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

The Rich have many Friends—so Truth asserts—
But very various are Men's due deserts—
Some may be low Delinquents, some high Lords,
And well-deserving coronets, or—cords,
Some fam'd for honesty, turn'd out of door—
Some, crown'd with piety, continue poor—
And some by subtle stratagem, and stealth,
Amass estates, and rank with Men of Wealth.

Among the sneaking, sly, and treacherous, train,
A wiley Wight, nurs'd up on northern plain,
Receiv'd full order from his feudal Dame,
To send a Creature, qualified the same;
A chosen Chief from his subaltern band,
In poor discarded Crispin's place to stand—
With humblest arts of Agriculture skill'd,
But with profound complotting Spirit fill'd,
To prosecute their schemes with zest, and zeal,
Yet all their secret counsels close conceal—
With care and labour seeming well content,
While tracing mysteries of true management—
Still keeping careful on the mimic mask,
While trying, diligent, his double task,
Till well-inform'd in all the farming trade,
Then with full ministerial pow'r be paid.

Some time, poor Crispin, and Compeer, to blind,
He plied his part, a duteous, humble, Hind!
To no authority advanc'd pretence,
Or e'er assum'd high airs of consequence—
Attended strictly to the living stocks,
Inspected cattle, and survey'd the flocks—
The hackneys curried, full their cratches fed—
Well-corn'd their mangers—water'd—made their bed—
Fodder'd and farm'd milch cows, or fatting kine,
Or bore full buckets for the herds of swine—
Nor only then, the Shepherd's office fill'd,
But, when his Mistress call'd, her mutton kill'd—
With skill would butcher pork and bacon hogs—
Would sow the ground—well cleave the gnarly logs
With countless cares, and many labours, more,
Without a blush, the lumb'ring Blockhead boor,
Sly Gibeonite! who, thus, by guile, began
To execute his crafty Despot's plan:
A Russian Peter! but without his parts,
By Art endeavouring to obtain the Arts;
To fit him for the task his Mistress meant,
The scheme, complex, of pastoral Government.

With him a proper counterpart was join'd,
A Rustic, skill'd in arts of different kind;
Instructed farm-utensils well to frame,
To number integers, and write his name:
Yet quite unfit for such compound employ,
Of which his Chief was ignorant as the Stye!
What was the result, when our Bard retir'd?
Why, with his rapturing turn of fortune, fir'd,
The doughty Leader's drunkeness and lust,
By gross indulgence gave the Dame disgust—
And learn'd Lieutenant claim'd so little skill
In calcuations, with his figuring quill,
That, at the first campaign's ill-fated close,
A third more skilful Financier they chose,
To state the profits, and to count the cost,
And prove what past Year's warfare won or lost—
When, to the Lady's grief, and Dolts' disgrace,
The wonderous Warriors were put out of place.