Poetical Works by Charles Churchill Part 19

There (striking contrast!) might we place A servile, mean, degenerate race; 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 power, Slaves to the minion of an hour; 450 Lackies, who watch'd a favourite's nod, And took a puppet for their G.o.d.

Sincere and honest in our rhymes, 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; 460 Who, true to all those sacred bands, Which private happiness demands, Yet never lets them rise above The stronger ties of public love.

With conscious pride see England stand, Our holy Charter in her hand; 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; 470 No more by foreign threats dismay'd, No more deceived 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, 480 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.'

These, and a thousand things beside, Did we consult a poet's pride, 490 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 rehea.r.s.ed, Poets have always been suspected Of having truth in rhyme neglected, That bard except, who from his youth Equally famed for faith and truth, 500 By Prudence taught, in courtly chime To courtly ears brought truth in rhyme.[228]

But though to poets we allow, No matter when acquired or how, From truth unbounded deviation, Which custom calls Imagination, Yet can't they be supposed to lie One half so fast as Fame can fly; Therefore (to solve this Gordian knot, A point we almost had forgot) 510 To courteous readers be it known, That, fond of verse and falsehood 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 destined course, Nor stops till she the place[229] arrives Where Genius starves and Dulness thrives; Where riches virtue are esteem'd And craft is truest wisdom deem'd, 520 Where Commerce proudly rears her throne, In state to other lands unknown: Where, to be cheated and to cheat, Strangers from every quarter meet; Where Christians, Jews, and Turks shake hands, United in commercial bands: All of one faith, and that to own No G.o.d but Interest alone.

When G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses come down To look about them here in Town, 530 (For change of air is understood By sons of Physic to be good, In due proportions, now and then, For these same G.o.ds as well as men) By custom ruled, 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; 540 The force is lost, and free from awe, We spy and censure every flaw; But well preserved 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 chattering N----[230] from rout to rout, 550 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.

Did they not find a certain friend In Novelty to recommend, (Such we, by sad experience, find The wretched folly of mankind) 560 Venus might unattractive shine, And Hunter fix no eyes but mine.

But Fame, who never cared a jot Whether she was admired or not, And never blush'd to show 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 weatherc.o.c.k, 570 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 G.o.ddess was content, Though under a politer race Bagpipes might well supply its place) 580 And thrice, awaken'd by the sound, A general din prevail'd around; Confusion through the city pa.s.s'd, And Fear bestrode the dreadful blast.

Those fragrant currents, which we meet Distilling soft through every street, Affrighted from the usual course, Ran murmuring upwards to their source; Statues wept tears of blood, as fast As when a Caesar breathed his last; 590 Horses, which always used to go A foot-pace in my Lord Mayor's show, Impetuous from their stable broke, And aldermen and oxen spoke.

Halls felt the force, towers 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 placed A monument of City taste, 600 Trembled, and seem'd aloud to groan Through 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 anything but medicine try.

No more in Pewterer's Hall[231] was heard The proper force of every word; Those seats were desolate become, A hapless Elocution dumb. 610 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 clothed in rags, See Avarice closer hug his bags; With her own weight unwieldy grown, See Credit totter on her throne; 620 Virtue alone, had she been there, The mighty sound, unmoved, could bear.

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 Dulman[232] started at the sound, Gaped, rubb'd his eyes, and stared around.

Much did he wish to know, much fear, Whence sounds so horrid struck his ear, 630 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, though to little end, What this same trumpet might portend.

Could the French--no--that could not be, Under Bute's active ministry, 640 Too watchful to be so deceived-- Have stolen hither unperceived?

To Newfoundland,[233] indeed, we know Fleets of war un.o.bserved may go; Or, if observed, may be supposed, At intervals when Reason dozed, 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 650 In our land's heart, ere 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,[234] regardless of the crime, To seize the chair before his time?

