Dreams of murders and of arsons,
Hatch’d in heads of Irish parsons,
Bring from every hole and corner,
Where ferocious priests, like Horner,
Purely for religious good,
Cry aloud for Papists’ blood,
Blood for Wells, and such old women,
At their ease to wade and swim in.
All.—Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble,
Bexley talk, and Kenyon scribble.