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 COMMON SENSE, 
 
Printed by Balfour and Clarke^ 
 Edinburgh. 
 
COMMON SENSE 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 Neque enim concludere versum 
 
 Dixeris esse satis, neque si quis scribat uti nos 
 
 Sermoni prqpiora, putes hunc esse Poetam. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED FOR DAVID BROWN, 
 AND T. & J. ALLMAN, PRIKCE*S STREET, HANOVER SQUARE, 
 
 1819. 
 
IS3 
 
 CASi 
 
 t 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Poets, in the present age, frequently employ a 
 preface to prove that there is method in their 
 madness. The Preface contains the theory, and 
 the Poem the illustration of their ars Poetica, 
 Now, in this point of view, a preface is in the 
 present case unnecessary ; for 1 have no theory 
 to promulgate or defend : I conceive that the 
 discovery of a new source of pleasure is more 
 hopeless than the discovery of a North- West 
 Passage ; and I shall look upon success as des- 
 perate, when I find it necessary to prove that 
 the reader ought to be pleased. 
 
 M527563 
 
VI PREFACE, 
 
 Poetical enthusiasts will not admit the fol- 
 lowing pages to be poetry at all. Whether 
 good or bad, they are however what is usually 
 called satirical poetry. I have read with some 
 care, and with much pleasure, the poets of this 
 class, from Horace down to GifFord ; and there- 
 fore I cannot be quite ignorant of the qualities 
 which ensure the success of a satire. Whether 
 any of those qualities are to be found in "Com- 
 mon Sense," remains to be determined. Unless 
 I had thought so, I would not have published 
 it: but tlie vanity of self-love has deceived 
 many ; and I shall feel little vexation, and no 
 wonder, if experience proves that it has deceiv- 
 ed me. 
 
 There are, indeed, means of insuring a tem- 
 porary success, of which I have not availed my- 
 self! I have not dragged forward the persons 
 or characters of individuals — I have retailed no 
 slanderous anecdotes — I have spoken of poets 
 
PREFACE* VII 
 
 3imply as poets, and have, in this respect, treat- 
 ed them with more delicacy than some of them 
 are accustomed to use towards themselves/ ^^^^ 
 
 In the Second Part, I have attempted a very 
 important subject; a subject on which every 
 writer, who has a fixed opinion, is sure to give 
 offence to some of the numerous parties who ar- 
 rogate to themselves the exclusive possession 
 of evangelical truth. If, therefore, I should be 
 charged with bigotry or levity, I shall take it 
 merely as a matter of course, and as arising ra- 
 ther from the nature of the subject, than from 
 the manner in which I have treated it. 
 
 If, lastly, any shall suppose, that, under the 
 shelter of an incognito, I have used liberties 
 which I durst not have taken in my own name, 
 I answer, that I may undeceive them sooner 
 than they expect ; and that they would not have 
 been much the wiser, had the name of one, so 
 utterly unknown, appeared on the title-page of 
 the present publication. 
 
^ 
 
 VUl PREFACE. 
 
 I commend, then, my essay to the public, 
 with hopes not very sanguine, and with fears 
 not very acute. Poetry never has been, and 
 never will be, my profession : and when an ama- 
 teur fails in a public performance, a little ridi- 
 cule is all that he has to fear. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 
 
 1 HAVE no genius. Though I make no doubt, 
 
 Sage reader, thou would'st soon have found this out : 
 
 I tell thee, lest thou waste thy precious time 
 
 In seeking here for aught but sense and rhyme — 
 
 Plain common sense, but no ecstatic feats. 
 
 And rhymes at least as good as Mister Keates' *. 
 
 Time was when bards were few : then might you see 
 in Button's room the whole fraternity ; 
 But now, hke Egypt's frogs, on every hand 
 They spread and croak and darken all the land : 
 
 * Mr. Jehn Keates, the mOise's child of promise, is a rising poet of the 
 Cockney School ; who, if he had but an ear for rhyme, a little knowledge of 
 grammar, and sufficient intellect to distinguish sense from nonsense, might per- 
 haps do very well. 
 
 B 
 
2 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Go where you will, there's not a bardless spot, 
 From the King's chamber to the peasant's cot; 
 All rave in rhyme — a strange incongruous sight, 
 Male, Female, Soldier, Peer, and Parson write*. 
 Poetic visions flashing on his eyes. 
 No more for briefs the briefless lawyer sighs ; 
 The Moralist deserts effect and cause. 
 Writes sonnets and enacts poetic laws ; 
 Careless of sabre, saddle, and bridoon. 
 Verse, verse alone, delights the bold dragoon- 
 Inspired they write, nor seek for fame or bread : 
 They write; they print, — and sometimes they are read. 
 
 * Parnassus is infested by poachers, and in spite of the exertions made by 
 
 the Reviewers, who may be considered as the gamekeepers in this case, the 
 
 evil is still increasing. One noble Lord, indeed, when warned off the ground, 
 
 proved very satisfactorily that he had a license ; and, moreover, broke the 
 
 keeper's head for speaking insolently to him. A brother Baron, Lord Thur- 
 
 low, has not been so fortvmate. I say no more of him, for it is really miplea- 
 
 sant to be obliged to couple great names with little deeds— to contemplate a 
 
 Thurlow rendering himself, or a Chatham rendermg his country, ridiculous. 
 
 The very respectable moralist alluded to in the text, is Dr, Thomas Brown, 
 
 Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. The specific 
 
 dragoon is Lieutenant Quillinan. 
 
 4 
 
COMMON SENSE. 3 
 
 Once dulness reigned, but Pope^ with mighty hand, 
 Wielded his scourge, and waked the slumbering land ; 
 Once namby pamby odes were all the go. 
 One ceaseless chime of weak fictitious woe ; 
 Till GifFord rose, the maudlin muse"'s dread, 
 And broke the lyre about the minstrel's head. 
 
 But now the poet takes a higher flight, 
 Not simply dull, but crazy, — mad outright. 
 First of the band, see Erin's hope* advance. 
 With native bulls, and politics from France* 
 He speaks : Attend, — through clouds and mist he soars^ 
 The frail decanters trembling as he roars ; 
 Trope murdering trope, his vague ideas flit, 
 Till claret makes the medley pass for wit; 
 He curses kings, and Viscount Castlereagh, 
 Tithes, vetos, and the " Immortal Memory;" 
 
 * Erin's hope. This Irish child of promise is Counsellor or Orator Phil- 
 lips, more notorious for his speeches than his poetry. In prose he is decidedly 
 mad, in verse only silly : In prose he libels, in verse he canonizes every cha- 
 racter that comes in his way. I have taken the poetical license of transposing 
 the counsellor's deeds. He was, in fact^ a poet before he was an orator. 
 
4 COMMON SENS^.' 
 
 Till, soothed by three times three, he deigns to smile, 
 And tunes his harp to chaunt the Emerald Isle. 
 O then how sweetly o''er the astonished throng 
 Floats the soft tide of eulogy and song — 
 Kings, Patriots, Poets, mingle in the dance, 
 With Curran's speeches and with Borhoime''s lance; 
 A greater still succeeds his mighty brother. 
 And each seems goodlier, greater, than another. 
 
