cxc LIFE OF 



in his " Voyage to Ireland " he says that great part of his land 

 was " pawned to the devil, " and in his Burlesque on the Great 

 Frost, that he 



" Was numb'd in that strange fashion, 

 I would not sign an obligation 

 (Though heaven such a friend ne'er sent me), 

 Would one a thousand pounds have lent me 

 On my own bond." 



In his epistle to the Earl of , after complaining that he 



had heard nothing of his lordship for a long time, he proceeds : 



"But let that pass, you now must know 

 We do on our last quarter go ; 

 And that I may go bravely out, 

 Am trowling merry bowl about, 

 To lord, and lady, that and this, 

 As nothing were at all amiss, 

 When after twenty days are past, 

 Poor Charles has eat and drunk his last. 

 No more plum-porridge then, or pie, 

 No brawn with branch of rosemary, 

 No chine of beef, enough to make 

 The tallest yoeman's chine to crack ; 

 No bagpipe humming in the hall, 

 Nor noise of housekeeping at all. 

 Nor sign, by which it may be said, 

 This house was once inhabited. 

 I may perhaps, wivh much ado, 

 Rub out a Christmas more or two ', 

 Or, if the fates be pleas'd, a score. 

 But never look to keep one more." 



It would seem from what follows that he once contemplated 

 flying to France or Flanders for refuge, and that the nobleman to 

 whom the epistle is addressed commanded the regiment in which 

 he had served as a Captain : 



" But that's too serious. Then suppose, 

 Like travelling Tom, with dint of toes, 

 I'm got unto extremes! shore, 

 Sick, and impatient to be o'er 

 That channel which secur'd my state 

 Of peace, whilst I was fortunate, 

 But in this moment of distress, 

 Confines me to unhappiness : 

 But where's the money to be had 

 This surly Neptune to perswade ? 

 It is no less then shillings ten, 

 Gods will be brib'd as well as men. 

 Imagine then your Highlander 

 Over a cann of muddy beer, 

 Playing at passage with a pair 

 Of drunken fumblers for his fare ; 

 And see I've won, oh, lucky chance, 

 Hoist sail amain, my mates, for France ; 

 Fortune was civil in this throw, 

 And, having robb'd me, lets me go. 

 I've won, and yet how could I choose, 

 He needs must win, that cannot lose ; 

 Fate, send me then a happy wind, 

 And better luck to those behind. 



