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Whether you sip Aonia's wave,
Or in thy stream, fair Liffy, lave;
Whether you taste ambrosial food,
Or think potatoes quite as good;
O, listen to an Irish Peer,

Who has woo'd your sex for many a year.


Gold!thou bright benignant pow'r!
Parent of the jocund hour!

Say, how my breast has heav'd with many a storm,

When thee I worshipp'd in a female form!

Thou, whose high and potent skill
Turns things and persons at thy will!
Thou, whose omnipotent decree,

Mighty as Fate's eternal rule,
Can make a wise man of a fool,
grace e'en loath'd deformity;
Can straightness give to her that's crook'd,
And Grecian grace to nose that 's hook'd;
Can smooth the mount on Laura's back,
And wit supply to those that lack:
Say, and take pity on my woes,
Record my throbs, recount my throes;
How oft I sigh'd,

How oft I died;

How oft dismiss'd,
How seldom kiss'd;

How oft, fair Phyllida, when thee I woo'd,
With cautious foresight all thy charms I view'd ;

O'er inany a sod
How oft I trod,

To count thy acres o'er ;
Or spent my time,

For marle or lime

With anxious zeal to bore *!

How Cupid then, all great and powerful, sate,
Perch'd on the vantage of a rich estate;
When, for his darts, he us'd fair spreading trees,
Ah! who could fail that shot with shafts like these?


O sad example of capricious Fate !
Sue Irishmen in vain!

Does Pompey's self, the proud, the great,
Fail e'en a maid to gain?
What boots my form so tall and slim,
My legs so stout-my beard so grim?
Why have I Alexander's bend?
Emblem of conquest never gain'd!
A nose so long-a back so straight-
A chairman's mien-a chairman's gait?
Why wasted ink to make orations?
Design'd to teach unlist'ning nations!

When Lord Mountmorres went down into the country, some years ago, to pay his addresses to a lady of large fortune, whose name we forbear to mention, his Lordship took up his abode for several days in a small public-house in the neighbourhood of her residence, and employed his time in making all proper inquiries and prudent observation upon the nature, extent, and value of her property :-he was seen measuring the trees with his eye, and was at last found in the act of boring for marle; when being roughly interrogated by one of the lady's servants, to avoid chastisement he confessed his name, and delivered his amorous credentials. The amour terminated as ten thousand others of the noble Lord's have done!

Why have I view'd th' ideal clock *,
Or mourn'd the visionary hour?
Griev'd to behold, with well-bred shock,
The fancied pointer verge to four?
Then, with a bow, proceed to beg,
A general pardon on my leg-
"Lament that to an hour so late,
""Twas mine to urge the grave debate
"Or mourn the rest, untimely broken!”
All this to say-all this to do,

In form so native, neat, and new,
In speech intended to be spoken!-
But fruitless all; for, neither here nor there,
My leg has yet obtain'd me place, or fair!

Pompeys there are of every shape and size:

Some are the Great y-clep'd, and some the Little;
Some with their deeds that fill the wond'ring skies,
And some on ladies' laps that eat their vittle!
"Tis Morres' boast-'tis Morres' pride,
To be to both allied!

* An allusion is here made to a speech published by the noble Lord, which, as the title-page imports, was intended to have been spoken; in which his Lordship, towards the conclusion, gravely remarks:-" Hav" ing, Sir, so long encroached upon the patience of the House, and ob


serving by the clock that the hour has become so excessively late, no"thing remains for me but to return my sincere thanks to you, Sir, and "the other gentlemen of this House, for the particular civility, and ex"treme attention, with which I have been heard :—the interesting na"ture of the occasion has betrayed me into a much greater length than "I had any idea originally of running into; and if the casual warmth "of the moment has led me into the least personal indelicacy towards any "man alive, I am very ready to beg pardon of him and this House, Sir, "for having so done"

That, of all various Pompeys, he
Forms one complete epitome!
Prepar'd alike fierce Faction's host to fight,
Or, thankful, stoop official crumbs to bite-
No equal to himself on earth to own;

Or watch, with anxious eye, on Treasury-bone!
As Rome's fan'd chief, imperious, stiff, and proud;
Fawning as curs, when supplicating food!
In him their several virtues all reside,
The peerless Puppy, and of Peers the pride!
Say, Critic Buffo, will not powers like these,
E'en thy refin'd fastidious judgment please?
A common butt to all mankind,
'Tis my hard lot to be;

O let me then some justice find,
And give the BUTT to me!
Then, dearest D'EL,
Thy praise I'll tell,

And with unprostituted pen

In Warton's pure and modest strain,
Unwarp'd by Hope-unmov'd by Gain,

I'll call thee "best of husbands," and "most chaste of men!"

Then from my pristine labours I'll relax :
Then will I lay the Tree unto the Axe*!
Of all my former grief-

Resign the bus'ness of the anxious chase,
And for past failures, and for past disgrace,
Here find a snug relief!

The vain pursuit of female game give o'er,
And, hound of Fortune, scour the town no more!

* This line is literally transcribed from a speech of Lord Mountmorres's, when Candidate some years ago for the Representation of the City of West minster,

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Re mi fa sol,

Tol de rol lol.


My Muse, for George prepare the splendid song O, may it float on Schwellenburgen's voice!

Let Maids of Honour sing it all day long, That Hoggaden's fair ears may hear it, and rejoice,


What subject first shall claim thy courtly strains? Wilt thou begin from Windsor's sacred brow, Where erst, with pride and pow'r elate, The Tudors sate in sullen state,

While Rebel Freedom, forc'd at length to bow, Retir'd reluctant from her fav'rite plains?

Ah! while in each insulting tower you trace
The features of that tyrant race,

How wilt thou joy to view the alter'd scene!
The Giant Castle quits his threat'ning njen;

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