[Footnote 1: The Lady of Sir Arthur Acheson.][Footnote 2: A village near Sir Arthur Acheson's house where the authorpassed two summers.—Dublin Edition.][Footnote 3: The names of two overseers.][Footnote 4: My lady's footman.][Footnote 4: Dr. Daniel, Dean of Down, who wrote several poems.][Footnote 5: The author preached but once while he was there.][Footnote 6: He sometimes used to direct the butler.][Footnote 7: The butler.][Footnote 8: He sometimes used to walk with the lady. Seeante, p. 96.][Footnote 9: The neighbouring ladies were no great understanders ofraillery.][Footnote 10: The clown that cut down the old thorn at Market-Hill.][Footnote 11: Seeante, "My Lady's Lamentation," p. 97.—W. E. B.][Footnote 12: Lady Acheson was daughter of Philip Savage, M. P. forWexford, and Chancellor of the Exchequer in Ireland.—W. E. B.][Footnote 13: Understood here asdainty, particular.—W. E. B.][Footnote 14: A way of making butter for breakfast, by filling a bottlewith cream, and shaking it till the butter comes.][Footnote 15: It is a common saying, when the milk burns, that the devilor the bishop has set his foot in it.][Footnote 16: See vol. i, p. 203.—W. E. B.][Footnote 27: Fragments of stone.][Footnote 28: Virg., "Aeneidos," lib. vi.][Footnote 29: "Cynthius auremVellit et admonuit."—VIRG.,Eclogavi, 3.][Footnote 30: "Post mediam noctem visus, cum somnia vera."—HOR.,Sat,I, x, 33.][Footnote 31: In the bottle to make butter.][Footnote 32: The quantity of ale or beer brewed at one time.][Footnote 33: Mrs. Dixon, the housekeeper.][Footnote 34: "Hac tibi erunt artes."—VIRG.,Aen., vi, 852.][Footnote 35: A very stupid, insolent, factious, deformed, conceitedperson; a vile pretender to poetry, preferred by the Duke of Grafton forhis wit.]
ILEST it may more quarrels breed,I will never hear you read.
IIBy disputing, I will never,To convince you once endeavour.
IIIWhen a paradox you stick to,I will never contradict you.
IVWhen I talk and you are heedless,I will show no anger needless.VWhen your speeches are absurd,I will ne'er object a word.
VIWhen you furious argue wrong,I will grieve and hold my tongue.
VIINot a jest or humorous storyWill I ever tell before ye:To be chidden for explaining,When you quite mistake the meaning.
VIIINever more will I suppose,You can taste my verse or prose.
IXYou no more at me shall fret,While I teach and you forget.XYou shall never hear me thunder,When you blunder on, and blunder.
XIShow your poverty of spirit,And in dress place all your merit;Give yourself ten thousand airs:That with me shall break no squares.[2]
XIINever will I give advice,Till you please to ask me thrice:Which if you in scorn reject,'Twill be just as I expect.Thus we both shall have our ends,And continue special friends.
[Footnote 1: Addressed to Lady Acheson.—W. E. B.][Footnote 2: That is, will do no harm—we shall not disagree."At Blank-Blank Square;—for we will break no squaresBy naming streets."Don Juan, Canto XIII, st. xxv.See Mr. Coleridge's note on this; Byron's Works, edit. 1903.—W. E. B.]
