[Footnote 2:  A village near the sea.]

[Footnote 3:  It was said he died of a dropsy.]

[Footnote 4:  A cant word for a Jacobite.]

[Footnote 5:  In condemning malefactors, as a judge.]

[Footnote 6:  Where the Dublin gallows stands.]

[Footnote 7:  Query, whether the author meant scholar, and wilfully mistook?—­Dublin Edition.]

VERSES OCCASIONED BY WHITSHED’S [1] MOTTO ON HIS COACH. 1724

Libertas et natale solum: [2]
Fine words!  I wonder where you stole ’em. 
Could nothing but thy chief reproach
Serve for a motto on thy coach? 
But let me now the words translate: 
Natale solum, my estate;
My dear estate, how well I love it,
My tenants, if you doubt, will prove it,
They swear I am so kind and good,
I hug them till I squeeze their blood.
  Libertas bears a large import: 
First, how to swagger in a court;
And, secondly, to show my fury
Against an uncomplying jury;
And, thirdly, ’tis a new invention,
To favour Wood, and keep my pension;
And, fourthly, ’tis to play an odd trick,
Get the great seal and turn out Broderick;[3]
And, fifthly, (you know whom I mean,)
To humble that vexatious Dean: 
And, sixthly, for my soul to barter it
For fifty times its worth to Carteret.[4]
Now since your motto thus you construe,
I must confess you’ve spoken once true.
Libertas et natale solum:
You had good reason when you stole ’em.

[Footnote 1:  That noted chief-justice who twice prosecuted the Drapier, and dissolved the grand jury for not finding the bill against him.—­F.]

[Footnote 2:  This motto is repeatedly mentioned in the Drapier’s Letters.—­Scott.]

[Footnote 3:  Allan Broderick, Lord Middleton, was then lord-chancellor of Ireland.  See the Drapier’s Letters, “Prose Works,” vi, 135.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 4:  Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.]

PROMETHEUS[1]
ON WOOD THE PATENTEE’S IRISH HALFPENCE[2]
1724

When first the squire and tinker Wood
Gravely consulting Ireland’s good,
Together mingled in a mass
Smith’s dust, and copper, lead, and brass;
The mixture thus by chemic art
United close in ev’ry part,
In fillets roll’d, or cut in pieces,
Appear’d like one continued species;
And, by the forming engine struck,
On all the same impression took. 
  So, to confound this hated coin,
All parties and religions join;
Whigs, Tories, Trimmers, Hanoverians,
Quakers, Conformists, Presbyterians,
Scotch, Irish, English, French, unite,
With equal interest, equal spite
Together mingled in a lump,
Do all in one opinion jump;
And ev’ry one begins to find
The same impression on his mind. 
  A strange event! whom gold incites
To blood and quarrels, brass unites;