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 through the night, And Beauty panting with delight; 1000 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[263] door; Precaution trudging all about To see the candles safely out, Bearing a mighty master-key, Habited like Economy, 1010 Stamping each lock with triple seals; Mean Avarice creeping at her heels. Suppose we too, like sheep in pen, The Mayor and Court of Aldermen Within their barge, which through the deep, The rowers more than half asleep, Moved slow, as overcharged with state; Thames groan'd beneath the mighty weight, And felt that bauble heavier far Than a whole fleet of men of war. 1020 Sleep o'er each well-known faithful head With liberal hand his poppies shed; Each head, by Dulness render'd fit Sleep and his empire to admit. Through 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 rowers, without force or skill, Left the dull barge to drive at will; 1030 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. 1040 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 pass'd that building[264] 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. 1050 Why should we mention Surrey Street, Where every week grave judges meet All fitted out with hum and ha, In proper form to drawl out law, 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 dangerous ground we tread on there, And words perhaps may actions bear; 1060 Where, as the brethren of the seas For fares, the lawyers ply for fees. What of that Bridge,[265] 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, 1070 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, But grace, preferment, and renown Deserving, just arrived in town: 1080 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,[266] 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 rhyme: The will she hath, but not the time; 1090 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 pass'd, and reach'd the shore So quick, that Thought was scarce before. Suppose we now our City court Safely delivered at the port. And, of their state regardless quite, Landed, like smuggled goods, by night, 1100 The solemn magistrate laid down, The dignity of robe and gown, With every other ensign gone, Suppose the woollen nightcap on; The flesh-brush used, with decent state, To make the spirits circulate, (A form which, to the senses true, The lickerish chaplain uses too, Though, something to improve the plan, He takes the maid instead of man) 1110 Swathed, and with flannel cover'd o'er, To show the vigour of threescore, The vigour of threescore and ten, Above the proof of younger men, Suppose, the mighty Dulman 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, 1120 Who, truth for our foundation take, When up, is never half awake. There let him sleep, whilst we survey The preparations for the day; That day on which was to be shown 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. 1130 The wretch, of God and man accursed, Of all Hell's instruments the worst, Draws forth his pawns, and for the day Struts in some spendthrift's vain array; Around his awkward doxy shine The treasures of Golconda's mine; Each neighbour, with a jealous glare, Beholds her folly publish'd there. Garments well saved, (an anecdote Which we can prove, or would not quote) 1140 Garments well saved, which first were made When tailors, to promote their trade, Against the Picts in arms arose, And drove them out, or made them clothes; 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 every year, 1150 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, 1160 Till the grave master had decreed, The more haste ever the worse speed. Miss, with her little eyes half-closed, Over a smuggled toilette dosed; The waiting-maid, whom story notes A very Scrub in petticoats, Hired for one work, but doing all, In slumbers lean'd against the wall. Milliners, summon'd from afar, Arrived in shoals at Temple Bar, 1170 Strictly commanded to import Cart loads of foppery from Court; With labour'd visible design, Art strove to be superbly fine; Nature, more pleasing, though more wild, Taught otherwise her darling child, And cried, with spirited disdain, Be Hunter elegant and plain! Lo! from the chambers of the East, A welcome prelude to the feast, 1180 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, And held her empire, till out-run By that brave jolly groom, the Sun. The trumpet—hark! it speaks—it swells The loud full harmony; it tells 1190 The time at hand when Dulman, led By Form, his citizens must head, And march those troops, which at his call Were now assembled, to Guildhall, 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 Dulman, who, his charge forgot, By Morpheus fetter'd, heard it not; 1200 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 Dulman's side. Thrice did the ever-faithful slave, With voice which might have reach'd the grave, And broke Death's adamantine chain, On Dulman call, but call'd in vain. 1210 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') 1220 Each blessed night the keys were laid, Which Crape to draw away assay'd. What not the power 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; Behold him, in his latter bloom, Stripp'd, wash'd, and sprinkled with perfume; 1230 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 every other trade, Had mutter'd over God knows what, Something which he by heart had got) Having, as usual, said his prayers, Go titter, totter to the stairs: 1240 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; Through his whole train (the chaplain gave The proper cue to every slave) At once, as with infection caught, Each started, paused, and aim'd at thought; He turns, and they turn; big with care, He waddles to his elbow-chair, 1250 Squats down, and, silent for a season, At last with Crape begins to reason: But first of all he made a sign, That every soul, but the divine, Should quit the room; in him, he knows, He may all confidence repose. 'Crape—though 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. 1260 My 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 power to do it too. Now if, attentive to the state, In too much hurry to be great, Or through 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: 1270 Note 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. 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 through all the land 1280 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:[267] 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 every hour, Is to be well with those in power, 1290 And my material point of view, Whoever's in, to be in too, I should not, like a blockhead, choose To gain these, so as those to lose: 'Tis good in every case, you know, To have two strings unto our bow.' 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, 1300 The greater caution is required To bring about the point desired. 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 reverend slave, Becoming in a moment grave, Fix'd to the ground and rooted stood, Just like a man cut out out of wood, 1310 Such as we see (without the least Reflection glancing on the priest) One or more, planted up and down, Almost in every 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: 'Hard is this task, too hard I swear, By much too hard for me to bear; 1320 Beyond expression hard my part, Could mighty Dulman 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? 1330 Have I not said, not what I ought, But what my earthly master taught? Did I e'er weigh, through duty strong, In thy great biddings, right and wrong? Did ever Interest, to whom thou Canst not with more devotion bow, Warp my sound faith, or will of mine In contradiction run to thine? Have I not, at thy table placed, When business call'd aloud for haste, 1340 Torn myself thence, yet never heard To utter one complaining word, And had, till thy great work was done, All appetites, as having none? Hard is it, this great plan pursued Of voluntary servitude; Pursued without or shame, or fear, Through the great circle of the year, Now to receive, in this grand hour, Commands which lie beyond my power, 1350 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 Dulman'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 Dulman said, 1360 'Of judgment weak, of sense confined, For things of lower note design'd; For things within the vulgar reach, To run of errands, and to preach; Well hast thou judged, that heads like mine Cannot want help from heads like thine; Well hast thou judged thyself unmeet Of such high argument to treat; Twas but to try thee that I spoke, And all I said was but a joke. 1370 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, 1380 Who understands the time and place, The person, 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. 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; 1390 Which, like broad-cloth, I can, with ease, Cut out in any shape I please. Some, in my circumstance, some few, Aye, 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. 1400 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 Dulman bears a brain. Some, in my place, to gain their ends, Would give relations up, and friends; Would lend a wife, who, they might swear Safely, was none the worse for wear; 1410 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 every petty band forget; To public eye be with one set, 1420 In private with a second herd, And be by proxy with a third; Would, (like a queen,[268] of whom I read, The other day—her name is fled— In a book,—where, together bound, 'Whittington and his Cat' I found— A tale most true, and free from art, Which all Lord Mayors should have by heart; A queen oh!—might those days begin Afresh, when queens would learn to spin— 1430 Who wrought, and wrought, but for some plot, The cause of which I've now forgot, 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; Prom a new system mine shall spring, A locum tenens is the thing. 1440 That's your true plan. To obligate The present ministers of state, My shadow shall our court approach, And bear my power, 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. 1450 But hold—perhaps unto the nation, Who hate the Scot's administration, To lend my coach may seem to be Declaring for the ministry, 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 plagued to seek a cure) 1460 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—through all the land, To head our solemn city-band, Can any one so fit be found As he who in Artillery-ground, Without a rider, (noble sight!) Led on our bravest troops to fight? 1470 But first, Crape, for my honour's sake— A tender point—inquiry 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 The parties be, remains in doubt, Till 'tis determined out and out, That power must tyranny appear Which should, prejudging, interfere, 1480 And weak, faint judges overawe, To bias 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 Dulman sit alone, Making this elbow-chair my throne, And you, performing what I bid, Do all, as if I nothing did.' 1490 Crape heard, and speeded on his way; With him to hear was to obey; Not without trouble, be assured, A proper proxy was procured 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. The trumpet sounds—solemn and slow Behold the grand procession go, 1500 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 every Saturday is drawn, For use of Sunday, out of pawn; Treasurers, who with empty key Secure an empty treasury; 1510 Churchwardens, who their course pursue In the same state, as to their pew Churchwardens of St Margaret's go, Since Peirson taught them pride and show, Who in short transient pomp appear, Like almanacs changed every 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: 1520 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, 1530 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, defaced and torn, O'er words disjointed, and o'er sense, Left destitute of all defence, 1540 He strides, and all the way he goes Wades, deep in blood, o'er Criss-cross-rows: Before him every consonant In agonies is seen to pant; Behind, in forms not to be known, The ghosts of tortured 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 reverend age; 1550 When a court dame, to grace his brows Resolved, is wed to city-spouse, Their aid with madam's aid must join, The awkward 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 show how fit he was to teach A cit, an alderman, a mayor, Led in a string a dancing bear. 1560 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. Great acts like these, by vulgar tongue Profaned, should not be said, but sung. This place to fill, renown'd in fame, The high and mighty Lockman[269] came, And, ne'er forgot in Dulman's reign, With proper order to maintain 1570 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 generous blood disdain'd, To be for sports and pastimes rein'd, Great Dymock, in his glorious station, Paraded at the coronation. 1580 Not so our city Dymock came, Heavy, dispirited, and tame; No mark of sense, his eyes half-closed, He on a mighty dray-horse dozed: Fate never could a horse provide So fit for such a man to ride, 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 1590 Of braggart Cowardice, and make The very court Drawcansir[270] quake; With dirks, 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, 1600 In girdle stuck, he seem'd to be A little moving armoury. 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, 1610 Though 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,[271] All burning with the sacred flame Of Liberty, which well he knows On the great stock of Slavery grows; 1620 Like sparrow, who, deprived 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 pursued his plan, 1630 The left hand had been lonesome quite, If he had not held up the right; 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 1640 In such a case I should be loth— But Perry Cust[272] 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 juryman, Judging as interest prevails, Came next, with measures, weights, and scales; Extortion next, of hellish race A cub most damn'd, to show his face 1650 Forbid by fear, but not by shame, Turn'd to a Jew, like Gideon[273] came; Corruption, Midas-like, behold Turning whate'er she touch'd to gold; Impotence, led by Lust, and Pride, Strutting with Ponton[274] by her side; Hypocrisy, demure and sad, In garments of the priesthood clad, So well disguised, that you might swear, Deceived, a very priest was there; 1660 Bankruptcy, full of ease and health, And wallowing in well-saved wealth, Came sneering through a ruin'd band, And bringing B—— in her hand; Victory, hanging down her head, Was by a Highland stallion led; Peace, clothed 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, 1670 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 destroyed by sickly fit, Look'd wistful all around for Pitt; Freedom—at that most hallow'd name My spirits mount into a flame, 1680 Each pulse beats high, and each nerve strains, Even to the cracking; through 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. 1690 A car like those, in which, we're told, Our wild forefathers warr'd of old, Loaded with death, six horses bear Through 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; every steed Was of that ancient savage breed Which fell Geryon nursed; their food The flesh of man, their drink his blood. 1700 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 yoked 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, 1710 Wearing such robes as prophets wear, False prophets placed in Peter's chair, On which, in characters of fire, Shapes antic, horrible, and dire Inwoven flamed, where, to the view, In groups appear'd a rabble crew Of sainted devils; where, all round, Vile relics of vile men were found, Who, worse than devils, from the birth Perform'd the work of hell on earth, 1720 Jugglers, Inquisitors, and Popes, Pointing at axes, wheels, and ropes, And engines, framed on horrid plan, Which none but the destroyer, Man, Could, to promote his selfish views, Have head to make or heart to use, Bearing, to consecrate her tricks, In her left hand a crucifix, 'Remembrance of our dying Lord,' And in her right a two-edged sword, 1730 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 falsehood chose: On her breast, (where, in days of yore, When God loved Jews, the High Priest wore Those oracles which were decreed To instruct and guide the chosen seed) 1740 Having with glory clad and strength, The Virgin pictured 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; Her eye inflamed, 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, 1750 And grimly smiled, well pleased to see Such havoc 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 placed, And sovereign power by pride disgraced, 1760 Where, loudly witnessing a mind Of savage, more than human kind, Not choosing to be loved, 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 From his chafed jaws; without remorse Whipping and spurring on his horse, 1770 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; Though less (so low doth passion bring) Than man, he would be more than king. With every argument and art Which might corrupt the head and heart, 1780 Soothing the frenzy of his mind, Companion meet, was Flattery join'd; Winning his carriage, every look Employed, 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 even a hypocrite deceive, And make an infidel believe, 1790 Wantonly cheating o'er and o'er Those who had cheated been before:— Such Flattery came, in evil hour, Poisoning the royal ear of Power, 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 graced, a figure came, Whom Justice would, but dare not name. 1800 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 reverend honour; on his heart, Wrought by the curious hand of Art, 1810 In silver wrought, and brighter far Than heavenly or than earthly star, 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 power and virtue fell: Around his clouded brows was placed A bonnet, most superbly graced 1820 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 lamb before the shearers dumb, 1830 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. In his left hand, in wax impress'd, With bells and gewgaws idly dress'd, 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, 1840 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[275] he still remains, Though he the friend of George appear: Dissimulation's virtue here. 1850 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: Awed 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; 1860 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 the infection, with full aim To spread it wheresoe'er he came; Freedom he hated, Law defied, The prostitute of Power and Pride; Law he with ease explains away, And leads bewilder'd Sense astray; 1870 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. Paleness, not such as on his wings The messenger of Sickness brings, 1880 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, Lodged covert Mischief; Passion hung On his lip quivering; on his tongue 1890 Fraud dwelt at large; within his breast All that makes villain found a nest; All that, on Hell's completest plan, E'er 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, 1900 He cast his baleful eyes around: Fix'd without motion to the ground, Fear waiting on Surprise, 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. 1910 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 1920 Of scribblers, but deserving note) The poison came and antidote. 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 love-sick streams, dissolved in air; Joy, who from absence seem'd more fair, Came smiling, freed from slavish Awe; Loyalty, Liberty, and Law, 1930 Impatient of the galling chain, And yoke of Power, resumed their reign; And, burning with the glorious flame Of public virtue, Mansfield came.