Mr. William Crowe, Recorder of Blessington's Address to her Majesty, ascopied from the London Gazette.To the Queen's most Excellent Majesty,The humble Address of the Sovereign, Recorder, Burgesses, and Freemen, ofthe Borough of Blessington.May it please your Majesty,Though we stand almost last on the roll of boroughs of this yourmajesty's kingdom of Ireland, and therefore, in good manners to our elderbrothers, press but late among the joyful crowd about your royal throne:yet we beg leave to assure your majesty, that we come behind none in ourgood affection to your sacred person and government; insomuch, that thelate surprising accounts from Germany have filled us with a joy notinferior to any of our fellow-subjects.We heard with transport that the English warmed the field to that degree,that thirty squadrons, part of the vanquished enemy, were forced to flyto water, not able to stand their fire, and drank their last draught inthe Danube, for the waste they had before committed on its injured banks,thereby putting an end to their master's long-boasted victories: aglorious push indeed, and worthy a general of the Queen of England. Andwe are not a little pleased, to find several gentlemen in considerableposts of your majesty's army, who drew their first breath in thiscountry, sharing in the good fortune of those who so effectually put inexecution the command of your gallant, enterprizing general, whosetwin-battles have, with his own title of Marlborough, given immortalityto the otherwise perishing names of Schellenberg and Hogstete: actionsthat speak him born under stars as propitious to England as that he nowwears, on both which he has so often reflected lustre, as to have nowabundantly repaid the glory they once lent him. Nor can we butcongratulate with a joy proportioned to the success of your majesty'sfleet, our last campaign at sea, since by it we observe the Frenchobliged to steer their wonted course for security, to their ports; andGibraltar, the Spaniards' ancient defence, bravely stormed, possessed,and maintained by your majesty's subjects.May the supplies for reducing the exorbitant power of France be such, asmay soon turn your wreaths of laurel into branches of olive: that, afterthe toils of a just and honourable war, carried on by a confederacy ofwhich your majesty is most truly, as of the faith, styled Defender, wemay live to enjoy, under your majesty's auspicious government, theblessings of a profound and lasting peace; a peace beyond the power ofhim to violate, who, but for his own unreasonable conveniency,destructive always of his neighbours, never yet kept any. And, tocomplete our happiness, may your majesty again prove toyour ownfamily, what you have been so eminently to the true church, a nursingmother. So wish, and so pray, may it please your majesty, your majesty'smost dutiful and loyal subjects, and devoted humble servants.This Address was presented January 17, 1704-5.
From a town that consists of a church and a steeple,With three or four houses, and as many people,There went an Address in great form and good order,Composed, as 'tis said, by Will Crowe, their Recorder.[1]And thus it began to an excellent tune:Forgive us, good madam, that we did not as soonAs the rest of the cities and towns of this nationWish your majesty joy on this glorious occasion.Not that we're less hearty or loyal than others,But having a great many sisters and brothers,Our borough in riches and years far exceeding,We let them speak first, to show our good breeding.We have heard with much transport and great satisfactionOf the victory obtain'd in the late famous action,When the field was so warm'd, that it soon grew too hotFor the French and Bavarians, who had all gone to pot,But that they thought best in great haste to retire,And leap into the water for fear of the fire.But says the good river, Ye fools, plague confound ye,Do ye think to swim through me, and that I'll not drown ye?Who have ravish'd, and murder'd, and play'd such damn'd pranks,And trod down the grass on my much-injured banks?Then, swelling with anger and rage to the brink,He gave the poor Monsieur his last draught of drink.So it plainly appears they were very well bang'd,And that some may be drown'd, who deserved to be hang'd.Great Marlbro' well push'd: 'twas well push'd indeed:Oh, how we adore you, because you succeed!And now I may say it, I hope without blushing,That you have got twins, by your violent pushing;Twin battles I mean, that will ne'er be forgotten,But live and be talk'd of, when we're dead and rotten.Let other nice lords sculk at home from the wars,Prank'd up and adorn'd with garters and stars,Which but twinkle like those in a cold frosty night;While to yours you are adding such lustre and light,That if you proceed, I'm sure very soon'Twill be brighter and larger than the sun or the moon:A blazing star, I foretell, 'twill prove to the Gaul,That portends of his empire the ruin and fall.Now God bless your majesty, and our Lord Murrough,[2]And send him in safety and health to his borough.
[Footnote 1: Subsequently M.P. for Blessington, in the Irish Parliament;he suffered some injustice from Wharton, when Lord-Lieutenant: he losthis senses, and died in 1710. See Journal to Stella, "Prose Works," ii,pp. 39, 54; and Character of the Earl of Wharton, "Prose Works," v, p.27.—W. E. B.][Footnote 2: Murragh Boyle, first Viscount Blessington, author of atragedy, "The Lost Princess." He died in 1712.—W. E. B.]
