The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Clad, with large rent-rolls, like imperial robe,
In parchment majesty; around the Globe,
(A badge Kings' bear in their sinister hand,
As well a type of Vice, as vast Command,
Which crowns the wish of every kingly Soul,

101

Unbounded pow'r! unlimited controul!)
A robe, emboss'd with pearls, gems, glittering gold;
Sad pay, perhaps, for every Virtue, sold!
Earth's tyrant Potentates, with pow'r endued
To fix, or frustrate, rules of rectitude;
Like Justice, stand, with vellum bandage, blind,
Prejudging every cause among Mankind;
O'er plain penurious Clients' claims inveigh,
And wield the dagger where they dare not weigh—
Or, when they weigh, still make monarchic scale,
By pow'r, and privilege, o'er right prevail.
Wealth's written documents vast influence draw,
Around their Owners, with full force of Law—
All Virtues, Charms, Accomplishments, that can
Adorn, or aggrandize, the Race of Man!
Like Sybil's leaves oracularly speak;
Proprietors prove wise—all others weak.
Past all dispute, like sacred Writ, declare
That Penury's ever foul—Pelf always fair.
While base Possessors, with unbounded pow'r,
Engross all Deity's agrarian dow'r;
And, with imperious, overbearing, pride
Set every humbler Claim, and Call, aside.
Like Mammon's priests, or Moloch's prophets, fir'd
Prove Want apocryphal; and Wealth inspir'd;
Or, modern, courtly Clerk's, whose words, demure,
Call murmuring peccant—passive conduct pure.
With proud Infallibility's pretence,
Claim all clear Learning—Knowledge—Wit—and Sense;
And, with full, critical, acumen, find
All merits, and demerits, 'mong Mankind.
Assume the Orator's, and Writer's, wreath,
Rebutting each bold claim from all beneath.
Like Popes pass bulls, in arrogance, and haste,
On works of Science—Fancy—Wit—and Taste.
In Critic's seat, on moral conduct, sit;
Yea, spurn fair Piety, in Passion's fit;
As Israel's Legislator strangely rav'd,
And broke both Tables God's own finger grav'd!

He who mere mortal Personage ne'er respects,
But still the humble blesses—proud rejects—
He oft empow'rs the poorest Wretch to write,
The Will's best War—the fingers' noblest fight!
Encountering Wealth and Wit, in open field,
With trusty weapons, Truth, alone, can wield!
Whose documents, like daggers, when they wound,
Leave barbs behind that keep the sores unsound:
While Falshood shoots her feathery shafts in vain,
Which, pointless, fall nor give one grief, or pain;
But, back, repell'd; stick fast on tarry frame,
To show the Shooters Lie, the Lecher's shame.
Tho' quite unskill'd in Falshood's fencing Art,
Truth's helmed mail protects both head and heart;
And—oh! Wealth, cease false Wit—refrain foul Pow'r—
Reflect, Apostates! ponder Heav'n's dread hour!
And let this question check pride—passion—spite—
Shall not the Judge of all the Earth do right?