Or (deeming this the lucky hour, Seeing his countrymen in power, 660 Those countrymen, who, from the first, In tumults and rebellion nursed, Howe'er they wear the mask of art, Still love a Stuart in their heart) Could Scottish Charles---- Conjecture thus, That mental _ignis fatuus_, Led his poor brains a weary dance From France to England, hence to France, Till Information in the shape Of chaplain learned, good Sir c.r.a.pe, 670 A lazy, lounging, pamper'd priest, Well known at every city feast, For he was seen much oftener there Than in the house of G.o.d at prayer; Who, always ready in his place, Ne'er let G.o.d's creatures wait for grace, Though, as the best historians write, Less famed for faith than appet.i.te; His disposition to reveal, The grace was short, and long the meal; 680 Who always would excess admit, If haunch or turtle came with it, And ne'er engaged in the defence Of self-denying Abstinence, When he could fortunately meet With anything he liked to eat; Who knew that wine, on Scripture plan, Was made to cheer the heart of man; Knew too, by long experience taught, That cheerfulness was kill'd by thought; 690 And from those premises collected, (Which few perhaps would have suspected) That none who, with due share of sense, Observed the ways of Providence, Could with safe conscience leave off drinking Till they had lost the power of thinking; With eyes half-closed came waddling in, And, having stroked his double chin, (That chin, whose credit to maintain Against the scoffs of the profane, 700 Had cost him more than ever state Paid for a poor electorate,[235]

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 Moore, 710 Begg'd that Fame might not be allow'd Their shame to publish to the crowd; That some new laws he would provide, (If old could not be misapplied 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, 720 And fairly prove, when they had done, That truth and falsehood were but one; Which juries must indeed retain, But their effects should render vain, Making all real power to rest In one corrupted rotten breast, By whose false gloss the very Bible Might be interpreted a libel.

Moore (who, his reverence to save, Pleaded the fool to screen the knave, 730 Though all who witness'd on his part Swore for his head against his heart) Had taken down, from first to last, A just account of all that pa.s.s'd; But, since the gracious will of Fate, Who mark'd the child for wealth and state E'en in the cradle, had decreed The mighty Dulman ne'er should read, That office of disgrace to bear The smooth-lipp'd Plausible[236] was there; 740 From Holborn e'en to Clerkenwell, Who knows not smooth-lipp'd Plausible?

A preacher, deem'd of greatest note For preaching that which others wrote.

Had Dulman now, (and fools, we see, Seldom want curiosity) Consented (but the mourning shade Of Gascoyne hasten'd to his aid, And in his hand--what could he more-- Triumphant Canning's picture bore) 750 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, And, growling, cry, with surly tone, 'Keep off--this feast is all my own.' 760 Bending to earth the downcast eye, Or planting it against the sky, As one immersed in deepest thought, Or with some holy vision caught, His hands, to aid the traitor's art, Devoutly folded o'er his heart; Here Moore, in fraud well skill'd, should go, All saint, with solemn step and slow.

Oh, that Religion's sacred name, Meant to inspire the purest flame, 770 A prost.i.tute should ever be To that arch-fiend Hypocrisy, Where we find every other vice Crown'd with d.a.m.n'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, 780 Should the prim Plausible be seen, Observe his stiff, affected mien; 'Gainst Nature, arm'd by Gravity, His features too in buckle see; See with what sanct.i.ty he reads, With what devotion tells his beads!

Now, prophet, show me, by thine art, What's the religion of his heart: Show there, if truth thou canst unfold, Religion centred all in gold; 790 Show him, nor fear Correction's rod, As false to friendship, as to G.o.d.

Horrid, unwieldy, 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 Interest fell; How, for integrity renown'd, Which booksellers have often found, 800 He for subscribers baits his hook,[237]

And takes their cash--but where's the book?

