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DICK'S VARIETY.

Dull uniformity in fools
I hate, who gape and sneer by rules.
You, Mullinix, and slobbering C-,
Who every day and hour the same are;
That vulgar talent I despise
Of pissing in the rabble's eyes.
And when I listen to the noise
Of idiots roaring to the boys;
To better judgment still submitting,
I own I see but little wit in;
Such pastimes, when our taste is nice,
Can please at most but once or twice.

But then consider Dick, you'll find
His genius of superiour kind;
He never muddles in the dirt,
Nor scours the streets without a shirt;
Though Dick, I dare presume to say,
Could do such feats as well as they.
Dick I could venture every where,
Let the boys pelt him if they dare,
He'd have them try'd at the assizes
For priests and jesuits in disguises ;
Swear they were with the Swedes at Bender,
And listing troops for the pretender.

But Dick can ft, and dance, and frisk, No other monkey half so brisk; Now has the speaker by the ears, Next moment in the house of peers; Now scolding at my lady Eustace, Or thrasbing

Baby in her new stays. Presto! be gone! with t'other hop He's powdering in a barber's shop;

Now at the antichamber thrusting
His nose to get the circle just in,
And d-ns his blood, that in the rear
He sees one single tory there ;
Then, woe be to my lord lieutenant,
Again he'lį tell him, and again on't.

EPITAPH,
ON GENERAL GORGES AND LADY MEATH 4.

UNDER this stone lies Dick and Dolly.
Doll dying first, Dick grew melancholy:
For Dick without Doll

thought living a folly.

Dick lost in Doll a wife tender and dear:
But Dick lost by Doll twelve hundred a year;
A loss that Dick-thought no mortal could bear.
Dick sigh'd for his Doll, and his mournfularms cross'd;
Thought much of his Doll, and the jointure he lost :
The first vex'd him much, the other vex'd most.
Thus loaded with grief, Dick sigh'd and he cried :
To live without both full three days he tried ;
But liked neither loss, and so quietly died.
Dick left a pattern few will copy

after:
Then, reader, pray shed sone tears of salt water;
For so sad a tale is no subject of laughter.

* Of Kilbrue, in the county of Meath. F.

+ Dorothy, dowager of Edward, earl of Meath. She was married to the general in 1716; and died April 10, 1728. Her husband su, vived her but two days. F.

Meath smiles for the jointure, though gotten so late; The son laughs, that got the hard gotten estate; And Cuffe * grins, for getting the Alicant plate.

Here quiet they lie, in hopes to rise one day,
Both solemnly put in this hole on a Sunday,
And here festsic transit gloria mundi !

VERSES ON I KNOW NOT WHAT.

My latest tribute here I send,
With this let your collection end.
Thus I consign you down to fame
A character to praise or blame:
And if the whole may pass for true,
Contented rest, you

have your due.
Give future time the satisfaction,
To leave one handle for detraction.

DR. SWIFT TO HIMSELF,

ON SAINT CECILIA'S DAY.

GRAVE Dean of St. Patrick's, how comes it to pass, That you, who know musick no more than an ass; That you, who so lately were writing of Drapiers, Should lend your cathedral to players and scrapers ?

John Cuffe, of Desart, esq., married the general's eldest daughter. F,

To act such an opera once in a year,
So offensive to every true protestant ear,
With trumpets, and fiddles, and organs, and singing,
Will sure the pretender and popery bring in.
No protestant prelate, his lordship or grace,
Durst there show his right or most reverend face:
How would it pollute their crosiers and rochets !
To listen to minims, and quavers, and crotchets.

The rest is wanting.)

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All you that would refine your blood,

As pure as fam'd Llewellyn,
By waters clear, conie every year,

To drink at Ballyspellin.
Though pox or itch your skins enrich

With rubies past the telling,
'Twill clear your skin before you've been

A month at Ballyspellin.
If lady's cheek be green as leek

When she comes from her dwelling,
The kindling rose within it glows

When she's at Ballyspellin.
The sooty brown, who comes from town,

Grows here as fair as Helen ;
Then back she goes, to kill the beaux

By dint of Ballyspellin,

Our ladies are as fresh and fair

As Rose, or bright Dunkelling: And Mars might make a fair mistake,

Were he at Ballyspellin.

We men submit as they think fit,

And here is no rebelling:
The reason's plain; the ladies reign,

They're queens at Ballyspellin.
By matchless charms, unconquer'd arms,

They have the way of quelling
Such desperate foes as dare oppose

Their power at Ballyspellin.
Cold water turns to fire, and burns,

I know, because I fell in
A stream, which came from one bright dame

Who drank at Ballyspellin.
Fine beaux advance, equipt for dance,

To bring their Anne or Nell in,
With so much grace, I'm sure no place

Can vie with Ballyspellin.
No politicks, no subtle tricks,

No man his country selling:
We eat, we drink; we never think

Of these at Ballyspellin.
The troubled mind, the puft with wind,

Do all come here pellmell in;
And they are sure to work their cure

By drinking Ballyspellin.
Though dropsy fills you to the gills,

From chin to toe though swelling,
Pour in, pour out, you cannot doubt

A cure at Ballyspellin.

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