THE GHOST. BOOK IV.
[]COXCOMBS, who vainly make pretence
To ſomething of exalted ſenſe
'Bove other men, and, gravely wiſe,
Affect thoſe pleaſures to deſpiſe,
Which, merely to the eye confin'd,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; They would not go
For millions to a Puppet-Show,
[128]Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing Pantomime;
No, not at COVENT-GARDEN, where,
Without a head for play or play'r,
Or, could a head be found moſt fit,
Without one play'r to ſecond it,
They muſt, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere ſhew, or not at all.
With theſe grave Fops, who (bleſs their brains)
Moſt cruel to themſelves, take pains
For wretchedneſs, and would be thought
Much wiſer than a wiſe man ought
For his own happineſs to be,
Who, what they hear, and what they ſee,
And what they ſmell, and taſte, and feel,
Diſtruſt, till REASON ſets her ſeal,
And, by long trains of conſequences
Enſur'd, gives Sanction to the Senſes;
Who would not, Heav'n forbid it! waſte
One hour in what the World calls Taſte,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry
Unleſs they know ſome reaſon why;
[129]With theſe grave Fops, whoſe ſyſtem ſeems
To give up Certainty for dreams,
The Eye of Man is underſtood
As for no other purpoſe good
Than as a door, thro' which of courſe
Their paſſage crouding objects force,
A downright Uſher, to admit
New-Comers to the Court of Wit.
(Good GRAVITY, forbear thy ſpleen
When I ſay Wit, I Wiſdom mean.)
Where (ſuch the practice of the Court,
Which legal Precedents ſupport)
Not one Idea is allow'd
To paſs unqueſtion'd in the crowd,
But e're It can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the Chief in Congregation
Muſt ſtand a ſtrict Examination.
Not ſuch as Thoſe, who PHYSIC twirl,
Full fraught with death, from ev'ry curl,
Who prove, with all becoming State,
Their voice to be the voice of Fate,
[130]Prepar'd with Eſſence, Drop, and Pill,
To be another WARD, or HILL,
Before they can obtain their Ends
To ſign Death-warrants for their Friends,
And talents vaſt as their's employ,
Secundum Artem to deſtroy,
Muſt paſs (or Laws their rage reſtrain)
Before the Chiefs of Warwick-Lane.
Thrice happy Lane, where uncontroul'd,
In Pow'r and Lethargy grown old,
Moſt fit to take, in this bleſt Land,
The reins which fell from WYNDHAM's hand,
Her lawful throne great DULLNESS rears,
Still more herſelf as more in Years;
Where She (and who ſhall dare deny
Her right, when REEVES and CHAUNCY's by)
Calling to mind, in antient time,
One GARTH who err'd in Wit and Rhime,
Ordains from henceforth to admit
None of the rebel Sons of Wit,
And makes it her peculiar care
That SCHOMBERG never ſhall be there.
[131]
Not ſuch as Thoſe, whom FOLLY trains
To Letters, tho' unbleſs'd with brains,
Who, deſtitute of pow'r and will
To learn, are kept to learning ſtill;
Whoſe heads, when other methods fail,
Receive inſtruction from the tail,
Becauſe their Sires, a common caſe,
Which brings the Children to diſgrace,
Imagine it a certain rule,
They never could beget a Fool,
Muſt paſs, or muſt compound for, ere
The Chaplain, full of beef and pray'r,
Will give his reverend Permit,
Announcing them for Orders fit,
So that the Prelate (what's a Name?
All Prelates now are much the ſame)
May with a conſcience ſafe and quiet,
With holy hands lay on that Fiat,
Which doth all faculties diſpenſe,
All Sanctity, all Faith, all Senſe,
Makes MADAN quite a Saint appear,
And makes an Oracle of CHEERE.
[132]
Not ſuch as in that ſolemn ſeat,
Where the nine Ladies hold retreat,
The Ladies nine, who, as we're told,
Scorning thoſe haunts they lov'd of old,
The banks of ISIS now prefer,
Nor will one hour from OXFORD ſtir,
Are held for form; which BALAAM's Aſs
As well as BALAAM's ſelf might paſs,
And with his Maſter take degrees,
Could he contrive to pay the Fees.
Men of ſound parts, who, deeply read,
O'erload the Storehouſe of the head
With furniture they ne'er can uſe,
Cannot forgive our rambling Muſe
This wild excurſion; cannot ſee
Why Phyſic and Divinity,
To the Surprize of all beholders,
Are lugg'd in by the head and ſhoulders;
Or how, in any point of view,
OXFORD hath any thing to do;
But Men of nice and ſubtle Learning,
Remarkable for quick diſcerning,
[133]Thro' Spectacles of critic mould,
Without inſtruction, will behold
That We a Method here have got,
To ſhew What is, by What is not,
And that our drift (Parentheſis
For once apart) is briefly this.
Within the brain's moſt ſecret cells,
A certain Lord Chief Juſtice dwells
Of ſov'reign pow'r, whom One and All,
With common Voice, We REASON call;
Tho', for the purpoſes of Satire,
A name in Truth is no great Matter,
JEFFERIES or MANSFIELD, which You will,
It means a Lord Chief Juſtice ſtill.
Here, ſo our great Projectors ſay,
The Senſes all muſt homage pay,
Hither They all muſt tribute bring,
And proſtrate fall before their King.
Whatever unto them is brought,
Is carry'd on the wings of Thought
Before his throne, where, in full ſtate,
He on their merits holds debate,
[134]Examines, Croſs-examines, Weighs
Their right to cenſure or to praiſe;
Nor doth his equal voice depend
On narrow Views of foe and friend,
Nor can or flattery or force
Divert him from his ſteady courſe;
The Channel of Enquiry's clear,
No ſham Examination's here.
He, upright Juſticer, no doubt,
Ad libitum puts in and out,
Adjuſts and ſettles in a trice
What Virtue is, and What is Vice,
What is Perfection, what Defect,
What we muſt chuſe, and what reject;
He takes upon him to explain
What Pleaſure is, and what is Pain,
Whilſt We, obedient to the Whim,
And reſting all our faith on him,
True Members of the Stoic weal,
Muſt learn to think, and ceaſe to feel.
This glorious Syſtem form'd, for Man
To practiſe when and how he can,
[135]If the five Senſes in alliance
To Reaſon hurl a proud defiance,
And, tho' oft conquer'd, yet unbroke,
Endeavour to throw off that yoke,
Which they a greater ſlav'ry hold,
Than Jewiſh Bondage was of old;
Or if They, ſomething touch'd with ſhame,
Allow him to retain the name
Of Royalty, and, as in Sport,
To hold a mimic formal Court;
Permitted, no uncommon thing,
To be a kind of Puppet King,
And ſuffer'd, by the way of toy,
To hold a globe, but not employ;
Our Syſtem-mongers, ſtruck with fear,
Prognoſticate deſtruction near;
All things to Anarchy muſt run;
The little World of Man's undone.
Nay ſhould the Eye, that niceſt Senſe,
Neglect to ſend intelligence
Unto the Brain, diſtinct and clear,
Of all that paſſes in her ſphere,
[136]Should She preſumptuous joy receive,
Without the Underſtanding's leave,
They deem it rank and daring Treaſon
Againſt the Monarchy of REASON,
Not thinking, tho' they're wondrous wiſe,
That few have Reaſon, moſt have Eyes;
So that the Pleaſures of the Mind
To a ſmall circle are confin'd,
Whilſt thoſe which to the Senſes fall,
Become the Property of All.
Beſides (and this is ſure a Caſe
Not much at preſent out of place)
Where NATURE Reaſon doth deny,
No Art can that defect ſupply,
But if (for it is our intent
Fairly to ſtate the argument)
A Man ſhould want an eye or two,
The Remedy is ſure, tho' new;
The Cure's at hand—no need of Fear—
For proof—behold the CHEVALIER—
As well prepar'd, beyond all doubt,
To put Eyes in, as put them out.
[137]
But, Argument apart, which tends
T' embitter foes, and ſep'rate friends,
(Nor, turn'd apoſtate for the Nine,
Would I, tho' bred up a Divine,
And foe of courſe to Reaſon's weal,
Widen that breach I cannot heal)
By his own Senſe and Feelings taught,
In ſpeech as lib'ral as in thought,
Let ev'ry Man enjoy his whim;
What's He to Me, or I to him?
Might I, tho' never rob'd in Ermine,
A matter of this weight determine,
No Penalties ſhould ſettled be
To force men to Hypocriſy,
To make them ape an awkward zeal,
And, feeling not, pretend to feel.
I would not have, might ſentence reſt
Finally fix'd within my breaſt,
E'en ANNET cenſur'd and confin'd,
Becauſe we're of a diff'rent mind.
NATURE, who in her act moſt free,
Herſelf delights in Liberty,
[138]Profuſe in Love, and, without bound,
Pours joy on ev'ry creature round;
Whom yet, was ev'ry bounty ſhed
In double Portions on our head,
We could not truly bounteous call,
If FREEDOM did not crown them all.
By Providence forbid to ſtray,
Brutes never can miſtake their way,
Determin'd ſtill, they plod along
By Inſtinct, neither right nor wrong;
But Man, had he the heart to uſe
His Freedom, hath a right to chuſe,
Whether He acts or well, or ill,
Depends entirely on his will;
To her laſt work, her fav'rite Man,
Is giv'n on NATURE's better plan
A Privilege in pow'r to err,
Nor let this phraſe reſentment ſtir
Amongſt the grave ones, ſince indeed,
The little merit Man can plead
In doing well, dependeth ſtill
Upon his pow'r of doing ill.
