THE GHOST. BOOK III.
[]IT WAS THE HOUR, when Huſwife Morn
With Pearl and Linnen hangs each thorn;
When happy Bards, who can regale
Their Muſe with Country air and ale,
Ramble afield, to Brooks and Bow'rs,
To pick up Sentiments and Flow'rs;
When Dogs and Squires from kennel fly,
And Hogs and Farmers quit their ſtye;
When my Lord riſes to the Chace,
And brawny Chaplain takes his place.
THESE Images, or bad or good,
If they are rightly underſtood,
[58] Sagacious Readers muſt allow
Proclaim us in the Country now.
For Obſervations moſtly riſe
From Objects juſt before our eyes,
And ev'ry Lord in Critic Wit
Can tell you where the piece was writ,
Can point out, as he goes along,
(And who ſhall dare to ſay he's wrong)
Whether the warmth (for Bards, we know,
At preſent never more than glow)
Was in the Town or Country caught,
By the peculiar turn of thought.
IT WAS THE HOUR—tho' Critics frown
We now declare ourſelves in Town,
Nor will a moment's pauſe allow
For finding when he came, or how.
The Man who deals in humble Proſe,
Tied down by rule and method goes,
But they who court the vig'rous Muſe
Their carriage have a right to chuſe.
Free as the Air, and unconfin'd,
Swift as the motions of the Mind,
[59]The POET darts from place to place,
And inſtant bounds o'er Time and Space.
Nature (whilſt blended fire and ſkill
Inflame our paſſions to his will)
Smiles at her violated Laws,
And crowns his daring with applauſe.
SHOULD there be ſtill ſome rigid few
Who keep propriety in view,
Whoſe heads turn round, and cannot bear
This whirling paſſage thro' the Air,
Free leave have ſuch at home to ſit,
And write a Regimen for Wit:
To clip our Pinions let them try,
Not having heart themſelves to fly.
IT WAS THE HOUR, when Devotees
Breathe pious curſes on their knees,
When they with pray'rs the day begin
To ſanctify a Night of Sin;
When Rogues of Modeſty, who roam
Under the veil of Night, ſneak home,
That free from all reſtraint and awe,
Juſt to the windward of the Law,
[60]Leſs modeſt Rogues their tricks may play
And plunder in the face of day.
BUT hold—whilſt thus we play the fool,
In bold contempt of ev'ry rule,
Things of no conſequence expreſſing,
Deſcribing now, and now digreſſing,
To the diſcredit of our ſkill
The main concern is ſtanding ſtill.
IN Plays indeed, when ſtorms of rage
Tempeſtuous in the Soul engage,
Or when the Spirits weak and low,
Are ſunk in deep diſtreſs and woe,
With ſtrict Propriety we hear
DESCRIPTION ſtealing on the ear,
And put off feeling half an hour
To thatch a cot, or paint a flow'r;
But in theſe ſerious works, deſign'd
To mend the morals of Mankind,
We muſt for ever be diſgrac'd
With ev'ry nicer ſon of Taſte,
If once, the Shadow to purſue,
We let the Subſtance out of view.
[61] Our means muſt uniformly tend
In due proportion to their end,
And ev'ry paſſage aptly join
To bring about the one deſign.
Our Friends themſelves cannot admit
This rambling, wild, digreſſive Wit,
No—not thoſe very Friends, who found
Their Credit on the ſelf-ſame ground.
PEACE, my good grumbling Sir—for once,
Sunk in the ſolemn, formal Dunce,
This Coxcomb ſhall your fears beguile—
We will be dull—that you may ſmile.
COME METHOD, come in all thy pride,
DULLNESS and WHITEHEAD by thy ſide,
DULLNESS and METHOD ſtill are one,
And WHITEHEAD is their darling Son.
Not HE, whoſe pen above controul
Struck terror to the guilty Soul,
Made Folly tremble thro' her ſtate,
And Villains bluſh at being Great;
But HE, who in the Laureat Chair,
By Grace, not Merit planted there,
[62]In aukward pomp is ſeen to ſit,
And by his Patent proves his Wit;
(For favours of the Great we know,
Can Wit as well as rank beſtow,
And they who without one pretenſion,
Can get for Fools a place or penſion,
Muſt able be ſuppos'd of courſe
(If reaſon is allow'd due force)
To give ſuch qualities and grace,
As may equip them for the place.)
BUT HE—who meaſures, as he goes,
A mongril kind of tinkling proſe,
And is too frugal to diſpenſe
At once both Poetry and Senſe,
Who, from amidſt his ſlumb'ring guards,
Deals out a Charge to Subject Bards,
Where Couplets after Couplets creep
Propitious to the reign of ſleep,
Yet ev'ry word imprints an awe,
And all his dictates paſs for law,
With BEAUX, who ſimper all around,
And BELLES, who die in ev'ry ſound.
[63](For in all things of this relation,
Men moſtly judge from ſituation,
Nor in a thouſand find we one,
Who really weighs what's ſaid or done.
They deal out Cenſure, or give Credit,
Merely from him who did or ſaid it.)
BUT HE—who, happily ſerene,
Means nothing, yet would ſeem to mean;
Who rules and cautions can diſpenſe
With all that humble inſolence,
Which Impudence in vain would teach,
And none but modeſt men can reach;
Who adds to SENTIMENTS the grace
Of always being out of place,
And drawls out MORALS with an air
A Gentleman would bluſh to wear;
Who on the chaſteſt, ſimpleſt plan,
As Chaſte as ſimple as the Man,
Without or Character, or Plot,
NATURE unknown, and ART forgot,
Can with much racking of the brains,
And years conſum'd in letter'd pains,
[64]An heap of words together lay,
And ſmirking call the thing a Play;
Who, Champion ſworn in Virtue's cauſe,
'Gainſt Vice his tiny bodkin draws,
But, to no part of Prudence ſtranger,
Firſt blunts the point for fear of danger.
So Nurſes ſage, as Caution works,
When Children firſt uſe knives and forks,
For fear of miſchief, it is known,
To others fingers, or their own,
To take the edge off wiſely chuſe,
Tho' the ſame ſtroke takes off the uſe.
THEE, WHITEHEAD, Thee I now invoke,
Sworn foe to Satyr's gen'rous ſtroke,
Which makes unwilling Conſcience feel,
And wounds, but only wounds to heal.
Good-natur'd, eaſy Creature, mild,
And gentle as a new-born Child,
Thy heart would never once admit
E'en wholeſome rigour to thy Wit,
Thy head, if Conſcience ſhould comply,
Its kind aſſiſtance would deny,
[65]And lend thee neither force, nor art,
To drive it onward to the heart.
