Next Habakkuk rofe, for they took them in courfe,
But Habakkuk's cold had made Habakkuk hoarse;
He declar'd he cou'dn't fing, any more than the moon,
But if Mofes pleas'd he would whistle a tune.-Lillabullers
Jeremiah rofe next, Sir, at Mofes' defire,
Whom wit, Sir, nor wine, could ever infpire;
And in ftrains that would fuit the commemoration,
He fung them a verse of his own lamentation.
Jeremiah's Song.-Tune, Queen Mary's Lamentation,
I figh and lament me in vain,
Thefe walls can but echo my moan:
Alas! it increases my pain,
When I think of the days that are gone.
Through the grates of my window I fee
The boys as at marbles they play;
Then up rofe little Jonah, who look'd like a jelly,
For he was just come, Sir, from the whale's belly;
For three days and three nights was he left to despair,
But he'd fing to Mofes what he fuffer'd there.
Ceafe rude Boreas, blustering railer;
Lift ye landmen all to me;
Meffmates, hear a brother failor
Sing the dangers of the fea;
In the horrid belly pent, Sir,
Think on what I fuffer'd there
Fore'd to keep a difmal Lent, Sir,
And to breathe infectious air:
Nought but fish to feed upon, Sir,
And compell'd to eat it raw;
All my hopes were almost gone, Sir,
E'er I left the monit'rous jaw.
Then Samfon rofe next, once in prowess fo big,
But at that time friend Samfon had just got his wigs
He related the tale of his dire mishap,
How his wife fhav'd his head as he slept in her lap.
Oh, dear, what can the matter be,
Oh, dear, what can the matter be,
Samfon has loft all his hair,
Oh that I e'er fhould have taken fo found a nap,
Oh that I e'er should have taken it in her lap,
Oh that I had but tied on my red night cap,
Then Samfon had ne'er loft his hair;
Oh dear what can the matter be,
Mercy on me, what can the matter be, &c. ad libitum.
They next call'd on Job, as a song was his fort,
But they begg'd, as 'twas late, that his fong might be short; So he fung Chevy Chase, to a dismal psalm tune,
Which the prophets all thought would have lafted till noon,
Now Mofes it seems, Sir, who good hours kept,
While they fat a finging, why he fat and slept;
But wak'd by the noife, Sir, of calling encore.
He bid them get home, for they should drink no more.
Well-bred Aaron, it seems, Sir, at this took offence,
And swore, want of good manners fhew'd want of good fenfe;
This caus'd a difpute, fome reflections were caft,
But for decency's fake we'll not mention what past.
ON April the first I set off, like a fool,
From Kilkenny to Dublin, to see Lawrence Tool,
My mother's third coufin, who often wrote down,
For to come and to see how he flourished in town.
I had scarce fet a foot in the terrible place,
Before a spalpeen came and star'd me in my face-
He call'd to a prefs-gang-they came without fail,
And foon neck and crap carried Patrick O'Neal.
They scamper'd away as they thought with a prize,
Taking me for a failor, you see in disguise,
But a terrible blunder they made in their strife,
For I ne'er faw a ship nor the sea in my life.
Then straight to a tender they made me repair,
But of tenderness, devil a morfel was there;
Och! I ramp'd and I curs'd, but it did not avail
'Till a great fwimming caftle met Patrick O'Neal
This big fwinging thief roll'd about in the tide,
Wid all her front teeth fticking faft by her fide;
Where they bid me to mount, and be sure for to keep
Fast hold with my trotters for fear I should trip.
I let go my hands, and stuck faft with my toes,
And (how it could happen, the Lord above knows)
Fell plump in the water, and splash'd like a whale,
Till pretty well pickled was Patrick O'Neal,
Wid a great fwell of laughter, they hoifted me in,
To this huge wooden world, full of riot and din;
What strings and what pullies attracted my eye,
And how large were the sheets that were hung out to dry.
It feem'd Noah's ark, fluft with different guests,
Hogs, pedlars, geefe, failors, and all other beafts;
Some drank bladders of gin, fome drank pitchers of ale,
While fome fat and laugh'd at poor Patrick O'Neal.
Then to go down below I expreft a great wish,
Where they live under water like so many fish;
I was clapt in a mess with some more of the crew,
They call'd it banyan day-fo gave me burgoo:
For a bed I'd a fack fwung as high as my chin,
They call'd it a hammock, and bid me get in:
I took a great leap, but my footing was frail,
For clean over canted was Patrick O'Neal
The devil a wink could I fleep all the night,
And awoke the next morn in a terrible fright;
Up hammocks-down chefts-they began for to bawl,
Here's a Frenchman in fight-fure! fays I-is that all?
Then we haul'd up our large window fhutters with speed,
And run out our bull dogs of true English breed;
While the creatures gave mouth I held fait by the tail,
And they kick'd and run over poor Patrick O'Neal.
Thus we rattled away, by my foul, hob a nob,
Till the Frenchman gave out as he thought a bad job,
To tie him behind, a large cord they did bring,
And we led him along like a pig in a ftring,
Then home to Old England we dragg'd the French boy,
Och! the fight of the land made me fea-fick for joy;
They made up a peace, and the war growing stale,
Set all hands adrift with poor Patrick O'Neal, ́
So, ye fee, on dry land, a fafe course I can steer,
Neither cat-head, nor cat-block, nor any cat fear;
While there's a fhot in the locker, I'll fing I'll be bound.
And Saturday night shall last all the week round.
But fince king and country now call us amain,
By the piper of Leinfter I'll venture again,
Make another dry voyage-bring home a fresh tale,
And you'll laugh till you cry at poor Patrick N'Neal,
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