Next I went to _Athlone_, a Town not only situated in the two Provinces of _Leinster_ and _Connought_, but also in the two Counties of _West-Meath_ and _Roscommon_. The _Shannon_, the largest River in _Ireland_, running from North to South, divides it into two Parts; over which is a Stone Bridge, containing seven Arches, built by old Queen _Bess_; and on it is cut out a Man and Dog with this Inscription. _~Robarts Damport~ Was Overseer of this Workys._ Indeed, the Matter is not so material as to be worthy of communicating it to the Publick, but only to let my Readers see their antient way of Spelling, which is not much different from the modern _Orthography_ now in use among ’em; and to delineate the Arrogancy of this petty Officer, who, because _Alexander_ the Great respected his Horse _Bucephalus_, attempted to immortalize his _Irish_ Cur too. Hence I went to _Balidagon_, a little Village six Miles from _Athlone_; but whence this Place takes its Name I cant imagine, unless a Remnant of the cursed _Philistines_ made their Escape from the Slaughtering _Israelites_, by Swimming over the Sea; and settling in this bye Country, they dedicated these Receptacles of Poverty to their Monstrous God, _Dagon_. Proceeding onwards on my Pilgrimage, I went to _Balinasloe_; the People of which small Town are so Zealous, that rather than want a House of Devotion, they assemble in a little Cabbin, where a Bank is raised for the Bog-trotting Congregation to sit on; and such an awkward Pulpit, Desk, and Communion-Table is bestow’d on the poor _Levite_, that it would puzzle Ingenuity to fathom the Depth of humane Fancy for their true Description: However, taking some Pity and Compassion on these godly Wretches, before I left ’em I compil’d for them the following Stanza’s, call’d
_From a Country full of Rebellion and Treason; From a People not Honest, and void of all Reason; From running of Goods, which is ne’er out of Season; ~Libera nos, Domine.~_
_From dry’d up Potatoes, without any Butter; From unwholesome Water, which gives the wild Squtter; From Priests, who in ~Latin~ to Blockheads do mutter; ~Libera nos, Domine.~_
_From Women whose Features wou’d frighten the Devil; From Children whose Skin’s like an Orange of ~Sevil~; And are bred from the Womb to all manner of Evil; ~Libera nos, Domine.~_