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But envious fate has claim'd its due,
Here lies the mortal part of True ;
His deathless virtues must survive,
To better us that are alive.

His prudence and his wit were seen
In that, from Mary's grace and mien,
He own'd the power, and lov'd the queen
By long obedience he confess'd

That serving her was to be bless'd.-
Ye murmurers, let True evince

That men are beasts, and dogs have sense!
His faith and truth all Whitehall knows,
He ne'er could fawn or flatter those

Whom he believ'd were Mary's foes:

Ne'er skulk'd from whence his sovereign led hım,
Or snarl'd against the hand that fed him.—
Read this, ye statesmen now in favour,
And mend your own, by True's behaviour!

EPIGRAM.

To Richmond and Peterburgh, Mat gave his letters, And thought they were safe in the hands of his

betters.

How happen'd it then that the packets were lost? These were knights of the garter, not knights of the post.

THE VICEROY. A BALLAD.

TO THE TUNE OF LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.

Or Nero, tyrant, petty king,1
Who heretofore did reign
In fam'd Hibernia, I will sing,
And in a ditty plain.

He hated was by rich and poor,
For reasons you shall hear;
So ill he exercis'd his power,
That he himself did fear.

Full proud and arrogant was he,
And covetous withal;

The guilty he would still set free,
But guiltless men enthrall.

He, with a haughty impious nod,
Would curse and dogmatize;
Nor fearing either man or God:
Gold he did idolize.

A patriot 2 of high degree,

Who could no longer bear
This upstart Viceroy's tyranny,

Against him did declare.

1 Lord Coningsby, one of the lords justices of Ireland.

He is the same person mentioned in Down-hall.

2 The Earl of Bellamont impeached Coningsby.

And, arm'd with truth, impeach'd the don

Of his enormous crimes, Which I'll unfold to you anon,

In low, but faithful rhymes.

The articles recorded stand
Against this peerless peer,

Search but the archives of the land,1
You'll find them written there.

Attend, and justly I'll recite
His treasons to you all,

The heads set in their native light
(And sigh poor Gaphny's fall).

That traitorously he did abuse
The power in him repos'd;
And wickedly the same did use,
On all mankind impos'd.

That he, contrary to all law,

An oath did frame and make,

Compelling the militia

Th' illegal oath to take.

Free quarters for the army too
He did exact and force

On Protestants; his love to show,
Than Papist us'd them worse.

1 Journal, Sabbati 16 die Decembris 1698.

On all provisions destin'd for
The camp at Limerick,
He laid a tax full hard and sore,

Though many men were sick.

The suttlers too he did ordain
For licenses should pay,

Which they refus'd with just disdain,
And fled the camp away.

By which provisions were so scant,
That hundreds there did die,
The soldiers food and drink did want,
Nor famine could they fly.

He so much lov'd his private gain,

He could not hear or see

They might, or die, or might complain Without relief pardie.

That, above and against all right,

By word of mouth did he,
In council sitting, hellish spite,
The farmer's fate decree:

That he, O Ciel! without trial,
Straightway should hanged be;
Though then the courts were open all,
Yet Nero judge would be.

No sooner said, but it was done,
The Bourreau did his worst ;

Gaphny, alas! is dead and gone,
And left his judge accurst.

In this concise despotic way
Unhappy Gaphny fell,
Which did all honest men affray,
As truly it might well.

Full two good hundred pounds a year,
This poor man's real estate,
He settled on his favourite dear,
And Culliford can say't.

Besides, he gave five hundred pound
To Fielding his own scribe,

Who was his bail; one friend he found,
He ow'd him to the bribe.

But for this horrid murder vile

None did him prosecute;

His old friend help'd him o'er the stile: With Satan who dispute!

With France, fair England's mortal foe.

A trade he carried on;

Had any other done't, I trow
To Tripos he had gone.

That he did likewise traitorously,
To bring his ends to bear,
Enrich himself most knavishly;
O thief without compare!

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