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XLVII. COUNSELS OF A FATHER TO HIS SON.
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271

XLVII. COUNSELS OF A FATHER TO HIS SON.

“Down, Derry Down!'—Old Song.

When I at last shall sleep in peace,
When life's consumption shall be o'er,
When I shall fill that payless place
Where none shall plot or plunder more
Remember on what wings I soared
To infamy's unfading crown,
How I became a noble lord,
And you became the Dean of Down.

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Professing disregard of self,
I won the ermine of a Peer;
Avowing carelessness of pelf,
I earned some thousand pounds a year;
I caught the favours of the Court,
And seemed as honest as a clown;
And though I fathered a “Report,”
I fathered, too, the Dean of Down.
By turns with every party leagued,
As each by turns might rise or fall,
I blustered, bullied, schemed, intrigued,
Was loved by none, was used by all;
Placeman and patriot, both for pay,
I flinched not from the general frown—
I am the Chancellor to-day,
And you to-day the Dean of Down.
If I on this world's busy stage
Had worshipped honour, followed truth,
Less praise would gild my hoary age,
Less hope would greet your sanguine youth.
If blameless I my gown had worn,
I still might wear my plain stuff gown;
If I had shrunk from public scorn,
You would not be the Dean of Down.

273

Go forth and do as I have done,
Like glory on your pathway shine;
Mine be your principles, my son,
And be your profits more than mine;
Haste, worthy of your sire's embrace,
To emulate your sire's renown;
Be false and factious, bold and base,
And make your son the Dean of Down!