O may thy ſacred pow'r controul
Each fiercer working of my ſoul,
Damp ev'ry ſpark of genuine fire,
And languors, like thine own, inſpire,
Trite be each Thought, and ev'ry Line
As Moral, and as Dull as THINE.
POIS'D in mid-air—(it matters not
To aſcertain the very ſpot,
Nor yet to give you a relation
How it eluded Gravitation—)
Hung a Watch-Tow'r—by VULCAN plan'd
With ſuch rare ſkill by JOVE's Command,
That ev'ry word, which whiſper'd here
Scarce vibrates to the neighbour ear,
On the ſtill boſom of the Air
Is borne, and heard diſtinctly there,
The Palace of an antient Dame,
Whom Men as well as Gods call FAME.
A prattling Goſſip, on whoſe tongue
Proof of perpetual motion's hung,
[66]Whoſe lungs in ſtrength all lungs ſurpaſs,
Like her own Trumpet made of braſs,
Who with an hundred pair of eyes
The vain attacks of ſleep defies,
Who with an hundred pair of wings
News from the fartheſt quarters brings,
Sees, hears, and tells, untold before,
All that ſhe knows, and ten times more.
NOT all the Virtues, which we find
Concenter'd in a HUNTER's mind,
Can make her ſpare the ranc'rous tale,
If in one point ſhe chance to fail;
Or if, once in a thouſand years,
A perfect Character appears,
Such as of late with joy and pride
My Soul poſſeſs'd, e're A— died,
Or ſuch as, Envy muſt allow,
The World enjoys in H— now,
This Hag, who aims at all alike,
At Virtues e'en like theirs will ſtrike,
And make faults, in the way of trade,
When ſhe can't find them ready made.
[67]
ALL things ſhe takes in, ſmall and great,
Talks of a Toy-ſhop and a State,
Of Wits and Fools, of Saints and Kings,
Of Garters, Stars, and Leading-Strings,
Of Old Lords fumbling for a Clap,
And Young Ones full of Pray'r and Pap,
Of Courts, of Morals, and Tye-Wigs,
Of Bears, and Serjeants dancing jigs,
Of Grave Profeſſors at the Bar
Learning to thrum on the Guittar,
Whilſt Laws are ſlubber'd o'er in haſte,
And Judgment ſacrific'd to TASTE,
Of whited Sepulchres, Lawn Sleeves,
And GOD's houſe made a den of thieves,
Of Fun'ral pomps, where Clamours hung,
And fix'd diſgrace on ev'ry tongue,
Whilſt SENSE and ORDER bluſh'd to ſee
Nobles without HUMANITY;
Of Coronations, where each heart
With honeſt raptures bore a part,
Of City Feaſts, where ELEGANCE
Was proud her Colours to advance,
And GLUTTONY, uncommon caſe,
Could only get the ſecond place,
[68]Of New-rais'd Pillars in the State,
Who muſt be good as being great,
Of Shoulders, on which HONOURS ſit
Almoſt as clumſily as Wit;
Of doughty Knights, whom titles pleaſe,
But not the payment of the Fees,
Of Lectures, whither ev'ry Fool
In ſecond child-hood goes to ſchool,
Of grey Beards deaf to Reaſon's call,
From Inn of Court, or City Hall,
Whom youthful Appetites enſlave,
With one Foot fairly in the grave,
By help of Crutch, a needful Brother,
Learning of HART to dance with t'other,
Of Doctors regularly bred
To fill the manſions of the dead,
Of Quacks (for Quacks they muſt be ſtill
Who ſave when FORMS require to kill)
Who life, and health, and vigour give
To HIM, not one would wiſh to live,
Of Artiſts, who with nobleſt view
Diſintereſted plans purſue,
For trembling worth the ladder raiſe,
And mark out the aſcent to praiſe,
[69]Of Arts and Sciences, where meet
Sublime, Profound, and all compleat,
A SET (whom at ſome fitter time
The MUSE ſhall conſecrate in Rhime)
Who humble ARTISTS to out do
A far more lib'ral plan purſue,
And let their well-judg'd PREMIUMS fall
On Thoſe, who have no worth at all,
Of Sign-Poſt Exhibitions, rais'd
For laughter, more than to be prais'd,
(Tho' by the way we cannot ſee
Why Praiſe and Laughter mayn't agree)
Where genuine HUMOUR runs to waſte,
And juſtly chides our want of Taſte,
Cenſur'd, like other things, tho' good,
Becauſe they are not underſtood.
To higher ſubjects now SHE ſoars,
And talks of Politics and Whores,
(If to your nice and chaſter ears
That Term indelicate appears,
SCRIPTURE politely ſhall refine,
And melt It into Concubine)
[70]In the ſame breath ſpreads BOURBON's league,
And publiſhes the Grand Intrigue,
In BRUSSELS or our own GAZETTE,
Makes armies fight which never met,
And circulates the Pox or Plague
To LONDON, by the way of HAGUE,
For all the lies which there appear,
Stamp'd with Authority come here;
Borrows as freely from the gabble
Of ſome rude leader of a rabble,
Or from the quaint harangues of thoſe
Who lead a Nation by the Noſe,
As from thoſe ſtorms which, void of Art,
Burſt from our honeſt PATRIOT's heart,
When ELOQUENCE and VIRTUE (late
Remark'd to live in mutual hate)
Fond of each other's Friendſhip grown,
Claim ev'ry ſentence for their own,
And with an equal joy recites
Parade Amours, and half-pay Fights,
Perform'd by Heroes of fair Weather,
Merely by dint of Lace and Feather,
As thoſe rare acts, which HONOUR taught
Our daring Sons where GRANBY fought,
[71]Or thoſe which, with ſuperior ſkill,
— — atchiev'd by ſtanding ſtill.
THIS HAG (the curious if they pleaſe
May ſearch from earlieſt Times to theſe,
And POETS they will always ſee,
With Gods and Goddeſſes make free,
Treating them all, except the MUSE,
As ſcarcely fit to wipe their ſhoes)
Who had beheld, from firſt to laſt,
How our TRIUMVIRATE had paſs'd
Night's dreadful interval, and heard
With ſtrict attention ev'ry word,
Soon as ſhe ſaw return of light
On ſounding pinions took her flight.
