The Shamrock or, Hibernian Cresses. A Collection of Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &c. Latin as well as English, The Original Production of Ireland. To which are subjoined thoughts on the prevailing system of school education, respecting young ladies as well as gentlemen: with practical proposals for a reformation [by Samuel Whyte] |
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MULLY of MOUNTOWN.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
5
MULLY of MOUNTOWN.
INSCRIBED TO THE Right Honourable, Sarah, Viscountess Ranelagh.
Mountown! thou sweet Retreat from Dublin Cares,
Be famous long for Apples and for Pears;
For Turnips, Carrots, Lettuce, Beans and Peas,
For Peggy's Butter, and for Peggy's Cheese.
May Clouds of Pigeons round about thee fly,
But sometimes condescend to make a Pye.
May fat Geese gaggle round thy cramm'd Barn Door,
Nor e'er want Apple Sauce, and Mustard Store;
Ducks in thy Ponds, and Chickens in thy Penns;
And be thy Turkies numerous as thy Hens.
May thy black Pigs lie warm in decent Stye,
And have no Thought to grieve them till they die.
Mountown! the Muses' most delicious Theme,
O! may thy Codlings ever swim in Cream!
Thy Rasp--- and Strawberries in Bourdeaux drown,
With richer Flavour their smooth Sweets to crown;
Thy White-Wine, Sugar, Milk together club,
To make that dainty Beverage, Sillabub;
Let Jellies, Custards, Tarts and Cheesecakes join
To spoil the Relish of thy flowing Wine;
But to the fading Palate bring Relief,
By thy Westphalian Ham, or Belgic Beef;
And, to complete thy Blessings, in a Word,
May still thy Soil be generous as its Lord;
Thy Seasons temperate; wholesome be thy Air,
Mild as thy Ranelagh, kind, good, and fair.
Be famous long for Apples and for Pears;
For Turnips, Carrots, Lettuce, Beans and Peas,
For Peggy's Butter, and for Peggy's Cheese.
May Clouds of Pigeons round about thee fly,
But sometimes condescend to make a Pye.
May fat Geese gaggle round thy cramm'd Barn Door,
Nor e'er want Apple Sauce, and Mustard Store;
Ducks in thy Ponds, and Chickens in thy Penns;
And be thy Turkies numerous as thy Hens.
May thy black Pigs lie warm in decent Stye,
And have no Thought to grieve them till they die.
Mountown! the Muses' most delicious Theme,
O! may thy Codlings ever swim in Cream!
Thy Rasp--- and Strawberries in Bourdeaux drown,
With richer Flavour their smooth Sweets to crown;
Thy White-Wine, Sugar, Milk together club,
To make that dainty Beverage, Sillabub;
Let Jellies, Custards, Tarts and Cheesecakes join
To spoil the Relish of thy flowing Wine;
But to the fading Palate bring Relief,
By thy Westphalian Ham, or Belgic Beef;
And, to complete thy Blessings, in a Word,
May still thy Soil be generous as its Lord;
Thy Seasons temperate; wholesome be thy Air,
Mild as thy Ranelagh, kind, good, and fair.
6
But let me, Mountown, grateful in my Tale,
Amidst thy Blessings, not forget thy Ale.
O Peggy, Peggy, when you go to brew,
Consider well what you're about to do;
Be very wise, and most sedately think,
That what you are about to make—is Drink.
Consider who must drink that Drink, and then
What 'tis to have the Praise of honest Men:
For surely, Peggy, while that Drink shall last,
'Tis Peggy will be toasted or disgrac'd.
Then, if thy Ale in Glass thou would'st confine,
To make its sparkling Rays in Beauty shine,
Let thy clean Bottles be entirely dry,
Lest a white Substance to the Surface fly,
And, floating there, disturb the curious Eye.
But this great Maxim must be understood,
‘Be sure, nay very sure, thy Cork be good.’
Then future Ages shall of Peggy tell,
That Nymph who brew'd and bottled Ale so well.
Amidst thy Blessings, not forget thy Ale.
O Peggy, Peggy, when you go to brew,
Consider well what you're about to do;
Be very wise, and most sedately think,
That what you are about to make—is Drink.
Consider who must drink that Drink, and then
What 'tis to have the Praise of honest Men:
For surely, Peggy, while that Drink shall last,
'Tis Peggy will be toasted or disgrac'd.
Then, if thy Ale in Glass thou would'st confine,
To make its sparkling Rays in Beauty shine,
Let thy clean Bottles be entirely dry,
Lest a white Substance to the Surface fly,
And, floating there, disturb the curious Eye.
But this great Maxim must be understood,
‘Be sure, nay very sure, thy Cork be good.’
Then future Ages shall of Peggy tell,
That Nymph who brew'd and bottled Ale so well.
How fleet is Air! How many Things have Breath!
Which in a Moment they resign to Death!
Depriv'd of Light, and all their happiest State,
Not by their Fault, but some o'er-ruling Fate!
Altho' fair Flowers, that justly might invite,
Are cropt, and torn away for Man's Delight;
Yet still those Flowers, alas! can make no Moan,
Nor has Narcissus, now, a Power to groan.
But all Things breathing, tho' in different Frame,
By Tie of common Breath Man's Pity claim.
The bleating Lamb has Rhetoric to plead,
And when she sees the Butcher's Knife decreed,
Her Voice entreats him, rightly understood,
Her Voice entreats him not to shed her Blood.
