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This duty done, the meagre monster stares, And per se And alone, as poets use, Holds up his bones, and thus begins his prayers : The starving dictates of my rules pursues; “ Thou, goddess Famine; that canst send us No swinging coachman does afore him shine, blights,

Nor has he any constant place to dine, With parching heat by day, and storm by nights, But all his notions of a meal are mine. Assist me now: so may all lands be thine, Haste, haste, to him, a blessing give from me, And shoals of orphans at thy altars pine ! And bid him write sharp things on furmetry. Long may thy rain continue on each shore, But I would have thee to Coffedro go, Where-ever peace and plenty reign'd before ! And let Tobacco too thy business know; I must confess, that to thy gracious hand

With famous Teedrums in this case advise, I widows owe, that are at my command;

Rely on Sagoe, who is always wise.
I joy to hear their numerous children's cries; Amidst such counsel, banish all despair;
And bless thy power, to find they've no supplies. Trust me, you shall succeed in this affair:
I thank thee for those martyrs, who would tiee That project which they Furmetary call,
From superstitious rites and tyranny,

Before next breakfast-time shall surely fall!” And find their fullness of reward in me.

This said, she quickly vanish'd in a wind But 'tis with much bumility I own,

Had long within her body been confiu'd. That generous favour you have lately shown, Thus Hercules, when he his mistress found, When men, that bravely have their country serv'd, Soon knew her by her scent, and by her sound. Receiv'd the just reward that they deserv'd, And are preferr'd to me, and shall be starv'd. I can, but with regret, I can despise Innumerable of the London cries,

CANTO III. When pease, and mackarel, with their harsher sound,

HUNGER rejoic'd to hear the blest command, The tender organs of my ears confound;

That Furmetary should no longer stand; But that which makes my projects all miscarry, With speed he to Coffedro's mansion flies, Is this inhuman, fatal Furmetary.

And bids the pale-fac'd mortal quickly rise. “ Not far from hence,just by the Bridge of Fleet, “ Arise, my friend; for upon thee do wait With spoons and porringers, and napkin neat, Dismal events and prodigies of Pate! A faithless syren does entice the sense,

'Tis break of day, thy sooty broth prepare,
By fumes of viands, which she does dispense And all thy other liquors for a war:
To mortal stomachs, for rewarding pence; Rouse up Tobacco, whose delicious sight,
Whilst each man's earliest thoughts would banish Illuminated round with beams of light,
Who have no other oracle but thee.'' [me, To my impatient mind will cause delight.

How will be conquer nostrils that presume
To stand th' attack of his impetuous fume!

Let handsome Teedrums too be call'd to artis,

For he has courage in the midst of charms:

Sagoe with counsel fills his wakeful brains, Whilst such-like prayers keen Hunger would But then his wisdom countervails bis pains; advance,

'Tis he shall be your guide, he shall effect Painting and weakness threw him in a trance: That glorions conquest which we all expect: Famine took pity on her careful slave,

The brave Hectorvus shall command this force; And kindly to him this assistance gave.

He'll meet Tubcarrio's foot, or, which is forse, She took the figure of a thin parch'd maid, Oppose the fury of Carmanniel's horse. Who many years had for a husband staid; For his reward, this he shall have each day, And, coming near to Hunger, thus she said: Drink coffee, then strut out and never pay."

“My darling son, whilst Peace and Plenty smile, It was not long ere the grandees were met, And Happiness would over-run this isle,

And round nerespapers in full order set. I joy to see, by this thy present care,

Then Sagoe, rising, said, “ I hope you hear I've still some friends remaining since the war: Hunger's advice with an obedient ear; In spite of us, A does on venison feed,

Our great design admits of no delay, And bread and butter is for B decreed;

Famine commands, and we must all obey : C D combines with E F's generous soul,

That syren which does Furmetary keep To pass their minutes with the sparkling bowl; Long since is risen from the bands of sleep; H I's good-nature, from his endless store,

Her spoons and porringers, with art display'd, Is still conferring blessings on the poor,

Many of Hunger's subjects have betray'd." For none, except 'tis K, regards them more.