SWIFT thro' the regions of the ſky,
Above the reach of human eye,
Onward ſhe drove the furious blaſt,
And rapid as a whirlwind paſt,
O'er Countries, once the ſeats of Taſte,
By Time and Ignorance laid waſte,
O'er lands, where former ages ſaw
Reaſon and Truth the only Law,
[72]Where Arts and Arms, and Public Love
In gen'rous emulation ſtrove,
Where Kings were proud of legal ſway,
And Subjects happy to obey,
Tho' now in ſlav'ry ſunk, and broke
To Superſtition's galling yoke,
Of Arts, of Arms, no more they tell,
Or Freedom which with Science fell.
By Tyrants aw'd, who never find
The Paſſage to their people's mind,
To whom the joy was never known
Of planting in the heart their throne,
Far from all proſpect of relief
Their hours in fruitleſs pray'rs and grief,
For loſs of bleſſings they employ,
Which WE unthankfully enjoy.
Now is the time (had we the will)
T'amaze the Readers with our ſkill,
To pour out ſuch a flood of knowledge
As might ſuffice for a whole College,
Whilſt with a true Poetic force
We trac'd the Goddeſs in her courſe,
[73] Sweetly deſcribing in our flight,
Each Common and Uncommon Sight,
Making our journal gay and pleaſant,
With things long paſt, and things now preſent.
Rivers—once NYMPHS—(a Transformation
Is mighty pretty in Relation)
From great Authorities we know
Will matter for a Tale beſtow.
To make the obſervation clear
We give our Friends an inſtance here.
THE DAY (that never is forgot)
Was very fine, but very hot;
The NYMPH (another gen'ral rule)
Enflam'd with heat, laid down to cool;
Her Hair (we no exceptions find)
Wav'd careleſs floating in the wind;
Her heaving breaſts, like Summer ſeas,
Seem'd am'rous of the playful breeze;
Should fond DESCRIPTION tune our lays
In choiceſt accents to her praiſe,
DESCRIPTION we at laſt ſhould find
Baffled and weak would halt behind.
[74]NATURE had form'd her to inſpire
In ev'ry boſom ſoft deſire,
Paſſions to raiſe ſhe could not feel,
Wounds to inflict ſhe would not heal.
A GOD (his name is no great matter,
Perhaps a JOVE, perhaps a SATYR)
Raging with Luſt, a GODLIKE flame,
By Chance, as uſual, thither came:
With gloting eyes the Fair one view'd,
Deſir'd her firſt, and then purſu'd;
She (for what other can ſhe do)
Muſt fly — or how can He purſue?
The Muſe (ſo Cuſtom hath decreed)
Now proves her Spirit by her ſpeed,
Nor muſt one limping line diſgrace
The life and vigour of the Race.
SHE RUNS, AND HE RUNS, 'till at length
Quite deſtitute of Breath and ſtrength,
To Heav'n (for there we all apply
For help, when there's no other nigh)
She offers up her Virgin Pray'r,
(Can Virgins pray unpitied there)
And when the God thinks He has caught her,
Slips thro' his hands, and runs to water,
[75]Becomes a Stream, in which the POET,
If He has any Wit, may ſhew it.
A City once for Pow'r renown'd,
Now levell'd even to the ground,
Beyond all doubt is a direction
To introduce ſome fine reflexion.
Ah, woeful me! Ah, woeful Man!
Ah! woeful All, do all we can!
Who can on earthly things depend
From one to t'other moment's end?
HONOUR, WIT, GENIUS, WEALTH, and GLORY,
Good lack! good lack! are tranſitory,
Nothing is ſure and ſtable found,
The very Earth itſelf turns round.
Monarchs, nay MINISTERS muſt die,
Muſt rot, muſt ſtink—Ah, me! ah, why!
Cities themſelves in Time decay,
If Cities thus—Ah, well-a-day!
If Brick and Mortar have an end,
On what can Fleſh and Blood depend?
Ah woeful me! Ah woeful Man!
Ah, woeful All, do All we can.
[76]
ENGLAND (for that's at laſt the Scene,
Tho' Worlds on Worlds ſhould riſe between,
Whither we muſt our courſe purſue)
ENGLAND ſhould call into review
Times long ſince paſt indeed, but not
By ENGLISHMEN to be forgot,
Tho' ENGLAND, once ſo dear to Fame,
Sinks in GREAT BRITAIN's dearer name.
HERE could we mention Chiefs of old,
In plain and rugged honour bold,
To Virtue kind, to Vice ſevere,
Strangers to Bribery and Fear,
Who kept no wretched Clans in awe,
Who never broke, or warp'd the Law,
Patriots, whom in her better days
Old Rome might have been proud to raiſe,
Who, ſteddy to their Country's claim,
Boldly ſtood up in Freedom's name,
E'en to the teeth of Tyrant Pride,
And, when they could no more, THEY DIED.
THERE (ſtriking contraſt) might we place
A ſervile, mean, degen'rate race,
[77] Hirelings, who valued nought but gold,
By the beſt Bidder bought and ſold,
Truants from Honour's ſacred Laws,
Betrayers of their Country's cauſe,
The Dupes of Party, Tools of Pow'r,
Slaves to the Minion of an Hour,
Lacquies, who watch'd a Favorite's nod,
And took a Puppet for their God.
SINCERE and honeſt in our Rimes
How might we praiſe theſe happier times!
How might the Muſe exalt her lays,
And wanton in a Monarch's praiſe,
Tell of a Prince in ENGLAND born,
Whoſe Virtues ENGLAND's crown adorn,
In Youth a pattern unto age,
So chaſte, ſo Pious, and ſo Sage,
Who, true to all thoſe ſacred bands
Which private happineſs demands,
Yet never let's them riſe above
The ſtronger ties of Public Love.
WITH conſcious Pride ſee ENGLAND ſtand,
Our holy Charter in her hand,
[78]She waves it round, and o'er the Iſle
See Liberty and Courage ſmile.
No more ſhe mourns her treaſures hurl'd
In Subſidies to all the world,
No more by foreign threats diſmay'd,
No more deceiv'd with foreign aid,
She deals out Sums to petty States,
Whom Honour ſcorns, and Reaſon hates,
But, wiſer by Experience grown,
Finds ſafety in herſelf alone.
WHILST thus, ſhe cries, my children ſtand,
An honeſt, valiant, native band,
A train'd MILITIA, brave and free,
True to their KING, and true to ME,
No foreign Hirelings ſhall be known,
Nor need we Hirelings of our own.
