Behold him (for the maxim's true, Whate'er we by another do,
We do ourselves; and chaplain paid, Like slaves, in ev'ry other trade, Had mutter'd over God knows what, Something which he by heart had got) Having, as usual, said his pray'rs, Go litter totter to the stairs; Behold him for descent prepare, With one foot trembling in the air; He starts, he pauses on the brink, And, hard to credit, seems to think; Through his whole train (the chaplain gave The proper cue to ev'ry slave) At once, as with infection caught, Each started, paus'd, and aim'd at thought; He turns, and they turn; big with care, He waddles to his elbow-chair, Squats down, and, silent for a season, At last with Crape begins to reason: But first of all he made a sign That ev'ry soul, but the divine,
Should quit the room; in him, he knows, He may all confidence repose.
"Crape-though I'm yet not quite awakeBefore this awful step I take,
On which my future all depends,
I ought to know my foes and friends. By foes and friends, observe me still, I mean not those who well or ill Perhaps may wish me, but those who Have 't in their 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. Not that, remark without replies, I say that to get out is wise, Or, by the very self-same rule That to get in was like a fool: 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 Without a rival, by his aid, My fortunes in a trice are made; Nay, honours on my zeal may smile, And stamp me earl of some great isle: But if, a matter of much doubt, The present minister goes out, Fain would I know on what pretext I can stand fairly with the next?
For as my aim at ev'ry hour Is to be well with those in pow'r, And my material point of view, Whoever's in, to be in too,
I should not, like a blockhead, choose To gain these so as those to lose : "Tis good in ev'ry case, you know, To have two strings unto our bow,”
As one in wonder lost, Crape view'd His lord, who thus his speech pursu❜d. "This, my good Crape, is my grand point, And as the times are out of joint, The greater caution is requir'd
To bring about the point desir'd.
What I would wish to bring about, Cannot admit a moment's doubt; The matter in dispute, you know, Is what we call the quomodo. That be thy task."-The rev'rend slave, Becoming in a moment grave, Fix'd to the ground and rooted stood, Just like a man cut out of wood; Such as we see (without the least Reflection glancing on the priest) One or more, planted up and down, Almost in ev'ry church in town:
He stood some minutes; then, like one Who wish'd the matter might be done, But could not do it, shook his head, And thus the man of sorrow said:
"Hard is this task, too hard I swear, By much too hard for me to bear; Beyond expression hard my part, Could mighty Dullman see my heart, When he, alas! makes known a will, Which Crape's not able to fulfil. Was ever my obedience barr'd By any trifling nice regard
To sense and honour? Could I reach Thy meaning without help of speech, At the first motion of thy eye Did not thy faithful creature fly? Have I not said, not what I ought, But what by earthly master taught? Did I e'er weigh, through duty strong, In thy great biddings, right and wrong? Did ever int'rest, to whom thou Can'st not with more devotion bow, Warp my sound faith, or will of mine In contradiction run to thine? Have I not, at thy table plac'd, When business call'd aloud for haste, Torn myself thence, yet never heard To utter one complaining word,
And had, till thy great work was done, All appetites as having none? Hard is it, this great plan pursu'd Of voluntary servitude;
Pursu'd without or shame or fear, Through the great circle of the year; Now to receive, in this grand hour, Commands which lie beyond my pow'r; Commands which baffle all my skill, And leave me nothing but my will: Be that accepted; let my lord Indulgence to his slave afford; This task, for my poor strength unfit, Will yield to none but Dullman's wit." With such gross incense gratified, And turning up the lip of pride,
"Foor Crape"-and shook his empty head- "Poor puzzled Crape," wise Dullman said, "Of judgment weak, of sense confin'd,
For things of lower note design'd, For things within the vulgar reach,
To run of errands, and to preach.
Well hast thou judg'd, that heads like mine Cannot want help from heads like thine; Well hast thou judg'd thyself unmeet
Of such high argument to treat; 'Twas but to try thee that I spoke, And all I said was but a joke.