To the Tune of "I tell thee, Dick, where I have been."[2]
Ye Commons and Peers,Pray lend me your ears,I'll sing you a song, (if I can,)How Lewis le GrandWas put to a stand,By the arms of our gracious Queen Anne.How his army so great,Had a total defeat,And close by the river Dender:Where his grandchildren twain,For fear of being slain,Gallop'd off with the Popish Pretender.To a steeple on high,The battle to spy,Up mounted these clever young men;[3]But when from the spire,They saw so much fire,Most cleverly came down again.Then on horseback they gotAll on the same spot,By advice of their cousin Vendosme,O Lord! cried out he,Unto youngBurgundy,Would your brother and you were at home!While this he did say,Without more delay,Away the young gentry fled;Whose heels for that work,Were much lighter than cork,Though their hearts were as heavy as lead.Not so did behaveYoung Hanover brave,[4]In this bloody field I assure ye:When his war-horse was shotHe valued it not,But fought it on foot like a fury.Full firmly he stood,As became his high blood,Which runs in his veins so blue:For this gallant young man,Being a-kin to QUEEN ANNE,Did as (were she a man) she would do.What a racket was here,(I think 'twas last year,)For a little misfortune in Spain!For by letting 'em win,We have drawn the puts in,To lose all they're worth this campaign.ThoughBrugesand GhentToMonsieurwe lent,With interest they shall repay 'em;WhileParismay sing,With her sorrowful king,Nunc dimittisinstead ofTe Deum.From this dream of success,They'll awaken, we guess,At the sound of great Marlborough's drums,They may think, if they will,Of Ahnanza still,But 'tis Blenheim wherever he comes.OLewis[5]perplex'd,What general next!Thou hast hitherto changed in vain;He has beat 'em all round,If no new ones found,He shall beat 'em over again.We'll letTallardout,If he'll take t'other bout;And much he's improved, let me tell ye,WithNottinghamaleAt every meal,And good beef and pudding in belly.But as losers at play,Their dice throw away,While the winners do still win on;Let who will command,Thou hadst better disband,For, old Bully, thy doctors[6] are gone.
[Footnote 1: This ballad, upon the battle of Oudenarde, was very popular,and the tune is often referred to as that of "Ye Commons andPeers."—Scott.][Footnote 2: "A Ballad upon a Wedding," by Sir John Suckling, occasionedby the marriage of Roger Boyle, first Lord Orrery, with Lady MargaretHoward, daughter to the Earl of Suffolk. Suckling's Works, edit. Hazlitt,vol. i, p. 42.—W. E. B.][Footnote 3: In the Dutch accounts of the battle of Oudenarde, it is saidthat the Dukes of Burgundy and Berry, with the Chevalier de St. George,viewed the action at a distance from the top of a steeple, and fled, whenthe fate of the day turned against the French. Vendosme commanded theFrench upon that occasion.—Scott.][Footnote 4: The Electoral Prince of Hanover, afterwards George II,behaved with great spirit in the engagement, and charged, at the head ofBulau's dragoons, with great intrepidity. His horse was shot under him,and he then fought as stated in the text. Smollett's "History ofEngland," ii,125.—W. E. B.][Footnote 5: Louis XIV.][Footnote 6: A cant word for false dice.—Scott.]
1709
When Naboth's vineyard[1] look'd so fine,The king cried out, "Would this were mine!"And yet no reason could prevailTo bring the owner to a sale.Jezebel saw, with haughty pride,How Ahab grieved to be denied;And thus accosted him with scorn:"Shall Naboth make a monarch mourn?A king, and weep! The ground's your own;I'll vest the garden in the crown."With that she hatch'd a plot, and madePoor Naboth answer with his head;And when his harmless blood was spilt,The ground became his forfeit guilt.[Footnote 1: This seems to allude to some oppressive procedure by theEarl of Wharton in relation to Swift's garden, which he called "Naboth'sVineyard," meaning a possession coveted by another person able to possesshimself of it (i Kings, chap, xxi, verses 1-10). For some particulars ofthe garden, see "Prose Works," xi, 415.—W. E. B.]
Poor Hall, renown'd for comely hair,Whose hands, perhaps, were not so fair,Yet had a Jezebel as near;Hall, of small scripture conversation,Yet, howe'er Hungerford's[1] quotation,By some strange accident had gotThe story of this garden-plot;—Wiselyforesaw he might have reasonTo dread a modern bill of treason,If Jezebel should please to wantHis small addition to her grant:Therefore resolved, in humble sort,To begin first, and make his court;And, seeing nothing else would do,Gave a third part, to save the other two.[Footnote 1: Probably John Hungerford, a member of the October Club."Prose Works," v, 209.—W. E. B.]