Under a juſt and pious reign
The Stateſman's ſophiſtry is vain,
Vain is each vile corrupt pretence,
Theſe are my natural defence,
Their Faith I know, and they ſhall prove,
The Bulwark of the KING they Love.
[79]
THESE, and a thouſand things beſide,
Did we conſult a Poet's Pride,
Some gay, ſome ſerious, might be ſaid,
But ten to one they'd not be read,
Or were they by ſome curious few
Not even thoſe would think them true.
For, from the time that JUBAL firſt
Sweet ditties to the harp rehears'd,
Poets have always been ſuſpected
Of having Truth in Rhime neglected,
That Bard except, who, from his Youth
Equally fam'd for Faith and Truth,
By Prudence taught in courtly chime,
To Courtly ears brought Truth in Rhime.
BUT tho' to Poets we allow,
No matter when acquir'd or how,
From Truth unbounded deviation,
Which cuſtom calls Imagination,
Yet can't they be ſuppos'd to lie
One half ſo faſt as FAME can fly.
Therefore (to ſolve this Gordian knot,
A point we almoſt had forgot)
[80]To courteous Readers be it known
That fond of verſe and falſhood grown,
Whilſt we in ſweet digreſſion ſung,
FAME check'd her flight, and held her tongue,
And now purſues with double force,
And double ſpeed her deſtin'd courſe,
Nor ſtops, 'till She the place arrives
Where GENIUS ſtarves, and DULLNESS thrives,
Where Riches Virtue are eſteem'd,
And Craft is trueſt Wiſdom deem'd,
Where COMMERCE proudly rears her throne
In ſtate to other Lands unknown,
Where to be cheated and to cheat
Strangers from ev'ry quarter meet,
Where CHRISTIANS, JEWS, and TURKS ſhake hands,
United in Commercial bands,
All of one Faith, and that to own
No GOD but INTEREST alone.
WHEN Gods and Goddeſſes come down
To look about them here in Town,
(For Change of Air is underſtood,
By Sons of Phyſic, to be good,
[81]In due proportions now and then
For theſe ſame Gods as well as Men)
By Cuſtom rul'd, and not a Poet
So very dull, but he muſt know it,
In order to remain incog,
They always travel in a fog.
For if we Majeſty expoſe
To vulgar eyes, too cheap it grows,
The force is loſt, and free from awe,
We ſpy and cenſure ev'ry flaw.
But well preſerv'd from public view,
It always breaks forth freſh and new,
Fierce as the Sun in all his pride
It ſhines, and not a ſpot's deſcried.
WAS JOVE to lay his thunder by,
And with his brethren of the ſky
Deſcend to earth, and friſk about,
Like chatt'ring N * * *, from rout to rout,
He would be found with all his hoſt,
A nine days Wonder at the moſt.
Would we in trim our Honours wear,
We muſt preſerve them from the air;
What is familiar, Men neglect,
However worthy of reſpect.
[82]Did they not find a certain friend
In Novelty to recommend,
(Such we by ſad experience find
The wretched folly of mankind)
VENUS might unattractive ſhine,
And H * * * fix no eyes but mine.
BUT FAME, who never car'd a jot
Whether ſhe was admir'd or not,
And never bluſh'd to ſhew her face
At any time in any place,
In her own ſhape, without diſguiſe,
And viſible to mortal eyes,
On CHANGE, exact at ſeven o'clock,
Alighted on the Weather-Cock,
Which, planted there time out of mind
To note the changes of the wind,
Might no improper emblem be
Of her own mutability.
THRICE did She ſound her TRUMP (the ſame
Which from the firſt belong'd to FAME,
An old ill-favour'd Inſtrument
With which the Goddeſs was content,
[83]Tho' under a politer race
Bag-pipes might well ſupply its place)
And thrice, awaken'd by the ſound,
A gen'ral din prevail'd around,
CONFUSION thro' the City paſt,
And FEAR beſtrode the dreadful blaſt.
THOSE fragrant Currents, which we meet
Diſtilling ſoft thro' ev'ry ſtreet,
Affrighted from the uſual courſe
Ran murm'ring upwards to their ſource;
Statues wept tears of blood, as faſt
As when a CAESAR breath'd his laſt;
Horſes, which always us'd to go,
A foot-pace in my Lord-Mayor's Shew,
Impetuous from their Stable broke,
And ALDERMEN, and OXEN ſpoke.
HALLS felt the force, Tow'rs ſhook around,
And Steeples nodded to the ground,
ST. PAUL himſelf (ſtrange ſight) was ſeen
To bow as humbly as the Dean.
The Manſion-Houſe, for ever plac'd
A Monument of City Taſte,
[84]Trembl'd, and ſeem'd aloud to groan
Thro' all that hideous weight of ſtone.
To ſtill the ſound, or ſtop her ears,
Remove the cauſe or ſenſe of fears,
PHYSIC, in College ſeated high,
Would any thing but Med'cine try.
No more in PEWT'RER's-HALL was heard
The proper force of ev'ry word,
Thoſe ſeats were deſolate become,
And hapleſs ELOCUTION dumb.
FORM, City-born, and City-bred,
By ſtrict Decorum ever led,
Who threeſcore years had known the grace
Of one, dull, ſtiff, unvaried pace;
TERROR prevailing over PRIDE,
Was ſeen to take a larger ſtride;
Worn to the bone, and cloath'd in rags,
See AV'RICE cloſer hug his bags;
With her own weight unwieldy grown,
See CREDIT totter on her Throne;
VIRTUE alone, had She been there,
The mighty ſound unmov'd could bear.
[85]
UP from the gorgeous bed, where Fate
Dooms annual Fools to ſleep in ſtate,
To ſleep ſo ſound that not one gleam
Of Fancy can provoke a dream,
Great DULLMAN ſtarted at the ſound,
Gap'd, rub'd his eyes, and ſtar'd around.
Much did he wiſh to know, much fear
Whence ſounds ſo horrid ſtruck his ear,
So much unlike thoſe peaceful notes,
That equal harmony which floats
On the dull wing of City air,
Grave prelude to a feaſt or fair;
Much did he inly ruminate
Concerning the decrees of Fate,
Revolving, tho' to little end,
What this ſame trumpet might portend.
COULD the FRENCH—no—that could not be
Under BUTE's active miniſtry,
Too watchful to be ſo deceiv'd,
Have ſtolen hither unperceiv'd,
To NEWFOUNDLAND indeed we know,
Fleets of war unobſerv'd may go,
[86]Or, if obſerv'd, may be ſuppos'd,
At intervals when Reaſon doz'd,
No other point in view to bear
But Pleaſure, Health, and Change of Air.