[139]
Opinions ſhould be free as air;
No man, whate'er his rank, whate'er
His Qualities, a claim can found
That my Opinion muſt be bound,
And ſquare with his; ſuch ſlaviſh chains
From foes the lib'ral ſoul diſdains,
Nor can, tho' true to friendſhip, bend
To wear them even from a friend.
Let Thoſe, who rigid Judgment own,
Submiſſive bow at Judgment's throne,
And if They of no value hold
Pleaſure, till Pleaſure is grown cold,
Pall'd and inſipid, forc'd to wait
For Judgment's regular debate
To give it warrant, let them find
Dull Subjects ſuited to their mind;
Their's be ſlow Wiſdom; Be my plan
To live as merry as I can,
Regardleſs as the faſhions go,
Whether there's Reaſon for't, or no;
Be my employment here on earth
To give a lib'ral ſcope to mirth,
Life's barren vale with flow'rs t' adorn,
And pluck a roſe from ev'ry thorn.
[140]
But if, by Error led aſtray,
I chance to wander from my way,
Let no blind guide obſerve, in ſpite,
I'm wrong, who cannot ſet me right.
That Doctor could I ne'er endure,
Who found diſeaſe, and not a cure,
Nor can I hold that man a friend,
Whoſe zeal a helping hand ſhall lend
To open happy Folly's eyes,
And, making wretched, make me wiſe;
For next, a Truth which can't admit
Reproof from Wiſdom or from Wit,
To being happy here below,
Is to believe that we are ſo.
Some few in knowledge find relief,
I place my comfort in belief.
Some for Reality may call,
FANCY to me is All in All.
Imagination, thro' the trick
Of Doctors, often makes us ſick,
And why, let any Sophiſt tell,
May it not likewiſe make us well?
[141]This am I ſure, whate'er our view,
Whatever ſhadows we purſue,
For our purſuits, be what they will,
Are little more than ſhadows ſtill,
Too ſwift they fly, too ſwift and ſtrong,
For man to catch, or hold them long.
But Joys which in the FANCY live,
Each moment to each man may give.
True to himſelf, and true to eaſe,
He ſoftens Fate's ſevere decrees,
And (can a Mortal wiſh for more?)
Creates, and makes himſelf new o'er,
Mocks boaſted vain Reality,
And Is, whate'er, he wants to Be.
Hail, FANCY—to thy pow'r I owe
Deliv'rance from the gripe of Woe,
To Thee I owe a mighty debt,
Which Gratitude ſhall ne'er forget,
Whilſt Mem'ry can her force employ,
A large encreaſe of ev'ry joy.
When at my doors, too ſtrongly barr'd,
Authority had plac'd a guard,
[142]A knaviſh guard, ordain'd by Law
To keep poor Honeſty in awe;
Authority, ſevere and ſtern,
To intercept my wiſh'd return;
When Foes grew proud, and Friends grew cool,
And Laughter ſeiz'd each ſober fool;
When Candour ſtarted in amaze,
And, meaning cenſure, hinted praiſe;
When Prudence, lifting up her eyes
And hands, thank'd Heav'n, that ſhe was wiſe;
When All around Me, with an air
Of hopeleſs Sorrow, look'd Deſpair,
When They or ſaid, or ſeem'd to ſay,
There is but one, one only way;
Better, and be advis'd by us,
Not be at all, than to be thus;
When Virtue ſhunn'd the ſhock, and Pride
Diſabled, lay by Virtue's ſide,
Too weak my ruffled ſoul to chear,
Which could not hope, yet would not fear;
Health in her motion, the wild grace
Of Pleaſure ſpeaking in her face,
Dull Regularity thrown by,
And Comfort beaming from her eye,
[143]FANCY, in richeſt robes array'd,
Came ſmiling forth, and brought me aid,
Came ſmiling o'er that dreadful time,
And, more to bleſs me, came in Rhime.
Nor is her Pow'r to Me confin'd,
It ſpreads, It comprehends Mankind.
When (to the Spirit-ſtirring ſound
Of Trumpets breathing Courage round,
And Fifes, well mingled to reſtrain,
And bring that Courage down again,
Or to the melancholy knell
Of the dull, deep, and doleful bell,
Such as of late the good Saint Bride
Muffled, to mortify the pride
Of thoſe, who, ENGLAND quite forgot,
Paid their vile homage to the SCOT,
Where ASGILL held the foremoſt place,
Whilſt my Lord figur'd at a race)
Proceſſions ('tis not worth debate
Whether They are of Stage or State)
Move on, ſo very very ſlow,
'Tis doubtful if they move or no;
[144]When the Performers all the while
Mechanically frown or ſmile,
Or, with a dull and ſtupid ſtare,
A vacancy of Senſe declare,
Or, with down-bending eye, ſeem wrought
Into a Labyrinth of Thought,
Where Reaſon wanders ſtill in doubt,
And, once got in, cannot get out;
What cauſe ſufficient can we find
To ſatisfy a thinking mind,
Why, dup'd by ſuch vain farces, Man
Deſcends to act on ſuch a plan?
Why They, who hold themſelves divine,
Can in ſuch wretched follies join,
Strutting like Peacocks, or like Crows,
Themſelves and Nature to expoſe?
What Cauſe, but that (you'll underſtand
We have our Remedy at hand,
That if perchance we ſtart a doubt,
Ere it is fix'd, we wipe it out,
As Surgeons, when they lop a limb,
Whether for Profit, Fame, or Whim,
Or mere experiment to try,
Muſt always have a Styptic by)
[145]FANCY ſteps in, and ſtamps that real,
Which, ipſo facto, is Ideal.
Can none remember, yes, I know,
All muſt remember that rare ſhow,
When to the Country SENSE went down,
And Fools came flocking up to Town,
When Knights (a work which all admit
To be for Knighthood much unfit)
Built booths for hire; when Parſons play'd,
In robes Canonical array'd,
And, Fiddling, join'd the Smithfield dance,
The price of Tickets to advance;
Or, unto Tapſters turn'd, dealt out,
Running from Booth to Booth about,
To ev'ry Scoundrel, by retail,
True pennyworths of Beef and Ale,
Then firſt prepar'd, by bringing beer in,
For preſent grand Electioneering;
When Heralds, running all about
To bring in Order, turn'd it Out;
When, by the prudent Marſhal's care,
Leſt the rude populace ſhould ſtare,
[146]And with unhallow'd eyes profane
Gay Puppets of Patrician ſtrain,
The whole Proceſſion, as in ſpite,
Unheard, unſeen, ſtole off by Night;
When our Lov'd Monarch, nothing loth,
Solemnly took that ſacred oath,
Whence mutual firm agreements ſpring
Betwixt the Subject, and the King,
By which, in uſual manner crown'd,
His Head, his Heart, his Hands he bound,
Againſt himſelf, ſhould Paſſion ſtir
The leaſt Propenſity to err,
Againſt all Slaves, who might prepare
Or open force, or hidden ſnare,
That glorious CHARTER to maintain,
By which We ſerve, and He muſt reign;
Then FANCY, with unbounded ſway,
Revell'd ſole Miſtreſs of the day,
And wrought ſuch wonders, as might make
Egyptian Sorcerers forſake
Their baffled mockeries, and own
The Palm of Magic Her's alone.
[147]
A KNIGHT (who in the ſilken lap
Of lazy Peace, had liv'd on Pap,
Who never yet had dar'd to roam
'Bove ten or twenty miles from home,
Nor even that, unleſs a Guide
Was plac'd to amble by his ſide,
And troops of Slaves were ſpread around
To keep his Honour ſafe and ſound,
Who could not ſuffer for his life
A Point to ſword, or Edge to knife,
And always fainted at the ſight
Of Blood, tho' 'twas not ſhed in fight,
Who diſinherited one Son
For firing off an Elder Gun,
And whipt another, ſix years old,
Becauſe the Boy, preſumptuous, bold
To Madneſs, likely to become
A very Swiſs, had beat a drum,
Tho' it appear'd an inſtrument
Moſt peaceable and innocent,
Having from firſt been in the hands
And ſervice of the City Bands)
Grac'd with thoſe enſigns, which were meant
To further Honour's dread intent,
[148]The Minds of Warriors to inflame,
And ſpur them on to deeds of Fame,
With little Sword, large Spurs, high Feather,
Fearleſs of ev'ry thing but Weather,
(And all muſt own, who pay regard
To Charity, it had been hard
That in his very firſt Campaign
His Honours ſhould be ſoil'd with rain)
A Hero all at once became,
And (ſeeing others much the ſame
In point of Valour as himſelf,
Who leave their Courage on a ſhelf
From Year to Year, till ſome ſuch rout
In proper ſeaſon calls it out)
Strutted, look'd big, and ſwagger'd more
Than ever Hero did before,
Look'd up, Look'd down, Look'd all around,
Like MAVORS, grimly ſmil'd and frown'd,
Seem'd Heav'n, and Earth, and Hell to call
To fight, that he might rout them all,
And perſonated Valour's ſtyle
So long, Spectators to beguile,
That paſſing ſtrange, and wondrous true,
Himſelf at laſt believ'd it too,
[149]Nor for a time could he diſcern
Till Truth and Darkneſs took their turn,
So well did FANCY play her part,
That Coward ſtill was at the heart.
WHIFFLE (who knows not WHIFFLE's name,
By the impartial voice of fame
Recorded firſt, thro' all this land,
In Vanity's illuſtrious band?)