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, 810 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, Not fix'd to old friends nor to new, He d.a.m.ns the pension which he takes And loves the Stuart he forsakes. 820 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 required in haste, Is with a random stroke disgraced) Pomposo, form'd on doubtful plan, Not quite a beast, nor quite a man; Like--G.o.d knows what--for never yet Could the most subtle human wit 830 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, generous, manly mind, Which we, with joy, in Aldrich[238] find-- 840 These three, who now are faintly shown, Just sketch'd, and scarcely to be known, If Dulman their request had heard, In stronger colours had appear'd, And friends, though partial, at first view, Shuddering, had own'd the picture true.

But had their journal been display'd, And their whole process open laid, What a vast unexhausted field For mirth must such a journal yield! 850 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 destined 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, 860 So loud to whisper, that each word May all around be plainly heard; And Prudence, sure, would never miss A custom so contrived 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; 870 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 every 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 Power would have her dumb; 880 For who the devil doth not know That t.i.tles and estates bestow An ample stock, where'er they fall, Of graces which we mental call?

Beggars, in every 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, Interest more than Pride, Discreetly take the stronger side; 890 Desert, in time, the simple few Who Virtue's barren path pursue; Adopt my maxims--follow me-- To Baal bow the prudent knee; Deny thy G.o.d, 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 control; 900 Vainly thy precepts are address'd Where Virtue steels the steady breast; Through meanness wade to boasted power, Through guilt repeated every hour; What is thy gain, when all is done, What mighty laurels hast thou won?

Dull crowds, 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? 910 From her reproaches canst thou fly?

Canst thou with worlds her silence buy?

Believe it not--her stings shall find A pa.s.sage to thy coward mind: There shall she fix her sharpest dart; There show thee truly as thou art, Unknown to those by whom thou 'rt prized, Known to thyself to be despised.

The man who weds the sacred Muse, Disdains all mercenary views, 920 And he, who Virtue's throne would rear Laughs at the phantoms raised by Fear.

Though Folly, robed in purple, shines, Though Vice exhausts Peruvian mines, Yet shall they tremble, and turn pale, When Satire wields her mighty flail; Or should they, of rebuke afraid, With Melcombe[239] seek h.e.l.l's deepest shade, Satire, still mindful of her aim, Shall bring the cowards back to shame. 930 Hated by many, loved by few, Above each little private view, Honest, though poor, (and who shall dare To disappoint my boasting there?) Hardy and resolute, though weak, The dictates of my heart to speak, Willing I bend at Satire's throne; What power I have be all her own.

Nor shall yon lawyer's specious art, Conscious of a corrupted heart, 940 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 degenerate age, (When, dead to every nicer sense, Deep sunk in vice and indolence, 950 The spirit of old Rome was broke Beneath the tyrant fiddler'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 pleased is every paltry elf To prate about that thing, himself!

After my promise made in rhyme, And meant in earnest at that time, 960 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 plunged, in vain I look about, And can't stay in, nor well get out.

Could I, whilst Humour held the quill, Could I digress with half that skill; Could I with half that skill return, Which we so much admire in Sterne, 970 Where each digression, seeming vain, And only fit to entertain, Is found, on better recollection, To have a just and nice connexion, To help the whole with wondrous 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; 980 Deeply impress'd, and ever new, Each image past should start to view, And we to Dulman 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, 990 Where honest features, void of art, Betray the feelings of the heart; Our Dulman with a face was bless'd, Where no one pa.s.sion was express'd; His eye, in a fine stupor caught, Implied a plenteous lack of thought; Nor was one line that whole face seen in Which could be justly charged with meaning.

