LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 doss 
 
POLITICAL VERSE 
 
Demy i6mo, $s. 6d. each. 
 Bound in paper boards, with parchment back. 
 
 THE POCKET LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 EDITED BY GEORGE SAINTSBURY 
 
 A COLLECTION, in separate volumes, partly of extracts from 
 long books, partly of short pieces, by the same writer, on the 
 same subject, or of the same class. 
 
 Vol. I. TALES OF MYSTERY. 
 
 II. POLITICAL VERSE. 
 III. DEFOE'S MINOR NOVELS. 
 IV. POLITICAL PAMPHLETS. 
 
 V. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS. 
 VI. ELIZABETHAN AND JACOBEAN PAMPHLETS. 
 
 LONDON : PERCIVAL & CO. 
 
POLITICAL VERSE 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GEORGE SAINTSBURY 
 
 I UNIVERSITY 
 or ^ / 
 
 LONDON 
 
 PERCIVAL AND CO. 
 1891 
 
6ft 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 JOHN SKELTON 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY i 
 
 EDMUND SPENSER 
 THE POLITIC CLERK 7 
 
 BISHOP CORBET 
 THE DISTRACTED PURITANE . . . . . 13 
 
 ALEXANDER BROME 
 
 THE LEVELLER'S RANT 17 
 
 SPECIMENS OF DIURNAL 19 
 
 ANDREW MARVELL 
 THE DUTCH IN THE MEDWAY 22 
 
viii Contents 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE MEDAL (a Satire against Sedition) .... 29 
 
 ROCHESTER 
 
 EPITAPH ON KING CHARLES II. ... . 38 
 THE COMMONS PETITION TO THE KING . * . 39 
 
 THE 'STATE POEMS' 
 
 ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN . ... . 41 
 
 ON SOME VOTES AGAINST THE LORD SOMERS . . 42 
 
 ON THE PROMOTED BISHOPS 43 
 
 CURSE . 1 '. . '. '. 1 &V/V* 45 
 
 SONG . . . H . { * A^vi^ <^ .... 47 
 
 DANIEL DEFOE 
 CHARACTER OF ENGLISHMEN . ... 4, 53 
 
 MATTHEW PRIOR, JONATHAN SWIFT, 
 RICHARD GLOVER, ETC. 
 
 MATTHEW PRIOR (written in the beginning of Mezeray's 
 
 History of France) . , . . . . 60 
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT (on the Irish Club) .... 63 
 
 RICHARD GLOVER (Admiral Hosier's Ghost) . . 64 
 
 (ANON.) EPITAPH ON PRINCE FREDERICK ... 68 
 
Contents ix 
 
 MARK AKENSIDE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO 70 
 
 CHARLES CHURCHILL 
 THE CONFERENCE 83 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 THE MODERN PATRIOT 98 
 
 'THE ROLLIAD' 
 
 ECLOGUE ON MARGARET NICHOLSON .... 100 
 
 ODE (by Major John Scott, M. P.) 106 
 
 RONDEAU no 
 
 EPIGRAM in 
 
 PETER PINDAR 
 
 APPLE DUMPLINGS ('an Apologetic Postscript to Ode 
 
 upon Ode'} 112 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS TO A CELEBRATED LAUREAT, alias THE 
 PROGRESS OF CURIOSITY, alias A BIRTH-DAY ODE, 
 alias MR. WHITBREAD'S BREWHOUSE . . . 114 
 
 LIBERTY'S LAST SQUEAK 117 
 
 SIXTH ODE TO INS AND OUTS 120 
 
 A MORAL CONCLUSION .122 
 
x Contents 
 
 <THE ANTI-JACOBIN' 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND. THE KNIFE-GRINDER 124 
 LA SAINTE GUILLOTINE (a New Song, attempted from 
 
 the French) . . 126 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S FRIEND 128 
 
 ACME AND SEPTIMIUS ; OR, THE HAPPY UNION (cele- 
 brated at the Crown and Anchor Tavern) . . .129 
 LINES (written by a Traveller at Czarco-Zelo under the 
 Bust of a certain Orator, once placed between those 
 
 of Demosthenes and Cicero) . . '". * *'." . 131 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF MAN (First Instalment) . . . 132 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF MAN (Third Instalment Marriage) 135 
 A CONSOLATORY ADDRESS TO HIS GUN -BOATS (by 
 
 Citizen Muskein) 138 
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JEAN BON ST. ANDRE . 139 
 
 NEW MORALITY . . .... .. . . . 143 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE . ... .. . . 162 
 
 GEORGE CANNING 
 
 ANACREONTIC 166 
 
 MODERATE MEN AND MODERATE MEASURES . . 167 
 
 FRAGMENT OF AN ORATION 168 
 
 ELIJAH'S MANTLE (a Tribute to the Memory of the 
 
 Right Hon. William Pitt) . . . . . 170 
 
Contents xi 
 
 LORD BYRON 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SONG FOR THE LUDDITES 175 
 
 SONNET TO GEORGE THE FOURTH (on the Repeal of 
 
 Lord Edward Fitzgerald's Forfeiture) . . .176 
 EPITAPH FOR WILLIAM PITT . .. . . 177 
 
 EPIGRAM .177 
 
 STANZAS 177 
 
 THOMAS MOORE 
 
 THE EXTINGUISHERS 178 
 
 THE TWOPENNY POST-BAG (from the Pr nc ss 
 
 Ch e of W s to the Lady B rb a 
 
 A shl y) 183 
 
 KING CRACK AND HIS IDOLS (written after the late 
 
 Negotiation for a New M n stry) . . . .186 
 LINES (on the Death of Mr. Prv1) . . .188 
 
 THE CONSULTATION 189 
 
 PADDY'S METAMORPHOSIS 191 
 
 THE SONG OF THE Box 193 
 
 A CHARACTER 196 
 
 EPISTLE FROM HENRY OF EXETER TO JOHN OF TUAM 198 
 REFLECTIONS (addressed to the Author of the Article on 
 the Church, in the last Number of the Quarterly 
 
 Review] 200 
 
 RELIGION AND TRADE 203 
 
xii Contents 
 
 WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ODE TO THE CHANCELLOR (imitated from Horace, lib. 
 
 iii. od. xv.) ........ 205 
 
 EPITAPH (on the late King of the Sandwich Islands, 
 translated from the Original of Crazee Rattee, His 
 
 Majesty's Poet Laureate) ...... 207 
 
 WATERLOO 211 
 
 THE COMPLAINT OF LIBERTY 214 
 
 INTENTIONS (a Remonstrance in the Ventilator) . . 217 
 
 REASONS FOR NOT RATTING . . . . . 220 
 
 THE OLD TORY .222 
 
 LONG AGO (to the Right Hon. Sir John Cam Hobhouse) 224 
 
 PLUS DE POLITIQUE (imitated from De Beranger) 7/T 225 
 
 A NURSERY SONG j. -'i. < ~ . . . . . 228 
 
 STANZAS TO THE SPEAKER ASLEEP . , C~i'--^i" 229 
 
 MAXIMS . . . v. :.:'.*- ?;" . . . 231 
 
 THE STATE OF THE COUNTRY 233 
 
 EBENEZER ELLIOTT CHARLES MACKAY 
 
 BATTLE SONG .. _, . x:v.' i ; ? *q . 235 
 
 THE GOOD TIME COMING . ,. ... . . 237 
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
 
 KING CANUTE . . . , * . . . 240 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK , . . . . 246 
 
Contents xiii 
 HENRY LONGUEVILLE HANSEL 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PHRONTISTERION 251 
 
 HENRY DUFF TRAILL 
 
 LAPUTA OUTDONE 259 
 
 BALLAD OF BALOONATICS CRANIOCRACS . . . 262 
 
 To A FAMOUS PARLIAMENT 265 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 IT is at first sight curious, at second perhaps intelli- 
 gible enough, that (unless I am entirely deceived) no 
 special collection of the political verse of different 
 periods in England has ever been attempted. Some 
 such verse The Rolliad, Peter Pindar's best things, 
 those of Moore and Praed have been very popular 
 in their own time. Once at least, in the case of The 
 Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin, they have reached more 
 than temporary popularity. But no one has, I think, 
 yet attempted an anthology of them. One reason 
 for this may be that they require, or are thought to 
 require, a rather unusual amount of scholiastic anno- 
 tation to rerjder them intelligible to generations not 
 their own ; another, that in some cases at any rate 
 the ashes of the fires that once burnt are either still 
 too hot for safe treading, or so utterly cold and dead 
 
xvi Introduction 
 
 that to tramp through them is toilsome and disgusting. 
 Often too, when indignation has made verses of this 
 kind, it has made them a little carelessly. The most 
 ferocious and not the least vigorous political poem 
 that I know, the Prosa den Parisiensis, which was 
 written by some Huguenot (I hope it was Agrippa 
 d'Aubigne) on the murder of Henri III. by Jacques 
 Clement, suffers from this roughness particularly. 
 But we have in England, in old times and in new, 
 not a little most excellent verse, which is free from 
 this defect, and from another, that of coarseness, which 
 disfigures not only the piece I have mentioned but a 
 great deal of French political verse and some English, 
 from Rochester's certainly to Wolcot's, and perhaps to 
 Canning's. Of this it should be possible to make 
 a not uncomely or uninteresting fascicle, the chief 
 difficulty in the binding whereof must be the giving 
 of sufficient information for understanding the pieces 
 without burdening the volume with notes unsuited in 
 length and tenor both to its size and to its purpose. 
 I hope I may not be too unsuccessful in surmounting 
 this difficulty, or too niggardly (none, I think, will 
 think me too profuse) in explanation. 
 
 It is seldom that political verse is very early : in 
 English it is, at least such as has attained to any 
 
Introduction xvii 
 
 polish and merit, decidedly late. Nor are the reasons 
 of this hard to understand. In the first place, such 
 verse is, in the straightforward manners of personally- 
 governed and not very elaborately civilised nations, a 
 decidedly dangerous amusement. The sovereign and 
 his representatives do not understand raillery ad- 
 dressed to themselves, and have little use for it as 
 applied to others, who are better disciplined with axe 
 and fetter, gallows and scourge. Politics, moreover, 
 at such times are too much matters of earnest ; not 
 to mention that until printing is invented and toler- 
 ably free there is no means of securing any wider 
 public than that which can crowd round Pasquin's 
 statue. Accordingly but little will be found here 
 of earlier date than the seventeenth century, and 
 that little is very rude in both senses of the word. 
 Although it is not wholly political in application, 
 and so does not find place here, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh's 'Lie/ for he pretty certainly wrote it, 
 though quite certainly not on the night before his 
 execution, is one of the first polished pieces of the 
 kind that we have. There was no Agrippa d'Aubigne 
 among our reformers ; and their successors, the Puri- 
 tans, were not verse -smiths, though the prose of 
 Martin Marprelate is in its bludgeonly way as 
 
xviii Introduction 
 
 effective a weapon as can well be conceived. This 
 aversion to verse lasted during the great political 
 dissension of the middle of the century, and made 
 the contest too one-sided to be very equal. Bishop 
 Corbet is perhaps the best anti-Puritan rhymester, 
 and taking ecclesiastical matters as a branch of politics, 
 I shall be able to give some good specimens from 
 him and from one or two others. But as I wish to 
 exhibit not so much the elaborate satire, the three- 
 decker of political verse (though we must have a 
 broadside or two from her also now and then) as lighter 
 craft, I shall draw but sparingly on this period. 
 
 The next, that of the last two Stuarts, is somewhat 
 richer, and naturally so, for all the conditions were 
 becoming more favourable to the kind. The fight, 
 though still sharp, and still opening up prospects of 
 the scaffold in one direction and the pillory in 
 another, was by this time a little less internecine. 
 Party, the great tonic and stimulant of political verse, 
 was forming itself, and, moreover, the general style 
 and tenor of literature and the literary spirit were 
 becoming more and more favourable. As the spring 
 of poetry proper ebbed in the nation, so did that of 
 what has been called applied poetry flow all the more 
 briskly. The interesting collection called the State 
 
Introduction xix 
 
 Poems, supplemented by the more regular works of 
 divers distinguished writers, supplies abundant in- 
 stances of all kinds of exercises in the style, from verse 
 so vigorous and polished, that it deserves the name of 
 poetry down to the lowest doggerel. In no kind did 
 the genius of Dryden show itself better, and though 
 I have never been able to convince myself that 
 the 'Young Statesmen' is his, it has never been 
 credibly assigned to any one else, and is one of the 
 first, and not one of the worst, political lyrics extant 
 in English. Rochester's wilful and disgusting coarse- 
 ness mars some excellent exercises of his in the line a 
 drawback which extends to a much more respectable 
 person, Marvell, and to not a few others. There is 
 still, moreover, too much venom in the ink, and per- 
 haps only Dryden achieves what is the very first 
 requisite in political verse the assumption rather 
 of an easy and amused disdain than of a stern 
 and prophetic indignation at the adversary. It may 
 be laid down that the first object of political verse 
 should be to make the foe ridiculous, and that the 
 making of him detestable should be a secondary and 
 cunningly concealed consequence. The early satirists, 
 for the most part, too much forget this. 
 
 The next age of political verse, which may be said 
 
xx Introduction 
 
 to run from the Revolution to about 1780, shows 
 something of the same features as that which we 
 have just noticed, but with differences. The Drydenian 
 satire was very commonly imitated, and latterly had 
 much of the weakness, if something also of the 
 accomplishment, of a stock literary form. Akenside, 
 Churchill, and others exhibited both these character- 
 istics of it. It might seem that no two men ever 
 existed so proper for the style as Swift and Pope, but 
 Pope was utterly unprovided with a political head ; 
 his political interests were purely personal, and 
 though he is constantly, so to speak, on the outskirts 
 of political verse, he never quite attains to it. Swift 
 understood politics thoroughly, and was a master, if 
 not of poetry, of verse both light and serious ; but he 
 too has never reached the acme, such things as * The 
 Legion Club' being again too purely personal. 
 Prior, more superficial and less impassioned, did 
 somewhat better, but not much, and his best things 
 are in far other styles. In substance The True-born 
 Englishman perhaps excels anything by these men ; 
 but Defoe lacked poetic grace of form too utterly to 
 enter into competition with them. Over all the political 
 verse-writers of this period there is a certain constraint, 
 to be accounted for, perhaps, by the half-foreign char- 
 
Introduction xxi 
 
 acter of national politics under the Dutchman and the 
 Hanoverians by the tortuous and unworthy intrigues 
 of the reign of Anne. Nevertheless there is much 
 noteworthy work here to be got hold of, and Aken- 
 side especially is far too generally forgotten. Yet 
 perhaps the happiest thing of the time is the famous 
 epitaph on Prince Frederick, which has all the best 
 notes ease, contempt, brevity, bitterness, point. 
 It looks facile enough most very good things do 
 but I do not think that it is quite so easy as it looks. 
 At any rate I wish I had written it, and that is 
 perhaps as fair a criterion of goodness as is attainable 
 in such a matter. On the whole, however, consider- 
 ing the character and genius of the age, the oppor- 
 tunities of political satire which were afforded by the 
 peculiarities of the reigning family and of the party 
 warfare of the time, and the remarkable amount of 
 literary talent which was disposable, I think the first 
 three-quarters of the eighteenth century were rather 
 less fertile in good political verse than might have 
 been expected. 
 
 No such complaint can possibly be made of the 
 time which succeeded. It may be that the increasing 
 whole -heartedness of national politics after George 
 the Third took away the reproach of the ' wee, wee 
 
xxii Introduction 
 
 German lairdies ' from us, had something to do with 
 it. It may be, to take a less heroic view, that the 
 sense that there was no serious danger now to be 
 feared by the political satirist had as much, or more. 
 Certainly the years, though in point of actual time 
 not far distant, when St. John raged among the un- 
 lucky Whig pressmen were far off. Even in the more 
 tolerant days of the ancien regime (and they were, 
 on the whole, much more tolerant than ignorance 
 thinks them) Wolcot could hardly have lived a whole 
 year of his life out of the Bastille in France ; and the 
 wits of The Rolliad, unless they had resorted to 
 clandestine presses and imprints of ' Monomotapa ' 
 and the like, would have had an unhappy time if 
 they had treated any French minister as Lawrence 
 and Fitzpatrick and the rest treated Pitt. Very 
 hardly, again, would the ministerial side have enlisted 
 in a less free country, and with the national feeling less 
 thoroughly engaged on the side of the Government, 
 such support as that of Canning and Ellis and Frere 
 and North. In the work of the earlier or Whig group 
 ingenious coterie -depreciation, personal tittle-tattle, 
 and the like, are applied to political verse in a way 
 which has never been surpassed. In the work of the 
 later or Tory group the weapons of a generous and 
 
Introduction xxiii 
 
 patriotic satire were put into the hands of authority 
 as they never had been before; and perhaps, all 
 things considered, as they never have been since. 
 For the society of that day offered advantages to the 
 political satirist which earlier he had not attained, 
 and which since he has, to some extent, lost. The 
 reading public was not inconsiderable in numbers, 
 but it was not unmanageably large. It was spread 
 with some evenness all over England. It was not 
 subdivided by any minor fads and parties, but was, 
 on the whole, either frankly Whig or frankly Tory. 
 It had great political power, being, as a rule, con- 
 terminous with the not widely-separated limits of the 
 franchise. It had all been educated very much in 
 the same way, understood the same allusions, caught 
 the same innuendoes. (It has sometimes been con- 
 tended, and I own that it is my opinion, that the so- 
 called spread of education has diluted the strength 
 and liveliness as much as it has enlarged the volume 
 of the national intelligence.) Again, there was little 
 foreign news; nor was the attention distracted by 
 multifarious domestic details in such newspapers as 
 there were. A thing might take weeks or months to 
 penetrate, where it now arrives in a day ; but it was 
 certain of an attentive audience wherever it did 
 
xxiv Introduction 
 
 penetrate, instead of being forgotten almost before 
 it is read. The author even of an epigram on a 
 subject of public interest knew that sooner or later 
 almost everybody who read and thought in Great 
 Britain would hear of it, enjoy it, or be annoyed by 
 it. Add to this the unparalleled interest first of the 
 great party struggle which lifted the Tory party after 
 sixty years of depression to the control of English 
 affairs, and then of the greater war which made 
 Britain first the champion and then the arbiter ot 
 Europe, and it can hardly be wondered that the 
 political verse of this period is of such merit It was 
 forced by events, and, like most sturdy plants, it 
 bore the forcing well. No space here at my com- 
 mand could suffice to do it justice in detail, but the 
 extracts from it will speak, and perhaps its still green 
 fame, as a whole, will speak still better. Undoubtedly 
 1780-1800 was the Augustan age of English political 
 verse. Nor will it surprise any one who has studied 
 the laws of poetical production to remark that it 
 was at the same time almost a dead season, with rare 
 exceptions of promise and performance, in verse not 
 political. 
 
 It cannot, however, be said that in the fresh 
 blossoming time of poetry proper which followed, 
 
Introduction xxv 
 
 political verse showed any considerable signs of 
 decadence. Canning continued to write it more or 
 less till his death. On the other side, Moore (perhaps 
 the best political verse -writer whom that side has 
 produced), began about the end of the first decade of 
 the present century to write most agreeable things of 
 the kind, and continued to do so for thirty years and 
 more. As Canning's day was done a new and charm- 
 ing writer, first for a brief space on the Whig, then 
 for much longer on the Tory side, introduced a fresh 
 flavour into the style. Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 wrote in a fashion more scholarly than Moore's and 
 less ferocious than Canning's, and shows something 
 like supremacy in his own vein. During the last 
 half-century the bulk of political, as of other verse 
 which has been written, has been very great, and 
 perhaps the abundance of it has a little injured the 
 quality. But in the third quarter Thackeray ought to 
 have been a political verse- writer of the very first order, 
 and if he was not the reason is probably to be found 
 in the fact that he had neither any very definite con- 
 ception of politics as a science, nor any clear and 
 decided attachment to a political party. Nominally 
 a Liberal, and strictly maintaining certain Liberal 
 doctrines, he was in tastes, sentiment, historical pre- 
 
xxvi Introduction 
 
 dilections, and intellectual temper a strong though a 
 whimsical Tory. To which it may be added, that his 
 too brief life did not make him the contemporary of any 
 great political struggle except that of the Corn Laws, 
 which was barren soil enough for grass of Parnassus to 
 grow on. He was too young at the date of the first 
 Reform Bill to feel much interest in politics; he 
 died before the death of Lord Palmerston opened 
 a new era of conflict. In that era at least one 
 admirable writer, the only one of living men on 
 whom it has seemed necessary to me to draw Mr. 
 H. D. Traill has appeared, and quite recently his 
 example has stirred up others. 
 
 A few general 'collections/ in the old logical 
 sense of the term, from this survey and our extracts 
 may be allowed to speak for themselves. We have 
 said that political verse is a rather late product ; we 
 may see further that though, as has also been said, 
 it is necessary that it should be written not too 
 seriously in appearance, some great stir of the general 
 mind is almost invariably required in order to produce 
 it The life-and-death struggles of the Popish Plot ; 
 the astonishment and disgust of the reigning Whig 
 aristocracy at the uprising of a Tory interloper like 
 Pitt, and the rallying round him of a new party ; the 
 
Introduction xxvii 
 
 frenzy of the French Revolution ; the assault upon 
 the limited franchise by the middle class first, and 
 then by the nation at large ; the attempts which have 
 been made of latest years to change the entire 
 tradition of English policy and government at home 
 and abroad these are the hotbeds in which such 
 flowers grow. If sometimes they seem to have a 
 more limited origin (such as in the unique and admir- 
 able work of the late Dean Mansel on University Re- 
 form) it must be remembered that university politics 
 have always been of a specially warm kind, and that 
 here general politics come in as well. Yet another 
 point is that political verse is, for the most part, written 
 best if not written only by men of very consider- 
 able cultivation. Ebenezer Elliotts and persons of 
 that kind are rare exceptions, and generally fail in 
 the command of temper, the apparent, if not real, 
 detachment which has been noted above as almost, 
 if not quite, indispensable. Perhaps this last point 
 may have something to do with another which I 
 may be thought likely to exaggerate, owing to some 
 personal partisanship. I refer to the curious fact 
 that, even more than political satire in general, 
 political verse satire is apt to be written on the 
 side of order, as it is called, and authority rather 
 
xxviii Introduction 
 
 than on that of what is called liberty and progress. 
 The reasons for this each man must supply for 
 himself. It is too dangerous a subject for me 
 to enter upon. 
 
 Phrontisterion, Sc. iii., is inserted by the kind 
 permission of Mr. John Murray : King Canute by 
 that of Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co. 
 
JOHN S KELT ON 
 
 (Except in acrimony r , the following piece from Why 
 Come ye not to Courte? is an ill foot to put foremost 
 in a selection of political verse. It is, however , almost 
 necessary as a specimen of the infancy of the art in 
 England, and not uninteresting as an example of the 
 kind of verse with which such an indignation as that 
 commonly felt against Wolsey inspired such a wit as 
 Skeltoris.} 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY 
 
 ONCE yet agayn 
 
 Of you I wold fraine 
 
 Why come ye not to courte ? 
 
 To which court? 
 To the Kinges court 
 Or to Hampton court ? 
 
 Nay to the Kinges court 
 The Kynges court 
 
 ^ B 
 
John Skelton 
 
 Should haue the excellence 
 But Hampton court 
 Hath the preeminence 
 And Yorkes place 
 With my lordes grace 
 To whose magnificence 
 Is all the confluence 
 Sutes and applications 
 Embassades of all nacions 
 Straw for law canon 
 Or for the law common 
 Or for law ciuill 
 It shall be as he wyll 
 Stop at law tancrete 
 An abstract or a concrete 
 Be it soure be it sweete 
 His wisdome is so discrete 
 That in a fume or an hete 
 Warden of the Flete 
 Set him fast by the fete 
 And of his royal poure 
 Whan him lyst to loure 
 Then haue him to the Toure 
 Saunz aulter remedy 
 Haue him forth by and by 
 To the Marshalsy 
 Or to the Kinges benche 
 He diggeth so in the trench 
 
Cardinal Wolsey 
 
 Of the court royall 
 That he ruleth them all 
 So he dothe undermynde 
 And such sleights doth fynde 
 That the Kinges mynde 
 By him is subuerted 
 And so streatly coarted 
 In credensing his tales 
 That al is but nutshales 
 That any other sayth 
 He hath in him such faith 
 
 Now, yet al this might be 
 Suffred and taken in gree 
 If that, that he wrought 
 To any good end wer brought 
 But all he bryngeth to nought 
 But God that me deare bought 
 
 He beareth the king on hand 
 That he must pyl his land 
 To make his cofers rych 
 But he layeth al in the dyche 
 And useth such abusion 
 That in the conclusion 
 All commeth to confusion 
 Perceiue the cause whye 
 To tell the trouth plainlye 
 He is so ambicious 
 So shameless, and so vicious 
 
John Skelton 
 
 And so supersticious 
 And so much obliuious 
 From whens that he came 
 That he falleth in Acisiam 
 Which truely to expresse 
 Is a forgetfulnes 
 Or wylful blyndnes 
 Wherwith the Sodomites 
 Lost their inward sightes 
 
 The Gommorians also 
 Were brought to deadly wo 
 As scripture recordes 
 A cecitate cordis 
 In the Latin sygne we 
 Libera nos Domine 
 
 But this mad Amalecke 
 Like to Amamelek 
 He regardeth lordes 
 No more than pot shordes 
 He is in suche elacion 
 Of his exaltacion 
 And the supportacion 
 Of our soueraine lorde 
 That God to recorde 
 He ruleth al at will 
 Without reason or skyll 
 Howbeit they be prymordyall 
 Of hys wretched originall 
 
Cardinal Wolsey 
 
 And his base progeny 
 
 And his gresy genealogy 
 
 He came of the sanke roiall 
 
 That was cast out of a bouchers stall. 
 
 But howe euer he was borne 
 Men would haue the lesse scorne 
 If he could consider 
 His byrth and rowme together 
 And call to his mynde 
 How noble and how kynde 
 To hym he hath founde 
 Our souerayne lord, chief grounde 
 Of all thys prelacy 
 And set hym nobly 
 In great aucthorite 
 Out from a low degre 
 Which he can not see 
 For he was parde 
 No doctour of divinite 
 Nor doctor of the law 
 Nor of none other saw 
 But a pore maister of arte 
 God wot had little part 
 Of the quatriuials 
 Nor yet of triuials 
 Nor of philosophye 
 Nor of philology 
 Nor of good pollicy 
 
John Skelton 
 
 Nor of astronomy 
 
 Nor acquainted worth a fly 
 
 With honourable Italy 
 
 Nor with royal Ptholomy 
 
 Nor with Albumasar 
 
 To treate of any star 
 
 Fyxt or els mobil 
 
 His Latin tongue doth hobbyl 
 
 He doth but clout and cobbel 
 
 In Tullis facultie 
 
 Called humanitie 
 
 Yet proudly he dare pretend 
 
 How no man can him amend 
 
 But haue ye not heard this 
 
 How a one-eyed man is 
 
 Wei sighted, wen 
 
 He is amonge blynd men. 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 
 
 (Prosopopoia : or Mother Hubberd's Tale, is gener- 
 ally and rightly quoted as a very early example of true 
 satire in English verse. To that exercise Spenser (as not 
 only this poem but many passages in The Shepheard's 
 Calender, in the Faerie Queene herself , and elsewhere 
 show] had considerable inclination. If any one questions 
 the exact appropriateness of the piece here^ let him remem- 
 ber that there were no such burning questions of State in 
 the sixteenth century as questions touching the Church.} 
 
 THE POLITIC CLERK 
 
 THE Priest gan wexe halfe proud to be so praide, 
 
 And thereby willing to affoord them aide ; 
 
 * It seemes (said he) right well that ye be Clerks, 
 
 Both by your wittie words, and by your werks. 
 
 Is not that name enough to make a living 
 
 To him that hath a whit of Natures giving ? 
 
 How manie honest men see ye arize 
 
8 Edmund Spenser 
 
 Daylie thereby, and grow to goodly prize ; 
 
 To Deanes, to Archdeacons, to Commissaries, 
 
 To Lords, to Principalls, to Prebendaries? 
 
 All jolly Prelates, worthie rule to beare, 
 
 Who ever them envie : yet spite bites neare. 
 
 Why should ye doubt, then, but that ye likewise 
 
 Might unto some of those in time arise ? 
 
 In the meane-time to live in good estate, 
 
 Loving that love, and hating those that hate ; 
 
 Being some honest Curate, or some Vicker 
 
 Content with little in condition sicker/ 
 
 * Ah ! but (said th' Ape) the charge is wondrous great, 
 
 To feed mens soules, and hath an heavie threat.' 
 
 1 To feede mens soules (quoth he) is not in man ; 
 
 For they must feed themselves, doo what we can. 
 
 We are but charg'd to lay the meate before : 
 
 Eate they that list, we need to doo no more. 
 
 But God it is that feedes them with his grace, 
 
 The bread of life powr'd downe from heavenly place. 
 
 Therefore said he, that with the budding rod 
 
 Did rule the Jewes, All shalbe taught of God. 
 
 That same hath Jesus Christ now to him raught, 
 
 By whom the flock is rightly fed, and taught : 
 
 He is the Shepheard, and the Priest is hee ; 
 
 We but his shepheard swaines ordain'd to bee. 
 
 Therefore herewith doo not your selfe dismay ; 
 
 Ne is the paines so great, but beare ye may, 
 
 For not so great, as it was wont of yore, 
 
The Politic Clerk c 
 
 It's now a dayes, ne halfe so straight and sore. 
 
 They whilome used duly everie day 
 
 Their service and their ho*lie things to say, 
 
 At morne and even, besides their Anthemes sweete, 
 
 Their penie Masses, and their Complynes meete, 
 
 Their Diriges, their Trentals, and their shrifts, 
 
 Their memories, their singings, and their gifts. 
 
 Now all those needlesse works are laid away ; 
 
 Now once a weeke, upon the Sabbath day, 
 
 It is enough to doo our small devotion, 
 
 And then to follow any merrie motion. 
 
 Ne are we tyde to fast, but when we list ; 
 
 Ne to weare garments base of wollen twist, 
 
 But with the finest silkes us to aray, 
 
 That before God we may appeare more gay, 
 
 Resembling Aarons glorie in his place : 
 
 For farre unfit it is, that person bace 
 
 Should with vile cloaths approach Gods majestic, 
 
 Whom no uncleannes may approachen nie ; 
 
 Or that all men, which anie master serve, 
 
 Good garments for their service should deserve ; 
 
 But he that serves the Lord of hoasts most high, 
 
 And that in highest place, t' approach him nigh, 
 
 And all the peoples prayers to present 
 
 Before his throne, as on ambassage sent 
 
 Both too and fro, should not deserve to weare 
 
 A garment better than of wooll or heare. 
 
 Beside, we may have lying by our sides 
 
io Edmund Spenser 
 
 Our lovely Lasses, or bright shining Brides : 
 We be not tyde to wilfull chastitie, 
 But have the Gospell of free libertie.' 
 
 By that he ended had his ghostly sermon, 
 The Foxe was well induc'd to be a Parson, 
 And of the Priest eftsoones gan to enquire, 
 How to a Benefice he might aspire ? 
 1 Marie, there (said the Priest) is arte indeed : 
 Much good deep learning one thereout may reed ; 
 For that the ground-worke is, and end of all, 
 How to obtaine a Beneficiall. 
 First, therefore, when ye have in handsome wise 
 Your selfe attyred, as you can devise, 
 Then to some Noble-man your selfe applye, 
 Or other great one in the worldes eye, 
 That hath a zealous disposition 
 To God, and so to his religion. 
 There must thou fashion eke a godly zeale, 
 Such as no carpers may contrayre reveale ; 
 For each thing fained ought more warie bee. 
 There thou must walke in sober gravitee, 
 And seeme as Saintlike as Saint Radegund : 
 Fast much, pray oft, looke lowly on the ground, 
 And unto everie one doo curtesie meeke : 
 These lookes (nought saying) doo a benefice seeke, 
 And be thou sure one not to lacke or long. 
 But if thee list unto the Court to throng, 
 And there to hunt after the hoped pray, 
 
The Politic Clerk 11 
 
 Then must thou thee dispose another way : 
 
 For there thou needs must learne to laugh, to lie, 
 
 To face, to forge, to scoffe, to companie, 
 
 To crouche, to please, to be a beetle-stock 
 
 Of thy great Masters will, to scorne, or mock. 
 
 So maist thou chaunce mock out a Benefice, 
 
 Unlesse thou canst one conjure by device, 
 
 Or cast a figure for a Bishoprick ; 
 
 And if one could, it were but a schoole trick. 
 
 These be the wayes by which without reward 
 
 Livings in Court be gotten, though full hard ; 
 
 For nothing there is done without a fee : 
 
 The Courtier needes must recompenced bee 
 
 With a Benevolence, or have in gage 
 
 The Primitias of your Parsonage : 
 
 Scarse can a Bishoprick forpas them by, 
 
 But that it must be gelt in privitie. 
 
 Doo not thou therefore seeke a living there, 
 
 But of more private persons seeke elswhere, 
 
 Whereas thou maist compound a better penie, 
 
 Ne let thy learning questioned be of anie. 
 
 For some good Gentleman, that hath the right 
 
 Unto his Church for to present a wight, 
 
 Will cope with thee in reasonable wise ; 
 
 That if the living yerely doo arise 
 
 To fortie pound, that then his youngest sonne 
 
 Shall twentie have, and twentie thou hast wonne : 
 
 Thou ( hast it wonne, for it is of franke gift, 
 
12 Edmund Spenser 
 
 And he will care for all the rest to shift, 
 
 Both that the Bishop may admit of thee, 
 
 And that therein thou maist maintained bee. 
 
 This is the way for one that is unlern'd 
 
 Living to get, and not to be discerned. 
 
 But they, that are great Clerkes, have nearer wayes, 
 
 For learning sake to living them to raise \ 
 
 Yet manie eke of them (God wote) are driven 
 
 T accept a Benefice in peeces riven. 
 
 How saist thou (friend) have I not well discourst 
 
 Upon this Common-place, (though plaine, not wourst?) 
 
 Better a short tale than a bad long shriving : 
 
 Needes anie more to learne to get a living ? ' 
 
BISHOP CORBET 
 
 (This excellent satire was probably inspired in 
 Corbet, one of the lightest and brightest wits of his 
 time^ almost equally by High Churchmanship, Toryism 
 -for though the name was later the thing existed^ 
 and the partisanship of an Oxford man.) 
 
 THE DISTRACTED PURITANE 
 
 AM I madd, O noble Festus, 
 When zeale and godly knowledge 
 Have put me in hope 
 To deal with the pope, 
 As well as the best in the colledge ? 
 Boldly I preach, hate a crosse, hate a surplice, 
 
 Miters, copes, and rochets : 
 Come heare me pray nine times a day, 
 And fill your heads with crochets. 
 
i4 Bishop Corbet 
 
 In the house of pure Emanuel 
 I had my education ; 
 
 Where my friends surmise 
 
 I dazzled my eyes 
 With the light of revelation. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 They bound me like a Bedlam, 
 They lash't my foure poore quarters ; 
 
 Whilst this I endure, 
 
 Faith makes me sure 
 To be one of Foxe's martyrs. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 These injuryes I suffer 
 Through anti-Christs' perswasions : 
 Take off this chaine, 
 Neither Rome nor Spaine 
 Can resist my strong invasions. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 Of the beast's ten homes (God blesse us !) 
 I have knock't off three already : 
 
 If they let me alone, 
 
 I'll leave him none ; 
 But they say I'm too heady. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
The Distracted Puritane 
 
 When I sack'd the seaven-hilPd citty 
 I mett the great redd dragon : 
 I kept him aloofe 
 With the armour of proofe, 
 Though here I have never a rag one. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 With a fiery sword and targett 
 There fought I with this monster : 
 
 But the sonnes of pride 
 
 My zeale deride, 
 And all my deedes misconster. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 I unhorst the whore of Babel 
 With a launce of inspirations : 
 
 I made her stinke, 
 
 And spill her drinck 
 In the cupp of abominations. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 I have seen two in a vision, 
 
 With a flying booke betweene them : 
 
 I have bin in despaire 
 
 Five times a yeare 
 And cur'd by reading Greenham. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
1 6 Bishop Corbet 
 
 I observ'd in Perkin's Tables 
 The black lines of damnation : 
 Those crooked veines 
 Soe struck in my braines, 
 That I fear'd my reprobation. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 In the holy tongue of Chanaan 
 I plac'd my chiefest pleasure : 
 
 Till I prickt my foote 
 
 With an Hebrew roote, 
 That I bledd beyond all measure. 
 Boldly I preach, etc. 
 
 I appear'd before the arch-bishop, 
 And all the high commission : 
 I gave him noe grace, 
 But told him to his face 
 That he favoured superstition. 
 Boldly I preach, hate a crosse, hate a surplice 
 
 Miters, copes, and rochets : 
 Come heare me pray nine times a day, 
 And fill your heads with crochets. 
 
ALEXANDER BROME 
 
 (Brome was a good cavalier, and an Anacreontic 
 singer of some merit. His satire on the parliament's 
 proceedings, though deficient in form, is fairly sharp.) 
 
