THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT of his JOURNEY to IRELAND . To Mr. JOHN ELLIS . By the late MOSES MENDES , Esq. Dublin , July 5 , 1744. DEAR SIR , BY the lyre of Apollo , the locks of the Muses , And the pure lucid stream Aganippe produces , My Ellis , I love thee , then pay me in kind , Let the thought of a friend never slip from your mind ; So may fancy and judgment together combine , And the bosom be fill'd with an ardor divine ; That thy brows may the laurel with justice still claim , And the Temple of Liberty mount thee to fame . If it e'er can give pleasure to know my career , When proud London I left with intentions so queer , Accept it in verse . On the very first day When the queen of warm passions precedes the fair May , When , so custom prescribes , and to follow old rules , One half of mankind makes the other half fools ; From the town I first breath'd in , I sally'd in haste Thro' Highgate and Finchley , and Barnet I pass'd : At St. Alban's I din'd with a laughing gay crew , Not complete was the set without Tucker and you . Where the Dunstable . Eighth of our Harries deserted his mate , And procur'd a full sentence against his old Kate , Our brisk company supp'd , while our wine gave a spring , And tho' at the Crown , we ne'er thought of the King . The morrow succeeding I got from my bed , As a sheet all the roads were with snows overspread ; But the gods , who will never abandon a poet , As oft has been said , condescended to show it , In a coach and six horses the storm I defy'd ; And , left by my friends , thro' the tempest I ride . Newport-Pannel receiv'd me , and gave me a dinner , And a bed at Northampton was press'd by a sinner : No signs of fair weather , the West Chester coach At nine the next morning , a welcome approach , Presents fresh example ; I travell'd all day , At Crick eat my dinner , at Coventry lay ; I tremble whene'er I reflect on the roads That lead to those dirty worm-eaten abodes , Where a Lady Godiva . woman rode naked their taxes to clear , And a taylor for peeping paid damnably dear ; For A parliament was held here in the reign of Henry IV . called Parliamentum Indoctorum , another in Henry VI . called Diabolicum . two parliaments fam'd , which intail a disgrace , And have left their foul manners to poison the place . Next morning the fun , with a face of red hue , Had clear'd up th' expanse , and array'd it in blue , When I left the vile town , 'gainst which ever I'll rail , While Meriden is famous for ale . Meriden offers no humble regale ; But near Mixal Park din'd at house of mean fame , And at night to the Campus Cadaverum was the ancient name for Litchfield , on account of a prosecution there in the days of Dioclesian . field of slain carcasses came ; Tho' full old are thy tow'rs , yet receive my just praise , May thy ale be recorded , and live in my lays : Thy Gothic cathedral new homage still claims , Nor refuse I thy due , tho' repair'd by king James . King James II . I forgot to advise you , the sky being clear , 'Twas at Coventry first I ascended my chair ; But , alas , on the morrow , how dismal the sight ! For the day had assum'd all the horrors of night , The clouds their gay visage had chang'd to a frown , And in a white mantle cloath'd Litchfield's old town ; But at noon all was o'er , when intrepid and bold As a train-band commander , or Falstaff of old , And proudly defying the wind and the snow , When the danger was pass'd , I determin'd to go . At Stone I repos'd , but at Ousley I din'd , When our reck'ning was cheap and the landlord was kind : Next morning we sally'd , and Staffordshire lost ; But not ill entertain'd by a Cestrian host . On the banks of the Wever , at Namptwich renown'd For an excellent brine pit , our dinner we found ; The wine was not bad , tho' the ale did displease , And an unctuous desert was serv'd up of old cheese ; But as time will not tarry , our course we resume , And General St. George's dragoons were marching up to London , and a party of them just came in when we were leaving it . St. George's dragoons take their seats in our room : So travelling onwards with pleasure we see Old Caerleon so famous o'er looking the Dee ; Four days there we rested , and blithsome and gay Forgot the bad weather we met on the way ; Then old Chester , farewel , till I see thee again , And can stroll thro' thy streets The streets of Chester have shops on each side covered over , which if not beautiful to the eye , at least preserve one from the rain . without dreading the rain ; May thy river People are now employed to make the river Dee navigable up to the town . still swell , better pleas'd with his charge Than when Edgar was row'd by eight kings in his barge ; Be the maidens all virtuous who drink of thy tide , And each virgin in bloom be affianc'd a bride ; May the heart and the hand at the altar be join'd , And no matron complain that a husband's