"Nor think a joke, Crape, a disgrace Or to my person, or my place;
The wisest of the sons of men
Have deign'd to use them now and then: The only caution, do you see, Demanded by our dignity,
From common use and men exempt, Is, that they may not breed contempt. Great use they have, when in the hands Of one, like me, who understands; Who understands the time and place, The persons, manner, and the grace, Which fools neglect; so that we find, If all the requisites are join'd, From whence a perfect joke must spring, A joke's a very serious thing.
"But to our business-My design, Which gave so rough a shock to thine, To my capacity is made
As ready as a fraud in trade, Which like broad-cloth, I can, with ease, Cut out in any shape I please.
"Some, in my circumstance, some few, 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 L. 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 Duilman 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; Would see a daughter, yet a maid, Into a statesman's arins betray'd; Nay, should the girl prove coy, nor know What daughters to a father owe, Sooner than schemes so nobly plann'd Should fail, themselves would lend a hand; Would vote on one side, whilst a brother, Properly taught, would vote on t' other; Would ev'ry petty band forget; The public eye be with one set, In private with a second herd, And be by proxy with a third; Would (like a queen, of whom I read The other day-her name is fled- In a book (where, together bound, Whittington and his cat I found, A tale most true, and free from art, Which all lord-mayors should have by heart) A queen (O might those days begin Afresh when queens would learn to spin)
Who wrought, and wrought, but for some plot, The cause of which I've now forgot,
During the absence of the Sun Undid what she by day had done) Whilst they a double visage wear, What's sworn by day, by night unswear. "Such be their arts, and such perchance May happily their ends advance: From a new system mine shall spring, A locum-tenens is the thing.
That's your true plan.-To obligate The present ministers of state,
My shadow shall our court approach,
And bear my pow'r, and have my coach; My fine state coach, superb to view, A fine state coach, and paid for too; To curry favour, and the grace Obtain, of those who 're out of place: In the mean time I-that's to say-- I proper, I myself-here stay.
"But hold--perhaps unto the nation, Who hate the Scot's administration, To lend my coach may seem to be Declaring for the ministry; For where the city-coach is, there Is the true essence of the mayor: Therefore (for wise men are intent Evils at distance to prevent, Whilst fools the evils first endure, And then are plagu'd to seek a cure) No coach-a horse-and free from fear To make our deputy appear,
Fast on his back shall he be tied, With two grooms marching by his side: Then for a horse-through all the land, To head our solemn city-band, Can any one so fit be found, As he, who in Artill'ry-ground, Without a rider, noble sight,
Led on our bravest troops to fight?
"But first, Crape, for my honour's sake, A tender point, 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 determin'd out and out, That pow'r must tyranny appear, Which should, prejudging, interfore, 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 Dullman sit alone, Making this elbow-chair my throne, And you, performing what I bid, Do all, as if I nothing did."
Crape heard, and speeded on his way ; With him to hear was to obey, Not without trouble, be assur'd, A proper proxy was procur'd To serve such infamous intent, And such a lord to represent;
Nor could one have been found at all
On t' other side of London Wall.
The trumpet sounds-solemn and slow Behold the grand procession go, All moving on, cat after kind, As if for motion ne'er design'd.
Constables, whom the laws admit To keep the peace by breaking it; Beadles, who hold the second place By virtue of a silver mace, Which ev'ry Saturday is drawn, For use of Sunday, out of pawn; Treasurers, who with empty key Secure an empty treasury; Churchwardens, who their course pursue In the same state, as to their pew
Churchwardens of Saint Margret go, Since Pierson taught them pride and show, Who in short transient pomp appear, Like Almanacs chang'd ev'ry year, Behind whom, with unbroken locks, Charity carries the poor's box, Not knowing that with private keys They ope and shut it when they please; Overseers, who by frauds ensure The heavy curses of the poor; Unclean came flocking, bulls and bears, Like beasts into the ark, by pairs.