But Reaſon ne'er could ſleep ſo ſound
To let an enemy be found
In our Land's heart, e're it was known
They had departed from their own.
OR could his Succeſſor (Ambition
Is ever haunted with ſuſpicion)
His daring Succeſſor elect
All Cuſtoms, rules, and forms reject,
And aim, regardleſs of the crime,
To ſeize the chair before his time;
OR (deeming this the lucky hour,
Seeing his Countrymen in pow'r,
Thoſe Countrymen, who from the firſt
In tumults and Rebellion nurs'd,
Howe'er they wear the maſk of art,
Still love a STUART in their heart)
Could SCOTTISH CHARLES — Conjecture thus,
That mental IGNIS FATUUS,
[87]Led his poor brains a weary dance
From FRANCE to ENGLAND, hence to FRANCE,
Till INFORMATION, (in the ſhape
Of Chaplain learned, good SIR CRAPE,
A lazy, lounging, pamper'd Prieſt,
Well known at ev'ry City feaſt,
For he was ſeen much oft'ner there
Than in the Houſe of God at Pray'r;
Who, always ready in his place,
Ne'er let God's creatures wait for grace,
Tho', as the beſt Hiſtorians write,
Leſs fam'd for Faith than Appetite,
His diſpoſition to reveal,
The Grace was ſhort, and long the meal;
Who always would exceſs admit,
If Haunch or Turtle came with it,
And ne'er engag'd in the defence
Of ſelf-denying Abſtinence,
When he could fortunately meet
With any thing he lik'd to eat;
Who knew that Wine, on Scripture plan,
Was made to cheer the heart of Man,
Knew too, by long experience taught,
That Chearfulneſs was kill'd by thought,
[88]And, from thoſe premiſſes collected,
(Which few perhaps would have ſuſpected)
That none, who with due ſhare of ſenſe
Obſerv'd the ways of Providence,
Could with ſafe Conſcience leave off drinking,
Till they had loſt the pow'r of thinking)
With eyes half-clos'd came waddling in,
And, having ſtrok'd his double chin,
(That Chin, whoſe credit to maintain
Againſt the Scoffs of the profane
Had coſt him more, than ever State
Paid for a poor Electorate,
Which, after all the coſt and rout,
It had been better much without)
Briefly (for Breakfaſt, you muſt know,
Was waiting all the while below)
Related, bowing to the ground,
The cauſe of that uncommon ſound,
Related too, that at the door
POMPOSO, PLAUSIBLE, and M—E,
Begg'd that FAME might not be allow'd,
Their ſhame to publiſh to the croud,
That ſome new laws he would provide,
(If Old could not be miſapplied
[89]With as much eaſe and ſafety there,
As they are miſapplied elſewhere)
By which it might be conſtrued treaſon
In Man to exerciſe his reaſon;
Which might ingeniouſly deviſe
One puniſhment for Truth and Lies,
And fairly prove, when they had done,
That Truth and Falſhood were but one;
Which JURIES muſt indeed retain,
But their effect ſhould render vain,
Making all real pow'r to reſt
In one corrupted rotten breaſt,
By whoſe falſe gloſs the very BIBLE
Might be interpreted a Libel.
M * * *, (who, his Reverence to ſave,
Pleaded the Fool to ſcreen the Knave,
Tho' all, who witneſſed on his part,
Swore for his head againſt his heart)
Had taken down from firſt to laſt
A juſt account of all that paſt;
But, ſince the gracious will of Fate,
Who mark'd the Child for wealth and ſtate
[90]E'en in his Cradle, had decreed
The mighty DULLMAN ne'er ſhould read,
That office of diſgrace to bear
The ſmooth-lip'd PLAUSIBLE was there.
From H * * * * * e'en to CLERKENWELL
Who knows not ſmooth-lip'd PLAUSIBLE?
A Preacher deem'd of greateſt note,
For Preaching that which others wrote.
HAD DULLMAN now (and Fools we ſee
Seldom want Curioſity)
Conſented (but the mourning ſhade
Of GASCOIGNE haſt'ned to his aid,
And in his hand, what could he more,
Triumphant CANNING's Picture bore)
That our three Heroes ſhould advance
And read their Comical Romance,
How rich a feaſt, what royal fare
We for our Readers might prepare!
So rich, and yet ſo ſafe a feaſt,
That no one foreign blatant beaſt,
Within the purlieus of the Law,
Should dare thereon to lay his paw,
[91]And, growling, cry with ſurly tone,
Keep off—this feaſt is all my own.
BENDING to earth the downcaſt eye,
Or planting it againſt the ſky,
As One immers'd in deepeſt Thought,
Or with ſome holy Viſion caught,
His Hands, to aid the traitor's art,
Devoutly folded o'er his heart,
Here M * * * *, in fraud well ſkill'd, ſhould go
All Saint, with ſolemn ſtep and ſlow.
O that RELIGION's ſacred name,
Meant to inſpire the pureſt flame,
A Proſtitute ſhould ever be
To that Arch-fiend HYPOCRISY,
Where we find ev'ry other vice
Crown'd with damn'd ſneaking Cowardice;
Bold Sin reclaim'd is often ſeen;
Paſt hope that Man, who dares be mean.
THERE, full of fleſh, and full of Grace,
With that fine round unmeaning face,
Which NATURE gives to ſons of earth,
Whom ſhe deſigns for eaſe and mirth,
[92]Should the prim PLAUSIBLE be ſeen;
Obſerve his ſtiff affected mein,
'Gainſt NATURE arm'd by GRAVITY
His features too in buckle ſee,
See, with what Sanctity he reads,
With what Devotion tells his beads!
Now Prophet, ſhew me by thine art
What's the Religion of his heart:
Shew there, if Truth thou can'ſt unfold,
Religion center'd all in Gold,
Shew Him, nor fear Correction's rod,
As falſe to Friendſhip, as to GOD.
HORRID, unweildy, without Form,
Savage, as OCEAN in a Storm,
Of ſize prodigious, in the rear,
That Poſt of Honour, ſhould appear
POMPOSO; Fame around ſhould tell
How he a ſlave to int'reſt fell,
How, for Integrity renown'd,
Which Bookſellers have often found,
He for Subſcribers baits his hook,
And takes their caſh—but where's the Book?
[93]No matter where—Wiſe Fear, we know,
Forbids the robbing of a Foe,
But what, to ſerve our private ends
Forbids the cheating of our Friends?