 THE LEVELLER'S RANT 
 
 To the hall, to the hall, 
 For justice we call, 
 
 On the king and his powerful adherents and friends, 
 Who still have endeavour'd, but we work their ends. 
 'Tis we will pull down whate'er is above us, 
 And make them to fear us, that never did love us, 
 We'll level the proud, and make very degree, 
 To our royalty bow the knee, 
 
 'Tis no less than treason, 
 'Gainst freedom and reason 
 For our brethren to be higher than we. 
 c 
 
1 8 Alexander Brome 
 
 First the thing, call'd a king, 
 To judgment we bring, 
 
 And the spawn of the court, that were prouder than he, 
 And next the two Houses united shall be : 
 It does to the Roman religion inveigle, 
 For the state to be two-headed like the spread-eagle ; 
 We'll purge the superfluous members away, 
 They are too many kings to sway, 
 And as we all teach, 
 'Tis our liberty's breach, 
 For the free-born saints to obey. 
 
 Not a claw, in the law, 
 Shall keep us in awe ; 
 
 We'll have no cushion-cuffers to tell us of Hell, 
 For we are all gifted to do it as well : 
 'Tis freedom that we do hold forth to the nation 
 To enjoy our fellow-creatures as at the creation ; 
 The carnal men's wives are for men of the spirit, 
 Their wealth is our own by merit, 
 For we that have right, 
 By the law called might, 
 Are the saints that must judge and inherit. 
 
Specimens of Diurnal 19 
 
 SPECIMENS OF DIURNAL 
 
 MONDAY 
 
 ON Monday both Houses fell into debate, 
 
 And were likely to fall by the ears as they sat ; 
 
 Yet would they not have the business decided, 
 
 That they (as the kingdom is) might be divided. 
 
 They had an intention to prayers to go, 
 
 But extempore prayers are now common too. 
 
 To voting they fall ; and the key of the work 
 
 Was the raising of money for the state and the kirk. 
 
 'Tis only free loan : yet this order they make, 
 
 That what men would not lend, they should plunder 
 
 and take. 
 
 Upon this, the word plunder came into their mind, 
 1| And all of them did labour a new one to find : 
 They call'd it distraining : yet thought it no shame 
 To persist in the act, which they blush'd for to name. 
 They voted all persons from Oxford that came, 
 Should be apprehended : and after the same, 
 With an humble petition, the king they request 
 He'd be pleased to return, and be served like the rest. 
 A message from Oxford, conducing to peace, 
 Came next to their hands, that armies might cease. 
 They voted and voted, and still they did vary, 
 
20 Alexander Brome 
 
 Till at last the whole sense of the house was contrary 
 To reason ; they knew by their arms they might gain 
 What neither true reason nor law can maintain. 
 Cessation was voted a dangerous plot ; 
 Because the king would have it, both houses would 
 
 not. 
 
 But when they resolv'd, it abroad must be blown, 
 (To baffle the world) that the king would have none. 
 And carefully muzzled the mouth of the press, 
 Lest the truth should peep through their juggling 
 
 dress. 
 For they knew a cessation would work them more 
 
 harms, 
 
 Than Essex could do the cavaliers with his arms. 
 While they keep the ships and the forts in their hand, 
 They may be traitors by sea, as well as by land.! 
 The forts will preserve them as long as they stay, f 1 
 And the ships carry them and their plunder away. 
 They have therefore good reason to account war the 
 
 better, 
 For the law will prove to them but a killing letter. 
 
 SATURDAY 
 
 This day there came news of the taking a ship, 
 
 (To see what strange wonders are wrought in the 
 
 deep.) 
 That a troop of their horse ran into the sea, 
 
Specimens of Diurnal 21 
 
 And pulPd out a ship alive to the key. 
 
 And after much prating and fighting they say, 
 
 The ropes serv'd for traces to draw her away. 
 
 Sure these were sea-horses, or else by their lying, 
 
 They'd make them as famous for swimming as flying. 
 
 The rest of the day they spent to bemoan 
 
 Their brother the Round-head that to Tyburn was 
 
 gone; 
 
 And could not but think it a barbarous thing, 
 To hang him for killing a friend to the king. 
 He was newly baptized, and held it was good 
 To be washed, yet not in water, but blood. 
 They ordered for his honour to cut off his ears, 
 And make him a martyr, but a zealot appears, 
 And affirm'd him a martyr, for although 'twas his fate 
 To be hang'd, yet he dy'd for the good of the state. 
 Then all fell to plotting of matters so deep, 
 That the silent Speaker fell down fast asleep. 
 He recovers himself and rubs up his eyes, 
 Then motions his house that it was time to rise. 
 So home they went all, and their business referr'd 
 To the close-committee by them to be heard ; 
 They took it upon them, but what they did do, 
 Take notice that none but themselves must know. 
 
ANDRE W MAR VELL 
 
 (MarvelPs patriotism and his poetry are both 
 undeniable, but somehow neither shines best when the 
 one enlists the other as a comrade. The matter of his 
 political satires is often insufferably coarse, the manner 
 very often rugged and clumsy. I do not think anything 
 better can be found to represent him than these lines on 
 what was undoubtedly the greatest disgrace of Charles 
 the Second's reign.) 
 
 THE DUTCH IN THE MEDWAY 
 
 THERE our sick Ships tmrigg'd in Summer lay, 
 Like moulting Fowl, a weak and easy Prey : 
 For whose strong bulk Earth scarce could Timber 
 
 find, 
 
 The Ocean Water, or the Heavens Wind. 
 Those Oaken Giants of the ancient Race, 
 That rul'd all Seas, and did our Channel grace. 
 The conscious Stag, tho' once the Forest's dread, 
 
The Dutch in the Medway 23 
 
 Flies to the wood, and hides his armless Head : 
 Ruyter forthwith and Squadron does untack, 
 They sail securely through the River's track. 
 And English Pilot too (Oh shame ! Oh sin !) 
 Cheated of s Pay, was he that shew'd them in. 
 
 Our wretched Ships within their Fate attend, 
 And all our hopes now on frail Chain depend : 
 (Engine so slight to guard us from the Sea, 
 It fitter seem'd to Captivate a Flea ;) 
 A Skipper rude shocks it without respect, 
 Filling his sails more force to recollect. 
 Th' English from shore the Iron deaf invoke 
 For its last aid, Hold Chain, or we are broke ! 
 But with her failing weight the Holland Keel, 
 Snapping the brittle Links, does thorough reel, 
 And to the rest the opening passage shew : 
 
 Monk from the Bank that dismal sight does view. 
 Our feather'd Gallants which came down that day 
 To be Spectators safe of the New Play, 
 Leave him alone when first they hear the Gun, 
 (CornVry the fleetest) and to London run. 
 
 Our Seamen whom no dangers shape could fright. 
 Unpaid, refuse to mount our Ships for spight : 
 Or to their Fellows Swim on board the Dutch^ 
 Who shew the tempting Metal in their clutch. 
 Oft had he sent, of Duncomb and of Legg 
 Cannon and Powder, but in vain, to begg ; 
 And Upnor Castle's ill deserted Wall, 
 
24 Andrew Marvell 
 
 Now needful does for Ammunition call, 
 He finds, where'er he succour might expect, 
 Confusion, Folly, Treachery, Fear, Neglect. 
 
 But when the Royal Charles (what rage ! what 
 
 grief!) 
 
 He saw seiz'd, and could give her no relief; 
 That Sacred Keel that had, as he, restor'd 
 Its exil'd Sov'reign on its happy board, 
 And thence the British Admiral became, 
 Crown'd for that merit with his Master's Name ; 
 That pleasure-boat of War, in whose dear side 
 Secure, so oft he had this Foe defy'd, 
 Now a cheap Spoil, and the mean Victor's slave, 
 Taught the Dutch Colours from its Top to wave, 
 Of former Glories the reproachful thought 
 With present shame compar'd, his mind distraught. 
 
 Such from Euphrates bank a Tigress fell 
 After her Robbers for her Whelps does yell ; 
 But sees enrag'd the River flow between, 
 Frustrate Revenge, and Love by loss more keen ; 
 At her own Breast her useless Claws does arm, 
 She tears herself, 'cause him she cannot harm. 
 
 The Guards plac'd for the Chain's and Fleet's 
 
 defence, 
 
 Long since were fled on many a feign'd pretence. 
 Daniel had there adventur'd, Man of might, 
 Sweet Painter I draw his Picture while I write. 
 
 Paint him of person tall, and big of Bone, 
 
The Dutch in the Medway 25 
 
 Large Limbs like Ox, not to be killed but shown ; 
 Scarce can burnt Iv'ry feign a hair so black, 
 Or Face so red, thine Oker and thy Lack, 
 Mix a vain terror in his Martial look, 
 And all those lines by which men are mistook ; 
 But when by shame constrain'd to go on Board, 
 He heard how the wild Cannon nearer roar'd, 
 And saw himself confin'd like Sheep in Pen, 
 Daniel then thought he was in Lions' Den : 
 But when the frightful Fire-Ships he saw, 
 Pregnant with Sulphur nearer to him draw, 
 Captain, Lieutenant, Ensign, all make haste, 
 E'er in the fiery Furnace they be cast ; 
 Three Children tall unsing'd, away they row : 
 Like Shadrack, Mesheck and Abednego. 
 Each doleful day still with fresh loss returns, 
 The Loyal London now a third time burns. 
 And the true Royal Oak, and Royal James, 
 Ally'd in Fate, increase with theirs her flames. 
 Of all our Navy none should now survive, 
 But that the Ships themselves were taught to dive ; 
 And the kind River in its Creek them hides, 
 Fraughting their pierced Keels with Ouzy sides ; 
 Up to the Bridge contagious Terror struck, 
 The Tow'r itself with the near danger shook ; 
 And were not Ruyter>s Man with ravage cloy'd, 
 Ev'n London's ashes had been then destroy'd ; 
 Officious fear, however to prevent 
 
26 Andrew Marvell 
 
 Our loss, does so much more our loss augment. 
 The Dutch had robb'd those Jewels of the Crown, 
 Our Merchant-men, lest they should burn, we drown : 
 So when the Fire did not enough devour, 
 The Houses were demolish'd near the Tow'r. 
 Those Ships that yearly from their teaming hole 
 Unloaded here the Birth of either Pole, 
 Fir from the North, and Silver from the West, 
 From the South Perfumes, Spices from the East ; 
 From Gambo Gold, and from the Ganges Jems, 
 Take a short Voyage underneath the Thames : 
 Once a deep River, now with Timber floor'd, 
 And shrunk, less Navigable, to a Ford. 
 
 Now nothing more at Chatham's left to burn, 
 The Holland Squadron leisurely return ; 
 And spight of Ruperts and of Albermarles, 
 To Ruyter's Triumph led the Captive Charles. 
 The pleasing sight he often does prolong, 
 Her Mast erect, tough Cordage, Timber strong, 
 Her moving shape, all these he doth survey, 
 And all admires, but most his easy Prey. 
 The Seamen search her all within, without, 
 Viewing her strength they yet their Conquest doubt ; 
 Then with rude shouts secure, the Air they vex, 
 With gamsom joy insulting on her Decks ; 
 Such the fear'd Hebrew Captive, blinded, shorn, 
 Was led about in sport, the publick scorn. 
 
 Black day accurst ! on thee let no man hale 
 
The Dutch in the Medway 27 
 
 Out of the Port, or dare to hoyse a Sail, 
 
 Or row a Boat in thy unlucky hour, 
 
 Thee, the Years' Monster, let thy Dam devour ; 
 
 And constant time to keep his course yet right, 
 
 Fill up thy space with a redoubled Night. 
 
 When aged Thames was bound with Fetters base, 
 
 And Medway chaste ravisht before his face, 
 
 And their dear Off-spring murder'd in their sight, 
 
 Thou and thy fellows held'st the odious light. 
 
 Sad chance since first that happy Pair was wed, 
 
 When all the Rivers grac'd their Nuptial bed, 
 
 And Father Neptune promis'd to resign 
 
 His Empire old to their Immortal line ; 
 
 Now with vain grief their vainer hopes they rue, 
 
 Themselves dishonour'd, and the Gods untrue ; 
 
 And to each other helpless couple mourn, 
 
 As the sad Tortoise for the Sea does groan : 
 
 But most they for their darling Charles complain, 
 
 And were it burnt, yet less would be their pain. 
 
 To see that fatal pledge of Sea command, 
 
 Now in the Ravisher de Ruyter^s hand ; 
 
 The Thames roar'd, swooning Medway turned her 
 
 tyde, 
 And were they mortal, both for grief had dy'd. 
 
 The Court in Fathering yet it self doth please, 
 And female Steward there rules the four Seas, 
 But fate does still accumulate our woes, 
 And Richmond her commands, as Ruyter those. 
 
28 Andrew Marvell 
 
 After this loss, to relish discontent, 
 Some one must be accus'd by punishment ; 
 All our Miscarriages on Pert must fall, 
 His name alone seems fit to answer all. 
 Whose counsel first did this mad War beget ? 
 Who all Commands sold through the Navy ? Pett. 
 Who would not follow when the Dutch were beat ? 
 Who treated out the Time at Bergen ? Pett. 
 Who the Dutch Fleet with storms disabled met ? 
 And rifling Prizes them neglected ? Pett. 
 Who with false News prevented the Gazette ? 
 The Fleet divided, writ for Rupertt Pett. 
 Who all our Seamen cheated of their debt, 
 And all our Prizes who did swallow ? Pett. 
 Who did advise no Navy out to Set ? 
 And who the Forts left unprepared ? Pett. 
 Who to supply with Powder did forget 
 Languard, Sheerness, Gravesend and Upnor ? Pett. 
 Who all our Ships exposed in Chattham Nett ? 
 Who should it be but the Fanatick Petti 
 Pet^ the Sea-architect in making Ships, 
 Was the first cause of all these Naval slips. 
 Had he not built, none of these faults had been ; 
 If no Creation, there had been no sin ; 
 But his great Crime, one Boat away he sent, 
 That lost our Fleet, and did our flight prevent. 
 
JOHN DRY DEN 
 
 (It seemed superfluous to draw on Absalom and 
 Achitophel, the greatest of Dry den's political poems. 
 His political prologues and epilogues are defaced both by 
 coarseness and ferocity. The Medal is less generally 
 known than it ought to be, and though the personal 
 satire is less lively than in Absalom and Achitophel, 
 the political argument is thorough ; and the extra- 
 ordinary aptitude of Glorious Johri s muse for reasoning 
 in verse is nowhere better shown. There is an inter- 
 esting and not improbable story that Charles the Second 
 himself suggested the subject ', and even the treatment, to 
 the poet ; I say not improbable, for Charles's ability 
 is unquestionable, and it was Dryderts way to work 
 better on a suggestion or a pattern than quite inde- 
 pendently.} 
 
 THE MEDAL 
 
 A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION 
 
 OF all our antic sights and pageantry 
 Which English idiots run in crowds to see, 
 
30 John Dryden 
 
 The Polish Medal bears the prize alone ; 
 
 A monster, more the favourite of the town 
 
 Than either fairs or theatres have shown. 
 
 Never did art so well with nature strive, 
 
 Nor ever idol seemed so much alive ; 
 
 So like the man, so golden to the sight, 
 
 So base within, so counterfeit and light. 
 
 One side is filled with title and with face ; 
 
 And, lest the king should want a regal place, 
 
 On the reverse a tower the town surveys, 
 
 O'er which our mounting sun his beams displays. 
 
 The word, pronounced aloud by shrieval voice, 
 
 Latamur, which in Polish is Rejoice , 
 
 The day, month, year, to the great act are joined, 
 
 And a new canting holiday designed. 
 
 Five days he sate for every cast and look, 
 
 Four more than God to finish Adam took. 
 
 But who can tell what essence angels are 
 
 Or how long Heaven was making Lucifer ? 
 
 Oh, could the style that copied every grace 
 
 And ploughed such furrows for an eunuch face, 
 
 Could it have formed his ever-changing will, 
 
 The various piece had tired the graver's skill ! 
 
 A martial hero first, with early care 
 
 Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war ; 
 
 A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man, 
 
 So young his hatred to his Prince began. 
 
 Next this, (how wildly will ambition steer !) 
 
The Medal 31 
 
 A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear, 
 
 Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold, 
 
 He cast himself into the saint-like mould ; 
 
 Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain, 
 
 The loudest bag-pipe of the squeaking train. 
 
 But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes, 
 
 His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise. 
 
 There split the saint ; for hypocritic zeal 
 
 Allows no sins but those it can conceal. 
 
 Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope ; 
 
 Saints must not trade, but they may interlope. 
 
 The ungodly principle was all the same ; 
 
 But a gross cheat betrays his partner's game. 
 
 Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and slack ; 
 
 His nimble wit outran the heavy pack. 
 
 Yet still he found his fortune at a stay, 
 
 Whole droves of blockheads choking up his way ; 
 
 They took, but not rewarded, his advice ; 
 
 Villain and wit exact a double price. 
 
 Power was his aim ; but thrown from that pretence, 
 
 The wretch turned loyal in his own defence, 
 
 And malice reconciled him to his Prince. 
 
 Him in the anguish of his soul he served, 
 
 Rewarded faster still than he deserved. 
 
 Behold him now exalted into trust, 
 
 His counsels oft convenient, seldom just ; 
 
 Even in the most sincere advice he gave 
 
 He had a grudging still to be a knave. 
 
32 John Dryden 
 
 The frauds he learnt in his fanatic years 
 
 Made him uneasy in his lawful gears. 
 
 At best, as little honest as he could, 
 
 And, like white witches, mischievously good. 
 
 To his first bias longingly he leans 
 
 And rather would be great by wicked means. 
 
 Thus framed for ill, he loosed our triple hold, 
 
 (Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold.) 
 
 From hence those tears, that Ilium of our woe : 
 
 Who helps a powerful friend forearms a foe. 
 
 What wonder if the waves prevail so far, 
 
 When he cut down the banks that made the bar ? 
 
 Seas follow but their nature to invade ; 
 
 But he by art our native strength betrayed. 
 
 So Samson to his foe his force confest, 
 
 And to be shorn lay slumbering on her breast. 
 
 But when this fatal counsel, found too late, 
 
 Exposed its author to the public hate, 
 
 When his just sovereign by no impious way 
 
 Could be seduced to arbitrary sway, 
 
 Forsaken of that hope, he shifts his sail, 
 
 Drives down the current with a popular gale, 
 
 And shows the fiend confessed without a veil. 
 
 He preaches to the crowd that power is lent, 
 
 But not conveyed to kingly government, 
 
 That claims successive bear no binding force, 
 
 That coronation oaths are things of course ; 
 
 Maintains the multitude can never err, 
 
The Medal 33 
 
 And sets the people in the papal chair. 
 The reason's obvious, interest never lies ; 
 The most have still their interest in their eyes, 
 The power is always theirs, and power is ever wise. 
 Almighty crowd ! thou shortenest all dispute, 
 Power is thy essence, wit thy attribute ! 
 Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay, 
 Thou leapst o'er all eternal truths in thy Pindaric way ! 
 Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide, 
 When Phocion and when Socrates were tried ; 
 As righteously they did those dooms repent ; 
 Still they were wise, whatever way they went. 
 Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run : 
 To kill the father and recall the son. 
 Some think the fools were most, as times went then 
 But now the world's o'erstocked with prudent men. 
 The common cry is even religion's test ; 
 The Turk's is at Constantinople best, 
 Idols in India, Popery at Rome, 
 And our own worship only true at home, 
 And true but for the time ; 'tis hard to know 
 How long we please it shall continue so ; 
 This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns ; 
 So all are God Almighties in their turns. 
 A tempting doctrine, plausible and new ; 
 What fools our fathers were, if this be true ! 
 Who, to destroy the seeds of civil war, 
 Inherent right in monarchs did declare ; 
 D 
 
34 John Dryden 
 
 And, that a lawful power might never cease, 
 Secured succession to secure our peace. 
 Thus property and sovereign sway at last 
 In equal balances were justly cast ; 
 But this new Jehu spurs the hot-mouthed horse, 
 Instructs the beast to know his native force, 
 To take the bit between his teeth and fly 
 To the next headlong steep of anarchy. 
 Too happy England, if our good we knew, 
 Would we possess the freedom we pursue ! 
 The lavish government can give no more ; 
 Yet we repine, and plenty makes us poor. 
 God tried us once ; our rebel fathers fought ; 
 He glutted them with all the power they sought, 
 Till, mastered by their own usurping brave, 
 The free-born subject sunk into a slave. 
 We loathe our manna, and we long for quails ; 
 Ah ! what is man, when his own wish prevails ! 
 How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill, 
 Proud of his power and boundless in his will ! 
 That kings can do no wrong we must believe ; 
 None can they do, and must they all receive ? 
 Help, Heaven, or sadly we shall see an hour 
 When neither wrong nor right are in their power ! 
 Already they have lost their best defence, 
 The benefit of laws which they dispense. 
 No justice to their righteous cause allowed, 
 But baffled by an arbitrary crowd ; 
 
The Medal 35 
 
 And medals graved, their conquest to record, 
 
 The stamp and coin of their adopted lord. 
 
 % # * % # 
 
 But thou, the pander of the people's hearts, 
 (O crooked soul and serpentine in arts !) 
 Whose blandishments a loyal land have whored, 
 And broke the bonds she plighted to her lord, 
 What curses on thy blasted name will fall, 
 Which age to age their legacy shall call, 
 For all must curse the woes that must descend on all ! 
 Religion thou hast none : thy mercury 
 Has passed through every sect, or theirs through thee. 
 But what thou givest, that venom still remains, 
 And the poxed nation feels thee in their brains. 
 What else inspires the tongues and swells the breasts 
 Of all thy bellowing renegado priests, 
 That preach up thee for God, dispense thy laws, 
 And with thy stum ferment their fainting cause, 
 Fresh fumes of madness raise, and toil and sweat, 
 To make the formidable cripple great ? 
 Yet should thy crimes succeed, should lawless power 
 Compass those ends thy greedy hopes devour, 
 Thy canting friends thy mortal foes would be, 
 Thy god and theirs will never long agree ; 
 For thine, if thou hast any, must be one 
 That lets the world and human kind alone ; 
 A jolly god that passes hours too well 
 To promise Heaven or threaten us with Hell, 
 
3-6 John Dry den 
 
 That unconcerned can at rebellion sit 
 
 And wink at crimes he did himself commit. 
 
 A tyrant theirs ; the heaven their priesthood paints 
 
 A conventicle of gloomy sullen saints ; 
 
 A heaven, like Bedlam, slovenly and sad, 
 
 Foredoomed for souls with false religion mad. 
 
 Without a vision poets can foreshow 
 What all but fools by common sense may know : 
 If true succession from our Isle should fail, 
 And crowds profane with impious arms prevail, 
 Not thou nor those thy factious arts engage 
 Shall reap that harvest of rebellious rage, 
 With which thou flatterest thy decrepit age. 
 The swelling poison of the several sects, 
 Which, wanting vent, the nation's health infects, 
 Shall burst its bag ; and fighting out their way, 
 The various venoms on each other prey. 
 The Presbyter, puffed up with spiritual pride, 
 Shall on the necks of the lewd nobles ride, 
 His brethren damn, the civil power defy, 
 And parcel out republic prelacy. 
 But short shall be his reign ; his rigid yoke 
 And tyrant power will puny sects provoke, 
 And frogs, and toads, and all the tadpole train 
 Will croak to Heaven for help from this devouring 
 
 crane. 
 
 The cut-throat sword and clamorous gown shall jar 
 In sharing their ill-gotten spoils of war ; 
 
The Medal 37 
 
 Chiefs shall be grudged the part which they pretend ; 
 
 Lords envy lords, and friends with every friend 
 
 About their impious merit shall contend. 
 
 The surly Commons shall respect deny 
 
 And justle peerage out with property. 
 
 Their General either shall his trust betray 
 
 And force the crowd to arbitrary sway, 
 
 Or they, suspecting his ambitious aim, 
 
 In hate of kings shall cast anew the frame, 
 
 And thrust out Collatine that bore their name. 
 
 Thus inborn broils the factions would engage, 
 Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage, 
 Till halting vengeance overtook our age, 
 And our wild labours, wearied into rest, 
 Reclined us on a rightful monarch's breast. 
 
ROCHESTER 
 
 (What was said above of Marvell applies with 
 treble force to Rochester. Most of his longer political 
 satires are simply filthy lampoons on Charles and his 
 mistresses. But these two epigrams one universally, 
 the other generally known are among the best of their 
 kind.} 
 
 EPITAPH ON KING CHARLES II. 
 
 HERE lies our Sovereign Lord the King 
 Whose word no man relies on. 
 
 Who never said a foolish thing 
 And never did a wise one. 
 
The Commons Petition to the King 39 
 
 THE COMMONS PETITION TO THE KING 
 
 IN all Humility we crave 
 Our Sovereign may be our Slave, 
 And humbly beg that he may be 
 Betray'd to us most loyally ; 
 And if he pleases to lay down 
 His Scepter, Dignity, and Crown, 
 We'll make him for the time to come 
 The greatest Prince in Christendom. 
 
 THE KING'S ANSWER 
 
 Charles at this Time having no need, 
 Thanks you as much as if he did. 
 
THE < STATE POEMS' 
 
 (The great collection called the State Poems (many 
 of which have nothing to do with politics) contains a 
 vast deal of rubbish and some things of value. I have 
 extracted from it the very pointed and excellent Young 
 Statesmen, which is in the original attributed to 
 Dry den, but without evidence, nor do I think the senti- 
 ments are his. The Epigram on Somers is neat if 
 rather too complimentary. The Jacobite satire on the 
 successors of the nonjuring bishops has more vigour, 
 more polish, and less indecency than almost any of 
 its kind. The Williamite Curse which follows is 
 much better than usually came from that party as 
 literature ; and not more savage as sentiment than most 
 oj the sentiment on both sides. Lilliburlero is no 
 doubt sad doggerel, but it had such vogue and influence, 
 and is so much more often referred to than given even 
 in part by historians, that I thought it might find a 
 place.} 
 
On the Young Statesmen 41 
 
 ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN 
 
 Clarendon had Law and Sense, 
 
 Clifford was Fierce and Brave, 
 Bennefs grave Look was a Pretence, 
 
 And D y's matchless Impudence 
 
 Help'd to support the knave. 
 
 But Sund 4 God n, L y, 
 
 These will appear such Chits in story, 
 
 'Twill turn all Politicks to Jests, 
 To be repeated V&LZ John Dory, 
 
 When Fidlers sing at Feasts. 
 
 Protect us, mighty Providence, 
 
 What wou'd these Madmen have ? 
 First, they wou'd bribe us without Pence, 
 Deceive us without common Sense, 
 And without Pow'r enslave. 
 
42 The ( State Poems ' 
 
 4 
 Shall Free-born Men in humble awe, 
 
 Submit to servile shame ; 
 Who from Content and Custom, draw 
 The same Right to be ruled by Law 
 
 Which Kings pretend to Reign ? 
 
 5 
 The Duke shall wield his conq'ring Sword, 
 
 The Chancellor make his Speech ; 
 The King shall pass his honest Word, 
 The pawn'd Revenue Sums afford ; 
 
 And then come kiss my Breech. 
 
 So I have seen a King on Chess 
 
 (His Rooks and Knights withdrawn, 
 His Queen and Bishops in distress) 
 Shifting about, grow less and less, 
 With here and there a pawn. 
 
 ON SOME VOTES AGAINST THE LORD 
 SOMERS 
 
 WHEN Envy does at Athens rise, 
 
 And swells the Town with murmurs loud, 
 
On the Promoted Bishops 43 
 
 Not Aristides, Just and Wise, 
 
 Can scape the moody factious Crowd. 
 
 Each Vote augments the common Cry, 
 While he that holds the fatal Shell, 
 
 Can give no Cause, or Reason why, 
 But being Great, and doing Well. 
 
 ON THE PROMOTED BISHOPS 
 
 FOR the Miracles done 
 
 This Year Ninety One, 
 Let's go forth and Proclaim a Thanksgiving ; 
 
 Late Archbishop we sing 
 
 To the Tune of Late King, 
 While J- and Old S -ft are Living. 
 
 Of this Protestant Land 
 
 The Fleet not half Mann'd, 
 Is a Miracle scarce worth our Trouble : 
 
 We judge of the Weight 
 
 Of this Politick State, 
 Now the Church and the Throne carry double. 
 
44 The f State Poems ' 
 
 The Law now in force 
 
 Made a solemn Divorce 
 Between J C and his Church has ; 
 
 'Twill a Miracle show, 
 
 As the Blessed Times go, 
 If Religion proves worth a Year's Purchase. 
 
 The Gospel now thrives,, 
 
 For our Lord hath two Wives, 
 
 And a Prelate his See of each Party : 
 That the Law doth respect 
 The new B ps Elect 
 
 Or the new second Wife of Clancarty. 
 
 As to the Pastoral Staff, 
 We at T n laugh, 
 
 And the Projects of dull Politicians ; 
 Spite of all Satan's Power 
 Aaron s Rod shall devour 
 
 The Rod of their Heathen Magicians 
 
Curse 45 
 
 Our Impotent Fleet 
 
 Our starv'd Army may greet, 
 And at each others Confidence wonder ; 
 
 With an Army unpaid, 
 
 And a Navy betray'd, 
 We fast to keep great Lewis under. 
 
 As old Babylon saith, 
 
 The Protestant Faith 
 Took deep Root from the Codpiece of Harry 
 
 We good Witness can bring, 
 
 The good Bishops all Spring 
 From the conducts of W and M . 
 
 CURSE 
 
 CURS'D be the Stars which did Ordain 
 Queen Bess a Maiden-Life should Reign ; 
 Married she might have brought an Heir, 
 
 Nor had we known a S / here. 
 
 Curs'd be the Tribe who at Whitehall 
 
46 The ' State Poems ' 
 
 Slew one o' th Name, and slew not all. 
 Curs'd be the Second, who took Gold 
 From France^ and Britain's Honour Sold : 
 But Curs'd of all be J - the last, 
 The worst of Kings, of Fools the best, 
 And doubly Cursed be those Knaves, 
 Who out of Loyalty would make us Slaves, 
 Curs'd be the Clergy who desire \ 
 
 The French to bring in James the Squire, > 
 And save your Church so as by Fire. J 
 
 Curst be the Earl of T ton. 
 
 Who almost had three Lands undone ; 
 Who out of Fear, of Pride, or Gain, 
 Betray'd our Land, and lost her Main. 
 
 Curs'd be the Ministers of State, 
 Who keep our Fleet till 'tis too late ; 
 Who have Six Weeks the Cause disputed, 
 When the whole in two might have recruited. 
 
 Curs'd be the name of Englishman^ 
 
 To Curse it more, live T ton. 
 
 Let Resolution only be 
 
 King William's noble Property : 
 
 He hath done what we ne'er could do, 
 
 111 to himself, to us been true. 
 
 Prove that among us, and curse me too. 
 
Sang 47 
 
 SONG 
 
 Ho, Brother Teague, dost hear de Decree ? 
 
 Lilli Burlero Bullena-la. 
 Dat we shall have a new Debity, 
 
 Lilli Burlero Bullena-la. 
 Lero lerO) Lero lero, lilliburlero bullena-la^ 
 Lero lerO) etc. 
 
 Ho by my Shoul it is a troat, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 And he will cut all de English Throat, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Tho' by my Shoul de English do praat, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 De Laws on dare side, and Creish know what, 
 
 Z/7//, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 But if Dispence do come from de Pope, 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 
48 The ' State Poems ' 
 
 We'll hang Magna Charta, and demselves in a 
 
 Rope, 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 And de Good Talbot is made a Lord, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 And he with brave Lads is coming aboard, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Who aul in France have tauken a Sware, 
 
 Zz7/z burlero, etc. 
 Dat dey will have no Protestant here, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 /-<?, etc. 
 
 O, But why does he stay behind ? 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 Ho, by my Shoul, 'tis a Protestant Wind, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
Song 49 
 
 Now Tyrconnel is come ashore, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 And we shall have Commissions gillore, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 And he dat will not go to Mass, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 Shall turn out and look like an Ass, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Now, now de Hereticks all go down, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 By Creish and St. Patrick the Nation's our own, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 THE SECOND PART 
 
 By Creish, my dear Morish, vat maukes de sho 
 
 shad? 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 
 De Hereticks jeer us, and mauke me mad, 
 E 
 
50 The ' State Poems ' 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Pox tauke me, dear Teague, but I am in a Raage, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 Poo-oo, what Impudence is in dis Aage ! 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Dey shay dat TyrconnePs a Friend to de Mash, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 For which he's a Traytor, a Pimp, and an Ass, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Ara ! Plague tauke me now, I mauke a Sware, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 I to Shaint Tyburn will mauke a great Pray'r, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 O, I will pray to Shaint Patrick's Frock, 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 
Song 51 
 
 Or to Loretto's Sacred Smock, 
 
 Lilli) etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Now, a Pox tauke me, what dost dow tink ? 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 De English Confusion to Popery drink, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 And by my Shoul de Mash-house pull down, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 While dey were swaaring de Mayor of de Town, 
 
 Lilli ) etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 O Fait and be ! I'll make a Decree, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 And swaare by the Chancellor's Modesty, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Dat I no longer in English will stay 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 
52 The ' State Poems ' 
 
 For by Gode dey will hang us out of the way, 
 
 Lilli, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 Lero lero, etc. 
 
 Vat if the Dush should come as dey hope, 
 
 Lilli burlero, etc. 
 To up hang us for all de Dispense of de Pope. 
 
 LiUi, etc. 
 Lero lerO) etc. 
 Lero lero> etc. 
 
DANIEL DEFOE 
 
 (The merit of The True-Born Englishman//^ wholly 
 in the matter ; but that matter was effective at the time^ 
 and the sketch of the English character here given is at 
 least the work of a shrewd observer a typical English- 
 man himself in many ways, and, when it suited him, 
 an uncompromising writer.} 
 
 CHARACTER OF ENGLISHMEN 
 
 IN their religion, they're so uneven, 
 That each man goes his own byway to heaven. 
 Tenacious of mistakes to that degree, 
 That ev'ry man pursues it sep'rately, 
 And fancies none can find the way but he : 
 So shy of one another they are grown, 
 As if they strove to get to heaven alone. 
 Rigid and zealous, positive and grave, 
 And ev'ry grace, but charity, they have ; 
 
54 Daniel Defoe 
 
 This makes them so ill-natured and uncivil, 
 That all men think an Englishman the devil. 
 
 SURLY to strangers, fro ward to their friend, 
 Submit to love with a reluctant mind, 
 Resolved to be ungrateful and unkind. 
 If, by necessity, reduced to ask, 
 The giver has the difficultest task : 
 For what's bestow'd they awkwardly receive, 
 And always take less freely than they give ; 
 The obligation is their highest grief, 
 They never love where they accept relief; 
 So sullen in their sorrows, that 'tis known 
 They'll rather die than their afflictions own ; 
 And if relieved, it is -too often true, 
 That they'll abuse their benefactors too ; 
 For in distress their haughty stomach's such, 
 They hate to see themselves obliged too much ; 
 Seldom contented, often in the wrong, 
 Hard to be pleased at all, and never long. 
 
 IF your mistakes their ill opinion gain, 
 No merit can their favour re-obtain : 
 And if they're not vindictive in their fury, 
 'Tis their inconstant temper does secure ye : 
 Their brain's so cool, their passion seldom burns'; 
 For all's condensed before the flame returns : 
 The fermentation's of so weak a matter, 
 
Character of Englishmen 55 
 
 The humid damps the flame, and runs it all to water : 
 So though the inclination may be strong, 
 They're pleased by fits, and never angry long : 
 
 THEN, if good-nature show some slender proof, 
 They never think they have reward enough ; 
 But, like our modern Quakers of the town, 
 Expect your manners, and return you none. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP, th' abstracted union of the mind, 
 Which all men seek, but very few can find ; 
 Of all the nations in the universe, 
 None talk on't more, or understand it less ; ] 
 For if it does their property annoy, 
 Their property their friendship will destroy. 
 As you discourse them, you shall hear them tell 
 All things in which they think they do excel : 
 No panegyric needs their praise record, 
 An Englishman ne'er wants his own good word. 
 His first discourses gen'rally appear, 
 Prologued with his own wond'rous character : 
 When, to illustrate his own good name, 
 He never fails his neighbour to defame. 
 And yet he really designs no wrong, 
 His malice goes no further than his tongue. 
 But, pleased to tattle, he delights to rail, 
 To satisfy the letch 'ry of a tale. 
 His own dear praises close the ample speech, 
 
56 Daniel Defoe 
 
 Tells you how wise he is, that is, how rich : 
 For wealth is wisdom ; he that's rich is wise ; 
 And all men learned poverty despise : 
 His generosity comes next, and then 
 Concludes, that he's a true-born Englishman ; 
 And they, 'tis known, are generous and free, 
 Forgetting, and forgiving injury : 
 Which may be true, thus rightly understood, 
 Forgiving ill turns, and forgetting good. 
 