“ To arms,” Hectorvus cried: “ Coffedro stout, L, M, N, O, P, 2, is vainly great,

Issue forth liquor from thy scalding spout !" And squanders half his substance in a treat. Great One-and-all-i gives the first alarms; Nice eating by R, S, is understood;

Then each man snatches up offensive arms. T's supper, though but little, yet is good; To Ditch of Fleet courageously they run, U's conversation's equal to his wine,

Quicker than thought; the battle is begun: You sup with W, whene'er you dine:

Hectorvus first Tubcarrio does attack, X, Y, and Z, hating to be confind,

And by surprise soon lays him on his back; Ramble to the next eating-house they find; Thirsto and Drowtho then, approaching near, Pleasant, good-humourd, beautiful, and gay, Soon overthrow two magazines of beer. Sometimes with music, and sometimes with play, The innocent Syrena little thought Prolong their pleasures till th’approaching day. That all these arms against herself were brought;

Nor that in her defence the drink was spilt : Thy white-wine, sugar, milk, together club,
How could she fear, that never yet knew guilt? To make that gentle viand syllabub.
Her fragrant juice, and her delicious plums, Thy tarts to tarts, cheese-cakes to cheese-cakes
She does dispense (with gold upon her thumbs): To spoil the relish of the towing wine. [join,
Virgias and youths around her stood; she sate, But to the fading palate bring relief,
Environ'd with a wooden-chair of state.

By thy Westphalian bam, or Belgic beef;
In the mean time, Tobacco strives to vex And, to complete thy blessings, in a word,
A numerous squadron of the tender sex;

May still thy soil be generous as its lord3! What with strong smoke, and with his stronger breath,

Oh! Peggy, Peggy, when thou goest to brew, He funks Basketia and her son to death,

Consider well what you're about to do; Cotiedro tben, with Teedrums, and the band Be very wise, very sedately think Who carried scalding liquors in their hand, That what you're going now to make is drink ; Throw watery ammunition in their eyes;

Consider who must drink that drink; and then, On which Syrena's party frighten'd fies :

What'tis to have the praise of honest men: Carinannio straight drives up a bulwark strong, For surely, Pegzy, while that drink does last, And horse opposes to Coffedro's throng.

'Tis Peggy will be toasted or disgrac'd. Coledrivio stands for bright Syrena's guard, Then, if thy ale in glass thou would'st confine, And all her rallied forces are prepard;

To make its sparkling rays in beauty shine, Carmannio then to Teedrums' squadron makes, Let thy clean bottic be entirely dry, And the lean mortal by the buttons takes;

Lest a white substance to the surface fly, Not Teedrums'arts Carmannio could beseech, * And, floating there, disturb the curious eye. But his rough valour throws him in the ditch. But this great maxim must be understood, Syrena, though surpris'd, resolv'd to be

“ Be sure, nay very sure, thy cork be good !” The great bonduca of her Furmetry:

Then future ages shall of Peggy tell, Before her throne courageously she stands, That nympha that brew'd and bottled ale so well. Managing ladles-full with both her hands. The numerous plums like hail-shot few about, How fleet is air! how many things have breath, And Plenty soon dispers'd the meagre rout. Which in a moment they resign to death;

So have I seen, at fair that's nam'd from Horn, Depriv'd of light, and all their happiest state, Many a ladle's blow by prentice borne;

Not by their fault, but some o'er-ruling Fate ! In vain he strives their passions to assuage, Although fair flowers, that justly might invite, With threatswould frighten, with soft words engage; Are cropt, nay torn away, for man's delight; Until, through milky gauntlet soundly beat, Yet still those flowers, alas! can make no moan, His prudent heels secure a quick retreat.

Nor has Narcissus now a power to groan!

But all those things which breathe in different Jamque opus exegi, quod nec Jovis ira, nec frame, ignis,

By tie of common breath, man's pity claim.
Neç puterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas! | A gentle lamb has rhetoric to plead,

And, when she sees the butcher's knife decreed,
Her voice entreats him not to make her bleed :
But cruel gain, and luxury of taste,

With pride, still lays man's fellow-mortal; waste:

What earth and waters breed, or air inspires,

Man for his palate fits by torturing fires. FIRST PRINTED BY THE AUTHOR IN 1704.

