Volume I Part 39 (1/2)
Melancholy smooth Meander, Swiftly purling in a round, On thy margin lovers wander, With thy flowery chaplets crown'd.
Thus when Philomela drooping Softly seeks her silent mate, See the bird of Juno stooping; Melody resigns to fate.
THE STORM
MINERVA'S PEt.i.tION
Pallas, a G.o.ddess chaste and wise Descending lately from the skies, To Neptune went, and begg'd in form He'd give his orders for a storm; A storm, to drown that rascal Hort,[1]
And she would kindly thank him for't: A wretch! whom English rogues, to spite her, Had lately honour'd with a mitre.
The G.o.d, who favour'd her request, a.s.sured her he would do his best: But Venus had been there before, Pleaded the bishop loved a wh.o.r.e, And had enlarged her empire wide; He own'd no deity beside.
At sea or land, if e'er you found him Without a mistress, hang or drown him.
Since Burnet's death, the bishops' bench, Till Hort arrived, ne'er kept a wench; If Hort must sink, she grieves to tell it, She'll not have left one single prelate: For, to say truth, she did intend him, Elect of Cyprus _in commendam._ And, since her birth the ocean gave her, She could not doubt her uncle's favour.
Then Proteus urged the same request, But half in earnest, half in jest; Said he--”Great sovereign of the main, To drown him all attempts are vain.
Hort can a.s.sume more forms than I, A rake, a bully, pimp, or spy; Can creep, or run, or fly, or swim; All motions are alike to him: Turn him adrift, and you shall find He knows to sail with every wind; Or, throw him overboard, he'll ride As well against as with the tide.
But, Pallas, you've applied too late; For, 'tis decreed by Jove and Fate, That Ireland must be soon destroy'd, And who but Hort can be employ'd?
You need not then have been so pert, In sending Bolton[2] to Clonfert.
I found you did it, by your grinning; Your business is to mind your spinning.
But how you came to interpose In making bishops, no one knows; Or who regarded your report; For never were you seen at court.
And if you must have your pet.i.tion, There's Berkeley[3] in the same condition; Look, there he stands, and 'tis but just, If one must drown, the other must; But, if you'll leave us Bishop Judas, We'll give you Berkeley for Bermudas.[4]
Now, if 'twill gratify your spight, To put him in a plaguy fright, Although 'tis hardly worth the cost, You soon shall see him soundly tost.
You'll find him swear, blaspheme, and d.a.m.n (And every moment take a dram) His ghastly visage with an air Of reprobation and despair; Or else some hiding-hole he seeks, For fear the rest should say he squeaks; Or, as Fitzpatrick[5] did before, Resolve to perish with his wh.o.r.e; Or else he raves, and roars, and swears, And, but for shame, would say his prayers.
Or, would you see his spirits sink?
Relaxing downwards in a stink?
If such a sight as this can please ye, Good madam Pallas, pray be easy.
To Neptune speak, and he'll consent; But he'll come back the knave he went.”
The G.o.ddess, who conceived a hope That Hort was destined to a rope, Believed it best to condescend To spare a foe, to save a friend; But, fearing Berkeley might be scared, She left him virtue for a guard.
[Footnote 1: Josiah Hort was born about 1674, and educated in London as a Nonconformist Minister; but he soon conformed to the Church of England, and held in succession several benefices. In 1709 he went to Ireland as chaplain to Lord Wharton, when Lord Lieutenant; and afterwards became, in 1721, Bishop of Ferns and Leighlin, and ultimately Archbishop of Tuam. He died in 1751.--_W. E. B._]
[Footnote 2: Dr. Theophilus Bolton, afterwards Archbishop of Cash.e.l.l.--_F_.]
[Footnote 3: Dr. George Berkeley, a senior fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, who became Dean of Derry, and afterwards Bishop of Cloyne.]
[Footnote 4: The Bishop had a project of a college at Bermuda for the propagation of the Gospel in 1722. See his Works, _ut supra.--W. E. B._]
[Footnote 5: Brigadier Fitzpatrick was drowned in one of the packet-boats in the Bay of Dublin, in a great storm.--_F_.]
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