Portentous flaming in the van Stalk'd the professor Sheridan; A man of wire, a mere pantine, A downright animal machine. He knows alone in proper mode How to take vengeance on an Ode, And how to butcher Ammon's son And poor Jack Dryden both in one. On all occasions next the chair He stands for service of the mayor, And to instruct him how to use His a's and b's, and p's and q's. O'er letters, into tatters worn, O'er syllables, defac'd and torn, O'er words disjointed, and o'er sense Left destitute of all defence,
He strides, and all the way he goes,
Wades, deep in blood, o'er Criss-Cross-Rows. Before him, ev'ry consonant
In agonies is seen to pant; Behind, in forms not to be known, The ghosts of tortur'd vowels groan.
Next Hart and Duke, well worthy grace And city favour, came in place. No children can their toils engage, Their toils are turn'd to rev'rend age. When a court dame, to grace his brows Resolv'd, is wed to city spouse, Their aid with madam's aid must join The 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.
Since the revival of Fingal, Custom, and Custom's all in all, Cominands that we should have regard, On all high seasons, to the bard. Great acts like these, by vulgar tongue Profan'd, should not be said, but sung. This place to fill, renown'd in fame, The high and mighty Lockman 19 came; And, ne'er forgot in Dullman's reign, With proper order to maintain The uniformity of pride,
Brought brother Whitehead by his side. On horse, who proudly paw'd the ground, And cast his fiery eye-balls round, Snorting, and champing the rude bit, As if, for warlike purpose fit, His high and gen'rous blood disdain'd To be for sports and pastimes rein'd,
10 John Lockman, secretary to the British Herring Fishery, author of many forgotten poems, and translator of several works from the French.
Great Dymock, in his glorious station, Paraded at the coronation. Not so our city Dymock came, Heavy, dispirited, and tame;
No mark of sense, his eyes half-clos'd, He on a mighty dray-horse doz'd. Fate never could a horse provide So fit for such a man to ride; Nor find a man, with strictest care, So fit for such a horse to bear. Hung round with instruments of death, The sight of him would stop the breath Of braggart Cowardice, and make The very court Drawcansir quake. With 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, unfesh'd, of maiden hue, Which rage or valour never drew; With blunderbusses, taught to ride, Like pocket-pistols, by his side, In girdle stuck, he seem'd to be A little moving armory.
One thing much wanting to complete The sight, and make a perfect treat, Was, that the horse (a courtesy In horses found of high degree) Instead of going forward on,
All the way backward should have gone. Horses, unless they breeding lack, Some scruple make to turn their back, 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, All burning with the sacred flame Of Liberty, which well he knows On the great stock of Slav'ry grows. Like sparrow, who, depriv'd of mate Snatch'd by the cruel hand of Fate, From spray to spray no more will hop, But sits alone on the house-top, Or like himself, when all alone At Croyden, he was heard to groan, Lifting both hands in the defence Of interest and common sense; Both hands, for as no other man Adopted and pursu'd his plan, The left-hand had been lonesome quite, If he had not held up the right. Apart he came, and fix'd his eyes With rapture on a distant prize, On which in letters worthy note,
There "twenty thousand pounds" was wrote: False trap, for credit sapp'd is found By getting twenty thousand pound. Nay, look not thus on me, and stare, Doubting the certainty.-To swear In such a case I should be loth- But Perry Cust" may take his oath. In plain and decent garb array'd, With the prim quaker, Fraud, came Trade; Connivance, to improve the plan, Habited like a juryman,
"See North Briton, vol. iii.