 But see the jolly full moon shineth bright — 
 Spring tides, and Bertram^s * frenzy, own her might. 
 Hark, how he swears ! and every fit between, 
 Woos in strange guise his yielding Imogene ; — 
 She faints, he storms, till fond and friendly grown. 
 He cuts her husband's throat, and then his own. 
 We can bear much — but hardly brook such stuff,; 
 Though backed, indeed, by many a high-born puff 
 
 * Many of my readers have, I dare say, forgotten that there ever was such 
 a tragedy as Bertram ; and many more never knew there existed one under the 
 title of Fredolfo. As to the former, it was more than mad — it was delirious. 
 We may hope, from the utter oblivion into which it has so rapidly simk, that 
 the public will never again be insulted by such an exhibition. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Alas, for Byron ! — Satire's self must own 
 His song has something of a lofty tone : 
 But 'tis an empty sound. If vice be low, 
 Hateful, and mean, then Byron's verse is so. 
 Not all his genius saves him from the curse 
 Of plunging deeper still from bad to worse ; 
 With frantic speed, he runs the road to ruin. 
 And damns his name for ever by Don Juan * 
 He wants variety ; nor does his plan 
 Admit the idea of an honest man : 
 One character alone can he afford 
 To Harold, Conrad, Lara, or my Lord ; 
 
 * What Lord Byron especially wants, is the notion of moral sublimity, au 
 connected with virtue. His heroes are ruffians ; and his poetry, with all its 
 beauty, is essentially such as would harmonize with tlie obscene revelry of 
 banditti. His degradation has been progressive, from Parasina through Beppo 
 down to Don Juan. And now, I trust, that those who assume the office of 
 directing the public taste and feeling, will not satisfy themselves, as they have 
 hitherto done, with gently pitying the noble misanthrope — ^but let him know 
 that the great body of his countrymen detest and despise his impiety, his self- 
 ishness, and his sensuality, Mr. Leigh Htmt understood the matter bettej: 
 than the Reviewers, when he dedicated Rimini tp his " dear Byron,"— there 
 was a moral fitness in the thing. 
 
6 
 
 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Each half a madman, mischievous and sour, 
 Supremely wretched each, and each a Giaour *. 
 
 Some fumigate my Lord with praises sweet, 
 Some hck the very dust beneath his feet. 
 Jeffrey, with Christian charity so meek. 
 Kisses the hand that smote him on the cheek. " 
 Gifford's retainers, Tory, Pittite, Rat, 
 All join to soothe the surly democrat. 
 Hunt calls him dear ; and Hunt's determined foe, 
 Great Z., esteems him greater than Rousseau t. 
 
 I too admire — but not through thick and thin. 
 Nor think him such a bard as ne'er hath been ; 
 Nor do I deem this crazy wandering boy, 
 Whose hfe is all a dream, his harp a toy, 
 
 * I need hardly state, that a Giaour is an Infidel. 
 
 ■f I find it is not great Z. but an enigmatical critic in the Edinburgh Re- 
 view, "who instituted the comparison between Rousseau and Lord Byron ; and 
 yet Z. and the anonymous critic, may be one and the same person. There is 
 a peculiar sort of dnmken sublimity in the different producticms, which leads 
 rae to suspect this. 
 
 /? 
 
COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Fit to be named with those to whom belong 'W 
 
 The praise of sense, of virtue, and of song — 
 
 With him, the true-born Britain, who of yore, 
 
 Like Byron, visited the Hesperian shore ; 
 
 And shewed himself, to wondering Italy, 
 
 All that a high-souled Englishman should be. 
 
 He held high converse with the good and wise, 
 
 Sought their applause, and more than gained the prize ; 
 
 Till starting quickly, at his country's call. 
 
 He gave himself to her, and left them all. 
 
 Such was John Milton — and, my Lord, I fear. 
 
 The Scrivener's son was nobler than the peer *. 
 
 * I do not wish this to be understood as implying a general approbation of 
 Milton's political conduct and writings. So far I praise him, that he was 
 deeply interested in the honour and fate of his country. He was a republi- 
 can, but no democrat. As to his object in travelling, Antonio Francini says 
 of him — 
 
 Fa3>ro quasi divino, 
 
 Sol virtu rintracciando il tuo pensiere. 
 
 Vide in ogni conjino 
 
 Chi de ndbil valor calca il sentiere ,* 
 
 L'oUimo dal meUor dopo scegliea^ 
 
 Per fdbricar d'ogni virtu Vidca, 
 
8 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 All readers know, that northern critics take 
 Great freedoms with the Poets of the Lake, 
 And have enacted canons, clear and full. 
 About what they are pleased to call a School. 
 It may be so ; but I could never see 
 In what these strange eccentric bards agree. 
 
 Poor Coleridge ! his is no affected rant, 
 He lives on opium, and he studies Kant ; 
 Not over clear at first, what mortal brain 
 Opium and Kant together could sustain ? 
 He sung, O Cristabelle, in all his glory. 
 Thy " singularly wild and beauteous story ;*" 
 
 While on the subject of Milton, I may quote a passage from his reasons of 
 Church Government, applicable enough to certain poets of the present day. 
 After describing, in noble language, the proper object, nature, and use of 
 poetry, he says, " What a benefit this would be to our youth and gentry, may 
 be guessed by what we know of the corruption and bane which they suck in 
 daily from the writings and interludes of ignorant and libidinous poetasters ; who, 
 having scarce ever heard of that which is the main consistence of a true poem, 
 the choice of such persons as they ought to introduce, and what is moral and 
 decent for each one, do for the most part lap up vitious principles in sweet 
 pills to be swallowed down, and make the taste of virtuous documents harsh 
 and sour." , . 
 
COMMON SENSE, ^ 
 
 Which what it means, and what it is about, 
 
 No commentator ever has made out : ''^ hatn-V^' 
 
 He had the night-mare, dreamed of Kubla-Khan, 
 
 Then plunged into the MetropoUtan : 
 
 He mounted next the tub, and long and loud 
 
 Poured his lay sermons ©""er the astonished crowd : 
 
 And last, when opium's frantic transport fails. 
 
 And Kant thy gentler influence prevails, 
 
 Through the wide town advertisements are spread-r- 
 
 The poet lectures at a crown a-head. 
 
 What^hall I say of Wordsworth*? that I praise 
 The pure and spotless tenor of his lays : 
 
 * Few poets have been more reviewed, or less read, than Wordsworth. He 
 has a few idolaters, to whom he is o Tomrns t while the common run of readers 
 and critics will scarcely allow him to be a poet at all. I hold with the million. 
 Mr. Wordsworth has given us his notions of poetry in certain philosophical 
 prefaces, which have very much the air of translations from the German. 
 Among other canons, he observes, " the reader cannot be too often reminded 
 that poetry is passion." As an illustration of this, the reader may take— 
 
 " The Vicar did not hear the words : and now 
 
 Pointing towards the cottage, he entreated 
 , That Leonard would partake his humble fare ; 
 
 The other thanked him with a fervent voice, 
 
 But added, that the evening being fine 
 
 He would pursue his journey." 
 Is not this passion ? Arc not thes^ thoughts that breathe, and words that bum ? 
 
10 CJDMMON SENSE. 
 
 But that his rhymes are bad, his seUse obscure, 
 His diction childish, and his fancy poor : 
 That if he be a poet, well I wot 
 Milton and Shakespeare, Pope and Gray were not : 
 If verse be just the talk of conimbn men. 
 Dealt out by line, and measured eight or ten : 
 If knights and heroes, kings and gods, be toys, 
 Compared with duffle cloaks, and Ideot boys — 
 Thou shalt be read, when Homer is forgotten. 
 And the great Goth* in dust and worms is rotting ; 
 Then shalt thoii live the joy of babes and men — 
 But, gentle Wordsworth, hope it not till then. 
 
