The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams ... From the Originals in the Possession of His Grandson The Right Hon. The Earl of Essex and Others: With Notes by Horace Walpole ... In Three Volumes, with Portraits |
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| III. | VOL. III. |
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 | The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams |  |
III. VOL. III.
1
ON BENEVOLENCE:
AN EPISTLE TO EUMENES.
Kind to my frailties still, Eumenes, hear;
Once more I try the patience of your ear.
Not oft I sing; the happier for the town,
So stunn'd already they're quite stupid grown
With monthly, daily—charming things I own.
Happy for them, I seldom court the Nine;
Another art, a serious art, is mine.
Of nauseous verses offer'd once a week,
You cannot say I did it, if you're sick.
'Twas ne'er my pride to shine by flashy fits
Amongst the Daily Advertiser wits.
Content if some few friends indulge my name,
So slightly am I stung with Love of Fame,
I would not scrawl one hundred idle lines—
Not for the praise of all the magazines.
Once more I try the patience of your ear.
Not oft I sing; the happier for the town,
So stunn'd already they're quite stupid grown
With monthly, daily—charming things I own.
Happy for them, I seldom court the Nine;
Another art, a serious art, is mine.
Of nauseous verses offer'd once a week,
You cannot say I did it, if you're sick.
'Twas ne'er my pride to shine by flashy fits
Amongst the Daily Advertiser wits.
Content if some few friends indulge my name,
So slightly am I stung with Love of Fame,
2
Not for the praise of all the magazines.
Yet once a moon, perhaps, I steal a night;
And, if our Sire Apollo pleases, write.
You smile; but all the train the Muse that follow,
Christians and dunces, still we quote Apollo.
Unhappy still our Poets will rehearse
To Goths, that stare astonish'd at their verse;
To the rank tribes submit their virgin lays:
So gross, so bestial, is the lust of praise!
And, if our Sire Apollo pleases, write.
You smile; but all the train the Muse that follow,
Christians and dunces, still we quote Apollo.
Unhappy still our Poets will rehearse
To Goths, that stare astonish'd at their verse;
To the rank tribes submit their virgin lays:
So gross, so bestial, is the lust of praise!
I to sound judges from the mob appeal,
And write to those who most my subject feel.
Eumenes, these dry moral lines I trust
With you, whom nought that's moral can disgust.
With you I venture, in plain home-spun sense,
What I imagine of Benevolence.
And write to those who most my subject feel.
Eumenes, these dry moral lines I trust
With you, whom nought that's moral can disgust.
With you I venture, in plain home-spun sense,
What I imagine of Benevolence.
Of all the monsters of the human kind,
What strikes you most is the low selfish mind.
You wonder how, without one liberal joy,
The steady miser can his years employ;
Without one friend, howe'er his fortunes thrive,
Despis'd and hated, how he bears to live.
With honest warmth of heart, with some degree
Of Pity that such wretched things should be.
You scorn the sordid knave—He grins at you,
And deems himself the wiser of the two.—
'Tis all but taste, howe'er we sift the case;
He has his joy, as every creature has.
'Tis true, he cannot boast an angel's share,
Yet has what happiness his organs bear.
Thou likewise mad'st the high seraphic soul,
Maker Omnipotent! and thou the owl.
Heav'n form'd him too, and doubtless for some use;
But Crane-court knows not yet all nature's views.
What strikes you most is the low selfish mind.
3
The steady miser can his years employ;
Without one friend, howe'er his fortunes thrive,
Despis'd and hated, how he bears to live.
With honest warmth of heart, with some degree
Of Pity that such wretched things should be.
You scorn the sordid knave—He grins at you,
And deems himself the wiser of the two.—
'Tis all but taste, howe'er we sift the case;
He has his joy, as every creature has.
'Tis true, he cannot boast an angel's share,
Yet has what happiness his organs bear.
Thou likewise mad'st the high seraphic soul,
Maker Omnipotent! and thou the owl.
Heav'n form'd him too, and doubtless for some use;
But Crane-court knows not yet all nature's views.
'Tis chiefly taste, or blunt, or gross, or fine,
Makes life insipid, bestial, or divine.
Better be born, with Taste, to little rent,
Than the dull monarch of a continent.
Without this bounty which the gods bestow,
Can Fortune make one favourite happy?—No.
As well might Fortune in her frolic vein,
Proclaim an oyster sovereign of the main.