 CHEERFUL in labour when they've undertook it, 
 But out of humour, when they're out of pocket. 
 But if their belly and their pocket's full, 
 They may be phlegmatic, but never dull : 
 And if a bottle does their brains refine, 
 It makes their wit as sparkling as their wine. 
 
 As for the general vices which we find, 
 They're guilty of in common with mankind, 
 Satire forbear, and silently endure, 
 We must conceal the crimes we cannot cure ; 
 Nor shall my verse the brighter sex defame, 
 For English beauty will preserve her name ; 
 Beyond dispute agreeable and fair, 
 And modester than other nations are ; 
 For where the vice prevails, the great temptation 
 Is want of money more than inclination \ 
 
Character of Englishmen 57 
 
 In general this only is allow'd, 
 
 They're something noisy, and a little proud. 
 
 AN Englishman is gentlest in command, 
 Obedience is a stranger in the land : 
 Hardly subjected to the magistrate ; 
 For Englishmen do all subjection hate. 
 Humblest when rich, but peevish when they're poor, 
 And think whate'er they have, they merit more. 
 
 THE meanest English plowman studies law, 
 And keeps thereby the magistrates in awe, 
 Will boldly tell them what they ought to do, 
 And sometimes punish their omissions too. 
 
 THEIR liberty and property's so dear, 
 They scorn their laws or governors to fear ; 
 So bugbear'd with the name of slavery, 
 They can't submit to their own liberty. 
 Restraint from ill is freedom to the wise ! 
 But Englishmen do all restraint despise. 
 Slaves to the liquor, drudges to the pots ; 
 The mob are statesmen, and their statesmen sots. 
 
 THEIR governors, they count such dang'rous things, 
 That 'tis their custom to affront their kings : 
 So jealous of the power their kings possess'd, 
 
58 Daniel Defoe 
 
 They suffer neither power nor kings to rest. 
 The bad with force they eagerly subdue ; 
 The good with constant clamours they pursue, 
 And did King Jesus reign, they'd murmur too. 
 A discontented nation, and by far 
 Harder to rule in times of peace than war : 
 Easily set together by the ears, 
 And full of causeless jealousies and fears : 
 Apt to revolt, and willing to rebel, 
 And never are contented when they're well. 
 No government could ever please them long, 
 Could tie their hands, or rectify their tongue. 
 In this, to ancient Israel well compared, 
 Eternal murmurs are among them heard. 
 
 IT was but lately, that they were oppress'd, 
 Their rights invaded, and their laws suppress'd : 
 When nicely tender of their liberty, 
 Lord ! what a noise they made of slavery. 
 In daily tumults show'd their discontent, 
 Lampoon'd their king, and mock'd his government. 
 And if in arms they did not first appear, 
 'Twas want of force, and not for want of fear. 
 In humbler tone than English used to do, 
 At foreign hands for foreign aid they sue. 
 
 WILLIAM, the great successor of Nassau, 
 Their prayers heard, and their oppressions saw ; 
 
Character of Englishmen 59 
 
 He saw and saved them : God and him they praised 
 To this their thanks, to that their trophies raised. 
 But glutted with their own felicities, 
 They soon their new deliverer despise ; 
 Say all their prayers back, their joy disown, 
 Unsing their thanks, and pull their trophies down : 
 Their harps of praise are on the willows hung ; 
 For Englishmen are ne'er contented long. 
 
MA TTHE W PRIOR JON A THAN S WIFT, 
 RICHARD GLOVER, ETC. 
 
 (Priors political verse is, as a whole, disappointing 
 and the author was perhaps as much too frivolous as 
 Swift was too earnest for the due composition of the 
 kind. I have therefore drawn but sparingly on both. 
 Admiral Hosier's Ghost, a poor thing, but with a 
 certain smoothness, was very famous and effective in 
 its day. I add one or two minor things of the early 
 Georgian time.} 
 
 MATTHEW PRIOR 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF M^ZERAY'S 
 HISTORY OF FRANCE 
 
 WHATE'ER thy countrymen have done, 
 By law and wit, by sword and gun, 
 In thee is faithfully recited : 
 
Matthew Prior 61 
 
 And all the living world that view 
 Thy work, give thee the praises due, 
 At once instructed and delighted. 
 
 Yet, for the fame of all these deeds, 
 What beggar in the Invalids, 
 
 With lameness broke, with blindness smitten, 
 Wish'd ever decently to die, 
 To have been either Mezeray, 
 
 Or any monarch he has written. 
 
 It's strange, dear author, yet it true is, 
 That, down from Pharamond to Louis, 
 
 All covet life, yet call it pain ; 
 All feel the ill, yet shun the cure : 
 Can sense this paradox endure ? 
 
 Resolve me, Cambray or Fontaine. 
 
 The man in graver tragic known, 
 
 (Though his best part long since was done) 
 
 Still on the stage desires to tarry : 
 And he who play'd the Harlequin, 
 After the jest still loads the scene, 
 
 Unwilling to retire though weary. 
 
62 Matthew Prior 
 
 A PARAPHRASE FROM THE FRENCH 
 
 IN grey-hair'd Celia's wither' d arms 
 
 As mighty Lewis lay, 
 She cry'd, ' If I have any charms, 
 
 My dearest, let's away ! 
 For you, my love, is all my fear, 
 
 Hark how the drums do rattle ; 
 Alas, sir ! what should you do here 
 
 In dreadful day of battle ? 
 Let little Orange stay and fight, 
 
 For danger's his diversion ; 
 The wise will think you in the right, 
 
 Not to expose your person : 
 Nor vex your thoughts how to repair 
 
 The ruins of your glory : 
 You ought to leave so mean a care 
 
 To those who pen your story. 
 Are not Boileau and Corneille paid 
 
 For panegyric writing? 
 They know how heroes may be made, 
 
 Without the help of fighting. 
 When foes too saucily approach, 
 
 'Tis best to leave them fairly ; 
 Put six good horses in your coach, 
 
 And carry me to Marly. 
 
Jonathan Swift 63 
 
 Let Bouflers, to secure your fame, 
 Go take some town, or buy it ; 
 
 Whilst you, great sir, at Nostre dame, 
 Te Deum sing in quiet ! ' 
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT 
 
 ON THE IRISH CLUB 
 
 YE paltry underlings of state ; 
 
 Ye senators who love to prate ; 
 
 Ye rascals of inferior note, 
 
 Who for a dinner sell a vote ; 
 
 Ye pack of pensionary peers, 
 
 Whose fingers itch for poets' ears ; 
 
 Ye bishops far removed from saints ; 
 
 Why all this rage ? Why these complaints ? 
 
 Why against printers all this noise ? 
 
 This summoning of blackguard boys ? 
 
 Why so sagacious in your guesses ? 
 
 Your effs, and tees, and arrs, and esses ? 
 
 Take my advice ; to make you safe, 
 
 I know a shorter way by half. 
 
 The point is plain : remove the cause ; 
 
 Defend your liberties and laws. 
 
 Be sometimes to your country true, 
 
64 Richard Glover 
 
 Have once the public good in view : 
 Bravely despise champagne at court, 
 And choose to dine at home with port : 
 Let prelates, by their good behaviour, 
 Convince us they believe a Saviour ; 
 Nor sell what they so dearly bought, 
 This country, now their own, for nought. 
 Ne'er did a true satiric Muse 
 Virtue or innocence abuse ; 
 And 'tis against poetic rules 
 To rail at men by nature fools : 
 But ********* 
 
 RICHARD GLOVER 
 
 ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST 
 
 As near Porto-Bello lying ' 
 
 On the gently swelling flood, 
 At midnight with streamers flying, 
 
 Our triumphant navy rode ; 
 There while Vernon sat all-glorious 
 
 From the Spaniard's late defeat ; 
 And his crews, with shouts victorious, 
 
 Drank success to England's fleet ; 
 
Admiral Hosier's Ghost 65 
 
 On a sudden shrilly sounding, 
 
 Hideous yells and shrieks were heard : 
 Then each heart with fear confounding, 
 
 A sad troop of ghosts appeared, 
 All in dreary hammocs shrouded, 
 
 Which for winding-sheets they wore, 
 And with looks by sorrow clouded, 
 
 Frowning on that hostile shore. 
 
 On them gleamed the Moon's wan lustre, 
 
 When the shade of Hosier brave 
 His pale bands was seen to muster, 
 
 Rising from their wat'ry grave : 
 O'er the glimm'ring wave he hy'd him ; 
 
 Where the Burford rear'd her sail, 
 With three thousand ghosts beside him, 
 
 And in groans did Vernon hail. 
 
 ' Heed, O heed, our fatal story, 
 
 / am Hosier's injur'd ghost, 
 You, who now have purchas'd glory 
 
 At this place where I was lost, 
 Though in Porto-Bello's ruin 
 
 You now triumph free from fears, 
 When you think on our undoing, 
 
 You will mix your joy with tears. 
 F 
 
66 Richard Glover 
 
 6 See these mournful spectres, sweeping 
 
 Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
 Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping ; 
 
 These were English captains brave : 
 Mark those numbers pale and horrid, 
 
 Those were once my sailors bold, 
 Lo ! each hangs his drooping forehead, 
 
 While his dismal tale is told. 
 
 1 1, by twenty sail attended, 
 
 Did this Spanish town affright : 
 Nothing then its wealth defended 
 
 But my orders not to fight : 
 O ! that in this rolling ocean 
 
 I had cast them in disdain, 
 And obeyed my heart's warm motion, 
 
 To have quell'd the pride of Spain. 
 
 ' For resistance I could fear none, 
 
 But with twenty ships had done 
 What thou, brave and happy Vernon, 
 
 Hast achiev'd with six alone. 
 Then the Bastimentos never 
 
 Had our foul dishonour seen, 
 Nor the sea the sad receiver 
 
 Of this gallant train had been. 
 
Admiral Hosier's Ghost 67 
 
 6 Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 
 
 And her galleons leading home, 
 Though condemn'd for disobeying, 
 
 I had met a traitor's doom ; 
 To have fall'n, my country crying 
 
 He has play'd an English part, 
 Had been better far than dying 
 
 Of a griev'd and broken heart. 
 
 ' Unrepining at thy glory, 
 
 Thy successful arms we hail ; 
 But remember our sad story, 
 
 And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 
 Sent in this foul clime to languish 
 
 Think what thousands fell in vain, 
 Wasted with disease and anguish, 
 
 Not in glorious battle slain. 
 
 4 Hence, with all my train attending 
 
 From their oozy tombs below, 
 Through the hoary foam ascending, 
 
 Here I feed my constant woe : 
 Here the Bastimentos viewing, 
 
 We recall our shameful doom, 
 And our plaintive cries renewing, 
 
 Wander through the midnight gloom. 
 
68 Richard Glover 
 
 ' O'er these waves for ever mourning 
 
 Shall we roam depriv'd of rest, 
 If to Britain's shores returning, 
 
 You neglect my just request. 
 After this proud foe subduing, 
 
 When your patriot friends you see, 
 Think on vengeance for my ruin, 
 
 And for England sham'd in me.' 
 
 (ANON.) EPITAPH ON PRINCE FREDERICK 
 
 HERE lies Fred, 
 
 Who was alive and is dead. 
 
 Had it been his father, 
 
 I had much rather : 
 
 Had it been his brother, 
 
 Still better than another : 
 
 Had it been his sister 
 
 No one would have missed her : 
 
 Had it been the whole generation, 
 
 So much the better for the nation ; 
 
 But since 'tis only Fred, 
 
 Who was alive and is dead, 
 
 Why there's no more to be said. 
 
MARK AKENSIDE 
 
 (While several of the second-rate poets of the 
 eighteenth century have recently had justice, or more 
 than justice, done to them, Akenside has, I think, 
 rather missed his due. There is a certain unreality 
 about his general style, and with Johnson making fun 
 of his political attitude on one side, and Macaulay on 
 the other, it may seem Quixotic to defend it. But the 
 Epistle to Curio, which the bard altered into an 
 unreadable Ode to Curio, has always been admired 
 traditionally, and I myself have a very warm and sincere 
 admiration for it. It seems to me among the very 
 ^greatest achievements in the style of Pope an artificial 
 thing that is really and almost sincerely artful. The 
 motive of course was that ' Curio] i.e. Pulteney, after 
 giving himself the extremest patriotic airs during the 
 great Walpolian battle, settled very comfortably into 
 peerages and pensions when Walpole was ousted?) 
 
70 Mark Akenside 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO 
 
 THRICE has the Spring beheld thy faded fame, 
 
 And the fourth Winter rises on thy shame, 
 
 Since I exulting grasp'd the votive shell, 
 
 In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell ; 
 
 Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine. 
 
 And proud to mix my memory with thine. 
 
 But now the cause that wak'd my song before, 
 
 With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more. 
 
 If to the glorious man, whose faithful cares, 
 
 Nor quell'd by malice, nor relax'd by years, 
 
 Had aw'd Ambition's wild audacious hate, 
 
 And dragg'd at length Corruption to her fate ; 
 
 If every tongue its large applauses ow'd 
 
 And well-earn'd laurels every Muse bestow'd ; 
 
 If public Justice urg'd the high reward, 
 
 And Freedom smil'd on the devoted bard : 
 
 Say then, to him whose levity or lust 
 
 Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust \ 
 
 Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power, 
 
 And sav'd Corruption at her hopeless hour ; 
 
 Does not each tongue its execrations owe ? 
 
 Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow ? 
 
 And public Justice sanctify the award ? 
 
 And Freedom's hand protect th' impartial bard ? 
 
An Epistle to Curio 71 
 
 Yet long reluctant I forbore thy name, 
 Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame, 
 Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes, 
 And wish'd and hop'd the light again would rise. 
 But since thy guilt still more entire appears, 
 Since no art hides, no supposition clears ; 
 Since vengeful Slander now too sinks her blast, 
 And the first rage of party-haste is past ; 
 Calm as the Judge of Truth, at length I come 
 To weigh thy merits and pronounce thy doom : 
 So may my trust from all reproach be free, 
 And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree. 
 
 There are who say they view'd without amaze 
 Thy sad reverse of all thy former praise ; 
 That through the pageants of a patriot's name, 
 They pierc'd the foulness of thy secret aim ; 
 Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw 
 The public thunder on a private foe. 
 But I, whose soul consented to thy cause, 
 Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause, 
 Who saw the spirits of each glorious age 
 Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage ; 
 I scorn'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds, 
 The owl-ey'd race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds. 
 Spite of the learned in the ways of Vice, 
 And all who prove that each man has his price, 
 I still believ'd thy end was just and free ; 
 And yet, even yet believe it spite of thee. 
 
72 Mark Akenside 
 
 Even though thy mouth impure has dar'd disclaim, 
 Urg'd by the wretched impotence of shame, 
 Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid 
 To laws infirm and liberty decay'd ; 
 Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show ; 
 Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe ; 
 Has boasted in thy country's awful ear, 
 Her gross delusion when she held thee dear ; 
 How tame she followed thy tempestuous call, 
 And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all 
 Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old 
 For laws subverted, and for cities sold ! 
 Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt, 
 The oaths you perjur'd and the blood you spilt ; 
 Yet must you one untempted vileness own, 
 One dreadful palm reserv'd for him alone : 
 With studied arts his country's praise to spurn, 
 To beg the infamy he did not earn, 
 To challenge hate when honour was his due, 
 And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew. 
 Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose 
 From each fair feeling human nature knows ? 
 Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear 
 To all that reason, all that sense, would hear ? 
 Else could thou e'er desert thy sacred post, 
 In such unthankful baseness to be lost ? 
 Else could'st thou wed the emptiness of vice, 
 And yield thy glories at an idiot's price ? 
 
An Epistle to Curio 73 
 
 When they who, loud for liberty and laws, 
 In doubtful times had fought their country's cause, 
 When now of conquest and dominion sure, 
 They sought alone to hold their fruits secure ; 
 When taught by these, Oppression hid the face 
 To leave Corruption stronger in her place, 
 By silent spells to work the public fate, 
 And taint the vitals of the passive state, 
 Till healing Wisdom should avail no more, 
 And Freedom loathe to tread the poisoned shore ; 
 Then, like some guardian god that flies to save 
 The weary pilgrim from an instant grave, 
 Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake 
 Steals near and nearer through the peaceful brake ; 
 Then Curio rose to ward the public woe, 
 To wake the heedless, and incite the slow, 
 Against Corruption, Liberty to arm, 
 And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm. 
 
 Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew, 
 And with the country's hopes thy honours grew. 
 Thee, patriot, the patrician roof confess'd : 
 Thy powerful voice the rescued merchant bless' d ; 
 Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds ; 
 The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns ; 
 Touch'd in the sighing shade with manlier fires, 
 To trace thy step the love-sick youth aspires ; 
 The learn'd recluse, who oft amaz'd had read 
 Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead, 
 
74 Mark Akenside 
 
 With new amazement hears a living name 
 Pretend to share in such forgotten fame ; 
 And he who scorning courts and courtly ways, 
 Left the tame track of these dejected days, 
 The life of nobler ages to renew 
 In virtues sacred from a monarch's view, 
 Rous'd by thy labours from the blest retreat, 
 Where social ease and public passions meet, 
 Again ascending treads the civil scene, 
 To act and be a man, as thou hadst been. 
 
 Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew, 
 And the great end appeared at last in view : 
 We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice ; 
 We saw the senate bending to thy voice ; 
 The friends of Freedom hail'd the approaching reign 
 Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain ; 
 While venal Faction, struck with new dismay, 
 Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay. 
 Wak'd in the shock, the public Genius rose, 
 Abash'd and keener from his long repose ; 
 Sublime in ancient pride, he rais'd the spear 
 Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear : 
 The city felt his call : from man to man, 
 From street to street the glorious horror ran ; 
 Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, 
 And, murmuring, challeng'd the deciding hour. 
 
 Lo ! the deciding hour at last appears ; 
 The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears ! 
 
An Epistle to Curio 75 
 
 Thou, Genius ! guardian of the Roman name, 
 O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame ! 
 Instruct the mighty moments as they roll, 
 And guide each movement steady to the goal. 
 Ye Spirits, by whose providential art 
 Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart, 
 Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind, 
 And watch his fancy, and his passions bind ! 
 Ye Shades immortal, who, by Freedom led, 
 Or in the field, or on the scaffold bled, 
 Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, 
 And view the crown of all your labours nigh. 
 See Freedom mounting her eternal throne ! 
 The sword submitted, and the laws her own : 
 See ! public Power, chastis'd, beneath her stands, 
 With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands ! 
 See private life by wisest arts reclaim'd ! 
 See ardent youth to noblest manners fram'd ! 
 See us acquire whate'er was sought by you, 
 If Curio, only Curio, will be true. 
 'Twas then O shame ! O trust how ill repaid ! 
 O Latium, oft by faithless sons betray'd ! 
 'Twas then what frenzy on thy reason stole ? 
 What spells unsinew'd thy determin'd soul ? 
 Is this the man in Freedom's cause approv'd ? 
 The man so great, so honour'd, so belov'd ? 
 This patient slave by tinsel chains allur'd ? 
 This wretched suitor for a boon abjur'd ? 
 
76 Mark Akenside 
 
 This Curio, hated and despised by all ? 
 Who fell himself, to work his country's fall ? 
 
 O lost, alike to action and repose ! 
 Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes ! 
 With all that conscious, undissembled pride, 
 Sold to the insults of a foe defy'd ! 
 With all that habit of familiar fame, 
 Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame ! 
 The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art, 
 To act a statesman's dull exploded part, 
 Renounce the praise no longer in thy power, 
 Display thy virtue, though without a dower, 
 Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind, 
 And shut thy eyes that others may be blind. 
 Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile 
 When shameless mouths your majesty defile, 
 Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong crew, 
 And cast their own impieties on you. 
 For witness, Freedom, to whose sacred power 
 My soul was vow'd from reason's earliest hour, 
 How have I stood exulting, to survey 
 My country's virtues opening in thy ray ! 
 How, with the sons of every foreign shore 
 The more I matched them, honour'd her's the more ! 
 O race erect ! whose native strength of soul, 
 Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control, 
 Bursts the tame round of animal affairs, 
 And seeks a nobler centre for its cares ; 
 
An Epistle to Curio 77 
 
 Intent the laws of life to comprehend, 
 
 And fix dominion's limits by its end. 
 
 Who, bold and equal in their love or hate, 
 
 By conscious reason judging every state, 
 
 The man forget not, though in rags he lies, 
 
 And know the mortal through a crown's disguise : 
 
 Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view 
 
 Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow, 
 
 Or, all awake at Pity's soft command, 
 
 Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious hand : 
 
 Thence large of heart, from envy far removed, 
 
 When public toils to virtue stand approv'd, 
 
 Not the young lover fonder to admire, 
 
 Nor more indulgent the delighted sire ; 
 
 Yet high and jealous of their free-born name, 
 
 Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame, 
 
 Where'er Oppression works her wanton sway, 
 
 Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay. 
 
 But if, to purchase Curio's sage applause, 
 
 My country must with him renounce her cause, 
 
 Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod, 
 
 Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod ; 
 
 Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to rail, 
 
 Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail : 
 
 Else, ere he change the style, bear me away 
 
 To where the Gracchi, where the Bruti stay ! 
 
 O long rever'd, and late resign'd to shame ! 
 If this uncourtly page thy notice claim 
 
7 8 Mark Akenside 
 
 When the loud cares of business are withdrawn 
 Nor well-drest beggars round thy footsteps fawn ; 
 In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour 
 When Truth exerts her unresisted power, 
 Breaks the false optics ting'd with Fortune's glare, 
 Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions bare ; 
 Then turn thy eyes on that important scene, 
 And ask thyself if all be well within. 
 Where is the heartfelt worth and weight of soul, 
 Which labour could not stop, nor fear control ? 
 Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe, 
 Which half abash'd, the proud and venal saw ? 
 Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause ? 
 Where the delightful taste of just applause ? 
 Where the strong reason, the commanding tongue, 
 On which the senate fir'd or trembling hung ? 
 All vanish'd, all are sold and in their room, 
 Couch'd in thy bosom's deep, distracted gloom, 
 See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell, 
 Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell ! 
 To her in chains thy dignity was led ; 
 At her polluted shrine thy honour bled ; 
 With blasted weeds thy awful brow she crown'd, 
 Thy powerful tongue with poison'd philters bound, 
 That baffled Reason straight indignant flew, 
 And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew. 
 For now no longer Truth supports thy cause ; 
 No longer Glory prompts thee to applause ; 
 
An Epistle to Curio 79 
 
 No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast, 
 With all her conscious majesty confest, 
 Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame, 
 To rouse the feeble, and the wilful tame, 
 And where she sees the catching glimpses roll, 
 Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul ; 
 But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill, 
 And formal passions mock thy struggling will ; 
 Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain, 
 And reach impatient at a nobler strain, 
 Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth 
 Shoot through thy breast, and stab the generous birth, 
 Till, blind with smart, from Truth to Frenzy tost, 
 And all the tenour of thy reason lost, 
 Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear ; 
 While some with pity, some with laughter hear. 
 Can Art, alas ! or Genius, guide the head, 
 Where Truth and Freedom from the heart are fled ? 
 Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke, 
 When the prime function of the soul is broke ? 
 But come, unhappy man ! thy fates impend ; 
 Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend ; 
 Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine, 
 Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign ; 
 For see the hand of Destiny displayed 
 To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd ! 
 See the dire fane of Infamy arise ! 
 Dark as the grave and spacious as the skies ; 
 
So Mark Akenside 
 
 Where, from the first of time, thy kindred train, 
 The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain. 
 Eternal barriers guard the pathless road 
 To warn the wanderer of the curst abode ; 
 But prone as whirlwinds scour the passive sky, 
 The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly. 
 There, black with frowns, relentless Time awaits, 
 And goads their footsteps to the guilty gates : 
 And still he asks them of their unknown aims, 
 Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims ; 
 And still his hands despoil them on the road 
 Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestow'd, 
 Break their proud marbles, crush their festal cars, 
 And rend the lawless trophies of their wars. 
 At last the gates his potent voice obey; 
 Fierce to their dark abode he drives his prey, 
 Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chains, 
 The watchful demon o'er her vassals reigns, 
 O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust, 
 The Great, the Sage, the Happy, and August. 
 No gleam of hope their baleful mansion cheers, 
 No sound of honour hails their unblest ears ; 
 But dire reproaches from the friend betray'd, 
 The childless sire and violated maid ; 
 But vengeful vows for guardian laws effac'd 
 From towns enslaved and continents laid waste ; 
 But long, Posterity's united groan, 
 And the sad charge of horrors not their own, 
 
An Epistle to Curio 81 
 
 For ever through the trembling space resound, 
 And sink each impious forehead to the ground. 
 
 Ye mighty foes of Liberty and Rest, 
 Give way, do homage to a mightier guest ! 
 Ye daring spirits of the Roman race, 
 See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface ! 
 Aw'd at the name, fierce Appius rising bends, 
 And hardy Cinna from his throne attends : 
 ' He comes, 7 they cry, ' to whom the Fates assigned, 
 With surer arts to work what we design'd, 
 From year to year the stubborn herd to sway, 
 Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey ; 
 Till, own'd their guide, and trusted with their power, 
 He mock'd their hopes in one decisive hour : 
 Then tir'd and yielding, led them to the chain, 
 And quenched the spirit we provoked in vain.' 
 
 But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands 
 Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands ; 
 Whose thunders the rebellious deep control, 
 And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul, 
 O turn this dreadful omen far away : 
 On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay ; 
 Relume her sacred fire so near supprest, 
 And fix her shrine in every Roman breast : 
 Though bold Corruption boast around the land, 
 ' Let Virtue, if she can, my baits withstand ! ' 
 Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim, 
 Gay with her trophies rais'd on Curio's shame ; 
 G 
 
82 Mark Akenside 
 
 Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth, 
 
 Who know what conscience and a heart are worth. 
 
 O friend and father of the human mind, 
 
 Whose art for noblest ends our frame designed ! 
 
 If I, though fated to the studious shade 
 
 Which party-strife nor anxious power invade, 
 
 If I aspire in Public Virtue's cause, 
 
 To guide the Muses by sublimer laws, 
 
 Do thou her own authority impart, 
 
 And give my numbers entrance to the heart. 
 
 Perhaps the verse might rouse her smother'd flame, 
 
 And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame ; 
 
 Perhaps, by worthy thoughts of human kind, 
 
 To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind ; 
 
 Or dash Corruption in her proud career, 
 
 And teach her slaves that Vice was born to fear. 
 
CHARLES CHURCHILL 
 
 (Churchill' s fame has steadily and deservedly sunk 
 ever since his death, till almost the only interest left in 
 him is on the one side historic, and on the other formal, 
 this latter arising from the fact that he avowedly and 
 successfully deserted Pope as a model, resorted to 
 Dryden, and in doing this influenced Cowper, and, 
 through Cowper, all the New School. A man of 
 absolutely no morals, in any sense of the word, his 
 constant affectations of moral indignation are half dis- 
 gusting and half absurd. But his age thought him a 
 very great political satirist, and he was actually one of 
 no little power. ) 
 
 THE CONFERENCE 
 
 GRACE said in form, which sceptics must agree, 
 When they are told that grace was said by me ; 
 The servants gone, to break the scurvy jest 
 On the proud landlord, and his thread-bare guest j 
 
84 Charles Churchill 
 
 The ' King ' gone round, my lady too withdrawn, 
 
 My lord in usual taste began to yawn, 
 
 And lolling backward in his elbow-chair, 
 
 With an insipid kind of stupid stare, 
 
 Picking his teeth, twirling his seals about 
 
 ' Churchill, you have a poem coming out. 
 
 You've my best wishes ; but I really fear 
 
 Your Muse in general is too severe ; 
 
 Her spirit seems her int'rest to oppose, 
 
 And where she makes one friend, makes twenty foes.' 
 
 C. Your lordship's fears are just, I feel their 
 
 force, 
 
 But only feel it as a thing of course. 
 The man whose hardy spirit shall engage 
 To lash the vices of a guilty age, 
 At his first setting forward ought to know, 
 That ev'ry tongue he meets must be his foe ; 
 That the rude breath of Satire will provoke 
 Many who feel, and more who fear the stroke. 
 But shall the partial rage of selfish men 
 From stubborn Justice wrench the righteous pen, 
 Or shall I not my settled course pursue, 
 Because my foes are foes to Virtue too ? 
 
 L. What is this boasted Virtue, taught in Schools, 
 And idly drawn from antiquated rules ? 
 What is her use ? Point out one wholesome end : 
 Will she hurt foes, or can she make a friend ? 
 When from long fasts fierce appetites arise, 
 
The Conference 85 
 
 Can this same Virtue stifle Nature's cries ? 
 Can she the pittance of a meal afford, 
 Or bid thee welcome to one great man's board ? 
 When northern winds the rough December arm 
 With frost and snow, can Virtue keep thee warm ? 
 Can'st thou dismiss the hard unfeeling dun 
 Barely by saying, thou art Virtue's son ? 
 Or by base blund'ring statesmen sent to jail, 
 Will Mansfield take this Virtue for thy bail ? 
 Believe it not, the name is in disgrace, 
 Virtue and Temple now are out of place. 
 
 Quit then this meteor, whose delusive ray 
 From wealth and honour leads thee far astray. 
 True Virtue means, let Reason use her eyes, 
 Nothing with fools and int'rest with the wise. 
 Would'st thou be great, her patronage disclaim, 
 Nor madly triumph in so mean a name : 
 Let nobler wreaths thy happy brows adorn, 
 And leave to Virtue poverty and scorn. 
 Let Prudence be thy guide ; who doth not know 
 How seldom Prudence can with Virtue go ? 
 To be successful try thy utmost force, 
 And Virtue follows as a thing of course. 
 
 Hirco, who knows not Hirco? stains the bed 
 Of that kind master who first gave him bread, 
 Scatters the seeds of discord through the land, 
 Breaks ev'ry public, ev'ry private band, 
 Beholds with joy a trusting friend undone, 
 
86 Charles Churchill 
 
 Betrays a brother, and would cheat a son : 
 
 What mortal in his senses can endure 
 
 The name of Hirco, for the wretch is poor ! 
 
 ' Let him hang, drown, starve, on a dunghill rot, 
 
 By all detested live, and die forgot ; 
 
 Let him, a poor return, in ev'ry breath 
 
 Feel all Death's pains, yet be whole years in death/ 
 
 Is now the gen'ral cry we all pursue : 
 
 Let Fortune change, and Prudence changes too ; 
 
 Supple and pliant a new system feels, 
 
 Throws up her cap, and spaniels at her heels ; 
 
 ' Long live great Hirco,' cries, by int'rest taught, 
 
 'And let his foes, though I prove one, be naught.' 
 
 C. Peace to such men, if such men can have 
 
 peace, 
 
 Let their possessions, let their state increase ; 
 Let their base services in courts strike root, 
 And in the season bring forth golden fruit ; 
 I envy not : let those who have the will, 
 And with so little spirit, so much skill, 
 With such vile instruments their fortunes carve ; 
 Rogues may grow fat, an honest man dares starve. 
 
 L. These stale conceits thrown off, let us advance 
 For once to real life, and quit romance. 
 Starve ! pretty talking ! but I fain would view 
 That man, that honest man, would do it too. 
 Hence to yon mountain which outbraves the sky, 
 And dart from pole to pole thy strengthen'd eye, 
 
The Conference 87 
 
 Through all that space you shall not view one man, 
 Not one, who dares to act on such a plan. 
 Cowards in calms will say, what in a storm 
 The brave will tremble at, and not perform. 
 Thine be the proof, and, spite of all youVe said, 
 You'd give your honour for a crust of bread. 
 
 C. What proof might do, what hunger might 
 
 effect, 
 
 What famish'd Nature, looking with neglect 
 On all she once held dear, what fear, at strife 
 With fainting Virtue for the means of life, 
 Might make this coward flesh, in love with breath, 
 Shudd'ring at pain, and shrinking back from death, 
 In treason to my soul, descend to bear, 
 Trusting to Fate, I neither know nor care. 
 
 Once, at this hour whose wounds afresh I feel, 
 Which nor prosperity nor time can heal, 
 Those wounds, which Fate severely hath decreed, 
 Mentioned or thought of, must for ever bleed, 
 Those wounds, which humbled all that pride of man, 
 Which brings such mighty aid to Virtue's plan ; 
 Once, aw'd by Fortune's most oppressive frown, 
 By legal rapine to the earth bow'd down, 
 My credit at last gasp, my state undone, 
 Trembling to meet the shock I could not shun, 
 Virtue gave ground, and black despair prevail'd ; 
 Sinking beneath the storm, my spirits fail'd, 
 Like Peter's faith ; till one, a friend indeed, 
 
88 Charles Churchill 
 
 May all distress find such in time of need ! 
 One kind good man, in act, in word, in thought, 
 By Virtue guided, and by Wisdom taught, 
 Image of him whom Christians should adore, 
 Stretch'd forth his hand, and brought me safe to 
 shore. 
 
 Since, by good fortune into notice rais'd, 
 And for some little merit largely prais'd, 
 Indulg'd in swerving from prudential rules, 
 Hated by rogues, and not belov'd by fools, 
 Plac'd above want, shall abject thirst of wealth 
 So fiercely war 'gainst my soul's dearest health, 
 That, as a boon, I should base shackles crave, 
 And, born to freedom, make myself a slave ; 
 That I should in the train of those appear, 
 Whom Honour cannot love, nor Manhood fear? 
 
 That I no longer skulk from street to street, 
 Afraid lest duns assail, and bailiff's meet ; 
 That I from place to place this carcase bear, 
 Walk forth at large, and wander free as air ; 
 That I no longer dread the awkward friend, 
 Whose very obligations must offend, 
 Nor, all too forward, with impatience burn, 
 At sufFring favours which I can't return ; 
 That, from dependence and from pride secure, 
 I am not plac'd so high to scorn the poor, 
 Nor yet so low, that I my lord should fear, 
 Or hesitate to give him sneer for sneer ; 
 
The Conference 89 
 
 That, kind to others, to myself most true, 
 Feeling no want, I comfort those who do, 
 And with the will have power to aid distress : 
 These, and what other blessings I possess, 
 From the indulgence of the public rise ; 
 All private patronage my soul defies. 
 By candour more inclin'd to save, than damn, 
 A gen'rous Public made me what I am. 
 All that I have, they gave ; just Mem'ry bears 
 The grateful stamp, and what I am is theirs. 
 
 Z. To feign a red-hot zeal for Freedom's cause, 
 To mouth aloud for liberties and laws, 
 For public good to bellow all abroad, 
 Serves well the purposes of private fraud. 
 Prudence by public good intends her own ; 
 If you mean otherwise, you stand alone. 
 What do we mean by country and by court ? 
 What is it to oppose, what to support ? 
 Mere words of course, and what is more absurd 
 Than to pay homage to an empty word ? 
 Majors and minors differ but in name ; 
 Patriots and ministers are much the same ; 
 The only difference, after all their rout, 
 Is, that the one is in, the other out. 
 
 Explore the dark recesses of the mind, 
 In the soul's honest volume read mankind, 
 And own, in wise and simple, great and small, 
 The same grand leading principle in all. 
 
90 Charles Churchill 
 
 Whatever we talk of wisdom to the wise, 
 Of goodness to the good, of public ties 
 Which to our country link, of private bands 
 Which claim most dear attention at our hands, 
 For parent and for child, for wife and friend, 
 Our first great mover, and our last great end, 
 Is one, and, by whatever name we call 
 The ruling tyrant, Self, is all in all. 
 This, which unwilling Faction shall admit, 
 Guided in diff'rent ways a Bute and Pitt, 
 Made tyrants break, made kings observe the law, 
 And gave the world a Stuart and Nassau. 
 
 Hath Nature (strange and wild conceit of pride) 
 Distinguished thee from all her sons beside ? 
 Doth Virtue in thy bosom brighter glow, 
 Or from a spring more pure doth action flow ? 
 Is not thy soul bound with those very chains 
 Which shackle us ; or is that Self, which reigns 
 O'er kings and beggars, which in all we see 
 Most strong and sov'reign, only weak in thee ? 
 Fond man, believe it not, experience tells 
 'Tis not thy virtue, but thy pride rebels. 
 Think (and for once lay by thy lawless pen) 
 Think, and confess thyself like other men ; 
 Think but one hour, and, to thy conscience led 
 By Reason's hand, bow down and hang thy head ; 
 Think on thy private life, recal thy youth, 
 View thyself now, and own with strictest truth, 
 
The Conference 91 
 
 That Self hath drawn thee from fair Virtue's way 
 Further than Folly would have dar'd to stray, 
 And that the talents lib'ral Nature gave 
 To make thee free, have made thee more a slave. 
 
 Quit then, in prudence quit, that idle train 
 Of toys, which have so long abus'd thy brain, 
 And captive led thy pow'rs ; with boundless will 
 Let Self maintain her state and empire still, 
 But let her, with more worthy objects caught, 
 Strain all the faculties and force of thought 
 To things of higher daring ; let her range 
 Through better pastures, and learn how to change ; 
 Let her, no longer to weak Faction tied, 
 Wisely revolt, and join our stronger side. 
 
