TRAULUS. PART II

TRAULUS, of amphibious breed, Motley fruit of mongrel seed; By the dam from lordlings sprung.

By the sire exhaled from dung: Think on every vice in both, Look on him, and see their growth.

View him on the mother's side,[2]

Fill'd with falsehood, spleen, and pride; Positive and overbearing, Changing still, and still adhering; Spiteful, peevish, rude, untoward, Fierce in tongue, in heart a coward; When his friends he most is hard on, Cringing comes to beg their pardon; Reputation ever tearing, Ever dearest friendship swearing; Judgment weak, and pa.s.sion strong, Always various, always wrong; Provocation never waits, Where he loves, or where he hates; Talks whate'er comes in his head; Wishes it were all unsaid.

Let me now the vices trace, From the father's scoundrel race.

Who could give the looby such airs?

Were they masons, were they butchers?

Herald, lend the Muse an answer From his _atavus_ and grandsire:[1]

This was dexterous at his trowel, That was bred to kill a cow well: Hence the greasy clumsy mien In his dress and figure seen; Hence the mean and sordid soul, Like his body, rank and foul; Hence that wild suspicious peep, Like a rogue that steals a sheep; Hence he learnt the butcher's guile, How to cut your throat and smile; Like a butcher, doom'd for life In his mouth to wear a knife: Hence he draws his daily food From his tenants' vital blood.

Lastly, let his gifts be tried, Borrow'd from the mason's side: Some perhaps may think him able In the state to build a Babel; Could we place him in a station To destroy the old foundation.

True indeed I should be gladder Could he learn to mount a ladder: May he at his latter end Mount alive and dead descend!

In him tell me which prevail, Female vices most, or male?

What produced him, can you tell?

Human race, or imps of h.e.l.l?

[Footnote 1: The mother of Lord Alen was sister to Robert, Earl of Kildare.--_Scott_]

[Footnote 2: John, Lord Allen, father of Joshua, the Traulus of the satire, was son of Sir Joshua Allen, Lord Mayor of Dublin in 1673, and grandson of John Allen, an architect in great esteem in the reign of Queen Elizabeth._Scott_]

A FABLE OF THE LION AND OTHER BEASTS

One time a mighty plague did pester All beasts domestic and sylvester, The doctors all in concert join'd, To see if they the cause could find; And tried a world of remedies, But none could conquer the disease.

The lion in this consternation.

Sends out his royal proclamation, To all his loving subjects greeting, Appointing them a solemn meeting: And when they're gather'd round his den, He spoke,--My lords and gentlemen, I hope you're met full of the sense Of this devouring pestilence; For sure such heavy punishment, On common crimes is rarely sent; It must be some important cause, Some great infraction of the laws.

Then let us search our consciences, And every one his faults confess: Let's judge from biggest to the least That he that is the foulest beast, May for a sacrifice be given To stop the wrath of angry Heaven.

And since no one is free from sin, I with myself will first begin.

I have done many a thing that's ill From a propensity to kill, Slain many an ox, and, what is worse, Have murder'd many a gallant horse; Robb'd woods and fens, and, like a glutton, Devour'd whole flocks of lamb and mutton; Nay sometimes, for I dare not lie, The shepherd went for company.-- He had gone on, but Chancellor Fox Stands up----What signifies an ox?

What signifies a horse? Such things Are honour'd when made sport for kings.

Then for the sheep, those foolish cattle, Not fit for courage, or for battle; And being tolerable meat, They're good for nothing but to eat.

The shepherd too, young enemy, Deserves no better destiny.

Sir, sir, your conscience is too nice, Hunting's a princely exercise: And those being all your subjects born, Just when you please are to be torn.

And, sir, if this will not content ye, We'll vote it nemine contradicente.

Thus after him they all confess, They had been rogues, some more some less; And yet by little slight excuses, They all get clear of great abuses.

The Bear, the Tiger, beasts of flight, And all that could but scratch and bite, Nay e'en the Cat, of wicked nature, That kills in sport her fellow-creature, Went scot-free; but his gravity, An a.s.s of stupid memory, Confess'd, as he went to a fair, His back half broke with wooden-ware, Chancing unluckily to pa.s.s By a church-yard full of good gra.s.s, Finding they'd open left the gate, He ventured in, stoop'd down and ate Hold, says Judge Wolf, such are the crimes Have brought upon us these sad times, 'Twas sacrilege, and this vile a.s.s Shall die for eating holy gra.s.s.

ON THE IRISH BISHOPS.[1] 1731

Old Latimer preaching did fairly describe A bishop, who ruled all the rest of his tribe; And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell?

Why truly 'tis Satan, Archbishop of h.e.l.l.

And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre, Surrounded with jewels of sulphur and nitre.

How nearly this bishop our bishops resembles!

