By the RIGHT HON. HERVEY REDMOND, LORD VISCOUNT MOUNTMORRES, Of Castle Morres, of the Kingdom of Ireland, &c. &c.

I.
Awake, Hibernian lyre, awake,
To harmony thy strings attune,
O tache their trembling tongue to spake
The glories of the fourth of June.
Auspicious morn!
When George was born
To grace (by deputy) our Irish throne,
North, south, aiste, west,
Of Kings the best,
Sure now he’s _a_quall’d by himself alone;
Throughout the astonish’d globe so loud his fame shall ring,
The d_i_f themselves shall hare the strains the dumb shall sing.

II.
Sons of Fadruig[1], strain your throats,
In your native Irish lays,
Swe_a_ter than the scre_a_ch owl’s notes,
Howl aloud your sov’reign’s praise,
Quick to his hallow’d fane be led
A milk-white BULL, on soft potatoes fed:
His curling horns and ample neck
Let wreaths of verdant shamrock deck,
And perfum’d flames, to rache the sky,
Let fuel from our bogs supply,
Whilst we to George’s health, a’en till the bowl runs o’er
Rich strames of usquebaugh and sparkling whiskey pour.

III.
Of d_i_thless fame immortal heirs,
A brave and patriotic band,
Mark where Ierne’s Volunt_a_res,
Array’d in bright disorder stand.
The Lawyer’s corps, red fac’d with black,
Here drive the martial merchants back;
Here Sligo’s bold brigade advance,
There Lim’rick legions sound their drum;
Here Gallway’s gallant squadrons prance,
And Cork Invincibles are overcome!
The Union firm of Coleraine,
Are scatter’d o’er the warlike plain,
While Tipperary infantry pursues
The Clognikelty horse, and Ballyshannon blues.
Full fifty thousand men we shew
All in our Irish manufactures clad,
Wh_a_ling, manoeuv’ring to and fro,
And marching up and down like mad.
In fr_a_dom’s holy cause they bellow, rant, and rave,
And scorn thems_i_lves to know what they thems_i_lves would have!
Ah! should renowned Brunswick chuse,
(The warlike monarch loves reviews)
To see th_a_se h_a_roes in our Ph_a_nix fight,
Once more, amidst a wond’ring crowd,
The enraptur’d prince might cry aloud,
“Oh! Amherst, what a h_i_venly sight[2]!”
The loyal crowd with shouts should r_i_nd the skies,
To hare their sov’reign make a sp_aa_ch so wise!

IV.
Th_a_se were the bands, ’mid tempests foul,
Who taught their master, somewhat loth,
To grant (Lord love his lib’ral soul!)
Commerce and constitution both.
Now p_a_ce restor’d,
This gracious lord
Would tache them, as the scriptures say,
At laiste, that if
The Lord doth give,
The Lord doth likewise take away.
Fr_a_dom like this who _i_ver saw?
We will, henceforth, for _i_ver more,
Be after making _i_v’ry law,
Great Britain shall have made before[3].

V.
Hence, loath’d Monopoly,
Of Av’rice foul, and Navigation bred,
In the drear gloom
Of British Custom-house Long-room,
’Mongst cockets, clearances, and bonds unholy,
Hide thy detested head.
But come, thou goddess fair and free,
Hibernian reciprocity!
(Which manes, if right I take the plan,
Or _i_lse the tr_a_ity d_i_vil burn!
To get from England all we can;
And give her nothing in return!)
Thee, JENKY, skill’d in courtly lore,
To the swate lipp’d William bore,
He Chatham’s son (in George’s reign
Such mixture was not held a stain),
Of garish day-light’s eye afraid,
Through the postern-gate convey’d;
In close and midnight cabinet,
Oft the secret lovers met.
Haste thee, nymph, and quick bring o’er
Commerce, from Britannia’s shore;
Manufactures, arts, and skill,
Such as may our pockets fill.
And, with thy left hand, gain by stealth,
Half our sister’s envied wealth,
Till our island shall become
Trade’s compl_a_te imporium[4].
Th_a_se joys, if reciprocity can give,
Goddess with thee h_i_nceforth let Paddy live!

VI.
Next to great George be peerless Billy sung:—
Hark! he spakes! his mouth his opes!
Phrases, periods, figures, tropes,
Strame from his mellifluous tongue—
Oh! had he crown’d his humble suppliant’s hopes?
And given him near his much-lov’d Pitt,
Beyond the limits of the bar to sit,
How with his praises had St. Stephen’s rung!
Though Pompey boast not all his patron’s pow’rs,
Yet oft have kind Hibernia’s Peers
To r_a_de his sp_aa_ches lent their ears:
So in the Senate, had his tongue, for hours.
Foremost, amid the youthful yelping pack,
That crow and cackle at the Premier’s back,
A flow of Irish rhetoric let loose,
Beneath the Chicken scarce, and far above the Goose.

[1] Ancient Irish name given to St. Patrick.

[2] The celebrated speech of a Great Personage, on reviewing the camp at Cox-heath, in the year 1779, when a French invasion was apprehended; the report of which animating apostrophe is supposed to have struck such terror into the breasts of our enemies, as to have been the true occasion of their relinquishing the design.

[3] Vide the Fourth Proposition.

[4] Vide Mr. Orde’s speech.