Who, by all bounteous Nature meant
For offices of hardiment,
A modern HERCULES at leaſt,
To rid the world of each wild beaſt,
Of each wild beaſt which came in view,
Whether on four legs or on two,
Degenerate, delights to prove
His force on the Parade of Love,
Diſclaims the joys which camps afford,
And for the Diſtaff quits the ſword;
Who fond of women would appear
To public eye, and public ear,
But, when in private, let's them know
How little they can truſt to ſhow;
[150]Who ſports a Woman, as of courſe,
Juſt as a Jockey ſhews a horſe,
And then returns her to the ſtable,
Or vainly plants her at his table,
Where he would rather VENUS find,
(So pall'd, and ſo deprav'd his mind)
Than, by ſome great occaſion led,
To ſeize Her panting in her bed,
Burning with more than mortal fires,
And melting in her own deſires;
Who, ripe in years, is yet a child,
Thro' faſhion, not thro' feeling, wild;
Whate'er in others, who proceed
As Senſe and Nature have decreed,
From real paſſion flows, in him
Is mere effect of mode and whim;
Who Laughs, a very common way,
Becauſe he nothing has to ſay,
As your choice SPIRITS oaths diſpenſe
To fill up vacancies of Senſe;
Who, having ſome ſmall Senſe, defies it,
Or, uſing, always miſapplies it;
Who now and then brings ſomething forth,
Which ſeems indeed of Sterling Worth,
[151]Something, by ſudden Start and Fit,
Which at a diſtance looks like wit,
But, on Examination near,
To his confuſion will appear
By Truth's fair glaſs, to be at beſt
A Threadbare Jeſter's threadbare jeſt;
Who friſks and dances thro' the ſtreet,
Sings without voice, rides without ſeat,
Plays o'er his tricks, like AESOP's Aſs,
A gratis fool to all who paſs;
Who riots, tho' he loves not waſte,
Whores without luſt, drinks without taſte,
Acts without ſenſe, talks without thought,
Does every thing but what he ought,
Who, led by forms, without the pow'r
Of Vice, is Vicious, who one hour,
Proud without Pride, the next will be
Humble without Humility;
Whoſe Vanity we all diſcern,
The Spring on which his actions turn;
Whoſe aim in erring, is to err,
So that he may be ſingular,
And all his utmoſt wiſhes mean,
Is, tho' he's laugh'd at, to be ſeen.
[152] Such (for when FLATT'RY's ſoothing ſtrain
Had robb'd the Muſe of her diſdain,
And found a method to perſuade
Her art, to ſoften ev'ry ſhade,
JUSTICE enrag'd, the pencil ſnatch'd
From her degen'rate hand, and ſcratch'd
Out ev'ry trace; then, quick as thought,
From life this ſtriking likeneſs caught)
In Mind, in Manners, and in Mien,
Such WHIFFLE came, and ſuch was ſeen
In the World's eye, but (ſtrange to tell!)
Miſled by FANCY's magic ſpell,
Deceiv'd, not dreaming of deceit,
Cheated, but happy in the cheat,
Was more than human in his own.
O bow, bow All at FANCY's throne,
Whoſe Pow'r could make ſo vile an Elf,
With Patience bear that thing, himſelf.
But, Miſtreſs of each art to pleaſe,
Creative FANCY, what are theſe,
Theſe Pageants of a trifler's Pen,
To what thy Pow'r effected then?
[153]Familiar with the human mind,
As ſwift and ſubtle as the wind,
Which we all feel, yet no one knows
Or whence it comes, or where it goes,
FANCY at once in ev'ry part
Poſſeſs'd the Eye, the Head, the Heart,
And in a thouſand forms array'd,
A thouſand various gambols play'd.
Here, in a Face which well might aſk
The Privilege to wear a maſk
In ſpite of Law, and Juſtice teach
For public good t'excuſe the breach,
Within the furrow of a wrinkle
'Twixt Eyes, which could not ſhine but twinkle,
Like Centinels i' th' ſtarry way,
Who wait for the return of day
Almoſt burnt out, and ſeem to keep
Their watch, like Soldiers, in their ſleep,
Or like thoſe lamps which, by the pow'r
Of Law, muſt burn from hour to hour,
(Elſe they, without redemption, fall
Under the terrors of that Hall,
[154]Which, once notorious for a hop,
Is now become a Juſtice-ſhop)
Which are ſo manag'd, to go out
Juſt when the time comes round about,
Which yet thro' emulation ſtrive
To keep their dying light alive,
And (not uncommon, as we find,
Amongſt the children of mankind)
As they grow weaker, would ſeem ſtronger,
And burn a little, little longer;
FANCY, betwixt ſuch eyes enſhrin'd,
No bruſh to daub, no mill to grind,
Thrice wav'd her wand around, whoſe force
Chang'd in an inſtant Nature's courſe,
And, hardly credible in Rhime,
Not only ſtopp'd, but call'd back Time.
The Face, of ev'ry wrinkle clear'd,
Smooth as the floating ſtream appear'd,
Down the Neck ringlets ſpread their flame,
The Neck admiring whence they came;
On the Arch'd Brow the Graces play'd;
On the full Boſom Cupid laid;
Suns, from their proper orbits ſent,
Became for Eyes a ſupplement;
[155]Teeth, white as ever Teeth were ſeen
Deliver'd from the hand of GREEN,
Started, in regular array,
Like Train-Bands on a grand Field-day,
Into the Gums, which would have fled,
But, wond'ring, turn'd from white to red,
Quite alter'd was the whole machine,
And Lady ———— was fifteen.
Here She made lordly temples riſe
Before the pious DASHWOOD's eyes,
Temples which built aloft in air,
May ſerve for ſhow, if not for pray'r;
In ſolemn form Herſelf, before,
Array'd like Faith, the Bible bore.
There, over MELCOMB's feather'd head,
Who, quite a man of Gingerbread,
Savour'd in talk, in dreſs, and phyz,
More of another World than this,
To a dwarf Muſe a Giant Page,
The laſt grave Fop of the laſt Age,
In a ſuperb and feather'd hearſe,
Beſcutcheon'd and betagg'd with Verſe,
[156]Which, to Beholders from afar,
Appear'd like a triumphal Car,
She rode, in a caſt Rainbow clad;
There, throwing off the hallow'd plaid,
Naked, as when (in thoſe drear Cells
Where, Self-bleſs'd, Self-curs'd, MADNESS dwells),
PLEASURE, on whom, in Laughter's ſhape,
FRENZY had perfected a rape,
Firſt brought her forth, before her time,
Wild Witneſs of her ſhame and crime,
Driving before an Idol band
Of driv'ling STUARTS, hand in hand,
Some, who to curſe Mankind, had Wore
A Crown they ne'er muſt think of more,
Others, whoſe baby brows were grac'd
With Paper Crowns, and Toys of Paſte,
She Jigg'd, and playing on the Flute,
Spread raptures o'er the ſoul of BUTE.
Big with vaſt hopes, ſome mighty plan,
Which wrought the buſy ſoul of man
To her full bent, the CIVIL LAW,
Fit Code to keep a world in awe,
[157]Bound o'er his brows, fair to behold,
As Jewiſh Frontlets were of old,
The famous CHARTER of our land,
Defac'd, and mangled in his hand;
As one whom deepeſt thoughts employ,
But deepeſt thoughts of trueſt joy,
Serious and ſlow he ſtrode, he ſtalk'd,
Before him troops of Heroes walk'd,
Whom beſt He lov'd, of Heroes crown'd,
By TORIES guarded all around,
Dull ſolemn pleaſure in his face,
He ſaw the honours of his race,
He ſaw their lineal glories riſe,
And touch'd, or ſeem'd to touch the ſkies.
Not the moſt diſtant mark of fear,
No ſign of axe, or ſcaffold near,
Not one curs'd thought, to croſs his will,
Of ſuch a place as Tower Hill.
Curſe on this Muſe, a flippant Jade,
A Shrew, like ev'ry other Maid
Who turns the corner of nineteen,
Devour'd with peeviſhneſs and ſpleen.
[158]Her Tongue (for as, when bound for life,
The Huſband ſuffers for the Wife,
So if in any works of rhime
Perchance there blunders out a crime,
Poor Culprit Bards muſt always rue it,
Altho' 'tis plain the Muſes do it)
Sooner or later cannot fail
To ſend me headlong to a jail.
Whate'er my theme (our themes we chuſe
In modern days without a Muſe,
Juſt as a Father will provide
To join a Bridegroom and a Bride,
As if, tho' they muſt be the Play'rs,
The game was wholly his, not theirs)
Whate'er my theme, the Muſe, who ſtill
Owns no direction but her will,
Flies off, and, ere I could expect,
By ways oblique and indirect,
At once quite over head and ears,
In fatal Politics appears;
Time was, and, if I ought diſcern
Of Fate, that Time ſhall ſoon return,
When decent and demure at leaſt,
As grave and dull as any Prieſt,
[159]I could ſee Vice in robes array'd,
Could ſee the game of Folly play'd
Succeſsfully in Fortune's ſchool,
Without exclaiming rogue or fool;
Time was, when nothing loth or proud,
I lacquied, with the fawning crowd,
Scoundrels in Office, and would bow
To Cyphers great in place; but now
Upright I ſtand, as if wiſe Fate,
To compliment a ſhatter'd ſtate,
Had me, like ATLAS, hither ſent
To ſhoulder up the firmament,
And if I ſtoop'd, with gen'ral crack
The Heavens would tumble from my back;
Time was, when rank and ſituation
Secur'd the great Ones of the Nation
From all controul; Satire and Law
Kept only little Knaves in awe,
But now, Decorum loſt, I ſtand
Bemus'd, a Pencil in my hand,
And, dead to ev'ry ſenſe of ſhame,
Careleſs of Safety and of Fame,
The names of Scoundrels minute down,
And Libel more than half the Town.