The rod was but a harmless wand,While Moses held it in his hand;But, soon as e'er he laid it down,Twas a devouring serpent grown.Our great magician, Hamet Sid,Reverses what the prophet did:His rod was honest English wood,That senseless in a corner stood,Till metamorphos'd by his grasp,It grew an all-devouring asp;Would hiss, and sting, and roll, and twist.By the mere virtue of his fist:But, when he laid it down, as quickResum'd the figure of a stick.So, to her midnight feasts, the hagRides on a broomstick for a nag,That, rais'd by magic of her breech,O'er sea and land conveys the witch;But with the morning dawn resumesThe peaceful state of common brooms.They tell us something strange and odd,About a certain magic rod,[3]That, bending down its top, divinesWhene'er the soil has golden mines;Where there are none, it stands erect,Scorning to show the least respect:As ready was the wand of SidTo bend where golden mines were hid:In Scottish hills found precious ore,[4]Where none e'er look'd for it before;And by a gentle bow divineHow well a cully's purse was lined;To a forlorn and broken rake,Stood without motion like a stake.The rod of Hermes [5] was renown'dFor charms above and under ground;To sleep could mortal eyelids fix,And drive departed souls to Styx.That rod was a just type of Sid's,Which o'er a British senate's lidsCould scatter opium full as well,And drive as many souls to hell.Sid's rod was slender, white, and tall,Which oft he used to fish withal;A PLACE was fasten'd to the hook,And many score ofgudgeonstook;Yet still so happy was his fate,He caught his fish and sav'd his bait.Sid's brethren of the conj'ring tribe,A circle with their rod describe,Which proves a magical redoubt,To keep mischievous spirits out.Sid's rod was of a larger stride,And made a circle thrice as wide,Where spirits throng'd with hideous din,And he stood there to take them in;But when th'enchanted rod was broke,They vanish'd in a stinking smoke.Achilles' sceptre was of wood,Like Sid's, but nothing near so good;Though down from ancestors divineTransmitted to the heroes line;Thence, thro' a long descent of kings,Came an HEIRLOOM,[6] as Homer sings.Though this description looks so big,That sceptre was a sapless twig,Which, from the fatal day, when firstIt left the forest where 'twas nurs'd,As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,Nor leaf, nor fruit, nor blossom bore.Sid's sceptre, full of juice, did shootIn golden boughs, and golden fruit;And he, the dragon never sleeping,Guarded each fair Hesperian Pippin.No hobby-horse, with gorgeous top,The dearest in Charles Mather's[7] shop,Or glittering tinsel of May Fair,Could with this rod of Sid compare.[8]Dear Sid, then why wert thou so madTo break thy rod like naughty lad?[9]You should have kiss'd it in your distress,And then return'd it to your mistress;Or made it a Newmarket switch,[10]And not a rod for thine own breech.But since old Sid has broken this,His next may be a rod in piss.
