On the BOYN ROCK

Where ancient Boyn his edies run, In rowling streams against the Sun, And do's in curling mazes stray, On liquid murmurs to the Sea; Close by the spot of happy Ground, Where Nassau felt a harmless Wound: Who bravely fought, through fate his way, Nor damp'd by dangers won the Day; Near that place, a Pile appears, Disguis'd with Age and Gray with Years; It's nodding Summit seems to peep, And view it's shadow in the deep; Upon it's brow is always seen, A Haugh-thorn Bush, that's ever green: It's Convex o'er the Current swells, The Concave forms two dreary cells; That are a safe and cool Retreat, From Winter's Storms, and Summers heat; Within whose Caverns now and then, Do meet young Lasses and young Men; What there they do I dare but think, It's frightful sure so near the Brink: My friend and I have often sat, Upon it's Brow with chearful Chat; Where with delight we'd sit and spy, The Salmon flouncing at a Flie; And when the Trout with nimble Leap, Above the wave display'd his Shape; And made the limpid Mirror swell, In curling Rings when down he fell. Thus engag'd the pleasant while. We did our Time and Cares beguile; Then sunk in thought, enquir'd the Cause, Of what we saw and Natures Laws: How Vapours drawn from Earth and Sea, By Phoehus's warm attractive Ray; Did wrapt in Clouds a while remain. And when condens'd descend in Rain: Then strain'd through Rocks did purer flow, And rose, refin'd in Springs below. Which straying from their native source, Unites in streams of rapid force; That blooming Verdure always yields, To paint the Lawns and fertil Fields: 'Till lost in wonder ws gave o'er, And learn'd their Author to adore; From thence we saw, in order meet, Some Ships on Land, a moving Fleet; Born by Tritons from the Shore. Who hung a Galley on each Oar: Sons of Neptune that can bear, Upon their Backs a Man of War: Those Oval Barks of skins are made, Their Paddl's like a broken Spade; When fix'd within those whirling Dishes, They fill their Nets with shoals of Fishes; Then each by lot receives his due, And homewards lugs his light Canoe: The Angler too with Flies and Hooks, That puddles in the Ponds and Brooks; Expecting still some lucky rise, Who waits the Fortune, of his Flies; Him too we saw with Rod and Line, Amusing thought beguiling Time: When Faint and Dry he homewards came, And swore the Wind had spoil'd his Game; Who said, he threw, and threw again, Exchang'd his Baits, but still in vain, But added he, to chear my sorrow I hope to meet good sport to-morrow; You see the River seems to clear, The Wind I hope will quickly veer; Those friendly Clouds that hide the Sun, Will make a chearful dusky Noon; When we shall to the Banks resort, And find an Hour's delightful sport. Fatigues to me are but a Sham, Could all this Road afford a Dram; For shame, that none of all the Club Will at the Tavern sell some Bub. There's not a Brother, sure wou'd fail, But each wou'd help to drink his ALE; And every Day there passes many; That for a Dram would drop their Penny; At for me I'm always willing, Once a week to spend my Shilling. But let me see who shall we get, That at the Rock may sell some Wet; Why Frank, ifaith's the only Man, For he and we are Cup, and Can, An honest hearty loving Fellow, Will crack a Crock till he is Mellow: And will besides provide a Dish, A pair of Rabbits or some Fish; Not a Day or Night in twenty, You will find his Castle empty. There's nothing can his humour Curl, And on my soul he is no Churl; Besides he may with ease attend, His Lordship's Work so near at hand: In short there's not a Man alive. That at the Rock would sooner thrive; Now were we in Counsel set, And most of all the Club were met, He said, when each with Heart and Voice, Made honest Frank the common Choice; My Friend th' invited out of Hand, And soon possess'd him of his Land; The House that long neglected lay, To weep it's Ruin in scraps of Clay: Do's now display it's gaudy Air, And proudly boasts its new Repair; The tatter'd Roof disdains a Flaw, And shows its Fleece of Wheaten Straw; With Walls and Windows plaster'd o'er, And temper'd Clay to pave the Floor; Whilst all within is neat and clean, With Implements in order seen; No more shall Goblins there resort, Or Fairies keep their midnight Court; Now shall it's Crannys, Creeks and Holes, No longer lodge the Batts and Owls. But now it will be ever gay, With WHISKY flowing Night and Day; Within this rural homely Spot, All carking cares are quite forgot. Here mirth and joy shall both abound, And Love and Friendship still go round: Here Francis sits at ease and rest, To entertain an honest Guest; A worthy Chap does now begin, And on my faith no pluck'em in; It's here old Dudly shews his Scars, And tells of Flanders and the Wars; Of Hocksted's plain and brave defeat, And how the creeping French were beat; And here his troubles to redress, Resorts the Noble Prince of Hess; Maro too, sedate and wise, Often comes to make his Flies: Maro with open candid Soul. A mind as Generous as the Bowl. Himself an honest chearful Guest, The life and grace of e'vry Feast; In him two shining gems contend, Which speak the Scholar and the Friend. But see the Hero by his side, Who cuff'd the Waves and foaming Tide; Sure friendship fir'd his worthy Heart, That could Altides charms desert; Not beauties power could him arrest, He waded dangers to the Waste: His presence glads the chearful throng, And sooth's their care with Pipe and Song; His Musick can a pasage find, To move the Soul and lull the Mind. It's thus the Jocund Chorus join, And quaff in plenty at the BOYN, Boon companions daily flock, To meet a welcome at the Rock.