[160]
How can a Stateſman be ſecure
In all his Villanies, if poor
And dirty Authors thus ſhall dare
To lay his rotten boſom bare?
Muſes ſhould paſs away their time,
In dreſſing out the Poet's rhime
With Bills and Ribbands, and array
Each line in harmleſs taſte, tho' gay.
When the hot burning Fit is on,
They ſhould regale their reſtleſs Son
With ſomething to allay his rage,
Some cool Caſtalian Beverage,
Or ſome ſuch draught (tho' They, 'tis plain,
Taking the Muſes name in vain,
Know nothing of their real court,
And only fable from report)
As makes a WHITEHEAD's Ode go down,
Or ſlakes the Feverette of Brown:
But who would in his Senſes think
Of Muſes Giving gall to drink,
Or that their folly ſhould afford
To raving Poets Gun or Sword?
Poets were ne'er deſign'd by fate
To meddle with affairs of State,
[161]Nor ſhould (if we may ſpeak our thought
Truely as men of Honour ought)
Sound Policy their rage admit,
To Launch the thunderbolts of Wit
About thoſe heads, which, when they're ſhot,
Cant't tell if 'twas by Wit, or not.
Theſe things well known, what Devil in ſpite
Can have ſeduc'd me thus to write
Out of that road, which muſt have led
To riches, without heart or head,
Into that road, which, had I more
Than ever Poet had before,
Of Wit and Virtue, in diſgrace
Would keep me ſtill, and out of place,
Which, if ſome Judge (You'll underſtand
One famous, famous thro' the land
For making Law) ſhould ſtand my friend,
At laſt may in a Pill'ry end,
And all this, I myſelf admit,
Without one cauſe to lead to it.——
For inſtance now—this book—the GHOST—
Methinks I hear ſome Critic Poſt
[162]Remark moſt gravely—"The firſt word
Which we about the Ghoſt have heard."
Peace my good Sir—not quite ſo faſt—
What is the firſt, may be the laſt,
Which is a point, all muſt agree,
Cannot depend on You or Me.
FANNY, no Ghoſt of common mould,
Is not by forms to be controul'd,
To keep her ſtate, and ſhew her ſkill,
She never comes but when ſhe will.
I wrote and wrote (perhaps you doubt,
And ſhrewdly, what I wrote about,
Believe me, much to my diſgrace,
I too am in the ſelf-ſame caſe)
But ſtill I wrote, till FANNY came
Impatient, nor could any ſhame
On me with equal juſtice fall,
If She had never come at all.
An Underling, I could not ſtir
Without the Cue thrown out by her,
Nor from the ſubject aid receive
Until She came, and gave me leave.
So that (Ye Sons of Erudition
Mark, this is but a ſuppoſition,
[163]Nor would I to ſo wiſe a nation
Suggeſt it as a Revelation)
If henceforth dully turning o'er
Page after Page, Ye read no more
Of FANNY, who, in Sea or Air,
May be departed God knows where,
Rail at jilt Fortune, but agree
No cenſure can be laid on me,
For ſure (the cauſe let MANSFIELD try)
FANNY is in the fault, not I.
But to return—and this I hold,
A ſecret worth its weight in gold
To thoſe who write, as I write now,
Not to mind where they go, or how,
Thro' ditch, thro' bog, o'er hedge and ſtile,
Make it but worth the Reader's while,
And keep a paſſage fair and plain
Always to bring him back again.
Thro' dirt, who ſcruples to approach,
At pleaſure's call, to take a coach,
But we ſhould think the man a clown
Who in the dirt ſhould ſet us down?
[164]
But to return—if WIT, who ne'er
The ſhackles of reſtrain could bear,
In wayward humour ſhould refuſe
Her timely ſuccour to the Muſe,
And to no rules and orders tied
Roughly deny to be her guide,
She muſt renounce Decorum's plan,
And get back when, and how ſhe can,
As Parſons, who, without pretext,
As ſoon as mention'd, quit their text,
And, to promote Sleep's genial pow'r,
Grope in the dark for half an hour,
Give no more Reaſon (for we know
Reaſon is vulgar, mean, and low)
Why they come back (ſhould it befal
That ever they come back at all)
Into the road, to end their rout,
Than they can give Why they went out.
But to return—this Book—the GHOST—
A mere amuſement at the moſt,
A trifle, fit to wear away
The horrors of a rainy day,
[165]A ſlight ſhot ſilk, for ſummer wear,
Juſt as our modern Stateſmen are,
If rigid honeſty permit
That I for once purloin the Wit
Of him, who, were we all to ſteal,
Is much too rich the theft to feel.
Yet in this Book, where Eaſe ſhould join
With Mirth to ſugar ev'ry line,
Where it ſhould all be mere Chit Chat,
Lively, Good-humour'd, and all that,
Where honeſt SATIRE, in diſgrace,
Should not ſo much as ſhew her face,
The Shrew, o'erleaping all due bounds,
Breaks into Laughter's ſacred grounds,
And, in contempt, plays o'er her tricks
In Science, Trade, and Politics.
But why ſhould the diſtemper'd Scold
Attempt to blacken Men enroll'd
In Pow'r's dread book, whoſe mighty ſkill
Can twiſt an Empire to their will,
Whoſe Voice is Fate, and on their tongue
Law, Liberty, and Life are hung,
[166]Whom, on enquiry, Truth ſhall find,
With STUARTS link'd, time out of mind
Superior to their Country's Laws,
Defenders of a Tyrant's cauſe,
Men, who the ſame damn'd maxims hold
Darkly, which they avow'd of old,
Who, tho' by diff'rent means, purſue
The end which they had firſt in view,
And, force found vain, now play their part
With much leſs Honour, much more Art?
Why, at the corners of the Streets,
To ev'ry Patriot drudge She meets,
Known or unknown, with furious cry
Should She wild clamours vent, or why,
The minds of Groundlings to enflame,
A DASHWOOD, BUTE, and WYNDHAM name?
Why, having not to our ſurprize
The fear of death before her Eyes,
Bearing, and that but now and then,
No other weapon but her pen,
Should She an argument afford
For blood, to Men who wear a ſword,
Men, who can nicely trim and pare
A point of HONOUR to a hair,
[167](HONOUR—a Word of nice import,
A pretty trinket in a Court,
Which my Lord quite in rapture feels
Dangling, and rattling with his Seals—
HONOUR—a Word, which all the Nine
Would be much puzzled to define—
HONOUR—a Word which torture mocks
And might confound a thouſand LOCKES—
Which (for I leave to wiſer heads,
Who fields of death prefer to beds
Of down, to find out, if they can,
What HONOUR is, on their Wild plan)
Is not, to take it in their Way,
And this we ſure may dare to ſay
Without incurring an offence,
Courage, Law, Honeſty, or Senſe)
Men, who all Spirit, Life, and Soul,
Neat Butchers of a Button-hole,
Having more ſkill, believe it true
That they muſt have more courage too,
Men, who without a place or name,
Their Fortunes ſpeechleſs as their fame,
Would by the Sword new Fortunes carve,
And rather die in fight than ſtarve?
[168]At Coronations, a vaſt field
Which food of ev'ry kind might yield,
Of good ſound food, at once moſt fit
For purpoſes of health and wit,
Could not ambitious SATIRE reſt,
Content with what ſhe might digeſt;
Could ſhe not feaſt on things of courſe,
A Champion, or a Champion's horſe;
A Champion's horſe—no, better ſay,
Tho' better figur'd on that day—
A horſe, which might appear to us,
Who deal in rhime, a PEGASUS,
A Rider, who, when once got on,
Might paſs for a BELLEROPHON,
Dropt on a ſudden from the ſkies,
To catch and fix our wond'ring eyes,
To witch, with wand inſtead of whip,
The world with noble horſemanſhip,
To twiſt and twine, both Horſe and Man,
On ſuch a well-concerted plan,
That, Centaur-like, when all was done,
We ſcarce could think they were not one?
Could She not to our itching ears
Bring the new names of new-coin'd Peers,
[169]Who walk'd, Nobility forgot,
With ſhoulders fitter for a knot,
Than robes of Honour, for whoſe ſake
Heralds in form were forc'd to make,
To make, becauſe they could not find,
Great Predeceſſors to their mind?
Could She not (tho' 'tis doubtful ſince
Whether He Plumber is, or Prince)
Tell of a ſimple Knight's advance
To be a doughty Peer of France,
Tell how he did a Dukedom gain,
And ROBINSON was AQUITAIN,
Tell how our City-Chiefs, diſgrac'd,
Were at an empty table plac'd,
A groſs neglect, which, whilſt they live,
They can't forget, and won't forgive,
A groſs neglect of all thoſe rights
Which march with City Appetites,
Of all thoſe Canons, which we find
By Gluttony, time out of mind,
Eſtabliſh'd; which they ever hold,
Dearer than any thing but Gold?
[170]
Thanks to my Stars—I now ſee ſhore—
Of Courtiers, and of Courts no more—
Thus ſtumbling on my City Friends,
Blind Chance my guide, my purpoſe bends
In line direct, and ſhall purſue
The point which I had firſt in view,
Nor more ſhall with the Reader ſport
Till I have ſeen him ſafe in port.