Mully, a cow, sprung from a beauteous race,

With spreading front, did Mountown's pastures MOUNTOWN ?! thou sweet retreat from Dublin

grace. Be famous for thy apples and thy pears; [cares, Gentle she was, and, with a gentle stream, For turnips, carrots, lettuce, beans, and pease;

Each morn and night gave milk that equal'd cream. For Peggy's butter, and for Peggy's cheese.

Offending none, of none she stood in dread, May clouds of pigeons round about thee ty!

Much less of persons which she daily fed : But coudescend sometimes to make a pie.

“ But lonocence cannot itself defend May fat geese gaggle with melodious voice,

'Gainst treacherous arts, veil'd with the name of And ne'er want gooseberries or apple-sauce!

friend.Ducks in thy ponds, and chicken in thy pens, Robin of Derbyshire, whose temper shocks And be thy turkeys numerous as thy hens!

The constitution of his native rocks; May thy black pigs lie warm in little sty,

Born in a place4, which, if it once be nam'd, And have no thought to grieve them till they die!

Would make a blushing modesty ashar'd :
Mountywn! the Muses' most delicious theme; He with indulgence kindly did appear
Oh! may thy codlins ever swim in cream!

To make poor Mully his peculiar care ;
Thy rasp-and straw-berries in Bourdeaux drown,

But inwardly this sullen churlish thief To add a redder tincture to their own!

Had all his mind plac'd upon Mully's beef ;

His fancy fed on her; and thus he'd cry, 'It was taken for a state poem, and to have “Mully, as sure as I'm alive, you die ! many mysteries in it; though it was only made, as well as Orpheus and Eurydice, for country di 3 Judge Upton. version. King.

4 The Devil's Arse of Peak; described by • A pleasant villa to the south of Dublin, near Hobbes in a poem De Mirabilibus Pecci, the best

of his poetical performances. N.

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the sea.

'Tis a brave cow. O, sirs, when Christmas comes, And thus, as all their matters stood,
These shins shall make the porridge grac'd with They got an honest livelihood.

Happy were mortals, could they be
Then, 'midst our cups, whilst we profusely dine, From any sudden danger free!
This blade shall enter deep in Mully's chine. Happy were poets, could their song
What ribs, what rumps, what bak’d, boild, stew'd, The feeble thread of life prolong!
and roast !

But, as these two weut stro'ling on, There shan't one single tripe of her be lost !"

Poor Dicé's scene of lite was done : When Peggy, nymph of Mountown, heard these Away her fleeting breath must fly, sounds,

Yet no one knows wheretore, or why. She griev'd to hear of Mully's future wounds.

This caus'd the general lamentation, “ What crime,” said she, “has gentle Mully done?

To ail that kuew her in her station ; Witness the rising and the setting Sun,

How brisk she was still to advance That knows what milk she constantiy would give! The harper's gain, and lead the dance, Let that quench Robin's rage, and Muily live." In every tune observe her thrill,

Daniel, a sprightly swain, that us'd to slash Sing on, yet change the money still. The vigorous steeds that drew his lord's calash,

Orpheus best knew what loss he had, To Peggy's side inclin'd; for 'twas well known And, thinking on't, fell aluost mad, How well he lov'd those cattle of his owi.

And in despair to Linus ran, Then Terence spoke, oraculous and sly,

Who was esteemi'd a cunning-man; He'd neither grant the question por deny;

Cried, “He again must Dicé have, Pleading for milk, his thoughts were on mince

Or else be buried in her grave." pie:

Quoth Linus,“ Soft, refrain your sorrow: But all his arguments so dubious were,

What fails today, may speed tomorrow. That Mully thence had neither hopes nor fear, Thank you the gods for whate'er happens, You've spoke," says Robin; “ but now, let

But don't tail out with your iat capons. me tell ye,

"Tis many an honest man's petition, 'Tis not fair spoken words that fill the belly:

That he may be in your condition. Pudding and beef I love; and cannot stoop

If such a blessing might be had, To recommend your bonny-clapper soup.

