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 contrast the conduct of the clergy and the lay proprietors to their te nants, and are written in the stile which Swift knew so well how to assume when he addressed the common people. They are taken from a broadside printed by Harding, who published the Drapier's letters.

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

FINGAL.

To the Tune of

I SING not of the Drapier's praise, nor yet of William Wood,

But I sing of a famous lord, who seeks his country's

good;

Lord William's grace of Dublin town, 'tis he that first appears,

Whose wisdom and whose piety do far exceed his

years.

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 ev'ry one turns round about, and owns his grace had reason.

His firmness to the public good, as one that knows it swore,

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.

"A bishop" says the noble squire, “I hate the

very name,

To have two thousand pounds a year -O 'tis a burning shame!

Two thousand pounds a year! good lord! And I to have but five!"

And under him no tenant yet was ever known to thrive :

Now from his lordship's grace I hold a little piece of ground,

And all the rent I pay is scarce five shillings in the

pound.

Then master steward takes my rent, and tells me "honest Jo.

Come, you must take a cup of sack or two before you go."

He bids me then to hold my tongue, and up the money locks,

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 ;

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,

Pray never press yourself for rent, but pay me when you can,

I find you bear a good report, and are an honest

man.

Then said his lordship with a smile, " I must have lawful cash,

I hope you will not pay my rent in that same Woods's trash!"

"God bless your grace," I then replied, "I'd see him hanging higher,

Before I'd touch his filthy dross, than is Clandalkin spire."

To every farmer twice a week all round about the Yoke,

Our parsons read the Drapier's books, and make us honest folk.

And then I went to pay the squire and in the way I found,

His bailie driving all my cows into the parish

pound;

Why sirrah," said the noble squire, how dare you see my face,

586 TO HIS GRACE THE ARCHBISHOP Of dublin.

Your rent is due almost a week beside the days of

grace."

And yet the land I from him hold is set so on the

rack,

That only for the bishops lease 'twould quickly break my back.

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.

[From a broadside printed by Harding.]

GREAT GOOD and JUST was once applied
To one who for his country died;

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:

HOR.

*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.

In thy great care we place our trust,
Because thour't 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;
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;
Tho' like the sybil's priest he comes,
With furious din of brazen drums,
The force of thy superior voice

Shall strike him dumb, and quell their noise.

PUNCH's PETITION TO THE LADIES.

Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,

Auri sacra fames.

[This poem partly relates to Wood's halfpence, but resembles the stile of Sheridan rather than of Swift. The latter would not have used such frequent elisions, or left so many bad rhimes; though some of the last may be the errors of the transcriber. It is copied