[Footnote 1: Cid Hamet Ben Eng'li, the supposed inspirer of Cervantes.See "Don Quixote," last chapter.—W. E. B.][Footnote 2: When Swift came to London, in 1710, about the time theministry was changed, his reception from Lord Treasurer Godolphin was, ashe wrote to Archbishop King, 9th Sept., "altogether different from whathe ever received from any great man in his life, altogether short, dry,and morose." To Stella he writes that this coldness had "enraged him sothat he was almost vowing revenge." On the Treasurer's enforcedretirement, Swift's resentment took effect in the above "lampoon" whichwas read at Harley's, on the 15th October, 1710, and "ran prodigiously,"but was not then "suspected for Swift's." See Journal to Stella, Sept. 9and Oct. 15.—W. E. B.][Footnote 3: Thevirgula divina, said to be attracted byminerals.—Swift.][Footnote 4: Supposed to allude to the Union.—Swift.][Footnote 5: Mercury's Caduceus, by which he could settle all disputesand differences.—W. E. B.][Footnote 6: Godolphin's favour arose from his connexion with the familyof Marlborough by the marriage of his son to the Duke's daughter,Henrietta Churchill.—W. E. B.][Footnote 7: An eminent toyman in Fleet Street.—Scott.][Footnote 8: The allusion is to Godolphin's name, Sidney, and to hisstaff of office.—W. E. B.][Footnote 9: A letter was sent him by the groom of the Queen's stables todesire he would break his staff, which would be the easiest way both toher Majesty and him. Mr. Smith, Chancellor of the Exchequer, happening tocome in a little after, my lord broke his staff, and flung the pieces inthe chimney, desiring Mr. Smith to witness that he had obeyed the Queen'scommands. Swift to Archbishop King, Sept. 9, 1710.—W. E. B.][Footnote 10: Lord Godolphin is satirized by Pope for a strong attachmentto the turf. See his "Moral Essays," Epist. I, 81-5."Who would not praise Patritio's high desert,His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart,""He thanks you not, his pride is in piquet,Newmarket fame, and judgment at a bet."]
Risum teneatis?—HORAT.,Ars Poetica, 5.
From London to Exon,By special direction,Came down the world's wonder,Sir Salathiel Blunder,With a quoif on his headAs heavy as lead;And thus opened and said:Gentlemen of the Grand Inquest,Her majesty, mark it,Appointed this circuitFor me and my brother,Before any other;To execute laws,As you may suppose,Upon such as offenders have been.So then, not to scatterMore words on the matter,We're beginning just now to begin.But hold—first and foremost, I must enter a clause,As touching and concerning our excellent laws;Which here I aver,Are better by farThan them all put together abroad and beyond sea;For I ne'er read the like, nor e'er shall, I fancyThe laws of our landDon't abet, but withstand,Inquisition and thrall,And whatever may gall,And fire withal;And sword that devoursWherever it scowers:They preserve liberty and property, for which men pull and haul so,And they are made for the support of good government also.Her majesty, knowingThe best way of goingTo work for the weal of the nation,Builds on that rock,Which all storms will mock,Since Religion is made the foundation.And, I tell you to boot, sheResolves resolutely,No promotion to giveTo the best man alive,In church or in state,(I'm an instance of that,)But only to such of a good reputationFor temper, morality, and moderation.Fire! fire! a wild-fire,Which greatly disturbs the queen's peaceLies running about;And if you don't put it out,( That's positive) will increase:And any may spy,With half of an eye,That it comes from our priests and Papistical fry.Ye have one of these fellows,With fiery bellows,Come hither to blow and to puff here;Who having been toss'dFrom pillar to post,At last vents his rascally stuff here:Which to such as are honest must sound very oddly,When they ought to preach nothing but what's very godly;As here from this place we charge you to do,As ye'll answer to man, besides ye know who.Ye have a Diocesan,—[l]But I don't know the man;—The man's a good liver,They tell me, however,And fiery never!Now, ye under-pullers,That wear such black colours,How well would it look,If his measures ye took,Thus for head and for rumpTogether to jump;For there's none deserve places,I speak't to their faces,But men of such graces,And I hope he will never prefer any asses;Especially when I'm so confident on't,For reasons of state, that her majesty won'tKnow, I myself IWas present and by,At the great trial, where there was a great company,Of a turbulent preacher, who, cursedly hot,Turn'd the fifth of November, even the gun-powder plot,Into impudent railing, and the devil knows what:Exclaiming like fury—it was at Paul's, London—How church was in danger, and like to be undone,And so gave the lie to gracious Queen Anne;And, which is far worse, to our parliament-men:And then printed a book,Into which men did look:True, he made a good text;But what follow'd nextWas nought but a dunghill