Resurrection of the potatoes
O F T H E
Being an ANSWER to the ELEGY on their DEATH.
SAINT Patrick, Guardian of this Iſle,
On thy poor Votarys now ſmile.
Revive our Hopes, diſpel our Fear,
And if thou canſt, pray lend an Ear.
Saint Bridget, Thou, and Columkill,
Whoſe Names our Kalendars do fill ;
As you are Birds all of a Feather,
Come now and lay your Heads together,
See what your Wiſdoms can invent,
To free our Friends in Priſon pent,
Dear Friends, Potatoes, cloſe confin'd,
And to moſt cruel Deaths deſtin'd ;
If there's not ſent a quick Reprieve,
We'll all be ſtarv'd, you may believe.
On Thee (great Patron !) we depend,
Whoſe Life in doing Good didſt ſpend,
By Virtue of thy Hazel Wand,
All ven'mous Creatures didſt command
From this bleſt Iſle, to go a Driſt,
And in ſome others Countries ſhift.
Thy Brother Andrew did ſubmit,
To do the like, Saint George thought ſit ;
So that their Lands ſtill do Infeſt,
That Serpentine and direful Peſt,
This of Saints, that's due to Thee,
Is from that curſed Vermin free ;
If in the Fleſh you cou'd do this,
What is't you cannot do in Bliſs ?
Methinks I hear our Patron ſay,
let not this thing your Hearts diſmay,
Your deareſt Friends, Potatoes, ſhall,
Be ſoon relieved from this Thrall ;
You think your Friends will all be loſt,
By this ſad penetrating Froſt ;
That them in Priſon it will ſtop,
So out their Heads they cannot pop,
But you will find the quite contrary,
By Grace and Goodneſs of bleſt Mary,
For Phoebus ſoon will get Commiſſion,
To ſend 'em ſtraight a Manumiſſion ;
And Not as too, with dropping Wings,
Will pour on them his Southron ſprings ;
Theſe will thoſe Priſon doors unlock,
And you reſtore to your wont ſtock.
Now ſhall Potatoes, you thought Dead,
Riſe by the ſpud and ſhew their Head ;
As Flowers and Herbs, moſt diſappear,
' Till coming of the Vernal Year :
Their fine and gaudy Tops lye low,
All cover'd o'er with Froſt and Snow ;
Their Beauty hid from Mortal Eye,
As in a Grave unknown doth lye,
Yet when the Sun's enlivening Ray,
His Genial Heat doth once diſplay.
Then ev'ry Herb and pleaſant Flow'r,
By ſolar Heat and quick'ning Show'r,
Their Froſt nip'd Heads, ſhall raiſe on High,
And fragrantly ſalute the Sky,
So your Potatoes, make no noiſe,
Shall be reſtor'd to my dear Joys ;
You ſhall Regale at heretofore,
And have Potatoes in great Store ;
Believe me, if you won't a Stranger,
All is not loſt that is in Danger ;
Tho' Boreas, with congealing Blaſt,
A Frozen Covering o'er them caſt.
Yet kindly Sheets of Snow above,
Unto their Beds as Comforts prove,
And genial Clods in Tellus Womb,
Will be to them a friendly Tomb,
From whence with beauty they'll ariſe,
To pleaſe your Stomach and your Eyes.
Some, not ſo, hardy as the reſt,
Will, by this Evil, be diſtreſt,
On which account, I wou'd that all
My Brethren of the Sacred Poll,
This Year no Tyth of you demand.
Extending Char'ty thro' the Lend ;
In This ſure muſt their Maſter Great,
The Tribe of Levi imitate.
For it is meet Men of the Gown,
With Charity their Labours Crown ;
Some ſay the Church was always greedy,
But that's a Lie, they help the Needy !
And as they Charity Up-preach,
You ſee they act juſt as they teach,
Elſe Thouſands muſt in time of Need,
Have a cold Coal to blow indeed,
T'would be if they'd not help the Poor,
When the Steed's ſtolen, ſhut the Door.
For if Aſſiſtance was not lent,
They'd ſoon begin a long black Lent ;
Then ſhoals of Ghoſts muſt o'er the Ferry,
Conveyed be in Charon's Wherry.
Removed now is all our Fear,
Moſt welcome News is that we hear,
And our great Patron's Day's at hand,
Which muſt our Gratitude command ;
Potatoes then, with good ſalt Fiſh,
Shall, for his Honour, be the Diſh ;
Full Tables crown'd with this choice Fare,
Will for a boozing Bout prepare :
Let each, ſecur'd from this great Loſs,
In Triumph wear St. Patrick's Croſs,
Or elſe a Shamrog plain or guilt,
With which Hibernia's Plains are ſillr.
Our Froſt-nipt Shamrogs, we will drown,
And Patrick ſhall each Bumper crown.
His Memory fragrant ſtill ſhall be,
Whilſt dear Potatoes we can ſee,
And each returning Year we'll think
On Patron Paddy, while we drink :
Welcome Potatoe ! welcome Friend,
With thee our Joys wou'd had an end
In Sheebing Houſe. Where was a Toaſt
Compared to Potatoe roaſt ?
In Drink, what Flavour it do's give ;
The beſt of Toaſts, as I ſhall live ;
Beſides, in Cookery various ways.
The dreſſing Them, itſelf diſplays.
As firſt, if boyl'd, without much clutter,
Uſe Milk, or Fiſh, or Ruskin Butter ;
If roaſted and with Butter bruis'd,
By a nice Stomach may be us'd ;
Again, if ſo be your intent,
To add a new Ingredient,
Kail, with Potatoes, makes a Dinner,
Moſt ſumptuous brave, as I'm a Sinner,
It is a Diſh of ſtanding Fame,
And is Calcannon term'd by Name.
Potatoe Pudding, every where,
In Cookery a Place doth bear,
And ſuch good Feeding does afford,
That pleaſes Palate of a Lord.
Norab, with Bridget, now rejoyce,
And Chronnons ſing with tuneful Voice,
Seeing Potatoes ſafe and ſound,
Encircle do the Fire round ;
There eat, and roaſt, and boil and eat,
Potatoes choiceſt of all Meat.
Next Madders full of banny Rammar,
Brought in ſhall be by Norab's Gammar.
When Bellys full, then bones at reſt,
Will Pig together in one Neſt :
Hibernia's Lyre with merry ſtrain,
Oar Patron's Mem'ry muſt maintain,
And all our Swains on ev'ry Plain ;
Since what was deemed Dead's Alive,
And with Oarſelves will daily Thrive.
Now to conclude, let us all ſing,
God bleſs our Country, and our King.
DUBLIN : Printed by Edward Waters in Dames'-ſtreet, oppoſite Fownes'-ſtreet, 1739.
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