To change a living wife for dead, You say she's innocent: but wbat of that?

I'd be your ch: pinan; nay, I'd do't, >Tis more than crime sufficient that she's fal! Though I gave forty pounds to boot. And that which is prevailing in this case

Consider first, you sare her diet; Is, there's another cow to fill her place.

Consider next, you keep her quiet: And, granting Muly to have milk in store,

Por, pray, what was she all along, Yet still this other cow will give us more.

Except the burthen of your song?
She dies."-Stop here, my Muse: forbear the rest : What, though your Dicé's under ground;
And veil that grief which cannot be exprest! Yet many a woman may be found,

Who, in your gains if she may part take,
Trust me, will quickly make your heart ach:

Then, rest content, as widowers should-

The gods best know what's for our good!"

Orpheus no longer could endure FIRST PRINTED BY THE AUTHOR IN 1704.

Sucb wounds, where he expected cure.

“ Is't possib e!” cried he: “and can As poets say, oue Orpheus went

That noble creature, married man, To Hell upon an odd intent.

In such a cause be so profave? First tell the story, then let's know,

I'll fly thee far as I would Death, If any one will do so now.

Who from my Dicé took her breath." This Orpheus was a jolly boy,

Which said, he soon outstript the wind, Born long before the siege of Troy;

Whilst puffing Boreas laggd behiud; His parents found the lad was sharp,

And to Urganda's cave he came, And taught him on the Irish harp;

A lady of prodigious tame, And, when grown fit for marriage-life,

Whose hollow eyes and hopper breech Gave him Eurydice for wife;

Made common people call ber witch; And they, as soon as match was made,

Down at her feet he prostrate lies, Set up the ballad-singing trade.

With trembling heart and blubber'd eyes. The cunning varlet could devise,

“ Tell me," said he, “ for sure you know For country folks, ten thousand lies ;

The powers above, and those below, Affirming all those-monstrous tbings

Where does Eurydice remain ? Were done by force of harp and strings ;

How shall I fetch her back again ?" Could make a tiger in a trice

She smilingly replied, l'll tell Tame as a cat, and catch your mice;

This easily without a spell : Could make a lion's courage flag,

The wife you look for's gone to Hell And straight could animate a stag,

Nay, never start, man, for 'tis so; And, by the help of pleasing ditties,

Except one ill-bred wife or two, Make mill-stones run, and build up cities;

The fashion is, for all to go. Each had the use of fuent tongue,

Not that she will be damn'd; ne'er fear If Dicé scolded, Orpheus sung.

But she may get preferment there. And so, by discord without strife,

Indeed, she might be fried in pitch, Compos'd one harmony of life;

If she had been a bitter bitch;

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If she had leapt 'athwart a sworil,

He did at length some glimmering spy, And afterwards had broke her word.

By which, at least, he might descry But your Eurydice, poor soul!

Ten thousand little fairy elves, Was a good-natur'd harmless fool;

Who there were solacing themselves. Except a little cattervawling,

All ran about him, cried, “Oh, dear! Was always painful in her calling;

Who thought to have seen Orpheus here? And, I dare trust old Pluto fort,

'Tis that queen's birth-day which you see, She will tind favour in his court:

And you are come as lackily: But then to fetch her back, that still

You had no ballad but we bought it, Remains, and may be past my skill;

Paid Dicé when she little thought it; For, 'tis too sad a thing to jest on,

When you beneath the yew-tree sat, You're the first man e'er ask'd the ques

We've come, and all danc'd round your hat; tion;

But whereabouts did Dicé leave ye? For husbands are such selfish elves,

She had been welcome, sir, believe me." They care for little but themselves.

“ These little chits would make one swear," And then one rogue cries to another,

Quoth Orpheus, 'twixt disdain and fear. Since this wife's gone, e'en get another :

66 And dare these urchins jeer my crosses, Though most men let such thoughts alone,

And laugh at mine and Dicé's losses? And swear they've had enough of one.