* * * * *

Footnotes:

[189] 'The Ghost:' the famous Cock-lane Ghost, a conspiracy of certain parties in London against one Kent, whose paramour had died, and whose ghost was said to have returned to accuse him of having murdered her. A little girl named Frazer, who appears to have had ventriloquial powers, was the principal cause of the noises, scratchings, &c., thought to be supernatural.

[190] 'Bampfield Carew:' Bampfylde Moore Carew, the famous king of the gypsies. His life used to be a favourite with schoolboys.

[191] 'Moll Squires:' Mary Squires, a gypsy, and one of Carew's subjects.

[192] 'College:' that of the fifteen Augurs in Rome.

[193] 'Campbell:' a deaf and dumb fortune-teller.

[194] 'Butcher-row:' an old street in London, now removed.

[195] 'Drugger:' Abel Drugger, in Jonson's 'Alchymist.

[196] 'Stuarts:' James the Second's dastardly conduct at the battle of the Boyne.

[197] 'Sackvilles:' Lord George Sackville, accused of cowardice at the battle of Minden, afterwards degraded by a court martial, but ultimately raised to promotion as a Peer and Secretary of State.

[198] 'Faden and Say:' two anti-Wilkite editors.

[199] 'Baker:' Sir Richard Baker, the famous chronicler.

[200] 'Tofts:' Mary Tofts of Godalming, who first dreamed of, and was at last brought to bed of, rabbits! She confessed afterwards that it was a fraud.

[201] 'Betty Canning:' a woman who pretended, in 1753, that she had been confined in a garret by a gypsy woman, for twenty-seven days, with scarcely any food, but turned out to be an impostor.

[202] 'Fisher's:' Catherine Fisher, better known by the name of Kitty Fisher, a courtezan of great beauty.

[203] 'Lennox:' Mrs Arabella Lennox, the author of some pleasing novels, and a friend of Dr Johnson's. See Boswell and Hawkins.

[204] 'Lauder's;' William Lauder, the notorious forger and interpolator of Milton, detected by Dr Douglas, Bishop of Salisbury.

[205] 'Polypheme:' Johnson, who at first took Lauder's side. See Boswell.

[206] 'Fanny:' the supposed ghost.

[207] 'Pride's command:' The Countess-Duchess of Northumberland was celebrated for the splendour of her parties.

[208] 'Nine knocks:' a curious anticipation of modern spirit-rappings!

[209] 'Immane Pomposo:' Dr Johnson; 'humane,' referring to Virgil's 'Monstrum horrendum immane;' and ridiculing Dr J.'s Latinisms.

[210] 'C——'s:' not known.

[211] 'Garden:' Covent, where a set of low and mercenary wretches, called trading justices, superintended the administration of police.

[212] 'Avaro:' Pearce, Bishop of Rochester, a favourite object of Churchill's ire, as some of the previous poems prove.

[213] 'Moore:' the Rev. Mr Moore, then curate of St Sepulchre's, who had a share in the Cock-lane conspiracy.

[214] 'Fanny's tomb:' it had been stated that her tomb had been disturbed, and an expedition actually took place to ascertain the truth.

[215] 'Not he:' Paul Whitehead, the profligate satirist.

[216] 'Laureate:' William Whitehead, the poet laureate.

[217] 'Play': alluding to Whitehead's comedy of the 'School for Lovers.'

[219] 'Hunter:' Miss Hunter, one of Queen Charlotte's maids of honour, eloped on the day of the coronation with the Earl of Pembroke.

[220] 'Funeral Pomps:' alluding to certain improprieties at the interment of George the Second, which took place the 11th of November 1760.

[221] 'Coronations:' the coronation of George the Third on the 22d of September 1761.

[222] 'Hart:' a dancing-master of the day.

[223] 'A set:' an invidious reflection on the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, founded in the year 1753.

[224] 'Bourbon's:' the family compact between France and Spain.

[225] 'Gazette:' the Brussels Gazette, a notorious paper of that time.

[226] 'Patriot's heart:' Mr Pitt, afterwards Lord Chatham.

[227] 'Granby:' the Marquis of Granby, distinguished in a conspicuous manner during the seven years' war, under Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick. See Junius.

[228] 'Rhyme:' Mallet addressed a contemptible poem, entitled 'Truth in Rhyme,' to the celebrated Lord Chesterfield.

[229] 'Place:' the Royal Exchange.

[230] 'N——:' not known.

[231] 'Pewterers' Hall:' Macklin's recitations and his lectures on elocution were delivered at Pewterers' Hall, in Lime Street.

[232] 'Dulman:' Sir Samuel Fludyer, Bart. M.P. for Chippenham, Deputy-Governor of the Bank of England, and Lord Mayor of London for 1761-2.

[233] 'Newfoundland:' in May 1762 a French squadron escaped out of Brest in a fog, and took the town of St John's in Newfoundland.

[234] 'Aim:' Beckford was the Lord Mayor elect for 1762-3.

[235] 'Electorate:' the electorate of Hanover.

[236] 'Plausible:' the Rev. W. Sellon in 1763 published a stolen sermon as his own.

[237] 'His hook:' Dr Johnson was in possession of subscriptions for his edition of Shakspeare for upwards of twenty years ere it appeared.

[238] 'Aldrich:' the Reverend Stephen Aldrich, Rector of St John's, Clerkenwell, actively contributed to the exposure of the Cock-lane ghost.

[239] 'Melcombe:' George Bubb Doddington, the son of an apothecary at Weymouth, by skilful electioneering, raised himself to the peerage under the title of Lord Melcombe. Thomson addressed to him his 'Summer,' and Young his 'Universal Passion.'

[240] 'Dicky Glover:' Richard Glover, author of 'Leonidas.'

[241] 'Will:' William Beckford, Esq., elected an alderman, June 1752, and twice Lord Mayor of London, in 1762 and 1769. He was a West India merchant, possessed a princely fortune, and became highly popular by his strenuous opposition to the court: his son was the author of 'Caliph Vathek.'

[242] 'Stentor': unknown.

[243] 'Newcastle:' the Duke of Newcastle, who died in 1768, had for more than fifty years filled the greatest offices in the state. See Macaulay's papers on Chatham, and Humphrey Clinker.

[244] 'Processionade:' for the purpose of preparing an address to his Majesty on the conclusion of the peace with France.

[245] 'Ward:' Joshua Ward, a quack of the period.

[246] 'Warwick Lane,' Newgate Street, was the seat of the College of Physicians.

[247] 'Wyndham:' Lord Egremont.

[248] 'Reeves:' Dr Reeves was a physician of some practice in the city.

[249] 'Chauncy:' Dr Chauncy, descended of a good family, and possessed of a competent estate, did not practise.

[250] 'Garth:' Sir Samuel Garth, a celebrated poet and physician, author of 'The Dispensary.'

[251] 'Schomberg:' Dr Isaac Schomberg, a friend of Garrick, and an eminent and learned physician.

[252] 'Madan:' Martin Madan, a celebrated English preacher, many years chaplain to the Lock Hospital. See Cowper's Letters.

[253] 'Chevalier:' the Chevalier John Taylor, a quack oculist.

[254] 'Annet:' Peter Annet, for blasphemy, was sentenced by the court to suffer a year's imprisonment in Bridewell with hard labour, and to stand twice in the pillory.

[255] 'A guard:' Churchill was often in danger of being arrested for debt.

[256] 'Saint Bride:' an address of congratulation on the peace, from the city of London, was accompanied on its way by a muffled peal from St Bride's.

[257] 'Of law:' referring to the punishment of negligent lamplighters.

[258] 'Hall:' the Westminster Session-house was then held at a house in King Street, which had probably been a low public house.

[259] 'Brown:' the Rev. John Brown, D.D., born in 1715, was author, among other works, of the 'Essay on the Characteristics,' and of an 'Estimate of the Manners and Principles of the Times.' See Cowper's 'Table-talk.' The 'Estimate' was extremely popular for a time. He was inordinately vain, and died at last insane and a suicide.

[260] 'For making law:' alluding to Lord Mansfield's construction of the libel-law.

[261] 'On that day:' alluding to Lord Talbot's horsemanship as high-steward at the coronation.

