How will the caitiff wretch be scar'd,
When first he finds himself awake
At the last trumpet, unprepar'd,
And all his grand account to make!
For in that universal call,
Few bankers will to Heaven be mounters;
They'll cry, "Ye shops, upon us fall!
Conceal and cover us, ye counters!"
When other hands the scales shall hold,
And they, in men's and angels' sight
Produc'd with all their bills and gold,
"Weigh'd in the balance, and found light!"
THE DESCRIPTION OF AN IRISH FEAST,
Translated almost literally out of the Original Irish, in the year 1720.
O'ROURK'S noble fare
Will ne'er be forgot,
By those who were there,
Or those who were not.
His revels to keep,
We sup and we dine
On seven score sheep,
Fat bullocks, and swine.
Usquebaugh to our feast
In pails was brought up,
A hundred at least,
And a madder[1] our cup.
- ↑ A wooden vessels.
