BETA

LETTER FROM MR JENNINGS.

MR EDITOR,
Grief drives poetry from my mouth with as vehement an explosion as that
with which a bottle of soda water in summer expels the cork. Sir Daniel Don-
nelly’s death has had this effect on me ; it has impregnated me with the gas of
sorrow, and I effervesce in rhyme. My stanzas on the death of that great man
may not be so good as those of others, but they are as sincere as the sincerest.
Put them into your Boxiana collection. If you ever come to Cork, I shall be
happy to supply you with soda water (quart bottles at 12d, pint ditto at 6d.),
with the utmost despatch, and of the best quality. Don’t be afraid of any of
Mr Death-in-the-pot’s nostrums. I remain, sir, your obedient servant,

Cork, March 26th, 1820, 7, Brown Street.

A DIRGE OVER SIR DANIEL DONNELLY ; BY THOMAS JENNINGS.

Tune— “ Molly Astore.”

1.

As down Exchequer Street† I strayed,1
A little time ago,2
I chanced to meet an honest blade,3
His face brimful of wo ;4
I asked him why he seemed so sad,5
Or why he sighed so sore ;6
O Gramachree, och Tom, says he,7
Sir Daniel is no more !8

2.

With that he took me straight away,9
And pensively we went,10
To where poor Daniel’s body lay,11
In wooden waistcoat pent ;12
And many a yard before we reached13
The threshold of his door,14
We heard the keeners as they screeched,15
Sir Daniel is no more !16

† In Dublin.

3.

We entered soft, for feelings sad17
Were stirring in our breast,18
To take out farewell of the lad,19
Who now was gone to rest ;20
We took a drop of Dan’s potheen,*21
And joined the piteous roar ;22
O, where shall be his fellow seen,23
Since Daniel is no more !24

4.

His was the fist, whose wighty dint25
Did Oliver defeat,26
His was the fist that gave him the hint27
It need not oft repeat,28
His was the fist that overthrew29
His rivals o’er and o’er ;30
But now we cry in pillalu,31
Sir Daniel is no more !32

5.

Crib, Cooper, Carter, need not fear33
Great Donnelly’s renown,34
For at his wake we’re seated here,35
While he is laying down ;36
For Death, that primest swell of all,37
Has laid him on the floor,38
And left us here, alas ! to bawl,39
Sir Daniel is no more !40

6.

EPITAPH.

Here lies Sir Daniel Donnelly,41
A pugilist of fame ;42
In Ireland bred and born was he43
And he was genuine game ;44
Then if an Irishman you be,45
When you have read this o’er,46
Go home and drink the memory47
Of him who is no more.48
*⁎* Mr Jennings’ Epitaph is no doubt very beautiful, but we have been in-
formed by letter from the committee in Townes’ Street, Dublin, appointed to
erect the Donnelly testimonial (which, we are happy so say, will shortly be
raised near the Wellington testimonial in that city), that another epitaph has
been decided on. We intend soon to devote a paper to the “ Donnelly testi-
monial,” in which we shall probably enter into a comparison between the two
great Irishmen, for whom the gratitude of their country is raising these tri-
tutes—Wellington and Donnelly. Meanwhile, we subjoin the Epitaph. It
may not be amiss to state, that the committee laudably requested permission
from the Earl of Huntingdon, to imitate the Epitaph on his great ancestor,†
which his Lordship, an Irishman himself, was most graciously pleased to grant.
Underneath this pillar high
Lies Sir Daniel Donnelly ;
He was a stout and handy man,
And people called him “ Buffing Dan ; ”
knighthood he took from George’s sword,
Any well he wore it, by my word !
He died at last from forty-seven
Tumblers of punch he drank one even ;
O’erthrown by punch, unharmed by fist,
He died unbeaten pugilist !
Such a buffer as Donnelly,
Ireland never again will see.
Obiit xiii○ Kal. Martii MDCCCXX.

* Poor Dan kept a public-house, Lord rest his soul. What potheen is cannot be un-
derstood by those who taste it not.
† Robin Hood. See the epitaph in Percy’s Reliques, vol. i. p, 82, and elsewhere.