Huſh'd be each fear—no more I bear
Thro' the wide regions of the air
The Reader terrified, no more
Wild Ocean's horrid paths explore.
Be the plain track from henceforth mine—
Croſs-roads to ALLEN I reſign,
ALLEN, the honour of this nation,
ALLEN, himſelf a Corporation,
ALLEN, of late notorious grown
For writings none, or all his own,
ALLEN, the firſt of letter'd men,
Since the good Biſhop holds his pen,
And at his elbow takes his ſtand
To mend his head, and guide his hand.
But hold—once more Digreſſion hence—
Let us return to Common-Senſe,
[171]The Car of PHOEBUS I diſcharge;
My Carriage now a LORD-MAYOR's Barge.
Suppoſe we now—we may ſuppoſe
In Verſe, what would be Sin in Proſe—
The Sky with darkneſs overſpread,
And ev'ry Star retir'd to bed,
The gew-gaw robes of Pomp and Pride
In ſome dark corner thrown aſide,
Great Lords and Ladies giving way
To what they ſeem to ſcorn by day,
The real feelings of the heart,
And Nature taking place of Art,
Deſire triumphant thro' the Night,
And Beauty panting with delight,
Chaſtity, Woman's faireſt crown,
Till the return of Morn laid down,
Then to be worn again as bright
As if not ſullied in the Night,
Dull Ceremony, buſineſs o'er,
Dreaming in form at COTTRELL's door,
Precaution trudging all about
To ſee the Candles ſafely out,
[172]Bearing a mighty Maſter-Key,
Habited like Oeconomy,
Stamping each lock with triple ſeals,
Mean AV'RICE creeping at her heels.
Suppoſe we too, like ſheep in Pen,
The Mayor and Court of Aldermen
Within their barge, which, thro' the deep,
The Rowers more than half aſleep,
Mov'd ſlow, as over-charg'd with State;
THAMES groan'd beneath the mighty weight,
And felt that bawble heavier far
Than a whole fleet of men of war.
SLEEP o'er each well-known faithful head,
With lib'ral hand his Poppies ſhed,
Each head, by DULLNESS rend'red fit
SLEEP and his Empire to admit.
Thro' the whole paſſage not a word,
Not one faint, weak, half ſound was heard;
SLEEP had prevail'd to overwhelm
The Steerſman nodding o'er the helm;
The Rower, without force or ſkill,
Left the dull Barge to drive at will;
[173]The ſluggiſh Oars ſuſpended hung,
And even BEARDMORE held his tongue.
COMMERCE, regardful of a freight,
On which depended half her State,
Stepp'd to the helm, with ready hand
She ſafely clear'd that bank of Sand,
Where, ſtranded, our Weſt-Country Fleet
Delay and Danger often meet;
Till NEPTUNE, anxious for the trade,
Comes in full tides, and brings them aid;
Next (for the Muſes can ſurvey
Objects by Night as well as day,
Nothing prevents their taking aim,
Darkneſs and Light to them the ſame)
They paſt that building, which of old
Queen-Mothers was deſign'd to hold,
At preſent a mere lodging-pen,
A Palace turn'd into a den,
To Barracks turn'd, and Soldiers tread
Where Dowagers have laid their head;
Why ſhould we mention Surrey-Street,
Where ev'ry week grave Judges meet,
All fitted out with hum and ha,
In proper form to drawl out Law,
[174]To ſee all cauſes duly tried
'Twixt Knaves who drive, and Fools who ride?
Why at the Temple ſhould we ſtay?
What of the Temple dare we ſay?
A dang'rous ground we tread on there,
And words perhaps may actions bear,
Where, as the Breth'ren of the ſeas
For fares, the Lawyers ply for fees.
What of that Bridge, moſt wiſely made
To ſerve the purpoſes of trade,
In the great Mart of all this Nation,
By ſtopping up the Navigation,
And to that Sand-bank adding weight,
Which is already much too great?—
What of that Bridge, which, void of Senſe,
But well ſupplied with impudence,
Engliſhmen, knowing not the Guild,
Thought they might have a claim to build,
Till PATERSON, as white as milk,
As ſmooth as oil, as ſoft as ſilk,
In ſolemn manner had decreed,
That, on the other ſide the TWEED,
ART, born and bred, and fully grown,
Was with one MYLNE, a man unknown,
[175]But grace, preferment, and renown
Deſerving, juſt arriv'd in town;
One MYLNE, an Artiſt perfect quite,
Both in his own, and country's right,
As fit to make a bridge, as He,
With glorious Patavinity,
To build inſcriptions, worthy found
To lie for ever under ground.
Much more, worth obſervation too,
Was this a ſeaſon to purſue
The theme, Our Muſe might tell in rhime;
The Will She hath, but not the time;
For, ſwift as ſhaft from Indian bow,
(And when a Goddeſs comes, we know,
Surpaſſing Nature acts prevail,
And boats want neither oar, nor ſail)
The Veſſel paſt, and reach'd the ſhore
So quick, that Thought was ſcarce before.
Suppoſe we now our City-Court
Safely deliver'd at the port,
And, of their State regardleſs quite,
Landed, like ſmuggled goods, by night;
[176]The ſolemn Magiſtrate laid down,
The dignity of robe and gown
With ev'ry other enſign gone;
Suppoſe the woollen Night-Cap on;
The Fleſh-bruſh us'd with decent ſtate
To make the Spirits circulate,
(A form, which to the Senſes true,
The liq'riſh Chaplain uſes too,
Tho', ſomething to improve the plan,
He takes the Maid inſtead of Man)
Swath'd, and with flannel cover'd o'er
To ſhew the vigour of threeſcore,
The vigour of threeſcore and ten
Above the proof of younger men,
Suppoſe the mighty DULLMAN led
Betwixt two ſlaves, and put to bed;
Suppoſe, the moment he lies down,
No miracle in this great town,
The Drone as faſt aſleep, as He
Muſt in the courſe of Nature be,
Who, truth for our foundation take,
When up, is never half awake.
[177]
There let him ſleep, whilſt we ſurvey
The preparations for the day,
That day, on which was to be ſhewn
Court-Pride by City-Pride outdone.
The jealous Mother ſends away,
As only fit for childiſh play,
That Daughter, who, to gall her pride,
Shoots up too forward by her ſide.
The Wretch, of God and man accurs'd,
Of all Hell's inſtruments the worſt,
Draws forth his pawns, and for the day
Struts in ſome Spendthrift's vain array;
Around his aukward doxy ſhine
The treaſures of GOLCONDA's mine,
Each Neighbour, with a jealous glare,
Beholds her folly publiſh'd there.
Garments, well-ſav'd (an anecdote
Which we can prove, or would not quote)
Garments well-ſav'd, which firſt were made,
When Taylors, to promote their trade,
[178]Againſt the Picts in arms aroſe,
And drove them out, or made them cloaths;
Garments, immortal, without end,
Like Names, and Titles, which deſcend
Succeſſively from Sire to Son;
Garments, unleſs ſome work is done
Of Note, not ſuffer'd to appear
'Bove once at moſt in ev'ry year,
Were now, in ſolemn form, laid bare
To take the benefit of air,
And, ere they came to be employ'd
On this Solemnity, to void
That ſcent, which RUSSIA's leather gave,
From vile and impious Moth to ſave.
Each head was buſy, and each heart
In preparation bore a part.
Running together all about
The Servants put each other out,
Till the grave Maſter had decreed,
The more haſte, ever the worſt ſpeed;
Miſs, with her little eyes half-clos'd,
Over a ſmuggled toilet dos'd,
[179]The Waiting-Maid, whom Story notes
A very Scrub in petticoats,
Hir'd for one Work, but doing all,
In ſlumbers lean'd againſt the wall;
Milliners, ſummon'd from afar,
Arriv'd in ſhoals at Temple-bar,
Strictly commanded to import
Cart-loads of foppery from Court;
With labour'd viſible deſign
ART ſtrove to be ſuperbly fine,
NATURE, more pleaſing, tho' more wild,
Taught otherwiſe her darling child,
And cried, with ſpirited diſdain,
Be H—— elegant and plain.
Lo! from the chambers of the Eaſt,
A welcome prelude to the feaſt,
In ſaffron-colour'd robe array'd,
High in a Car by VULCAN made,
Who work'd for JOVE himſelf, each Steed
High-mettled, of celeſtial breed,
Pawing and Pacing all the way,
AURORA brought the wiſh'd-for day,
[180]And held her empire, till outrun
By that brave jolly groom the SUN.
The Trumpet—hark! it ſpeaks—It ſwells
The loud full harmony, It tells
The time at hand, when DULLMAN, led
By form, his Citizens muſt head,
And march thoſe troops, which at his call
Were now aſſembled, to Guild-Hall,
On matters of importance great
To Court and City, Church and State.
From end to end the ſound makes way,
All hear the Signal and obey,
But DULLMAN, who, his charge forgot,
By MORPHEUS fetter'd, heard it not;
Nor could, ſo ſound he ſlept and faſt,
Hear any Trumpet, but the laſt.
CRAPE, ever true and truſty known,
Stole from the Maid's bed to his own,
Then, in the Spirituals of pride,
Planted himſelf at DULLMAN's ſide.
[181] Thrice did the ever-faithful Slave,
With voice which might have reach'd the grave,
And broke death's adamantine chain,
On DULLMAN call, but call'd in vain;
Thrice with an arm, which might have made
The THEBAN Boxer curſe his trade,
The drone he ſhook, who rear'd the head,
And thrice fell backward on his bed.
