The Rolliad Part 18

A faithful pair, in mutual friendship tied, Once keen in hate, as now in love allied (This, o'er admiring mobs in triumph rode, Libell'd his monarch and blasphem'd his G.o.d; 20 That, the mean drudge of tyranny and BUTE, At once his practis'd pimp and prost.i.tute), Ads...o...b..s proud roof receives, whose dark recess And empty vaults, its owner's mind express, While block'd-up windows to the world display 25 How much he loves a tax, how much invites the day.

Here the dire chance that G.o.d-like GEORGE befel, How sick in spirit, yet in health how well; What Mayors by dozens, at the tale affrighted, Got drunk, address'd, got laugh'd at, and got knighted; 30 They read, with mingled horror and surprise, In London's pure Gazette, that never lies.

Ye Tory bands, who, taught by conscious fears, Have wisely check'd your tongues, and sav'd your ears,-- Hear, ere hard fate forbids--what heavenly strains 35 Flow'd from the lips of these melodious swains.

Alternate was the song; but first began, With hands uplifted, the regenerate man.

WILKES.

Bless'd be the beef-fed guard, whose vigorous twist Wrench'd the rais'd weapon from the murderer's fist, 40 Him Lords in waiting shall with awe behold In red tremendous, and hirsute in gold.

On him, great monarch, let thy bounty shine, What meed can match a life so dear as thine?

Well was that bounty measured, all must own, 45 That gave him _half_ of what he saved--_a crown_.

Bless'd the dull edge, for treason's views unfit, Harmless as SYDNEY's rage, or BEARCROFT's wit.

Blush, clumsy patriots, for degenerate zeal, WILKES had not guided thus the faithless steel! 50 Round your sad mistress flock, ye maids elect, Whose charms severe your chast.i.ty protect; Scar'd by whose glance, despairing love descries, That virtue steals no triumph from your eyes.

Round your bold master flock, ye mitred hive, 55 With anathems on Whigs his soul revive!

Saints! whom the sight of human blood appals, Save when to please the Royal will it falls.

He breathes! he lives! the vestal choir advance, Each takes a bishop, and leads up the dance, 60 Nor dreads to break her long respected vow, For chaste--ah strange to tell!--are bishops now: Saturnian times return!--the age of truth, And--long foretold--is come the virgin youth.

Now sage professors, for their learning's curse, 65 Die of their duty in remorseless verse: Now sentimental Aldermen expire In prose half flaming with the Muse's fire; Their's--while rich dainties swim on every plate-- Their's the glad toil to feast for Britain's fate; 70 Nor mean the gift the Royal grace affords, All shall be knights--but those that shall be lords.

Fountain of Honour, that art never dry, Touch'd with whose drops of grace no thief can die, Still with new t.i.tles soak the delug'd land, 75 Still may we all be safe from KETCH's menac'd hand!

JENKINSON.

Oh wond'rous man, with a more wond'rous Muse!

O'er my lank limbs thy strains a sleep diffuse, Sweet as when PITT with words, disdaining end, Toils to explain, yet scorns to comprehend. 80 Ah! whither had we fled, had that foul day Torn him untimely from our arms away?

What ills had mark'd the age, had that dire thrust Pierc' his soft heart, and bow'd his bob to dust?

G.o.ds! to my labouring sight what phantoms rise! 85 Here Juries triumph, and there droops Excise!

Fierce from defeat, and with collected might, The low-born Commons claim the people's right: And mad for freedom, vainly deem their own, Their eye presumptuous dares to scan the throne. 90 See--in the general wreck that smothers all, Just ripe for justice--see my HASTINGS fall.

Lo, the dear Major meets a rude repulse, Though blazing in each hand he bears a BULSE?

Nor Ministers attend, nor Kings relent, 95 Though rich Nabobs so splendidly repent.

See EDEN's faith expos'd to sale again, Who takes his plate, and learns his French in vain.

See countless eggs for us obscure the sky, Each blanket trembles, and each pump is dry. 100 Far from good things DUNDAS is sent to roam, Ah!--worse than banish'd--doom'd to live at home.

Hence dire illusions! dismal scenes away-- Again he cries, "What, what!" and all is gay.

Come, BRUNSWICK, come, great king of loaves and fishes, Be bounteous still to grant us all our wishes! 106 Twice every year with BEAUFOY as we dine, Pour'd to the brim--eternal George--be thine Two foaming cups of his nectareous juice, Which--new to G.o.ds--no mortal vines produce. 110 To us shall BRUDENELL sing his choicest airs, And capering MULGRAVE ape the grace of bears; A grand thanksgiving pious YORK compose, In all the proud parade of pulpit prose; For sure Omniscience will delight to hear, 115 Thou 'scapest a danger, that was never near.

While ductile PITT thy whisper'd wish obeys, While dupes believe whate'er the Doctor says, While panting to be tax'd, the famish'd poor Grow to their chains, and only beg for more; 120 While fortunate in ill, thy servants find No snares too slight to catch the vulgar mind: Fix'd as the doom, thy power shall still remain, And thou, wise King, as uncontroul'd shall reign.

