Dreams of murders and of arsons,
Hatched in heads of Irish parsons,
Bring from every hole and corner,
Where ferocious priests like Horner
Purely for religious good
Cry aloud for Papist's blood,
Blood for Wells, and such old women,
At their ease to wade and swim in.
_All_.--Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble,
Bexley, talk, and Kenyon, scribble.
_3d Bruns_.--Now the charm begin to brew;
Sisters, sisters, add thereto
Scraps of Lethbridge's old speeches,
Mixt with leather from his breeches,
Rinsings of old Bexley's brains,
Thickened (if you'll take the pains)
With that pulp which rags create,
In their middle _nympha_ state,
Ere, like insects frail and sunny,
Forth they wing abroad as money.
There--the Hell-broth we've enchanted--
Now but _one_ thing more is wanted.
Squeeze o'er all that Orange juice,
Castlereagh keeps corkt for use,
Which, to work the better spell, is
Colored deep with blood of ----,
Blood, of powers far more various,
Even than that of Januarius,
Since so great a charm hangs o'er it,
England's parsons bow before it,
_All_.--Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble,
Bexley, talk, and Kenyon, scribble.
_2d Bruns_.--Cool it now with ----'s blood,
So the charm is firm and good.
[_exeunt_.
[1] Alluding to a well-known lyric composition of the late Marquis, which,
with a slight alteration, might be addressed either to a flea or a fly.
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