Without fine nerves, and bosom justly warm'd,
An eye, an ear, a fancy, to be charm'd,
In vain majestic Wren expands the dome;
Blank as pale stucco Rubens lines the room;
Lost are the raptures of bold Handel's strain;
Great Tully storms, sweet Virgil sings, in vain.
The beauteous forms of nature are effac'd;
Tempè's soft charms, the raging watry waste,
Each greatly-wild, each sweet romantic scene
Unheeded rises, and almost unseen.
Makes life insipid, bestial, or divine.
Better be born, with Taste, to little rent,
Than the dull monarch of a continent.
4
Can Fortune make one favourite happy?—No.
As well might Fortune in her frolic vein,
Proclaim an oyster sovereign of the main.
Without fine nerves, and bosom justly warm'd,
An eye, an ear, a fancy, to be charm'd,
In vain majestic Wren expands the dome;
Blank as pale stucco Rubens lines the room;
Lost are the raptures of bold Handel's strain;
Great Tully storms, sweet Virgil sings, in vain.
The beauteous forms of nature are effac'd;
Tempè's soft charms, the raging watry waste,
Each greatly-wild, each sweet romantic scene
Unheeded rises, and almost unseen.
Yet these are joys, with some of better clay,
To soothe the toils of life's embarrass'd way.
These the fine frame with charming horrors chill,
And give the nerves delightfully to thrill.
But of all taste the noblest and the best,
The first enjoyment of the generous breast,
Is to behold in man's obnoxious state
Scenes of content, and happy turns of fate.
Fair views of nature, shining works of art,
Amuse the fancy: but those touch the heart.
Chiefly for this proud epic song delights,
For this some riot on th' Arabian Nights.
Each case is ours: and for the human mind
'Tis monstrous not to feel for all mankind.
Were all mankind unhappy, who could taste
Elysium? or be solitarily blest?
Shock'd with surrounding shapes of human woe,
All that or sense or fancy could bestow,
You would reject with sick and coy disdain,
And pant to see one cheerful face again.
To soothe the toils of life's embarrass'd way.
These the fine frame with charming horrors chill,
And give the nerves delightfully to thrill.
But of all taste the noblest and the best,
The first enjoyment of the generous breast,
5
Scenes of content, and happy turns of fate.
Fair views of nature, shining works of art,
Amuse the fancy: but those touch the heart.
Chiefly for this proud epic song delights,
For this some riot on th' Arabian Nights.
Each case is ours: and for the human mind
'Tis monstrous not to feel for all mankind.
Were all mankind unhappy, who could taste
Elysium? or be solitarily blest?
Shock'd with surrounding shapes of human woe,
All that or sense or fancy could bestow,
You would reject with sick and coy disdain,
And pant to see one cheerful face again.
But if Life's better prospects to behold
So much delight the man of generous mould;
How happy they, the great, the godlike few,
Who daily cultivate this pleasing view!
This is a joy possess'd by few indeed!
Dame Fortune has so many fools to feed,
She cannot oft afford, with all her store,
To yield her smiles where Nature smil'd before.
To sinking worth a cordial hand to lend;
With better fortune to surprise a friend;
To cheer the modest Stranger's lonely state;
Or snatch an orphan family from fate;
To do, possess'd with virtue's noblest fire,
Such generous deeds as we with tears admire;
Deeds that, above Ambition's vulgar aim,
Secure an amiable, a solid fame:
These are such joys as Heaven's first favourites seize;
These please you now, and will for ever please.
So much delight the man of generous mould;
How happy they, the great, the godlike few,
Who daily cultivate this pleasing view!
This is a joy possess'd by few indeed!
Dame Fortune has so many fools to feed,
6
To yield her smiles where Nature smil'd before.
To sinking worth a cordial hand to lend;
With better fortune to surprise a friend;
To cheer the modest Stranger's lonely state;
Or snatch an orphan family from fate;
To do, possess'd with virtue's noblest fire,
Such generous deeds as we with tears admire;
Deeds that, above Ambition's vulgar aim,
Secure an amiable, a solid fame:
These are such joys as Heaven's first favourites seize;
These please you now, and will for ever please.
Too seldom we great moral deeds admire;
The will, the power, th' occasion must conspire.
Yet few there are so impotent and low,
But can some small good offices bestow.
Small as they are, however cheap they come,
They add still something to the gen'ral sum:
And him who gives the little in his power,
The world acquits; and heaven demands no more.
The will, the power, th' occasion must conspire.
Yet few there are so impotent and low,
But can some small good offices bestow.