WILKES.

Thanks, _Jenky_, thanks, for ever could'st thou sing, 125 For ever could I sit and hear thee praise the King.

Then take this book, which with a Patriot's pride, Once to his sacred warrant I deny'd, Fond though he was of reading all I wrote: No gift can better suit thy tuneful throat. 130

JENKINSON.

And thou this Scottish pipe, which JAMIE's breath Inspir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death, From lips unhallow'd I've prcserv'd it long: Take the just tribute of thy loyal song. 134

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 59. Ergo alacris sylvas et cetera rura voluptas.

Panaque pastoresque tenet, Dryadasque puellas.

Ver. 61. Nec lupus insidias pecori, &c.

Ver. 63. Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna.

Ver. 78. Tale tuum carmen n.o.bis, divine Poeta, Quale sopor sessis in gramine.

Ver. 106. Sis bonus; O! felixque tuis-- Ver. 107. Pocula bina novo spumantia lacte quot--annis Craterasque duo statuam tibi.

Ver. 109. Vina _novum_ fundum calathis Arvisia nectar.

Ver. 114. Cantabunt mihi Damaetas et Lictius aegon.

Saltantes Satyros imitabitur Alphaesibaeus.

Ver. 121. Dum juga montis aper, &c.

Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt.

Ver. 130. At tu sume pedurn, quod c.u.m me saepe rogaret Non tulit Antigenes, et erat turn dignus amari.

Ver. 134. Est mihi-- Fistula, Damaetas dono mini quam dedit olim, Et dixit moriens, "Te nunc, habet ista secundum."

ECL. II.

NOTES.

Ver. 46. _half--a crown!_--Literally so.

Ver. 63, 64. It is rearkable that these are the only lines which our Poet has imitated from the IVth Eclogue (or the Pollio) of Virgil.

Perhaps the direct and obvious application of that whole Eclogue appeared to our author to be an undertaking too easy for the exercise of his superior talents; or perhaps he felt himself too well antic.i.p.ated by a similar imitation of Pope's Messiah, which was inserted some time since in one of the public papers. If the author will favour us with a corrected copy, adapted rather to the Pollio than the Messiah, we shall be happy to give it a place in our subsequent editions, of which we doubt not the good taste of the town will demand as many as of the rest of our celebrated bard's immortal compositions.

Ver. 119. The public alarm expressed upon the event which is the subject of this Pastoral, was certainly a very proper token of affection to a Monarch, every action of whose reign denotes him to be the father of his people. Whether it has sufficiently subsided to admit of a calm enquiry into facts, is a matter of some doubt, as the addresses were not finished in some late Gazettes. If ever that time should arrive, the world will be very well pleased to hear that the miserable woman whom the Privy Council have judiciously confined in Bedlam for her life, never even aimed a blow at his August Person.

Ver. 127. _This Book_, &c. Essay on Woman.

Ver. 130. _No gift can better suit thy----throat._ The ungrateful people of England, we have too much reason to fear, may be of a different opinion.

_CHARLES JENKINSON._

ARGUMENT.

The following is a very close Translation of _VIRGIL's SILENUS_; so close indeed that many Readers may be surprised at such a Deviation from our Authur's usual Mode of imitating the Ancients. But we are to consider that _VIRGIL_ is revered by his Countrymen, not only as a Poet, but likewise as a Prophet and Magician; and our incomparable Translator, who was not ignorant of this Circ.u.mstance, was convinced, that _VIRGIL_ in his _SILENUS_ had really and _bona fide_ meant to allude to the Wonders of the present Reign, and consequently that it became his Duty to adhere most strictly to his Original, and to convey the true Meaning of this. .h.i.therto inexplicable Eclogue.

Mine was the Muse, that from a Norman scroll First rais'd to Fame the barbarous worth of ROLLE, And dar'd on DEVON's hero to dispense The gifts of Language, Poetry, and Sense.

In proud Pindarics next my skill I try'd, 5 But SALISB'RY wav'd his wand and check'd my pride: "Write English, friend (he cry'd), be plain and flatter, Nor thus confound your compliment and satire.

Even I, a critic by the King's command, Find these here odes d.a.m.n'd hard to understand." 10 Now then, O deathless theme of WARTON's Muse, Oh great in War! oh glorious at Reviews!

While many a rival anxious for the bays; Pursues thy virtues with relentless praise; While at thy levee smiling crowds appear, 15 Blest that thy birth-day happens once a year: Like good SIR CECIL, I to woods retire, And write plain eclogues o'er my parlour fire.

Yet still for thee my loyal verse shall flow, Still, shou'd it please, to thee its charms shall owe; 20 And well I ween, to each succeeding age, Thy name shall guard and consecrate my page.

Begin, my Muse!--As WILBERFORCE and BANKS Late in the Lobby play'd their usual pranks, Within a water-closet's niche immur'd 25 (Oh that the treacherous door was unsecur'd), His wig awry, his papers on the ground, Drunk, and asleep, CHARLES JENKINSON they found.

