XX.
Then on an Irish bull of skin and bone,
A foul churl[[334]] rode, who still a harp would strum,
A harp Hibernian, stringless saving one,
Well tun’d to harsh sedition’s growling hum;
He hit the bull on which he had his bum
Full many a bitter pang, nor gave him rest—
Dealing his blows on Teagues that round him come,
Grieving the while for man and brute opprest,
Chaunting the Irish howl, abhorr’d of man and beast.