 SouTHEY again is cast in other mould. 
 He seems a relic of the days of old : 
 When courtly knights wore harness that would crack 
 The puny sinews of a modern back ; 
 
 • I allude to Roderick the Last of the Goths, by Southey — ^by far the first of 
 modern epic poems. I might perhaps incur ridicule, were I to own what I 
 tliink of it, as compared with the great epics of antiquity. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 11 
 
 When grave divines, of true polemic breed, 
 Wrote more than their degenerate sons can read : 
 When Shakespeare was the Reynolds* of the day. 
 And Cecil held the seat of Castlereagh. 
 He is a poet unconfined by rule ' ■ 
 Devised in Lakish or in Cockneyf S^cibl ;— 
 He is a poet — for his glancing eye 
 Takes in the forms of earth, and air, and sky : 
 He, still at home where'er he takes his stand. 
 Mid Biscay''s mountains or Arabia's sand. 
 Calls by his magic art for prince or peer, 
 Moslem or Christian, and they all appear : 
 He too can paint, as well as Walter ScottJ, 
 The misty valley and the sunless grot ; 
 
 • The reader must not suppose there is here any connexion intended between 
 the names of Reynolds and Castlereagh. The Reynolds here alluded to is a 
 harmless and prolific play wright, of whom I have not heard for sometime, 
 but who was indefatigable in his ay. 
 
 •^ I have to thank Z. for this happy soubriquet. The reader will find more 
 respecting this school hereafter. 
 
 X Perhaps this is saying too much. Yet I hardly think the Vale of Cova- 
 doDga, and the voyage of Thalaba, are much inferior to the most brilliant of 
 
12 , COMMON SENSE. 
 
 And Byron's sullen muse could scarcely mount 
 Above the vengeance of the injured Count : 
 But who pould draw Florinda sad and fair. 
 Her matchless love, her hope and her despair ! 
 And who, O who, but he could have expressed 
 The deep remorse of Roderick's noble breast — 
 His penances by day, his prayer by night. 
 His bearing and his war-cry in the fight ? 
 Yes, Southey, ^ite of all thy childish tricks^ 
 Thy laureate odes, and cottage politics ; 
 Though Jeffrey quiz, and Kempferhausen* praise, 
 I still must read, and still must love thy lays.— r- 
 
 Walter Scott's descriptions. In conception of character, and in the feeling of 
 moral sublimity, Southey is unrivalled* In history he paints well, and com. 
 municates the enthusiasm which he feels : but he is totally destitute of all po*. 
 litical philosophy. Poets now»a-days attempt too many things — Scott alone 
 Omnia tramformat sese in miracula rerum. 
 
 * Kempferhausen is a cloud- compelling co-laborateur with Z. who writes 
 most incomprehensibly about the Lakes and the Lake Poets. 
 
i 
 
 COMMON SENSE. 15 
 
 The Lake's discussed, now turn we to the Town, 
 Where every nostrum''s boldly swallowed down. 
 There reigns Leigh Hunt* in literary pride, 
 From rural Hampstead even to Cheapside — 
 From Hampstead, where, amidst the " clumpy trees,*" 
 He listens to the " heavings of the breeze ;"" 
 And sees, or seems to see, with prurient eye. 
 The naked nymphs descending from the sky ; 
 Or sweeter still, beside the blazing fire. 
 He listens to the theme that ne'er can tire ; 
 And hears, well-pleased, thfe young Endymion raise 
 His tuneful voice to sound the master's praise. 
 But truth, alas ! in courts is little known. 
 And busy flatterers whisper round the throne — 
 
 * Leigh Hunt is the reputed chief of the Cockney School. 1 had collect- 
 ed several specimens of this man's trash, with which, on second thoughts, I 
 shall not afflict the reader. Suffice it to say, that his Story of Rimini was 
 supposed to speak too leniently of incest. And does he repel the charge with 
 indignation ? Far from it ; He boasts of the tolerance of his moral code, and 
 talks about the innocence of natural impulses. (See Preface to Eoliage.) The 
 folly of such opinions would lead one to suppose him mad, and their wicked- 
 ness to suspect he is something worse. 
 
14 COMMON SjENSE. 
 
 Hear then, my graceless Sire, what people say 
 
 Who dwell beyond the bounds of Cockenaye : 
 
 They say thou art the most conceited prig 
 
 That ever swelled and bullied to look big : 
 
 They say that thou hast leathern ears, and with them 
 
 Art deaf alike to pause, and rhyme, and ry thm : 
 
 They say, that Rimini was bad enough. 
 
 But nothing to the explanatory stuff ; 
 
 That he who wrote such comment to such verse. 
 
 Is either downright mad, or something worse. 
 
 'Tis thus they speak — and yet they may be wrong. 
 For many a Cockney doats upon the song. 
 There's Hazlitt*, of the intellectual touch. 
 Admires Leigh Hunt and Chaucer very much ; 
 Hazlitt, the Addison of Cockney Land, 
 Whom all admire, though few can understand : 
 
 * In these days of quackery, Hazlitt is the greatest quack we have. Shal- 
 low as he is, he is at the same time so muddy that it is impossible to see to the 
 bottom of him. His boldness is marvellous : he once solemnly protested that 
 the writings of Grotius were and had been of no use to the world — as if he 
 had read Grotius, or knew any thing whatever of the subjects on which that 
 great man has written. 
 
COMMON SENSED 15 
 
 Keates, Shelley, Field, the Minstrel King adore, 
 * And all the Table-Round exclaim encore : 
 And many a prentice-bard, unknown to fame, 
 Prays that his powers may one day be the same. 
 I cannot join with tliose, whose sweeping rage 
 Allows no merit to this brazen age— 
 We still have bards, who with aspiring head. 
 Rise o''er the crazed, the dying, and the dead. 
 For instance, there's old Crabbe — though some may deem 
 He shows small taste in choosing of a theme ; 
 None but a bard his own true line can tell — 
 He chooses right who executes it well. 
 
 * The reader has already been introduced to Mr. Endymion Keates. Shel- 
 ley is a young man of talents and liberal education, who has chosen to make 
 war on all the virtues and decencies of life. He has obtained some notoriety ; 
 and it is the misfortune of the whole Cockney School that they cannot discri- 
 minate between notoriety and fame. *' Digito monstrarier" is their aim ; and 
 they have obtained it ; but it is the finger of scorn. The name of Field is put 
 in to fill up the line : Hunt has addressed an epistle, or something of that sort 
 to him. The Round Table is a series of Essays written by Hazlitt and other 
 Cockneys, after the manner of Addison. The imitation of course failed, for 
 Addison was a gentleman. 
 
1€ COMMON SENSE. 
 