But he has the odds, who believes and who trembles, Could you see his grim grace, for a pound to a penny, You'd swear it must be the baboon of Kilkenny:[2]

Poor Satan will think the comparison odious, I wish I could find him out one more commodious; But, this I am sure, the most reverend old dragon Has got on the bench many bishops suffragan; And all men believe he resides there incog, To give them by turns an invisible jog.

Our bishops, puft up with wealth and with pride, To h.e.l.l on the backs of the clergy would ride.

They mounted and labour'd with whip and with spur In vain--for the devil a parson would stir.

So the commons unhors'd them; and this was their doom, On their crosiers to ride like a witch on a broom.

Though they gallop'd so fast, on the road you may find 'em, And have left us but three out of twenty behind 'em.

Lord Bolton's good grace, Lord Carr and Lord Howard,[3]

In spite of the devil would still be untoward: They came of good kindred, and could not endure Their former companions should beg at their door.

When Christ was betray'd to Pilate the pretor Of a dozen apostles but one proved a traitor: One traitor alone, and faithful eleven; But we can afford you six traitors in seven.

What a clutter with clippings, dividings, and cleavings!

And the clergy forsooth must take up with their leavings; If making divisions was all their intent, They've done it, we thank them, but not as they meant; And so may such bishops for ever divide, That no honest heathen would be on their side.

How should we rejoice, if, like Judas the first, Those splitters of parsons in sunder should burst!

Now hear an allusion:--A mitre, you know, Is divided above, but united below.

If this you consider our emblem is right; The bishops divide, but the clergy unite.

Should the bottom be split, our bishops would dread That the mitre would never stick fast on their head: And yet they have learnt the chief art of a sovereign, As Machiavel taught them, "divide and ye govern."

But courage, my lords, though it cannot be said That one cloven tongue ever sat on your head; I'll hold you a groat (and I wish I could see't) If your stockings were off, you could show cloven feet.

But hold, cry the bishops, and give us fair play; Before you condemn us, hear what we can say.

What truer affections could ever be shown, Than saving your souls by d.a.m.ning our own?

And have we not practised all methods to gain you; With the t.i.the of the t.i.the of the t.i.the to maintain you; Provided a fund for building you spittals!

You are only to live four years without victuals.

Content, my good lords; but let us change hands; First take you our t.i.thes, and give us your lands.

So G.o.d bless the Church and three of our mitres; And G.o.d bless the Commons, for biting the biters.

[Footnote 1: Occasioned by two bills; a Bill of Residence to compel the clergy to reside on their livings, and a Bill of Division, to divide the church livings. See Considerations upon two Bills, "Prose Works," iii, and Swift's letter to the Bishop of Clogher, July, 1733, in which he describes "those two abominable bills for enslaving and beggaring the clergy." Edit. Scott, xviii, p. 147. The bills were pa.s.sed by the House of Lords, but rejected by the Commons. See note, next page.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: Dr. Tennison, Bishop of Ossory, who promoted the Bills. See "Prose Works," xii, p.26.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 3: Theophilus Bolton, Archbishop of Cashel from 1729 to 1744; Charles Carr, Bishop of Killaloe from 1716 to 1739; and Robert Howard, Bishop of Elphin from 1729 to 1740, who voted against the bills on a division.--_W. E. B._]

HORACE, BOOK IV, ODE IX

ADDRESSED TO HUMPHRY FRENCH, ESQ.[1]

LATE LORD MAYOR OF DUBLIN

PATRON of the tuneful throng, O! too nice, and too severe!

Think not, that my country song Shall displease thy honest ear.

Chosen strains I proudly bring, Which the Muses' sacred choir, When they G.o.ds and heroes sing, Dictate to th' harmonious lyre.

Ancient Homer, princely bard!

Just precedence still maintains, With sacred rapture still are heard Theban Pindar's lofty strains.

Still the old triumphant song, Which, when hated tyrants fell, Great Alcaeus boldly sung, Warns, instructs, and pleases well.

Nor has Time's all-darkening shade In obscure oblivion press'd What Anacreon laugh'd and play'd; Gay Anacreon, drunken priest!

Gentle Sappho, love-sick muse, Warms the heart with amorous fire; Still her tenderest notes infuse Melting rapture, soft desire.

Beauteous Helen, young and gay, By a painted fopling won, Went not first, fair nymph, astray, Fondly pleased to be undone.

Nor young Teucer's slaughtering bow, Nor bold Hector's dreadful sword, Alone the terrors of the foe, Sow'd the field with hostile blood.

Many valiant chiefs of old Greatly lived and died before Agamemnon, Grecian bold, Waged the ten years' famous war.

But their names, unsung, unwept, Unrecorded, lost and gone, Long in endless night have slept, And shall now no more be known.

Virtue, which the poet's care Has not well consign'd to fame, Lies, as in the sepulchre Some old king, without a name.