Star. — 1829-09-09 (London, England)

RIVAL   FROM THE NOBLE DUKE TO THE FLOWER OF CONNAUGHT.  My dear Flow', of Connaught—your letter came duly,— Jack Lawmo—that wonderful man—gave it in ; It pains one to Ind you so loud and unruly, After all I've effected to silence your din. You said thro' your champion, O'Conszt., you wanted Mere freedom of conscience to stay you from crime ; And now that your clamorous wishes are granted— You swear 'twas your stomachs you meant all the time. But have not your chiefs found their way to our Senate?— Arch wags—knowing well what fine pickings are there ; They long d to get footing—and now they are in it, What need you complain that yoo're hungry and bare? Yoe cry out for bread, friend—but where shall I find it ? It is not for me people's wants to provide ; You may make a row—but I'm shot if I'll mind it, I've hard work enough with all Europe beside. Yoe said in your first,—that your person wants breeches.— The summer is rainy—you need not walk out ; Or smear yourself thick in the mud of your ditches. Like tightfitting mourning 'twill wrap you about. 'Tie laid you want trade—why, improve that in relics ; You want manufactures—go, fabricate turf ; And money !—you fool,—why. 'ti, money so well makes The diff'reoce existing 'twist Master and Cerf. You swear at the taxes,—'tis Christian to bear them; You vow the new Freeholds elective—are dear ; Persuade then the rich to consent that you share them— And, thus, all the world will he voters, 'tis clear. You say you are starving to death,—oh ! you glutton ! Fed freely with fresh Apostolical grace ; If, however. your maw scorning Lent, yearns for mutton, Why not eat each other ?—You poor sheepish race. An Irishman curd must make very good bane, Sir,— ♦ fellow, if fat, might support one a week ; Then haste to catch Paddies.—make merry and cram, Sir,— Bach friend, like a larder, presents a rump steak. Now, there's a provision, and truly I hope, Sir, It merits your thanks, and accords with your taste ; If not, why all Ireland is free to elope, Sir, And that plaguey sod grow a purified wane. Merramess world then send Pandours and slave breeders, Inured to police. and the blest feudal sway ; The Pore would secndt me fresh Jesuit leaders, To blind the new vassals,--and lead them astray. I, Pm, ASERDZIN, then. in triple coalition, Would rule like firm despots, as masters should do. Made Greed Zhou of Ireland—Oh! darling ambition ! Till then, Flower of Connaught, I bid you adieu.  •• • •  P. S. Oh murder!—l'm hit—clearly ruined, bambootrd— The Russians have teen Adrianople I hear ! Betwiet them and yen and the rest. I'm so petard— I'm all topsy-turvy,—and sweating with fear. Fir GOD'S sake, then, spare me awhile. and be quiet. On my knees I implore you—don't crush a poor man,— If ConstAltineple fans—out-cry and riot Will force me to cut—and be off where I can.  Then don't add your voice to the din, I beseech you,Bbould 01411 take the Posca,—lll to Muir and turn snook ; But if it stands out—oh, you rogue, then I'll teach you, How you joining clamour thus add to my funk. Now happen what will—still I did not deceive ye,— I told you my brains were unfitted to rule; It was not my fault that folks would not believe me.— At the worst they can only arraign me as tool. ••• • •