 C. Ah ! what, my lord, hath private life to do 
 With things of public nature ? Why to view 
 Would you thus cruelly those scenes unfold, 
 Which, without pain and horror to behold, 
 Must speak me something more or less than man ; 
 Which friends may pardon, but I never can ? 
 Look back ! a thought which borders on despair, 
 Which human nature must, yet cannot bear. 
 'Tis not the babbling of a busy world, 
 Where praise and censure are at random hurl'd, 
 Which can the meanest of my thoughts control, 
 Or shake one settled purpose of my soul. 
 Free and at large might their wild curses roam, 
 If all, if all, alas ! were well at home, 
 
92 Charles Churchill 
 
 No 'tis the tale which angry Conscience tells, 
 
 When she with more than tragic horror swells 
 Each circumstance of guilt ; when stern, but true, 
 She brings bad actions forth into review ; 
 And, like the dread hand-writing on the wall, 
 Bids late Remorse awake at Reason's call ; 
 Arm'd at all points bids scorpion Vengeance pass, 
 And to the mind holds up Reflection's glass ; 
 The mind, which, starting, heaves the heartfelt groan, 
 And hates that form she knows to be her own. 
 
 Enough of this let private sorrows rest 
 As to the public I dare stand the test ; 
 Dare proudly boast, I feel no wish above 
 The good of England, and my country's love. 
 Stranger to party-rage, by Reason's voice, 
 Unerring guide, directed in my choice, 
 Not all the tyrant pow'rs of Earth combin'd, 
 No, nor of Hell, shall make me change my mind. 
 What ! herd with men my honest soul disdains, 
 Men who, with servile zeal, are forging chains 
 For Freedom's neck, and lend a helping hand, 
 To spread destruction o'er my native land. 
 What ! shall I not, e'en to my latest breath, 
 In the full face of danger and of death, 
 Exert that little strength which Nature gave, 
 And boldly stem, or perish in the wave ? 
 
 L. When I look backward for some fifty years, 
 And see protesting patriots turn to peers ; 
 
The Conference 93 
 
 Hear men, most loose, for decency declaim, 
 
 And talk of character without a name ; 
 
 See infidels assert the cause of God, 
 
 And meek divines wield Persecution's rod ; 
 
 See men transformed to brutes, and brutes to men, 
 
 See Whitehead take a place, Ralph change his pen, 
 
 I mock the zeal, and deem the men in sport, 
 
 Who rail at ministers, and curse a court. 
 
 Thee, haughty as thou art, and proud in rhyme, 
 
 Shall some preferment, offer'd at a time 
 
 When Virtue sleeps, some sacrifice to pride, 
 
 Or some fair victim, move to change thy side. 
 
 Thee shall these eyes behold, to health restor'd, 
 
 Using, as Prudence bids, bold Satire's sword, 
 
 Galling thy present friends, and praising those, 
 
 Whom now thy frenzy holds thy greatest foes. 
 
 C. May I (can worse disgrace on manhood fall) 
 Be born a Whitehead, and baptiz'd a Paul ; 
 May I (though to his service deeply tied 
 By sacred oaths, and now by will allied) 
 With false feign'd zeal an injur'd God defend, 
 And use his name for some base private end ; 
 May I (that thought bids double horrors roll 
 O'er my sick spirits, and unmans my soul) 
 Ruin the virtue which I held most dear, 
 And still must hold ; may I, through abject fear, 
 Betray my friend ; may to succeeding times, 
 Engrav'd on plates of adamant, my crimes 
 
94 Charles Churchill 
 
 Stand blazing forth, whilst mark'd with envious blot, 
 
 Each little act of virtue is forgot ; 
 
 Of all those evils which, to stamp men curs'd, 
 
 Hell keeps in store for vengeance, may the worst 
 
 Light on my head, and in my day of woe, 
 
 To make the cup of bitterness o'erflow, 
 
 May I be scorn'd by ev'ry man of worth, 
 
 Wander, like Cain, a vagabond on Earth, 
 
 Bearing about a Hell in my own mind, 
 
 Or be to Scotland for my life confin'd, 
 
 If I am one among the many known, 
 
 Whom Shelburne fled, and Calcraft blush'd to own. 
 
 L. Do you reflect what men you make your foes ? 
 
 C. I do, and that's the reason I oppose. 
 Friends I have made, whom Envy must commend, 
 But not one foe, whom I would wish a friend. 
 What if ten thousand Butes and Hollands bawl, 
 One Wilkes hath made a large amends for all. 
 
 Tis not the title, whether handed down 
 From age to age, or flowing from the Crown 
 In copious streams on recent men, who came 
 From stems unknown, and sires without a name; 
 'Tis not the star, which our great Edward gave 
 To mark the virtuous, and reward the brave, 
 Blazing without, whilst a base heart within 
 Is rotten to the core with filth and sin ; 
 'Tis not the tinsel grandeur, taught to wait, 
 At Custom's call, to mark a fool of state 
 
The Conference 95 
 
 From fools of lesser note, that soul can awe 
 Whose pride is reason, whose defence is law. 
 L. Suppose (a thing scarce possible in art, 
 Were it thy cue to play a common part ;) 
 Suppose thy writing's so well fenc'd in law, 
 That Norton cannot find, nor make a flaw, 
 Hast thou not heard, that 'mongst our ancient tribes, 
 By party warpt, or lull'd asleep by bribes, 
 Or trembling at the ruffian hand of Force, 
 Law hath suspended stood, or chang'd its course ? 
 Art thou assur'd, that, for destruction ripe, 
 Thou may'st not smart beneath the self-same gripe ? 
 What sanction hast thou, frantic in thy rhymes, 
 Thy life, thy freedom to secure ? . 
 
 C. The times. 
 
 'Tis not on law, a system great and good, 
 By wisdom penn'd, and bought by noblest blood, 
 My faith relies : by wicked men and vain, 
 Law, once abus'd, may be abus'd again. 
 No, on our great Law-giver I depend, 
 Who knows and guides her to her proper end ; 
 Whose royalty of nature blazes out 
 So fierce, 'twere sin to entertain a doubt 
 Did tyrant Stuarts now the laws dispense, 
 (Blest be the hour and hand which sent them hence) 
 For something, or for nothing, for a word, 
 Or thought, I might be doomed to death, unheard^ 
 Life we might all resign to lawless pow'r, 
 
96 Charles Churchill 
 
 Nor think it worth the purchase of an hour ; 
 But Envy ne'er shall fix so foul a stain 
 On the fair annals of a Brunswick's reign. 
 
 If, slave to party, to revenge, or pride, 
 If, by frail human error drawn aside, 
 I break the law, strict rigour let her wear ; 
 Tis her's to punish, and 'tis mine to bear ; 
 Nor by the voice of Justice doom'd to death, 
 Would I ask mercy with my latest breath. 
 But, anxious only for my country's good, 
 In which my king's, of course, is understood; 
 Form'd on a plan with some few patriot friends, 
 Whilst by just means I aim at noblest ends, 
 My spirits cannot sink ; though from the tomb 
 Stern Jeffries should be placed in Mansfield's room ; 
 Though he should bring, his base designs to aid, 
 Some black attorney, for his purpose made, 
 And shove, whilst Decency and Law retreat, 
 The modest Norton from his maiden seat ; 
 Though both, in all confed'rates, should agree, 
 In damned league, to torture law and me, 
 Whilst George is king, I cannot fear endure ; 
 Not to be guilty, is to be secure. 
 
 But when, in after-times, (be far remov'd 
 That day) our monarch, glorious and belov'd, 
 Sleeps with his fathers, should imperious Fate, 
 In vengeance, with fresh Stuarts curse our state ; 
 Should they, o'erleaping ev'ry fence of law, 
 
The Conference 97 
 
 Butcher the brave to keep tame fools in awe ; 
 Should they, by brutal and oppressive force, 
 Divert sweet Justice from her even course ; 
 Should they, of ev'ry other means bereft, 
 Make my right hand a witness 'gainst my left ; 
 Should they, abroad by Inquisitions taught, 
 Search out my soul, and damn me for a thought ; 
 Still would I keep my course, still speak, still write, 
 Till Death had plung'd me in the shades of night. 
 
 Thou God of Truth, thou great, all-searching eye., 
 To whom our thoughts, our spirits open lie, 
 Grant me thy strength, and in that needful hour, 
 (Should it e'er come) when Law submits to Pow'r, 
 With firm resolve my steady bosom steel, 
 Bravely to suffer, though I deeply feel. 
 
 Let me, as hitherto, still draw my breath, 
 In love with life, but not in fear of death ; 
 And, if Oppression brings me to the grave, 
 And marks me dead, she ne'er shall mark a slave. 
 Let no unworthy marks of grief be heard, 
 No wild laments, not one unseemly word ; 
 Let sober triumphs wait upon my bier, 
 I won't forgive that friend who drops one tear. 
 Whether he's ravish'd in life's early morn, 
 Or, in old age, drops like an ear of corn, 
 Full ripe he falls, on Nature's noblest plan, 
 Who lives to Reason, and who dies a Man. 
 
 H 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 (Cowpe^s knowledge of politics was too much con- 
 ditioned by his secluded life and his terrible malady ; 
 but the Modern Patriot is a gem.) 
 
 THE MODERN PATRIOT 
 
 REBELLION is my theme all day, 
 
 I only wish 'twould come 
 (As who knows but perhaps it may) 
 
 A little nearer home. 
 
 Yon roaring boys who rave and fight 
 On the other side the Atlantic, 
 
 I always held them in the right, 
 But most so, when most frantic. 
 
 When lawless mobs insult the court, 
 
 That man shall be my toast, 
 If breaking windows be the sport, 
 
 Who bravely breaks the most. 
 
The Modern Patriot 99 
 
 But oh ! for him my fancy culls 
 
 The choicest flowers she bears, 
 Who constitutionally pulls 
 
 Your house about your ears. 
 
 Such civil broils are my delight, 
 
 Though some folks can't endure 'em, 
 
 Who say the mob are mad outright, 
 And that a rope must cure 'em. 
 
 A rope ! I wish we patriots had 
 
 Such strings for all who need 'em, 
 
 What ! hang a man for going mad ? 
 Then farewell British freedom. 
 
ROLLIAD' 
 
 (The exceedingly amusing collection of anti-Pittite 
 lampoons called The Rolliad, Political Eclogues, Proba- 
 tionary Odes, and so on, concocted chiefly by members of 
 Brookes club may shock serious politicians by its purely 
 personal and partisan character. There is not a senti- 
 ment in it higher than the wish to get Smith out and 
 Jones in, and, for that purpose, to make the most of the 
 follies, blunders, and faults of Smith and Smiths 
 friends. But it is very amusing more amusing, no 
 doubt, as a whole than in samples, but still amusing 
 after a fashion, of which I hope the following samples 
 will give some taste.) 
 
 ECLOGUE ON MARGARET NICHOLSON 
 
 THE Session up : the India-Bench appeas'd, 
 The Lansdownes satisfied, the Lowthers pleas'd, 
 
Eclogue on Margaret Nicholson 101 
 
 Each job dispatch'd : the Treasury boys depart, 
 As various fancy prompts each youthful heart, 
 Pitt, in chaste kisses seeking virtuous joy, 
 Begs Lady Chatham's blessing on her boy ; 
 While Mornington, as vicious as he can, 
 To fair R 1 n in vain affects the man : 
 With lordly Buckingham retir'd at Stowe, 
 Grenville, whose plodding brains no respite know, 
 To prove next year, how our finances thrive, 
 Schemes new reports, that two and two make five. 
 To plan of Eastern justice hies Dundas ; 
 And comely Villars to his votive glass ; 
 To embryo tax-bills Rose ; to dalliance Steele ; 
 And hungry hirelings to their hard-earn'd meal. 
 
 A faithful pair, in mutual friendship tied, 
 Once keen in hate, as now in love allied, 
 (This, o'er admiring mobs in triumph rode, 
 LibelFd his Monarch, and blasphem'd his God ; 
 That, the mean drudge of tyranny and Bute, 
 At once his practised pimp and prostitute) 
 Adscomb's proud roof receives, whose dark recess 
 And empty vaults, its owner's mind express, 
 While block'd-up windows to the world display 
 How much he loves a tax, how much invites the day. 
 
 Here the dire chance that god-like George befel, 
 How sick in spirit, yet in health how well ; 
 What Mayors by dozens, at the tale affrighted, 
 Got drunk, address'd, got laugh'd at, and got knighted ; 
 
102 * The Rolliad' 
 
 They read, with mingled horror and surprise, 
 
 In London's pure Gazette, that never lies. 
 
 Ye Tory bands, who taught by conscious fears, 
 
 Have wisely check'd your tongues, and sav'd your 
 
 ears, 
 
 Hear, ere hard fate forbids what heav'nly strains 
 Flowed from the lips of these melodious swains. 
 Alternate was the song ; but first began, 
 With hands uplifted, the regenerate man. 
 
 WILKES 
 
 Bless'd be the beef-fed guard, whose rigorous twist 
 Wrench'd the rais'd weapon from the murderer's fist, 
 Him Lords in waiting shall with awe behold 
 In red tremendous, and hirsute in gold. 
 
 On him, great monarch, let thy bounty shine, 
 What meed can match a life so dear as thine ? 
 Well was that bounty measur'd, all must own, 
 That gave him half of what he sav'd a crown. 
 
 Bless'd the dull edge, for treason's views unfit, 
 Harmless as Sydney's rage, or Bearcroft's wit. 
 Blush clumsy patriots, for degenerate zeal, 
 Wilkes had not guided thus the faithless steel ! 
 
 Round your sad mistress flock, ye maids elect, 
 Whose charms severe your chastity protect ; 
 Scar'd by whose glance, despairing love descries, 
 That virtue steals no triumph from your eyes. 
 
Eclogue on Margaret Nicholson 103 
 
 Round your bold master flock, ye mitred hive, 
 With anathems on Whigs his soul revive ! 
 Saints ! whom the sight of human blood appals, 
 Save when to please the Royal will it falls. 
 
 He breathes ! he lives ! the vestal choir advance, 
 Each takes a Bishop, and leads up the dance, 
 Nor dreads to break her long-respected vow, 
 For chaste ah strange to tell ! are bishops now : 
 Saturnian times return ! the age of truth, 
 And long foretold is come, the virgin youth. 
 Now sage professors, for their learning's curse, 
 Die of their duty in remorseless verse : 
 Now sentimental Aldermen expire 
 In prose, half flaming with the Muses' fire ; 
 Theirs while rich dainties swim on every plate, 
 Theirs the glad toil to feast for Britain's fate ; 
 Nor mean the gift the Royal grace affords, 
 All shall be knights but those that shall be lords. 
 
 Fountain of Honour, that art never dry, 
 Touch'd with those drops of grace no thief can die, 
 Still with new titles soak the delug'd land, 
 Still may we all be safe from Ketch's menac'd hand ! 
 
 JENKINSON 
 
 Oh wondrous man, with a more wond'rous Muse ! 
 O'er my lank limbs thy strains a sleep diffuse, 
 Sweet as when Pitt with words disdaining end, 
 
io 4 ' The Rolliad* 
 
 Toils to explain, yet scorns to comprehend. 
 Ah ! whither had we fled, had that foul day 
 Torn him untimely from our arms away ? 
 What ills had mark'd the age, had that dire thrust 
 Pierc'd his soft heart, and bow'd his bob to dust? 
 Gods ! to my labouring sight what phantoms rise ! 
 Here Juries triumph, and there droops Excise ! 
 Fierce from defeat, and with collected might, 
 The low-born Commons claim the people's right : 
 And mad for freedom, vainly deem their own, 
 Their eye presumptuous dares to scan the throne. 
 See in the general wreck that smothers all, 
 Just ripe for justice see my Hastings fall : 
 Lo, the dear Major meets a rude repulse, 
 Though blazing in each hand he bears a bulse \ 
 Nor Ministers attend, nor Kings relent, 
 Though rich Nabobs so splendidly repent. 
 See Eden's faith expos'd to sale again, 
 Who takes his plate, and learns his French in vain. 
 See countless eggs for us obscure the sky, 
 Each blanket trembles, and each pump is dry. 
 Far from good things Dundas is sent to roam, 
 Ah ! worse than banish'd doom'd to live at home. 
 Hence dire illusions ! dismal scenes away 
 Again he cries, ' What, what !' and all is gay. 
 
 Come Brunswick, come, great king of loaves and 
 
 fishes, 
 Be bounteous still to grant us all our wishes ! 
 

 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 
 Eclogue on Margaret Nicholson 105 
 
 Twice every year with Beaufoy as we dine, 
 Pour'd to the brim eternal George be thine 
 Two foaming cups of his nectareous juice, 
 Which new to gods, no mortal vines produce. 
 To us shall Brudenell sing his choicest airs, 
 And capering Mulgrave ape the grace of bears ; 
 A grand thanksgiving pious York compose, 
 In all the proud parade of pulpit prose ; 
 For sure Omniscience will delight to hear, 
 Thou 'scapest a danger, that was never near. 
 While ductile Pitt thy whisper'd wish obeys, 
 While dupes believe whate'er the Doctor says, 
 While panting to be taxed, the famish'd poor 
 Grow to their chains, and only beg for more ; 
 While fortunate in ill, thy servants find 
 No snares too slight to catch the vulgar mind : 
 Fix'd as the doom, thy pow'r shall still remain, 
 And thou, wise King, as uncontrol'd shalt reign. 
 
 WILKES 
 
 Thanks, Jenky^ thanks, for ever could 'st thou sing, 
 For ever could I sit, and hear thee praise the King. 
 Then take this book, which with a Patriot's pride, 
 Once to his sacred warrant I deny'd, 
 Fond though he was of reading all I wrote : 
 No gift can better suit thy tuneful throat. 
 
io6 ' The Rolliad' 
 
 JENKINSON 
 
 And thou this Scottish pipe, which Jamie's breath, 
 Inspir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death, 
 From lips unhallow'd I've preserved it long : 
 Take the just tribute of thy loyal song. 
 
 ODE 
 
 BY MAJOR JOHN SCOTT, M.P. 
 
 WHY does the loitering sun retard his wain, 
 
 When this glad hour demands a fiercer ray ? 
 Not so he pours his fire on Delhi's plain, 
 To hail the Lord of Asia's natal day. 
 There in mute pomp and cross-legg'd state, 
 The Raja Fonts Mahommed Shah await. 
 There Malabar, 
 There Bisnagar, 
 There Oude and proud Bahar, in joy confederate. 
 
 ii 
 
 Curs'd be the clime, and curs'd the laws, that lay 
 Insulting bonds on George's sovereign sway ! 
 
Ode 107 
 
 Arise, my soul, on wings of fire, 
 To God's anointed, tune the lyre ; 
 Hail ! George, thou all-accomplish'd King ! 
 
 Just type of him who rules on high ! 
 Hail ! inexhausted, boundless spring 
 
 Of sacred truth and Holy Majesty ! 
 Grand is thy form, 'bout five feet ten, 
 Thou well-built, worthiest, best of men ! 
 Thy chest is stout, thy back is broad, 
 Thy Pages view thee, and are aw'd ! 
 Lo ! how thy white eyes roll ! 
 Thy whiter eye-brows stare! 
 Honest soul ! 
 Thou'rt witty, as thou'rt fair. 
 
 in 
 
 North of the Drawing-room a closet stands : 
 The sacred nook, St. James's Park commands ! 
 Here, in sequester'd state, great George receives 
 Memorials, treaties, and long lists of thieves ! 
 Here all the force of sovereign thought is bent, 
 To fix Reviews, or change a government ! 
 Heav'ns how each word with joy Caermarthen takes ! 
 Gods ! how the lengthened chin of Sydney shakes ! 
 Blessing and bless'd the sage associate see, 
 The proud triumphant league of incapacity. 
 
 With subtile smiles, 
 
 With innate wiles, 
 
io8 ' The Rolliad* 
 
 How do thy tricks of state, great George, abound. 
 So in thy Hampton's mazy ground, 
 The path that wanders 
 In meanders, 
 Ever bending, 
 Never ending, 
 
 Winding runs the eternal round 
 Perplex'd, involved, each thought bewilder'd moves ; 
 In short, quick turns the gay confusion roves ; 
 Contending themes the embarrass'd listener baulk, 
 Lost in the labyrinths of the devious talk ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Now shall the levee's ease thy soul unbend, 
 
 Fatigu'd with Royalty's severer care ! 
 Oh ! happy few ! whom brighter stars befriend, 
 Who catch the chat the witty whisper share ! 
 Methinks I hear 
 In accents clear 
 
 Great Brunswick's voice still vibrate on my ear 
 ' What ? what ? what ? 
 Scott ! Scott ! Scott ! 
 Hot ! hot ! hot ! 
 What ? what ? what ? ' 
 Oh ! fancy quick ! oh ! judgment true ! 
 
 Oh ! sacred oracle of regal taste ! 
 So hasty, and so generous too ! 
 
Ode 109 
 
 Not one of all thy questions will an answer wait ! 
 
 Vain, vain, oh Muse, thy feeble art, 
 To paint the beauties of that head and heart ! 
 
 That heart where all the virtues join ! 
 
 That head that hangs on many a sign ! 
 
 Monarch of mighty Albion, check thy talk ! 
 Behold the Squad approach, led on by Palk \ 
 Smith, Barwell, Call, Vansittart, form the band 
 Lord of Britannia ! let them kiss thy hand ! 
 For sniff \ rich odours scent the sphere ! 
 'Tis Mrs. Hastings' self brings up the rear ! 
 God ! how her diamonds flock 
 On each unpowdered lock ! 
 
 On every membrane see a topaz clings ! 
 
 Behold ! her joints are fewer than her rings ! 
 
 Illustrious dame ! on either ear, 
 
 The Munny Begums' spoils appear ! 
 Oh ! Pitt, with awe behold that precious throat, 
 Whose necklace teems with many a future vote ! 
 Pregnant with Burgage gems each hand she rears ; 
 And lo ! depending questions gleam upon her ears ! 
 Take her great George, and shake her by the hand ; 
 'Twill loose her jewels and enrich thy land. 
 But oh ! reserve one ring for an old stager ; 
 The ring of future marriage for her Major \ 
 
i io ' The Rolliad' 
 
 RONDEAU 
 
 AROUND the tree, so fair, so green, 
 Erewhile, when summer shone serene, 
 Lo, where the leaves in many a ring 
 Before the wintry tempest wing, 
 Fly scattered o'er the dreary scene : 
 
 Such, NORTH, thy friends. Now cold and keen 
 Thy Winter blows ; no sheltering screen 
 
 They stretch, no graceful shade they fling 
 Around the tree. 
 
 Yet grant, just Fate, each wretch so mean, 
 Like Eden, pining in his spleen 
 
 For posts, for stars, for strings, may swing 
 
 On two stout posts in hempen string. 
 Few eyes would drop a tear, I ween, 
 
 Around the tree. 
 
Epigram 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 ON fair and equal terms to place 
 
 An union is thy care : 
 But trust me, Powis, in this case 
 The equal should not please his Grace 
 
 And PITT dislikes the fair. 
 
PETER PINDAR 
 
 (Two almost insurmountable difficulties lie before the 
 selector from Wolcot his fluent inequality ', which 
 constantly merges capital lines or stanzas in oceans not 
 exactly of dulness but of matter scarcely remarkable, 
 and his extreme dirtiness. He is, I should think, for 
 the same reasons, very little read nowadays ; but if 
 these selections send any one to him, the person sent, will 
 I think be rewarded, and I, the sender, shall not blush.} 
 
 APPLE DUMPLINGS 
 
 ' AN APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT TO ODE UPON ODE ' 
 
 ONCE on a time, a monarch, tir'd with whooping, 
 Whipping and spurring, 
 Happy in worrying 
 A poor, defenceless, harmless buck 
 (The horse and rider wet as muck), 
 From his high consequence and wisdom stooping, 
 
Apple Dumplings 113 
 
 Enter'd, through curiosity, a cot, 
 
 Where sat a poor old woman and her pot. 
 
 The wrinkled, blear-ey'd, good, old granny, 
 In this same cot, illum'd by many a cranny, 
 Had fmish'd apple dumplings for her pot : 
 In tempting row the naked dumplings lay, 
 When, lo ! the monarch, in his usual way, 
 Like lightning spoke, ' What's this? what's this? 
 what ? what ? ' 
 
 Then taking up a dumpling in his hand, 
 His eyes with admiration did expand 
 
 And oft did majesty the dumpling grapple : 
 * 'Tis monstrous, monstrous hard, indeed,' he cry'd : 
 What makes it, pray, so hard ? ' The dame reply'd, 
 
 Low curt'sying, 'Please your majesty, the apple.' 
 
 ' Very astonishing, indeed ! strange thing ! ' 
 (Turning the dumpling round, rejoin'd the king), 
 ' 'Tis most extraordinary then, all this is 
 It beats Pinetti's conjuring all to pieces 
 Strange I should never of a dumpling dream 
 But, goody, tell me where, where, where's the seam ? ' 
 
 ' Sir, there's no seam,' quoth she ; ' I never knew 
 That folks did apple dumplings sew.' 
 i 
 
ii 4 Peter Pindar 
 
 6 No ! ' cry'd the staring monarch with a grin, 
 ' How, how the devil got the apple in ? ' 
 
 On which the dame the curious scheme reveal'd 
 By which the apple lay so sly conceal'd, 
 
 Which made the Solomon of Britain start ; 
 Who to the Palace with full speed repair'd, 
 And queen and princesses so beauteous scar'd, 
 
 All with the wonders of the dumpling art ! 
 
 There did he labour one whole week, to show 
 The wisdom of an apple-dumpling maker \ 
 
 And, lo ! so deep was majesty in dough, 
 The palace seem'd the lodging of a baker. 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS TO A CELEBRATED 
 LAUREAT, alias THE PROGRESS OF 
 CURIOSITY, alias A BIRTH -DAY ODE, 
 alias MR. WHITBREAD'S BREWHOUSE 
 
 Now majesty, alive to knowledge, took 
 A very pretty memorandum-book, 
 With gilded leaves of asses' skin so white, 
 And in it legibly began to write 
 
Mr. Whitbread' s Brewkouse 115 
 
 Memorandum 
 
 A charming place beneath the grates, 
 For roasting chesnuts or potates. 
 
 Mem. 
 
 Tis hops that give a bitterness to beer 
 
 Hops grow in Kent, says Whitbread, and elsewhere. 
 
 Qucere 
 
 Is there no cheaper stuff? where doth it dwell? 
 Would not horse-aloes bitter it as well ? 
 
 Mem. 
 
 To try it soon on our small beer 
 Twill save us sev'ral pounds a year. 
 
 Mem. To remember to forget to ask 
 Old Whitbread to my house one day- 
 
 Mem. 
 
 Not to forget to take of beer the cask, 
 The brewer offer'd me, away. 
 
n6 Peter Pindar 
 
 Now having pencil'd his remarks so shrewd ; 
 
 Sharp as the point, indeed, of a new pin ; 
 His majesty his watch most sagely view'd, 
 
 And then put up his asses' skin. 
 
 To Whitbread now deign'd majesty to say, 
 'Whitbread, are all your horses fond of hay?' 
 ' Yes, please your majesty,' in humble notes, 
 The brewer answer'd ' also, sir, of oats : 
 Another thing my horses too maintains 
 And that, an't please your majesty, are grains.' 
 
 1 Grains, grains,' said majesty, ' to fill their crops ? 
 Grains, grains that comes from hops yes, hops, 
 
 hops, hops.' 
 Here was the king, like hounds sometimes at fault 
 
 'Sire,' cry'd the humble brewer, 'give me leave 
 
 Your sacred majesty to undeceive : 
 Grains, sire, are never made from hops, but malt.' 
 
 ' True,' said the cautious monarch, with a smile : 
 From malt, malt, malt I meant malt all the while.' 
 ' Yes,' with the sweetest bow, rejoin'd the brewer, 
 'An't please your majesty, you did, I'm sure.' 
 ' Yes,' answer'd majesty, with quick reply, 
 < I did, I did, I did, I, I, I, I.' 
 
Liberty's Last Squeak 117 
 
 Now this was wise in Whitbread here we find 
 
 A very pretty knowledge of mankind : 
 
 As monarchs never must be in the wrong, 
 
 'Twas really a bright thought in Whitbread's tongue, 
 
 To tell a little fib or some such thing, 
 
 To save the sinking credit of a king. 
 
 Some brewers, in the rage of information, 
 Proud to instruct the ruler of a nation, 
 
 Had on the folly dwelt, to seem damn'd clever ! 
 Now, what had been the consequence ? Too plain ! 
 The man had cut his consequence in twain ; 
 
 The king had hated the wise fool for ever ! 
 
 LIBERTY'S LAST SQUEAK 
 
 FAREWEL, O my pen and my tongue ! 
 
 To part with such friends I am loath ; 
 But Pitt, in majorities strong, 
 
 Voweth horrible vengeance on both. 
 
 No more on a king or a queen, 
 
 Apple-dumpling, and smuggling so sweet ; 
 Like their stomachs your wit shall be keen, 
 
 Hogs, hay, and fat bullocks, and wheat. 
 
 No more upon smugglers at court, 
 
 Mother Schwellenberg, bulses, and shawls ; 
 
n8 Peter Pindar 
 
 Nor at levees and drawing-rooms sport. 
 Where man the poor sycophant crawls. 
 
 The meanness no more of high folk 
 In the rope of your satire shall swing : 
 
 For, behold, there is death in the joke 
 That squinteth at queen or at king. 
 
 Thus untax'd by your satire, my friends, 
 Courts smile at th' intended decree ; 
 
 Thus the reign of poor ridicule ends, 
 And follies, like shawls, will go free. 
 
 Yes Folly will prattle and grin 
 
 With her scourges Oppression will rise, 
 
 Since satire's a damnable sin, 
 
 And a sin to be virtuous and wise. 
 
 But wherefore not laugh at a ? 
 
 And wherefore not laugh at a ? 
 A laugh is a laudable thing, 
 
 When people are silly and mean. 
 
 When we paid civil list without strife, 
 
 When we paid the old quack for his cure, 
 
 When we pray'd at Peg Nicholson's knife, 
 The k laughed at us, to be sure. 
 
Liberty's Last Squeak 119 
 
 Ev'n the minions of courts will escape ; 
 
 Dundas, Pitt, and Jenky, and Rose, 
 Yes, Satire gets into a scrape, 
 
 If she takes the four R s by the nose. 
 
 No more must ye laugh at an ass ; 
 
 No more run on topers a rig, 
 Since Pitt gets as drunk as Dundas, 
 
 And Dundas gets as drunk as a pig. 
 
 A laugh at a delegate hurts ; 
 
 Yes, 'twere dangerous to hazard your sneers ; 
 And mock the sweet mercy of courts, 
 
 That returned him his forfeited ears. 
 
 Now farewel to fair Buckingham-house, 
 To Windsor, and Richmond, and Kew ; 
 
 Farewel to the tale of the L ! 
 
 Mother Red-cap, and Monarchs, adieu ! 
 
 Like ferrets, since all must be muzzled, 
 (And muzzled indeed we shall be !) 
 
 Say Pitt (for I'm grievously puzzled), 
 May we venture a horse-laugh at thee?' 
 
Peter Pindar 
 
 SIXTH ODE TO INS AND OUTS 
 
 WHEN Pitt was out of office push'd, 
 What horror smote the levee mob ? 
 
 Mad into street of Downing rush'd 
 His minions, always ready for a job : 
 
 A most obsequious stud of hacks, 
 
 Who bore him on their humble backs 
 Through dirty lanes, through thick and thin ; 
 
 No matter what the object, no ; 
 
 When Pitt commands it must be so ; 
 Whether to clothe the naked realm, or skin. 
 
 Muse, would it be too harsh to say, 
 
 The tumult on that kick-out day 
 Was mob-like at a house on fire ; 
 
 Where friends, amid the conflagration, 
 
 With a kind thief-acceleration, 
 Whip off the goods they guarded by desire ? 
 
 Unfeeling as a stone, or harder, 
 
 In rush'd Lord G to the larder, 
 
 Caught up a goose for self and wife ; 
 In ran Dundas with hungry paunch, 
 Snatch'd up a turbot and a haunch : 
 
Sixth Ode to Ins and Outs 121 
 
 In bounc'd Charles Long, and, with his butcher's 
 
 knife, 
 
 (For in the plunder he must also join), 
 And cut off slices from a fat sirloin. 
 
 In scamper'd Windham ' Where's my share ? 
 
 I must be partner in the spoils ' : 
 Then up he caught an old jack hare, 
 
 A proper present for his toils : 
 
 ( I must have something/ Canning cries, 
 
 And fastens on some rich mince-pies, 
 As dext'rous as the rest to rifle : 
 
 Ecod ! and he must something do 
 
 For mother and for sisters too, 
 So steals some syllabubs and trifle. 
 
 But where was Justice all the while, 
 
 That things were going off in style ? 
 Poor gentlewoman ! she was gagg'd and bound ; 
 
 Her even scales, alas ! abhorr'd, 
 
 In pieces broken with her sword ; 
 Nor were the fasces to be found. 
 
 Such were the guardians of the state, 
 Just like a shoal of sharks who swam in, 
 
 With maws as wide as the park gate, 
 To save (by eating us) from famine \ 
 
122 Peter Pindar 
 
 A MORAL CONCLUSION 
 
 IN this world's wild, uncertain chase, 
 
 What strange events at times take place ! 
 Some bright with joy, some black with sorrow \ 
 
 Omnium est rerum vicissitudo \ 
 
 To-day what wonders / and you do, 
 That happen not again to-morrow \ 
 
 Hawkesb'ry, and Windham, Canning, Long, 
 Were under-strappers to Will Pitt 
 
 Forerunners, oft they gave their tongue 
 Before the great man pour'd his wit. 
 
 Thus Paul's four small clock -quarters ('prentice 
 
 boys) 
 Instruct their mighty master when to sound : 
 
 Paul solemn listens to the tinkling noise, 
 Then breaks in thunder to the world around ! 
 
 But herald under-strappers now no more, 
 Pitt out of office, the broad farce is o'er ; 
 Flung from his pedestal amid the rabble, 
 Deep-thundering Pitt is poor old Goody Gabble. 
 
A Moral Conclusion 123 
 
 Ah me ! sic transit gloria mundi 
 Such things will be till moon and sun die, 
 
 And earth our ashes, our pale embers cover : 
 And really, when we sum up #//, 
 What's life? A blast a little squall. 
 
 Death's calm must come at last, and all is over 
 All in our tombs in peace not one 
 To read ' Hie jacet' on the stone \ 
 
' THE ANTI-JACOBIN' 
 
 (I cannot help it if these immortal things are hack- 
 neyed; they must reappear?) 
 
 THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY 
 AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER 
 
 FRIEND OF HUMANITY 
 
 ' NEEDY Knife-grinder ! whither are you going ? 
 Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order 
 Bleak blows the blast ; your hat has got a hole in't, 
 
 So have your breeches ! 
 
 6 Weary Knife-grinder ! little think the proud ones, 
 Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- 
 -road, what hard work 'tis crying all day " Knives and 
 
 Scissors to grind O ! " 
 
The Friend of Humanity 125 
 
 1 Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind 
 
 knives ? 
 
 Did some rich man tyrannically use you ? 
 Was it the squire ? or parson of the parish ? 
 Or the attorney ? 
 
 1 Was it the squire, for killing of his game ? or 
 Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining? 
 Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little 
 All in a lawsuit ? 
 
 '(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom 
 
 Paine ?) 
 
 Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, 
 Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your 
 
 Pitiful story.' 
 
 KNIFE-GRINDER 
 
 1 Story ! God bless you ! I have none to tell, sir, 
 Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, 
 This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were 
 
 Torn in a scuffle. 
 
 1 Constables came up for to take me into 
 Custody ; they took me before the justice ; 
 Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish- 
 Stocks for a vagrant. 
 
i26 The Anti- Jacobin' 
 
 ' I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in 
 A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence ; 
 But for my part, I never love to meddle 
 with politics, sir.' 
 
 FRIEND OF HUMANITY 
 
 * / give thee sixpence ! I will see thee damn'd first 
 Wretch ! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to ven- 
 geance 
 Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, 
 
 Spiritless outcast ! ' 
 
 [Kicks the Knife-grinder , overturns his wheel^ and exit 
 in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and uni- 
 versal philanthropy. ] 
 
 LA SAINTE GUILLOTINE 
 
 A NEW SONG, ATTEMPTED FROM THE FRENCH 
 
 Tune, ' O'er the vine-cover'd hills and gay regions of France. ' 
 
 I 
 
 FROM the blood bedew'd valleys and mountains of 
 
 France, 
 See the Genius of Gallic invasion advance ! 
 
La Sainte Guillotine 127 
 
 Old ocean shall waft her, unruffled by storm, 
 
 While our shores are all lined with the Friends of 
 
 Reform. 
 
 Confiscation and Murder attend in her train, 
 With meek-eyed Sedition, the daughter of Paine ; 
 While her sportive Poissardes with light footsteps are 
 
 seen 
 To dance in a ring round the gay Guillotine. 
 
 To London, ' the rich, the defenceless,' she comes 
 f Hark ! my boys, to the sound of the Jacobin drums ! 
 See Corruption, Prescription, and Privilege fly, 
 Pierced through by the glance of her blood-darting 
 
 eye. 
 
