THE SNARE.  

AS I along the Mall one Evening walked,  
I heard two Voices, but saw none that talked;  
It being dusk, I endeavoured to draw near,  
Being Curious in these times some News to hear:  
When listening earnestly I understood  
That they were Persons near Allied in Blood.  
How their Discourse began, I can't declare,  
But this that follows, is what I did hear.   

Brother, When I your Name and Place did bear,  
I sought the People's Love before their Fear,  
And by that Means both Fear and Love I got,  
From the Rich Ermine to the Russet Coat:  
And now you find what I have oft declared.  
The Vulgar must be Loved, or they'll be Feared:  
They'll Suffer long, and much, but once Enraged,  
Devouring Flames more easy are Assuaged.  
When urged past Reason, they'll no Reason hear,  
Nor Credit aught, that you can say, or swear.  
Your Word once broke, none values it at all,  
Though Heaven and Earth for Witnesses you call:  
Had you, like me, kept on the Vizor still,  
You with more Ease had wrought 'em to your Will;  
But when the Game is by the Huntsman Scared,  
'Twere a Folly, if they should Neglect their Guard.  
You know the Irish I at distance kept,  
Who in an Instant to your Bosom crept.  
I soon discerned how 'gainst the Hair it went  
For Irishmen to sit in Parliament.   

They are obnoxious in their Conversation,  
And aught to be Confined to their own Nation;  

Their Honour is proportioned to their Sense,  
Their Language, Lying, Oaths and Impudence,  
With which Accomplishments they serve their Prince.   
For if they are Irish, it must be understood,  
They're qualified for all that's Great and Good:  
Which with much ease all sober Men may gather,  
By the Success 've had since they came hither.  
But if you'd clear the Mists before your Eyes,  
You'd see how you are made their Prey and Prize,  
Swallowing with haste those poisoned Notions down,  
Of Priests and Mac's and Sycophants o'th' Gown,  
While your poor Flocks for safety from you fly,  
And in your Bosom Woolves and Tigers lie.  
When to defend their Liberty and Laws,  
A needful Sword Unwillingly each draws;  
And Neighbouring Princes to their Succours come,  
Knowing too well the Cruelties of Rome:  
Witness the fatal Engines they prepare  
Against their yet intended Massacre,  
Their Cauldrons, Gridirons, Bridles, Spits and Swords,  
Envenomed Shirts, and their Tormenting Cords,  
Their Boots of Boiling Oil, Tortures and Racks,  
Their barbarous Priests, and the more barbarous Mac's,  
Their Half-Crown Cutthroats kept three Years in pay  
To help to bear the Burden of the Day.   

Now to be balked in such an Expectation,  
And your Designs made public through the Nation;  
To be Abandoned by your Friends and Forces,  
Who all Abominate such Horrid Courses.  
Now to be Questioned for the things 've Acted,  
Would make a much more Solid Man Distracted;  
And after all for a continual Curse,  
To be By one damned Fury Tortured worse.   

Now those who in your blindfold Counsels fate,  
May take a Prospect of their Future State,  
But can no more resist, than altar Fate.   

Nay, they'd forsake you, and to tother run,  
But that of all the World, 'tis him they'd shun:  
They hang about you still with fainting Hopes,  
And Dream each Night of Axes and of Ropes;  
Their Countenance is fallen, and they declare,  
Like Cain, Their Punishment they cannot bear.   

Now, Sir, prepare against the Day of Trial,  
You deal with such as will have no Denial;  
I know it suits not with your haughty Mind,  
To stoop to any thing of Humane Kind:  
But Patience upon Force has oft been known,  
To be endured, though Coveted by none.   

You see while others Ruin you prepare,  
Yourself is Headlong fallen into the Snare.   
FINIS.