No Man alive, who would not ſwear
All's ſafe, and therefore honeſt there.
For, ſpite of all the learned ſay,
If we to Truth attention pay,
The word Diſhoneſty is meant
For nothing elſe but Puniſhment.
Fame too ſhould tell, nor heed the threat
Of Rogues, who Brother Rogues abet,
Nor tremble at the terrors hung
Aloft, to make her hold her tongue,
How, to all Principles untrue,
Nor fix'd to old Friends, nor to New,
He damns the Penſion which he takes,
And loves the STUART he forſakes.
NATURE (who juſtly regular
Is very ſeldom known to err,
But now and then in ſportive mood,
As ſome rude wits have underſtood,
Or through much work requir'd in haſte,
Is with a random ſtroke diſgrac'd)
[94]POMPOSO form'd on doubtful plan,
Not quite a Beaſt, nor quite a Man,
Like—God knows what—for never yet
Could the moſt ſubtle human Wit,
Find out a Monſter, which might be
The Shadow of a Simile.
THESE THREE, THESE GREAT, THESE MIGHTY THREE,
Nor can the Poet's Truth agree,
Howe'er Report hath done him wrong,
And warp'd the purpoſe of his ſong,
Amongſt the refuſe of their race,
The Sons of Infamy, to place
That open, gen'rous, manly mind,
Which we with joy in ALDRICH find.
THESE THREE, who now are faintly ſhewn,
Juſt ſketch'd, and ſcarcely to be known,
If DULLMAN their Requeſt had heard,
In ſtronger Colours had appear'd,
And Friends, tho' partial, at firſt view,
Shudd'ring, had own'd the picture true.
BUT had their Journal been diſplay'd,
And the whole proceſs open laid,
[95]What a vaſt, unexhauſted field
For Mirth, muſt ſuch a Journal yield!
In her own anger ſtrongly charm'd,
'Gainſt Hope, 'gainſt Fear by Conſcience arm'd,
Then had bold SATIRE made her way,
Knights, Lords, and Dukes her deſtin'd prey.
BUT PRUDENCE, ever ſacred name
To thoſe who feel not VIRTUE's flame,
Or only feel it at the beſt
As the dull dupe of Intereſt,
Whiſper'd aloud (for this we find
A Cuſtom current with Mankind,
So loud to Whiſper, that each word
May all around be plainly heard,
And Prudence ſure would never miſs
A Cuſtom ſo contriv'd as this
Her Candour to ſecure, yet aim
Sure Death againſt another's fame)
Knights, Lords, and Dukes—mad wretch, forbear,
Dangers unthought of ambuſh there;
Confine thy rage to weaker ſlaves,
Laugh at ſmall Fools, and laſh ſmall Knaves,
[96]But never, helpleſs, mean, and poor,
Ruſh on, where Laws cannot ſecure,
Nor think thyſelf, miſtaken Youth,
Secure in Principles of Truth.
Truth! why, ſhall ev'ry wretch of Letters
Dare to ſpeak Truth againſt his Betters?
Let ragged VIRTUE ſtand aloof,
Nor mutter accents of reproof;
Let ragged WIT a Mute become,
When Wealth and Pow'r would have her dumb.
For who the Devil doth not know,
That Titles and Eſtates beſtow
An ample ſtock, where're they fall,
Of Graces which we mental call.
Beggars in ev'ry age and nation,
Are Rogues and Fools by Situation,
The Rich and Great are underſtood,
To be of Courſe both wiſe and good.
Conſult then Int'reſt more than Pride,
Diſcreetly take the ſtronger ſide,
Deſert in Time the ſimple few,
Who Virtue's barren path purſue,
Adopt my maxims—follow Me—
To BAAL bow the prudent knee;
[97]Deny thy God, betray thy Friend,
At BAAL's altars hourly bend,
So ſhalt Thou rich and great be ſeen;
To be Great now, You muſt be mean.
HENCE, Tempter, to ſome weaker Soul,
Which Fear and Intereſt controul,
Vainly thy precepts are addreſs'd
Where VIRTUE ſteels the ſteady breaſt.
Through Meanneſs wade to boaſted pow'r,
Through Guilt repeated ev'ry hour,
What is thy Gain, when all is done,
What mighty Laurels haſt Thou won?
Dull Crouds, to whom the heart's unknown,
Praiſe Thee for Virtues not thine own;
But will, at once Man's ſcourge and friend,
Impartial CONSCIENCE too commend?
From her reproaches can'ſt Thou fly?
Can'ſt Thou with worlds her ſilence buy?
Believe it not—her ſtings ſhall find
A Paſſage to thy Coward Mind,
There ſhall ſhe fix her ſharpeſt dart,
There ſhew Thee truly, as Thou art,
[98]Unknown to thoſe, by whom Thou'rt priz'd;
Known to Thyſelf, to be deſpis'd.
THE Man, who weds the ſacred MUSE,
Diſdains all mercenary views,
And He, who VIRTUE's throne would rear,
Laughs at the Phantoms rais'd by Fear.
Tho' Folly, rob'd in Purple, ſhines,
Tho' Vice exhauſts Peruvian mines,
Yet ſhall they tremble, and turn pale,
When SATIRE wields her mighty Flail;
Or ſhould They, of rebuke afraid,
With M * * * * ſeek Hell's deepeſt ſhade,
SATIRE, ſtill mindful of her aim,
Shall bring the Cowards back to Shame.
HATED by many, lov'd by few,
Above each little private view,
Honeſt, tho' poor, and who ſhall dare
To diſappoint my boaſting there?
Hardy and reſolute, tho' weak,
The dictates of my heart to ſpeak,
Willing I bend at SATIRE's Throne;
What Pow'r I have, be all her own.
[99]
NOR ſhall yon Lawyer's ſpecious art,
Conſcious of a corrupted heart,
Create imaginary Fear
To damp us in our bold Career.
Why ſhould we Fear, and what? the Laws?
They all are arm'd in VIRTUE's cauſe.
And, aiming at the ſelf-ſame end,
SATIRE is always VIRTUE's Friend.
Nor ſhall that Muſe, whoſe honeſt rage,
In a corrupt degen'rate age,
(When, dead to ev'ry nicer ſenſe,
Deep ſunk in Vice and Indolence,
The Spirit of old ROME was broke
Beneath the Tyrant Fidler's yoke)
Baniſh'd the Roſe from NERO's cheek;
Under a BRUNSWICK fear to ſpeak.
DRAWN by Conceit from REASON's plan,
How vain is that poor Creature, MAN!