 While patriots, from prison and prejudice freed, 
 In soft accents shall lisp the Republican Creed, 
 And with tricolour' d fillets, and cravats of green, 
 Shall crowd round the altar of Sainte Guillotine. ' 
 
 in 
 
 See the level of Freedom sweeps over the land 
 The vile Aristocracy's doom is at hand ! 
 Not a seat shall be left in a House that we know, 
 But for Earl Buonaparte and Baron Moreau. 
 
128 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 But the rights of the Commons shall still be respected, 
 Buonaparte himself shall approve the elected 
 And the Speaker shall march with majestical mien, 
 And make his three bows to the grave Guillotine. 
 
 IV 
 
 Two heads, says the proverb, are better than one, 
 
 But the Jacobin choice is for Five Heads or none. 
 
 By Directories only can Liberty thrive ; 
 
 Then down with the ONE, Boys ! and up with the 
 FIVE ! , 
 
 How our bishops and judges will stare with amaze- 
 ment, 
 
 When their heads are thrust out at the National Case- 
 ment \ 
 
 When the National Razor has shaved them quite 
 clean, 
 
 What a handsome oblation to Sainte Guillotine \ 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S FRIEND 
 
 DACTYLICS 
 
 COME, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack 
 
 here : 
 I am the Soldier's Friend here are some books for 
 
 you; 
 Nice clever books by Tom Paine, the philanthropist. 
 
Acme and Septimius 129 
 
 Here's half-a-crown for you here are some handbills 
 
 too 
 
 Go to the Barracks, and give all the Soldiers some. 
 Tell them the Sailors are all in a Mutiny. 
 
 [Exit Drummer Boy, with Handbills and Haif- 
 a-crown. Manet Soldier's Friend. 
 
 Liberty's friends thus all learn to amalgamate, 
 Freedom's volcanic explosion prepares itself, 
 Despots shall bow to the Fasces of Liberty, 
 Reason, philosophy, 'fiddledum diddledum,' 
 Peace and Fraternity, ' higgledy, piggledy,' 
 Higgledy, piggledy, 'fiddledum diddledum.' 
 
 Et catera, et ccztera, et catera. 
 
 ACME AND SEPTIMIUS j 
 
 OR, 
 THE HAPPY UNION 
 
 CELEBRATED AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR TAVERN 
 
 Fox, with Tooke to grace his side, 
 Thus address'd his blooming bride 
 4 Sweet ! should I e'er, in power or place, 
 Another Citizen embrace ; 
 K 
 
130 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 Should e'er my eyes delight to look 
 
 On ought alive, save John Home Tooke, 
 
 Doom me to ridicule and ruin, 
 
 In the coarse hug of Indian Bruin ! ' 
 
 He spoke ; and to the left and right, 
 N rf Ik hiccupp'd with delight. 
 
 Tooke, his bald head gently moving, 
 On the sweet Patriot's drunken eyes, 
 His wine-empurpled lips applies, 
 
 And thus returns in accents loving : 
 
 * So, my dear Charley, may success 
 
 At length my ardent wishes bless, 
 
 And lead through Discord's low'ring storm, 
 
 To one grand RADICAL REFORM ! 
 
 As from this hour I love thee more 
 
 Than e'er I hated thee before!' 
 
 He spoke, and to the left and right, 
 N rf Ik hiccupp'd with delight. 
 
 With this good omen they proceed ; 
 Fond toasts their mutual passion feed ; 
 In Fox's breast Home Tooke prevails 
 Before rich Ireland and South Wales \ 
 And Fox (un-read each other book), 
 
Lines 131 
 
 Is Law and Gospel to Home Tooke. 
 
 When were such kindred souls united ! 
 Or wedded pair so much delighted ? 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN BY A TRAVELLER AT CZARCO-ZELO UNDER 
 THE BUST OF A CERTAIN ORATOR, ONCE PLACED 
 BETWEEN THOSE OF DEMOSTHENES AND CICERO. 
 
 THE Grecian Orator of old, 
 With scorn rejected Philip's laws, 
 
 Indignant spurn'd at foreign gold, 
 And triumphed in his country's cause. 
 
 ii 
 
 A foe to every wild extreme, 
 'Mid civil storms, the Roman Sage 
 
 Repress'd Ambition's frantic scheme, 
 And check'd the madding people's rage. 
 
 in 
 
 Their country's peace, and wealth, and fame, 
 With patriot zeal their labours sought, 
 
132 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 And Rome's or Athens' honour'd name 
 Inspired and govern'd every thought. 
 
 IV 
 
 Who now in this presumptuous hour, 
 Aspires to share the Athenian's praise ? 
 
 The advocate of foreign power, 
 The ^Eschines of later days. 
 
 What chosen name to Tully's join'd, 
 Is thus announced to distant climes ? 
 
 Behold, to lasting shame consign'd, 
 The Catiline of modern times ! 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF MAN 
 
 FIRST INSTALMENT 
 
 WHETHER some great, supreme o'er-ruling Power 
 Stretch'd forth its arm at nature's natal hour, 
 Composed this mighty whole with plastic skill, 
 Wielding the jarring elements at will ? 
 Or whether sprung from Chaos' mingling storm, 
 The mass of matter started into form ? 
 
The Progress of Man 133 
 
 Or Chance o'er earth's green lap spontaneous fling 
 The fruits of autumn and the flowers of spring ? 
 Whether material substance unrefined, 
 Owns the strong impulse of instinctive mind, 
 Which to one centre points diverging lines, 
 Confounds, refracts, invig'rates, and combines ; 
 Whether the joys of earth, the hopes of heaven, 
 By Man to God, or God to Man were given ? 
 If virtue leads to bliss, or vice to woe ? ^ 
 
 Who rules above, or who reside below ? )> 
 
 Vain questions all shall Man presume to know ? J 
 On all these points, and points obscure as these, 
 Think they who will, and think whate'er they please ! 
 
 Let us a plainer, steadier theme pursue 
 Mark the grim savage scoop his light canoe ; 
 Mark the dark rook on pendent branches hung, 
 With anxious fondness feed her cawing young. 
 Mark the fell leopard through the desert prowl, 
 Fish prey on fish, and fowl regale on fowl ; 
 How Lybian tigers' chawdrons love assails, 
 And warms, midst seas of ice, the melting whales ; 
 Cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts, 
 Shrinks shrivell'd shrimps, but opens oysters' hearts; 
 Then say, how all these things together tend 
 To one great truth, prime object, and good end ? 
 
 First to each living thing, whate'er its kind, 
 Some lot, some part, some station is assign'd. 
 
134 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 The feather'd race with pinions skim the air 
 Not so the mackerel, and still less the bear : 
 This roams the wood> carniv'rous, for his prey ; 
 That with soft roe, pursues his watery way : 
 This slain by hunters yields his shaggy hide ; 
 caught by fishers, is on Sundays cried. 
 
 But each contented with his humble sphere, 
 Moves unambitious through the circling year ; 
 Nor e'er forgets the fortune of his race, 
 Nor pines to quit, or strives to change his place. 
 Ah ! who has seen the mailed lobster rise, 
 Clap her broad wings, and soaring claim the skies ? 
 When did the owl, descending from her bow'r, 
 Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flow'r ; 
 Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb, 
 In the salt wave, and fish-like strive to swim ? 
 
 The same with plants potatoes 'tatoes breed, ^| 
 Uncostly cabbage springs from cabbage seed ; 
 Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed ; 
 Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume 
 To flow'r like myrtle, or like violets bloom. 
 Man, only, rash, refined presumptuous Man, 
 Starts from his rank, and mars creation's plan. 
 Born the free heir of nature's wide domain, 
 To art's strict limits bounds his narrow'd reign 
 Resigns his native rights for meaner things, 
 For Faith and Fetters Laws, and Priests, and Kings, 
 
The- Progress of Man 135 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF MAN 
 
 THIRD INSTALMENT. MARRIAGE 
 
 EXTRACT 
 
 HAIL ! beauteous lands that crown the Southern Seas ; 
 
 Dear happy seats of Liberty and Ease ! 
 
 Hail ! whose green coasts the peaceful ocean laves, 
 
 Incessant washing with his watery waves ! 
 
 Delicious islands ! to whose envied shore 
 
 Thee, gallant Cook ! the ship Endeavour bore. 
 
 There laughs the sky, there Zephyr's frolic train, 
 And light-wing'd loves, and blameless pleasures reign : 
 There, when two souls congenial ties unite, 
 No hireling Bonzes chant the mystic rite ; 
 Free every thought, each action unconfined, 
 And light those fetters which no rivets bind. 
 
 There in each grove, each sloping bank along, 
 And flow'rs and shrubs and odorous herbs among, 
 Each shepherd clasp'd, with undisguised delight, 
 His yielding fair one, in the Captain's sight : 
 Each yielding fair, as chance or fancy led, 
 Preferr'd new lovers to her sylvan bed. 
 
136 c The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 Learn hence, each nymph, whose free aspiring 
 
 mind 
 
 Europe's cold laws, and colder customs bind 
 O ! learn, what Nature's genial laws decree 
 What Otaheite is, let Britain be ! 
 
 Of WHIST or CRIBBAGE mark the amusing game 
 The Partners changing, but the SPORT the same. 
 Else would the Gamester's anxious ardour cool, 
 Dull every deal, and stagnant every pool. 
 Yet must one Man, with one unceasing Wife, 
 Play the LONG RUBBER of connubial life. 
 
 Yes ! human laws, and laws esteem'd divine, 
 The generous passion straiten and confine ; 
 And, as a stream, when art constrains its course, 
 Pours its fierce torrent with augmented force, 
 So, Passion narrow'd to one channel small, 
 Unlike the former, does not flow at all. 
 For Love then only flaps his purple wings, 
 When uncontroll'd by Priestcraft or by Kings. 
 
 Such the strict rules that, in these barbarous climes, 
 Choke youth's fair flow'rs, and feelings turn to crimes: 
 And people every walk of polish'd life, 
 With that two-headed monster, MAN and WIFE. 
 
The Progress of Man , 137 
 
 Yet bright examples sometimes we observe, 
 Which from the general practice seem to swerve ; 
 Such as presented to Germania's view, 
 A Kotzbue's bold emphatic pencil drew ; 
 Such as, translated in some future age, 
 Shall add new glories to the British stage ; 
 While the moved audience sit in dumb despair, 
 ' Like Hottentots, and at each other stare? 
 
 With look sedate, and staid beyond her years, 
 In matron weeds a Housekeeper appears. 
 The jingling keys her comely girdle deck 
 Her 'kerchief colour'd, and her apron check. 
 Can that be Adelaide, that * soul of whim/ 
 Refornid in practice, and in manner prim ? 
 On household cares intent, with many a sigh 
 She turns the pancake, and she moulds the pie ; 
 Melts into sauces rich the savoury ham 
 From the crush'd berry strains the lucid jam ; 
 Bids brandied cherries, by infusion slow, ^ 
 
 Imbibe new flavour, and their own forego, > 
 
 Sole cordial of her heart, sole solace of her woe ! j 
 While still, responsive to each mournful moan, 
 The saucepan simmers in a softer tone. 
 
138 ' The Anti- Jacobin J 
 
 A CONSOLATORY ADDRESS 
 TO HIS GUN-BOATS 
 
 BY CITIZEN MUSKEIN 
 O navis referent in mare te novifluctus. 
 
 O GENTLE GUN-BOATS, whom the Seine 
 Discharged from Havre to the main ; 
 Now leaky, creaking, blood-bespatter'd, 
 With rudders broken, canvas shatter'd 
 O tempt the treacherous sea no more, 
 But gallantly regain the shore. 
 
 Scarce could our guardian Goddess, Reason, 
 Ensure your timbers through the season. 
 Though built of wood from famed Marseilles, 
 Well mann'd from galleys, and from jails, 
 Though with Lepaux's and RewbelPs aid, 
 By Pleville's skill your keel was laid ; 
 Though lovely Stael, and lovelier Stone, 
 Have work'd their fingers to the bone, 
 And cut their petticoats to rags 
 To make your bright Three Colour'd Flags ; 
 Yet sacrilegious grape and ball 
 Deform the works of Stone and Stael, 
 And trembling, without food or breeches, 
 Our sailors curse the painted . 
 
Elegy on Jean Bon St. Andrt 139 
 
 Children of Muskein's anxious care, 
 Source of my hope and my despair, 
 GUN-BOATS unless you mean hereafter 
 To furnish food for British laughter 
 Sweet GUN-BOATS, with your gallant crew, 
 Tempt not the rocks of SAINT MARCOU ; 
 Beware the Badger's bloody pennant, 
 And that d d invalid LIEUTENANT ! 
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH 
 OF JEAN BON ST. ANDRE 
 
 ALL in the town of Tunis, 
 
 In Africa &the torrid, 
 
 On a Frenchman of rank 
 Was play'd such a prank, 
 
 As Lepaux must think quite horrid. 
 
 ii 
 
 No story half so shocking, 
 By kitchen fire or laundry, 
 
 Was ever heard tell, 
 
 As that which befell 
 The great Jean Bon St. Andre. 
 
140 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 in 
 
 Poor John was a gallant Captain, 
 In battles much delighting 
 He fled full soon 
 On the First of June 
 But he bade the rest keep fighting. 
 
 IV 
 
 To Paris then returning, 
 And recover' d from his panic, 
 He translated the plan 
 Of Paine' s Rights of Man, 
 Into language Mauritanic. 
 
 He went to teach at Tunis 
 Where as Consul he was settled 
 Amongst other things, 
 ' That the people are kings ! ' 
 Whereat the Dey was nettled. 
 
 VI 
 
 The Moors being rather stupid, 
 And in temper somewhat mulish, 
 Understood not a word 
 Of the Doctrine they heard, 
 And thought the Consul foolish. 
 
Elegy on Jean Bon St. Andrt 141 
 
 VII 
 
 He form'd a Club of Brothers^ 
 And moved some resolutions 
 
 ' Ho ! Ho ! (says the Dey), 
 
 So this is the way 
 That the French make Revolutions' 
 
 VIII 
 
 The Dey then gave his orders 
 In Arabic and Persian 
 
 ' Let no more be said 
 
 But bring me his head ! 
 These Clubs are my aversion. 7 
 
 IX 
 
 The Consul quoted Wicquefort, 
 And Puffendorf and Grotius : 
 
 And proved from Vattel 
 
 Exceedingly well, 
 Such a deed would be quite atrocious. 
 
 'Twould have moved a Christian's bowels 
 To hear the doubts he stated ; 
 
 But the Moors they did 
 
 As they were bid, 
 And strangled him while he prated. 
 
142 ' The Anti-Jacobin* 
 
 XI 
 
 His head with a sharp-edged sabre 
 They severed from his shoulders, 
 And stuck it on high, 
 Where it caught the eye, 
 To the wonder of all beholders. 
 
 XII 
 
 This sure is a doleful story 
 
 As e'er you heard or read of; 
 
 If at Tunis you prate 
 
 Of matters of state, 
 Anon they cut your head off! 
 
 XIII 
 
 But we hear the French Directors 
 Have thought the point so knotty ; 
 
 That the Dey having shewn 
 
 He dislikes Jean Bon, 
 They have sent him Bernadotte. 
 
New Morality 143 
 
 NEW MORALITY 
 
 FROM mental mists to purge a nation's eyes ; 
 To animate the weak, unite the wise ; 
 To trace the deep infection, that pervades 
 The crowded town, and taints the rural shades ; 
 To mark how wide extends the mighty waste 
 O'er the fair realms of Science, Learning, Taste ; 
 To drive and scatter all the brood of lies, 
 And chase the varying falsehood as it flies ; 
 The long arrears of ridicule to pay, 
 To drag reluctant Dullness back to-day ; 
 Much yet remains. To you these themes belong, 
 Ye favour'd sons of virtue and of song ! 
 
 Say, is the field too narrow ? are the times 
 Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes ? 
 
 Yet, venial vices, in a milder age, 
 Could rouse the warmth of Pope's satiric rage ; 
 The doating miser, and the lavish heir, 
 The follies, and the foibles of the fair, 
 Sir Job, Sir Balaam, and old Euclio's thrift, 
 And Sappho's diamonds with her dirty shift, 
 Blunt, Charteris, Hopkins, meaner subjects fired 
 The keen-eyed Poet ; while the Muse inspired 
 Her ardent child, entwining, as he sate, 
 His laurell'd chaplet with the thorns of hate. 
 
i44 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 But say, indignant does the Muse retire, 
 Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire ? 
 No pious hand to feed the sacred flame, 
 No raptured soul a poet's charge to claim ? 
 
 Bethink thee, G ff rd ; when some future age 
 Shall trace the promise of thy playful page ; 
 1 The hand which brush'd a swarm of fools away, 
 Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey ! ' 
 Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse 
 The tame secession of thy languid Muse ? 
 
 Ah ! where is now thy promise ? why so long 
 Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song ? 
 Oh ! come with Taste and Virtue at thy side, 
 With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride ; 
 With keen poetic glance direct the blow, 
 And empty all thy quiver on the foe : 
 No pause no rest till weltering on the ground 
 The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a 
 wound. 
 
 Thou too! the nameless Bard, whose honest 
 
 zeal 
 
 For law, for morals, for the public weal, 
 Pours down impetuous on thy country's foes 
 The stream of verse, and many-languaged prose ; 
 
New Morality 145 
 
 Thou too ! though oft thy ill-advised dislike 
 The guiltless head with random censure strike, 
 Though quaint allusions, vague and undefined, 
 Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind ; 
 Through the mix'd mass yet truth and learning shine 
 And manly vigour stamps the nervous line ; 
 And patriot warmth the generous rage inspires, 
 And wakes and points the desultory fires ! 
 
 Yet more remain unknown : for who can tell 
 What bashful genius, in some rural cell, 
 As year to year, and day succeeds to day, 
 In joyless leisure wastes his life away ? 
 In him the flame of early fancy shone ; 
 His genuine worth his old companions own ; 
 In childhood and in youth their chief confessed, 
 His master's pride, his pattern to the rest. 
 Now far aloof retiring from the strife 
 Of busy talents, and of active life, 
 As, from the loopholes of retreat, he views 
 Our stage, verse, pamphlets, politics, and news, 
 He loaths the world, or, with reflection sad, 
 Concludes it irrecoverably mad ; 
 Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft, 
 No hope, no prospect to redeem it, left. 
 
 Awake ! for shame ! or e'er thy nobler sense 
 Sink in the oblivious pool of indolence ! 
 L 
 
146 * The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 Must wit be found alone on falsehood's side. 
 Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied ? 
 Arise ! nor scorn thy country's just alarms ; 
 Wield in her cause thy long-neglected arms : 
 Of lofty satire pour the indignant strain, 
 Leagued with her friends, and ardent to maintain, 
 'Gainst Learning's, Virtue's, Truth's, Religion's foes, 
 A kingdom's safety, and the world's repose. 
 
 If Vice appal thee, if thou view with awe 
 Insults that brave, and crimes that 'scape the law ; 
 Yet may the specious bastard brood, which claim 
 A spurious homage under Virtue's name, 
 Sprung from that parent of ten thousand crimes, 
 The New Philosophy of modern times, 
 Yet, these may rouse thee ! With unsparing hand, 
 Oh, lash the vile impostures from the land ! 
 
 First, stern Philanthropy : not she, who dries 
 The orphan's tears, and wipes the widow's eyes ; 
 Not she, who, sainted Charity her guide, 
 Of British bounty pours the annual tide ; 
 But French Philanthropy ; whose boundless mind 
 Glows with the general love of all mankind ; 
 Philanthropy, beneath whose baneful sway 
 Each patriot passion sinks, and dies away. 
 
New Morality 147 
 
 Taught in her school to imbibe thy mawkish strain, 
 Condorcet, filtered through the dregs of Paine, 
 Each pert adept disowns a Briton's part, 
 And plucks the name of England from his heart. 
 
 What, shall a name, a word, a sound control 
 The aspiring thought, and cramp the expansive soul ? 
 Shall one half-peopled Island's rocky round 
 A love, that glows for all Creation, bound ? 
 And social charities contract the plan 
 Framed for thy Freedom, UNIVERSAL MAN ? 
 No through the extended globe his feelings run 
 As broad and general as the unbounded sun ! 
 No narrow bigot he his reason'd view 
 Thy interests, England, rank with thine, Peru ! 
 France at our doors, he sees no danger nigh, 
 But heaves for Turkey's woes the impartial sigh ; 
 A steady Patriot of the World alone, 
 The Friend of every Country but his own. 
 
 Next comes a gentler Virtue. Ah ! beware 
 Lest the harsh verse her shrinking softness scare. 
 Visit her not too roughly ; the warm sigh 
 Breathes on her lips ; the tear-drop gems her eye. 
 Sweet Sensibility, who dwells enshrined 
 In the fine foldings of the feeling mind ; 
 With delicate Mimosa's sense endued, 
 Who shrinks instinctive from a hand too rude ; 
 
148 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 Or, like the anagallis, prescient flower, 
 
 Shuts her soft petals at the approaching shower. 
 
 Sweet child of sickly Fancy ! her of yore 
 From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore ; 
 And, while midst lakes and mountains wild he ran, 
 Full of himself, and shunn'd the haunts of man, 
 Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine steep 
 To lisp the story of his wrongs, and weep ; 
 Taught her to cherish still in either eye, 
 Of tender tears a plentiful supply, 
 And pour them in the brooks that babbled by ; J 
 
 Taught by nice scale to meet her feelings strong, 
 False by degrees, and exquisitely wrong ; 
 
 For the crush'd beetle first, the widow'd dove, 
 And all the warbled sorrows of the grove ; 
 Next for poor sufFring guilt ; and last of all, 
 For Parents, Friends, a King and Country's fall. 
 
 Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief, 
 With cureless pangs, and woes that mock relief, 
 Droop in soft sorrow o'er a faded flower 
 O'er a dead jack-ass pour the pearly shower ; 
 But hear, unmoved, of Loire's ensanguined flood, 
 Choked up with slain ; of Lyons drench'd in blood ; 
 Of crimes that blot the age, the world, with shame, 
 Foul crimes, but sicklied o'er with Freedom's name ; 
 
New Morality 149 
 
 Altars and thrones subverted, social life 
 Trampled to earth, the husband from the wife, 
 Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn ; 
 Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn, 
 In friendless exile, of the wise and good 
 Staining the daily scaffold with their blood, 
 Of savage cruelties, that scare the mind, 
 The rage of madness with hell's lust combined 
 Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled breast, 
 They hear and hope, that ALL is FOR THE BEST. 
 
 Fond hope ! but JUSTICE sanctifies the pray'r 
 JUSTICE ! here, Satire, strike ! 'twere sin to spare ! 
 Not she in British Courts that takes her stand, 
 The dawdling balance dangling in her hand, 
 Adjusting punishments to fraud and vice, 
 With scrupulous quirks, and disquisition nice : 
 But firm, erect, with keen reverted glance, 
 The avenging angel of regenerate France, 
 Who visits ancient sins on modern times, 
 And punishes the Pope for Caesar's crimes. 
 
 Such is the liberal JUSTICE which presides 
 In these our days, and modern patriots guides ; 
 JUSTICE, whose blood-stain'd book one sole decree, 
 One statute fills, * the People shall be Free/ 
 Free by what means ? by folly, madness, guilt, 
 By boundless rapines, blood in oceans spilt ; 
 
150 ' The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 By confiscation, in whose sweeping toils 
 
 The poor man's pittance with the rich man's spoils, 
 
 Mix'd in one common mass, are swept away, 
 
 To glut the short-liv'd tyrant of the day : 
 
 By laws, religion, morals, all o'erthrown ; 
 
 Rouse then, ye sovereign people, claim your own : 
 
 The licence that enthrals, the truth that blinds, 
 
 The wealth that starves you, and the power that grinds. 
 
 So JUSTICE bids. 'Twas her enlighten'd doom, 
 
 Louis, thy holy head devoted to the tomb ! 
 
 'Twas JUSTICE claim'd, in that accursed hour, 
 
 The fatal forfeit of too lenient pow'r. 
 
 Mourn for the Man we may ; but for the King, 
 
 Freedom, oh ! Freedom's such a charming thing ! 
 
 1 Much may be said on both sides.' Hark ! I hear 
 A well-known voice that murmurs in my ear, 
 The voice of CANDOUR. Hail ! most solemn sage,^| 
 Thou drivelling virtue of this moral age, /- 
 
 CANDOUR, which softens party's headlong rage. J 
 CANDOUR, which spares its foes ; nor e'er descends 
 With bigot zeal to combat for its friends. 
 CANDOUR, which loves in see-saw strain to tell 
 Of acting foolishly , but meaning well ; 
 Too nice to praise by wholesale, or to blame, 
 Convinced that all men's motives are the same ; 
 And finds, with keen discriminating sight, 
 BLACK'S not so black ; nor WHITE so very white. 
 
New Morality 151 
 
 ' Fox, to be sure, was vehement and wrong ; 
 But then Pitt's words you'll own were rather strong. 
 Both must be blamed, both pardon'd ; 'twas just so 
 With Fox and Pitt full forty years ago ; 
 So Walpole, Pulteney ; factions in all times, 
 Have had their follies, ministers their crimes.' 
 
 Give me the avow'd, the erect, the manly foe, 
 Bold I can meet perhaps may turn his blow ; 
 But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, 
 Save, save, oh ! save me from the Candid Friend ! 
 
 1 Barras loves plunder, Merlin takes a bribe, 
 What then? shall CANDOUR these good men pro- 
 scribe ? 
 
 No ! ere we join the loud-accusing throng, 
 Prove, not the facts, but, that they thought then, 
 wrong. 
 
 ( Why hang O'Quigley ? he, misguided man, 
 In sober thought his country's weal might plan. 
 And, while his deep -wrought Treason sapp'd the 
 
 throne, 
 Might act from taste in morals all his own.' 
 
 Peace to such Reasoners ! let them have their 
 
 way; 
 Shut their dull eyes against the blaze of day. 
 
152 c The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 Priestley's a Saint, and Stone a Patriot still I 
 And La Fayette a Hero, if they will. 
 
 I love the bold uncompromising mind, 
 Whose principles are fix'd, whose views defined : 
 Who scouts and scorns, in canting CANDOUR'S spite, 
 All taste in morals, innate sense of right, 
 And Nature's impulse, all uncheck'd by art, 
 And feelings fine, that float about the heart : 
 Content, for good men's guidance, bad men's awe, 
 On moral truth to rest, and Gospel law. 
 Who owns, when Traitors feel the avenging rod, 
 Just retribution, and the hand of God ; 
 Who hears the groans through Olmutz' roofs that 
 
 /ing, 
 
 Of him who mock'd, misled, betray'd his King 
 Hears unappall'd : -though Faction's zealots preach 
 Unmoved, unsoften'd by F tzp tr ck's speech. 
 That speech on which the melting Commons hung, 
 4 While truths divine came mended from his tongue' 
 How loving husband clings to duteous wife, 
 How pure religion soothes the ills of life, 
 How Popish ladies trust their pious fears 
 And naughty actions in their chaplain's ears. 
 Half novel and half sermon on it flow'd : 
 With pious zeal THE OPPOSITION glow'd ; 
 And as o'er each the soft infection crept, 
 Sigh'd as he whined, and as he whimper'd wept ; 
 
New Morality 153 
 
 E'en Curwen dropt a sentimental tear, 
 
 And stout Sir A dr w yelp'd a softer ' Hear !' 
 
 O ! nurse of crimes and fashions ! which in vain 
 Our colder servile spirits would attain, 
 How do we ape thee, France ! but blundering still 
 Disgrace the pattern by our want of skill. 
 The borrow'd step our awkward gait reveals : 
 (As clumsy C rtn y mars the verse he steals.) 
 How do we ape thee, France ! nor claim alone 
 Thy arts, thy tastes, thy morals for our own, 
 But to thy Worthies render homage due, 
 Their 'hair-breadth 'scapes' with anxious interest view; 
 Statesmen and heroines whom this age adores, 
 Tho' plainer times would call them rogues and whores. 
 
 See Louvet, patriot, pamphleteer, and sage, 
 Tempering with amorous fire his virtuous rage. 
 Form'd for all tasks, his various talents see, 
 The luscious novel, the severe decree. 
 Then mark him weltering in his nasty sty, 
 Bare his lewd transports to the public eye. 
 Not his the love in silent groves that strays, 
 Quits the rude world, and shuns the vulgar gaze. 
 In Lodoiska's full possession blest, 
 One craving void still aches within his breast ; 
 Plunged in the filth and fondness of her arms, 
 Not to himself alone he stints her charms ; 
 
154 c The Anti- Jacobin ' 
 
 Clasp'd in each other's foul embrace they lie, 
 But know no joy, unless the world stands by. 
 The fool of vanity, for her alone 
 He lives, loves, writes, and dies but to be known. 
 
 His widow'd mourner flies to poison's aid, 
 Eager to join her Louvet's parted shade 
 In those bright realms where sainted lovers stray, 
 But harsh emetics tear that hope away. 
 Yet hapless Louvet ! where thy bones are laid, 
 The easy nymphs shall consecrate the shade. 
 There, in the laughing morn of genial spring, 
 Unwedded pairs shall tender couplets sing ; 
 Eringoes, o'er the hallow'd spot shall bloom, 
 And flies of Spain buzz softly round the tomb. 
 
 But hold, severer virtue claims the Muse 
 Roland the just, with ribands in his shoes 
 And Roland's spouse who paints with chaste delight 
 The doubtful conflict of her nuptial night ; 
 Her virgin charms what fierce attacks assail'd, 
 And how the rigid Minister prevail'd. 
 
 And ah ! what verse can grace thy stately mien, 
 Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen, 
 Neckar's fair daughter, Stael, the Epicene ! J 
 
 Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and pumple nose 
 The bloom of young desire unceasing glows ! 
 
New Morality 155 
 
 Fain would the Muse but ah ! she dares no more, 
 A mournful voice from lone Guyana's shore, 
 Sad Quatremer the bold presumption checks, 
 Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex. 
 
 To thee, proud Barras bows ; thy charms control 
 Rewbell's brute rage, and Merlin's subtle soul ; 
 Raised by thy hands, and fashioned to thy will, 
 Thy power, thy guiding influence, governs still, 
 Where at the blood-stain'd board expert he plies, 
 The lame artificer of fraud and lies ; 
 He with the mitred head and cloven heel ; 
 Doom'd the coarse edge of Rewbell's jests to feel ; 
 To stand the playful buffet, and to hear 
 The frequent ink-stand whizzing past his ear ; 
 While all the five Directors laugh to see 
 * The limping priest so deft at his new ministry.' 
 
 Last of the ANOINTED FIVE behold, and least, 
 The Directorial Lama, Sovereign Priest, 
 Lepaux : whom atheists worship ; at whose nod 
 Bow their meek heads the men without a God. 
 
 Ere long, perhaps, to this astonish'd Isle, 
 Fresh from the shores of subjugated Nile, 
 Shall Buonaparte's victor fleet protect 
 The genuine Theo-philanthropic sect, 
 The sect of Marat, Mirabeau, Voltaire, - 
 
156 ' The Anti-Jacobin ' 
 
 Led by their Pontiff, good La Reveillere. 
 Rejoiced our CLUBS shall greet him, and install 
 The holy Hunch-back in thy dome, St. Paul ! 
 While countless votaries thronging in his train 
 Wave their Red Caps, and hymn this jocund strain : 
 
 ' Couriers and Stars, Sedition's Evening Host, 
 Thou Morning Chronicle, and Morning Post, 
 Whether ye make the Rights of Man your theme, 
 Your Country Libel, and your God blaspheme, 
 Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw, 
 Still blasphemous or blackguard, praise Lepaux ! 
 
 c And ye five other wandering Bards, that move 
 In sweet accord of harmony and love, 
 
 C dge and S th y, L d, and L b and Co. 
 
 Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux ! 
 
 c Pr tl y and W f Id, humble, holy men, 
 Give praises to his name with tongue and pen ! 
 
 c Th Iw 1, and ye that lecture as ye go, 
 And for your pains get pelted, praise Lepaux ! 
 
 e Praise him each Jacobin, or fool, or knave, 
 And your cropp'd heads in sign of worship wave ! 
 
 'All creeping creatures, venomous and low, 
 Paine, W-ll-ms, G-dw-n, H-lcr-ft, praise Lepaux 
 
New Morality 157 
 
 and with join'd, 
 
 And every other beast after his kind. 
 
 * And them, Leviathan \ on ocean's brim 
 Hugest of living things that sleep and swim ; 
 Thou, in whose nose by Burke's gigantic hand 
 The hook was fix'd to drag thee to the land, 
 
 With , , and in thy train, 
 
 And wallowing in the yeasty main, 
 
 Still as ye snort, and puff, and spout, and blow, 
 In puffing, and in spouting, praise Lepaux ! ' 
 
 Britain, beware ; nor let the insidious foe, 
 Of force despairing, aim a deadlier blow. 
 Thy peace, thy strength, with devilish wiles assail, 
 And when her arms are vain, by arts prevail. 
 True, thou art rich, art powerful ! thro' thine Isle 
 Industrious skill, contented labour smile ; 
 Far seas are studded with thy countless sails ; 
 What wind but wafts them, and what shore but hails ! 
 True, thou art brave ! o'er all the busy land 
 In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand ; 
 Thy foes behold with impotent amaze, 
 And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze ! 
 
 But what avails to guard each outward part, 
 If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart, 
 
158 ' The Anti- Jacobin" 
 
 Spite of thy courage, of thy power, and wealth 
 Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health ? 
 
 So thine own Oak, by some fair streamlet's side 
 Waves its broad arms, and spreads its leafy pride, 
 Towers from the earth, and rearing to the skies 
 Its conscious strength, the tempest's wrath defies : 
 Its ample branches shield the fowls of air, 
 To its cool shade the panting herds repair. 
 The treacherous current works its noiseless way, 
 The fibres loosen, and the roots decay ; 
 Prostrate the beauteous ruin lies ; and all 
 That shared its shelter, perish in its fall. 
 
 O thou ! lamented Sage ! whose prescient scan 
 Pierced through foul Anarchy's gigantic plan, 
 Prompt to incredulous hearers to disclose 
 The guilt of France, and Europe's world of woes ; 
 Thou, on whose name each distant age shall gaze, 
 The mighty sea-mark of these troubled days ! 
 O large of soul, of genius unconfined, 
 Born to delight, instruct, and mend mankind ; 
 Burke ! in whose breast a Roman ardour glowed ; 
 Whose copious tongue with Grecian richness flow'd ; 
 Well hast thou found (if such thy Country's doom) 
 A timely refuge in the sheltering tomb ! 
 
 As, far in realms, where Eastern kings are laid, 
 In pomp of death, beneath the cypress shade, 
 
New Morality 159 
 
 The perfumed lamp with unextinguish'd light 
 Flames thro' the vault, and cheers the gloom of 
 
 night. 
 
 So, mighty Burke ! in thy sepulchral urn, 
 To fancy's view, the lamp of Truth shall burn. 
 Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes, 
 Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise. 
 
 There are> to whom (their taste such pleasures cloy) 
 No light thy wisdom yields, thy wit no joy. 
 Peace to their heavy heads, and callous hearts, 
 Peace such as sloth, as ignorance imparts ! 
 Pleased may they live to plan their Country's good, 
 And crop, with calm content, their flow'ry food ! 
 
 What though thy venturous spirit loved to urge 
 The labouring theme to Reason's utmost verge, 
 Kindling and mounting from the enraptured sight ; 
 Still anxious wonder watch'd thy daring flight ! 
 While vulgar minds, with mean malignant stare, 
 Gazed up, the triumph of thy fall to share ! 
 Poor triumph ! price of that extorted praise, 
 Which still to daring Genius Envy pays. 
 
 Oh ! for thy playful smile, thy potent frown, 
 To abash bold Vice, and laugh pert folly down ! 
 So should the Muse in Humour's happiest vein, 
 With verse that flow'd in metaphoric strain, 
 
160 ( The Anti-Jacobin* 
 
 And apt allusions to the rural trade, 
 
 Tell of what wood young JACOBINS are made ; 
 
 How the skill'd Gardener grafts with nicest rule 
 
 The slip of Coxcomb, on the stock of fool ; 
 
 Forth in bright blossom bursts the tender sprig, 
 
 A thing to wonder at, perhaps a Whig. 
 
 Should tell, how wise each half-fledg'd pedant prates 
 
 Of weightiest matters, grave distinctions states 
 
 That rules of policy, and public good, 
 
 In Saxon times were rightly understood ; 
 
 That Kings are proper, may be useful things, 
 
 But then some Gentlemen object to Kings ; 
 
 That in all times the Minister's to blame ; 
 
 That British Liberty's an empty name, 
 
 Till each fair burgh, numerically free, 
 
 Shall choose its Members by the Rule of Three. 
 
 So should the Muse, with verse in thunder clothed, 
 Proclaim the crimes by God and Nature loath'd. 
 Which (when fell poison revels in the veins 
 That poison fell, which frantic Gallia drains 
 From the crude fruit of Freedom's blasted tree) 
 Blots the fair records of Humanity. 
 
 To feebler nations let proud France afford 
 Her damning choice, the chalice or the sword, 
 To drink or die ; oh fraud ! oh specious lie ! 
 Delusive choice ! for if they drink, they die. 
 