But cruel Gain, and Luxury of Taste,
With Pride, still lay Man's fellow Mortals waste:
What Earth and Waters breed, or Air inspires,
Man for his Palate fits by torturing Fires.
Which in a Moment they resign to Death!
Depriv'd of Light, and all their happiest State,
Not by their Fault, but some o'er-ruling Fate!
Altho' fair Flowers, that justly might invite,
Are cropt, and torn away for Man's Delight;
Yet still those Flowers, alas! can make no Moan,
Nor has Narcissus, now, a Power to groan.
But all Things breathing, tho' in different Frame,
By Tie of common Breath Man's Pity claim.
The bleating Lamb has Rhetoric to plead,
And when she sees the Butcher's Knife decreed,
Her Voice entreats him, rightly understood,
Her Voice entreats him not to shed her Blood.
7
With Pride, still lay Man's fellow Mortals waste:
What Earth and Waters breed, or Air inspires,
Man for his Palate fits by torturing Fires.
Mully, a Cow sprung from a beauteous Race,
With spreading Front did Mountown's Pastures grace.
Gentle she was, and, with a copious Stream,
Each Morn, and Eve, gave Milk that equall'd Cream.
Offending none, of none she stood in Dread,
Much less of Persons whom she daily fed.
But how shall Innocence itself defend
'Gainst treacherous Arts veil'd with the Name of Friend?
With spreading Front did Mountown's Pastures grace.
Gentle she was, and, with a copious Stream,
Each Morn, and Eve, gave Milk that equall'd Cream.
Offending none, of none she stood in Dread,
Much less of Persons whom she daily fed.
But how shall Innocence itself defend
'Gainst treacherous Arts veil'd with the Name of Friend?
Robin of Derbyshire, whose Temper shocks
The Constitution of his native Rocks,
Born in a Place, which if it once were nam'd,
Would make sweet blushing Modesty asham'd,
He, all Indulgence, kindly did appear
To make poor Mully his peculiar Care;
But inwardly this artful, churlish Thief
Had fix'd his sullen Thoughts on Mully's Beef:
His Fancy fed on her, and thus he'd cry,
Mully, as sure as I'm alive you die:
'Tis a brave Cow; O Sirs! when Christmas comes,
These Shins shall make the Porridge grac'd with Plumbs;
Then 'midst our Cups, while we profusely dine,
This Blade shall enter deep in Mully's Chine:
What Ribs! what Rumps! what bak'd, boil'd, stew'd and roast!
There shan't one single Tripe of her be lost.
The Constitution of his native Rocks,
Born in a Place, which if it once were nam'd,
Would make sweet blushing Modesty asham'd,
He, all Indulgence, kindly did appear
To make poor Mully his peculiar Care;
But inwardly this artful, churlish Thief
Had fix'd his sullen Thoughts on Mully's Beef:
His Fancy fed on her, and thus he'd cry,
Mully, as sure as I'm alive you die:
'Tis a brave Cow; O Sirs! when Christmas comes,
These Shins shall make the Porridge grac'd with Plumbs;
Then 'midst our Cups, while we profusely dine,
This Blade shall enter deep in Mully's Chine:
What Ribs! what Rumps! what bak'd, boil'd, stew'd and roast!
There shan't one single Tripe of her be lost.
When Peggy, Nymph of Mountown, heard these Sounds,
She griev'd to think of Mully's future Wounds;
What Crime, says she, has gentle Mully done?
Witness the rising, and the setting Sun!
Which knows what Milk she constantly would give;
Let that quench Robin's Rage, and Mully live.
She griev'd to think of Mully's future Wounds;
8
Witness the rising, and the setting Sun!
Which knows what Milk she constantly would give;
Let that quench Robin's Rage, and Mully live.
Daniel, a sprightly Swain, who us'd to lash
The vigorous Steeds that drew his Lord's Calash,
To Peggy's Side inclin'd; for 'twas well known
How well he lov'd those Cattle of his own.
The vigorous Steeds that drew his Lord's Calash,
To Peggy's Side inclin'd; for 'twas well known
How well he lov'd those Cattle of his own.
Then Terence spoke, oraculous and sly,
He'd neither grant the Question, nor deny,
Pleading for Milk, his Heart was on Mince Pye.
But all his Arguments so dubious were,
That Mully thence had neither Hopes nor Fear.
He'd neither grant the Question, nor deny,
Pleading for Milk, his Heart was on Mince Pye.
But all his Arguments so dubious were,
That Mully thence had neither Hopes nor Fear.
You've spoke, says Robin; but now let me tell ye,
'Tis not fair-spoken Words that fill the Belly;
Pudding and Beef I love, and cannot stoop
To recommend your Bonny-Clabber Soop;
You say she's innocent, but what of that?
'Tis more than Crime sufficient that she's fat;
And that which is prevailing in this Case,
Is, there's another Cow to fill her Place.
And granting Mully to have Milk in Store,
Yet still this other Cow will give us more;
She dies—Stop here, O Muse! forbear the Rest,
And veil that Grief which cannot be express'd.
'Tis not fair-spoken Words that fill the Belly;
Pudding and Beef I love, and cannot stoop
To recommend your Bonny-Clabber Soop;
You say she's innocent, but what of that?
'Tis more than Crime sufficient that she's fat;
And that which is prevailing in this Case,
Is, there's another Cow to fill her Place.
And granting Mully to have Milk in Store,
Yet still this other Cow will give us more;
She dies—Stop here, O Muse! forbear the Rest,
And veil that Grief which cannot be express'd.
| The Shamrock | |