 And Crabbe has done it well : although his verse 
 Be somewhat rude, 'tis pregnant, strong and terse 
 And he has feeling — I who never weep, 
 And o'er a Werter's woes am apt to sleep, 
 Even I, though somewhat rude, can feel for woe 
 Such as I've known, or such as I may know ; 
 Even I can feel at tales of love or strife. 
 Stamped, as are his, with traits of real life. 
 He knows the human heart (which, by the way, 
 Is more than some Psycholigists * can say.) 
 He knows it well ; and draws with faithful pen. 
 Not Corsairs, Pedlars, Waggoners, — but Men. 
 And then his back-grounds — how the figures glow 
 With all the mimic art of Gerard Dow \ 
 
 : * I am sorry to confess my inability to explain the meaning of this hard 
 ■irord. Psychology is, however, a species of metaphysical philosophy, the 
 knowledge of which is essential to the poet ; but which no poet before Words- 
 worth and Coleridge ever dreamed of. We may form a tolerable estimate of 
 its value, from knowing that it is something which these possess, and which 
 Crabbe does not possess. It is almost unnecessary to add, that a talkative Ped- 
 lar is the hero of " the Excursion ;" and that " Benjamin the Waggoneri'* 
 is the title of JMr. Wordsworth's last poem. 
 
COMMON SENSE. ' IT 
 
 Each in itself a picture— while the soul -w ft i^ ?3Y 
 
 Of one great moral breathes throughout the whole. 
 
 If faultless finishing have power to please, iv;i IfT 
 
 There^s Campbell, great in every thing but ease. 
 Would that, as now and then, he always durst . , .:>, T 
 
 Trust to his genius in its wildest burst ; "i 
 
 Nor re-distil his thoughts, with bootless pains. 
 Till a mere caput mortuum remains. 
 'Tis thus the works on which he builds his fame 
 Are alway sweet, indeed, but sometimes tame ; 
 While all that's lovely, passionate, and wild. 
 Breathes in the madness of O'Connor's child : 
 And all his ballads, sketched with careless pen. 
 Live in the tongues and memories of men. 
 
 There's Tommy Moore, whose song, couleur de rose, 
 Strong, clear, and luscious, as Rosolio flows * : 
 The cup, at first, is nectar to the taste. 
 But, sicken'd, soon to homelier draughts we haste. 
 
 * In this I refer principally to liallah Rookh — the prose part of. which> 
 by the bye, is written in a style of most unoriental flippancy. 
 
 € 
 
ti 
 
 COMMON SENSE, 
 
 Yet for a song, (since now, his hey-day past. 
 
 He pays respect to decency at last,) 
 
 Yet for a song, where wit and feeling pour 
 
 Their mingled streams, there's not a bard like Moore. 
 
 None with such rapid fingers, none like he 
 
 Can thread the sparkling gems of poesy : 
 
 Weave with such taste the coronal of verse, 
 
 To grace a Lady's hair, or Patriot's hearse. 
 
 He has some turn for satire, too, they say— 
 
 I know not much of that — perhaps he may. 
 
 Wit dwells not oft with wisdom ; and, I fear, 
 
 'Tis possible to buy a joke too dear *. 
 
 Blue stockings I dislike ; yet, on the whole 
 No Turk, — I hold that woman has a soul. 
 Which, under proper culture, may produce 
 Both flower and fruit, for ornament or use. 
 
 < The Two-penny Post Bag, the Fudge Family, &c. are attributed to 
 Mr. Moore. It is also reported that the author of the first of these, met with 
 the chastisement which he might have expected, and which he very justly de- 
 served. They are no friends to liberty, who use it as a cloke to maliciousness; 
 nor is it easy to see what avowable political object can be served, by rendering 
 the person of the Sovereign ridiculous. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 19 
 
 'Tis not my purpose here, to talk of those 
 Matrons, or maidens, who excel in prose- 
 How More and Edgeworth lavishly dispense, 
 One true religion, and both sterling sense- 
 Verse is my theme ; and there are very few 
 Ladies who write it well ; — I know but two. 
 First stands Johanna Bailiie : She may stand 
 Among the first-class poets of the land. 
 And claim her place among those sons of light. 
 Not as a courtesy, but her's by right. 
 'Twere vain to question why and where so long 
 For centuries slept the Muse of Tragic Song ? 
 Or why, reviving from her death-like rest, 
 She made her mansion in a woman's breast ? 
 Reasoning on points like this is useless stuff* — 
 We have a tragic poet, that's enough : 
 A tragic poet of true English breed. 
 Whom even after Fletcher we can read. 
 She teems with thought ; and yet I own her phrase. 
 Harsh and involved, deserves not equal praise ; 
 
^0 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 What were her merits, if she only brought 
 
 Fit power of words to match her power of thought ? 
 
 And next — behind indeed — but next, I'd place 
 Felicia Hemans *, second in the race : 
 I wonder the Reviews, who make such stir 
 Oft about rubbish, never mention her ? 
 They might have said, I think, from mere good breeding. 
 Mistress Felicia's works are worth the reading. 
 
 'Twas well I thought of the Reviews t, for they 
 Must furnish the remainder of my lay. 
 
 * jMrs. Hemans is a lady (a young lady, I believe,) of very considerable me- 
 rit Her imagination is vigorous, her language copious and elegant, her in- 
 formation extensive. I have no means of ascertaining tlie extent of her fame, 
 but she certainly deserves well of the republic of letters. While on the subject 
 of female poets, 1 may remind my readers of a JMiss Porden, who some years 
 ago wrote a curious, but very powerful poem, called the Veils. I hope slie 
 has not been discouraged. Her model was a bad one, and her subject was un- 
 intelligible to the great majority ofpoetical readers; — these errors might be easi- 
 ly corrected. 
 
 -|- 1 beg pardon for speaking of the Reviews in the dual number. The 
 Edinburgh and Quarterly are, in fact, the only ones I see ; and they are gene- 
 rally allowed to stand considerably above any of their brethren. 
 
COMMON SENSE. SI 
 
 I own I dearly like a new Review, 
 Whether its livery be drab or blue : 
 Books now are made so long, I have no time 
 To read the tenth of either prose or rhyme : 
 Books now are sold so dear, that had I twice 
 The time to spare, I could not reach the price— 
 And therefore 'tis to the Reviews I owe 
 Nine-tenths of all the little that I know. 
 I speak of those inaccessible cates. 
 Fine quarto travels, with fine coloured plates ; 
 Where tottering icebergs 'mid the current glide, 
 Or black dragoons on dromedaries ride. 
 And what, for instance, but by the Review, 
 Should I have known of amiable Loo-choo ? 
 Loo-choo, where, peaceful as the Isle of Palms, 
 None know the use of money or of arms : 
 I buy them not, but Barrow tells me all 
 From Marco Polo down to Captain Hall ; 
 I buy them not — but my six shillings pay. 
 And sip the cream of twenty in a day. 
 
^^ COMJVION SENSE. 
 
 Reviews are useful in another light, 
 We need a whipper-in to keep all right. 
 By we, I mean we poets, who are apt. 
 In self-conceit or self-formed system wrapped. 
 If fools, to shame our craft ; if wits, to waste 
 The powers God gave, and spoil the public taste. 
 Thus Jeffrey did his duty, when he tore 
 The tinsel from the harlot muse of Moore ; 
 Thus will he do his duty, should he nerve 
 His arm, to pay what Byron's crimes deserve. 
 
 But as to politics— their worth is less 
 Than the thin folios of the daily press : 
 Courier and Times, however they may grudge. 
 Are forced to give the facts on which they judge ; 
 While the Reviews, by stubborn facts oppressed. 
 Remember or forget what suits them best. 
 Both are mere pleaders, who, to serve their cause, 
 Would drop an incident, or strain the laws ; 
 
COMMON SENSE. S3 
 
 Blackguard a witness, and declare he lied % 
 Because his story helped the other side. 
 Now this is paltry, and since such their tricks, 
 I look to neither for my politics. 
 
