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WRITTEN UNDER THE PRINT OF TOM BRITTON THE SMALL

COAL-MAN, PAINTED BY MR WOOLASTON.

THOUGH doomed to small coal, yet to arts allied,
Rich without wealth, and famous without pride;
Music's best patron, judge of books and men,
Beloved and honoured by Apollo's train,
In Greece or Rome sure never did appear
So bright a genius, in so dark a sphere:
More of the man had artfully been saved,
Had Kneller painted, and had Vertue graved.

TRUTH TOLD AT LAST.

SAYS Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife, 'You never yet told me one truth in your life.' Vexed Pontia no way could this thesis allow, 'You're a cuckold, says she; do I tell you truth now?'

WRITTEN

IN LADY HOWE'S OVID'S EPISTLES.

HOWEVER high, however cold, the fair,
However great the dying lover's care,
Ovid, kind author, found him some relief,
Ranged his unruly sighs, and set his grief;
Taught him what accents had the power to move,
And always gained him pity, sometimes love.
But oh! what pangs torment the destined heart,
That feels the wound, yet dares not show the dart!
What ease could Ovid to his sorrows give,
Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live!

10

1 A remarkable man, who, although he carried small coal about in a wheelbarrow, was an excellent musician.-Sir John Hawkins' History of Music, vol. v. p. 70.

AN EPISTLE. MDCCXVI.

I PRAY, good Lady Harley, let Jonathan know,
How long you intend to live incognito.
Your humble servant,

ELKANAH SETTLE

ANOTHER EPISTLE.

I PRAY Lady Harriot the time to assign
When she shall receive a turkey and chine;
That a body may come to St James' to dine.

TRUE'S EPITAPH,

IF wit or honesty could save

Our mouldering ashes from the grave,
This stone had still remained unmarked,
I still writ prose, True still have barked.
But envious fate has claimed 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 owned the power, and loved the queen.
By long obedience he confessed

That serving her was to be blessed.—
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 believed were Mary's foes:

Ne'er skulked from whence his sovereign led him,

10

Or snarled against the hand that fed him.-
Read this, ye statesmen now in favour,
And mend your own, by True's behaviour!

EPIGRAM.

20

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

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

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

3 Full proud and arrogant was he,
And covetous withal;

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

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

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

5 A patriot' of high degree,
Who could no longer bear
This upstart Viceroy's tyranny,
Against him did declare.

6 And, armed with truth, impeached the don Of his enormous crimes,

Which I'll unfold to you anon,
In low, but faithful rhymes.

7 The articles recorded stand
Against this peerless peer,
Search but the archives of the land,
You'll find them written there.

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

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

9 That traitorously he did abuse
The power in him reposed;
And wickedly the same did use,
On all mankind imposed.

10 That he, contrary to all law,
An oath did frame and make,

Compelling the militia

The illegal oath to take.

11 Free quarters for the army too
He did exact and force

On Protestants; his love to show,
Than Papists used them worse.

1 The Earl of Bellamont impeached Coningsby.

12 On all provisions destined for
The camp at Limerick,

He laid a tax full hard and sore,
Though many men were sick.

13 The suttlers too he did ordain
For licenses should pay,

Which they refused with just disdain,
And fled the camp away.

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

15 He so much loved his private gain,
He could not hear or see;

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

16 That, above and against all right,
By word of mouth did he,
In council sitting, hellish spite,
The farmer's fate decree:

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

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

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

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