Small as they are, however cheap they come,
They add still something to the gen'ral sum:
And him who gives the little in his power,
The world acquits; and heaven demands no more.
7
Unhappy he! who feels each neighbour's woe,
Yet no relief, no comfort can bestow.
Unhappy too, who feels each kind essay,
And for great favours has but words to pay;
Who, scornful of the flatterer's fawning art,
Dreads ev'n to pour his gratitude of heart;
And with a distant lover's silent pain
Must the best movements of his soul restrain.
But men sagacious to explore mankind
Trace ev'n the coyest passions of the mind.
Yet no relief, no comfort can bestow.
Unhappy too, who feels each kind essay,
And for great favours has but words to pay;
Who, scornful of the flatterer's fawning art,
Dreads ev'n to pour his gratitude of heart;
And with a distant lover's silent pain
Must the best movements of his soul restrain.
But men sagacious to explore mankind
Trace ev'n the coyest passions of the mind.
Not only to the good we owe good-will;
In good and bad, Distress demands it still.
This, with the generous, lays distinction low,
Endears a friend, and recommends a foe.
Not that resentment never ought to rise;
For even excess of virtue ranks with vice:
And there are villanies no bench can awe,
That sport without the limits of the law.
No laws th' ungenerous crime would reprehend,
Could I forgot Eumenes was my friend.
In vain the gibbet or the pillory claim
The wretch who blasts a helpless virgin's fame.
Where laws are dup'd, 'tis nor unjust nor mean
To seize the proper time for honest spleen.
An open candid foe I could not hate,
Nor even insult the base in humbled state;
But thriving malice tamely to forgive—
'Tis somewhat late to be so primitive.
But I detain you with these tedious lays,
Which few perhaps would read, and fewer praise.
No matter: could I please the polish'd few
Who taste the serious or the gay like you,
The squeamish mob may find my verses bare
Of every grace—but curse me if I care.
Besides, I little court Parnassian fame;
There's yet a better than a poet's name.
'Twould more indulge my pride to hear it said
That I with you the paths of honour tread,
Than that amongst the proud poetic train
No modern boasted a more classic vein,
Or that in numbers I let loose my song,
Smooth as the Thames, and as the Severn strong.
In good and bad, Distress demands it still.
This, with the generous, lays distinction low,
Endears a friend, and recommends a foe.
Not that resentment never ought to rise;
For even excess of virtue ranks with vice:
And there are villanies no bench can awe,
That sport without the limits of the law.
No laws th' ungenerous crime would reprehend,
Could I forgot Eumenes was my friend.
8
The wretch who blasts a helpless virgin's fame.
Where laws are dup'd, 'tis nor unjust nor mean
To seize the proper time for honest spleen.
An open candid foe I could not hate,
Nor even insult the base in humbled state;
But thriving malice tamely to forgive—
'Tis somewhat late to be so primitive.
But I detain you with these tedious lays,
Which few perhaps would read, and fewer praise.
No matter: could I please the polish'd few
Who taste the serious or the gay like you,
The squeamish mob may find my verses bare
Of every grace—but curse me if I care.
Besides, I little court Parnassian fame;
There's yet a better than a poet's name.
'Twould more indulge my pride to hear it said
That I with you the paths of honour tread,
Than that amongst the proud poetic train
No modern boasted a more classic vein,
Or that in numbers I let loose my song,
Smooth as the Thames, and as the Severn strong.
9
THE WIFE AND THE NURSE:
A NEW BALLAD.
I
VICE once with Virtue did engage,To win Jove's conqu'ring son;
So, for th' Alcides of our age,
As strange a fray begun.
II
His wife and ancient nurse between,Arose this wond'rous strife:
The froward Hag, his heart to win,
Contended with his wife.
III
His wife, an island-nymph most fair,Bore plenty in her hand;
A crown adorns her regal hair,
Her graces love command.
10
IV
With modest dignity she stood;Fast down her lovely face
A stream of swelling sorrow flow'd,
A righteous cause to grace.
V
The tatter'd nurse, of aspect grum,Look'd prouder still than poor,
With lofty airs inspir'd by—mum—
The queen of beggars, sure:
VI
Mud was her dwelling, lean her plight,Her life on heaths she led;
With wreaths of turnip-tops bedight;
Her eyes were dull as lead.
VII
Yet thus the Caitiff, proud and poor,Our hero-judge address'd—
“Thy fondness all to me assure,
“To me, who loves thee best.
11
VIII
“I am thy aged nurse, so kind,“Who ne'er did cross thy will;
“Thy wife to all thy charms is blind,
“Perverse and thwarting still.
