i64 LIFE IN IRELAND 



Full many a dog from hempen string 



Hath Bob by cunning sav'd ; 

 For money he would curse the King, 

 For money make the Four Courts ring, 

 And bless the law he brav'd. 



For cash he 'd stem the torrent's course, 



And run the risk of shame ; 

 For that, go on from bad to worse, 

 And sink o'erwhelm'd by many a curse, 

 Damn'd to inglorious fame. 



So long as Irish Law is fam'd 



For infamous delay, 

 Bob Johnston will in Court be nam'd. 

 As one who never could be sham'd, 



Who bore infernal sway. 



Who peopled Newgate's dens with thieves, 



And hang'd them when he chose ; 

 He who of life another bereaves, 

 For whom a wife and children grieves, 

 Must be the worst of foes. 



Gifted with talents at command, 



And form'd in Courts to shine. 

 Sunk in the refuse of the land. 

 He rose, to light sedition's brand, 

 And spring rebellion's mine. 



The storm has fled, death's meteor gleam'd, 



Life's visions past away ; 

 A ray of vengeance o'er him stream'd, 

 The soul that here so darkly beam'd, 



Has lost the light of day. 



And plung'd to deep and silent gloom, 



Perhaps no more to rise ; 

 For sad must be the mortal's doom. 

 When pure Religion on his tomb, 



Writes— here a villain lies. 