To Avarice by birth allied, Debauch'd by marriage into Pride, 1000 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; Stiff in opinion, (no rare case With blockheads in or out of place) Too weak, and insolent of soul To suffer Reason's just control, But bending, of his own accord, To that trim transient toy, my lord; 1010 The dupe of Scots, (a fatal race, Whom G.o.d in wrath contrived 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'er said it, 1020 Sworn friend of great ones not a few, Though he their t.i.tles only knew, And those (which, envious of his breeding, Book-worms have charged to want of reading) Merely to show himself polite He never would p.r.o.nounce aright; An orator with whom a host Of those which Rome and Athens boast, In all their pride might not contend; Who, with no powers to recommend, 1030 Whilst Jackey Hume, and Billy Whitehead, And d.i.c.ky Glover,[240] sat delighted, Could speak whole days in Nature's spite, Just as those able vers.e.m.e.n write; Great Dulman from his bed arose-- Thrice did he spit--thrice wiped his nose-- Thrice strove to smile--thrice strove to frown-- And thrice look'd up--and thrice look'd down-- Then silence broke--'c.r.a.pe, who am I?'

c.r.a.pe bow'd, and smiled an arch reply. 1040 'Am I not, c.r.a.pe? I am, you know, Above all those who are below.

Hare 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 lest I should proceed too far, I'll feel my friend the Minister, 1050 (Great men, c.r.a.pe, must not be neglected) How he in this point is affected; 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 power?

Am I not mighty in the land?

Do not I sit whilst others stand? 1060 Am I not with rich garments graced, In seat of honour always placed?

And do not cits of chief degree, Though proud to others, bend to me?

Have I not, as a Justice ought, The laws such wholesome rigour taught, That Fornication, in disgrace, Is now afraid to show her face, And not one wh.o.r.e these walls approaches Unless they ride in their own coaches? 1070 And shall this Fame, an old poor strumpet, Without our licence sound her trumpet, And, envious of our city's quiet, In broad daylight blow up a riot?

If insolence like this we bear, Where is our state? our office where?

Farewell, all honours of our reign; Farewell, the neck-enn.o.bling chain, Freedom's known badge o'er all the globe; Farewell, the solemn-spreading robe; 1080 Farewell, the sword; farewell, the mace; Farewell, all t.i.tle, pomp, and place, Removed from men of high degree, (A loss to them, c.r.a.pe, not to me) Banish'd to Chippenham or to Frome, Dulman once more shall ply the loom.'

c.r.a.pe, lifting up his hands and eyes, 'Dulman!--the loom!--at Chippenham!'--cries; 'If there be powers which greatness love, Which rule below, but dwell above, 1090 Those powers united all shall join To contradict the rash design.

Sooner shall stubborn Will[241] lay down His opposition with his gown; Sooner shall Temple leave the road Which leads to Virtue's mean abode; Sooner shall Scots this country quit, And England's foes be friends to Pitt, Than Dulman, from his grandeur thrown, Shall wander outcast and unknown. 1100 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 lived 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, 1110 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 in tawny India's sh.o.r.e, So sure shall Dulman and his race To latest times this station grace.' 1120 Dulman, who all this while had kept His eyelids closed as if he slept, Now looking steadfastly on c.r.a.pe, As at some G.o.d in human shape: 'c.r.a.pe, I protest, you seem to me To have discharged a prophecy: Yes--from the first it doth appear Planted by Fate, the Dulmans here Have always held a quiet reign, And here shall to the last remain. 1130 'c.r.a.pe, 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.

c.r.a.pe--here it is--start not one doubt-- A plot--a plot--I've found it out.'

'O G.o.d!' cries c.r.a.pe, 'how bless'd the nation, Where one son boasts such penetration!' 1140 'c.r.a.pe, I've not time to tell you now When I discover'd this, or how; To Stentor[242] 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. 1150 'Stay, c.r.a.pe, come back--what! don't you see The effects of this discovery?

Dulman all care and toil endures-- The profit, c.r.a.pe, 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, through my interest, make thee blest: And at this time, when gracious Fate Dooms to the Scot the reins of state, 1160 Who is more fit (and for your use We could some instances produce) 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, c.r.a.pe, and let me not, Like old Newcastle,[243] be forgot.