Hands off-the monkeys hold the faster; But, since you are so kind to Dicé,

Sirrahs, I'm going to your master !” Follow the course which I advise ye;

“Good words," quoth Oberon: “don't Ainch; E'en go to Hell yourself, and try

For, every time you stir, I'll pinch; Th'effect of music's harinony;

But, if you decently sit down, For you will hardly find a friend,

I'll first equip you with a crown; Whom you in such a case might send:

Then for each dance, and for each song, Besides, their Proserpine has been

Our pence apiece the whole night long." The briskest dancer on the green,

Orpheus, who found no remedy, Before old Pluto ravish'd her,

Made virtue of necessity; Took her to Hell—and you may swear,

Though all was out of tune, their dance She had but little music there;

Would only hinder his advance. For, since she last beheld the Sun,

Each note that from his fingers fell Her merry dancing days are done :

Seem'd to be Dicé's passing-bell; She has a colt's-tooth still, I warrant,

At last, night let laim ease bis crupper, And will not disapprove your errand.

Get on his legs, to go to supper. Then your request does reason seem,

Quoth Nab, “We here have strangers seldom, For what's one single ghost to them?

But, sir, to what we have you're welcome.” Though thousand phantoms should invade ye,

“ Madam, they seem of light digestion. Pass on-faint heart ne'er won fair lady!

Is it not rude to ask a question, The bold a way will find, or make;

What they may be, fish, flesh, or fruit ?
Remember, 'tis for Dicé's sake.”

For I ne'er saw things so minute.”
Notbing pleas'd Orpheus half so well,
As news that he must go to Hell.

Th' impatient wight longd to be going,
As most folks seek their own undoing;

“ A roasted ant, that's nicely done, Ne'er thought of what he left behind;

By one small atom of the Sun. Never consider'd he should find

These are flies' eggs, in moon-shine poach'd; Scarce any passenger beside

This a flea's thigh in collops scotch'd, Himself, nor could be hire a guide.

'Twas hunted yesterday i'th' Park, “ Will music do't?” cried he. “ Ne'er heed : And like t' have’scap'd us in the dark. My harp shall make the marble bleed;

This is a dish entirely new, My harp all dangers shall remove,

Butterflies' brains dissolv'd in dew; And dare all fames, but those of love."

These lover's vows, these courtiers' hopes, Then kneeling begs, in terms most civil, Things to be eat by microscopes; Urganda's passport to the Devil.

These sucking mites, a glow-worm's heart, Her pass she kindly to him gave,

This a delicious rainbow-tart!” Then bade him 'noint him-elf with salve;

“ Madam, I find, they're very nice, Such as those hardy people use,

And will digest within a trice; Who walk on fire without their shoes,

I see there's nothing you esteem, Who, on occasion, in a dark hole,

That's half so gross as our whipt-cream; Cau gormandize on lighted charcoal,

And I infer, from all these meats, And drink eight quarts of tlaming fuel,

That such light suppers keep clean sheets." As men in flux do water-gruel.

“ But, sir,” said she, “ perhaps you're dry!" She bade bim then go to those caves,

Then, speaking to a fairy by, Where conjurers keep fairy slaves,

“ You've taken care, my dear Endia, Such sort of creatures as will baste ye

All's ready for my ratifia."
A kitchen-wench, for being nasty,
But, if she neatly scour her pewter,
Give her the money that is due t'her.
Orpheus went down a narrow hole,

A drop of water, newly torn That was as dark as any coal;

Fresh from the rosy-finger'd Morn;


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A pearl of milk, that's gently prest

Then Bocai, smiling, cried, “You see, From blooming Hebe's early breast;

Orpheus, you'd better stay with me. With half a one uf Cupid's tears,

For, let me tell you, sir, this place, When he in embryo first appears;

Although it has an ugly face, And honey from an infant bee:

If to its value it were sold, Makes liquor for the gods and me!”

Is worth ten thousand ton of gold; Madam," says he, “an't please your And very famous in all story, grace,

Call'd by the name of Purgatory. I'm going to a droughty place;

For, when some ages shall have run, And, if I an't too bold, pray charge her,

And Truth by Falsehood be undone, The draught I have be somewbat larger.”