[262] 'Good Bishop:' Warburton was married on Allen's niece.

[263] 'Cottrell:' Sir Clement Cottrell, master of the ceremonies.

[264] 'Building:' the Savoy and Old Somerset House were formerly the residences of the Queens of England.

[265] 'Bridge.' referring to a clamour excited by interested persons of all descriptions against the erection of a bridge over the Thames at Blackfriars. It was carried by the exertions of Paterson, an Anti-Wilkite, and built by Mylne, a Scotchman.

[266] 'Patavinity:' the provincial dialect of Padua, in which Livy wrote.

[267] 'Isle:' alluding to the insignificant size of the Isle of Bute.

[268] 'A queen:' Penelope, in the Odyssey.

[269] 'John Lockman:' secretary to the British Herring Fishery Board.

[270] 'Drawcansir:' Lord Talbot.

[271] 'Amyand:' George and Claudius Amyand were eminent merchants.

[272] 'Perry Cust:' a London merchant.

[273] 'Gideon:' Sampson Gideon, a wealthy Jew broker.

[274] 'Ponton:' Daniel Ponton, a gentleman of fortune, and a friend of the administration, was a magistrate for the county of Surrey.

[275] 'Faithful to James:' alluding to the Earl of Mansfield's original predilection for the Pretender.



THE CANDIDATE.

This poem was written in 1764, on occasion of the contest between the Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the University of Cambridge, vacant by the death of the Lord Chancellor Hardwicke. The spirit of party ran high in the University, and no means were left untried by either candidate to obtain a majority. The election was fixed for the 30th of March, when, after much altercation, the votes appearing equal, a scrutiny was demanded; whereupon the Vice-Chancellor adjourned the senate sine die. On appeal to the Lord High-Chancellor, he determined in favour of the Earl of Hardwicke, and a mandamus issued accordingly.