New Morality 161 
 
 The sword we dread not : of ourselves secure, 
 Firm were our strength, our Peace and Freedom sure, 
 Let all the world confederate all its powers, 
 ' Be they not back'd by those that should be ours,' 
 High on his rock shall BRITAIN'S GENIUS stand, 
 Scatter the crowded hosts, and vindicate the land. 
 
 Guard we but our own hearts : with constant view 
 To ancient morals, ancient manners true, 
 True to the manlier virtues, such as nerved 
 Our fathers' breasts, and this proud Isle preserved 
 For many a rugged age : and scorn the while, 
 Each philosophic atheist's specious guile 
 The soft seductions, the refinements nice, 
 Of gay morality, and easy vice : 
 So shall we brave the storm ; our 'stablish'd power 
 Thy refuge, Europe, in some happier hour. 
 But, French in heart tho' victory crown our brow, 
 Low at our feet though prostrate nations bow, 
 Wealth gild our cities, commerce crowd our shore, 
 London may shine, but England is no more. 
 
 M 
 
SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 (Sir Walter, as he has himself informed us, took 
 little interest in the details of politics : but he sometimes 
 put his poetical faculty at the service of his country or 
 his political party, and the following is, / think, the best 
 result.") 
 
 HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE 
 1806 
 
 SINCE here we are set in array round the table, 
 Five hundred good fellows well met in a hall, 
 Come listen, brave boys, and I'll sing as I'm able 
 How innocence triumph'd and pride got a fall. 
 
 But push round the claret 
 
 Come, stewards, don't spare it 
 With rapture you'll drink to the toast that I give : 
 
 Here, boys, 
 
 Off with it merrily 
 Melville for ever, and long may he live ! 
 
Health to Lord Melville 163 
 
 What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pursuing, 
 
 Pitt banish'd Rebellion, gave Treason a sting ? 
 Why, they swore on their honour, for Arthur O'Connor, 
 And fought hard for Despard against country and 
 king. 
 
 Well, then, we knew, boys, 
 Pitt and Melville were true boys, 
 And the tempest was raised by the friends of Reform. 
 Ah, woe ! 
 
 Weep to his memory : 
 Low lies the pilot that weather'd the storm ! 
 
 And pray, don't you mind when the Blues first were 
 
 raising, 
 And we scarcely could think the house safe o'er 
 
 our heads ? 
 
 When villains and coxcombs, French politics praising, 
 Drove peace from our tables and sleep from our 
 beds? 
 
 Our hearts they grew bolder 
 When, musket on shoulder, 
 Stepp'd forth our old Statesman example to give. 
 Come, boys, never fear, 
 Drink the Blue grenadier 
 Here's to old Harry, and long may he live ! 
 
 They would turn us adrift ; though rely, sir, upon it 
 Our own faithful chronicles warrant us that 
 
164 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 The free mountaineer and his bonny blue bonnet 
 Have oft gone as far as the regular's hat. 
 
 We laugh at their taunting, 
 
 For all we are wanting 
 Is licence our life for our country to give. 
 
 Off with it merrily, 
 
 Horse, foot, and artillery, 
 Each loyal Volunteer, long may he live. 
 
 Tis not us alone, boys the Army and Navy 
 
 Have each got a slap 'mid their politic pranks ; 
 Cornwallis cashier'd, that watch'd winters to save ye, 
 And the Cape call'd a bauble, unworthy of thanks. 
 
 But vain is their taunt, 
 
 No soldier shall want 
 The thanks that his country to valour can give : 
 
 Come, boys, 
 
 Drink it off merrily, 
 Sir David and Popham, and long may they live ! 
 
 And then our revenue Lord knows how they view'd 
 
 it, 
 
 While each petty statesman talk'd lofty and big ; 
 But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whitbread had brew'd 
 
 it, 
 
 And the pig-iron duty a shame to a pig. 
 In vain is their vaunting, 
 Too surely there's wanting 
 What judgment, experience, and steadiness give : 
 
Health to Lord Melville 165 
 
 Come, boys, 
 Drink about merrily, 
 Health to sage Melville, and long may he live ! 
 
 Our King, too our Princess I dare not say more, 
 
 sir, 
 
 May Providence watch them with mercy and might ! 
 While there's one Scottish hand that can wag a clay- 
 more, sir, 
 
 They shall ne'er want a friend to stand up for their 
 right. 
 
 Be damn'd he that dare not, 
 For my part, I'll spare not 
 To beauty afflicted a tribute to give : 
 Fill it up steadily, 
 Drink it off readily 
 Here's to the Princess, and long may she live ! 
 
 And since we must not set Auld Reekie in glory, 
 
 And make her brown visage as light as her heart ; 
 Till each man illumine his own upper story, 
 Nor law book nor lawyer shall force us to part. 
 
 In Grenville and Spencer, 
 
 And some few good men, sir, 
 High talents we honour, slight difference forgive : 
 
 But the Brewer we'll hoax, 
 
 Tallyho to the Fox, 
 And drink Melville for ever, as long as we live ! 
 
GEORGE CANNING 
 
 (That Canning is the greatest of all political 
 English verse-writers of the lighter kind, as Dry den is 
 of the heavy brigade, is sometimes contested, but not in 
 my judgment contestable. Much of his best work ap- 
 peared, not always separably, in the Anti- Jacobin, 
 which he wrote in conjunction with his friends Ellis, 
 Frere, and others ; but he often equalled the merit of 
 the Knife-Grinder and the New Morality in his inde- 
 pendent work.) 
 
 ANACREONTIC 
 
 How blest, how firm the statesman stands 
 (Him no low intrigue can move), 
 Circled by faithful kindred bands, 
 
 And propp'd by fond fraternal love. 
 When his speeches hobble vilely, 
 What ' Hear hims ' burst from Brother Hiley ; 
 
Moderate Men and Moderate Measures 167 
 
 When his falt'ring periods lag, 
 Hark to the cheers of Brother Bragge ; 
 When the falt'ring periods lag, 
 Or the yawning audience flag ; 
 When his speeches hobble vilely, 
 Or the House receives them drily, 
 
 Cheer, oh, cheer him, Brother Bragge, 
 Cheer, oh, cheer him, Brother Hiley. 
 Each a gentleman at large, 
 Lodged and fed at public charge, 
 Paying (with a grace to charm ye), 
 This the Fleet, and that the Army. 
 Brother Bragge and Brother Hiley, 
 Cheer him when he speaks so vilely ; 
 Cheer him when his audience flag, 
 Brother Hiley, Brother Bragge. 
 
 MODERATE MEN 
 AND MODERATE MEASURES 
 
 PRAISE to placeless proud ability, 
 
 Let the prudent muse disclaim : 
 And sing the statesman all civility 
 
 Whom moderate talents raise to fame. 
 He, no random projects urging, 
 
 Makes us wild alarms to feel ; 
 With moderate measures, gently purging 
 
 Ills that prey on Britain's weal. 
 
1 68 George Canning 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Gently purging 
 Gently purging 
 Gently purging Britain's weal. 
 
 Addington, with measured motion, 
 
 Keep the tenor of thy way ; 
 To glory yield no rash devotion, 
 
 Led by luring lights astray ; 
 Splendid talents are deceiving, 
 
 Tend to counsels much too bold ; 
 Moderate men we prize, believing, 
 
 All that glitters is not gold. 
 
 Grand Chorus. 
 
 All that glisters, 
 All that glisters, 
 All that glisters is not gold ! 
 
 FRAGMENT OF AN ORATION 
 
 I'M like Archimedes for science and skill, 
 I'm like a young Prince going straight up a hill ; 
 I'm like (with respect to the fair be it said) 
 I'm like a young lady just bringing to bed. 
 
Fragment of an Oration 169 
 
 f 
 
 If you ask why the nth of June I remember 
 Much better than April, or May, or November, 
 On that day, my Lords, with truth I assure ye, 
 My sainted progenitor set up his brewery ; 
 On that day in the morn he began brewing beer, 
 On that day, too, commenc'd his connubial career ; 
 On that day he received and he issued his bills ; 
 On that day he cleared out all the cash from his tills ; 
 On that day he died, having finished his summing, 
 And the angels all cried, ' Here's old Whitbread a- 
 
 coming.' 
 
 So that day still I hail with a smile and a sigh, 
 For his Beer with an e and his Bier with an /; 
 And still on that day in the hottest of weather 
 The whole Whitbread family dine all together. 
 So long as the beams of his house shall support 
 The roof which o'ershades this respectable Court 
 Where Hastings was tried for oppressing the Hindoos 
 So long as that sun shall shine in at those windows, 
 My name shall shine bright as my ancestor's shines, 
 Mine recorded in journals, his blazon'd on signs. 
 
170 George Canning 
 
 ELIJAH'S MANTLE 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE RIGHT HON. 
 WILLIAM PITT 
 
 WHEN, by th' Almighty's dread command 
 Elijah, call'd from Israel's land, 
 
 Rose in the sacred flame, 
 His Mantle good Elisha caught, 
 And, with the Prophet's spirit fraught, 
 
 Her second hope became. 
 
 In Pitt our Israel saw combined 
 
 The Patriot's heart the Prophet's mind, 
 
 Elijah's spirit here : 
 Now sad reverse ! that spirit reft, 
 No confidence, no hope is left ; 
 
 For no Elijah's near. 
 
 in 
 
 Is there, among the greedy band 
 Who've seized on power, with harpy hand 
 And Patriot worth assume, 
 
Elijah's Mantle 171 
 
 One on whom public faith can rest 
 One fit to wear Elijah's vest, 
 
 And cheer a Nation's gloom ? 
 
 IV 
 
 Grenville ! to aid thy Treasury fame, 
 A portion of Pitt's Mantle claim, 
 
 His gen'rous ardour feel ; 
 Resolve, 'bove sordid self to soar, 
 Amidst Exchequer gold be poor ! 
 
 Thy wealth the public weal. 
 
 Fox ! if on thee some remnant fall, 
 The shred may to thy mind recall, 
 
 Those hours of loud debate, 
 When thy unhallow'd lips be-praised 
 ' The glorious fabric ' traitors raised 
 
 On Bourbon's fallen state. 
 
 VI 
 
 Thy soul let Pitt's example fire, 
 With patriot zeal thy tongue inspire, 
 
 Spite of thy gallic leaven ; 
 And teach thee in thy latest day, 
 His form of prayer (if thou can'st pray), 
 
 4 O save my country, Heaven ! ' 
 
172 George Canning 
 
 VII 
 
 Windham, if e'er thy sorrows flow 
 For private loss or public woe, 
 
 Thy rigid brow unbend : 
 Tears over Caesar Brutus shed, 
 His hatred warr'd not with the dead 
 
 And Pitt was once thy friend. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Does Envy bid thee not to mourn ? 
 Hold then his Mantle up to scorn, 
 
 His well-earn'd fame assail : 
 Of funeral honours strip his corse, 
 And at his virtues till thou'rt hoarse 
 
 Like curst Thersites rail ! 
 
 IX 
 
 Illustrious Roscius of the State ! 
 New-breech'd and harness'd for debate, 
 
 Thou wonder of thy age ! 
 Petty or Betty thou art hight 
 By Granta sent to strut thy night 
 
 On Stephen's bustling stage. 
 
 Pitt's 'Chequer robe 'tis thine to wear ; 
 Take of his mantle too a share 
 
 'Twill aid thy Ways and Means ; 
 
Elijah's Mantle 173 
 
 And should Fat Jack, and his Cabal 
 Cry ' Rob us the Exchequer, Hal ! ' 
 Twill charm away the fiends. 
 
 XI 
 
 Sage Palinurus of the realm ! 
 
 By Vincent calPd to take the helm ! 
 
 And play his proxy's part ; 
 Dost thou or star or compass know ? 
 Can'st reef aloft or hand below ? 
 
 Hast conn'd the shipman's chart ? 
 
 XII 
 
 No ! From Pitt's Mantle tear a rag, 
 Enough to serve thee for a flag, 
 
 And hoist it on thy mast : 
 Beneath that sign (our prosperous star) 
 Shall future Nelsons rush to war, 
 
 And rival victories past. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Sidmouth though low his head is laid 
 Who call'd thee from thy native shade, 
 
 And gave thee second birth ; 
 Gave thee the sweets of Power and Place, 
 The tufted gown the gilded mace, 
 
 And rear'd thy puny worth : 
 
174 George Canning 
 
 XIV 
 
 Think how his Mantle wrapp'd thee round : 
 Is one of equal virtue found 
 
 Among thy new compeers ? 
 Or can thy cloak of Amiens stuff, 
 Once laugh'd to scorn by Blue and Buff, 
 
 Screen thee from Windham's jeers ? 
 
 xv 
 
 When Faction threatened Britain's land, 
 Thy new-made friends a desperate band, 
 
 Like Ahab stood reprov'd : 
 Pitt's powerful tongue their rage could check ; 
 His counsel sav'd, 'midst general wreck, 
 
 The Israel that he loved. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Yes, honor'd shade ! whilst near thy grave 
 The letter'd sage, and chieftain brave, 
 
 The votive marble claim ; 
 O'er thy cold corse the public tear 
 Congeal'd, a crystal shrine shall rear, 
 
 Unsullied as thy fame ! 
 
LORD BYRON 
 
 (Byron's work would be missed in such a book as 
 this. Therefore I give some of it, though it does not seem 
 to me of the first class.} 
 
 SONG FOR THE LUDDITES 
 
 As the Liberty lads o'er the sea 
 
 Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, 
 
 So we, boys, we 
 
 Will die fighting, or live free, 
 And down with all kings but King Ludd ! 
 
 When the web that we weave is complete, 
 And the shuttle exchanged for the sword, 
 
 We will fling the winding sheet 
 
 O'er the despot at our feet, 
 And dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd. 
 
176 Lord Byron 
 
 Though black as his heart its hue, 
 Since his veins are corrupted to mud, 
 Yet this is the dew 
 Which the tree shall renew 
 Of Liberty, planted by Ludd ! 
 December 1816. 
 
 SONNET TO GEORGE THE FOURTH, 
 
 ON THE REPEAL OF LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD ? S 
 FORFEITURE 
 
 To be the father of the fatherless, 
 
 To stretch the hand from the throne's height, 
 and raise 
 
 His offspring, who expired in other days 
 To make thy sire's sway by a kingdom less, 
 This is to be a monarch, and repress 
 
 Envy into unutterable praise. 
 
 Dismiss thy guard, and trust thee to such traits, 
 For who would lift a hand, except to bless ? 
 
 Were it not easy, sir, and is't not sweet 
 
 To make thyself beloved ? and to be 
 Omnipotent by mercy's means ? for thus 
 
 Thy sovereignty would grow but more complete ; 
 A despot thou, and yet thy people free, 
 
 And by the heart, not hand, enslaving us. 
 
Stanzas 1 77 
 
 EPITAPH FOR WILLIAM PITT 
 
 WITH death doom'd to grapple, 
 Beneath this cold slab, he 
 
 Who lied in the Chapel 
 Now lies in the Abbey. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 IN digging up your bones, Tom Paine, 
 
 Will Cobbett has done well : 
 You visit him on earth again, 
 
 He'll visit you in hell. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 WHEN a man hath no freedom to fight for at home, 
 Let him combat for that of his neighbours j 
 
 Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome, 
 And get knock'd on the head for his labours. 
 
 To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan, 
 
 And is always as nobly requited ; 
 Then battle for freedom wherever you can, 
 
 And, if not shot or hang'd, you'll get knighted. 
 
THOMAS MOORE 
 
 (Something has been said of Moords political verse 
 in the Introduction. It is extraordinarily good, and it 
 distinctly improved as he went on. Metrical faculty 
 and ready wit, the two qualities most required by the 
 political bard) he possessed in abundance^ and the result 
 is charming?) 
 
 THE EXTINGUISHERS 
 
 PROEM 
 
 THOUGH soldiers are the true supports, 
 The natural allies of Courts, 
 Woe to the Monarch who depends 
 Too much on his red-coated friends ; 
 For even soldiers sometimes think 
 
 Nay Colonels have been known to reason , 
 And reasoners, whether clad in pink, 
 Or red, or blue, are on the brink 
 
 (Nine cases out of ten) of treason. 
 
The Extinguiherss 179 
 
 Not many soldiers, I believe, are 
 
 As fond of liberty as Mina ; 
 Else woe to Kings, when Freedom's fever 
 
 Once turns into a Scarlatina \ 
 For then but hold 'tis best to veil 
 My meaning in the following tale : 
 
 FABLE 
 
 A LORD of Persia, rich and great, 
 
 Just come into a large estate, 
 
 Was shocked to find he had, for neighbours, 
 
 Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers, 
 
 Whose fires, beneath his very nose, 
 
 In heretic combustion rose. 
 
 But lords of Persia can, no doubt, 
 
 Do what they will so, one fine morning, 
 He turned the rascal Ghebers out, 
 
 First giving a few kicks for warning. 
 Then, thanking Heaven most piously, 
 
 He knocked their temple to the ground, 
 Blessing himself for joy to see 
 
 Such Pagan ruins strewed around. 
 But much it vexed my lord to find, 
 
 That, while all else obeyed his will, 
 The fire these Ghebers left behind 
 
 Do what he would kept burning still. 
 
i8o Thomas Moore 
 
 Fiercely he stormed, as if his frown 
 Could scare the bright insurgent down ; 
 But, no such fires are headstrong things, 
 And care not much for lords or kings. 
 Scarce could his lordship well contrive 
 
 The flashes in one place to smother, 
 Before hey, presto ! all alive, 
 
 They sprung up freshly in another. 
 
 At length, when, spite of prayers and damns, 
 
 'Twas found the sturdy flame defied him, 
 His stewards came, with low salams, 
 
 Offering, by contract, to provide him 
 Some large extinguishers (a plan 
 Much used, they said, at Ispahan, 
 Vienna, Petersburgh in short 
 Wherever light's forbid at court) 
 Machines no lord should be without, 
 Which would, at once, put promptly out 
 Fires of all kinds from staring stark 
 Volcanos to the tiniest spark 
 Till all things slept as dull and dark 
 As, in a great lord's neighbourhood, 
 'Twas right and fitting all things should. 
 
 Accordingly, some large supplies 
 
 Of these extinguishers were furnished 
 (All of the true, imperial size), 
 
The Extinguishers 181 
 
 And there, in rows, stood black and burnished, 
 Ready, where'er a gleam but shone 
 Of light or fire, to be clapped on. 
 
 But, ah ! how lordly wisdom errs 
 In trusting to extinguishers ! 
 One day, when he had left all sure 
 (At least believed so), dark, secure 
 The flame, at all its exits, entries, 
 
 Obstructed to his heart's content, 
 And black extinguishers, like sentries, 
 
 Placed upon every dangerous vent 
 Ye Gods ! imagine his amaze, 
 
 His wrath, his rage, when, on returning, 
 He found not only the old blaze, 
 
 Brisk as before, crackling and burning 
 Not only new, young conflagrations, 
 Popping up round in various stations 
 But, still more awful, strange, and dire, 
 The extinguishers themselves on fire ! ! 
 They, they those trusty, blind machines 
 
 His lordship had so long been praising, 
 As, under Providence, the means 
 
 Of keeping down all lawless blazing, 
 Were now themselves alas, too true 
 The shameful fact ! turned blazers too, 
 And, by a change as odd as cruel, 
 Instead of dampers, served for fuel ! 
 
1 82 Thomas Moore 
 
 Thus, of his only hope bereft, 
 
 'What,' said the great man, 'must be done?' 
 All that, in scrapes like this, is left 
 
 To great men is to cut and run. 
 So run he did ; while to their grounds 
 
 The banished Ghebers blessed returned ; 
 And, though their fire had broke its bounds, 
 
 And all abroad now wildly burned, 
 Yet well could they, who loved the flame, 
 Its wandering, its excess reclaim ; 
 And soon another, fairer dome 
 Arose to be its sacred home, 
 Where, cherished, guarded, not confined, 
 The living glory dwelt enshrined, 
 And, shedding lustre, strong but even, 
 Though born of earth, grew worthy Heaven. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 The moral hence my Muse infers 
 Is that such lords are simple elves, 
 
 In trusting to extinguishers 
 
 That are combustible themselves. 
 
The Twopenny Post- Bag 183 
 
 THE TWOPENNY POST-BAG 
 LETTER I 
 
 FROM THE PR NC SS CH E OF W S TO 
 
 THE LADY B RB A A SHL Y 
 
 MY dear Lady Bab, you'll be shocked, I'm afraid, 
 When you hear the sad rumpus your ponies have 
 
 made ; 
 Since the time of horse -consuls (now long out of 
 
 date) 
 No nags ever made such a stir in the State ! 
 
 Lord Eld n first heard and as instantly prayed he 
 To God and his King that a Popish young lady 
 (For though you've bright eyes, and twelve thousand 
 
 a year, 
 
 It is still but too true you're a Papist, my dear) 
 Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish groom, 
 Two priest-ridden ponies, just landed from Rome, 
 And so full, little rogues, of pontifical tricks, 
 That the dome of St. Paul's was scarce safe from 
 
 their kicks! 
 
1 84 Thomas Moore 
 
 Off at once to papa, in a flurry, he flies 
 
 For papa always does what these statesmen advise, 
 
 On condition that they'll be, in turn so polite 
 
 As in no case whate'er to advise him too right 
 
 ' Pretty doings are here, sir ' (he angrily cries, 
 
 While by dint of dark eyebrows he strives to look 
 
 wise) ; 
 
 6 Tis a scheme of the Romanists, so help me God ! 
 To ride over your most Royal Highness roughshod 
 Excuse, sir, my tears, they're from loyalty's source 
 Bad enough 'twas for Troy to be sacked by a Horse, 
 But for us to be ruined by Ponies, still worse ! ' 
 
 Quick a council is called the whole cabinet sits 
 The Archbishops declare, frightened out of their wits, 
 That if vile Popish ponies should eat at my manger, 
 From that awful moment the Church is in danger ! 
 As, give them but stabling, and shortly no stalls 
 Will suit their proud stomachs but those of St. Paul's. 
 
 The Doctor, and he, the devout man of Leather, 
 V ns tt t, now laying their saint-heads together, 
 Declare that these skittish young abominations 
 Are clearly foretold in chap. vi. Revelations 
 Nay, they verily think they could point out the one 
 Which the Doctor's friend Death was to canter upon ! 
 
 Lord H rr by, hoping that no one imputes 
 To the Court any fancy to persecute brutes, 
 
The Twopenny Post-Bag 185 
 
 Protests, on the word of himself and his cronies, 
 That had these said creatures been Asses, not Ponies, 
 The Court would have started no sort of objection, 
 As Asses were, there, always sure of protection. 
 
 ' If the Pr nc ss will keep them (says Lord 
 
 C stl r gh), 
 
 To make them quite harmless, the only true way 
 Is (as certain Chief-Justices do with their wives) 
 To flog them within half an inch of their lives 
 If they've any bad Irish blood lurking about, 
 This (he knew by experience) would soon draw it 
 
 out. 7 
 
 Or if this be thought cruel his Lordship proposes 
 4 The new F^-snaffle to bind down their noses 
 A pretty contrivance, made out of old chains, 
 Which appears to indulge, while it doubly restrains ; 
 Which, however high -mettled, their gamesomeness 
 
 checks 
 (Adds his Lordship humanely), or else breaks their 
 
 necks!' 
 
 This proposal received pretty general applause 
 From the statesmen around and the neck-breaking 
 
 clause 
 
 Had a vigour about it, which soon reconciled 
 Even Eld n himself to a measure so mild. 
 So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to nem. con., 
 
i86 Thomas Moore 
 
 And my lord C stl r gh, having so often shone 
 In faz fettering line, is to buckle them on. 
 
 I shall drive to your door in these Vetos some day, 
 But, at present, adieu! I must hurry away 
 To go see my mamma, as I'm suffered to meet her 
 For just half-an-hour by the Q n's best repeater. 
 
 KING CRACK AND HIS IDOLS 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOCIATION FOR A NEW 
 M N STRY 
 
 KING CRACK was the best of all possible Kings 
 (At least, so his courtiers would swear to you 
 gladly), 
 
 But Crack now and then would do het'rodox things, 
 And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly. 
 
 Some broken-down Idols, that long had been placed 
 In his Father's old Cabinet^ pleased him so much, 
 That he knelt down and worshipped, though such 
 
 was his taste ! 
 
 They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to 
 touch ! 
 
King Crack and his Idols 187 
 
 And these were the beautiful Gods of King Crack ! 
 
 Till his people, disdaining to worship such things, 
 Cried aloud, one and all, 'Come, your Godships 
 
 must pack 
 
 You will not do for us, though you may do for 
 Kings: 
 
 Then, trampling the gross Idols under their feet, 
 They sent Crack a petition, beginning 'Great 
 
 Csesar ! 
 We are willing to worship, but only entreat 
 
 That you'll find us some decenter Godheads than 
 these are.' 
 
 ' I'll try,' says King Crack then they furnish'd him 
 
 models 
 
 Of better-shaped Gods, but he sent them all back ; 
 Some were chisell'd too fine, some had heads 'stead 
 
 of noddles, 
 In short, they were all much too godlike for Crack ! 
 
 So he took to his darling old Idols again, 
 
 And, just mending their legs, and new bronzing 
 
 their faces 
 In open defiance of Gods and of men, 
 
 Set the monsters up grinning once more in their 
 places ! 
 
1 88 Thomas Moore 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR. P R V L 
 
 IN the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was heard, 
 Unembittered and free did the tear-drop descend ; 
 
 We forgot in that hour how the statesman had erred, 
 And wept, for the husband, the father and friend. 
 
 Oh ! proud was the meed his integrity won, 
 
 And generous indeed were the tears that we shed, 
 
 When in grief we forgot alt the ill he had done, 
 And, though wronged by him living, bewailed him 
 when dead. 
 
 Even now, if one harsher emotion intrude, 
 
 Tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state 
 
 Had known what he was, and, content to be good, 
 Had ne'er for our ruin aspired to be great. 
 
 So, left through their own little orbit to move, 
 
 His years might have rolled inoffensive away ; 
 His children might still have been blessed with his 
 
 love, 
 
 And England would ne'er have been cursed with 
 his sway. 
 
The Consultation 189 
 
 THE CONSULTATION 
 
 ' When they do agree, their unanimity is wonderful.' The Critic. 
 
 Scene discovers DR. WHIG and DR. TORY in consulta- 
 tion. Patient on the floor between them. 
 
 DR. WHIG. This wild Irish patient does pester 
 
 me so, 
 That what to do with him, I'm curst if I know ; 
 
 I've promised him anodynes 
 
 DR. TORY. Anodynes ! Stuff. 
 
 Tie him down gag him well he'll be tranquil 
 
 enough. 
 That's my mode of practice. 
 
 DR. WHIG. True, quite in your line, 
 
 But unluckily not much, till lately, in mine. 
 
 Tis so painful 
 
 DR. TORY. Pooh, nonsense ask Ude how he 
 
 feels, 
 
 When, for Epicure feasts, he prepares his live eels, 
 By flinging them in, 'twixt the bars of the fire, 
 And letting them wriggle on there till they tire. 
 He, too, says ' 'tis painful ' ' quite makes his heart 
 
 bleed ' 
 But 'your eels are a vile, oleaginous breed.' 
 
igo Thomas Moore 
 
 He would fain use them gently, but Cookery says 
 
 'No,' 
 
 And in short eels were born to be treated just so. 
 'Tis the same with these Irish, who're odder fish 
 
 still 
 
 Your tender Whig heart shrinks from using them ill ; 
 I, myself, in my youth, ere I came to get wise, 
 Used, at some operations, to blush to the eyes ; 
 But, in fact, my dear brother, if I may make bold 
 To style you, as Peachum did Lockit of old, 
 We, Doctors, must act with the firmness of Ude, 
 And, indifferent like him, so the fish is but stew'd, 
 Must torture live Pats for the general good. 
 
 [Here patient groans and kicks a little. 
 
 DR. WHIG. But what, if one's patient's so devilish 
 
 perverse, 
 That he won't be thus tortur'd ? 
 
 DR. TORY. Coerce, sir, coerce. 
 
 You're a juvenile performer, but once you begin, 
 You can't think how fast you may train your hand in : 
 And (smiling) who knows but old Tory may take to 
 
 the shelf, 
 With the comforting thought that, in place and in 
 
 pelf, 
 
 He's succeeded by one just as bad as himself? 
 DR. WHIG (looking flattered). Why, to tell you the 
 truth, I've a small matter here, 
 
Paddy's Metamorphosis 191 
 
 Which you help'd me to make for my patient last 
 year, 
 
 [Goes to cupboard and brings out a strait waist- 
 coat and gag. 
 
 And such rest I've enjoyed from his raving since 
 
 then, 
 
 That I have made up my mind he shall wear it again. 
 DR. TORY (embracing him). Oh, charming ! My 
 
 dear Doctor Whig, you're a treasure. 
 Next to torturing myself, to help you is a pleasure. 
 
 [Assisting DR. WHIG. 
 
 Give me leave I've some practice in these mad 
 
 machines ; 
 
 There tighter the gag in the mouth, by all means. 
 Delightful ! all's snug not a squeak need you fear, 
 You may now put your anodynes off till next year. 
 
 [Scene closes. 
 
 PADDY'S METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 ABOUT fifty years since, in the days of our daddies, 
 That plan was commenc'd which the wise now 
 applaud, 
 
 Of shipping off Ireland's most turbulent Paddies, 
 As good raw materials for settlers^ abroad. 
 
192 Thomas Moore 
 
 Some West Indian island, whose name I forget, 
 Was the region then chosen for this scheme so 
 romantic ; 
 
 And such the success the first colony met, 
 
 That a second, soon after, set sail o'er th' Atlantic. 
 
 Behold them now safe at the long-look'd for shore, 
 Sailing in between banks that the Shannon might 
 
 greet, 
 
 And thinking of friends whom, but two years before, 
 They had sorrow'd to lose, but would soon again 
 meet. 
 
 And, hark! from the shore a glad welcome there 
 
 came 
 'Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my sweet 
 
 boy?' 
 
 While Pat stood astounded, to hear his own name 
 Thus hail'd by black devils, who caper 'd for joy ! 
 
 Can it possibly be ? half amazement half doubt, 
 Pat listens again rubs his eyes and looks steady ; 
 
 Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out, 
 1 Good Lord ! only think black and curly already ! ' 
 
 Deceiv'd by that well-mimick'd brogue in his ears, 
 Pat read his own doom in these wool -headed 
 figures, 
 
The Song of the Box 193 
 
 And thought, what a climate, in less than two years, 
 To turn a whole cargo of Pats into niggers ! 
 
 MORAL 
 
 'Tis thus, but alas ! by a marvel more true 
 
 Than is told in this rival of Ovid's best stories, 
 
 Your Whigs, when in office a short year or two, 
 By a lusus natures, all turn into Tories. 
 
 And thus, when I hear them * strong measures ' 
 
 advise, 
 Ere the seats that they sit on have time to get 
 
 steady, 
 I say, while I listen, with tears in my eyes, 
 
 ' Good Lord ! only think, black and curly 
 already ! ' 
 
 THE SONG OF THE BOX 
 
 LET History boast of her Romans and Spartans, 
 And tell how they stood against tyranny's shocks ; 
 
 They were all, I confess, in my eye, Betty Martins, 
 Compared to George Gr te and his wonderful 
 Box. 
 
194 Thomas Moore 
 
 Ask, where Liberty now has her seat ? Oh, it isn't 
 By Delaware's banks or on Switzerland's rocks ; 
 
 Like an imp in some conjuror's bottle imprison'd, 
 She's slily shut up in Gr- te's wonderful Box. 
 
 How snug ! 'stead of floating through ether's do- 
 minions, 
 
 Blown this way and that, by the * populi vox,' 
 To fold thus in silence her sinecure pinions, 
 
 And go fast asleep in Gr te's wonderful Box. 
 
 Time was, when free speech was the life-breath of 
 
 freedom 
 So thought once the Seldens, the Hampdens, the 
 
 Lockes ; 
 But mute be our troops, when to ambush we lead 
 
 'em, 
 
 For ' Mum ' is the word with us Knights of the 
 Box. 
 
 Pure, exquisite Box ! no corruption can soil it ; 
 
 There's Otto of Rose, in each breath it unlocks ; 
 While Gr te is the ' Betty,' that serves at the toilet, 
 
 And breathes all Arabia around from his Box. 
 
 'Tis a singular tact, that the fam'd Hugo Grotius 
 (A namesake of Gr te's being both of Dutch 
 stocks), 
 
The Song of the Box 195 
 
 Like Gr te, too, a genius profound as precocious, 
 Was also, like him, much renown'd for a Box ; 
 
 An immortal old clothes -box in which the great 
 Grotius 
 
 When suffering, in prison, for views heterodox, 
 Was pack'd up incog., spite of gaolers ferocious, 
 
 And sent to his wife, carriage free, in a Box ! 
 
 But the fame of old Hugo now rests on the shelf, 
 Since a rival hath ris'n that all parallel mocks ; 
 
 That Grotius ingloriously sav'd but himself, 
 
 While ours saves the whole British realm by a 
 Box! 
 
 And oh, when at last, even this greatest of Gr tes 
 Must bend to the Power that at every door knocks, 
 
 May he drop in the urn like his own * silent votes/ 
 And the tomb of his rest be a large Ballot-Box. 
 
 While long at his shrine, both from country and city, 
 Shall pilgrims triennially gather in flocks, 
 
 And sing, while they whimper, th' appropriate ditty, 
 * Oh breathe not his name^ let it sleep in the Box.' 
 
196 Thomas Moore 
 
 A CHARACTER 
 
 HALF Whig, half Tory, like those midway things, 
 'Twixt bird and beast, that by mistake have wings ; 
 A mongrel Statesman, 'twixt two factions nurst, 
 Who, of the faults of each, combines the worst 
 The Tory's loftiness, the Whigling's sneer, 
 The leveller's rashness, and the bigot's fear ; 
 The thirst for meddling, restless still to show 
 How Freedom's clock, repair'd by Whigs, will go ; 
 Th' alarm when others, more sincere than they, 
 Advance the hands to the true time of day. 
 
 By Mother Church, high-fed and haughty dame, 
 The boy was dandled, in his dawn of fame ; 
 Listening, she smil'd, and bless'd the flippant tongue 
 On which the fate of unborn tithe-pigs hung. 
 Ah, who shall paint the grandam's grim dismay, 
 When loose Reform entic'd her boy away ; 
 When shock'd she heard him ape the rabble's tone, 
 And, in Old Sarum's fate, foredoom her own ! 
 Groaning she cried, while tears roll'd down her 
 
 cheeks, 
 'Poor glib-tongued youth, he means not what he 
 
 speaks. 
 
A Character 197 
 
 Like oil at top, these Whig professions flow, 
 
 But, pure as lymph, runs Toryism below. 
 
 Alas, that tongue should start thus in the race, 
 
 Ere mind can reach and regulate its pace ! 
 
 For, once outstripped by tongue, poor, lagging mind, 
 
 At every step, still further limps behind. 
 
 But, bless the boy ! whate'er his wandering be, 
 
 Still turns his heart to Toryism and me. 
 
 Like those odd shapes, portray'd in Dante's lay, 
 
 With heads fix'd on, the wrong and backward way, 
 
 His feet and eyes pursue a diverse track, 
 
 While those march onward, these look fondly back. 7 
 
 And well she knew him well foresaw the day, 
 
 Which now hath come, when snatch'd from Whigs 
 
 away, 
 
 The self-same changeling drops the mask he wore, 
 And rests, restored in granny's arms once more. 
 
 But whither now, mixt brood of modern light 
 And ancient darkness, can'st thou bend thy flight ? 
 Tried by both factions, and to neither true, 
 Fear'd by the old school, laugh'd at by the new ; 
 For this too feeble, and for that too rash, 
 This wanting more of fire, that less of flash ; 
 Lone shalt thou stand, in isolation cold, 
 Betwixt two worlds, the new one and the old, 
 A small and ' vex'd Bermoothes,' which the eye 
 Of venturous seaman sees and passes by. 
 
198 Thomas Moore 
 
 EPISTLE FROM HENRY OF EXETER TO 
 JOHN OF TUAM 
 
 DEAR John, as I know, like our brother of London, 
 You've sipp'd of all knowledge, both sacred and 
 
 mundane, 
 
 No doubt, in some ancient Joe Miller, you've read 
 What Cato, that cunning old Roman, once said 
 That he ne'er saw two rev'rend soothsayers meet, 
 Let it be where it might, in the shrine or the street, 
 Without wondering the rogues, 'mid their solemn 
 
 grimaces, 
 
 Didn't burst out a laughing in each other's faces. 
 What Cato then meant, though 'tis so long ago, 
 Even we in the present times pretty well know ; 
 Having soothsayers also, who sooth to say, John 
 Are no better in some points than those of days 
 
 gone, 
 
 And a pair of whom meeting (between you and me), 
 Might laugh in their sleeves, too all lawn though 
 
 they be. 
 