In garments of the priesthood clad, So well disguis'd, that you might swear, Deceiv'd, a very priest was there; Bankruptcy, full of ease and health, And wallowing in well-sav'd wealth, Came sneering through a ruin'd band, And bringing B- in her hand;
Victory hanging down her head, Was by a Highland stallion led; Peace, cloth'd in sabies, with a face Which witness'd sense of huge disgrace, Which spake a deep and rooted shame Both of herself and of her name, Mourning creeps on, and blushing feels War, grim War treading on her heels; Pale Credit, shaken by the arts
Of men with bad heads and worse hearts, Taking no notice of a band
Which near her were ordain'd to stand, Well righ destroy'd by sickly fit, Look'd wistful all around for Pitt; Freedom-at that most hallow'd name My spirits mount into a flame,
Each pulse beats high, and each nerve strains E'en to the cracking; 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; Horrour bestrode a foreign blast, And from the prison of the North, To Freedom deadly, storms burst forth. A car like those, in which, we're told, Our wild forefathers warr'd of old, Loaded with death, six horses bear 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; ev'ry steed Was of that ancient savage breed Which fell Geryon nurs'd; their food The flesh of man, their drink his blood.
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 yok'd with Pride. Union most strange it must appear, Till other unions make it clear.
Next, in the gall of bitterness, With rage, which words can ill express, With unforgiving rage, which springs From a false zeal for holy things, Wearing such robes as prophets wear, False prophets plac'd in Peter's chair; On which, in characters of fire, Shapes antic, horrible and dire, Inwoven flam'd; where, to the view, In groups appear'd a rabble crew
Of sainted devils, where all round Vile relics of vile men were found, Who, worse than devils, from the birth Perform'd the work of Hell on Earth, Jugglers, inquisitors, and popes, Pointing at axes, wheels, and ropes, And engines, fram'd on horrid plan, Which one but the destroyer man Could, to promote his selfish views, Have heads to make, or hearts to use; Bearing, to consecrate her tricks, In her left-hand a crucifix, Remembrance of our dying Lord, And in her right a two-cdg'd sword; Having her brows, in impious sport, Adorn'd with words of high import, On earth peace, amongst men, good-will, Love bearing, and forbearing still, All wrote in the heart's-blond of those Who rather death than falsehood chose; On her breast (where, in days of yore, When God lov'd Jews, the high-priest wore Those oracles, which were decreed T' instruct and guide the chosen seed) Having with glory clad and strength, The Virgin pictur'd at full length, Whilst at her feet, in small portray'd, As scarce worth notice, Christ was laid; Came Superstition, fierce and fell, An imp detested, e'en in Hell; Her eye inflam'd, her face all o'er Foully besmear'd with human gore, O'er heaps of mangled saints she rode; Fast at her heels Death proudly strode, And grimly smil'd, well-pleas'd to see Such 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 plac'd, And sov'reign pow'r by pride disgrac'd, Where loudly witnessing a mind
Of savage more than human kind, Not choosing to be lov'd, but fear'd, Mocking at right, Misrule appear'd.
With eyeballs glaring fiery red Enough to strike beholders dead, Gnashing his teeth, and in a flood Pouring corruption forth and blood From his chaf'd jaws; without remorse Whipping, and spurring on his horse, Whose sides, in their own blood embay'd, E'en to the bone were open laid, Came Tyranny; disdaining Awe, And trampling over Sense and Law. One thing and only one he knew, One object only would pursue, Though less (so low doth passion bring) Than man, he would be more than king.
With ev'ry argument and art
Which might corrupt the head and heart, Soothing the frenzy of his mind, Companion meet, was Flatt'ry join'd. Winning his carriage, ev'ry look Employ'd, whilst it conceal'd a hook; When simple most, most to be fear'd; Most crafty when no craft appear'd;
His tales no man like him could tell; His words, which melted as they fell, Might e'en a hypocrite deceive, And make an infidel believe, Wantonly cheating o'er and o'er
Those who had cheated been before: Such Flatt'ry came in evil hour, Pois'ning the royal ear of Pow'r, And, grown by prostitution great, Would be first minister of state.