What could be done? where force hath fail'd,
Policy often hath prevail'd,
And what, an inference moſt plain,
Had been, CRAPE thought might be again.
Under his pillow (ſtill in mind
The Proverb kept, faſt bind, faſt find)
Each bleſſed night the keys were laid,
Which CRAPE to draw away aſſay'd.
What not the pow'r of voice or arm
Could do, this did, and broke the charm;
Quick ſtarted He with ſtupid ſtare,
For all his little Soul was there.
Behold him, taken up, rubb'd down,
In Elbow-Chair, and Morning-Gown;
[182]Behold him, in his latter bloom,
Stripp'd, waſh'd, and ſprinkled with perfume;
Behold him bending with the weight
Of Robes, and trumpery of State;
Behold him (for the Maxim's true,
Whate'er we by another do,
We do ourſelves, and Chaplain paid,
Like ſlaves, in ev'ry other trade,
Had mutter'd over God knows what,
Something which he by heart had got)
Having, as uſual, ſaid his pray'rs,
Go titter, totter, to the ſtairs;
Behold him for deſcent prepare,
With one foot trembling in the air;
He ſtarts, he pauſes on the brink,
And, hard to credit, ſeems to think;
Thro' his whole train (the Chaplain gave
The proper cue to ev'ry ſlave)
At once, as with infection caught,
Each ſtarted, paus'd, and aim'd at thought;
He turns, and they turn; big with care,
He waddles to his Elbow-Chair,
Squats down, and, ſilent for a ſeaſon,
At laſt with CRAPE begins to reaſon;
[183]But firſt of all he made a ſign
That ev'ry ſoul, but the Divine,
Should quit the room; in him, he knows,
He may all confidence repoſe.
CRAPE—tho' I'm yet not quite awake—
Before this awful ſtep I take,
On which my future all depends,
I ought to know my foes and friends.
By foes and friends, obſerve me ſtill,
I mean not thoſe who well, or ill
Perhaps may wiſh me, but thoſe who
Have't in their pow'r to do it too.
Now if, attentive to the State,
In too much hurry to be great,
Or thro' much zeal, a motive, CRAPE,
Deſerving praiſe, into a ſcrape
I, like a Fool, am got, no doubt,
I, like a Wiſe Man, ſhould get out.
Not that, remark without replies,
I ſay that to get out is wiſe,
Or, by the very ſelf-ſame rule
That to get in was like a Fool;
[184]The marrow of this argument
Muſt wholly reſt on the event,
And therefore, which is really hard,
Againſt events too I muſt guard.
Should things continue as they ſtand,
And BUTE prevail thro' all the land
Without a rival, by his aid,
My fortunes in a trice are made;
Nay, Honours on my zeal may ſmile,
And ſtamp me Earl of ſome great Iſle;
But if, a matter of much doubt,
The preſent Miniſter goes out,
Fain would I know on what pretext
I can ſtand fairly with the next?
For as my aim at ev'ry hour
Is to be well with thoſe in pow'r,
And my material point of view,
Whoever's in, to be in too,
I ſhould not, like a blockhead, chuſe
To gain theſe ſo as thoſe to loſe;
'Tis good in ev'ry caſe, You know,
To have two ſtrings unto our bow.
[185]
As one in wonder loſt, CRAPE view'd
His Lord, who thus his ſpeech purſued.
This, my good CRAPE, is my grand point,
And, as the times are out of joint,
The greater caution is requir'd
To bring about the point deſir'd.
What I would wiſh to bring about
Cannot admit a moment's doubt,
The matter in diſpute, You know,
Is what we call the quomodo.
That be thy taſk—The Rev'rend Slave,
Becoming in a moment grave,
Fixt to the ground, and rooted ſtood,
Juſt like a man cut out of wood,
Such as we ſee (without the leaſt
Reflexion glancing on the Prieſt)
One or more, planted up and down,
Almoſt in ev'ry Church in town;
He ſtood ſome minutes, then, like one
Who wiſh'd the matter might be done,
But could not do it, ſhook his head,
And thus the man of Sorrow ſaid:
[186]
Hard is this taſk, too hard I ſwear,
By much too hard for me to bear,
Beyond expreſſion hard my part,
Could mighty DULLMAN ſee my heart,
When He, alas! makes known a will,
Which CRAPE's not able to fulfil.
Was ever my obedience barr'd
By any trifling nice regard
To Senſe and Honour? could I reach
Thy meaning without help of ſpeech,
At the firſt motion of thy eye
Did not thy faithful creature fly?
Have I not ſaid, not what I ought,
But what my earthly Maſter taught?
Did I e'er weigh, thro' duty ſtrong,
In thy great biddings, right and wrong?
Did ever Int'reſt, to whom Thou
Can'ſt not with more devotion bow,
Warp my ſound faith, or will of mine
In contradiction run to thine?
Have I not, at thy table plac'd,
When buſineſs call'd aloud for haſte,
Torn myſelf thence, yet never heard
To utter one complaining word,
[187]And had, till thy great work was done,
All appetites, as having none?
Hard is it, this great plan purſu'd
Of Voluntary ſervitude,
Purſued, without or ſhame or fear,
Thro' the great circle of the Year,
Now to receive, in this grand hour,
Commands which lie beyond my pow'r,
Commands which baffle all my ſkill,
And leave me nothing but my will:
Be that accepted; let my Lord
Indulgence to his ſlave afford;
This Taſk, for my poor ſtrength unfit,
Will yield to none but DULLMAN's wit.
With ſuch groſs incenſe gratified,
And turning up the lip of pride,
Poor CRAPE—and ſhook his empty head —
Poor puzzled CRAPE, wiſe DULLMAN ſaid,
Of judgment weak, of ſenſe confin'd,
For things of lower note deſign'd,
For things within the vulgar reach,
To run of errands, and to preach,
[188]Well haſt Thou judg'd, that heads like mine
Cannot want help from heads like thine;
Well haſt Thou judg'd thyſelf unmeet
Of ſuch high argument to treat;
'Twas but to try thee that I ſpoke,
And all I ſaid was but a joke.
Nor think a joke, CRAPE, a diſgrace
Or to my Perſon, or my place;
The wiſeſt of the Sons of Men
Have deign'd to uſe them now and then.
The only caution, do You ſee,
Demanded by our dignity,
From common uſe and men exempt,
Is that they may not breed contempt.
Great Uſe they have, when in the hands
Of One, like me, who underſtands,
Who underſtands the time, and place,
The perſons, manner, and the grace,
Which Fools neglect; ſo that we find,
If all the requiſites are join'd
From whence a perfect joke muſt ſpring,
A joke's a very ſerious thing.
[189]
But to our buſineſs — my deſign,
Which gave ſo rough a ſhock to thine,
To my Capacity is made
As ready as a fraud in trade,
Which, like Broad-Cloth, I can, with eaſe,
Cut out in any ſhape I pleaſe.
Some, in my circumſtance, ſome few,
Ay, and thoſe men of Genius too,
Good Men, who, without Love or Hate,
Whether they early riſe or late,
With names uncrack'd, and credit ſound,
Riſe worth a hundred thouſand pound,
By threadbare ways and means would try
To bear their point—ſo will not I.
New methods ſhall my wiſdom find
To ſuit theſe matters to my mind,
So that the Infidels at Court,
Who make our City Wits their ſport,
Shall hail the honours of my reign,
And own that DULLMAN bears a brain.
Some, in my place, to gain their ends,
Would give relations up, and friends;
[190]Would lend a wife, who, they might ſwear
Safely, was none the worſe for wear;
Would ſee a Daughter, yet a maid,
Into a Stateſman's arms betray'd,
Nay, ſhould the Girl prove coy, nor know
What Daughters to a Father owe,
Sooner than ſchemes ſo nobly plann'd
Should fail, themſelves would lend a hand;
Would vote on one ſide, whilſt a brother,
Properly taught, would vote on t'other;
Would ev'ry petty band forget;
To public eye be with one ſet,
In private with a ſecond herd,
And be by Proxy with a third;
Would (like a Queen, of whom I read
The other day—her name is fled —
In a book (where, together bound,
WHTTINGTON and his CAT I found,
A tale moſt true, and free from art,
Which all LORD-MAYORS ſhould have by heart)
A Queen (O might thoſe days begin
Afreſh when Queens would learn to ſpin)
Who wrought, and wrought, but, for ſome plot,
The cauſe of which I've now forgot,
[191]During the abſence of the Sun
Undid, what She by day had done)
Whilſt they a double viſage wear,
What's ſworn by Day, by Night unſwear.
Such be their Arts, and ſuch perchance
May happily their ends advance:
From a new ſyſtem mine ſhall ſpring,
A LOCUM-TENENS is the thing.
That's your true Plan—to obligate
The preſent Miniſters of State,
My Shadow ſhall our Court approach,
And bear my pow'r, and have my coach,
My fine State-Coach, ſuperb to view,
A fine State-Coach, and paid for too;
To curry favour, and the grace
Obtain, of thoſe who're out of place,
In the mean time I—that's to ſay—
I proper, I myſelf—here ſtay.
But hold—perhaps unto the Nation,
Who hate the Scot's adminiſtration,
To lend my Coach may ſeem to be
Declaring for the Miniſtry,
[192]For where the City-Coach is, there
Is the true eſſence of the MAYOR.
