When lo! an Irish Papist darted
Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big—
I did but frown and off he started,
Scared at me even without my wig.
Yet a more fierce and raw-boned dog
Goes not to Mass in Dublin City,
Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog,
Nor spouts in Catholic Committee.
Oh! place me midst O'Rourkes, O'Tooles,
The ragged royal-blood of Tara;
Or place me where Dick Martin rules
The houseless wilds of Connemara;[1]
Of Church and State I'll warble still,
Though even Dick Martin's self should grumble;
Sweet Church and State, like Jack and Jill,
So lovingly upon a hill—
Ah! ne'er like Jack and Jill to tumble![2]
[1] I must here remark, that the said Dick Martin being a very good fellow, it was not at all fair to make a "malus Jupiter" of him.
[2] There cannot be imagined a more happy illustration of the inseparability of Church and State, and their (what is called) "standing and falling together," than this ancient apologue of Jack and Jill. Jack, of course, represents the State in this ingenious little Allegory.
Jack fell down,
And broke his Crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.
THE NEW COSTUME OF THE MINISTERS.
—nova monstra creavit.
OVID. "Metamorph." 1. i. v. 417.
Having sent off the troops of brave Major Camac,
With a swinging horse-tail at each valorous back.
And such helmets, God bless us! as never deckt any
Male creature before, except Signor Giovanni—
"Let's see," said the Regent (like Titus, perplext
With the duties of empire,) "whom shall I dress next?"