How pleas'd is ev'ry paultry elf
To prate about that thing himſelf!
After my Promiſe made in Rhime,
And meant in earneſt at that time,
[100]To jog, according to the Mode,
In one dull pace, in one dull road,
What but that Curſe of Heart and Head
To this digreſſion could have led,
Where plung'd, in vain I look about,
And can't ſtay in, nor well get out.
COULD I, whilſt Humor held the Quill,
Could I digreſs with half that ſkill,
Could I with half that ſkill return,
Which we ſo much admire in STERNE,
Where each Digreſſion, ſeeming vain,
And only fit to entertain,
Is found on better recollection,
To have a juſt and nice Connection,
To help the whole with wond'rous art,
Whence it ſeems idly to depart,
Then ſhould our Readers ne'er accuſe
Theſe wild excurſions of the Muſe,
Ne'er backward turn dull Pages o'er
To recollect what went before;
Deeply impreſs'd, and ever new
Each Image paſt ſhould ſtart to view,
[101]And We to DULLMAN now come in,
As if we ne'er had abſent been.
HAVE you not ſeen, when danger's near,
The coward cheek turn white with fear?
Have you not ſeen, when danger's fled,
The ſelf-ſame cheek with joy turn red?
Theſe are low ſymptoms which we find
Fit only for a vulgar mind,
Where honeſt features, void of art,
Betray the feelings of the heart;
Our DULLMAN with a face was bleſs'd
Where no one paſſion was expreſs'd,
His eye, in a fine ſtupor caught,
Imply'd a plenteous lack of thought,
Nor was one line that whole face ſeen in,
Which could be juſtly charg'd with meaning.
TO AVARICE by birth ally'd,
Debauch'd by Marriage into Pride,
In age grown fond of youthful ſports,
Of Pomps, of Vanities, and Courts,
And by ſucceſs too mighty made,
To love his Country, or his Trade,
[102]Stiff in opinion, (no rare caſe
With Blockheads in, or out of Place)
Too weak, and inſolent of Soul,
To ſuffer Reaſon's juſt controul,
But bending of his own accord
To that trim tranſient toy, MY LORD,
The dupe of SCOTS (a fatal race,
Whom GOD in wrath contriv'd to place,
To ſcourge our crimes, and gall our pride,
A conſtant thorn in ENGLAND's ſide,
Whom firſt, our greatneſs to oppoſe,
He in his vengeance mark'd for foes,
Then, more to ſerve his wrathful ends,
And more to curſe us, mark'd for Friends)
Deep in the ſtate, if we give credit
To Him, for no one elſe e're ſaid it,
Sworn friend of great Ones not a few,
Tho' he their Titles only knew,
And thoſe (which envious of his breeding
Book-worms have charg'd to want of reading)
Merely to ſhew himſelf polite
He never would pronounce aright;
An Orator with whom a hoſt
Of thoſe which ROME and ATHENS boaſt
[103]In all their Pride might not contend,
Who, with no Pow'rs to recommend,
Whilſt JACKY HUME, and BILLY WHITEHEAD,
And DICKY GLOVER ſat delighted,
Could ſpeak whole days in Nature's ſpite,
Juſt as thoſe able Verſe-men write.
Great DULLMAN from his bed aroſe—
Thrice did he ſpit—thrice wip'd his noſe—
Thrice ſtrove to ſmile—thrice ſtrove to frown—
And thrice look'd up—and thrice look'd down—
Then Silence broke—CRAPE, who am I?
CRAPE bow'd, and ſmil'd an arch reply,
Am I not, CRAPE? I am, you know,
Above all thoſe who are below?
Have I not knowledge? and for Wit,
Money will always purchaſe it,
Nor, if it needful ſhould be found,
Will I grudge ten, or twenty Pound,
For which the whole ſtock may be bought
Of ſcoundrel wits not worth a Groat.
But leaſt I ſhould proceed too far,
I'll feel my Friend the Miniſter,
(Great Men, CRAPE, muſt not be neglected)
How he in this point is affected,
[104]For, as I ſtand a magiſtrate
To ſerve him firſt, and next the State,
Perhaps He may not think it fit
To let his magiſtrates have wit.
BOAST I not, at this very hour,
Thoſe large effects which troop with pow'r?
Am I not mighty in the land?
Do not I ſit, whilſt others ſtand?
Am I not, with rich garments grac'd,
In ſeat of honour always plac'd,
And do not Cits of chief degree,
Tho' proud to others, bend to me?
HAVE I not, as a JUSTICE ought,
The laws ſuch wholeſome rigor taught,
That Fornication in diſgrace
Is now afraid to ſhew her face,
And not one Whore theſe walls approaches
Unleſs They ride in our own coaches?
And ſhall this FAME, an old poor Strumpet,
Without our Licence ſound her Trumpet,
And, envious of our City's quiet,
In broad Day-light blow up a Riot,
[105]If inſolence like this we bear,
Where is our State? our office where?
Farewell all honours of our reign,
Farewell the Neck-enobling CHAIN,
Freedom's known badge o'er all the globe,
Farewell the ſolemn-ſpreading ROBE,
Farewell the SWORD,—farewell the MACE,
Farewell all TITLE, POMP, and PLACE.
Remov'd from Men of high degree,
(A loſs to them, CRAPE, not to Me)
Baniſh'd to CHIPPENHAM, or to FROME,
DULLMAN once more ſhall ply the Loom.
CRAPE, lifting up his hands and eyes,
DULLMAN—the Loom—at CHIPPENHAM—cries,
If there be Pow'rs which greatneſs love,
Which rule below, but dwell above,
Thoſe Pow'rs united all ſhall join
To contradict the raſh deſign.
SOONER ſhall ſtubborn WILL lay down
His oppoſition with his Gown,
Sooner ſhall TEMPLE leave the road
Which leads to VIRTUE's mean abode,
[106]Sooner ſhall SCOTS this Country quit,
And ENGLAND's Foes be Friends to PITT,
Than DULLMAN, from his grandeur thrown,
Shall wander out-caſt, and unknown.
SURE as that Cane (a Cane there ſtood
Near to a Table, made of Wood,
Of dry fine Wood a Table made
By ſome rare artiſt in the trade,
Who had enjoy'd immortal praiſe
If he had liv'd in HOMER's days.)
