_Written on the Union_, 1801, _by a celebrated Barrister of Dublin._
_Adapted to the Commercial Failures_, 1800.
Why should we exclaim, that the times are so bad,
Pursuing a querulous strain?
When Erin gives up all the rights that she had,
What _right has she left to com_plain?
* * * * *
The Cit complains to all he meets,
That grass will grow in Dublin streets,
And swears that all is over!
Short-sighted mortals, can't you see,
Your mourning will be chang'd to glee--
For then you'll live in _clover_.
* * * * *
_Necessitas non habet legem._