Enough of Actors—let them play the player, And, free from censure, fret, sweat, strut, and stare; Garrick[276] abroad, what motives can engage To waste one couplet on a barren stage? Ungrateful Garrick! when these tasty days, In justice to themselves, allow'd thee praise; When, at thy bidding, Sense, for twenty years, Indulged in laughter, or dissolved in tears; When in return for labour, time, and health, The town had given some little share of wealth, 10 Couldst thou repine at being still a slave? Darest thou presume to enjoy that wealth she gave? Couldst thou repine at laws ordain'd by those Whom nothing but thy merit made thy foes? Whom, too refined for honesty and trade, By need made tradesmen, Pride had bankrupts made; Whom Fear made drunkards, and, by modern rules, Whom Drink made wits, though Nature made them fools; With such, beyond all pardon is thy crime, In such a manner, and at such a time, 20 To quit the stage; but men of real sense, Who neither lightly give, nor take offence, Shall own thee clear, or pass an act of grace, Since thou hast left a Powell in thy place. Enough of Authors—why, when scribblers fail, Must other scribblers spread the hateful tale? Why must they pity, why contempt express, And why insult a brother in distress? Let those, who boast the uncommon gift of brains The laurel pluck, and wear it for their pains; 30 Fresh on their brows for ages let it bloom, And, ages past, still flourish round their tomb. Let those who without genius write, and write, Versemen or prosemen, all in Nature's spite, The pen laid down, their course of folly run In peace, unread, unmention'd, be undone. Why should I tell, to cross the will of Fate, That Francis once endeavour'd to translate? Why, sweet oblivion winding round his head, Should I recall poor Murphy from the dead? 40 Why may not Langhorne,[277] simple in his lay, Effusion on effusion pour away; With friendship and with fancy trifle here, Or sleep in pastoral at Belvidere? Sleep let them all, with Dulness on her throne, Secure from any malice but their own. Enough of Critics—let them, if they please, Fond of new pomp, each month pass new decrees; Wide and extensive be their infant state, Their subjects many, and those subjects great, 50 Whilst all their mandates as sound law succeed, With fools who write, and greater fools who read. What though they lay the realms of Genius waste, Fetter the fancy and debauch the taste; Though they, like doctors, to approve their skill, Consult not how to cure, but how to kill; Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, They damn those authors whom they never read; Though, other rules unknown, one rule they hold, To deal out so much praise for so much gold: 60 Though Scot with Scot, in damned close intrigues, Against the commonwealth of letters leagues; Uncensured let them pilot at the helm, And rule in letters, as they ruled the realm: Ours be the curse, the mean tame coward's curse, (Nor could ingenious Malice make a worse, To do our sense and honour deep despite) To credit what they say, read what they write. Enough of Scotland—let her rest in peace; The cause removed, effects of course should cease; 70 Why should I tell, how Tweed, too mighty grown, And proudly swell'd with waters not his own, Burst o'er his banks, and, by Destruction led, O'er our fair England desolation spread, Whilst, riding on his waves, Ambition, plumed In tenfold pride, the port of Bute assumed, Now that the river god, convinced, though late, And yielding, though reluctantly, to Fate, Holds his fair course, and with more humble tides, In tribute to the sea, as usual, glides? 80 Enough of States, and such like trifling things; Enough of kinglings, and enough of kings; Henceforth, secure, let ambush'd statesmen lie, Spread the court web, and catch the patriot fly; Henceforth, unwhipt of Justice, uncontroll'd By fear or shame, let Vice, secure and bold, Lord it with all her sons, whilst Virtue's groan Meets with compassion only from the throne. Enough of Patriots—all I ask of man Is only to be honest as he can: 90 Some have deceived, and some may still deceive; 'Tis the fool's curse at random to believe. Would those, who, by opinion placed on high, Stand fair and perfect in their country's eye, Maintain that honour, let me in their ear Hint this essential doctrine—Persevere. Should they (which Heaven forbid) to win the grace Of some proud courtier, or to gain a place, Their king and country sell, with endless shame The avenging Muse shall mark each traitorous name; 100 But if, to Honour true, they scorn to bend, And, proudly honest, hold out to the end, Their grateful country shall their fame record, And I myself descend to praise a lord. Enough of Wilkes—with good and honest men His actions speak much stronger than my pen, And future ages shall his name adore, When he can act and I can write no more. England may prove ungrateful and unjust, But fostering France[278] shall ne'er betray her trust: 110 'Tis a brave debt which gods on men impose, To pay with praise the merit e'en of foes. When the great warrior of Amilcar's race Made Rome's wide empire tremble to her base, To prove her virtue, though it gall'd her pride, Rome gave that fame which Carthage had denied. Enough of Self—that darling luscious theme, O'er which philosophers in raptures dream; Of which with seeming disregard they write, Then prizing most, when most they seem to slight; 120 Vain proof of folly tinctured strong with pride! What man can from himself, himself divide? For me,(nor dare I lie) my leading aim (Conscience first satisfied) is love of fame; Some little fame derived from some brave few, Who, prizing Honour, prize her votaries too. Let all (nor shall resentment flush my cheek) Who know me well, what they know, freely speak, So those (the greatest curse I meet below) Who know me not, may not pretend to know. 130 Let none of those whom, bless'd with parts above My feeble genius, still I dare to love, Doing more mischief than a thousand foes, Posthumous nonsense to the world expose, And call it mine; for mine though never known, Or which, if mine, I living blush'd to own. Know all the world, no greedy heir shall find, Die when I will, one couplet left behind. Let none of those, whom I despise, though great, Pretending friendship to give malice weight, 140 Publish my life; let no false sneaking peer,[279] (Some such there are) to win the public ear, Hand me to shame with some vile anecdote. Nor soul-gall'd bishop[280] damn me with a note. Let one poor sprig of bay around my head Bloom whilst I live, and point me out when dead; Let it (may Heaven, indulgent, grant that prayer!) Be planted on my grave, nor wither there; And when, on travel bound, some rhyming guest Roams through the churchyard, whilst his dinner's dress'd, 150 Let it hold up this comment to his eyes— 'Life to the last enjoy'd, here Churchill lies;' Whilst (oh, what joy that pleasing flattery gives!) Reading my works, he cries—'Here Churchill lives.' Enough of Satire—in less harden'd times Great was her force, and mighty were her rhymes. I've read of men, beyond man's daring brave, Who yet have trembled at the strokes she gave; Whose souls have felt more terrible alarms From her one line, than from a world in arms. 160 When in her faithful and immortal page They saw transmitted down from age to age Recorded villains, and each spotted name Branded with marks of everlasting shame, Succeeding villains sought her as a friend, And, if not really mended, feign'd to mend; But in an age, when actions are allow'd Which strike all honour dead, and crimes avow'd Too terrible to suffer the report, Avow'd and praised by men who stain a court, 170 Propp'd by the arm of Power; when Vice, high born, High-bred, high-station'd, holds rebuke in scorn; When she is lost to every thought of fame, And, to all virtue dead, is dead to shame; When Prudence a much easier task must hold To make a new world, than reform the old, Satire throws by her arrows on the ground, And if she cannot cure, she will not wound. Come, Panegyric—though the Muse disdains, Founded on truth, to prostitute her strains 180 At the base instance of those men, who hold No argument but power, no god but gold, Yet, mindful that from Heaven she drew her birth, She scorns the narrow maxims of this earth; Virtuous herself, brings Virtue forth to view, And loves to praise, where praise is justly due. Come, Panegyric—in a former hour, My soul with pleasure yielding to thy power, Thy shrine I sought, I pray'd—but wanton air, Before it reach'd thy ears, dispersed my prayer; 190 E'en at thy altars whilst I took my stand, The pen of Truth and Honour in my hand, Fate, meditating wrath 'gainst me and mine, Chid my fond zeal, and thwarted my design, Whilst, Hayter[281] brought too quickly to his end, I lost a subject and mankind a friend. Come, Panegyric—bending at thy throne, Thee and thy power my soul is proud to own Be thou my kind protector, thou my guide, And lead me safe through passes yet untried. 