DUBLIN: Printed by P: BYRNE. MDCCLXXXVIII.
DUBLIN: PRINTED BY P. BYRNE, No. 108, GRAFTON-STREET.
M,DCC,LXXXVIII.
FROM your writings I received all that in⯑expreſſible Pleaſure and Improvement which Eru⯑dition ever affords the Mind of the feeling Man: From your Writings I learned to form a juſt Character of thoſe illuſtrious Worthies, your mighty Predeceſſors, in that Chair where you now ſit.—Permit me then, great Man! as a Lover of Poeſy, and Reverer of Merit, to pay you this tributary Token of Reſpect.
TIRED with the Importunities of many, I at length ſelected the following Trifles, and preſume to preſent them to the pub⯑lic eye.
HOW far "Idle Verſes eſſayed in early Age," may meet the public Approbation, I cannot tell; but he who endeavours well, ſurely ought not to be cenſured.
[vi]JUVENILLE Compoſitions ſometimes meet more good-natured Readers than rigid Critics: may ſuch be the Fate of this Vo⯑lume, written by an Author between his fifteenth and nineteenth Years.
SUCH Senſations as are in the Boſom of a penitent Criminal certain of immediate Death, but unknowing whither his im⯑mortal Soul may go; ſuch ſtrong Senſa⯑tions now beat high in me, whilſt with a trembling Hand I pen theſe Lines, fearing the fatal Conſequences "of flying from the ſafe Scenes of Privacy to meet in giddy Haſte the public Eye."
BUT as ſome of the Productions of my boyiſh Fancy had appeared in the different [vii] periodical Papers, I the more readily con⯑ſented to this Publication; and the Poems (ſuch as they are) will be here found more correct.
SOME people will perhaps accuſe me of that Vanity which ſo powerfully predomi⯑nates in the youthful Mind, for attempt⯑ing to climb that Aſcent down which ſo many have tumbled.—In what I have written I meant well; I therefore preſent it to the Public, not with the Arrogance of an aſſuming young Man, but with all the ſubmiſſive Modeſty of an Author.
Homo ſum—et nihil humanum à me alienum.
I am a Man, and bleſs'd with manly Feeling.
I WAS brought the other day by ſome of my juvenile acquaintance, into a cock-pit, and there heard the moſt gentle reproof that the tender lips of parental love could utter. Johannes, a ſage gentleman, whom curioſity led to the pit, [72] chanced to ſee his ſon Gallus at the oppoſite ſide, holding wagers; when the battle was terminated, Johannes aſked Gallus did he loſe. "No," re⯑plied he, with the quick voice of joy, "I have won a crown." "I'm ſorry for it," returned Johannes." Then after ſhaking his head and making a long pauſe, he continued— ‘I hope that crown may not coſt you five hundred pounds.’
Theſe few words made ſo deep an impreſſion on my mind that I inſtantly left the pit, and vowed never to enter one again. When I had got home, reflection and ſober reaſon made me plainly ſee the barbarity of that, which is termed an amuſement only by the unfeeling, inconſide⯑rate, and mean.
Thoſe people who are termed Cockers, are in general ignorant, avaricious, indolent, fond of [73] inebriety, and fond of accumulating money 'in an eaſy way,' as they expreſs themſelves; with⯑out once conſidering it is alſo an eaſy way of loſ⯑ing it. What but a ſordid deſire of lucre makes a man go to ſuch an opprobrious place! Youth ſhould beware how they enter a cock-pit: if they win, they bet on expecting to win more; if they loſe, Hope, which is ſo predominant in the hu⯑man mind, ſtimulates them to bet on, with the deſire of recovering their own. Turn your ſteps far from this ſeat of immorality and corruption, where the diſcordant voices of the blaſphemers perpetually prophane that awful name, at the ſound of which Virtue ſhudders with a religious fear.
How many illuſtrious perſonages have fallen unhappy victims to their inſatiable paſſion for cock-fighting, and involved their riſing families [72] [...] [73] [...] [74] in ruin! that fortune which ſhould be theirs by hereditary right, the hand of Imprudence has ſquandered, by diſcharging the honourable debts at the ſod.