 I like, indeed, to chat in easy way, 
 Of all that men in power may do or say ; 
 And with one quiet, but free-thinking friend. 
 Talk of the news, and pray that times may mend ; 
 Wish well to ministers — ^but wish, withal. 
 Their gifts and talents were not quite so small. 
 
 We are no Tories — though we scarce would claim 
 Of Whig the great but prostituted name : 
 
 ♦ In this respect, the Quarterly is most to blame. If a man speaks favour- 
 ably of Buonaparte, modern France, or America, he is sure of the lie-direct 
 Sir Robert "Wilson, Warden, and O'Meara, have all reasonable grounds of 
 complaint. Their charge against Birkbeck was totally indefensible. As to 
 Lady Morgan, she is fair game, and deserves no quarter. In a late novel, 
 Ilorence Macarthy, she represents people of rank in Ireland as speaking half 
 in bad English, and half in worse French ; and she actually quotes Paley*s 
 Evidences as a law-look* 
 
M COMMON SENSE. 
 
 We never thought that maniac France was free, 
 
 Nor danced around the Tree of Liberty : 
 
 We saw, though names were changed, the self-same thing, 
 
 In Consul, Emperor, Director, King ; 
 
 And whether they were one, or three, or five, 
 
 We saw Old Tyranny was still alive. 
 
 We could not brook the servile strain of those 
 
 Who thought 'twas worse than madness to oppose ; 
 
 In this, at least, we held with Mister Pitt, 
 
 And thought 'twas worse than madness to submit : 
 
 And so, disdaining compromise and fears. 
 
 Paid five * per cent., and joined the Volunteers. 
 
 When all looked dark, and humbled Austria gave 
 His child, the name of Emperor to save ; 
 
 * Not ten, gentle reader, but five, as it was in Mr. Pitt's time. We did 
 indeed begin to grumble when it was doubled ; and the blow was the more se- 
 vere as coming from the economists. Et tu Brute, was the sorrowful excla. 
 injition of many a Whig. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 25 
 
 When not our lavish subsidies could buy 
 
 One trembling, heartless, treacherous ally *, 
 
 We held by those who fought it to the last, 
 
 Nor feared to nail the colours to the mast. 
 
 When Spain awoke, we chuckled much to see 
 
 How little Fate ^ould bend to Prophecy : 
 
 Though the veiled Prophets of the North were clear 
 
 We could not keep our ground another year ; 
 
 Though Whitbread, echoing still the dreary cry, 
 
 Bade us, in tragic phrase, despair and die; 
 
 We marked brave Arthur, still with caution bend 
 
 Each varying circumstance to suit his end ; 
 
 * I am not sure whether minLsters and their adherents see any difference be- 
 tween the coalition which overthrew Buonaparte, and those which had before 
 failed so lamentably. At the commencement of the war, the people of all the 
 nations bordering on France, with the exception of England and Spain, were 
 revolutionary. They believed that in opposing France, they were rivetting 
 their own chains ; and, of course, their resistance was feeble. And so wretch- 
 ed were the governments under which they suffered, that until they felt the 
 yoke of France, they imagined that any change must be for the better. The 
 Usurper went on smoothly while he had only Kings to deal with— 
 
 Sed peritt postquani cerdonibus esse timcndus 
 
 C(eper(ti^hoc nocuit I^amianirn cccdemadenti' 
 
^ COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Outwit and beat, and scatter as in sport, 
 The matchless legates of the Imperial Court ; 
 Bring back the days of Cressy, and advance 
 His red-cross banner to the winds of France. 
 
 When the intruder and his perjured crew 
 Tried their last stake, and lost at Waterloo— 
 We felt, as true Whigs felt of old when they 
 Rejoiced for Blenheim or for Malplaquet ; 
 We joined the loud huzza, when bells rung loud. 
 And strong ale flowed in torrents to the crowd ; 
 When young and old with one delight were mad. 
 And none except the Pseudo- Whigs were sad*. 
 
 So far 'twas well — nor is there much to blame 
 In the last act, and settling, of the game : 
 
 * Pseudo Whigs are people who, while they make a great stir about liber- 
 ty, are worse than indifferent to the honour of their country. The old Whigs 
 were thorough Anti-gaUicans. In 1712 they would have brought le Grand 
 Monarque as low as I'Empereur has been brought, if had they not been 
 baffled by the Tories. The same game would have been played over again, 
 mutatis mutandis, had not the Prince luckily forgot his predilections. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 27 
 
 The Saxon sought his fate ; and Denmark chose, 
 From first to last, the part of England'*s foes ; 
 And though the Congress has been much abused. 
 Conquest has rights, and they were gently used. 
 
 But oh, the tragic farce that then ensued. 
 By Sidmouth half, and half by Watson brewed ; 
 That sleeveless plot, made up of rags and jags. 
 Petitions, speeches, pike-heads, and green bags. 
 Jt was not well — although the tale was shocking 
 Of three lead bullets in a worsted stocking — 
 To let the bulwark of our freedom serve 
 As sacrifice to Sidmouth's trembling nerve. 
 All was soon blown — such tales of blood and fury 
 Might gull the House, but not a London Jury*. 
 
 But here some grave Aristocrat may say, 
 " You think the Luddites then should have their way ; 
 
 * Far be it from me to suppose there is more wisdom or more honesty in a 
 London Jury than in the House of Commons. The House, (or rather its 
 Committee) saw only the evidence as prepared by Ministers— the Jury saw 
 both the evidence and the witnesses. 
 
2S COMMON SENSE. 
 
 " That Spa-Field's rows are mighty pleasant things, 
 
 " And mobs the only wholesome check on kings : 
 
 " You hail perhaps Sir Charles*, and cry long live 
 
 " The unrepresented's Representative : 
 
 " You mourn for Cobbefs exile, and admire 
 
 ^' The Bristol patriot, Henry Hunt Esquire ; 
 
 " Nay, even yourself in freedom's cause may bawl 
 
 •* To Stockport weavers, or a Common Hall." 
 
 Not I, indeed — my Whiggism's very far 
 From these low apings of a civil war. 
 I reverence the laws ; and would defend, 
 (Though Hunt revile, or Addington suspend) 
 Against the rush of wild democracy. 
 Against a Minister, if need should be : 
 I reverence them all, on either hand, 
 That guard the peace or freedom of the land ; 
 Those that protect the poorest wretch that lives, 
 And those that fence the Crown's prerogatives. 
 
 • Sir C. Wolseley, Legislatorial Attorney for Birmingham, I think. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 29 
 
 I'd like to see, amidst this howling storm. 
 Some symptoms of a radical reform : 
 Not that concocted in the Merlin's den*— 
 Not a reform of boroughs, but of men — 
 A deep reform of head, and heart, and life, 
 In all the sons of turbulence and strife ; 
 The public spirit purged of all that's rotten- 
 The Orator transported, or forgotten. 
 
 * The I^Ierlin's Den, or Cave, as I believe it is called, is a pot-house in Spa- 
 Fields, where the Committee met to prepare the business of the day. 
 
PART II. 
 
 Verse has its charms; and even the jangling strife 
 Of pohtics gives energy to Hfe : 
 But as we grow in years, at length we find 
 They are but childish playthings to the mind. 
 There is a time when we must part from these, 
 Business fatigues, and pleasures cease to please ; 
 While he, of passion or of gain the slave. 
 Must wish he had a hope beyond the grave. 
 And this I hold for truth, that man should try 
 To live as one who knows that he must die ; 
 And learn to die, as one who knows that death 
 Is something more than yielding up the breath ; 
 
S2 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 More than the close of nature^'s feverish strife— 
 An awful entrance on another life. 
 
