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Poem	"What! still those two infernal questions, That with our meals our slumbers mix -- That spoil our tempers and digestions -- Eternal Corn and Catholics! Gods! were there ever two such bores? Nothing else talk'd of night or morn -- Nothing in doors, or out of doors, But endless Catholics and Corn! Never was such a brace of pests -- While Ministers, still worse than either, Skill'd but in feathering their nests, Plague us with both, and settle neither. So addled in my cranium meet Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt, Whether this year, 'twas bonded Wheat Or bonded Papists, they let out. Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you, Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up; Prices and Texts at once assail you -- From Daniel these, and those from Jacob. And when you sleep, with head still torn Between the two, their shapes you mix, Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn -- Then Corn again seems Catholics. Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats -- Now, Jesuits from California -- Now, Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats, Comes dancing through the "Porta Cornea." Oft, too, the Corn grows animate, And a whole crop of heads appears, Like Papists, bearding Church and State -- Themselves, together by the ears! In short, these torments never cease; And oft I wish myself transferr'd off To some far, lonely land of peace, Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of. Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole, For -- if my fate is to be chosen 'Twixt bores and icebergs -- on my soul, I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!
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