200 Broad is the road, nor difficult to find, Which to the house of Satire leads mankind; Narrow and unfrequented are the ways, Scarce found out in an age, which lead to praise. What though no theme I choose of vulgar note, Nor wish to write as brother bards have wrote, So mild, so meek in praising, that they seem Afraid to wake their patrons from a dream; What though a theme I choose, which might demand The nicest touches of a master's hand; 210 Yet, if the inward workings of my soul Deceive me not, I shall attain the goal, And Envy shall behold, in triumph raised, The poet praising, and the patron praised. What patron shall I choose? Shall public voice, Or private knowledge, influence my choice? Shall I prefer the grand retreat of Stowe, Or, seeking patriots, to friend Wildman's[282] go? 'To Wildman's!' cried Discretion, (who had heard, Close standing at my elbow, every word) 220 'To Wildman's! Art thou mad? Canst thou be sure One moment there to have thy head secure? Are they not all, (let observation tell) All mark'd in characters as black as Hell, In Doomsday book, by ministers set down, Who style their pride the honour of the crown? Make no reply—let Reason stand aloof— Presumptions here must pass as solemn proof. That settled faith, that love which ever springs In the best subjects, for the best of kings, 230 Must not be measured now by what men think, Or say, or do;—by what they eat and drink, Where, and with whom, that question's to be tried, And statesmen are the judges to decide; No juries call'd, or, if call'd, kept in awe; They, facts confess'd, in themselves vest the law. Each dish at Wildman's of sedition smacks; Blasphemy may be gospel at Almacks.'[283] Peace, good Discretion! peace—thy fears are vain; Ne'er will I herd with Wildman's factious train; 240 Never the vengeance of the great incur, Nor, without might, against the mighty stir. If, from long proof, my temper you distrust, Weigh my profession, to my gown be just; Dost thou one parson know so void of grace To pay his court to patrons out of place? If still you doubt (though scarce a doubt remains) Search through my alter'd heart, and try my reins; There, searching, find, nor deem me now in sport, A convert made by Sandwich to the court. 250 Let madmen follow error to the end, I, of mistakes convinced, and proud to mend, Strive to act better, being better taught, Nor blush to own that change which Reason wrought: For such a change as this, must Justice speak; My heart was honest, but my head was weak. Bigot to no one man, or set of men, Without one selfish view, I drew my pen; My country ask'd, or seem'd to ask, my aid, Obedient to that call, I left off trade; 260 A side I chose, and on that side was strong, Till time hath fairly proved me in the wrong: Convinced, I change, (can any man do more?) And have not greater patriots changed before? Changed, I at once, (can any man do less?) Without a single blush, that change confess; Confess it with a manly kind of pride, And quit the losing for the winning side, Granting, whilst virtuous Sandwich holds the rein, What Bute for ages might have sought in vain. 270 Hail, Sandwich!—nor shall Wilkes resentment show, Hearing the praises of so brave a foe— Hail, Sandwich!—nor, through pride, shalt thou refuse The grateful tribute of so mean a Muse— Sandwich, all hail!—when Bute with foreign hand, Grown wanton with ambition, scourged the land; When Scots, or slaves to Scotsmen, steer'd the helm; When peace, inglorious peace, disgraced the realm, Distrust, and general discontent prevail'd; But when, (he best knows why) his spirits fail'd; 280 When, with a sudden panic struck, he fled, Sneak'd out of power, and hid his recreant head; When, like a Mars, (Fear order'd to retreat) We saw thee nimbly vault into his seat, Into the seat of power, at one bold leap, A perfect connoisseur in statesmanship; When, like another Machiavel, we saw Thy fingers twisting, and untwisting law, Straining, where godlike Reason bade, and where She warranted thy mercy, pleased to spare; 290 Saw thee resolved, and fix'd (come what, come might) To do thy God, thy king, thy country right; All things were changed, suspense remain'd no more, Certainty reign'd where Doubt had reign'd before: All felt thy virtues, and all knew their use, What virtues such as thine must needs produce. Thy foes (for Honour ever meets with foes) Too mean to praise, too fearful to oppose, In sullen silence sit; thy friends (some few, Who, friends to thee, are friends to Honour too) 300 Plaud thy brave bearing, and the Commonweal Expects her safety from thy stubborn zeal. A place amongst the rest the Muses claim, And bring this freewill-offering to thy fame; To prove their virtue, make thy virtues known, And, holding up thy fame, secure their own. From his youth upwards to the present day, When vices, more than years, have mark'd him gray; When riotous Excess, with wasteful hand, Shakes life's frail glass, and hastes each ebbing sand, 310 Unmindful from what stock he drew his birth, Untainted with one deed of real worth, Lothario, holding honour at no price, Folly to folly added, vice to vice, Wrought sin with greediness, and sought for shame With greater zeal than good men seek for fame. Where (Reason left without the least defence) Laughter was mirth, obscenity was sense: Where Impudence made Decency submit; Where noise was humour, and where whim was wit; 320 Where rude, untemper'd license had the merit Of liberty, and lunacy was spirit; Where the best things were ever held the worst, Lothario was, with justice, always first. To whip a top, to knuckle down at taw, To swing upon a gate, to ride a straw, To play at push-pin with dull brother peers, To belch out catches in a porter's ears, To reign the monarch of a midnight cell, To be the gaping chairman's oracle; 330 Whilst, in most blessed union, rogue and whore Clap hands, huzza, and hiccup out, 'Encore;' Whilst gray Authority, who slumbers there In robes of watchman's fur, gives up his chair; With midnight howl to bay the affrighted moon, To walk with torches through the streets at noon; To force plain Nature from her usual way, Each night a vigil, and a blank each day; To match for speed one feather 'gainst another, To make one leg run races with his brother; 340 'Gainst all the rest to take the northern wind, Bute to ride first, and he to ride behind; To coin newfangled wagers, and to lay 'em, Laying to lose, and losing not to pay 'em; Lothario, on that stock which Nature gives, Without a rival stands, though March yet lives. When Folly, (at that name, in duty bound, Let subject myriads kneel, and kiss the ground, Whilst they who, in the presence, upright stand, Are held as rebels through the loyal land) 350 Queen every where, but most a queen in courts, Sent forth her heralds, and proclaim'd her sports; Bade fool with fool on her behalf engage, And prove her right to reign from age to age, Lothario, great above the common size, With all engaged, and won from all the prize; Her cap he wears, which from his youth he wore, And every day deserves it more and more. Nor in such limits rests his soul confined; Folly may share but can't engross his mind; 360 Vice, bold substantial Vice, puts in her claim, And stamps him perfect in the books of Shame. Observe his follies well, and you would swear Folly had been his first, his only care; Observe his vices, you'll that oath disown, And swear that he was born for vice alone. Is the soft nature of some hapless maid, Fond, easy, full of faith, to be betray'd? Must she, to virtue lost, be lost to fame, And he who wrought her guilt declare her shame? 370 Is some brave friend, who, men but little known, Deems every heart as honest as his own, And, free himself, in others fears no guile, To be ensnared, and ruin'd with a smile? Is Law to be perverted from her course? Is abject fraud to league with brutal force? Is Freedom to be crush'd, and every son Who dares maintain her cause, to be undone? Is base Corruption, creeping through the land, To plan, and work her ruin, underhand, 380 With regular approaches, sure, though slow? Or must she perish by a single blow? Are kings, who trust to servants, and depend In servants (fond, vain thought!) to find a friend, To be abused, and made to draw their breath In darkness thicker than the shades of death? Is God's most holy name to be profaned, His word rejected, and his laws arraign'd, His servants scorn'd, as men who idly dream'd, His service laugh'd at, and his Son blasphemed? 