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Tom. Yet many a wretch in Bedlam knows
How to diftinguish friends from foes;
And tho' perhaps among the rout,
He wildly flings his filth about;
He fill has gratitude and fap'ence,
To fpare the folks that give him ha'pence;
Nor in their eyes at random piffes,

But turns afide, like mad Ulyffes :
While Traulus all his ordure fcatters,
To foul the man he chiefly flatters.
Whence come thefe inconfiftent fits?

Robin. Why, Tom, the man has loft his wits.
Tom. Agreed and yet when Towzer fnaps

At people's heels with frothy chaps;
Hangs down his head and trops his tail,

To fay he's mad, will not avail :

The neighbours all cry, Shoot him dead,

Hang, drown, or knock him on the head.
So Traulus when he first harangu'd,
I wonder why he was not hang'd;
For of the two, without difpute,
Towzer's the lefs offenfive brute.

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Robin. Tom, you mistake the matter quite;

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Your barking curs will feldom bite;

And tho' you hear him ftut-tut-tut-ter,

He barks as fast as he can utter.

He prates in fpite of all impediment,

While none believes, that what he said he meant; 50

Puts in his finger and his thumb

To grope for words, and out they come.

He calls you rogue; there's nothing in it,
He fawns upon you in a minute:
Begs leave to rail, but d―n his blood,
He only meant it for your good:
His friendship was exactly tim'd,
He foot before your foes were prim'd,

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-I'll bring you off as clean ↓

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By this contrivance, Mr. Dean,
By G
Then let him ufe you e'er fo rough,
'Twas all for love, and that's enough.
But tho' he sputter thro' a feffion,
It never makes the leaft impreffion
Whate'er he speaks for madnefs goes,
With no effect on friends or foes.

Tom. The fcrubbieft cur in all the pack
Can fet the mastiff on your back.

I own, his madness is a jest,
If that were all. But he's poffeft,
Incarnate with a thousand imps,

To work whofe ends his madness pimps;
Who o'er each string and wire prefide,
Fill ev'ry pipe, each motion guide;
Directing ev'ry vice we find

In fcripture to the devil affign'd;.
Sent from the dark infernal region,

In him they lodge, and make him legion.
Of brethren he's a falfe accufer;

A fland'rer, traitor, and feducer;
A fawning, bafe, trepanning liar;
The marks peculiar of his fire.
Or grant him but a drone at beft,
A drone can raise a hornet's nest.
The Dean hath felt their stings before ;
And must their malice ne'er give o'er ?
Still fwarm and buzz about his nofe?
But Ireland's friends ne'er wanted foes.
A patriot is a dang❜rous post,
When wanted by his country most ;
Perversely comes in evil times,

Where virtues are imputed crimes.

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This is the ufual excufe of Traulus, when he abuses you to

others without provocation.

His guilt is clear, the proofs are pregnant;
A traitor to the vices regnant.

WHAT fpirit, fince the world began,
Could always bear to firive with man?
Which God pronounc'd, he never would,
And foon convinc'd them by a flood.
Yet ftill the Dean on freedom raves;
His fpirit always ftrives with flaves,
'Tis time at laft to fpare his ink,
And let them rot, or hang, or fink.

TR

TRA UL L U S.

The fecond part.

Written in the year 1730.

Raulus of amphibious breed,
Motly fruit of mungrel feed;
By the dam from lordlings fprung,
By the fire exhal'd from dung:
Think on ev'ry vice in both,
Look on him, and fee their growth.

VIEW him on the mother's fide,

Fill'd with falfehood, fpleen, and pride;

Pofitive and over-bearing,

Changing ftill, and still adhering;
Spiteful, peevish, rude, untoward,
Fierce in tongue, in heart a coward;
When his friends he moft is hard
Cringing comes to beg their pardon;
Reputation ever tearing,

on,

Ever dearest friendship swearing;
Judgment weak, and paffion ftrong,
Always various, always wrong:
Provocation never waits,

Where he loves, or where he hates ;

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Talks whate'er comes in his head;
Wishes it were all unsaid.

LET me now the vices trace,
From the father's fcoundrel race.
Who could give the looby such airs?
Were they mafons, were they butchers?
Herald, lend the muse an answer
From his atavus and grandfire :
This was dex'trous at his trowel,
That was bred to kill a cow well:
Hence the greafy clumfy mien
In his dress and figure feen;

Hence the mean and fordid foul,

Like his body, rank and foul;

Hence that wild fufpicious peep,

Like a rogue that steals a sheep;

Hence he learn❜d the butcher's guile,
How to cut your throat and smile;
Like a butcher doom'd for life
In his mouth to wear his knife:
Hence he draws his daily food
From his tenants vital blood.

LASTLY, let his gifts be try'd
Borrow'd from the mafon's fide:
Some perhaps may think him able
In the ftate 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 defcend!

IN him tell me which prevail,
Female vices moft, or male?
What produc'd him, can you tell?
Human race, or imps of hell?

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To BETTY the GRIZETTE.

Written in the year 1730.

Ueen of wit and beauty, Betty!
Never may the mufe forget ye:
How thy face charms ev'ry fhepherd,
Spotted over like a leopard;
And, thy freckled neck difplaid,
Envy breeds in ev'ry maid,
Like a fly blown cake of tallow,
Or on parchment ink turn'd yellow,
Or a tawny fpeckled pippin
Shrivel'd with a winter's keeping.

AND, thy beauty thus dispatch'd,
Let me praise thy wit unmatch'd.
SETS of phrafes, cut and dry,
Evermore thy tongue fupply.
And thy memory is loaded

With old fcraps from plays exploded :
Stock'd with repartees and jokes,
Suited to all Chriftian folks ;
Shreds of wit, and fenfelefs rhymes,
Blunder'd out a thousand times.
Nor wilt thou of gifts be fparing,
Which can ne'er be worfe for wearing,
Picking wit among collegions,
In the playhouse upper regions;
Where, in eighteen-penny gall'ry,
Irish nymphs learn Irish raill'ry:
But thy merit is thy failing,
And thy raillery is railing.

THUS with talents well endu'd
To be fcurrilous and rude;

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