 But this, by the way my intention being chiefly 
 In this, my first letter, to hint to you briefly, 
 That, seeing how fond you of Tuum must be, 
 While Meum 's at all times the main point with me, 
 We scarce could do better than form an alliance, 
 
Epistle from Henry of Exeter 199 
 
 To set these sad Anti-Church times at defiance : 
 You, John, recollect, being still to embark, 
 With no share in the firm but your title and mark ; 
 Or ev'n should you feel in your grandeur inclin'd 
 To call yourself Pope, why, I shouldn't much mind ; 
 Why my church as usual holds fast by your Tuum, 
 And every one else's, to make it all Suum. 
 
 Thus allied, I've no doubt we shall nicely agree, 
 As no twins can be liker, in most points than we ; 
 Both, specimens choice of that mix'd sort of beast, 
 (See Rev. xiii. i) a political priest; 
 Both meddlesome chargers, both brisk pamphleteers, 
 Ripe and ready for all that sets men by the ears ; 
 And I, at least one, who would scorn to stick longer 
 By any giv'n cause than I found it the stronger, 
 And who, smooth on my turnings as if on a swivel, 
 When the tone ecclesiastic won't do, try the civil. 
 
 In short (not to bore you, injure divino) 
 
 We've the same cause in common, John all but the 
 
 rhino ; 
 
 And that vulgar surplus, whate'er it may be, 
 As you're not us'd to cash, John, you'd best leave to 
 
 me. 
 
 And so, without form as the postman won't tarry 
 I'm, dear Jack of Tuam, 
 
 Yours, 
 
 EXETER HARRY. 
 
Thomas Moore 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ARTICLE ON 
 THE CHURCH, IN THE LAST NUMBER OF THE 
 c QUARTERLY REVIEW ' 
 
 I'M quite of your mind; though these Pats cry 
 
 aloud 
 
 That they've got ' too much Church,' 'tis all non- 
 sense and stuff; 
 
 For Church is like Love, of which Figaro vow'd 
 That even too much of it's not quite enough. 
 
 Ay, dose them with parsons, 'twill cure all their 
 
 ills ; 
 
 Copy Morison's mode when from pill -box un- 
 daunted he 
 
 Pours through his patient his black-coated pills, 
 Nor cares what their quality, so there's but 
 quantity. 
 
 I verily think, 'twould be worth England's while 
 To consider, for Paddy's own benefit, whether 
 
 'Twould not be as well to give up the green isle 
 To the care, wear and tear of the Church alto- 
 gether. 
 
Reflections 201 
 
 The Irish are well us'd to treatment so pleasant ; 
 The harlot Church gave them to Henry Plan- 
 
 tagenet, 
 And now, if King William would make them a 
 
 present 
 To Mother chaste lady ye Saints, just imagine it ! 
 
 Chief Sees., Lord-Lieutenants, Commanders in chief, 
 Might then be all cull'd from th' episcopal benches; 
 
 While colonels in black would afford some relief 
 From the hue that reminds one of th' old scarlet 
 wench's. 
 
 Think how fierce at a charge (being practised therein) 
 The Right Reverend Brigadier Ph 11 tts would 
 
 slash on ! 
 How General Bl mf d, through thick and through 
 
 thin, 
 
 To the end of the chapter (or chapters) would 
 dash on ! 
 
 For, in one point alone do the amply fed race 
 Of bishops to beggars similitude bear 
 
 That, set them on horseback, in full steeple chase, 
 And they'll ride, if not pull'd up in time you 
 know where. 
 
202 Thomas Moore 
 
 But, bless you, in Ireland, that matters not much, 
 Where affairs have for centuries gone the same 
 
 way; 
 
 And a good staunch Conservative's system is such 
 That he'd back even Beelzebub's long- founded 
 sway. 
 
 I am therefore, dear Quarterly, quite of your mind ; 
 Church, Church, in all shapes, into Erin let's pour ; 
 
 And the more she rejecteth our med'cine so kind, 
 The more let's repeat it ' Black dose, as before.' 
 
 Let Coercion, that peace-maker, go hand in hand 
 With demure-ey'd Conversion, fit sister and brother ; 
 
 And, covering with prisons and churches the land, 
 All that won't go to one, we'll put into the other. 
 
 For the sole, leading maxim of us who're inclin'd 
 To rule over Ireland, not well, but religiously, 
 
 Is to treat her like ladies, who've just been confin'd, 
 (Or who ought to be so) and to church her pro- 
 digiously. 
 
Religion and Trade 203 
 
 RELIGION AND TRADE 
 
 { Sir Robert Peel believed it was necessary to originate all re- 
 specting religion and trade in a Committee of the House.' 
 Church Extension, May 22, 1830. 
 
 SAY, who was the wag, indecorously witty, 
 Who, first in a statute, this libel convey'd ; 
 
 And thus slily referr'd to the self-same committee, 
 As matters congenial, Religion and Trade ? 
 
 Oh surely, my Ph Up ts, 'twas thou did the deed ; 
 
 For none but thyself, or some pluralist brother, 
 Accustom'd to mix up the craft with the creed, 
 
 Could bring such a pair thus to twin with each 
 other. 
 
 And yet, when one thinks of times present and gone, 
 One is forc'd to confess, on maturer reflection, 
 
 That 'tisn't in the eyes of committees alone 
 
 That the shrine and the shop seem to have some 
 connection. 
 
 Not to mention those monarchs of Asia's fair land, 
 Whose civil list all is in * god-money ' paid ; 
 
 And where the whole people by royal command, 
 Buy their gods at the government mart ready 
 made ; 
 
204 Thomas Moore 
 
 There was also (as mention'd, in rhyme and in prose, 
 
 is) 
 
 Gold heap'd, throughout Egypt, on every shrine, 
 To make rings for right reverend crocodiles' noses 
 Just such as, my Ph lip ts, would look well in 
 thine. 
 
 But one needn't fly off, in this erudite mood ; 
 
 And 'tis clear, without going to regions so sunny, 
 That priests love to do the least possible good, 
 
 For the largest most possible quantum of money. 
 
 ' Of him,' saith the text, e unto whom much is given, 
 Of him much, in turn, will be also requir'd : ' 
 
 ' By me] quoth the sleek and obese man of heaven 
 'Give as much as you will more will still be 
 desir'd.' 
 
 More money ! more churches ! oh Nimrod, hadst 
 
 thou 
 
 'Stead of Tower-extension, some shorter way gone 
 Hadst thou known by what methods we mount to 
 
 heaven now, 
 
 And tried Church- extension, the feat had been 
 done. 
 
WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED 
 
 (What has been said of Moore may be repeated 
 almost verbatim of Praed, who, with a sufficient differ- 
 ence of education, circumstances, and temperament, 
 employed the same gifts on (for the most par f) the other 
 side. As Catholic emancipation and coercion in Ireland 
 were Moore's great themes, so reform and the vagaries 
 of the early reformed parliaments were Praed? s.} 
 
 ODE TO THE CHANCELLOR 
 
 IMITATED FROM HORACE, LIB. III. OD. XV. 
 
 OLD Lady of Chancery, why do you tarry 
 
 So long on the throne of your vanishing reign ? 
 
 The neighbourhood titters whene'er you miscarry, 
 And hints that your labours are labours in vain. 
 
 There is one thing at least, which your closest 
 
 endeavour 
 Will hardly discover a reason to doubt, 
 
206 Winthrop Mackivorth Praed 
 
 That be Candles and Statesmen how wicked soever, 
 All Candles and Statesmen at last must go out. 
 
 When girls in their summer begin to grow willing, 
 Their grandmothers think about making their wills ; 
 
 And oh ! you had better have done with your billing, 
 Before your old lovers say ' no/ to your bills. 
 
 'Tis all very pretty, when love or defiance 
 
 Is breathed from the lips of a younger coquette ; 
 
 When Peel is seduced by the Holy Alliance, 
 Or Robinson flirts with the National Debt ; 
 
 But it is not for you, while the grave gapes before you, 
 To be scaring gilt stars with those wrinkles of awe; 
 
 Giving garter and ribbons to fools who adore you, 
 And stealing silk gowns from your daughters-in-law. 
 
 Sweet Gifford, I grant, as your tenderness taught her, 
 May flaunt in rich suits, and be kind to Appeals ; 
 
 And dabble her scull in the dirtiest water, 
 
 Like a Greenlander, all for the love of the Seals ; 
 
 But you put your salary up in your full sack, 
 And go to your grave with a gentle decline ; 
 
 Take a nightcap of woollen instead of a woolsack, 
 And leave to George Canning his roses and wine. 
 
Epitaph on King of the Sandzvich Islands 207 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON THE LATE KING OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDS. 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL OF CRAZEE 
 RATTEE, HIS MAJESTY'S POET LAUREATE. 
 
 BENEATH this marble, mud, or moss, 
 
 Whiche'er his subjects shall determine, 
 Entombed in eulogies and dross, 
 
 The Island King is food for vermin : 
 Preserved by scribblers, and by salt, 
 
 From Lethe, and sepulchral vapours, 
 His body fills his fathers' vault, 
 
 His character, the daily papers. 
 
 Well was he framed for royal seat ; 
 
 Kind to the meanest of his creatures, 
 With tender heart, and tender feet, 
 
 And open purse, and open features; 
 The ladies say, who laid him out, 
 
 And earned thereby the usual pensions, 
 They never wreathed a shroud about 
 
 A corpse of more genteel dimensions. 
 
 He warred with half a score of foes, 
 And shone, by proxy in the quarrel ; 
 
208 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 Enjoyed hard fights, and soft repose, 
 
 And deathless debt, and deathless laurel : 
 
 His enemies were scalped and flayed, 
 Where'er his soldiers were victorious ; 
 
 And widows wept, and paupers paid, 
 To make their Sovereign Ruler glorious. 
 
 And days were set apart for thanks, 
 
 And prayers were said by pious readers, 
 And land was lavished on the ranks, 
 
 And la'nd was lavished on their leaders ; 
 Events are writ by History's pen, 
 
 And causes are too much to care for ; 
 Fame talks about the where and when, 
 
 While Folly asks the why and wherefore. 
 
 In peace he was immensely gay, 
 
 And indefatigably busy ; 
 Preparing gew-gaws every day, 
 
 And shows to make his subjects dizzy ; 
 And hearing the reports of guns, 
 
 And signing the reports of gaolers ; 
 And making up recipes for buns, 
 
 And patterns for the army tailors ; 
 
 And building carriages, and boats, 
 
 And streets, and chapels, and pavilions ; 
 
 And regulating all the coats, 
 
 And all the principles of millions ; 
 
Epitaph on King of the Sandwich Islands 209 
 
 And drinking homilies and gin, 
 And chewing pork and adulation j 
 
 And looking backwards upon sin, 
 And looking forwards to salvation. 
 
 The people in his happy reign, 
 
 Were blest beyond all other nations, 
 Unharmed by foreign axe of chain, 
 
 Unhealed by civil innovations : 
 They served the usual logs and stones, 
 
 With all the usual rights and terrors ; 
 And swallowed all their fathers 7 bones, 
 
 And swallowed all their fathers 3 errors. 
 
 When a fierce mob with clubs and knives, 
 
 Declared that nothing would content them, 
 But that their representatives 
 
 Should actually represent them, 
 He interposed the proper checks, 
 
 By sending 'troops with drums and banners, 
 Cut short their speeches, and their necks, 
 
 And broke their heads, to mend their manners. 
 
 And when Dissension flung her stain 
 Upon the light of Hymen's altar, 
 
 And Destiny made Cupid's chain 
 As galling as the hangman's halter, 
 p 
 
Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 He passed a most domestic life, 
 By many mistresses befriended : 
 
 And did not put away his wife, 
 
 For fear the Priests should be offended. 
 
 And thus at last he sunk to rest 
 
 Amid the blessings of his people ; 
 And sighs were heaved from every breast, 
 
 And bells wore tolled from every steeple ; 
 And loud was every public throng, 
 
 His brilliant character adorning ; 
 And poets raised a mourning song, 
 
 And clothiers raised the price of mourning. 
 
 His funeral was very grand, 
 
 Followed by many robes and maces, 
 And all the great ones of the land, 
 
 Struggling, as heretofore, for places. 
 And every loyal Minister 
 
 Was there with signs of purse-felt sorrow, 
 Save Pozzy, his Lord Chancellor, 
 
 Who promised to attend to-morrow. 
 
 Peace to his dust ! his fostering care -i 
 
 By grateful hearts shall long be cherished ; 
 
 And all his subjects shall declare, 
 
 They lost a grinder, when he perished. 
 
Waterloo 211 
 
 They who shall look upon the lead, 
 
 In which a people's love hath shrined him, 
 
 Shall say, when all the worst is said, 
 Perhaps he leaves a worse behind him ! 
 
 WATERLOO 
 
 ' It was here that the French cavalry charged, and cut to pieces 
 the English squares.' Narrative of a French Tourist. 
 
 ' Is it true, think you ? ' Winter's Tale. 
 
 AY, here such valorous deeds were done 
 
 As ne'er were done before ; 
 Ay, here the reddest wreath was won 
 
 That ever Gallia wore : 
 Since Ariosto's wondrous knight 
 
 Made all the Pagans dance, 
 There never dawned a day so bright 
 
 As Waterloo's on France. 
 
 The trumpet poured its deafening sound- 
 Flags fluttered on the gale ; 
 
212 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 And cannon roared, and heads flew round 
 
 As fast as summer hail : 
 The sabres flashed ; with rage and fear 
 
 The steeds began to prance ; 
 The English quaked from front to rear, 
 
 They never quake in France ! 
 
 in 
 
 The cuirassiers rode in and out, 
 
 As fierce as wolves and bears ; 
 Twas grand to see them slash about 
 
 Among the English squares ! 
 And then the Polish lancer came, 
 
 Careering with his lance ; 
 No wonder Britain blushed for shame, 
 
 And ran away from France. 
 
 IV 
 
 The Duke of York was killed that day 
 
 The King was sadly scarred ; 
 Lord Eldon, as he ran away, 
 
 Was taken by the Guard. 
 Poor Wellington, with fifty Blues, 
 
 Escaped by some strange chance; 
 Henceforth, I think he'll hardly choose 
 
 To show himself in France. 
 
Waterloo 213 
 
 So Buonaparte pitched his tent 
 
 That day in Grosvenor Place ; 
 And Ney rode straight to Parliament, 
 
 And broke the Speaker's mace. 
 ( Vive 1'Empereur ' was said or sung, 
 
 From Peebles to Penzance; 
 The Mayor and Aldermen were hung, 
 
 Which made folks laugh in France. 
 
 VI 
 
 They pulled the Tower of London down ; 
 
 They burned our wooden walls ; 
 They brought his Holiness to Town, 
 
 And lodged him in St. Paul's. 
 And Gog and Magog rubbed their eyes, 
 
 Awaking from a trance ; 
 And grumbled out, in great surprise, 
 
 ' O mercy ! we're in France !' 
 
 VII 
 
 They sent a Regent to our Isle, 
 
 The little King of Rome ; 
 And squibs and crackers all the while 
 
 Blazed in the Place Vendome. 
 
214 WintJirop Mackworth Praed 
 
 And ever since, in arts and power 
 They're making great advance ; 
 
 They've had strong beer from that glad hour, 
 And sea-coal fires in France. 
 
 VIII 
 
 My uncle, Captain Flanigan, 
 
 Who lost a leg in Spain, 
 Tells stories of a little man, 
 
 Who died at St. Helene. 
 But bless my heart ! they can't be true, 
 
 I'm sure they're all romance ; 
 John Bull was beat at Waterloo 
 
 They'll swear to that in France ! 
 
 THE COMPLAINT OF LIBERTY 
 
 'Lord,' said the Little Woman, 'sure it can't be I !'- 
 Old Song. 
 
 c OH, Liberty, whose radiant charms 
 
 Were so adored by Thebes and Sparta, 
 Bright patroness of arts and arms, 
 
 And authoress of Magna Charta, 
 Nymph, for whose sake, as we are taught 
 
 In Plutarch's entertaining stories, 
 
The Complaint of Liberty 215 
 
 Speeches were made, and battles fought, 
 By Greek and Roman Whigs and Tories. 
 
 { Come hither, with your pen and sword, 
 
 Your russet garb, your mess of pottage ; 
 Leave the wild Arab's wandering horde, 
 
 Or the rude Switzer's humble cottage ; 
 Let Lafayette console Lafitte ; 
 
 Let Congress sit a day without you ; 
 Smile, smile, for once, on Downing-street ; 
 
 I want to write an ode about you/ 
 
 She came ; she answered ! Well I know 
 
 The Speaker's awful call to order; 
 I heard, some thirteen years ago, 
 
 A sentence from the late Recorder ; 
 I know how hoarse the cheerers are 
 
 When Whig Lords talk of right intention ; 
 But oh, that fearful voice was far 
 
 More fearful than the sounds I mention. 
 
 4 1 come,' she said, { the same who erst 
 
 Held talk with Xenophon and Plato ; 
 Taught Brutus to be firm, and merst 
 
 The fire of high resolve in Cato : 
 The same, who on your island rock 
 
 Have mock'd the hand of sceptred power ; 
 Who went with Sydney to the block, 
 
 And with the Bishops to the Tower. 
 
216 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 ' Alas ! my handmaids in such days 
 
 Were Wisdom, Order, and Sobriety. 
 What loathsome change ! my Broughams and Greys 
 
 Have dragged me into strange society ; 
 Treason and strife invoke my name 
 
 In their dark plots and drunken quarrels ; 
 I'm growing weary of my fame ; 
 
 And, Jove ! how ill I look in laurels. 
 
 ' Calcraft is dozing in my lap, 
 
 Which surely is a shocking scandal ; 
 The Chancellor has curled my cap, 
 
 And Henry Hunt has blacked my sandal ; 
 I run with Murphys and O'Shanes 
 
 To ruin some unhappy banker ; 
 And Hobhouse sets me breaking chains 
 
 For Poland, at the Crown and Anchor. 
 
 1 1 am not what I was ! I throw 
 
 Prodigious stones in Clare and Kerry ; 
 I cheat the Greeks with prudent Joe ; 
 
 I maximise with sapient Jerry : 
 Last winter, I confess, I taught 
 
 The labouring class the art of arson ; 
 And oft, on Sundays, I've been caught 
 
 With Taylor, screaming out, " No Parson ! " 
 
 1 It's true that still the schoolboy's prayers, 
 Come up to me in so-so Latin \ 
 
UNIVERSITY ) 
 
 Intentions 217 
 
 And still the lying Courier swears 
 The rags I wear are silk and satin : 
 
 And I've a friend at Court, I think, 
 But he will doom me to the halter, 
 
 When once he hears me, in my drink, 
 Speak out about the throne and altar. 
 
 ' Farewell ! my anguish would defy 
 
 E'en Althorp's powers of clear expression ; 
 I'm quite convinced that I shall die 
 
 Before the closing of the Session ! 
 I'd go with pleasure to the Grave, 
 
 But oh ! the thought is overpowering ; 
 They tell me I am sure to have 
 
 An epitaph from Doctor Bowring !' 
 
 INTENTIONS 
 
 A REMONSTRANCE IN THE VENTILATOR 
 
 Now don't abuse us, Fanny, don't, 
 
 You're really too provoking ; 
 I won't sit by, I vow I won't, 
 
 To hear your idle croaking : 
 You seem to think the world is mad 
 
 For places and for pensions, 
 And won't believe it's quite too bad 
 
 That Whigs have good intentions. 
 
2i8 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 I know that Denman is too rash 
 
 And Graham not too witty ; 
 I know we hear prodigious trash 
 
 From members for the City : 
 Young Thomson is a financier 
 
 Of rather small dimensions ; 
 Lord Althorp is not vastly clear, 
 
 But all have bright intentions. 
 
 The Budget was a slight mistake, 
 
 You call it quite correctly ; 
 But then confess, for candour's sake, 
 
 We gave it up directly. 
 They laughed it down on every side, 
 
 Forgetting their dissensions, 
 But not a single man denied 
 
 It showed the best intentions. 
 
 The Premier has been kind, I own, 
 
 To most of his connections ; 
 But Hunt, you see, was quite alone 
 
 In making harsh reflections : 
 The blockhead ought to go to school, 
 
 And study his declensions ; 
 Then he would judge by better rule 
 
 A statesman's grand intentions. 
 
Intentions 219 
 
 And, Fanny, as for this Reform, 
 
 Which Peel pronounces ' treason/ 
 Indeed I think you make a storm 
 
 Without sufficient reason : 
 The Bill is full of faults, no doubt ; 
 
 But, as my husband mentions, 
 One would not have a clause struck out, 
 
 Which flows from just intentions. 
 
 Some say the Bill destroys the crown ; 
 
 Some swear it gulls the people ; 
 Some see the peerage tumbling down ; 
 
 Some fear for church and steeple : 
 There may be good substantial cause 
 
 For many apprehensions ; 
 But cofite qui cotite, in every clause, 
 
 There's proof of right intentions. 
 
 We can't expect that Brougham and Hume 
 
 Will lay their horrid plans down ; 
 But, dearest love, you won't assume 
 
 The fault is with Lord Lansdowne ! 
 They can't do harm ; or if they do, 
 
 In spite of wise preventions, 
 I hate their scheme, but, entre nous, 
 
 I honour their intentions. 
 
Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 REASONS FOR NOT RATTING 
 
 * Sound opinions are like sound wine ; they are the better for 
 keeping.' LORD DUDLEY'S Speech. 
 
 IT was my father's wine ; alas, 
 
 It was his chiefest bliss, 
 To fill an old friend's evening glass 
 
 With nectar such as this : 
 I think I have as warm a heart, 
 
 As kind a friend, as he ; 
 Another bumper ere we part ; 
 
 Old wine, old wine for me ! 
 
 In this we toasted William Pitt, 
 
 Whom twenty now outshine ; 
 O'er this we laughed at Canning's wit 
 
 Ere Hume's was thought as fine ; 
 In this the King, the Church, the Laws, 
 
 Have had their three times three, 
 Sound wine befits as sound a cause ; 
 
 Old wine, old wine for me ! 
 
 In this, when France, in those long wars, 
 
 Was beaten, black and blue, 
 We used to drink our troops and tars, 
 
 Our Wellesley and Pellew : 
 
Reasons for not Ratting 221 
 
 Now things are changed ; though Britain's fame 
 
 May out of fashion be, 
 At least my wine remains the same ; 
 
 Old wine, old wine for me ! 
 
 My neighbours, Robinson and Lamb, 
 
 Drink French, of last year's growth ; 
 I'm sure, however they may sham, 
 
 It disagrees with both ; 
 I don't pretend to interfere; 
 
 An Englishman is free ; 
 But none of that cheap poison here ; 
 
 Old wine, old wine for me ! 
 
 Some dozens have lost, I must allow, 
 
 Something of strength and hue ; 
 And there are vacant spaces now, 
 
 To be filled up with new. 
 And there are cobwebs round the bins, 
 
 Which some don't like to see ; 
 If these are all my cellar's sins, 
 
 Old wine, old wine for me ! 
 
222 Winthrop Mackzvorth Praed 
 
 THE OLD TORY 
 
 ( Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit edorem 
 Testa diu.' HORACE. 
 
 AY, chatter, chatter, brother Sam ; 
 
 Call Thomson deep and Shell divine ; 
 And tell us all that Master Cam 
 
 Is quite a Tully in his line. 
 I'm near threescore ; you ought to know 
 
 You can't transplant so old a tree ; 
 I was a Tory long ago ; 
 
 You'll hardly make a Whig of me. 
 
 Lord Palmerston may turn about, 
 
 And curse the creed he held so long ; 
 And moral Grant may now find out 
 
 That Canning was extremely wrong ; 
 Lansdowne with Waithman may unite, 
 
 And Ministers with mobs agree ; 
 Truth may be falsehood, black grow white, 
 
 But, Sir, you make no Whig of me. 
 
 You know I never learned to trust 
 The wisdom of the Scotch Review ; 
 
 I worshipped not Napoleon's bust ; 
 I could not blush for Waterloo ; 
 
The Old Tory 223 
 
 I'm proud of England's glory still, 
 
 Of laurels won on land and sea ; 
 Call me a bigot if you will 
 
 But pray don't make a Whig of me. 
 
 I cannot march with Attwood's ranks, 
 
 I cannot write with Russell's pen ; 
 I have no longing for the thanks 
 
 Of very loyal tithing-men ; 
 I cannot wear a civil face 
 
 When Carpue just drops in to tea ; 
 I cannot flatter Mr. Place ; 
 
 You'll never make a Whig of me. 
 
 I can't admire the Bristol rows, 
 
 Nor call the Common Council wise ; 
 I cannot bow as Burdett bows, 
 
 Nor lie as great O'Connell lies : 
 And if I wanted place or pay, 
 
 A Baron's robe, or Bishop's see, 
 I'm not first cousin to Lord Grey ; 
 
 Why should you make a Whig of me ? 
 
 Good brother 'twere an easier thing 
 
 To make a wit of Joseph Hume, 
 To make a conjuror of Lord King, 
 
 To make a lawyer of Lord Brougham. 
 
224 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 No, Howick will be half his sire, 
 
 And Althorp learn the Rule of Three, 
 
 And Morpeth set the Thames on fire, 
 Before you make a Whig of me ! 
 
 LONG AGO 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE 
 
 WE were patriots together ! Oh, placeman and peer 
 
 Are the patrons who smile on your labours to-day ; 
 And Lords of the Treasury lustily cheer 
 
 Whatever you do, and whatever you say. 
 Go, pocket, my Hobhouse, as much as you will, 
 
 The times are quite altered, we very well know : 
 But will you not, will you not, talk to us still, 
 
 As you talked to us once, long ago, long ago ? 
 
 We were patriots together ! I know you will think 
 
 Of the cobbler's caresses, the coalheaver's cries, 
 Of the stones that we threw, and the toasts that we 
 drink, 
 
 Of our pamphlets and pledges, our libels and lies ! 
 When the truth shall awake, and the country and 
 town 
 
 Be heartily weary of Althorp and Co., 
 My Hobhouse, come back to the Anchor and Crown, 
 
 Let us be what we were, long ago, long ago. 
 
Plus de Politique 225 
 
 PLUS DE POLITIQUE 
 
 IMITATED FROM DE BERANGER 
 
 No politics ! I cannot bear 
 
 To tell our ancient fame ; 
 No politics ! I do not dare 
 
 To paint our present shame. 
 What we have been, what we must be, 
 
 Let other minstrels say ; 
 It is too dark a theme for me ; 
 
 No politics to-day. 
 
 I loved to ge the captive's chain 
 
 By British hands burst through ; 
 I loved to sing the fields of Spain, 
 
 The war of Waterloo. 
 But now the Russians' greedy swords 
 
 Are edged with English pay; 
 We help, we hire, the robber hordes ; 
 
 No politics to-day. 
 
 I used to look on many a home 
 
 Of industry and art ; 
 I gazed on pleasure's glorious dome, 
 
 On labour's busy mart. 
 Q 
 
226 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 From Derby's rows, from Bristol's fires, 
 
 I turn with tears away ; 
 I can't admire what Brougham admires ; 
 
 No politics to-day. 
 
 I've often heard the faithless French 
 
 Denounced by William Pitt ; 
 I've watched the flash from this same bench 
 
 Of Canning's polished wit. 
 And when your Woods and Waithmans bawl, 
 
 Your Humes and Harveys bray, 
 Good Lord ! I'm weary of them all ; 
 
 No politics to-day. 
 
 Let's talk of Coplestone and prayers, 
 
 Of Kitchener and pies ; 
 Of Lady Sophonisba's airs, 
 
 Of Lady Susan's eyes : 
 Let's talk of Mr. Attwood's cause, 
 
 Of Mr. Pococke's play ; 
 Of fiddles, bubbles, rattles, straws ; 
 
 No politics to-day ! 
 
 Let Joseph call religion cant,' 
 While Warburton cries ' Hear ' ; 
 
 Let Charles Grant and Robert Grant 
 Sit, mutely pious, near : 
 
Plus de Politique 227 
 
 Let Durham and let Richmond vow 
 
 They never will take pay, 
 JSTimporte, although they take it now, 
 
 No politics to-day. 
 
 Let candid Althorp ' Budget ' on, 
 
 Sir Jemmy run his rig, 
 Let elderly Beau Palmerston 
 
 Swear he was aye a Whig. 
 If poor Lord Liverpool could know, 
 
 I wonder what he'd say ; 
 He served him twenty years or so ; 
 
 No politics to-day. 
 
 Let Birmingham give forth the law, 
 
 St. Stephen's Hall be mute : 
 Let listening Unions pause in awe, 
 
 While Bowring strikes the lute : 
 Let every rogue in every town 
 
 Cry, < Long live Brougham and Grey ; ' 
 Let all the world turn upside down ; 
 
 No politics to-day. 
 
228 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 A NURSERY SONG 
 
 ' I had forgot Waterloo ' (Laughter). 
 
 JOSEPH HUME. 
 
 HUME has been dotting and carrying one ; 
 Hume has been helping O'Connell and Son ; 
 Hume has been proving that wrong is right ; 
 Hume has been voting that black is white ; 
 Hume has so many things to do, 
 Hume has forgotten Waterloo. 
 
 Hume has been studying tare and tret ; 
 Hume has been summing the national debt ; 
 Hume has been babbling of silk and grain ; 
 Hume has been poring o'er Cocker and Paine ; 
 Hume is a sage and a patriot too ; 
 Hume has forgotten Waterloo. 
 
 Hume has been jobbing with infinite skill ; 
 Hume has been treating the poor Greeks ill ; 
 Hume has been rivalling Bowring's crimes ; 
 Hume has been chid in the fierce old Times 
 Hume has been reading the Yellow and Blue ; 
 Hume has forgotten Waterloo. 
 
Stanzas to the Speaker Asleep 229 
 
 Hume for his toils has a wide, wide scope ; 
 Hume is a friend to the friends of the Pope ; 
 Hume has pleasure in Antwerp's fall ; 
 Hume has an eye on Greece and Gaul ; 
 Hume has a heart for a Quaker or Jew ; 
 Hume has forgotten Waterloo. 
 
 Hume has been praising Bentham's schemes ; 
 Hume has been puffing Thomson's dreams ; 
 Hume has been hinting that piety's cant ; 
 Hume has been frightening good Charles Grant ; 
 Hume is to me what he is to you ; 
 Hume has forgotten Waterloo. 
 
 STANZAS TO THE SPEAKER ASLEEP 
 
 SLEEP, Mr. Speaker ; it's surely fair, 
 
 If you don't in your bed, that you should in your 
 
 chair ; 
 
 Longer and longer still they grow, 
 Tory and Radical, Aye and No ; 
 Talking by night, and talking by day ; 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker j sleep, sleep, while you may ! 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; slumber lies 
 Light and brief on a Speaker's eyes ; 
 
230 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 Feilden or Finn, in a minute or two, 
 
 Some disorderly thing will do ; 
 
 Riot will chase repose away ; 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sleep, sleep, while you may ! 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; Cobbett will soon 
 
 Move to abolish the Sun and Moon ; 
 
 Hume, no doubt, will be taking the sense 
 
 Of the House on a saving of thirteen pence ; 
 
 Grattan will growl, or Baldwin bray ; 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sleep, sleep, while you may ! 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; dream of the time 
 
 When loyalty was not quite a crime ; 
 
 When Grant was a pupil in Canning's school ; 
 
 When Palmerston fancied Wood a fool ; 
 
 Lord, how principles pass away ; 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sleep, sleep, while you may ! 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sweet to men 
 
 Is the sleep that comes but now and then ; 
 
 Sweet to the sorrowful, sweet to the ill, 
 
 Sweet to the children that work in a mill ; 
 
 You have more need of sleep than they ; 
 
 Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sleep, sleep, while you may ! 
 
Maxims 231 
 
 MAXIMS 
 
 ' Lord Auckland is understood to be appointed permanently on 
 Constitutional grounds.' Globe, Jan. 14, 1834. 
 
 IF a Tory is ever found out 
 
 In pocketing twenty pence, 
 The thing is a job, no doubt, 
 
 It admits of no defence : 
 If a Whig has the luck to secure 
 
 Some twenty thousand pounds, 
 It is all arranged, be sure, 
 
 On ' Constitutional grounds.' 
 
 If a Tory dares distrust 
 
 The faith of our fiercest foe, 
 Suspicion is quite unjust, 
 
 And jealousy vastly low : 
 If a Whig with a bold blockade 
 
 Our ancient friend confounds, 
 It is done, for the good of trade, 
 
 On ' Constitutional grounds. 7 
 
 If a Tory punishes crimes 
 
 In Kerry or in Clare, 
 The wisdom of the Times 
 
 Proclaims it quite unfair : 
 
232 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 If a Whig with a troop of horse 
 The Murphys and Macs astounds, 
 
 He cuts and thrusts of course 
 On 'Constitutional grounds.' 
 
 If a Tory gives a place 
 
 To a nephew or a son, 
 Good lack ! a thing so base 
 
 Was never, never done ! 
 If a Whig, with his countless kin, 
 
 The nation's purse surrounds, 
 They slip their fingers in 
 
 On ' Constitutional grounds.' 
 
 Then take, my Lord, oh, take 
 
 The gift the Greys provide, 
 For the Constitution's sake, 
 
 And for no ends beside. 
 And think, on quarter-day, 
 
 Of the friend who thus expounds 
 The rights of place and pay 
 
 On ( Constitutional grounds/ 
 
The State of the Country 233 
 
 THE STATE OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 ' We are now a trampled nation. ' 
 
 Times, March 10, 1834. 
 
 WE have been some years reforming, 
 Chattering, cheering, stamping, storming; 
 Cutting bludgeons from the hedges ; 
 Asking for all sorts of pledges ; 
 Breaking heads, and breaking glasses ; 
 Calling people knaves and asses : 
 After all our agitation, 
 We are now a ' trampled nation ' I 
 
 Mr. Croker's thrusts are parried ; 
 Schedules A and B are carried ; 
 Vain is WetherelPs long alarum ; 
 There is no reprieve for Sarum : 
 All the money in our pockets 
 Went to purchase squibs and rockets : 
 Oh, what foolish exultation ! 
 We are still a * trampled nation ' ! 
 
 Buckingham is quite a Tully ; 
 Solon was a fool to Gully ; 
 Pryme's a lecturer, taught at College ; 
 Pease, a Quaker, full of knowledge ; 
 
234 Winthrop Mackworth Praed 
 
 Feilden is extremely clever ; 
 Finn can talk and talk for ever : 
 What a glorious constellation ! 
 Yet we are a * trampled nation/ 
 
 We have got Lord Grey to ease us 
 Of the taxes that displease us ; 
 We have got, besides, some dozens 
 Of his Lordship's sons and cousins ; 
 They are blest with places, pensions, 
 And the very best intentions ; 
 It's against their inclination 
 That we are a ' trampled nation.' 
 
 We have got the Times adorning 
 Facts with figures every morning ; 
 Now denouncing right and reason ; 
 Now defending guilt and treason ; 
 Raving, ranting, blustering, blundering, 
 Pro and con alternate thundering. 
 It has wondrous circulation ! 
 Why are we a ' trampled nation ' ? 
 
EBENEZER ELLIOTT CHARLES 
 MACKAY 
 
 (I have thought it well to give a couple of samples 
 of the Radical bards of the middle of the present century ', 
 though their verse be no great thing as a rule.) 
 
 BATTLE SONG 
 
 DAY, like our souls, is fiercely dark ; 
 
 What then ? 'Tis day ! 
 We sleep no more ; the cock crows hark ! 
 
 To arms ! away ! 
 They come ! they come ! the knell is rung 
 
 Of us or them ; 
 Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung 
 
 Of gold and gem. 
 What collar'd hound of lawless sway, 
 
 To famine dear 
 What pensioned slave of Attila, 
 
 Leads in the rear? 
 
236 Ebenezer Elliott 
 
 Come they from Scythian wilds afar, 
 
 Our blood to spill ? 
 Wear they the livery of the Czar ? 
 
 They do his will. 
 Nor tassell'd silk, nor epaulette, 
 
 Nor plume, nor torse 
 No splendour gilds, all sternly met, 
 
 Our foot and horse. 
 But, dark and still, we inly glow, 
 
 Condens'd in ire ! 
 Strike tawdry slaves, and ye shall know 
 
 Our gloom is fire. 
 In vain your pomp, ye evil powers, 
 
 Insults the land ; 
 Wrongs, vengeance, and the cause are ours, 
 
 And God's right hand ! 
 Madmen ! they trample into snakes 
 
 The wormy clod ! 
 Like fire beneath their feet awakes 
 
 The sword of God ! 
 Behind, before, above, below, 
 
 They rouse the brave ; 
 Where'er they go, they make a foe, 
 
 Or find a grave. 
 