390 Are debauchees in morals to preside? Is Faith to take an Atheist for her guide? Is Science by a blockhead to be led? Are States to totter on a drunkard's head? To answer all these purposes, and more, More black than ever villain plann'd before, Search earth, search hell, the Devil cannot find An agent like Lothario to his mind. Is this nobility, which, sprung from kings, Was meant to swell the power from whence it springs; 400 Is this the glorious produce, this the fruit, Which Nature hoped for from so rich a root? Were there but two, (search all the world around) Were there but two such nobles to be found, The very name would sink into a term Of scorn, and man would rather be a worm Than be a lord: but Nature, full of grace, Nor meaning birth and titles to be base, Made only one, and having made him, swore, In mercy to mankind, to make no more: 410 Nor stopp'd she there, but, like a generous friend, The ills which Error caused, she strove to mend, And having brought Lothario forth to view, To save her credit, brought forth Sandwich too. Gods! with what joy, what honest joy of heart, Blunt as I am, and void of every art, Of every art which great ones in the state Practise on knaves they fear, and fools they hate, To titles with reluctance taught to bend, Nor prone to think that virtues can descend, 420 Do I behold (a sight, alas! more rare Than Honesty could wish) the noble wear His father's honours, when his life makes known They're his by virtue, not by birth alone; When he recalls his father from the grave, And pays with interest back that fame he gave: Cured of her splenetic and sullen fits, To such a peer my willing soul submits, And to such virtue is more proud to yield Than 'gainst ten titled rogues to keep the field. 430 Such, (for that truth e'en Envy shall allow) Such Wyndham was, and such is Sandwich now. O gentle Montague! in blessed hour Didst thou start up, and climb the stairs of power; England of all her fears at once was eased, Nor, 'mongst her many foes, was one displeased: France heard the news, and told it cousin Spain; Spain heard, and told it cousin France again; The Hollander relinquished his design Of adding spice to spice, and mine to mine; 440 Of Indian villanies he thought no more, Content to rob us on our native shore: Awed by thy fame, (which winds with open mouth Shall blow from east to west, from north to south) The western world shall yield us her increase, And her wild sons be soften'd into peace; Rich eastern monarchs shall exhaust their stores, And pour unbounded wealth on Albion's shores; Unbounded wealth, which from those golden scenes, And all acquired by honourable means, 450 Some honourable chief shall hither steer, To pay our debts, and set the nation clear. Nabobs themselves, allured by thy renown, Shall pay due homage to the English crown; Shall freely as their king our king receive— Provided the Directors give them leave. Union at home shall mark each rising year, Nor taxes be complain'd of, though severe; Envy her own destroyer shall become, And Faction with her thousand mouths be dumb: 460 With the meek man thy meekness shall prevail, Nor with the spirited thy spirit fail: Some to thy force of reason shall submit, And some be converts to thy princely wit: Reverence for thee shall still a nation's cries, A grand concurrence crown a grand excise; And unbelievers of the first degree, Who have no faith in God, have faith in thee. When a strange jumble, whimsical and vain, Possess'd the region of each heated brain; 470 When some were fools to censure, some to praise, And all were mad, but mad in different ways; When commonwealthsmen, starting at the shade Which in their own wild fancy had been made, Of tyrants dream'd, who wore a thorny crown, And with state bloodhounds hunted Freedom down; When others, struck with fancies not less vain, Saw mighty kings by their own subjects slain, And, in each friend of Liberty and Law, With horror big, a future Cromwell saw, 480 Thy manly zeal stept forth, bade discord cease, And sung each jarring atom into peace; Liberty, cheer'd by thy all-cheering eye, Shall, waking from her trance, live and not die; And, patronised by thee, Prerogative Shall, striding forth at large, not die, but live; Whilst Privilege, hung betwixt earth and sky, Shall not well know whether to live or die. When on a rock which overhung the flood, And seem'd to totter, Commerce shivering stood; 490 When Credit, building on a sandy shore, Saw the sea swell, and heard the tempest roar, Heard death in every blast, and in each wave Or saw, or fancied that she saw her grave; When Property, transferr'd from hand to band, Weaken'd by change, crawl'd sickly through the land; When mutual confidence was at an end, And man no longer could on man depend; Oppress'd with debts of more than common weight, When all men fear'd a bankruptcy of state; 500 When, certain death to honour, and to trade, A sponge was talk'd of as our only aid; That to be saved we must be more undone, And pay off all our debts, by paying none; Like England's better genius, born to bless, And snatch his sinking country from distress, Didst thou step forth, and, without sail or oar, Pilot the shatter'd vessel safe to shore: Nor shalt thou quit, till, anchor'd firm and fast, She rides secure, and mocks the threatening blast! 510 Born in thy house, and in thy service bred, Nursed in thy arms, and at thy table fed, By thy sage counsels to reflection brought, Yet more by pattern than by precept taught, Economy her needful aid shall join To forward and complete thy grand design, And, warm to save, but yet with spirit warm, Shall her own conduct from thy conduct form. Let friends of prodigals say what they will, Spendthrifts at home, abroad are spendthrifts still. 520 In vain have sly and subtle sophists tried Private from public justice to divide; For credit on each other they rely, They live together, and together die, 'Gainst all experience 'tis a rank offence, High treason in the eye of Common-sense, To think a statesman ever can be known To pay our debts, who will not pay his own: But now, though late, now may we hope to see Our debts discharged, our credit fair and free, 530 Since rigid Honesty (fair fall that hour!) Sits at the helm, and Sandwich is in power. With what delight I view thee, wondrous man, With what delight survey thy sterling plan, That plan which all with wonder must behold, And stamp thy age the only age of Gold. Nor rest thy triumphs here—that Discord fled, And sought with grief the hell where she was bred; That Faction, 'gainst her nature forced to yield, Saw her rude rabble scatter'd o'er the field, 540 Saw her best friends a standing jest become, Her fools turn'd speakers, and her wits struck dumb; That our most bitter foes (so much depends On men of name) are turn'd to cordial friends; That our offended friends (such terror flows From men of name) dare not appear our foes; That Credit, gasping in the jaws of Death, And ready to expire with every breath, Grows stronger from disease; that thou hast saved Thy drooping country; that thy name, engraved 550 On plates of brass, defies the rage of Time; Than plates of brass more firm, that sacred rhyme Embalms thy memory, bids thy glories live, And gives thee what the Muse alone can give:— These heights of Virtue, these rewards of Fame, With thee in common other patriots claim. But, that poor sickly Science, who had laid And droop'd for years beneath Neglect's cold shade, By those who knew her purposely forgot, And made the jest of those who knew her not: 560 Whilst Ignorance in power, and pamper'd pride, 'Clad like a priest, pass'd by on t'other side,' Recover'd from her wretched state, at length Puts on new health, and clothes herself with strength, To thee we owe, and to thy friendly hand Which raised, and gave her to possess the land: This praise, though in a court, and near a throne, This praise is thine, and thine, alas! alone. With what fond rapture did the goddess smile, What blessings did she promise to this isle, 570 What honour to herself, and length of reign, Soon as she heard that thou didst not disdain To be her steward; but what grief, what shame, What rage, what disappointment, shook her frame, When her proud children dared her will dispute, When Youth was insolent,[284] and Age was mute! That young men should be fools, and some wild few, To Wisdom deaf, be deaf to Interest too, Moved not her wonder; but that men, grown gray In search of wisdom; men who own'd the sway 580 Of Reason; men who stubbornly kept down Each rising passion; men who wore the gown; That they should cross her will, that they should dare Against the cause of Interest to declare; That they should be so abject and unwise, Having no fear of loss before their eyes, Nor hopes of gain; scorning the ready means Of being vicars, rectors, canons, deans, With all those honours which on mitres wait, And mark the virtuous favourites of state; 590 That they should dare a Hardwicke to support, And talk, within the hearing of a court, Of that vile beggar, Conscience, who, undone, And starved herself, starves every wretched son; This turn'd her blood to gall, this made her swear No more to throw away her time and care On wayward sons who scorn'd her love, no more To hold her courts on Cam's ungrateful shore. Rather than bear such insults, which disgrace Her royalty of nature, birth, and place, 600 Though Dulness there unrivall'd state doth keep, Would she at Winchester with Burton[285] sleep; Or, to exchange the mortifying scene For something still more dull, and still more mean, Rather than bear such insults, she would fly Far, far beyond the search of English eye, And reign amongst the Scots: to be a queen Is worth ambition, though in Aberdeen. Oh, stay thy flight, fair Science! what though some, Some base-born children, rebels are become? 