 Would'*st thou then learn how man may safest go 
 Along this vale of weariness and woe ? 
 Ask of the Preacher*— -Seek yon low-roofed door. 
 Where in close crowds the impatient hearers pour ; 
 Where the grave Elder sits and twirls his thumbs. 
 Till the bell ceases, and the Preacher comes ; 
 And ruddy maids, with wistful envy look 
 On others' velvet hat, or gilded book. 
 Now list, and thou shalt hear the very chime 
 Of the good cause, and of the good old time. 
 When discipline and system, hand in hand. 
 Ruled faith and practice through the favoured land ; 
 Before the Patron's word was all in all. 
 And Presentees still waited for the call. 
 
 * In delineating different styles of preaching, I certainly have had in view 
 particular preachers who used those styles. I have however avoided every 
 thing that might tend to particularize individuals. If therefore lesemblances 
 should be found or imagiued, I hereby disclaim them. 
 
COMMON SENSE. i3f 
 
 It is the system — Listen — ^for no fool 
 
 Is this, nor trifler of the modern school : 
 
 Not like poor Blair's the banquet he affords^ 
 
 A scrap of ethics in a froth of words ; 
 
 But from the plenteous store which he unlocks, 
 
 Flow the pure streams of Calvin and of Knox. 
 
 Through the five points, with cautious step he treads, 
 
 Divides and subdivides his hydra heads : 
 
 He gives Necessity a Christian name, 
 
 (Names matter little when the thing's the same,) 
 
 Till half his hearers are convinced that we, 
 
 Do what we will, do just what was to be *. 
 
 Now art thou edified ? and dost thou know 
 The narrow path in which man ought to go ? 
 And dost thou feel, thy melting soul within. 
 More love for Heaven, and deeper hate for sin ? 
 
 * I am far from saying that there is any necessary connexion between Cal- 
 vinism and Antinomianism. I only assert, as matter of fact, that among the 
 lower classes of Calvinists, moral offences are often passed over very slightly, 
 under the notion that they are ordained. 
 
^* COMMON SENSE. 
 
 I fancy not— and so the case is plain. 
 
 This is no place for us, and we must try again. 
 
 Now to yon lofty temple let us hastCi, 
 
 The very Parthenon of civic taste : 
 
 It must be worth the while ; for see the approaches 
 
 Are filled with pampered steeds and gilded coaches. 
 
 Hark to the well-drilled quire— unlike the twang 
 
 That through yon vulgar crowd promiscuous rang. 
 
 Squeeze in — squeeze in — and let us, if we can. 
 
 Hear doctrine suited to a gentleman. 
 
 Now check thy tongue, the preacher'*s at his text, 
 
 Bend all thy soul, and hear what cometh next : 
 
 «' Think not the ways of righteousness are hard, 
 
 '' Virtue, sweet virtue, is its own reward : 
 
 " Think not the human soul to ill inclined, 
 
 " View the pure softness of the infant mind : 
 
 " Behold how generous unsuspecting youth 
 
 << Loves the fair forms of honour and of truth : 
 
 ^^ And look within — have ye not understood 
 
 " The gentle luxury of doing good ? 
 
COMMON SENSE. ^B 
 
 " And knowing this, can ye, I say, but start 
 " At those who say, man has a corrupt heart ? 
 " Flee bad example — ^follow nature still, 
 « They do blaspheme who say she leads to ill. 
 " Avoid extremes — sin hes in them alone, 
 " And be to all your moderation known : 
 «' Be pure, be kind, for piety is such ; 
 " But, brethren, be not righteous over-much." 
 Well, this will surely do : for this is clear. 
 And leaves no room for doubting or for fear. 
 This ! why, I knew all this ; and, more, of old 
 Read it in Greek, but only better told— 
 And though it were great Plato's self that spoke, 
 I would maintain the thing is all a joke. 
 Nature ! why look on Tom and Jack at play— 
 The urchins were but breeched the other day-— « 
 Jack has a toy which Tom desires to gain. 
 And therefore takes it — Fired with rage and pain^ 
 Jack claims his right ; and so the little dears 
 Rattle their fists about each other's earst 
 
S6 OOMMON SENSE'. 
 
 And this is nature ! Why one must be blind 
 
 As ignorance, to think her just or kind. 
 
 I tell thee, if I followed nature's call, 
 
 I should be hanged ere Christmas— that is all*. 
 
 But all are not like these — perhaps you say, 
 The Evangelicals ha\e hit the way ; 
 
 They give us system, practice, faith, and all > 
 
 In life and doctrine followers of Paul. 
 
 There''s little in a name, and party binds 
 Together struggling souls of divers kinds : 
 Scandal indeed is busy still with those 
 Who the lax morals of the world oppose ; 
 And vice is always glad to find a flaw 
 In characters of which it stands in awe. 
 I scorn these idle tales, nor will I hate 
 The virtue that I scarce can imitate : 
 
 ♦ The reader may suppose I have a veYy bad opmion of myself. Not at 
 all. I think in the same way of him and of every body. Let me ask him, 
 what conduct he would expect from a man who was restrained neither by the 
 law of God, nor the law of the land, nor the law of honour. The conduct of 
 such a man would be an example of the unbiassed tendencies of nature. 
 
COMMON SE>^SE. 5f 
 
 But oh tire other hand, I still must hold, 
 
 That all that glitters is not sterling gold. ' 
 
 Are there not some, who, while they can declaim 
 
 Against the world, have still their own bye-game ; 
 
 Find time, amidst their labours, to cajole 
 
 A wealthy widow anxious for her soul ; 
 
 Lead to the altar the converted fair, 
 
 And sport, hke Huntingdon, a coach and pair* ? 
 
 Are there not some, who, in these latter years, 
 
 Smit with the love of meetings and hear ! hears ! 
 
 Range o^er the island on some fair pretence. 
 
 And leave their flocks in charge to Providencet ? 
 
 * Evangelical Clergymen, in their capacity of confessors, (for auricular 
 confession is much the fashion at present) have considerable facilities for culti- 
 Yating intimacies with women much above them in rank and fortune. Should 
 these facilities lead, in many cases, to matrimony, suspicions may naturally 
 arise that the bye- game was kept in view from the beginning. On tliis head, 
 see Mrs. H. More's Moral Sketches. I am sorry to find that my views on 
 this subject are confirmed by that able and well-informed writer. Mrs. M. 
 indeed, lays the blame chiefly on the ladies : most probably there are faults on 
 both sides. 
 
 •f I am at a loss to conceive, how clergymen holding benefices in the South, 
 can spare so much time for attending public meetings at the very extremities of 
 
^ COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Are there not some, beneath whose doctrine lurks 
 
 A strange indifference both to faith and works ? 
 
 They preach the eternal union — lay no stress 
 
 On justice, charity, and holiness ; 
 
 Till the flock, following the deceitful bell, 
 
 Runs to the very pit where Baring fell *. 
 
 These are no guides for me — although the crowd 
 
 Dwells on their names with praises deep and loud ; 
 
 And holds it almost blasphemy to say. 
 
 The road they lead is not the narrow way. 
 