The Good Time Coming 237 
 
 THE GOOD TIME COMING 
 
 THERE'S a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 We may not live to see the day, 
 But earth shall glisten in the ray 
 
 Of the good time coming. 
 Cannon-balls may aid the truth, 
 
 But thought's a weapon stronger ; 
 We'll win our battle by its aid ; 
 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
 There's a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 The pen shall supersede the sword, 
 And Right, not Might, shall be the lord 
 
 In the good time coming. 
 Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind, 
 
 And be acknowledged stronger ; 
 The proper impulse has been given ; 
 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
 There's a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 War in all men's eyes shall be 
 A monster of iniquity 
 
 In the good time coming : 
 
238 Charles Mackay 
 
 Nations shall not quarrel then, 
 
 To prove which is the stronger ; 
 
 Nor slaughter men for glory's sake ; 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
 There's a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 Hateful rivalries of creed 
 Shall not make their martyrs bleed 
 
 In the good time coming. 
 Religion shall be shorn of pride, 
 
 And flourish all the stronger ; 
 And Charity shall trim her lamp ; 
 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
 There's a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 And a poor man's family 
 Shall not be his misery 
 
 In the good time coming. 
 Every child shall be a help, 
 
 To make his right arm stronger ; 
 The happier he the more he has ; 
 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
 There's a good time coming, boys, 
 A good time coming : 
 
The Good Time Coming 239 
 
 Little children shall not toil, 
 Under, or above the soil, 
 
 In the good time coming ; 
 But shall play in healthful fields 
 
 Till limbs and mind grow stronger ; 
 And every one shall read and write ; 
 
 Wait a little long longer. 
 
 There's a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 The people shall be temperate, 
 And shall love instead of hate, 
 
 In the good time coming. 
 They shall use and not abuse, 
 
 And make all virtue stronger. 
 The reformation has begun ; 
 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
 There's a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 Let us aid it all we can, 
 Every woman, every man, 
 
 The good time coming. 
 Smallest helps, if rightly given, 
 
 Make the impulse stronger ; 
 'Twill be strong enough one day ; 
 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
 
 (To what has been said in the Introduction as to 
 Thackeray*s gifts for political verse I need add nothing, 
 except that in the strict kind he was never so happy as 
 on Irish matters. King Canute, great as it is, belongs 
 perhaps rather to ethics than to politics.} 
 
 KING CANUTE 
 
 KING CANUTE was weary-hearted ; he had reigned for 
 
 years a score, 
 Battling, struggling, pushing, righting, killing much 
 
 and robbing more ; 
 And he thought upon his actions, walking by the 
 
 wild sea-shore. 
 
 'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King 
 
 with steps sedate, 
 Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks and 
 
 goldsticks great, 
 
King Canute 241 
 
 Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages, all the officers 
 of state. 
 
 Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose 
 
 to pause, 
 If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers 
 
 dropped their jaws ; 
 If to laugh the King was minded, out they burst in 
 
 loud hee-haws. 
 
 But that day a something vexed him, that was clear 
 
 to old and young : 
 Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his 
 
 favourite gleemen sung, 
 Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he 
 
 bade her hold her tongue. 
 
 ' Something ails my gracious master/ cried the Keeper 
 
 of the Seal. 
 4 Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served to dinner, or 
 
 the veal?' 
 4 Psha ! ' exclaimed the angry monarch. ' Keeper, 'tis 
 
 not that I feel. 
 
 { Tis the heart, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my 
 
 rest impair : 
 Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know 
 
 no care? 
 
 R 
 
242 William Makepeace Thackeray 
 
 Oh, I'm sick, and tired, and weary.' Some one cried 
 4 The King's arm-chair ! ' 
 
 Then towards the lackeys turning, quick my Lord the 
 
 Keeper nodded, 
 Straight the King's great chair was brought him, by 
 
 two footmen able-bodied ; 
 Languidly he sank into it : it was comfortably wadded. 
 
 4 Leading on my fierce companions,' cried he, ' over 
 
 storm and brine, 
 I have fought and I have conquered ! Where was 
 
 glory like to mine?' 
 Loudly all the courtiers echoed : ' Where is glory like 
 
 to thine?' 
 
 ' What avail me of my kingdoms ? Weary am I now 
 
 and old ; 
 Those fair sons I have begotten, long to see me dead 
 
 and cold ; 
 Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the 
 
 silent mould ! 
 
 * Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent ! at my bosom 
 
 tears and bites ; 
 Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all 
 
 the lights ; 
 Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed at 
 
 nights. 
 
King Canute 243 
 
 * Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious 
 
 fires ; 
 Mothers weeping, virgins screaming : vainly for the 
 
 slaughtered sires.' 
 6 Such a tender conscience/ cries the Bishop, ' every 
 
 one admires. 
 
 1 But for such unpleasant bygones, cease, my gracious 
 
 lord, to search, 
 They're forgotten and forgiven by our Holy Mother 
 
 Church ; 
 Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the 
 
 lurch. 
 
 c Look ! the land is crowned with ministers, which 
 
 your Grace's bounty raised ; 
 Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven 
 
 are daily praised : 
 You, my lord, to think of dying ? on my conscience 
 
 I'm amazed ! ' 
 
 'Nay, I feel,' replied King Canute, 'that my end is 
 
 drawing near.' 
 ' Don't say so,' exclaimed the courtiers (striving each 
 
 to squeeze a tear). 
 ' Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live 
 
 this fifty year.' 
 
244 William Makepeace Thackeray 
 
 ' Live these fifty years V the Bishop roared, with actions 
 
 made to suit. 
 ' Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak 
 
 of King Canute ! 
 Men have lived a thousand years, and sure his 
 
 Majesty will do't. 
 
 ' Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela, 
 Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn't the King 
 
 as well as. they ?' 
 'Fervently/ exclaimed the Keeper, 'fervently I trust 
 
 he may. 7 
 
 ' He to die?' resumed the Bishop. 'He a mortal 
 
 like to us? 
 Death was not for him intended, though communis 
 
 omnibus : 
 Keeper, you are irreligious, for to talk and cavil thus. 
 
 'With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor 
 
 can compete, 
 Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean 
 
 upon their feet ; 
 Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness 
 
 think it meet. 
 
 ' Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon 
 the hill, 
 
King Canute 245 
 
 And the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver 
 
 moon stand still ! 
 So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his 
 
 sacred will.' 
 
 * Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop ? ' 
 
 Canute cried ; 
 1 Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her 
 
 heavenly ride? 
 If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command 
 
 the tide. 
 
 ' Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I 
 
 make the sign ? ' 
 Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, ' Land and sea, my 
 
 lord, are thine.' 
 Canute turned towards the ocean ' Back ! ' he said, 
 
 'thou foaming brine. 
 
 c From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee 
 
 to retreat ; 
 Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy 
 
 master's seat : 
 Ocean, be thou still ! I bid thee come not nearer to 
 
 my feet ! ' 
 
 But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper 
 roar. 
 
246 William Makepeace Thackeray 
 
 And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on 
 
 the shore ; 
 Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the King and 
 
 courtiers bore. 
 
 And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to 
 
 human clay, 
 But alone to praise and worship that which earth and 
 
 seas obey : 
 And his golden crown of empire never wore he from 
 
 that day. 
 King Canute is dead and gone : Parasites exist alway. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK 
 
 YE Genii of the nation, 
 
 Who look with veneration, 
 And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore ; 
 
 Ye sons of General Jackson, 
 
 Who thrample on the Saxon, 
 Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore. 
 
 When William, Duke of Schumbug, 
 
 A tyrant and a humbug, 
 With cannon and with thunder on our city bore, 
 
 Our fortitude and valliance 
 
 Insthructed his battalions 
 To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore. 
 
The Battle of Limerick 247 
 
 Since that capitulation, 
 
 No city in this nation 
 So grand a reputation could boast before, 
 
 As Limerick prodigious, 
 
 That stands with quays and bridges, 
 And the ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore. 
 
 A chief of ancient line, 
 
 Tis William Smith O'Brine, 
 Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more : 
 
 O the Saxons can't endure 
 
 To see him on the flure, 
 And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore ! 
 
 This valliant son of Mars 
 
 Had been to visit Par's, 
 That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor ; 
 
 And to welcome his returrn 
 
 From pilgrimages furren, 
 We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore. 
 
 Then we summoned to our board 
 
 Young Meagher of the sword : 
 'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore ; 
 
 And Mitchil of Belfast, 
 
 We bade to our repast, 
 To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore. 
 
248 William Makepeace Thackeray 
 
 Convaniently to hould 
 
 These patriots so bould, 
 We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store ; 
 
 And with ornamints and banners 
 
 (As becomes gintale good manners) 
 We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore. 
 
 'T would binifit your sowls, 
 
 To see the butthered rowls, 
 The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore, 
 
 And the muffins and the crumpets, 
 
 And the band of harps and thrumpets, 
 To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. 
 
 Sure the Imperor of Bohay 
 Would be proud to dthrink the tay 
 
 That Misthress Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did pour ; 
 And, since the days of Strongbow, 
 There never was such Congo 
 
 Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it by Shannon shore. 
 
 But Clarndon and Corry 
 
 Connellan beheld this sworry 
 With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core ; 
 
 And they hired a gang of ruffins 
 
 To interrupt the muffins, 
 And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore. 
 
The Battle of Limerick 249 
 
 When full of tay and cake, 
 
 O'Brine began to spake, 
 But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar 
 
 Of a ragamuffin rout 
 
 Began to yell and shout, 
 And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. 
 
 As Smith O'Brine harangued, 
 They batthered and they banged : 
 
 Tim Doolan's doors and windies, down they tore ; 
 They smashed the lovely windies 
 (Hung with muslin from the Indies), 
 
 Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore. 
 
 With throwing of brickbats, 
 Drowned puppies, and dead rats, 
 
 These ruffin democrats themselves did lower ; 
 Tin kettles, rotten eggs, 
 Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs, 
 
 They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore. 
 
 O the girls began to scrame, 
 
 And upset the milk and crame ; 
 And the honourable gintlemin, they cursed and swore : 
 
 And Mitchil of Belfast, 
 
 'Twas he that looked aghast, 
 When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore. 
 
250 William Makepeace Thackeray 
 
 O the lovely tay was spilt 
 On that day of Ireland's guilt ; 
 Says Jack Mitchil, ' I am kilt ! Boys, where's the 
 
 back door? 
 
 'Tis a national disgrace ; 
 Let me go and veil me face ; ' 
 
 And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon 
 shore. 
 
 * Cut down the bloody horde ! ' 
 
 Says Meagher of the sword, 
 This conduct would disgrace any blackamore : ' 
 
 But the best use Tommy made 
 
 Of his famous battle blade 
 Was to cut his own stick from the Shannon shore. 
 
 Immortal Smith O'Brine 
 
 Was raging like a line ; 
 
 'Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him 
 roar; 
 
 In his glory he arose, 
 
 And he rush'd upon his foes, 
 But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore. 
 
 Then the Futt and the Dthragoons 
 
 In squadthrons and platoons, 
 With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore ; 
 
 And they bate the rattatoo, 
 
 But the Peelers came in view, 
 And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore. 
 
HENRY LONGUEVILLE HANSEL 
 
 (The late Dean MansePs Phrontisterion, the most 
 excellent piece of university wit produced in this century 
 at least, was composed on the first Oxford Commission, 
 and is in great part a severe satire on its interference 
 with university and collegiate endowments. But the 
 author was a very strong Tory, and it frequently 
 diverges, as here, into matter of wider application^) 
 
 PHRONTISTERION 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 (Enter Just Discourse and Unjust Discourse) 
 
 U. D. Where be they, the dreaming dotards, bigots 
 
 of the olden time, 
 Purblind patrons of abuses, champions of corruption's 
 
 slime, 
 Pudding-headed, narrow-minded, noddynoodledoodle- 
 
 nincom 
 
252 Henry Longueville Mansel 
 
 Poops, who doubt our right of dealing as we please 
 
 with college income? 
 
 J. D. Where be they, the shameless spoilers, vio- 
 lating private right, 
 Riding roughshod over justice, crushing equity with 
 
 might, 
 Turning from its proper channels wealth our fathers' 
 
 bounty left, 
 Sullying reform with rapine, public ends with private 
 
 theft ? 
 U. D. Theft, my friend ! the gods have pity on 
 
 your weak and watery brain ! 
 How can they who own the total steal a portion ? 
 
 pray explain. 
 Men in nature's state are equal : property, conferred 
 
 by laws, 
 From the sanction of the people all its rights and 
 
 safeguards draws. 
 You but hold it at their pleasure, you must yield it at 
 
 their summons : 
 And the pleasure of the people, seek it in the House 
 
 of Commons. 
 J. D. Have you then no higher standards, fixed 
 
 ere human laws began 
 By the voice of man's Creator, by the moral sense of 
 
 man? 
 Rules may alter, codes may perish, customs change, 
 
 but these abide, 
 
Phrontisterion 253 
 
 Truths no practice can abolish, no enactment over- 
 ride. 
 
 Vain the fine-drawn web of sophisms, vain the brazen 
 mail of lies ; 
 
 Means condemned by God and Conscience, no ex- 
 pedience justifies. 
 
 U. D. Moral sense ! a mere delusion : prejudice 
 of education ; 
 
 Amiable in individuals, childish weakness in a nation. 
 
 Pious scruples, tender conscience, doubtless suit a 
 private station ; 
 
 Public interest's the rule for all enlightened legislation. 
 
 So in debts : one's private duty pleads, perhaps, for 
 liquidation : 
 
 In a free enlightened people, who shall blame repudia- 
 tion? 
 
 J. D. Yet bethink thee that the spirit whence those 
 pious bounties flowed 
 
 To the ties of private feeling all its force and being 
 owed. 
 
 Severed from the bonds of kindred, taught his lonely 
 heart to school 
 
 By his Father's chastening kindness or his Church's 
 sterner rule, 
 
 Oft to spots by memory cherished, where his earliest 
 love began, 
 
 In his age's desolation, fondly turned the childless 
 man. 
 
254 Henry Longueville Mansel 
 
 Then the quickening drops of kindness through the 
 
 drooping soul were felt 
 From the home his youth that nurtured, from the 
 
 church where first he knelt. 
 Then the long-neglected feelings claimed once more 
 
 their moving part, 
 And the pent-up tide of bounty forced its passage 
 
 through the heart. 
 U. D. Stuff and nonsense ! why should feeling 
 
 public spirit clog and cumber. 
 When the greatest happiness is wanted for the greatest 
 
 number ? 
 Private ties, you can't disprove it if you argue to 
 
 eternity, 
 
 Hamper in their narrow fetters Cosmopolitan Frater- 
 nity. 
 
 Close Foundations, limited to one particular locality, 
 Might as well be left to foster open vice and immor- 
 ality : 
 I should feel far more compunction, laying hands to 
 
 spoil and pillage 
 On the brothel of an empire than the college of a 
 
 village. 
 
 j t _>. Shameless Robber ! 
 U. D. Owl-eyed Bigot ! 
 
 /. D. Hear'st thou 
 
 Heaven, and sleeps thy thunder ? 
 Right Divine proclaimed for rapine, Laws invoked to 
 
 sanction plunder ! 
 
Phrontisterton 255 
 
 Take a warning in thy triumph. Godless power is 
 
 frail to trust : 
 Sure the millstone of his vengeance ; late it grinds, 
 
 but grinds to dust. 
 Search the tale of fallen nations. Justice banished, 
 
 rights forgot. 
 History's record tells the sequel. Seek her place, and 
 
 she is not. 
 U.D. Worn out notions, musty fancies, redolent 
 
 of Church and king, 
 
 Guardian -Angels, George -and -Dragons, that old- 
 fashioned sort of thing. 
 Master spirits, leading statesmen, all to circumstances 
 
 bow : 
 Public Conscience, State Religion, even Gladstone 
 
 scouts them now. 
 Tut, man, look to facts and figures : truce to all this 
 
 idle bustle : 
 Bluif King Hal is praised in Christchurch ; plundered 
 
 Woburn breeds a Russell. 
 Look at France's half-fledged eaglet, gazing with un- 
 
 dazzled eye 
 On the sunbeams of his glory, and the Orleans 
 
 property. 
 Look at Prussia's champion-heroes, men in freedom's 
 
 tale immortal, 
 Chalking 'national possession' on their tyrant's 
 
 palace portal. 
 
256 Henry Longueville Hansel 
 
 Look at England's Church Commission, holy work 
 
 by Bishops blest 
 Half your Chapters burked already j Blandford's bill 
 
 will do the rest. 
 If you bandy rights and duties, great reforms will 
 
 ne'er begin. 
 Give the cards a thorough shuffle : cut again ; first 
 
 knave to win. 
 J. D. Tis in vain, I see, to argue. Modern light 
 
 must have its way. 
 Public morals sapped and rotted, knaves must even 
 
 win the day. 
 Fare thee well. Should after-ages bring to pass the 
 
 scene foretold, 
 When our future is a memory, and our days are days 
 
 of old. 
 When New Zealand's travelled native from some 
 
 ruined arch looks down 
 On old Thames's silent current, London's desolated 
 
 town. 
 On the banks no groaning warehouse, on the stream 
 
 no flag unfurled, 
 Where the modern Carthage traded long ago with half 
 
 a world. 
 Then if History's bitter lesson wake the patriot's 
 
 anxious care, 
 Thus the warning voice may mingle in the accents of 
 
 his prayer. 
 
Phrontisterion 257 
 
 Thou that holds the fate of nations in the scales of 
 
 Justice weighed, 
 Not alone 'gainst foreign armies ; 'gainst ourselves we 
 
 ask thy aid. 
 Never may my country's counsels traffic's sordid spirit 
 
 feel, 
 Selling birthrights, cheapening pottage, trading with 
 
 a nation's weal. 
 
 Never may a craven pilot at our vessel's helm preside, 
 Swayed by mob-tongued agitation, taking demagogues 
 
 for guide, 
 Truckling to the voice of faction, listening for the 
 
 loudest cry, 
 Gauging pressures, measuring noises, what to grant 
 
 and what deny. 
 Never may the scoundrel maxims of a money-making 
 
 band 
 Pawn the charter of our freedom, blight the sinews of 
 
 our land. 
 Thou whose gifts are might and wisdom, purge from 
 
 mists my country's eyes; 
 Teach her in the hour of trial where alone her safety 
 
 lies; 
 Bid her scorn the shout of faction, bid her spurn the 
 
 lust of pelf, 
 Trusting still through good and evil in her God and 
 
 in herself. 
 
 s 
 
258 Henry Longueville Mansel 
 
 And if ever public feeling, led by selfish tongues 
 astray, 
 
 Gloat o'er traffic's heaped-up riches, smile when Church 
 and State decay, 
 
 Though our blindness ask out curses, still do Thou 
 vouchsafe to bless, 
 
 Spare us England's tradesmen-senate, spare her cotton- 
 spun success. 
 
HENRY DUFF TRAILL 
 
 (Of 'whom , as happily living, I shall say no more 
 than that 1 owe him my best thanks for permitting me 
 to fish in his abundant and lucent streams, which still 
 flow, but from the freshest of which I have, for reasons, 
 not drawn. The three pieces here given are taken 
 from Recaptured Rhymes.) 
 
 LAPUTA OUTDONE 
 
 OH, Philosopher crazed from the Island of Crazes, 
 Explored and depicted by Jonathan Swift, 
 
 Let us hear what your judgments on us and our ways 
 
 is 
 Permit us your mental impressions to sift. 
 
 For we have our follies of wisdom fantastic, 
 Some high-philosophic, political some, 
 
 And would fain ascertain, in no spirit sarcastic, 
 If you, my dear pundit, can match them at home. 
 
260 Henry Duff Traill 
 
 When a man in Laputa falls sick unto danger, 
 Then is it the rule in that singular place 
 
 To throw up the window and ask the first stranger 
 To kindly come in and prescribe on the case ? 
 
 When in legal perplexities, slighter or deeper, 
 For counsel in law a Laputan applies, 
 
 Does he seek the next crossing and beg of its sweeper, 
 When business is done, to step round and advise ? 
 
 Are your pilots 7 certificates commonly given 
 
 To men who have not even looked on the seas ? 
 
 Are your coachmen selected for not having driven ? 
 Say, have you Laputans got customs like these ? 
 
 You haven't ? Then off with your bee-bearing bonnet, 
 Illustrious guest from Luggnaggian shores ! 
 
 And down on your knee and do homage upon it 
 Profound to a State that is madder than yours ! 
 
 For though we select not attorney, physician, 
 Or pilot who steers us, or coachman who drives, 
 
 From the ignorant crowd, who would gain erudition 
 At risk of our fortunes, our limb, or our lives ; 
 
 Yet this Ignorance dense that we do not let lead us 
 In private concerns, lest disaster befall, 
 
Laputa Outdone 261 
 
 This, that may not make wills for us, dose us, or bleed 
 
 us 
 May rule us the business that's hardest of all ! 
 
 We say to It * Courage ! Nay, go not so shyly ! 
 
 In time you will master the work you are at ; 
 Your country presents you her own corpus vile, 
 
 See, here is the commonwealth, practise on that ! 
 
 ' Away with the notion (we echo in chorus) 
 Of power withheld until knowledge be gained/ 
 
 (Too long, cry the carts, have the horses before us 
 Unjust and unworthy precedence obtained !) 
 
 < The use of the scalpel in surgical functions 
 Will give you the skill of a surgeon professed, 
 
 And by much engine-driving at intricate junctions 
 One learns to drive engines along with the best.' 
 
 For is it not thus our political preachers 
 Discourse to us daily, in bidding us note 
 
 That ' the franchise itself is the truest of teachers,' 
 That ' voting instructs in the use of the vote '? 
 
 So, off with it ! Off with your bee-bearing bonnet, 
 Illustrious guest from Luggnaggian shores ! 
 
 And down on your knee, and do homage upon it 
 Profound to a State that is madder than yours ! 
 
262 Henry Duff Traill 
 
 BALLAD OF BALOONATICS CRANIOCRACS 
 
 OF all the accomplished Professors who ever 
 
 From learning contrived common-sense to dissever 
 
 Of all who delight, on a question of tongue, 
 
 To foment agitation the peoples among 
 
 None goes with such thoroughness into the thing 
 
 As the erudite Slav whose proceedings I sing ; 
 
 And whose name if your jaws I may venture to tax 
 
 Is Professor Baloonatics Craniocracs. 
 
 International law has his sovereign contempt ; 
 From restraints of political prudence exempt, 
 He holds that when races for union clamour, 
 The question's but one of comparative grammar. 
 No * national movement, 7 whatever its fruits, 
 That starts from a real relation of roots, 
 The strenuous aid and encouragement lacks 
 Of the famous philologist, Craniocracs. 
 
 To many a cause of the ' national ' sort 
 The Professor has lent his enlightened support ; 
 But of all his distinctions, his pride was to be a 
 High priest of the Pan-Macaronic Idea, 
 
Ballad of Baloonatics Craniocracs 263 
 
 And first to have raised the Spaghettian claim 
 To inherit the true Macaronian name : 
 A position sustained against many attacks 
 By Professor Baloonatics Craniocracs. 
 
 The Spaghetts had been living in decent content, a 
 Race subject for centuries past to Polenta, 
 With liberties local and customs respected, 
 And lenient taxes with justice collected, 
 And ample permission their children to teach 
 That poetic and grandly cacophonous speech 
 Which first to their true nationality's tracks 
 Had directed Baloonatics Craniocracs. 
 
 But they, when he set their ethnology right, 
 With the free Macaronians burned to unite : 
 And the worthy Professor went round through their 
 
 cities 
 
 Establishing Pan-Macaronic Committees, 
 Until they rebelled in a war to the knife, 
 And after two years of the bloodiest strife, 
 Forced haughty Polenta her grasp to relax, 
 To the joy of their champion Craniocracs. 
 
 From this struggle the rise of the Union dates 
 Of the Pan-Macaronic Confederate States, 
 Which, besides the Spaghetts, of a kindred as true 
 Raviolians counts and Lasagnians too. 
 
264 Henry Duff Traill 
 
 But above them the Pateditalians claim 
 
 A supremacy, due to generical name ; 
 
 And their claim the Professor unswervingly backs, 
 
 For philologist always is Craniocracs. 
 
 Are the freed populations content with their lot ? 
 
 Well, candour compels me to say they are not. 
 
 Already the Union is deeply in debt 
 
 And taxed to the skin is the wretched Spaghett. 
 
 And the Pateditalians forbid him to teach 
 
 His poetic and grandly cacophonous speech, 
 
 On the ground that of modern corruption it smacks 
 
 As is even admitted by Craniocracs. 
 
 But the worst of it is (if the murder must out), 
 The Professor's researches have led him to doubt 
 If his first ethnologic conclusions were sound, 
 Since he, as it seems, a new ' factor ' has found, 
 The * Vermicellenic,' so named from a race 
 Whose affinities throw a new light on the case ; 
 Transforming, indeed, into whites all its blacks 
 To the mind of Baloonatics Craniocracs. 
 
 Through the Vermicellenes the Spaghett and his 
 
 brother, 
 
 Are clearly of kin to Polenta and other 
 Great nations ; and though they could only unite 
 By involving the world in a general fight, 
 
To a Famous Parliament 265 
 
 The Professor, intrepid of logic as ever, 
 Will work day and night at that noble endeavour. 
 All hobbies are wild, but the wildest of hacks 
 Is bestrid by Baloonatics Craniocracs. 
 
 TO A FAMOUS PARLIAMENT 
 
 Hunc neque dira venena nee hosticus auferet ensis 
 Nee laterum dolor aut tussis nee tarda podagra ; 
 Garrulus hunc quando consume! cumque ; loquace 
 Si sapiat, vitet, simul atque adoleverit setas. 
 
 As one who from the glacier past the vine 
 
 Follows the slow debasement of the Rhine 
 
 To where its foiled and sluggish waters creep 
 
 Through sand-obstructed channels to the deep 
 
 As such an one may in fantastic mood 
 
 Muse on the checkered fortunes of the flood, 
 
 The source majestic whence its streams descend, 
 
 Its proud career and its ignoble end, 
 
 Thus but in sober earnestness are we, 
 
 O English Parliament, to think of thee ? 
 
 Of thee on flats of dull Obstruction found 
 
 The long-descended and the high-renowned ! 
 
 O thou whose shame or glory is our own, 
 
 Born with our birth, and with our growth upgrown ! 
 
 Was it for this the wasting hand of time, 
 
 Perils of youth, and maladies of prime, 
 
266 Henry Duff Traill 
 
 Spared thee so long ? O thou who first didst draw 
 
 In a rude age the infant breath of law, 
 
 And, storing silent increments of life 
 
 Through our long era of dynastic strife, 
 
 Take gradual heart of grace thy voice to raise 
 
 From whispering humbleness of Tudor days ; 
 
 Wrest the high sceptre from thy Stuart lords ; 
 
 Bend only for an hour to Cromwell's swords ; 
 
 Live faction down, break through corruption's chains, 
 
 And of the Walpole-poison purge thy veins ; 
 
 Wax stronger and still stronger, till the land 
 
 Saw all its forces gathered to thine hand 
 
 Didst thou thus triumph that thou thus shouldst fall ? 
 
 Is that proud head that towers over all 
 
 Destined to bow before unworthy foes ? 
 
 Had ever splendid life so mean a close 
 
 As thine will show, if thou, for all thy past, 
 
 Must die of talk and Irishmen at last ? 
 
NOTES 
 
 p. i. 
 
 Fraine> or better, frayne = 'ask.' A.-S./regnan. 
 
 P. 2. 
 
 Tancrete, O. F. tancrit, a queer form, as Professor Skeat 
 observes to me, for ' transcript. ' 
 
 P. 3- 
 
 Under my nde> of course = undermine. 
 Coarted= coerced. 
 
 p. 4 . 
 
 Acisia (or rather accidia] is a mediaeval corruption of d/c^&'a, 
 used for that deadly sin which we rather inadequately translate 
 Sloth, and which signifies properly a brutal and hardened in- 
 difference to the dictates of reason and conscience. 
 
 Sygne we, i.e. cross ourselves. 
 
 Amamelek = a mameluke (?) or diabolical (?) 
 
268 Notes 
 
 P. 5- 
 
 Sanke roiall, * blood royal ' ; a coarse gibe, but not a bad one. 
 
 Parde pardieu, * forsooth. ' 
 
 Quatriuials . . . triuials. These (the proper form of the 
 former being ' quadrivials ') were the well - known ' Seven 
 Liberal Arts' of the Middle Ages Grammar, Logic, and 
 Rhetoric formed the Trivium ; Music, Arithmetic, Geometry, 
 and Astronomy the Quadrivium. 
 
 p. i 4 . 
 
 Emanuel. This College in Cambridge was founded avowedly 
 for the propagation of Puritanism by Sir H. Mildmay ; and it 
 long continued a fountain-head thereof. 
 
 r. 27. 
 
 When aged Thames. A reference (it may be barely neces- 
 sary to remind the reader) to the * Marriage of Thames and 
 Medway ' in the Fourth Book of the Faerie Queene. 
 
 Steward. Miss Stewart of the * little Roman nose.' 
 
 P. 28. 
 
 Pett. The ingenious but unlucky Commissioner of that 
 name. 
 
 p. 30. 
 
 A medal with the legend Lcetamur was actually struck in 
 Shaftesbury's honour when the grand jury ignored the Bill of 
 High Treason against him in November 1681. Polish refers 
 to a gibe (of not clearly known original authority) against him, 
 to the effect that he had thought of putting in for the Crown of 
 
Notes 269 
 
 Poland when John Sobieski was elected some years earlier. 
 The whole poem is a ferocious, but not absolutely false, satire 
 on his very remarkable history and character. 
 
 P. 35- 
 
 In order to bring the poem within compass, some hundred 
 lines or so have been omitted. 
 
 Stum. New and as yet incompletely fermented wine used 
 to freshen up stale. In the days when wine was almost always 
 drunk from the cask this was an easy trick, and the mixture was 
 very unwholesome. 
 
 P. 41- 
 
 D y, etc., Danby, Sunderland, Godolphin. 
 
 L 7, 'Lory,' is Lawrence Hyde, Lord Rochester. 
 
 p. 43- 
 
 It is hardly necessary to fill in 'James ' and ' Bancroft.' 
 
 P. 44- 
 
 Two Wives. The nonjuring and 'juring' churches. 
 Clancarty. 'Lady Clancarty' has been dramatised. 
 T n, Tillotson. 
 
 P. 46. 
 
 T ton, Torrington, to wit, Herbert. The reference is to 
 
 the unlucky battle of Beachy Head, wherein, I believe, modern 
 naval critics think the admiral not so much to blame as Whigs, 
 and not Whigs only, used to hold. 
 
270 Notes 
 
 P. 62. 
 
 Celia. Madame de Maintenon. 
 
 P. 66. 
 
 BastimentoS) lit. 'buildings.' The forts and Treasury estab- 
 lishments at Portobello. 
 
 P. 68. 
 
 This exquisite piece ('Here lies Fred') is given with slight 
 variations in different places ; but this is, on the whole, the best 
 version. I do not think the author has ever been identified. 
 
 p. 93- 
 
 Whitehead. 'Paul the Aged,' a clever fellow, but a very 
 great scoundrel, chiefly famous, or infamous, for sharing in the 
 Medmenham orgies. I do not know that he was much less clever 
 or a much greater scoundrel than Churchill ; but he did not 
 write such good verses. On no account to be confounded with 
 William Whitehead, his contemporary and junior by only five 
 years, a poet laureate, a most respectable person, and one o 
 the worst poets possible. 
 
 P. 94- 
 
 It would be a bad compliment to the reader to tell him any- 
 thing about Shelburne, Wilkes, Bute, or Holland, but the 
 modest worth of John Calcraft may be forgotten. His origin 
 is disputed ; he rose to enormous wealth by placemanship, 
 borough-mongering, army agency, contracting, and playing fast 
 and loose with the Pitt and Fox factions in the middle of the 
 last century, and he was a great patron of Francis and (seu 
 potius ' or ') Junius. The English peerage escaped him by his 
 death at the age of forty-six. 
 
Notes 271 
 
 P. 95- 
 
 Sir Fletcher Norton, the Attorney-General, afterwards Lord 
 Grantley. 
 
 P. 100. 
 
 It is barely necessary to remind the reader that Margaret 
 Nicholson was an old mad woman who made an attempt on the 
 life of George the Third. 
 
 P. 101. 
 
 This friendly sketch of the members of Pitt's government 
 would require a treatise to expound it all ; nor is exposition very 
 necessary, for the points are obvious enough. 
 
 P. 104. 
 
 Bulse. The technical term for a package of diamonds, which 
 Hastings was fabled by the Whigs as distributing to the Court 
 and the Tories. The dear Major is Scott, as to whom see 
 below. 
 
 Eden, afterwards Lord Auckland, and even more savagely 
 libelled in an extract to be met with further on. Takes his 
 plate refers to a pleasant old custom by which an ambassador 
 was supplied with a service of silver plate at the expense of the 
 country. 
 
 What, what ! George the Third's well-known catchword. 
 
 P. 105. 
 
 Beaufoy. A great distiller, ancestor, I believe, of a present 
 M.P. who is on the other side. 
 
 The Doctor. Addington. 
 
 This book. Referring to the famous 'general warrant' busi- 
 ness with the North Briton, etc. 
 
272 Notes 
 
 P. 106. 
 
 Jamie. I suppose Thomson. 
 
 Major John Scott. This was the person whom Hastings was 
 so left to himself as to make his parliamentary mouthpiece. 
 He appears to have possessed a combination of all the qualities 
 which even in these degenerate days make a man loathsome to 
 the House of Commons. 
 
 P. 109. 
 
 The original note on sniff, ' a new interjection for the sense 
 of smelling/ is curious. The Squad were Hastings 's parlia- 
 mentary party. 
 
 Burgage. Referring of course to the burgage tenure of most 
 rotten boroughs. 
 
 P. no. 
 
 This rondeau ascribed to Dr. Lawrence, the chief author of 
 the Rolliad) is interesting for more than its matter. Lawrence 
 was one of the very few writers of the form between Cotton in 
 the seventeenth century, and its resumers in the last quarter of 
 the nineteenth. 
 
 P. ill. 
 
 His Grace of Portland, between whom and Pitt a coalition 
 was being negotiated by Mr. Powis. It was to be ' on fair and 
 equal terms ' ; and the sting lies in the reproach of indifference to 
 female charms constantly brought against Pitt by the wits. 
 
 P. 117. 
 
 Mother Schwellenberg, that terrible 'mother of the maids,' 
 whom all lovers of Miss Burney curse, and whom Wolcot 
 
Notes 273 
 
 pursued even more unrelentingly than he did her master and 
 mistress. This piece was written when the general dread of 
 French Jacobinism enabled the Government to draw the reins 
 tighter. But Wolcot, so far as I know, was never in the least 
 interfered with. 
 
 P. 119. 
 
 R s. I confess ignorance of the four R s ; three only 
 were taught me. 
 
 The L . Wolcot's longest satire on the Court a satire 
 
 which would be more amusing if it were shorter and cleaner. 
 
 P. 120. 
 
 When Pitt. In 1801. 
 
 G -. Grosvenor (?) 
 
 P. 129. 
 
 Acme and Septimius. The previous selections from the Anti- 
 Jacobin are either Canning's or the joint work of Canning, Ellis, 
 and Frere. This is believed to be Ellis's own. 
 
 P. 130. 
 
 Indian^ alluding to Fox's defeat on the India Bill. 
 
 N rflk. The third Duke was a violent Whig (he pro 
 posed * the Majesty of the People ' at a public dinner) and a 
 renowned toper. 
 
 P. 131- 
 
 Catherine of Russia had put Fox's bust in this proud position. 
 There is a quiver of genuine indignation and a stateliness of 
 march about these lines which would make them interesting in 
 any case. They are still more so if, as is stated on the authority 
 of Boswell, they are the work of Pitt himself. 
 
274 Notes 
 
 P. 132. 
 
 The Progress of Man directly satirises Payne Knight, but 
 indirectly also Darwin, and a large and vague body of philosophic 
 Jacobins. 
 
 P. 134. 
 
 On Sundays cried. By legal exception, as being exception- 
 ally perishable. 
 
 P. 137. 
 
 Housekeeper. The heroine of the once seemingly immortal 
 Stranger, which now, but for Pendennis, would be wellnigh 
 forgotten. 
 
 P. 138. 
 Last line Pictis puppibus. 
 
 P. 139. 
 
 The d d invalid Lieutenant's name was Price. The 
 
 attempt on the isle of Marcou or Marcouf was made on 6th May 
 1798. 
 
 P. 144- 
 
 The nameless Bard was Mathias of the Pursuits of Literature, 
 a book much more highly thought of in its own day than since. 
 
 P. 152. 
 
 Olmutz . . . him. La Fayette. 
 
Notes 275 
 
 p. 155. 
 
 Lame artificer. Talleyrand. 
 
 P. 157. 
 
 Top line. These blanks are explained in the original to be 
 left on purpose, that each age may fill them in as it likes. 
 
 P. 164. 
 Sir David Baird. 
 
 P. 1 66. 
 
 The statesman Addington. 
 
 P. 179. 
 Mina The Spaniard. 
 
 P. 205. 
 The Chancellor Eldon. 
 
 P. 216. 
 Joe> Hume ; Jerry , Bentham. 
 
 P. 217. 
 Bowring Sir John, once almost famous, now half-forgotten. 
 
2 7 6 
 
 Notes 
 
 218. 
 
 Thomson. Poulett Thomson, with whose name books take 
 liberties. Even Praed seems to have written * Thompson.' 
 
 P. 219. 
 Cofite qui cotite is kitchen French, but I fear Praed wrote it. 
 
 P. 222. 
 
 Waithman Alderman, butt-general to the Tory wits. 
 or X 
 
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