Sure as that Cane, which once was ſeen
In pride of life all freſh and green,
The banks of INDUS to adorn;
Then, of its leafy honours ſhorn,
According to exacteſt rule,
Was faſhion'd by the workman's tool,
And which at preſent we behold
Curiouſly poliſh'd, crown'd with gold,
With gold well-wrought, ſure as that Cane
Shall never on its native plain
Strike root afreſh, ſhall never more
Flouriſh on Tawny INDIA's ſhore,
So ſure ſhall DULLMAN and his race
To lateſt times this ſtation grace.
[107]
DULLMAN, who all this while had kept
His eye-lids clos'd as if He ſlept,
Now, looking ſtedfaſtly on CRAPE,
As at ſome God in human ſhape—
CRAPE, I proteſt, you ſeem to me
To have diſcharg'd a Prophecy,
Yes—from the firſt it doth appear,
Planted by FATE, the DULLMANS here
Have always held a quiet reign,
And here ſhall to the laſt remain.
CRAPE, they're all wrong about this Ghoſt—
Quite on the wrong ſide of the Poſt—
Blockheads, to take it in their head
To be a meſſage from the dead,
For that by Miſſion they deſign,
A word not half ſo good as mine.
CRAPE—here it is—ſtart not one doubt—
A Plot—a Plot—I've found it out.
O GOD!—cries CRAPE,—how bleſt the nation
Where one Son boaſts ſuch penetration.
[108]
CRAPE, I've not time to tell you now
When I diſcover'd this, or how;
To STENTOR go—if he's not there,
His place let Bully NORTON bear—
Our Citizens to Council call—
Let All meet—'tis the cauſe of All.
Let the three Witneſſes attend
With Allegations to befriend,
To ſwear juſt ſo much and no more
As We inſtruct them in before.
STAY—CRAPE—come back—what, don't you ſee
Th' effects of this diſcovery?
DULLMAN all care and toil endures—
The Profit, CRAPE, will all be Yours.
A Mitre, (for, this arduous taſk
Perform'd, they'll grant whate'er I aſk)
A Mitre (and perhaps the beſt)
Shall thro' my Intereſt make thee bleſt.
And at this time, when gracious FATE
Dooms to the Scot the reins of State,
Who is more fit (and for your uſe
We could ſome inſtances produce)
[109]Of ENGLAND's Church to be the Head
Than You, a Preſbyterian bred.
But when thus mighty you are made,
Unlike the Brethren of thy trade,
Be grateful, CRAPE, and let Me not,
Like Old NEWCASTLE, be forgot.
BUT an Affair, CRAPE, of this ſize
Will aſk from Conduct vaſt ſupplies;
It muſt not, as the Vulgar ſay,
Be done in Hugger Mugger way.
Traitors indeed (and that's diſcreet)
Who hatch the Plot, in private meet;
They ſhould in Public go, no doubt,
Whoſe buſineſs is to find it out.
TO-MORROW—if the day appear
Likely to turn out fair and clear—
Proclaim a Grand Proceſſionade—
Be all the City Pomp diſplay'd,
Let the Train-bands — CRAPE ſhook his head—
They heard the Trumpet, and were fled—
Well—cries the Knight—if that's the caſe,
My Servants ſhall ſupply their place—
[110] My Servants—mine alone—no more
Than what my Servants did before—
Doſt not remember, CRAPE, that day,
When, DULLMAN's grandeur to diſplay,
As all too ſimple, and too low,
Our City Friends were thruſt below,
Whilſt, as more worthy of our Love,
Courtiers were entertain'd above?
Tell me, who waited then? and how?
My Servants—mine—and why not now?
In haſte then, CRAPE, to STENTOR go—
But ſend up HART who waits below,
With him, 'till You return again
(Reach me my Spectacles and Cane)
I'll make a proof how I advance in
My new accompliſhment of dancing.
NOT quite ſo faſt as Lightning flies,
Wing'd with red anger, thro' the ſkies;
Not quite ſo faſt as, ſent by JOVE,
IRIS deſcends on wings of Love;
Not quite ſo faſt as TERROR rides
When He the chaſing winds beſtrides;
[111]CRAPE Hobbled—but his mind was good—
Cou'd he go faſter than He cou'd?
NEAR to that Tow'r, which, as we're told,
The mighty JULIUS rais'd of old,
Where, to the Block by Juſtice led,
The Rebel SCOT hath often bled,
Where Arms are kept ſo clean, ſo bright,
'Twere Sin they ſhould be ſoil'd in fight,
Where Brutes of foreign race are ſhewn
By Brutes much greater of our own,
Faſt by the crouded Thames, is found
An ample ſquare of ſacred ground,
Where artleſs Eloquence preſides,
And Nature ev'ry ſentence guides.
HERE Female Parliaments debate
About Religion, Trade, and State,
Here ev'ry NAIAD's Patriot ſoul,
Diſdaining Foreign baſe controul,
Deſpiſing French, deſpiſing Erſe,
Pours forth the plain Old Engliſh Curſe,
And bears aloft, with terrors hung,
The Honours of the Vulgar Tongue.
[112]
HERE, STENTOR, always heard with awe,
In thund'ring accents deals out Law.
Twelve Furlongs off each dreadful word
Was plainly and diſtinctly heard,
And ev'ry neighbour hill around
Return'd and ſwell'd the mighty ſound.
The loudeſt Virgin of the ſtream
Compar'd with him, would ſilent ſeem;
THAMES (who, enrag'd to find his courſe,
Oppos'd, rolls down with double force,
Againſt the Bridge indignant roars,
And laſhes the reſounding ſhores)
Compar'd with him, at loweſt Tide
In ſofteſt whiſpers ſeem to glide.
HITHER directed by the noiſe,
Swell'd with the hope of future joys,
Thro' too much zeal and haſte made lame,
The Rev'rend ſlave of DULLMAN came.
STENTOR—with ſuch a ſerious air,
With ſuch a face of ſolemn care,
As might import him to contain
A Nation's welfare in his brain—
[113]STENTOR—cries CRAPE—I'm hither ſent
On buſineſs of moſt high intent,
Great DULLMAN's orders to convey;
DULLMAN commands, and I obey.
Big with thoſe throes which Patriots feel,
And lab'ring for the common weal,
Some ſecret, which forbids him reſt,
Tumbles and Toſſes in his breaſt,
Tumbles and Toſſes to get free;
And thus the Chief commands by Me:
TO-MORROW—if the Day appear
Likely to turn out fair and clear—
Proclaim a Grand Proceſſionade—
Be all the City Pomp diſplay'd—
Our Citizens to Council call—
Let All meet—'tis the Cauſe of All.
END OF THE THIRD BOOK.