Mac-Dermot or the Irish Fortune-Hunter. A poem. In Six Canto's. By the Author of the Art of Dress [i.e. J. D. Breval] |
 |
|
| I. |
Canto I.
|
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | Mac-Dermot |  |
Canto I.
Of all the Youths, whom Munster's fruitful Soil
Feeds with Potatoes, and inures to Toil,
For Size, and Shape; for Strength, with Beauty crown'd,
Mac-Dermot whilom was the most renown'd.
His ruddy Cheeks were dy'd with Nature's Paint,
And his broad Shoulders well might tempt a Saint;
His Person was erect, and firmly knit,
And his Assurance far excell'd his Wit;
Like him none wrestled, box'd, or pitch'd the Bar,
Or with fierce Isgrim wag'd successful War;
None knew, like him, o'er quaking Bogs to tread,
Or sing melodious Dirges o'er the dead.
Feeds with Potatoes, and inures to Toil,
For Size, and Shape; for Strength, with Beauty crown'd,
Mac-Dermot whilom was the most renown'd.
His ruddy Cheeks were dy'd with Nature's Paint,
And his broad Shoulders well might tempt a Saint;
2
And his Assurance far excell'd his Wit;
Like him none wrestled, box'd, or pitch'd the Bar,
Or with fierce Isgrim wag'd successful War;
None knew, like him, o'er quaking Bogs to tread,
Or sing melodious Dirges o'er the dead.
For these rare Talents, and a Thousand more,
Mac round his Hutt had Concubines in store,
And after Toil, when Love unbent his Mind,
No Maid was cruel, and no Wife unkind.
Mac round his Hutt had Concubines in store,
And after Toil, when Love unbent his Mind,
No Maid was cruel, and no Wife unkind.
Full Twenty Winters now the Youth had seen,
And won the glorious Prize on many a Green;
His narrow Cabin was with Trophies hung,
And to Mac's Praise the neighbouring Harps were strung:
Yet maugre his good Mien, his graceful Air,
His Conquests o'er the Swains, and rustic Fair;
Each Night he duly milk'd his Father's Cow,
And handled ev'ry Morn th'ignoble Plough.
And won the glorious Prize on many a Green;
His narrow Cabin was with Trophies hung,
And to Mac's Praise the neighbouring Harps were strung:
Yet maugre his good Mien, his graceful Air,
His Conquests o'er the Swains, and rustic Fair;
3
And handled ev'ry Morn th'ignoble Plough.
Mac thought it hard; for of his goodly Frame
Now conscious grown, he panted after Fame;
And rag'd to see such precious blooming Years,
Consum'd in Peasant Toils, and Rural Cares.
Now conscious grown, he panted after Fame;
And rag'd to see such precious blooming Years,
Consum'd in Peasant Toils, and Rural Cares.
Why, (would he often to himself repeat)
Wants there but Wealth to make my Charms complete?
Ah! why should Fortune such a Niggard be,
Where Nature of her Gifts has been so free?
What are these Brogues, this Jerkin made of Frize,
And these coarse Trowzers but a vile Disguise?
And must I pass my Days (Oh cruel Fate!)
In Fields and Bogs, nor know a happier State?
Perhaps the Heiress of some Cottage Wed,
(Tho' form'd to revel in a Lady's Bed;)
Some Boor's course Off-spring in a Russet Gown,
By whom our Name must be transmitted down.
Better Mac-Dermot had been never born,
Or shap'd for digging Land, or thrashing Corn;
With no fine Harmony of Limbs endu'd,
His Soul as grov'ling, as his Person rude,
I then might be fit Company for Clowns,
Nor envy Youths who dwell in spacious Towns.
Wants there but Wealth to make my Charms complete?
Ah! why should Fortune such a Niggard be,
Where Nature of her Gifts has been so free?
What are these Brogues, this Jerkin made of Frize,
And these coarse Trowzers but a vile Disguise?
And must I pass my Days (Oh cruel Fate!)
In Fields and Bogs, nor know a happier State?
Perhaps the Heiress of some Cottage Wed,
(Tho' form'd to revel in a Lady's Bed;)
4
By whom our Name must be transmitted down.
Better Mac-Dermot had been never born,
Or shap'd for digging Land, or thrashing Corn;
With no fine Harmony of Limbs endu'd,
His Soul as grov'ling, as his Person rude,
I then might be fit Company for Clowns,
Nor envy Youths who dwell in spacious Towns.
In private thus, the poor ill fated Hind
Full oft complain'd, and eas'd his troubled Mind;
But durst not utter in his Father's Ear,
The mournful Accents, nor express his Care;
For he (good Man) around his Shoulders wore
A Rug, like all his Ancestors before;
From his small Farm a daily Profit sought,
And never had a more ambitious Thought.
