lowers of Ignatius Loyola, and worthy a place in the New Foundling Hospital for Wit.


I hold for faith What England's church allows,
What Rome's church faith My conscience disavows.
Where the king is head The flock can take no shame,

The flock's milled Who hold the Pope supreme.
Where the altar's dreft The worship's fcarce divine,
The people's bleft Whose table's bread and wine.

He is an ass Who their communion flies,
Who fúns the mass Is catholic and wife:


Pro fide teneo sana Quae docet Anglicana

Affirmat quae Romana Videntur mihi vana,
Sapremus quando rex eít Tum plebs eft fortunatag.
Erraticus tum Grex, eft Cum caput fiat papa,

Altare cum ornatur Communio fit inanis,
Populus tum bcatur Cum mensa vino panis,
Aani nomen meruit Hunc morem qui non capit,

Miffam qui deseruit Catholicus eft & fapit.


WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER, 1767. His Excellency the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland is said to have a fingular turn for portrait painting, which he willingly employs in the service of his friends. He performs gratis, and feldom gives them the trouble of fitting for their pictures. But I believe the talents of this ingenious nobleman never E 6


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had fo fair an occasion of being employed to advan. tage as at present. It happens very fortunately for him, that he has now a set of friends, who seem intended by nature for the subjects of such a pencil. In delineating their features to the public, he will have an equal opportunity of displaying the delicacy of his hand, and, upon which he chiefly piques himself, the benevolence of his heart. But considering the importance of his present cares, I would fain endeavour to save him the labour of the design, in hopes that he will bestow a few moments more upon the execution. Yet I will not presume to claim the merit of invention. The blindness of chance has done more for the painter than the warmest fancy could have imagined ; and has brought together such a group of figures as I believe never appeared in real life, or upon canvas before.


Your principal character, my lord, is a young d-mounted upon a lofty phaeton ; his head grows giddy; his horses carry him violently down a precipice; and a bloody carcase, the fatal emblem of Bri. tannia, lies mangled under his wheels. By the fide of this furious charioteer fits Caution without Forefight, a motley thing, half military, scarce civil. He too would guide ; but, let who will drive, is determined to have a feat in the carriage. If it be porfible, my lord, give him to us in the attitude of an


orator eating the end of a period, which may begin with, " I did not say I would pledge myself" - The rest he eats.

Your next figure must bear the port and habit of a judge; the laws of England under his feet, and before his diftorted vision, a dagger, which he calls the law of nature, and which marshals him the way to murder the c-ft


In such good company the respectable of the C-----) cannot be omitted. A reasonable number of decrees must be piled up behind him, with the word REVERSED in capital letters upon

each of them, and out of his decent lips a compliment à la Tilbury, “ Hell and d

-n blaft


all !” N. B. It would not be amiss to give him the air of farting at the decrees above-mentioned.

There is still a young man, my lord, who I think will make a capital figure in the piece. His features are too happily marked to be mistaken. A single line of his face will be sufficient to give us the heir apparent of Loyola, and all the college.

« A little more of the devil, my lord, if you please, about the

eyebrows ; that's enough, a perfect Malagrida, “ I proteft !” So much for his person; and as for his mind, a blinking bull-dog placed near him

Think on the Tower and me, despair and die ;
The injur'd Orford bids thee droop and die.

Enter the ghost of Ralph. Allen, esq;
Let me be laid within thy bosom, Chm,
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame and forrow;
I thought thee once deserving of my friendship;
But now a convert made by truth and justice,
I join thy new pursuers, once thy friends :

any pains can adequate thy crimes,
May they, thou arch impostor, now await thee.

Enter the ghost of Sir William Pynfent.

Let me fit heavy on thy soul to-morrow;
Pynsent that rais’d thy fortune--not thy fame.
Think on my wronged heirs, who now with justice
Curse the false patriot in their humble state,
And join with me to execrate his baseness;
Let all their wrongs to-morrow be remember'd,
And fink thy edgeless tongue.


Chorus of English ghosts destroyed in Germany.
Awake, awake, inhuman murderer !
Think how we bled to raise thy once-lov'd name,
Which now, alas ! lies bury'd in a title,
Bloody and guilty; guilty, now awake,
To future peers a terrible example.


The ghost of William earl of Bath.
Brother in guilt, remember me to-morrow ;
Let not my fate o erwhelm thy tre:ubling foul !
I that was wasted to death by fulsome honours :
Poor Bath!
Unpitied and dishonour'd, now appear
To warn thee of the danger of to-morrow.
O think on me!

This print will be distributed gratis to the late GCr's remaining friends in the common-council, as few copies will now serve that purpose.

Subscriptions to be taken in at Mr. Dingley's, at North-End, at alderman Beckford's in Soho-Square, and at the Peer's new friend, colonel W. Barré, vicetreasurer of Ireland.


If bees a government maintain,
Why may not rats, of stronger brain
And greater pow'r, as well be thought
By Machiavelian axioms taught ?
And so they are, for thus of late
It happen'd in the rats’ free state.

Their prince (his fubjects more to please) Had got a mighty Cheshire cheese,

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