But what of that? his friends may Lay,
He had thofe honours in his day.
True to his profit and his pride,
He made them weep before he dy'd.

Come hither, all ye empty things!
Ye bubbles rais'd by breath of kings!
Who float upon the tide of state;
Come hither, and behold your fate.
Let Pride be taught by this rebukė,
How very mean a thing 's a Duke; ·
From all his ill-got honours flung,
Turn'd to that dirt from whence he sprung.

DEAN SMEDLEY'S PETITION

TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON, .

"Non domus aut fundus-"?

IT

was, my lord, the dextrous fhift
Of t'other Jonathan, viz. Swift,
But now St. Patrick's faucy dean,
With filver verge and furplice clean,
Of Oxford, or of Ormond's grace,
In loofer rhyme to beg a place.
A place he got, yclept a fall,
And eke a thousand pounds withal;
And, were he a lefs witty writer,
He might as well have got a nitre.
Thus I, the Jonathan of Clogher, ▾
In humble ays, my thanks to offer,.

HOR.

Approach

Approach your grace with grateful heart,
My thanks and verse both void of art,
Content with what your bounty gave
No larger income, do. I crave:
Rejoicing that, in better times,
Grafton requires my loyal lines..
Proud! while my patron is polite, .
I likewise to the patriot write!
Proud! that at once I can commend.
King George's and the Mufes' friend!
Endear'd to Britain; and to thee
(Disjoin'd, Hibernia, by the fea),
Endear'd by twice three anxious years,
Employ'd in guardian toils and cares;
By love, by wisdom, and.by skill.;
For he has fav'd thee 'gainst thy, will.
But where fhall Smedley make his neft,:
And lay his wandering head to rest ?
Where fhall he find a decent house,
To treat bis friends, and chear his spouse?
Oh tack, my lord, fome pretty cure;
In wholesome foil, and æther pure ;
The garden flor'd with artless flowers,
In either angle shady bowers,
No gay parterre, with coftly green,
Within the ambient hedge be seen :
Let Nature freely take her course,
Nor fear from me ungrateful force ;
No fheers fhall check her fprouting vigour,
Nor fhape the yews to antic figurë :

A limpid brook fhall trout fupply,
In May, to take the mimic fly;
Round a fmall orchard may it run,
Whofe apples redden to the fun.

Let all be fnug, and warm, and neat ;
For fifty turn'd a fafe retreat.

A little Eufton may it be,

Eufton I'll carve on every tree.
But then, to keep it in repair,
My lord twice fifty pounds a year
Will barely do; but if your grace
Could make them hundreds-charming place!
Thou then wouldft fhew another face.
Clogher! far north, my lord, it lies,
Midft fnowy hills, inclement fkies;
One fhivers with the Arctic wind,
One hears the polar axis grind.

*

Good John indeed, with beef and claret,.
Makes the place warm that one may bear it.
He has a purfe to keep a table,

And eke a foul as hofpitable.

My heart is good; but affets fail,

To fight with ftorms of frow and hail.
Befides, the country 's thin of people,
Who feldom meet but at the fteeple:
The strapping dean, that's gone to Down,
Ne'er nam'd the thing without a frown,
When, much fatigued with fermon-study,
He felt his brain grow dull and muddy;

No fit companion could be found,.
To push the lazy bottle round;
Sure then, for want of better folks
To pledge, his clerk was orthodox.

Ah! how unlike to Gerard-ftreet,
Where beaux and belles in parties meet;
Where gilded chairs and coaches throng,
And joftle as they trowl along;
Where tea and coffee hourly flow,
And gape-feed does in plenty grow;
And Griz (no clock more certain) cries,
Exact at feven, "Hot mutton-pies !"
There lady Luna in her fphere

Once fhone, when Paunceforth was not near
But now she wanes, and, as 'tis said,
Keeps fober hours, and goes to bed.
There-but 'tis endlefs to write down
All the amufements of the town;

And fpoufe will think herself quite undone,.
To trudge to Connor * from sweet London ;:
And care we must our wives to please,
Or elfe-we fhall be ill at ease.

You fee, my lord, what 'tis I lack,

'Tis only fome convenient tack,

Some parfonage-houfe, with garden fweet,

To be my late, my last retreat;

A decent church clofe by its fide,

There, preaching, praying, to refide;

* The bishoprick of Connor is united to that of Down; but there are two deans.

And, as my time securely rolls,

To fave my own and other fouls.

THE DUKE'S

DE

BY D R.

ANSWER.

SWIFT.

EAR Sined, I read thy brilliant lines,
Where wit in all its glory fhines;
Where compliments, with all their pride,
Are by their numbers dignified :
I hope, to make you yet as clean
As that fame Viz, St. Patrick's dean.
I'll give thee furplice, verge, and slåll,
And may be fomething else withal;
And, were you not so good a writer,
I should prefent you with a mitre.
Write worse then, if you can-Be wife-
Believe me, 'tis the way to rise.
Talk not of making of thy neft:

Ab! never lay thy head to reft!

That head fo well with wisdom fraught,
That writes without the toil of thought!
While others rack their busy brains,
You are not in the least at pains.
Down to your deanry now repair,

And build a cafle in the air.
I'm fure a man of your fine fenfe
Can do it with a small expence.
There your dear spouse and you together
May breathe your bellies full of ather.

When