Shall rise the whore of Babylon; “ Fetch me,” said she, “a mighty bowl, And this same whore shall be a man, Like Oberon's capacious soul,

Who, by his lies and cheating, can And then fill up the burnish'd gold

Be such a trader in all evil, With juice that makes the Britons bold.

As to outdo our friend the Devil: This from seven barley-corns I drew,

He and his pimps shall say, that when Its years are seven, and to the view

A man is dying, thither then 'Tis clear, and sparkles fit for you.

The Devil comes to take the soul, “ But stay

And carry him down to this hole; When I by Fate was last time hurld,

But, if a man have store of wealth, To act my pranks in t'other world,

To get some prayers for his soul's health, I saw some sparks as they were drinking,

The Devil has then no more to do, With mighty mirth and little thinking,

But must be forc'd to let him go. 'Their jests were supernaculum,

But we are no more fools than they, I soatch'd the rubies from each thumb,

Thus to be bubbled of our prey. And in this crystal have them here,

By these same pious frauds and lies, Perhaps you'll like it more than beer.”

Shall many monasteries rise: Wine and late hours dissolv'd the feast,

Friars shall get good meat and beer, And men and fairies went to rest.

To pray folks out that ne'er came here; The bed where Orpheus was to lie.

Pans, pots, and kettles, shall be given, Was all stuff'd full of harmony:

To fetch a man from hence to Heaven. Purling streams and amorous rills,

Suppose a man has taken purses, Dying sound that never kills,

Or stolen sheep, or cows, or horses, Zephyrus breathing, love delighting,

And chanceš to be hang'd; you'd cry, Joy to slumber soft inviting,

Let him be hang'd, and so good-by. Trembling sounds that make no noise,

Hold, says the friar; let me alone, And songs to please without a voice,

He's but to Purgatory gone ; Were mixt with down that fell from Jove,

And, it you'll let our convent keep When he became a swan for love.

Those purses, cows, horses, and she'p, 'Twas night, and Nature's self lay dead, The fellow shall find no more pain, Nodding upon a feather-bed;

Than if he were alive again." The mountains seem'd to bend their tops,

Here Orpheus sigh’d, began to take on, And shutters clos'd the milleners' shops,

Cried, “Could I find tbe whore you spake on, Excluding both the punks and fops;

I'd give him my best fitch of bacon: No ruffled streams to mill do come,

I'd give him cake and sugar'd sack, The silent fish were still more dumb;

If he would bring my Dicé back: Look in the chimney, not a spark there,

Rather than she should longer stay, And darkness did itself grow darker.

I'd find some lusty man to pray. But Orpheus could not sleep a wink,

And then poor Dicé, let him try her, He had too many things to tbink:

I dare say, would requite the friar." But, in the dark, his harp he strung,

Great Nosnotbocai smild to see And to the listening fairies sung.

Such goodness and simplicity. Prince Prim, who pitied so much youth

Then kindly led them to a cell, Join'd with such constancy and truth,

An outward granary of Hell; Soon gave him thus to understand;

A fillhy place, that's seldom swept, “ Sir, I last night receiv'd command

Where seeds of villany are kept. To see you out of fairy land,

“Orpheus,”-said he, “ Þd have you take Into the realm of Nosnotbocai;

Some of these seeds here, for my sake; But let not fear of sulphur choak ye;

Which, if they are discreetly hurl'd For he's a fieod of sense and wit,

Throughout the parts of t'other world,
And has got many rooms to let.”

They may oblige the fiend you sue to,
As quick as thought, by glow-worm glimpse, And fill the palace of old Pluto.
Out walk the fidler and the prince.

“ Sow pride-seed uppermost; then abore They soon arrive; find Bocai brewing

Envy and scandal plant self-love. Of claret for a vintner's stewing.

Here take revenge, and malice without cause, “ I come from Oberon,” quoth prince Prim. And here contempt of honesty and laws; “'Tis well,” quoth Bocai: “what from him?" This hot seed's anger, and this botter lust,

“Why, something strange; this honest man Best sown with breach of friendship, and of trust: Had his wife died; now, if he can,

These storm, hail, plague, and tempest seeds ; He says, he'd have her back again."

And this a quintessence of weeds;

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