And ev'ry one his faults confess :
Let's judge from biggest to the least,
That he that is the foulest beast,
May for sacrifice be given

To stop the wrath of angry Heaven.
And since no one is free from sin,
I with myself will first begin.
I have done many a thing that's ill
From a propensity to kill,

Slain many an ox, and what is worse,
Have murder'd many a gallant horse;
Robb'd woods and fens, and like a glutton
Devour'd whole flocks of lamb and mutton;

by Swift and his friends occur in this paper, and, from internal evidence, one is strongly tempted to ascribe the following fables either to the Dean himself, or Sheridan or Delany, under his auspices.

Nay sometimes, for I dare not lie
The shepherd went for company.
He had gone on, but chancellor Fox
Stands up What signifies an ox?
What signifies a horse? Such things
Are honour'd when made sport for kings.
Then for the sheep, those foolish cattle,
Not fit for courage, or for battle;
And being tolerable meat,

They're good for nothing but to eat.
The shepherd too, your enemy,
Deserves no better destiny.

Sir, Sir, your conscience is too nice,
Hunting's a princely exercise:

And those being all your subjects born,
Just when you please are to be torn.
And Sir, if this will not content ye,
We'll vote it NEMINE CONTRADICENTE.

Thus after him they all confess,

They had been rogues, some more some less; And yet by little slight excuses,

They all get clear of great abuses.

The Bear, the Tiger, beasts of flight,

And all that could but scratch and bite,
Nay e'en the Cat of wicked nature,
That kills in sport her fellow-creature,
Went scot-free; but his gravity,
An Ass of stupid memory,

Confess'd, as he went to a fair,

His back half broke with wooden-ware,

Chancing unluckily to pass

By a church-yard full of good grass,
Finding they'd open left the gate,

He ventur❜d in, stooped down and eat. [ate.]
Hold says judge Wolf, such are the crimes
Have brought upon us these sad times,

'Twas sacrilege, and this vile ass,

Shall die for eating holy grass.

ON THE IRISH BISHOPS.* 1781.

OLD Latimer preaching did fairly describe,
A bishop, who ruled all the rest of his tribe;
And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell!
Why truly 'tis Satan, archbishop of Hell.

And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre
Surrounded with jewels of sulphur and nitre.
How nearly this bishop our bishops resembles !
But he has the odds, who believes and who trembles.
Could you see his grim grace, for a pound to a penny,
You'd swear it must be the baboon of Kilkenny: †
Poor Satan will think the comparison odious,

I wish I could find him out one more commodious;
But, this I am sure, the most reverend old dragon
Has got on the bench many bishops suffragan;
And all men believe he resides there incog.
To give them by turns an invisible jog.

Our bishops, puft up with wealth and with pride,
To hell on the backs of the clergy would ride.
They mounted and labour'd with whip and with spur,
In vain for the devil a parson would stir.

* Occasioned by their endeavouring to get an act to divide the church-livings; which bill was rejected by the Irish house of commons.-F. See Swift's Considerations on this and the bill for clerical residence, Vol. IX. p. 13. See also his remarkable letter to the bishop of Clogher, Vol. XVIII. p. 200, and another to Sheridan, ibid. p. 407.

+ The Bishop of Ossory.

So the commons unhorsed them; and this was their

doom,

On their crosiers to ride like a witch on a broom. Though they gallop'd so fast, on the road you may find 'em,

And have left us but three out of twenty behind 'em. Lord Bolton's good grace, Lord Carr and Lord Howard,*

In spite of the devil would still be untoward :
They came of good kindred, and could not endure
Their former companions should beg at their door.
When Christ was betray'd to Pilate the prætor,
Of a dozen apostles but one proved a traitor :
One traitor alone, and faithful eleven;

But we can afford you six traitors in seven.

What a clutter with clippings, dividings, and cleavings!

And the clergy forsooth must take up with their leavings ;

If making divisions was all their intent,

They've done it, we thank them, but not as they meant ;

And so may such bishops for ever divide,

That no honest heathen would be on their side.
How should we rejoice, if, like Judas the first,
Those splitters of parsons in sunder should burst!
Now hear an allusion :-A mitre, you know,
Is divided above, but united below.
If this you consider our emblem is right;
The bishops divide, but the clergy unite.

Dr Theophilus Bolton was archbishop of Cashell from 1729 to 1744; Dr Charles Carr, bishop of Killaloe from 1716 to 1739; and Dr Robert Howard, bishop of Elphin, from 1729 te 1740.-N.

Should the bottom be split, our bishops would dread
That the mitre would never stick fast on their head:
And yet they have learnt the chief art of a sovereign,
As Machiavel taught them, "divide and ye go-
vern."

But courage, my lords, though it cannot be said
That one cloven tongue ever sat on your head
I'll hold you a groat (and I wish I could see't)
If your stockings were off, you could show cloven

feet.

But hold, cry the bishops, and give us fair play'; Before you condemn us, hear what we can say. What truer affections could ever be shown, Than saving your souls by damning our own? And have we not practis'd all methods to gain you; With the tithe of the tithe of the tithe to maintain

you;

Provided a fund for building your spittals!
You are only to live four years without victuals.

Content my good lords; but let us change hands; First take you our tithes, and give us your lands. So God bless the Church and three of our mitres ; And God bless the Commons, for biting the biters.

HORACE, BOOK IV. ODE XIX.

ADDRESSED TO HUMPHRY FRENCH, ESQ.
LATE LORD MAYOR OF DUBLIN.

PATRON of the tuneful throng,

O! too nice, and too severe !

*Originally annexed to the Presbyterians' Plea of Merit.

1781.