unkind ; Let their bounty to strangers refound in each song , Be Robert Barnstone , Esq who used me with the utmost hospitality . Barnstone their copy , they cannot go wrong . O'er the cuts of the river our tract we pursue , And old Flint in the prospect now rises to view ; How strange to behold , here our language is fled , To converse with these people's to talk to the dead ; And a Turk or Chinese is as well understood By these Roisters , who boast of Cadwalladar's blood , As an Englishman here , who is certainly undone If he thinks to make use of the language of London . From Flint we depart with our landlord and guide , Who show'd us that kindness which courts never try'd , The castle where It was at this place that Richard was prevailed upon to resign the crown . Richard his grandeur laid down , And betray'd his own life by surrend'ring the crown : Now the Holy-well . well we survey , where St. Winifred , patroness of Wales . a virgin of old To all flame but religion's was lifeless and cold , When in vain princely Cradoc had offer'd his bed , The merciless heathen e'en chopp'd off her head : Hence the stones are distain'd with the colour of blood , And each cripple is cur'd who will bathe in the flood : Thus the rankest absurdity brain can conceive , Superstition imposes , and crowds will believe ! Turn from legends and nonsense , to see a gay sight , Where the The vale of Clewyn . meadows of Clewyn the senses delight , And excuse that I aim not to point out the place Lest my numbers too lowly the landscape disgrace ; At Rhydland we dine , and a castle we view , Whose founder I'd name if the founder I knew ; But our host gives the word , and we hurry away , Lest the length of the journey out-run the short day ; Now ascend Penmenrose , oh ! beware as you rise , What a prospect of horror , what dreadful surprize ! See that height more sublime , which no footsteps e'er try'd , There the ocean roars loudly , how awful his pride ! How narrow the path , observe where you tread , Nor stumble the feet , nor grow dizzy the head ; If you slip , not mankind can avert your sad doom , Dash'd against the rough rocks , and the sea for your tomb ! The danger is past , and now Conway's broad beech , Fatigu'd and dismay'd , with great gladness we reach ; In a leaky old boat we were wafted safe o'er , ( Tho' two drunkards our steersmen ) to th' opposite shore . Here the town and the river are both of a name , And boast the first Edward , who rais'd her to fame : There a supper was order'd , which no one could touch , This too little was boil'd , and that roasted too much ; To his chamber full hungry each pilgrim retreats , And forgets his lost meal 'twixt a pair of Welch sheets . A castle hard by I with pleasure behold , Which Kings had long dwelt in , or giants of old ; But the daw , and each night-bird , now builds up her nest , And with clamours and shrieks the old mansion infest . We waken'd at four , and our host left us here , As the worst ways were past , so but small was our fear ; We follow'd our route , and cross'd Penmenmaur'sside , Where the prudent will walk , but the bolder will ride . Still above us old rocks seem to threaten a fall , And present to spectators the form of a wall : Now Bangor we reach , oh , if e'er thou hadst fame , Tho' lawn sleeves thou bestow'st , on my life 'tis a shame ; There we cross o'er an arm of the sea , and carouse On the opposite shore at an excellent house ; Thro' Anglesea's island we rattle our chaise , While the goats all in wonder seem on us to gaze ; For be pleas'd to observe , and with diligence note , That 'twas here first in Wales that I met with a goat . O'er roads rough and craggy our journey we sped , Nor baited again 'till we reach'd Holyhead . The next day at noon in the Wyndham we sail , And the packet danc'd brisk with a prosperous gale . We at ten past the Dublin Bar. Bar ; in the wherry confin'd , Which swims on no water , and sails with no wind , 'Till near two we sate cursing , in vain they may row , Not a snail is so sluggish , nor tortoise so slow , 'Till a boat took us in , and at length set us down At the quay of St. George in St. Patrick's chief town : Thence I wrote to my friend , nor believe what those say , Or too fond to find fault , or too wantonly gay , Who with taunts contumelious this island o'erload , As with bogs , and with blunders , and nonsense full stow'd ; For , believe me , they live not unbless'd with good air , And their daughters are beauteous , and sons debonair : Here tho' Bacchus too often displays his red face , Yet Minerva he holds in the strictest embrace ; Nor the maiden is coy ev'ry charm to resign , And the ivy and laurel peep forth from the vine . Thus I've told you in verse the whole progress I took , As true as if sworn in full court on the book , Let me know how in London you measure your time , 'Twill be welcome in prose , but twice welcome in rhyme .