 Are all then wrong ? — and when the spirit's tried, 
 Must all of every class be 8et aside ? 
 Not so — I spoke of some, and those B,few ; 
 Many, I trust, are Scriptural and true. 
 
 the kingdom. Surely their own parishes must suffer by it. The offices of an 
 itinerant missionary, and a beneficed clergyman, were once reckoned incom- 
 patible. I should think that the duties of the two offices must still be so. 
 
 * This paragraph hints at high matter, which J cannot condense into a 
 note. Suffice it to say, that Antinomianism is putting on a bolder face than it 
 has assumed for many years ; and that the theology of some who have not 
 seceded, wears a very equivocal aspect. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 39 
 
 Many, called Fanatics, are deeply read, 
 
 And while theyVe warm at heart, are cool of head : 
 
 Many of those who trust in Christ alone, 
 
 Have holiness, not merits, of their own ; 
 
 Work as if works were all, yet, humble too. 
 
 Give the whole praise to hinx to whom 'tis due. 
 
 Just once a year — when summer days are long, 
 When town is empty, and the moors are throng-^ 
 Just once a year, I break the chains that bind 
 For nine long months my body and my mind. 
 And fly, with eager pleasure, to unbend 
 In the mild converse of one humble friend. 
 He was not humble twenty years ago, 
 When side by side we struggled friend and foe ; 
 When side by side we took our first degrees. 
 The boast of Johnians he, and I of Caius : 
 Then, as he lay upon his truckle bed. 
 Imaginary mitres graced his head ; 
 Or French Savans in flattering vision came. 
 To hail the owner of his mighty name. 
 
m 
 
 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 How would he then have scorned the fate that now 
 Sheds such contentment on his placid brow ; 
 How turned with loathing from his humble lot, 
 In that lone vale forgetting and forgot. 
 And yet he loves it now — for all his care, 
 And all the objects of his love, are there : 
 His is yon white-washed house with trees before, 
 And his the babes that play around the door ; 
 His is the church, whose high but ruined tower. 
 Is decked with ivy, and each brighter flower ; 
 And his the flock, who come from vale and hill. 
 On Sabbath-days that house of prayer to fill. 
 
 The Dilly stops : and there expectant stand 
 The Vicar and his wife with open hand. 
 And looks of cordial love, that seem to say. 
 We're glad youVe come, and hope you mean to stay. 
 The evening scarce suffices us to hear 
 On either side the happenings of the year- 
 How Jack my godson, to his Sire's surprise. 
 Has gained at Winchester the Latin prize : 
 
COMMON SENSE. 41 
 
 How the rude Squire has ceased to drink and swear, 
 
 And comes to church, and kneels when he is there : 
 
 How well the Sunday school succeeds, and how 
 
 The girls all curtsey, and the boys all bow : 
 
 How rarely 'tis the Gamekeeper can tell 
 
 He found a poacher skulking on the fell : 
 
 How drinking bouts and boxing matches cease, - 
 
 And some old saints have died in faith and peace *. ""7 
 
 So pass the evening hours ; — and, pleased to hear. 
 
 The toils and triumphs of a friend so dear, 
 
 I go to rest ; but promise to attend 
 
 Next morn the parish-progress of my friend. 
 
 First, for the task with social meal and prayer, 
 Our bodies and our spirits we prepare ; 
 Then through the garden-plot, while still the dew 
 Gives every leaf a greener, brighter hue ; 
 
 * This may not seem a very favourable account, to those who look for 
 awakenmgs and revivals. But since the tree is known by its fruits, my friend 
 the Vicar used to maintain, that a change of conduct was no bad proof of a 
 (Change of heart. 
 
42 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 And by the church-yard elms we take our way. 
 Beneath whose shadow He the tomb-stones grey. 
 There stands, of transept and of nave bereft. 
 One narrow aisle, the little that is left. 
 And there the Vicar pauses still to teU, 
 From what high glory Hartley Abbey fell ; 
 How she in ancient times her Abbots sent. 
 With all a Bishop's pomp, to Parliament ; 
 And spread her cloister'd palaces around 
 A hundred acres of that holy ground. 
 Till conscientious Henry's holy zeal 
 Reformed the corrupt church with fire and steel. 
 I ne'er could catch this antiquarian rage. 
 But you may read the whole in Dugdale's page. 
 
 'Tis but a step across the village green, 
 Where the geese paddle in the pools between : 
 We lift the latch — and there before our eyes. 
 Bed-rid and bhnd the Widow Thompson lies. 
 That short five minutes walk across the green. 
 Sufficed my friend to tell what she had been : 
 
COMMON SENSE. 43 
 
 Loving and loved she entered upon life, 
 
 A village beauty and a farmer's wife ; 
 
 And children sprung around, that left no fears 
 
 Of kindly succour in declining years. 
 
 All promised fair : — ^but then her husband gave 
 
 His name the credit of a friend to save ; 
 
 And when the bill was due, that friend had flown, . 
 
 And left his bail to meet the storm alone: 
 
 Markets were dull, and harvest months were wet. 
 
 And so poor farmer Thompson died in debt. 
 
 Then though her children bloomed in manly pride, 
 
 Consumption came, andT one by one they died— - 
 
 All — all were gone : and she was J eft behind 
 
 To mourn and suffer — poor, decrepid, blind. 
 
 She knew the very step of him, whose voice 
 
 Had taught her 'mid her sorrows to rejoice : 
 
 And those wan features, as he took her hand. 
 
 Showed joy that worldlings cannot understand—- 
 
 A trust in him who has the power to save— 
 
 A hope that fearless looks beyond the grave. 
 
H COMMON SENSEi, 
 
 Then held she cpriverse of her hopes atid fears, 
 Befitting Christians in a vale of tears. 
 Not her''s the cant of those, whose vulgar slang 
 Is Greek to all who are not of the gang ; 
 Not her's the lights by pride and passion bred 
 From the deep quagmires of a muddy head : 
 Not her's the fool-born jest and stiffled sigh 
 With which Philosophers prepare to die — 
 Her talk was lofty — yet 'twas humble too ; 
 How much she had to hope, how much to do-^ 
 How little she had done, how much remained 
 To do, before the victory were gained — 
 To run, to fight, to wrestle, to endure. 
 To make her calling and election sure. 
 She spoke with gratitude of trials past. 
 And calmly dared anticipate the last : 
 She, when by care overwhelmed, by doubts distressed^ 
 Looked to the cross for peace, to Heaven for rest ; 
 And confidence in him who cannot he. 
 Had made her patience strong, her courage high. 
 
€OMMON SENSE. 4S 
 
 " Well," said I, dashing off a single tear, 
 " 'Tis surely good for us to have been here : 
 Such lively faith, such patient hope to see. 
 Does more than tomes of Dutch divinity — 
 Not for the world these visits would I miss. 
 If all your sick-list cases be like this." 
 " Like this ! I would they were ; but those who go 
 To search the lairs of poverty and woe, 
 Must nerve their hearts, and be prepared to find 
 The body's pain embittered by the mind ; 
 Or see the reckless sinner, that can die 
 Without a hope, and yet without a sigh : 
 Or hoping all in works of human pride, 
 As if no Saviour died, nor need have died." 
 With that he stopped ; for we had reached the door 
 Of an old lonely cottage on the moor : 
 There oVr the embers crouched a feeble pair. 
 With sallow cheeks, and thin, yet matted hair. 
 Clay was the flooring, and the walls were clay. 
 And in the window rags obscured the day : 
 
 f 
 
45 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 'Twas old and filthy all — the very air 
 Felt dull, and loaded with miasma there. 
 In one dark corner stood a crazy bed. 
 With half a broken tester over head : 
 There lay their only son, and he had been 
 The first in many a bold and bloody scene : 
 Untaught in youth, he led a wandering life. 
 Till caught by scarlet coat, and drum and fife. 
 He sold the liberty he held so dear. 
 And quitted home and friends without a tear. 
 For six campaigns, he followed in the train 
 Of victory, through Portugal and Spain. 
 But cold, and midnight bivouacks, impaired 
 The frame that ball and bayonet had spared ; 
 And he, with wasted limbs and aching head, 
 Lay dying there upon that crazy bed. 
 