The barbarity of this epidemic paſtime no leſs affects the heart with ſenſations of pity, than the ſight of men, who ſtake one half of their fortunes on a black-breaſted duck-wing, of yellow pile affects the mind with wonder. A thouſand pounds loſt in a few minutes! ſuch, in the courſe of years, muſt exhauſt a man's pecuniary reſources, were he maſter even of the riches of Chili and Peru. What do cockers or gamblers of any denomina⯑tion depend on? Chance, blind chance. The unpropitious termination of a ſingle battle may perhaps hurl them headlong from the glittering pinnacles of magnificence, to the vaſt profundity of poverty, and from thence to the low gloomy [75] manſions of confinement, where they may paſs away their dark days till death tranſports them from the miſeries of life.
The pathetic Pope ſtrongly inveighs againſt the cruelty practiſed by man to inferior creatures; and the unmanly diverſions of cock-fighting and throwing at cocks, have been reprobated by him, and many of his cotemporaries. I knew a gentle⯑man who tortured every creature, that his viſitors might compare him to Domitian, becauſe that monſter once filled the powerful chair of domi⯑nion. I have ſeen him put two flies on a needle, one at the eye, the other at the point, and while they in agonies would pull againſt each other, he'd cry—"Behold Domitian."
I ſhall conclude this paper with the ſtory of Zai, which I recollect to have heard in the happy [76] days of boyiſh innocence: Zai was the only ſon of Amazar the wealthy, who had amaſſed im⯑menſe riches by bringing merchandize from Egypt, and ſelling it again at conſiderable profit. Amazar, at the age of twenty-nine, met with an irreparable loſs, which drove him to the height of melancholy: this was the death of the beau⯑tiful Haſora, to whom he had been eight years joined in all the endearing bands of wedlock.— The only conſolation the diſconſolate Amazar had, was in the glooms of retirement, careſſing little ſmiling Zai, the ſole pledge of that pure love he had borne the amiable Haſora.
Zai had now ſeen ſeven ſummers, his lovely viſage and engaging ways made him the delight of every who frequented his father's houſe. But let us now reverſe the leaf. Behold the youth (when the cold hand of Death conſigned the ten⯑der parent to the grave) poſſeſſed of thoſe riches [77] which the hand of Frugality had gathered, to keep him independent of mankind. The pro⯑miſing hope of the reſpected—Amazar now ſpends his whole time in the company of Iſ⯑maen, the gambler. See! ſee! how quickly he empties the foaming goblet of intoxication. Are thoſe pale lips the once roſy ones of Zai, which were ſo often wont to kiſs the cooling cup of lime-juice and water?—Yes, Heaven, they are!—But what a metamorphoſis!
Zai's conſtitution was ſoon broke, his money as ſoon ſpent. What could he do? He ran in debt to ſupport nature, and his mercileſs creditor thruſt him in the diſmal confines of a priſon, where he expired a victim to his inordinate de⯑ſires.
IN the north of Ireland I met with a gentleman to whoſe good nature I am indebted for a copy of the following Poem; it is the production of the late Rev. William Pilkington, Curate of Omagh, capital of the county of Tyrone. This genius is reputed to have been a ſon of Dean Swift's, by the celebrated Mrs. Laetitia Pilkinton. I am told he was the exact image of Swift, and a man whoſe abi⯑lities were univerſally acknowledged; his ſatiric talent, which was very great, procured him high diſreſpect from the brethren of the gown: he was a graceful and eloquent preacher, but not a very rigid obſerver of the doctrine he preached. [82] The burden of a large family, with the attendant anxieties and cares, extremely depreſſed the ge⯑nerous ſpirit of this pleaſing companion. Think⯑ing to drown the memory of his afflictions, he frequented Bacchanalian ſocieties, and latterly drank ſtrong liquors when alone; this, at length, put a period to his exiſtence: he expired, in a manner truly pitiable, a deplorable ſpectacle of ungovernable paſſion.
It is not eaſy to determine whether the number of iſlands be greater in ſummer or winter: during this latter ſeaſon, the water riſes eight or ten feet, and thus many low iſlands are overflown, and new ones formed, by that element's encompaſſing riſing grounds.
Quaque patet domites Romana potentia terris.