of sordid abuses,Instead of sound doctrine, with proofs to't, and uses.It was high time of dayThat such inflammationshould be extinguish'd without more delay:But there was no engine could possibly do't,Till the commons play'd theirs, and so quite put it out.So the man was tried for't,Before highest court:Now it's plain to be seen,It's his principles I mean,Where they suffer'd this noisy and his lawyers to bellow:Which over, the bladeA poor punishment hadFor that racket he made.By which ye may knowThey thought as I do,That he is but at best an inconsiderable fellow.Upon this I find here,And everywhere,That the country rides rusty, and is all out of gear:And for what?May I notIn opinion vary,And think the contrary,But it must createUnfriendly debate,And disunion straight;When no reason in natureCan be given of the matter,Any more than for shapes or for different stature?If you love your dear selves, your religion or queen,Ye ought in good manners to be peaceable men:For nothing disgusts herLike making a bluster:And your making this riot,Is what she could cry at,Since all her concern's for our welfare and quiet.I would ask any manOf them all that maintainTheir passive obedienceWith such mighty vehemence,That damn'd doctrine, I trow!What he means by it, ho',To trump it up now?Or to tell me in short,What need there is for't?Ye may say, I am hot;I say I am not;Only warm, as the subject on which I am got.There are those alive yet,If they do not forget,May remember what mischiefs it did church and state:Or at least must have heardThe deplorable calamitiesIt drew upon families,About sixty years ago and upward.And now, do ye see,Whoever they be,That make such an orationIn our Protestant nation,As though church was all on a fire,—With whatever cloakThey may cover their talk,And wheedle the folk,That the oaths they have took,As our governors strictly require;—I say they are men—(and I'm a judge, ye all know,)That would our most excellent laws overthrow;For the greater part of them to church never go;Or, what's much the same, it by very great chance is,If e'er they partake of her wise ordinances.Their aim is, no doubt,Were they made to speak out,To pluck down the queen, that they make all this rout;And to set up, moreover,A bastardly brother;Or at least to prevent the House of Hanover.Ye gentlemen of the jury,What means all this fury,Of which I'm inform'd by good hands, I assure ye;This insulting of persons by blows and rude speeches,And breaking of windows, which, you know, maketh breaches?Ye ought to resent it,And in duty present it,For the law is against it;Not only the actors engaged in this job,But those that encourage and set on the mob:The mob,[2] a paw word, and which I ne'er mention,But must in this place, for the sake of distinction.I hear that some bailiffs and some justicesHave strove what they could, all this rage to suppress;And I hope many moreWill exert the like power,Since none will, depend on't,Get a jot of preferment.But men of this kidney, as I told you before.—I'll tell you a story: Once upon a time,Some hot-headed fellows must needs take a whim,And so were so weak(Twas a mighty mistake)To pull down and abuseBawdy-houses and stews;Who, tried by the laws of the realm for high-treason,Were hang'd, drawn, and quarter'd for that very reason.When the time came aboutFor us all to set out,We went to take leave of the queen;Where were great men of worth,Great heads and so forth,The greatest that ever were seen:And she gave us a largeAnd particular charge;—Good part on't indeedIs quite out of my head;—But I remember she said,We should recommend peace and good neighbourhood, wheresoever we came;and so I do here;For that every one, not only men and their wives,Should do all that they can to lead peaceable lives;And told us withal, that she fully expectedA special account how ye all stood affected;When we've been at St. James's, you'll hear of the matter.Again then I charge ye,Ye men of the clergy,That ye follow the track allOf your own Bishop Blackall,And preach, as ye should,What's savoury and good;And together all cling,As it were, in a string;Not falling out, quarrelling one with another,Now we're treating with Monsieur,—that son of his mother.Then proceeded on the common matters of the law; and concluded:Once more, and no more, since few words are best,I charge you all present, by way of request,If ye honour, as I do,Our dear royal widow,Or have any compassionFor church or the nation;And would live a long whileIn continual smile,And eat roast and boil,And not be forgotten,When ye are dead and rotten;That ye would be quiet, and peaceably dwell,And never fall out, but p—s all in a quill.
[Footnote 1: Dr. Offspring Blackall. He was made Bishop of Exeter in1707, and died in 1716.—Scott.][Footnote 2: Swift hated the word "mob," and insisted that the properword to use was "rabble." See "Letters of Swift," edit. Birkbeck Hill, p.55; and "Prose Works," ix, p. 35, n.—W. E. B.]
