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Since honest men here were asham'd of his face, That in Ireland at least he might get him a placé. Derry down, &c.

But Harry resentful first bid him be hush,
Then proclaim'd it aloud that he never could

blush;

Recant his invectives, and then in a trice

He would shew the best title to an Irish VICE.

Derry down, &c.

Young Balaam ne'er boggl'd, but turned his coat, Determin❜d to share in whate'er could be got Said, I scorn all those who cry impudent fellow, As my front is of brass, I'll be painted in yellow. Derry down, &c.

Since yellow's the colour that best suits his face,
And Balaam aspires at an eminent place,
May he soon at Cheapside stand fix'd by the legs,
His front well adorn'd, all daub'd over with eggs.
Derry down, &c.

Whilst Balaam was poor, he was full of renown; But now that he's rich, he's the jest of the town: Then let all men learn by his present disgrace, That honesty's better by far than a place.

Derry down, &c.

SHORT VERSES,

IN IMITATION OF LONG VERSES:

IN AN EPISTLE TO

WILLIAM PITT, ESQ.*

Naughty, paughty, Jack-a-dandy. Namby Pamby. Sic parvis componere magna solebam.

VIRG.

SINCE one hath writ

To thee, O Pitt!

* Pitt was undoubtedly one of the greatest masters of ornamental eloquence: his language was amazingly fine and flowing; his voice admirable; his action most expressive; his figure genteel and commanding; bitter satire was his forte; when he attempted ridicule, which was very seldom, he succeeded happily; but where he chiefly shone was, exposing his own conduct; having waded through the most notorious apostacy in politics, he treated it with impudent confidence.-W.

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Whom none can know

If friend or foe;

Deign to smile on

Lank Lyttleton:

For tho' his lays

May squint two ways;

They're meant for praise.

Sir Bob to hang,

Thou didst harangue,

While he, in joke,

The cornet broke.

But Hal now flatter'd,

Then whipp'd, then spatter'd,

With fear full fraught,

Thy favour bought :

The patriot ends,

And ye are friends,

Like Cæsar He,

As Tully was, to Thee.

As when much tir'd,

In roads bemir'd,

Men see by night

A fairy-light,

Which they pursue

With eager view,

In hope to win

A friendly inn;

But by mistake,

In some foul lake

Surpris'd they're flung

Of mud or dung,

From whence the Meteor sprung;

So far'd the crew,

Who follow'd you:

Or as a maid,

On back first laid,

By dire mishap

She gains a c

Such was your case

Scarce warm in place,

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