610 All are not rebels; some are duteous still, Attend thy precepts, and obey thy will; Thy interest is opposed by those alone Who either know not, or oppose their own. Of stubborn virtue, marching to thy aid, Behold in black, the livery of their trade, Marshall'd by Form, and by Discretion led, A grave, grave troop, and Smith[286] is at their head, Black Smith of Trinity; on Christian ground For faith in mysteries none more renown'd. 620 Next, (for the best of causes now and then Must beg assistance from the worst of men) Next (if old story lies not) sprung from Greece, Comes Pandarus, but comes without his niece: Her, wretched maid! committed to his trust, To a rank letcher's coarse and bloated lust The arch, old, hoary hypocrite had sold, And thought himself and her well damn'd for gold. But (to wipe off such traces from the mind, And make us in good humour with mankind) 630 Leading on men, who, in a college bred, No woman knew, but those which made their bed; Who, planted virgins on Cam's virtuous shore, Continued still male virgins at threescore, Comes Sumner,[287] wise, and chaste as chaste can be, With Long,[288] as wise, and not less chaste than he. Are there not friends, too, enter'd in thy cause Who, for thy sake, defying penal laws, Were, to support thy honourable plan, Smuggled from Jersey, and the Isle of Man? 640 Are there not Philomaths of high degree Who, always dumb before, shall speak for thee? Are there not Proctors, faithful to thy will, One of full growth, others in embryo still, Who may, perhaps, in some ten years, or more, Be ascertain'd that two and two make four, Or may a still more happy method find, And, taking one from two, leave none behind? With such a mighty power on foot, to yield Were death to manhood; better in the field 650 To leave our carcases, and die with fame, Than fly, and purchase life on terms of shame. Sackvilles[289] alone anticipate defeat, And ere they dare the battle, sound retreat. But if persuasions ineffectual prove, If arguments are vain, nor prayers can move, Yet in thy bitterness of frantic woe Why talk of Burton? why to Scotland go? Is there not Oxford? she, with open arms, Shall meet thy wish, and yield up all her charms: 660 Shall for thy love her former loves resign, And jilt the banish'd Stuarts to be thine. Bow'd to the yoke, and, soon as she could read, Tutor'd to get by heart the despot's creed, She, of subjection proud, shall knee thy throne, And have no principles but thine alone; She shall thy will implicitly receive, Nor act, nor speak, nor think, without thy leave. Where is the glory of imperial sway If subjects none but just commands obey? 670 Then, and then only, is obedience seen, When by command they dare do all that's mean: Hither, then, wing thy flight, here fix thy stand, Nor fail to bring thy Sandwich in thy hand. Gods! with what joy, (for Fancy now supplies, And lays the future open to my eyes) Gods! with what joy I see the worthies meet, And Brother Litchfield[290] Brother Sandwich greet! Blest be your greetings, blest each dear embrace; Blest to yourselves, and to the human race. 680 Sickening at virtues, which she cannot reach, Which seem her baser nature to impeach, Let Envy, in a whirlwind's bosom hurl'd, Outrageous, search the corners of the world, Ransack the present times, look back to past, Rip up the future, and confess at last, No times, past, present, or to come, could e'er Produce, and bless the world with such a pair. Phillips,[291] the good old Phillips, out of breath, Escaped from Monmouth, and escaped from death, 690 Shall hail his Sandwich with that virtuous zeal, That glorious ardour for the commonweal, Which warm'd his loyal heart and bless'd his tongue, When on his lips the cause of rebels hung; Whilst Womanhood, in habit of a nun, At Medenham[292] lies, by backward monks undone; A nation's reckoning, like an alehouse score, Whilst Paul, the aged, chalks behind a door, Compell'd to hire a foe to cast it up, Dashwood shall pour, from a communion cup, 700 Libations to the goddess without eyes, And hob or nob in cider and excise. From those deep shades, where Vanity, unknown, Doth penance for her pride, and pines alone, Cursed in herself, by her own thoughts undone, Where she sees all, but can be seen by none; Where she, no longer mistress of the schools, Hears praise loud pealing from the mouths of fools, Or hears it at a distance, in despair To join the crowd, and put in for a share, 710 Twisting each thought a thousand different ways, For his new friends new-modelling old praise; Where frugal sense so very fine is spun, It serves twelve hours, though not enough for one, King[293] shall arise, and, bursting from the dead, Shall hurl his piebald Latin at thy head. Burton (whilst awkward affectation hung In quaint and labour'd accents on his tongue, Who 'gainst their will makes junior blockheads speak, Ignorant of both, new Latin and new Greek, 720 Not such as was in Greece and Latium known, But of a modern cut, and all his own; Who threads, like beads, loose thoughts on such a string, They're praise and censure; nothing, every thing; Pantomime thoughts, and style so full of trick, They even make a Merry Andrew sick; Thoughts all so dull, so pliant in their growth, They're verse, they're prose, they're neither, and they're both) Shall (though by nature ever both to praise) Thy curious worth set forth in curious phrase; 730 Obscurely stiff, shall press poor Sense to death, Or in long periods run her out of breath; Shall make a babe, for which, with all his fame, Adam could not have found a proper name, Whilst, beating out his features to a smile, He hugs the bastard brat, and calls it Style. Hush'd be all Nature as the land of Death; Let each stream sleep, and each wind hold his breath; Be the bells muffled, nor one sound of Care, Pressing for audience, wake the slumbering air; 740 Browne[294] comes—behold how cautiously he creeps— How slow he walks, and yet how fast he sleeps— But to thy praise in sleep he shall agree; He cannot wake, but he shall dream of thee. Physic, her head with opiate poppies crown'd, Her loins by the chaste matron Camphire bound; Physic, obtaining succour from the pen Of her soft son, her gentle Heberden,[295] If there are men who can thy virtue know, Yet spite of virtue treat thee as a foe, 750 Shall, like a scholar, stop their rebel breath, And in each recipe send classic death. So deep in knowledge, that few lines can sound And plumb the bottom of that vast profound, Few grave ones with such gravity can think, Or follow half so fast as he can sink; With nice distinctions glossing o'er the text, Obscure with meaning, and in words perplex'd, With subtleties on subtleties refined, Meant to divide and subdivide the mind, 760 Keeping the forwardness of youth in awe, The scowling Blackstone[296] bears the train of law. Divinity, enrobed in college fur, In her right hand a new Court Calendar, Bound like a book of prayer, thy coming waits With all her pack, to hymn thee in the gates. Loyalty, fix'd on Isis' alter'd shore, A stranger long, but stranger now no more, Shall pitch her tabernacle, and, with eyes Brimful of rapture, view her new allies; 770 Shall, with much pleasure and more wonder, view Men great at court, and great at Oxford too. O sacred Loyalty! accursed be those Who, seeming friends, turn out thy deadliest foes, Who prostitute to kings thy honour'd name, And soothe their passions to betray their fame; Nor praised be those, to whose proud nature clings Contempt of government, and hate of kings, Who, willing to be free, not knowing how, A strange intemperance of zeal avow, 780 And start at Loyalty, as at a word Which without danger Freedom never heard. Vain errors of vain men—wild both extremes, And to the state not wholesome, like the dreams, Children of night, of Indigestion bred, Which, Reason clouded, seize and turn the head; Loyalty without Freedom is a chain Which men of liberal notice can't sustain; And Freedom without Loyalty, a name Which nothing means, or means licentious shame. 790 Thine be the art, my Sandwich, thine the toil, In Oxford's stubborn and untoward soil To rear this plant of union, till at length, Rooted by time, and foster'd into strength, Shooting aloft, all danger it defies, And proudly lifts its branches to the skies; Whilst, Wisdom's happy son but not her slave, Gay with the gay, and with the grave ones grave, Free from the dull impertinence of thought, Beneath that shade, which thy own labours wrought 800 And fashion'd into strength, shalt thou repose, Secure of liberal praise, since Isis flows, True to her Tame, as duty hath decreed, Nor longer, like a harlot, lust for Tweed, And those old wreaths, which Oxford once dared twine To grace a Stuart brow, she plants on thine.