Within the chariot, all alone, High seated on a kind of throne, With pebbles grac'd, a figure came, Whom Justice would, but dare not, name. Hard times when Justice, without fear, Dare not bring forth to public ear The names of those, who dare offend 'Gainst Justice, and pervert her end: But, if the Muse afford me grace, Description shall supply the place. In foreign garments he was clad: Sage ermine o'er the glossy plaid Cast rev'rend honour; on his heart, Wrought by the curious hand of Art, In silver wrought, and brighter far Than heav'nly or than earthly star, Shone a white rose, the emblem dear Of him he ever must revere; Of that dread lord, who with his host Of faithful native rebels lost,
Like those black spirits doom'd to Hell, At once from pow'r and virtue fell; Around his clouded brows was plac'd A bonnet, most superbly grac'd With mighty thistles, nor forgot The sacred motto, Touch me not.
In the right hand a sword he bore Harder than adamant, and more Fatal than winds, which from the mouth Of the rough North invade the South: The recking blade to view presents The blood of helpless innocents; And on the hilt, as meek become As lambs before the shearers dumb, With downcast eye, and solemn show Of deep unutterable woe,
Mourning the time when Freedom reign'd, Fast to a rock was Justice chain'd.
In his left hand, in wax imprest, With bells and gewgaws idly drest, An image, cast in baby mould,
He held, and seem'd o'erjoy'd to hold. On this he fix'd his eyes, to this Bowing he gave the loyal kiss, And, for rebellion fully ripe, Seem'd to desire the antitype. What if to that Pretender's foes His greatness, nay, his life he owes, Shall common obligations bind, And shake his constancy of mind? Scoring such weak and petty chains, Faithful to James he still remains, Though he the friend of George appear: Dissimulation's virtue here.
Jealous and mean, he with a frown Would awe, and keep all merit down, Nor would to Truth and Justice bend, Unless out-bullied by his friend: Brave with the coward, with the brave He is himself a coward slave;
Aw'd by his fears, he has no heart To take a great and open part; Mines in a subtle train he springs, And, secret, saps the ears of kings; But not e'en there continues firm 'Gainst the resistance of a worm: Born in a country, where the will Of one is law to all, he still Retain'd th' infection, with full aim To spread it wheresoe'er he came; Freedom he hated, Law defied, The prostitute of Pow'r and Pride: Law he with ease explains away, And leads bewilder'd Sense astray; Much to the credit of his brain Puzzles the cause he can't maintain, Proceeds on most familiar grounds, And, where he can't convince, confounds; Talents of rarest stamp and size, To Nature false, he misapplies, And turns to poison what was sent For purposes of nourishment. Paleness, not such as on his wings The messenger of sickness brings, But such as takes its coward rise From conscious baseness, conscious vice, O'erspread his cheeks; Disdain and Pride, To upstart fortunes ever tied, Scowl'd on his brow; within his eye, Insidious, lurking like a spy To Caution principled by Fear, Not daring open to appear,
Lodg'd covert Mischief; Passion hung On his lip quiv'ring; on his tongue Fraud dwelt at large; within his breast All that makes villain found a nest, All that, on Hell's completest plan, E'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, He cast his baleful eyes around. Fix'd without motion to the ground, Fear waiting on surprise, all stood, And horrour chill'd their curdled blood: No more they thought of pomp, no more (For they had seen his face before) * Of Law they thought; the cause forgot, Whether it was or ghost, or plot, Which drew them there. They all stood more Like statues than they were before.
What could be done? Could art, could force, Or both, direct a proper course
To make this savage monster tame, Or send him back the way he came? What neither art, nor force, nor both Could do, a lord of foreign growth, A lord to that base wretch allied In country, not in vice and pride, Effected: from the seif-same land, (Bad news for our blasphemning band 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,
« ForrigeFortsett » |