But an affair, c.r.a.pe, of this size Will ask from Conduct vast supplies; 1170 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[244]-- Be all the city-pomp display'd, 1180 Let the Train-bands'--c.r.a.pe 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-- My servants--mine alone--no more Than what my servants did before-- Dost not remember, c.r.a.pe, that day, When, Dulman's grandeur to display, As all too simple and too low, Our city friends were thrust below, 1190 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, c.r.a.pe, 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.' 1200 Not quite so fast as lightning flies, Wing'd with red anger, through 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, c.r.a.pe hobbled; but his mind was good-- Could he go faster than he could?

Near to that tower, which, as we're told, The mighty Julius raised of old, 1210 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 shown By brutes much greater of our own; Fast by the crowded Thames, is found An ample square of sacred ground, Where artless Eloquence presides, And Nature every sentence guides. 1220 Here female parliaments debate About religion, trade, and state; Here every Naad's patriot soul, Disdaining foreign base control, Despising French, despising Erse, Pours forth the plain old English curse, And bears aloft, with terrors hung, The honours of the vulgar tongue.

Here Stentor, always heard with awe, In thundering accents deals out law: 1230 Twelve furlongs off each dreadful word Was plainly and distinctly heard, And every neighbour hill around Return'd and swell'd the mighty sound; The loudest virgin of the stream, Compared with him would silent seem; Thames, (who, enraged to find his course Opposed, rolls down with double force, Against the bridge indignant roars, And lashes the resounding sh.o.r.es) 1240 Compared with him, at lowest tide, In softest whispers seems to glide.

Hither, directed by the noise, Swell'd with the hope of future joys, Through too much zeal and haste made lame, The reverend slave of Dulman 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-- 1250 'Stentor,' cries c.r.a.pe. 'I'm hither sent On business of most high intent, Great Dulman's orders to convey; Dulman commands, and I obey; Big with those throes which patriots feel, And labouring for the commonweal, 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: 1260 '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!'

BOOK IV.

c.o.xcombs, who vainly make pretence To something of exalted sense 'Bove other men, and, gravely wise, Affect those pleasures to despise, Which, merely to the eye confined, Bring no improvement to the mind, Rail at all pomp; they would not go For millions to a puppet-show, Nor can forgive the mighty crime Of countenancing pantomime; 10 No, not at Covent Garden, where, Without a head for play or player, Or, could a head be found most fit, Without one player to second it, They must, obeying Folly's call, Thrive by mere show, or not at all With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!) Most cruel to themselves, take pains For wretchedness, and would be thought Much wiser than a wise man ought, 20 For his own happiness, to be; Who what they hear, and what they see, And what they smell, and taste, and feel, Distrust, till Reason sets her seal, And, by long trains of consequences Insured, gives sanction to the senses; Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste One hour in what the world calls Taste, Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry, Unless they know some reason why; 30 With these grave fops, whose system seems To give up certainty for dreams, The eye of man is understood As for no other purpose good Than as a door, through which, of course, Their pa.s.sage crowding, objects force, A downright usher, to admit New-comers to the court of Wit: (Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen; When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean) 40 Where (such the practice of the court, Which legal precedents support) Not one idea is allow'd To pa.s.s unquestion'd in the crowd, But ere it can obtain the grace Of holding in the brain a place, Before the chief in congregation Must stand a strict examination.

Not such as those, who physic twirl, Full fraught with death, from every curl; 50 Who prove, with all becoming state, Their voice to be the voice of Fate; Prepared with essence, drop, and pill, To be another Ward or Hill,[245]

Before they can obtain their ends, To sign death-warrants for their friends, And talents vast as theirs employ, _Secundum artem_ to destroy, Must pa.s.s (or laws their rage restrain) Before the chiefs of Warwick Lane:[246] 60 Thrice happy Lane! where, uncontroll'd, In power and lethargy grown old, Most fit to take, in this bless'd land, The reins--which fell from Wyndham's hand,[247]