The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] :: :: University of Virginia Library

Th' unsteady mind is my abomination;
I curse the whiffling and inconstant passion:
From me, dear Constancy, don't, don't depart—
I love the cooing turtle and her mate—
The Proteus Mutability I hate—
A demon when he holds the human heart;

A flutt'ring straw, to wander so inclin'd;
Keeping the company of ev'ry wind.

Old customs let us not exchange for new;
They sit so easy—just like an old shoe:
And let us not, as though from Wisdom's schools,
Fancy our forefathers were arrant fools.

Ev'n in religious matters, folks love change;
Scheming new roads to Heav'n, they wildly range;

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Hunting with noses all so keen, about:
I like an honest constancy in souls,
In spite of interest, that our race controls,
Turning, like pudding-bags, men inside out.

In Ireland, not long since, th' unlucky cattle,
And that sad plague, call'd Murrain, had a battle;
When Murrain prov'd a most victorious foe—
For ram and ewe, 'Squire Bull, and Madam Cow,
And lusty Mister Bull, and Mistress Sow,
Were by this rogue in multitudes laid low.

Numbers indeed resign'd their breath,
To fill the gaping tombs of death.

Now in the parish, 'midst the murrain's rage,
Which all the farrier's skill could not assuage,
Liv'd a good priest—Father M'Shane;
Famous afar for wonder-working pray'rs;
Minding not sins one pin, though thick as hares,
Safe were the souls of the profane!

One Sunday he desir'd to say his masses,
Amidst the field—where beasts of various classes,
Infected by this murrain, might appear:
His congregation follow'd, to be sure;
Bull, cow, pig, sheep, surrounded him for cure,
Yielding his masses an attentive ear.

What happen'd? Disappointed was the Devil,
Father M'Shane's good prayers destroy'd the evil;
Bull, cow, and sheep, so hungry, graz'd the plains,
And pigs, half famish'd, fell upon the grains.

In short, their healths and appetites return'd—
Father M'Shane, what? laugh'd, while Satan mourn'd.

Proud of his deed, the holy father went
To a rich Protestant, with good intent,
To make the murrain from his cattle fly:
‘Father M'Shane,’ the farmer cry'd in scorn,
‘My cattle all were Church-of-England born,
And in that holy faith they all shall die.’