* * * * *

Footnotes:

[276] 'Garrick abroad:' Garrick, in September 1763, in order to make his value more appreciated after his return, resolved to visit the continent.

[277] 'Langhorne:' John Langhorne, D.D., the translator of Plutarch.

[278] 'France:' Wilkes had fled to France to escape the prosecutions entered against him.

[279] 'Sneaking peer:' John Boyle, Earl of Cork and Orrery, was the author of severe 'Observations on the Life of Swift.'

[280] 'Bishop:' Bishop Warburton.

[281] 'Hayter:' Dr Thomas Hayter, Bishop of Norwich, and next of London, died prematurely.

[282] 'Wildman's:' a tavern in Albemarle Street.

[283] 'Almacks:' Old Almacks, a noted Tory club-house in Pall Mall.

[284] 'Youth was insolent:' the younger members of the University were unanimous in favour of Lord Hardwicke, and incurred the censure of their superiors.

[285] 'Burton:' Dr John Burton, head master of Winchester school.

[286] 'Smith:' Dr Smith, master of Trinity College, Cambridge, a mechanical and musical genius.

[287] 'Sumner:' the Rev. Dr Humphrey Sumner, Vice Chancellor of the University of Cambridge.

[288] 'Long:' Roger Long, D.D., professor of Astronomy, Cambridge.

[289] 'Sackville:' Sir George, who behaved scandalously at the battle of Minden.

[290] 'Brother Litchfield:' the last Earl of Litchfield succeeded the Earl of Westmoreland as Chancellor of the University of Oxford, in 1762, through Lord Bute's influence.

[291] 'Phillips:' Sir John Phillips, a barrister and active member of the House of Commons, a defender of the rebellion in 1745.

[292] 'Medenham:' or as it was commonly called, Mednam Abbey, was a very large house on the banks of the Thames, near Marlow, in Bucks, where infamous doings went on under the auspices of Sir F. Dashwood, Lord Sandwich, and others.

[293] 'King:' Dr William King, LL.D., Principal of St Mary's Hall.

[294] 'Browne:' Dr William Browne, Lord Litchfield's Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford from 1759 to 1769.

[295] 'Heberden:' Dr William Heberden, the celebrated physician, the first who used the wet-sheet.

[296] 'Blackstone:' Dr Blackstone, afterwards Sir William Blackstone, Solicitor-General, and a Judge of the Court of Common Pleas.



THE FAREWELL.

P. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell To all the follies which in Europe dwell; To Eastern India now, a richer clime, Richer, alas! in everything but rhyme, The Muses steer their course; and, fond of change, At large, in other worlds, desire to range; Resolved, at least, since they the fool must play, To do it in a different place, and way. F. What whim is this, what error of the brain, What madness worse than in the dog-star's reign? 10 Why into foreign countries would you roam, Are there not knaves and fools enough at home? If satire be thy object—and thy lays As yet have shown no talents fit for praise— If satire be thy object, search all round, Nor to thy purpose can one spot be found Like England, where, to rampant vigour grown, Vice chokes up every virtue; where, self-sown, The seeds of folly shoot forth rank and bold, And every seed brings forth a hundredfold. 20 P. No more of this—though Truth, (the more our shame, The more our guilt) though Truth perhaps may claim, And justify her part in this, yet here, For the first time, e'en Truth offends my ear; Declaim from morn to night, from night to morn, Take up the theme anew, when day's new-born, I hear, and hate—be England what she will, With all her faults, she is my country still. F. Thy country!