This city can omit no opportunity of expressing their hearty affectionfor her majesty's person and government; and their regard for your grace,who has the honour of representing her in this kingdom.We retain, my lord, a grateful remembrance of the mild and justAdministration of the government of this kingdom by your noble ancestors;and, when we consider the share your grace had in the happy Revolution,in 1688, and the many good laws you have procured us since, particularlythat for preventing the farther growth of Popery, we are assured thatthat liberty and property, that happy constitution in church and state,to which we were restored by King William of glorious memory, willbe inviolably preserved under your grace's administration. And we arepersuaded that we cannot more effectually recommend ourselves to yourgrace's favour and protection, than by assuring you that we will, to theutmost of our power, contribute to the honour and safety of her majesty'sgovernment, the maintenance of the succession in the illustrious houseof Hanover, and that we shall at all times oppose the secret and openattempts of the Pretender, and all his abettors.
An ancient metropolis, famous of lateFor opposing the Church, and for nosing the State,For protecting sedition and rejecting order,Made the following speech by their mouth, the Recorder:First, to tell you the name of this place of renown,Some still call it Dublin, but most Forster's town.
May it please your Grace,We cannot omit this occasion to tell,That we love the Queen's person and government well;Then next, to your Grace we this compliment make,That our worships regard you, but 'tis for her sake:Though our mouth be a Whig, and our head a Dissenter,Yet salute you we must, 'cause you represent her:Nor can we forget, sir, that some of your lineDid with mildness and peace in this government shine.But of all your exploits, we'll allow but one fact,That your Grace has procured us a Popery Act.By this you may see that the least of your actionsDoes conduce still the most to our satisfactions.And lastly, because in the year eighty-eightYou did early appear in defence of our right,We give no other proof of your zeal to your Prince;So we freely forget all your services since.It's then only we hope, that whilst you rule o'er us,You'll tread in the steps of King William the glorious,Whom we're always adoring, tho' hand over head,For we owe him allegiance, although he be dead;Which shows that good zeal may be founded in spleen,Since a dead Prince we worship, to lessen the Queen.And as for her Majesty, we will defend herAgainst our hobgoblin, the Popish Pretender.Our valiant militia will stoutly stand by her,Against the sly Jack, and the sturdy High-flier.She is safe when thus guarded, if Providence bless her,And Hanover's sure to be next her successor.Thus ended the speech, but what heart would not pityHis Grace, almost choked with the breath of the City!
To the tune of "Commons and Peers."A WONDERFUL ageIs now on the stage:I'll sing you a song, if I can,How modern Whigs,Dance forty-one jigs,[1]But God bless our gracious Queen Anne.The kirk with applauseIs established by lawsAs the orthodox church of the nation.The bishops do ownIt's as good as their own.And this, Sir, is call'd moderation.It's no riddle nowTo let you see howA church by oppression may speed;Nor is't banter or jest,That the kirk faith is bestOn the other side of the Tweed.For no soil can suitWith every fruit,Even so, Sir, it is with religion;The best church by farIs what grows where you are,Were it Mahomet's ass or his pigeon.Another strange storyThat vexes the Tory,But sure there's no mystery in it,That a pension and placeGive communicants grace,Who design to turn tail the next minute.For if it be not strange,That religion should change,As often as climates and fashions;Then sure there's no harm,That one should conform.To serve their own private occasions.Another new dance,Which of late they advance,Is to cry up the birth of Pretender,And those that dare ownThe queen heir to the crown,Are traitors, not fit to defend her.The subject's most loyalThat hates the blood royal,And they for employments have merit,Who swear queen and steepleWere made by the people,And neither have right to inherit.The monarchy's fixt,By making on't mixt,And by non-resistance o'erthrown;And preaching obedienceDestroys our allegiance,And thus the Whigs prop up the throne.That viceroy [2] is best,That would take off the test,And made a sham speech to attempt it;But being true blue,When he found 'twould not do,Swore, damn him, if ever he meant it.'Tis no news that Tom DoubleThe nation should bubble,Nor is't any wonder or riddle,That a parliament rumpShould play hop, step, and jump,And dance any jig to his fiddle.But now, sir, they tell,How Sacheverell,By bringing old doctrines in fashion,Hath, like a damn'd rogue,Brought religion in vogue,And so open'd the eyes of the nation.Then let's pray without spleen,May God bless the queen,And her fellow-monarchs the people;May they prosper and thrive,Whilst I am alive,And so may the church with the steeple.