WHEN Bacchus first broke from old Jupiter's thigh,
And rode down triumphant to earth on a cask;
A set of stout fellows, facetious and dry,
Would his Highness's favour and patronage ask:
So they penn'd a petition which ran at this odd rate ;— 'We your Godship's petitioners jovial and trusty, 'Can gauge, roar a catch, and have passions so mod'rate, 'That tho' always dry, yet we never were crusty.
'Your Godship's fine stomach, so healthy and round, 'We've endeavour'd to copy at luncheon and feast;
'But so perfect a stomach can never be found; 'And so we've ten thousand times said to the priest.
'However we would on your Godship attend,
Fill your glass, furnish toasts, and the corkscrew 'keep clean;
We may hope with your noble example to mend, 'And procure us a stomach that's fit to be seen.'
This Petition when Bacchus had read, from his cask He nodded sublime ;-and with majesty spoke ; 'Ye thirsty old spirits, ye born for the flask,
'Oh, sweet shall ye roll midst your flagons of oak.
'Sure Nature has fashion'd those mouths for the bowl; Philosophy says, she made nothing in vain; 'And the wine shall your stomachs so neatly console, 'That your feet by your eyes shall no longer be seen.
'But come, my brave boys :-hark, I hear the Brown Stout !
We'll see before morning old Carefulness dead; 'And if cousin Di must her candle put out,
'The flame on our noses shall light us to bed!'
WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY EDMUND SWIFT, ESQ.
AT THE OPENING OF LORD TRIMLESTON'S
THEATRE, AT ROEBUCK, NEAR DUBLIN,
JULY 10, 1795.
FORC'D by Rebellion's more than Gothic rage
From the chaste elegance of Gallia's stage,
This night a Stranger Muse your smile implores,
A suppliant exile from her native shores.—
"Twas there, till Violence usurp'd controul,
Her mild dominion sway'd the willing soul;
Her moving art the moral page refin'd,
And her wide empire stretch'd to half mankind.—
There the full shower of Pity's streaming eye
Wept o'er the scene where Heroes rush'd to die :-
As Virtue bled, or triumph'd o'er her foes,
With honest transport each proud bosom rose;
Or, wak'd to woe, the soft infection ran,
And tears untutor'd dignified the Man.-
There loudly peal'd the comic laugh around,
Mirth rising caught the magic of the sound;
There each known character of knave and fool
Felt his own failings touch'd by ridicule.-
There Wit's true votaries swell'd the regal train,
And blithe Thalia piped, nor piped in vain :-
But ah, how chang'd!-A faithful, loyal band,
For vengeance mark'd by Treason's ruthless hand,
Th' indignant Muse beheld :-then turn'd her head,
Mourn'd o'er her MURDER'D KING, and mourning
fled.-
Hibernia's Genius saw :-her Sainted Isle
Welcomes the banish'd stranger with a smile;
And Roebuck's Lord, with hospitable rites,
To this fair seat of Reason's feast invites.-
So wander'd Io, doom'd the world to rove,
As Rage expell'd, and Fate and Fury drove ;
Till Egypt's Lord the royal mourner stay'd,
Embrac'd the fugitive, and fix'd the maid.-
But Gallia suffers ;—and her anxious Muse
This night with trembling hope for pardon sues;-
Ineloquently pleads her fearful cause,
Your grace implores, but dares not ask applause.-
-Yet why despair ?-here no loud Censors sit,
The self-created judges of the Pit;
No damning Critics come, prepar'd to scoff,
Nor Gods in thunder bellow, Off, Off, Off !—
But mild Politeness lifts her silver mien,
To
grace the triumphs of our festal Scene;
And kind to Genius, Roebuck's Muses twine
The British laurel with the Gallic vine.
MONUMENT OF THE REV. W. MASON.
THESE awful mansions of the laurelled dead,
Oft shall the Muse of Melancholy tread;
The wreck of valour, and of genius mourn,
And point with pallid hand to Mason's urn;
Oft shall she gather from his garden bowers,
Fictitious foliage, and ideal flowers;
Weave the bright wreath, to worth departed just,
And hang the unfading chaplets on his bust:
While pale Elfrida, bending o'er his bier,
Breathes the soft sigh, and sheds the graceful tear,
And stern Caractacus, with brow depressed,
Clasps the cold marble to his mailed breast;
In lucid troops shall choral Virgins throng,
With voice alternate chaunt their Poet's song,
And tune "in golden characters record
Each firm, immutable, eternal word."
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