"
Come, Saints from all quarters, and marshal his way;
Come, Lorton, who, scorning profane erudition,
Popt Shakespeare, they say, in the river one day,
Tho' 'twas only old Bowdler's _Velluti_ edition.
Come, Roden, who doubtest--so mild are thy views--
Whether Bibles or bullets are best for the nation;
Who leav'st to poor Paddy no medium to choose
'Twixt good _old_ Rebellion and _new_ Reformation.
What more from her Saints can Hibernia require?
St. Bridget of yore like a dutiful daughter
Supplied her, 'tis said, with perpetual fire,[2]
And Saints keep her _now_ in eternal hot water.
Wo, wo to the man who would check their career,
Or stop the Millennium that's sure to await us,
When blest with an orthodox crop every year,
We shall learn to raise Protestants fast as potatoes.
In kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we know,
Had been trying their talent for many a day;
Till Farnham, when all had been tried, came to show,
Like the German flea-catcher, "anoder goot way."
And nothing's more simple than Farnham's receipt;--
"Catch your Catholic, first--soak him well in _poteen_,
"Add _salary_ sauce,[3] and the thing is complete.
"You may serve up your Protestant smoking and clean."
"Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh at such cookery!"
Thus, from his perch, did I hear a black crow[4]
Caw angrily out, while the rest of the rookery
Opened their bills and re-echoed "Wo! wo!"
[1] Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of Chester on the subject of the
New Reformation in Ireland, in which his Lordship denounced "Wo! Wo! Wo!"
pretty abundantly on all those who dared to interfere with its progress.
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