Therefore (for wiſe men are intent
Evils at diſtance to prevent,
Whilſt Fools the evils firſt endure,
And then are plagu'd to ſeek a cure)
No Coach— a Horſe—and free from fear
To make our Deputy appear,
Faſt on his back ſhall he be tied,
With two grooms marching by his ſide,
Then for a Horſe—thro' all the land,
To head our ſolemn City-band,
Can any one ſo fit be found,
As He, who in Artill'ry-ground,
Without a Rider, noble Sight,
Led on our braveſt troops to fight.
But firſt, CRAPE, for my Honour's ſake,
A tender point, enquiry make
About that Horſe, if the diſpute
Is ended, or is ſtill in ſuit.
For whilſt a cauſe (obſerve this plan
Of Juſtice) whether Horſe or Man
[193]The parties be, remains in doubt,
Till 'tis determin'd out and out,
That Pow'r muſt tyranny appear,
Which ſhould, Pre-judging, interfere,
And weak faint Judges over-awe
To biaſs the free courſe of Law.
You have my will—now quickly run,
And take care that my will be done.
In public, CRAPE, You muſt appear,
Whilſt I in privacy ſit here;
Here ſhall great DULLMAN ſit alone,
Making this Elbow-Chair my throne,
And, You performing what I bid,
Do all, as if I nothing did.
CRAPE heard, and ſpeeded on his way;
With him to hear was to obey;
Not without trouble be aſſur'd,
A proper Proxy was procur'd
To ſerve ſuch infamous intent,
And ſuch a Lord to repreſent,
Nor could one have been found at all
On t'other ſide of London-wall.
[194]
The trumpet ſounds—ſolemn and ſlow
Behold the grand Proceſſion go,
All moving on, Cat after kind,
As if for motion ne'er deſign'd.
Conſtables, whom the Laws admit
To keep the Peace by breaking it;
Beadles, who hold the ſecond place
By virtue of a ſilver mace,
Which ev'ry Saturday is drawn,
For uſe of Sunday, out of pawn;
Treaſurers, who with empty key
Secure an empty Treaſury;
Churchwardens, who their courſe purſue
In the ſame ſtate, as to their pew
Churchwardens of Saint Marg'ret go,
Since PEIRSON taught them pride and ſhow,
Who in ſhort tranſient pomp appear,
Like Almanacks chang'd ev'ry year,
Behind whom, with unbroken locks,
CHARITY carries the Poor's Box,
Not knowing that with private keys
They ope and ſhut it when they pleaſe,
[195] Overſeers, who by frauds enſure
The heavy curſes of the poor;
Unclean came flocking, Bulls and Bears,
Like Beaſts into the ark, by pairs.
Portentous flaming in the van
Stalk'd the Profeſſor SHERIDAN;
A Man of wire, a mere Pantine,
A downright animal Machine.
He knows alone in proper mode
How to take vengeance on an Ode,
And how to butcher AMMON's Son,
And poor Jack Dryden both in one.
On all occaſions next the Chair
He ſtands for ſervice of the MAYOR,
And to inſtruct him how to uſe
His A's, and B's, and P's, and Q's.
O'er Letters, into tatters worn,
O'er Syllables, defac'd and torn,
O'er Words disjointed, and o'er Senſe
Left deſtitute of all defence,
He ſtrides, and all the way he goes,
Wades, deep in blood, o'er Criſs-Croſs-Rows.
[196]Before him ev'ry Conſonant
In agonies is ſeen to pant;
Behind, in forms not to be known,
The Ghoſts of tortur'd Vowels groan.
Next HART and DUKE, well worthy grace
And City favour, came in place.
No Children can their toils engage,
Their toils are turn'd to Rev'rend Age.
When a Court-Dame, to grace his brows
Reſolv'd, is wed to City Spouſe,
Their aid with Madam's aid muſt join
The aukward Dotard to refine,
And teach, whence trueſt glory flows,
Grave Sixty to turn out his toes.
Each bore in hand a Kit, and each
To ſhew how fit he was to teach
A Cit, an Alderman, a Mayor,
Led in a ſtring a dancing Bear.
Since the revival of Fingal,
Cuſtom, and Cuſtom's all in all,
Commands that we ſhould have regard,
On all high ſeaſons, to the Bard.
[197]Great acts like theſe, by vulgar tongue
Profan'd, ſhould not be ſaid, but ſung.
This place to fill, renown'd in fame,
The high and mighty LOCKMAN came,
And, ne'er forgot in DULLMAN's reign,
With proper order to maintain
The Uniformity of Pride,
Brought Brother WHITEHEAD by his ſide.
On Horſe, who proudly paw'd the ground,
And caſt his fiery eyeballs round,
Snorting, and champing the rude bit,
As if, for warlike purpoſe fit,
His high and gen'rous blood diſdain'd
To be for ſports and paſtimes rein'd,
Great DYMOCK, in his glorious ſtation,
Paraded at the Coronation.
Not ſo our City DYMOCK came,
Heavy, diſpirited, and tame,
No mark of ſenſe, his eyes half-clos'd,
He on a mighty Dray-horſe doz'd.
Fate never could a horſe provide
So fit for ſuch a man to ride,
[198]Nor find a Man, with ſtricteſt care,
So fit for ſuch a horſe to bear.
Hung round with inſtruments of death,
The ſight of him would ſtop the breath
Of braggart Cowardice, and make
The very Court-Drawcanſir quake.
With Durks, which, in the hands of Spite,
Do their damn'd buſineſs in the Night,
From Scotland ſent, but here diſplay'd
Only to fill up the Parade;
With Swords, unfleſh'd, of maiden hue,
Which Rage or Valour never drew;
With Blunderbuſſes, taught to ride,
Like Pocket-Piſtols, by his ſide,
In girdle ſtuck, he ſeem'd to be
A little moving Armory.
One thing much wanting to complete
The ſight, and make a perfect treat,
Was that the Horſe (a Courteſy
In Horſes found of high degree)
Inſtead of going forward on,
All the way backward ſhould have gone.
Horſes, unleſs they breeding lack,
Some Scruple make to turn their back,
[199]Tho' Riders, which plain Truth declares,
No ſcruple make of Turning theirs.
Far, far apart from all the reſt,
Fit only for a ſtanding jeſt,
The independent (can you get
A better ſuited Epithet)
The independent AMYAND came,
All burning with the ſacred flame
Of Liberty, which well he knows
On the great ſtock of ſlav'ry grows.
Like Sparrow, who, depriv'd of Mate
Snatch'd by the cruel hand of Fate,
From ſpray to ſpray no more will hop,
But ſits alone on the Houſe-top,
Or like Himſelf, when all alone
At Croydon, he was heard to groan,
Lifting both hands in the defence
Of Intereſt, and Common-Senſe;
Both hands, for as no other man
Adopted and purſu'd his plan,
The Left-hand had been loneſome quite,
If He had not held up the right,
[200]Apart He came, and fix'd his eyes
With rapture on a diſtant prize,
On which in Letters worthy note,
There, TWENTY THOUSAND POUNDS, was wrote.
Falſe trap, for Credit ſapp'd is found
By getting twenty thouſand pound;
Nay, look not thus on Me, and ſtare,
Doubting the Certainty—to ſwear
In ſuch a caſe I ſhould be loth—
But PERRY CUST may take his oath.
In plain and decent garb array'd,
With the prim Quaker, FRAUD, came TRADE;
CONNIVANCE, to improve the plan,
Habited like a Jury-man,
Judging as Intereſt prevails,
Came next with meaſures, weights, and ſcales;
EXTORTION next, of helliſh race,
A Cub moſt damn'd, to ſhew his face
Forbid by fear, but not by ſhame,
Turn'd to a Jew, like — came;
CORRUPTION, MIDAS-like, behold
Turning whate'er She touch'd to gold,
[201]IMPOTENCE led by LUST, and PRIDE
Strutting with PONTON by her ſide,
HYPOCRISY, demure and ſad,
In garments of the Prieſthood clad,
So well diſguis'd, that You might ſwear,
Deceiv'd, a very Prieſt was there;
BANKRUPTCY, full of eaſe and health,
And wallowing in well-ſav'd wealth,
Came ſneering thro' a ruin'd band,
And bringing B—— in her hand;
VICTORY, hanging down her head,
Was by a highland Stallion led;
PEACE, cloath'd in ſables, with a face
Which witneſs'd ſenſe of huge diſgrace,
Which ſpake a deep and rooted ſhame
Both of Herſelf and of her Name,
Mourning creeps on, and bluſhing feels
WAR, grim WAR treading on her heels;
Pale CREDIT, ſhaken by the arts
Of men with bad heads and worſe hearts,
Taking no notice of a band
Which near her were ordain'd to ſtand,
Well nigh deſtroy'd by ſickly fit,
Look'd wiſtful all around for PITT.
[202]FREEDOM —at that moſt hallow'd name
My Spirits mount into a flame,
Each pulſe beats high, and each nerve ſtrains
E'en to the cracking; thro' my veins
The tides of life more rapid run,
And tell me I am FREEDOM's Son —
FREEDOM came next, but ſcarce was ſeen,
When the ſky, which appear'd ſerene
And gay before, was overcaſt;
Horror beſtrode a foreign blaſt,
And from the priſon of the North,
To FREEDOM deadly, Storms burſt forth.
A Car like thoſe, in which, we're told,
Our wild Forefathers warr'd of old,
Loaded with Death, ſix Horſes bear
Thro' the blank region of the air.
Too fierce for time or art to tame,
They pour'd forth mingled ſmoke and flame
From their wide Noſtrils; ev'ry Steed
Was of that ancient ſavage breed
Which fell GERYON nurs'd; their food
The fleſh of Man, their drink his blood.