Full oft complain'd, and eas'd his troubled Mind;
But durst not utter in his Father's Ear,
The mournful Accents, nor express his Care;
For he (good Man) around his Shoulders wore
A Rug, like all his Ancestors before;
From his small Farm a daily Profit sought,
And never had a more ambitious Thought.
5
It happen'd on a Day, with Horn and Hounds,
A Baron gallop'd thro' Mac-Dermot's Grounds,
Well hors'd; persuing o'er the dusty Plain
A Wolf, that sought the neighbr'ing Woods to gain;
Mac hears th'Alarm, and with his Oaken Spear,
Joins in the Chace, and runs before the Peer;
Outstrips the Huntsmen, Dogs, and panting Steeds,
And struck by him the falling Savage bleeds.
The Baron saw with Wonder and Surprize,
The sudden Blow, and scarce believ'd his Eyes;
Then stopping short, survey'd the Swain all o'er,
Lik'd much his Prowess, but his Person more.
Whoe'er thou art (undaunted Youth) said he,
Ill does that Habit with thy Form agree:
Cast off thy Brogues, forsake thy Father's Hutt,
And in a pompous Liv'ry learn to strutt;
Behind my Table thou shalt hold a Plate,
Or loll behind my gilded Coach in State;
Fare as my self, and in a Palace dwell,
Then follow me, and bid thy Flock farewel.
A Baron gallop'd thro' Mac-Dermot's Grounds,
Well hors'd; persuing o'er the dusty Plain
A Wolf, that sought the neighbr'ing Woods to gain;
Mac hears th'Alarm, and with his Oaken Spear,
Joins in the Chace, and runs before the Peer;
Outstrips the Huntsmen, Dogs, and panting Steeds,
And struck by him the falling Savage bleeds.
The Baron saw with Wonder and Surprize,
The sudden Blow, and scarce believ'd his Eyes;
Then stopping short, survey'd the Swain all o'er,
Lik'd much his Prowess, but his Person more.
Whoe'er thou art (undaunted Youth) said he,
Ill does that Habit with thy Form agree:
Cast off thy Brogues, forsake thy Father's Hutt,
And in a pompous Liv'ry learn to strutt;
6
Or loll behind my gilded Coach in State;
Fare as my self, and in a Palace dwell,
Then follow me, and bid thy Flock farewel.
The ravish'd Youth delay'd not to comply;
Some Authors hold he blush'd, but most deny;
To his new Patron he submissive bow'd,
Nor once look'd back, but mingled with the Crowd.
Some Authors hold he blush'd, but most deny;
To his new Patron he submissive bow'd,
Nor once look'd back, but mingled with the Crowd.
Mac-Dermot now augments the Baron's Train,
And scarce remembers he was once a Swain;
With Rapture tries the Party-colour'd Clothes,
And (Things unknown before) a Shirt and Hose;
His Shoulder with a dangling Knot is grac'd,
His Neckcloth's roll'd, his Hat with Copper lac'd.
And scarce remembers he was once a Swain;
With Rapture tries the Party-colour'd Clothes,
And (Things unknown before) a Shirt and Hose;
His Shoulder with a dangling Knot is grac'd,
His Neckcloth's roll'd, his Hat with Copper lac'd.
7
In vain his Father, and his Friends employ
All Arts to wheedle back their own dear Joy;
Nor Friends nor Father he vouchsafes to hear,
Nor can his Cow extort a single Tear;
His melancholy Cow which lonesome stands,
No longer milk'd by her Mac-Dermot's Hands;
In vain each reas'ning Peasant states the Case,
He scorns their Counsel, and disowns his Race.
All Arts to wheedle back their own dear Joy;
Nor Friends nor Father he vouchsafes to hear,
Nor can his Cow extort a single Tear;
His melancholy Cow which lonesome stands,
No longer milk'd by her Mac-Dermot's Hands;
In vain each reas'ning Peasant states the Case,
He scorns their Counsel, and disowns his Race.
So have I seen a tender, beauteous Maid
Charm'd by some shining Brother of the Blade,
Impatient of the Joy she hopes to taste,
From Friend's elop'd, in Hack to Knights-bridge haste:
The Virgin miss'd, away her Parents run,
And find their Darling yet but half undone;
From Statutes, and from Laws, in vain they plead,
That un-enjoy'd, the Nymph may yet be freed;
In vain they strive her plighted Vows to break,
She posts a way to Bed, and hugs her lovely Rake.
Charm'd by some shining Brother of the Blade,
Impatient of the Joy she hopes to taste,
From Friend's elop'd, in Hack to Knights-bridge haste:
The Virgin miss'd, away her Parents run,
And find their Darling yet but half undone;
8
That un-enjoy'd, the Nymph may yet be freed;
In vain they strive her plighted Vows to break,
She posts a way to Bed, and hugs her lovely Rake.
| Mac-Dermot | |