Transported at the sight (for oft of late At PITT's a.s.sembled on affairs of state, 30 They both had press'd him, but could ne'er prevail, To sing a merry song or tell a tale) In rush'd th' advent'rous youths:--they seize, they bind, Make fast his legs, and tie his hands behind, Then scream for help; and instant to their aid 35 POMONA flies, POMONA, lovely maid; Or maid, or G.o.ddess, sent us from above, To bless young Senators with fruit and love.

Then thus the sage--"Why these unseemly bands?

"Untie my legs, dear boys, and loose my hands; 40 The promis'd tale be yours: a tale to you; To fair POMONA different gifts are due."

Now all things haste to hear the master talk: Here Fawns and Satyrs from the Bird-cage-walk, Here Centaur KENYON, and the Sylvan sage, 45 Whom BOWOOD guards to rule a purer age, Here T------W, B------T, H------N appear, With many a minor savage in their rear, Panting for treasons, riots, gibbets, blocks, To strangle NORTH, to scalp and eat CHARLES FOX. 50 There H------'s sober band in silence wait, Inur'd to sleep, and patient of debate; Firm in their ranks, each rooted to his chair They sit, and wave their wooden heads in air.

Less mute the rocks while tuneful Phbus sung, 55 Less sage the critic brutes round Orpheus hung; For true and pleasant were the tales he told, His theme great GEORGE's age, the age of gold.

Ere GEORGE appear'd a Briton bora and bred, One general Chaos all the land o'erspread 60 There lurking seeds of adverse factions lay, Which warm'd and nurtur'd by his dawning ray, Sprang into life. Then first began to thrive The tender shoots of young Prerogative; Then spread luxuriant, when unclouded shone 65 The full meridian splendour of the throne.

Yet was the Court a solitary waste; Twelve lords alone the Royal chamber grac'd!

When BUTE, the good DEUCALION of the reign, To gracious BRUNSWICK pray'd, nor pray'd in vain. 70 For straight (oh goodness of the royal mind!) Eight blocks, to dust and rubbish long confin'd, Now wak'd by mandate from their trance of years, Grew living creatures--just like other Peers.

Nor here his kindness ends--From wild debate 75 And factious rage he guards his infant state.

Resolv'd alone his empire's toils to bear, "Be all men dull!" he cry'd, and dull they were.

Then sense was treason:--then with b.l.o.o.d.y claw Exulting soar'd the vultures of the law: 80 Then ruffians robb'd by ministerial writ, And GRENVILLE plunder'd reams of useless wit, While mobs got drunk 'till learning should revive, And loudly bawl'd for WILKES and forty-five.

Next to WILL PITT he past, so sage, so young, 85 So cas'd with wisdom, and so arm'd with tongue His breast with every royal virtue full, Yet, strange to tell, the minion of JOHN BULL.

Prepost'rous pa.s.sion! say, what fiend possest, Misguided youth, what phrenzy fir'd thy breast? 90 'Tis true, in senates, many a hopeful lad Has rav'd in metaphor, and run stark mad; His friend, the heir-apparent of MONTROSE, Feels for his beak, and starts to find a nose; Yet at these times preserve the little share 95 Of sense and thought intrusted to their care; While thou with ceaseless folly, endless labour, Now coaxing JOHN, now flirting with his neighbour, Hast seen thy lover from his bonds set free, d.a.m.ning the shop-tax, and himself, and thee. 100 Now good MACPHERSON, whose prolific muse Begets false tongues, false heroes, and false news, Now frame new lies, now scrutinize thy brain, And bring th' inconstant to these arms again!

Next of the Yankeys' fraud the master told, 105 And GRENVILLE's fondness for Hesperian gold; And GRENVILLE's friends, conspicuous from afar, In mossy down incas'd, and bitter tar.

SIR CECIL next adorn'd the pompous song, Led by his CaeLIA through th' admiring throng, 110 All CaeLIA's sisters hail'd the prince of bards, Reforming sailors bow'd, and patriot guards: While thus SIR JOSEPH (his stupendious head Crown'd with green-groc'ry, and with flow'rs o'erspread) From the high hustings spoke--"This pipe be thine, 115 This pipe, the fav'rite present of the Nine, On which WILL WHITEHEAD play'd those powerful airs, Which to ST. JAMES's drew reluctant May'rs, And forc'd stiff-jointed Aldermen to bend; Sing thou on this thy SAL'SBURY, sing thy friend; 120 Long may he live in thy protecting strains, And HATFIELD vie with TEMPE's fabled plains!"

Why should I tell th' election's horrid tale, That scene of libels, riots, blood, and ale?

There of SAM HOUSE the horrid form appeared; 125 Round his white ap.r.o.n howling monsters reared Their angry clubs; mid broken heads they polled; And HOOD's best sailors in the kennel rolled; Ah! why MAHON's disastrous fate record?

Alas! how fear can change the fiercest lord! 130 See the sad sequel of the grocers' treat-- Behold him darting up St. James's-street, Pelted, and scar'd by BROOKE's h.e.l.lish sprites, And vainly fluttering round the door of WHITE's!