[203]
On the firſt Horſes, ill-match'd pair,
This fat and ſleek, That lean and bare,
Came ill-match'd Riders ſide by ſide,
And POVERTY was yoak'd with PRIDE:
Union moſt ſtrange it muſt appear,
Till other Unions make it clear.
Next, in the gall of bitterneſs,
With rage, which words can ill expreſs,
With unforgiving rage, which ſprings
From a falſe zeal for holy things,
Wearing ſuch robes as Prophets wear,
Falſe Prophets plac'd in PETER's chair,
On which, in Characters of fire,
Shapes Antic, horrible and dire,
Inwoven flam'd, where, to the view,
In groups appear'd a rabble crew
Of Sainted Devils, where all round
Vile Reliques of vile men were found,
Who, worſe than Devils, from the birth
Perform'd the work of Hell on earth,
Jugglers, Inquiſitors, and Popes,
Pointing at axes, wheels, and ropes,
[204]And Engines, fram'd on horrid plan,
Which none but the deſtroyer, Man,
Could, to promote his ſelfiſh views,
Have heads to make, or hearts to uſe,
Bearing, to conſecrate her tricks,
In her left-hand a Crucifix,
Remembrance of Our dying Lord,
And in her right a two-edg'd ſword;
Having her brows, in impious ſport,
Adorn'd with words of high import,
On earth PEACE, amongſt men, GOOD WILL,
LOVE bearing, and forbearing ſtill,
All wrote in the hearts-blood of thoſe
Who rather Death than Falſhood choſe;
On her breaſt (where, in days of Yore,
When God lov'd Jews, the HIGH-PRIEST wore
Thoſe Oracles, which were decreed
T'inſtruct and guide the choſen ſeed)
Having, with glory clad and ſtrength,
The VIRGIN pictur'd at full length,
Whilſt at her feet, in ſmall pourtray'd,
As ſcarce worth notice, CHRIST was laid,
Came SUPERSTITION, fierce and fell,
An Imp deteſted, e'en in hell;
[205]Her Eye inflam'd, her face all o'er
Foully beſmear'd with human gore,
O'er heaps of mangled Saints She rode;
Faſt at her heels DEATH proudly ſtrode,
And grimly ſmil'd, well-pleas'd to ſee
Such havock of mortality.
Cloſe by her ſide, on miſchief bent,
And urging on each bad intent
To its full bearing, Savage, Wild,
The Mother fit of ſuch a child,
Striving the empire to advance
Of Sin and Death, came IGNORANCE.
With looks, where dread command was plac'd,
And Sov'reign Pow'r by Pride diſgrac'd,
Where, loudly witneſſing a mind
Of ſavage more than human kind,
Not chuſing to be lov'd, but fear'd,
Mocking at right, MISRULE appear'd,
With Eyeballs glaring fiery red
Enough to ſtrike beholders dead,
Gnaſhing his teeth, and in a flood
Pouring corruption forth and blood
[206]From his chaf'd jaws; without remorſe
Whipping, and ſpurring on his horſe,
Whoſe ſides, in their own blood embay'd,
E'en to the bone were open laid,
Came TYRANNY; diſdaining awe,
And trampling over Senſe and Law.
One thing and only one He knew,
One object only would purſue,
Tho' Leſs (ſo low doth Paſſion bring)
Than man, he would be more than King.
With ev'ry argument and art,
Which might corrupt the head and heart,
Soothing the frenzy of his mind,
Companion meet, was FLATT'RY join'd.
Winning his carriage, ev'ry look
Employ'd, whilſt it conceal'd a hook;
When ſimple moſt, moſt to be fear'd;
Moſt crafty, when no craft appear'd;
His tales, no man like him could tell;
His words, which melted as they fell,
Might e'en a Hypocrite deceive,
And make an infidel believe,
[207]Wantonly cheating o'er and o'er
Thoſe who had cheated been before:
Such FLATT'RY came in evil hour,
Pois'ning the royal ear of pow'r,
And, grown by Proſtitution great,
Would be firſt Miniſter of State.
Within the Chariot, all alone,
High ſeated on a kind of throne,
With pebbles grac'd, a Figure came,
Whom Juſtice would, but dare not, name.
Hard times when Juſtice, without fear,
Dare not bring forth to public ear
The names of thoſe, who dare offend
'Gainſt Juſtice, and pervert her end;
But, if the Muſe afford me grace,
Deſcription ſhall ſupply the place.
In foreign garments he was clad,
Sage Ermine o'er the gloſſy Plaid
Caſt rev'rend honour, on his heart,
Wrought by the curious hand of Art,
In ſilver wrought, and brighter far
Than heav'nly or than earthly Star,
[208]Shone a White Roſe, the Emblem dear
Of him He ever muſt revere,
Of that dread Lord, who, with his hoſt
Of faithful native rebels loſt,
Like thoſe black Spirits doom'd to hell,
At once from pow'r and virtue fell;
Around his clouded brows was plac'd
A Bonnet, moſt ſuperbly grac'd
With mighty Thiſtles, nor forgot
The ſacred motto, Touch me not.
In the right-hand a ſword He bore
Harder than Adamant, and more
Fatal than winds, which from the mouth
Of the rough North invade the South;
The reeking blade to view preſents
The blood of helpleſs Innocents,
And on the hilt, as meek become
As Lambs before the Shearers dumb,
With downcaſt eye, and ſolemn ſhow
Of deep unutterable woe,
Mourning the time when FREEDOM reign'd,
Faſt to a rock was Juſtice chain'd.
[209]
In his left-hand, in wax impreſt,
With bells and gewgaws idly dreſt,
An Image, caſt in baby mould,
He held, and ſeem'd o'erjoy'd to hold.
On this he fix'd his eyes, to this
Bowing he gave the loyal kiſs,
And, for Rebellion fully ripe,
Seem'd to deſire the ANTITYPE.
What if to that Pretender's foes
His greatneſs, nay, his life he owes,
Shall common obligations bind,
And ſhake his conſtancy of mind?
Scorning ſuch weak and petty chains,
Faithful to JAMES he ſtill remains,
Tho' he the friend of GEORGE appear:
Diſſimulation's Virtue here.
Jealous and Mean, he with a frown
Would awe, and keep all merit down,
Nor would to Truth and Juſtice bend,
Unleſs out-bullied by his friend;
Brave with the Coward, with the brave
He is himſelf a Coward ſlave;
[210]Aw'd by his fears, he has no heart
To take a great and open part;
Mines in a ſubtle train he ſprings,
And, ſecret, ſaps the ears of Kings;
But not e'en there continues firm
'Gainſt the reſiſtance of a worm;
Born in a Country, where the will
Of One is Law to all, he ſtill
Retain'd th' infection, with full aim
To ſpread it whereſoe'er he came;
Freedom he hated, Law defied,
The Proſtitute of Pow'r and Pride;
Law he with eaſe explains away,
And leads bewilder'd Senſe aſtray;
Much to the credit of his brain
Puzzles the cauſe he can't maintain,
Proceeds on moſt familiar grounds,
And, where he can't convince, confounds;
Talents of rareſt ſtamp and ſize,
To Nature falſe, he miſapplies,
And turns to poiſon what was ſent
For purpoſes of nouriſhment.
[211]
Paleneſs, not ſuch as on his wings
The Meſſenger of Sickneſs brings,
But ſuch as takes its coward riſe
From conſcious baſeneſs, conſcious vice,
O'erſpread his cheeks; Diſdain and Pride,
To upſtart Fortunes ever tied,
Scowl'd on his brow; within his eye,
Inſidious, lurking like a ſpy
To Caution principled by Fear,
Not daring open to appear,
Lodg'd covert Miſchief; Paſſion hung
On his lip quiv'ring; on his tongue
Fraud dwelt at large; within his breaſt
All that makes Villain found a neſt,
All that, on hell's completeſt plan,
E're join'd to damn the heart of man.
Soon as the Car reach'd land, He roſe,
And with a look which might have froze
The heart's beſt blood, which was enough
Had hearts been made of ſterner ſtuff
In Cities than elſewhere, to make
The very ſtouteſt quail, and quake,
[212]He caſt his baleful eyes around;
Fix'd without motion to the ground,
Fear waiting on ſurprize, All ſtood,
And Horror chill'd their curdled blood.
No more they thought of Pomp, no more
(For they had ſeen his face before)
Of Law they thought; the cauſe forgot,
Whether it was or Ghoſt, or Plot,
Which drew them there, They All ſtood more
Like Statues than they were before.
What could be done? Could Art, could Force,
Or Both direct a proper courſe
To make this ſavage Monſter tame,
Or ſend him back the way he came?
What neither Art, nor Force, nor Both
Could do, a Lord of foreign growth,
A Lord to that baſe wretch allied
In Country, not in Vice and Pride,
Effected; from the ſelf-ſame land,
(Bad news for our blaſpheming band
Of Scribblers, but deſerving note)
The Poiſon came, and Antidote.
[213]Abaſh'd the Monſter hung his head,
And, like an empty Viſion, fled;
His Train, like Virgin Snows which run,
Kiſs'd by the burning bawdy Sun,
To loveſick ſtreams, diſſolv'd in Air;
JOY, who from abſence ſeem'd more fair,
Came ſmiling, freed from ſlaviſh awe;
LOYALTY, LIBERTY, and LAW,
Impatient of the galling chain,
And Yoke of pow'r, reſum'd their reign;
And, burning with the glorious flame
Of Public Virtue, MANSFIELD came.
FINIS.