 This was distressing — yet there might have been 
 A light reflected from the future scene : 
 But there was none ; for when my friend began 
 His colloquy with that poor dying man. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 47 
 
 And talked of Christ, of judgment, and of sin, 
 
 I saw at once the work was to begin. 
 
 To every truth, a careless ear was lent. 
 
 And every pause received a faint assent — 
 
 He knew that be had sinned, like ail the rest. 
 
 But God was good, and so he hoped the best. 
 
 This was the sum of his religion, this 
 
 His penitence for sin, his hope of bliss. 
 
 I saw a tear stand in the Vicar's eye — 
 
 He would not thus the prodigal should die ; 
 
 And his lips quivered in a silent prayer. 
 
 That grace might yet prevail, and justice spare. 
 
 " Yes — God is merciful," he said, "as they 
 
 Shall find, who seek him in the appointed way. , » 
 
 What but his mercy has secured thy life 
 
 In tainted climates, in the battle''s strife ? 
 
 What but his mercy tells thee now, by me. 
 
 That Jesus died for sinners like to thee ? 
 
 And yet that mercy reaches only those 
 
 Who do repent that they have been his foes. 
 
48 COiMMON SENSE. 
 
 Bethink thee, then, of what thy hfe has been, 
 Recal the deeds of many a sinful scene : 
 Were there not oaths and curses to defy 
 The unwilling vengeance of the Lord most High ? 
 God only knows the heart; — ^but sure a life 
 Of lawless wanderings, revelry and strife, 
 (Bethink thee, Oh bethink thee, while there's time,) 
 Requires repentance deep as was the crime. 
 'Tis true, that pardon by Christ's death was bought, 
 For all who humbly seek ; but hast thou sought ? 
 O, seek it now ! while yet the hand of God 
 In mercy wields the salutary rod : 
 Repent, while justice yet consents to spare ; 
 Pray in Christ's name, and God will hear the prayer." 
 Yet more he would have said ; but then there came 
 A cough that shook the sufferer's weakened frame ; 
 And choaking phlegm, that would not quit its hold. 
 And on his brow the clammy drops stood cold. 
 We waited till that agony was past. 
 And trembled, for we thought it was the last : 
 
COMxMON SENSE. 49 
 
 But when exhausted with the strife, he lay 
 Quiet and faint — we turned to come away. 
 
 The school stood near — and this, the Vicar cried. 
 If we may use such language, is my pride : 
 This, when I came to Hartley, was a place 
 Of refuge for each wandering motley race ; 
 Here the quack doctor raised his stage, and sold, 
 For pence, the medicines worth their weight in gold : 
 Here buskined heroes starved amid their pride. 
 Till pity gave what justice had denied ; 
 And some indulgent farmer's cart was found 
 To help the party forward on their round. 
 Here, too, a sample of those wandering lights^ 
 A Methodist held- forth on Sunday nights ; 
 A thin tall youth, with black unbending hair, 
 In preaching great, they said, and great in prayer : 
 He was not useless — and I liked the lad, 
 Whose zeal, though whimsical, was far from mad. 
 
 Well, some good yeomen clubbed with me to buy 
 The barn, though grumbling that the price was high : 
 
&0 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 And a few well-spent pounds have given the place 
 A worthier purpose, and a neater face. 
 We had no school before: Our dunces lay 
 Lounging and basking all the summer day ; 
 And those who felt some energy within. 
 From boyish mischief grew to bolder sin. 
 
 With that we entered : And the school was much 
 Like other schools ; you've seen a hundred such ; 
 But the good Vicar came not there to stare. 
 Or indolently laud the Master's care ; 
 He heard a stammering class half read, half spell. 
 And praised the blushing boy who did it well ; 
 Gave a kind bint to those who were perplex'd. 
 Asked a few questions, and explained a text. 
 
 Such was my walk with one, who freely gave 
 Time, talents, prayers, his humble flock to save. 
 I need not here of his discourses tell — 
 He preached not long, but earnestly and well ; 
 Was sometimes eloquent, though not at all 
 To be compared with Chalmers or with Hall; 
 
COMMON SENSE. 51 
 
 Gave every truth its proper weight and plaee. 
 And put good works in unison with grace. 
 
 I love the Church * — though I would scarcely fight 
 For the divinum of a Bishop's right : 
 I love the Church — ^but neither fear nor hate f 
 The plans of those who dioose to separate : 
 I love the Church — and wish that all who feel 
 For her and her's a still more ardent zeal. 
 Would take a hint, their feelings to express. 
 By doing more for her, and talking less. 
 
 * I hope none will be so captious, as to find fault with me for using the 
 single word Church, when I mean to designate the Church of England. I 
 speak as an Englishman, who, when hie talks of the King, the Constitution, 
 the Chim;h, means to be understood as speaking of the King, the Constitution, 
 the Church of England, without at all denying the existence or legitimacy of 
 other kings, constitutions, or churches. 
 
 •j- I conceive it is very possible to oppose, vigorously and conscientiously, 
 that which I neither fear nor hate. 
 
^^ COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Were I a Bishop — (though I do not hope 
 For that high honour, more than to be Pope,) 
 I'd act from conscience ; and lest I should stray, 
 Burnet or Burgess should direct my way. 
 Were I a Parish-Clergyman, my friend 
 At Hartley, model and advice should lend * 
 Like him, I would not, when the Sabbath's sun 
 Was set, suppose my weekly task was done ; 
 
 * Some of my readers may perhaps prefer going for instruction to the Re- 
 ligio Clerici, (See Jicligio Clcricif or the Churchman's Second Epistle ) Be- 
 sides other minor objections, I would remark, that the witty Clerk's religion 
 seems entirely composed of negatives. He does not support the Bible Society, 
 nor the Missionary Society, nor, for any thing I see, the Soaety for Promot- 
 ing Christian Knowledge. He does not preach or pray extempore. He does 
 not frighten people on their death-beds, nor does he approve of saying two 
 graces before dinner. Now, a clergyman may abstain from all these enormi- 
 ties — nay, he may duly execute certain positive functions — he may " marry, 
 christen, church, and publish bans ;" and, after all, be a very useless crea- 
 ture. 
 
 To speak seriously. The cure of souls at any time, and the circumstances of 
 the Church of England at the present day, require something above all this. 
 To those who are dissatisfied with the sketch I have given, let me recommend 
 . Herberts Country Parson. They wiU there find a finished picture, drawn by 
 one who was in his day the model of a high, a learned, and a pious clerg3rma,n. 
 4 
 
COMMON SENSE. 53 
 
 I would not, cold of heart, and easily tired, 
 Demand how little work the law required : 
 But every day I'd try to do my best, 
 And labour now, and look to Heaven for rest. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by Balfour and Clarke, 
 Edinburgh, 1819. 
 
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