IX
“Give me her clothes,” (continued she),“With thy assistance soon
“Her costly robe may shine on me,
“On her my rags be thrown.
X
“Seize on her store of boasted gold,“Which she with jealous fear
“From thee still grudging would with-hold,
“And trust it to my care.”
XI
This caught the judge's partial ear.The lady of the isle
Spake next: “Thyself at least revere,
“And spurn this Caitiff vile.
12
XII
“With thine my int'rest is the same,“For thee my sailors toil;
“They for thy safety, pow'r, and fame,
“Enrich my spacious isle.
XIII
“Think too upon thy solemn vow,“When thou didst plight thy love,
“Thou cam'st to save me; wilt thou now
“Thy self my ruin prove?
XIV
“How was I courted, how ador'd!“More happy as thy bride;
“For thee, my safeguard, love and lord,
“I slighted all beside.
XV
“Do thou still act a guardian's part,“Nor be thy love estrang'd;
“Treat me but kindly and my heart
“Shall e'er remain unchang'd.
13
XVI
“By thee abandon'd, must I bend“Beneath thy nurse's scorn?
“No; live with me thyself, and send
“To her thy youngest born.
XVII
“Let not her mud-built walls thy stay“Before my tow'rs invite;
“Do not, beyond my verdure gay,
“In her brown heaths delight.
XVIII
“Do not her dingy streams prefer“To all my rivers clear;
“Good Heavens! looks poverty in her
“Than wealth in me more fair?”
XIX
The judge here lets his fury out,Unable to contain;
He frowns, he rolls his eyes about;
And to his wife began:
14
XX
“If she be poor, I'll make her rich;“Thy treasure she shall hold:
“Thou art a low, mechanic b---ch,
“Besides a cursed scold.
XXI
“My nurse is of imperial race,“By trade was never stain'd:
“What thou dost boast of is disgrace:
“Nurse, thou thy cause hast gain'd.”
XXII
Polite and candid, thus the judge:His creatures watch his call,
To raise (alas!) this dirty drudge
On his fair Consort's fall.
XXIII
Who first obeys th' unjust decree,Regardless of his fame,
To spoil and rob with cruel glee
That lovely island-dame?
15
XXIV
Hard by, a ready wight, beholdAspiring, rash, and wild;
Of parts too keen to be controll'd
By wisdom's dictates mild.
XXV
Still from the midnight-goblet hot,He fires his turgid brain,
With jarring schemes, from wine begot,
To ravage land and main.
XXVI
With these wild embryos, shapeless all,Without head, tail, or limb,
He lures his master to his call,
While both in fancy swim.
XXVII
He now receives th' absurd commandThis beauteous Queen to spoil:
Ah! deed unseemly for his hand,
A native of her isle.
16
XXVIII
He runs and strips her gracious browsOf her Imperial Crown
To dress the Hag, who quickly throws
Her turnip-garland down.
XXIX
Yet smiling greets the Queen, and swearsHe only means her good,
That exigencies of affairs
May want her heart's best blood.
XXX
Thus spoil'd, she sinks with sorrow faintBefore th' insulting Hag,
And, lest she publish her complaint,
Is menac'd with a gag.
XXXI
There lying, of her clothes she's stript,Her money too, we're told,
Into the judge's hand was slipt,
Ah! shameful thirst of gold!
17
XXXII
Against Apollo Midas oldGave judgment; did he worse
Than one who to his wife, for gold,
Could thus prefer his nurse?
XXXIII
Ah! yet recall her cruel fate,Mistaken judge, thy friend
Here warns thee; dangers soon or late
On Avarice attend.
XXXIV
In thy wife's ruin yet beholdThou dost thyself destroy;
Then cease to barter love, for gold
Which thou canst ne'er enjoy.
18
PLAIN THOUGHTS IN PLAIN LANGUAGE:
A NEW BALLAD.
1743.
I
ATTEND, ye brave BritonsOf every degree,
All you who deserve,
And resolve to be free;
Plain Thoughts will suffice,
And Plain Language will do,
When all we assert
Is known to be true.
Derry down, &c.
19
II
To save our old laws,A new monarch we took;
And well for those laws
An old tyrant forsook:
And should our old England
Again be at stake,
A curse on the slaves
Who the new won't forsake.
Derry down, &c.
III
This monarch, unskilledIn the nation's affairs,
A lover of wealth,
And a foe to all cares,
Resign'd to his statesmen
His kingdom itself,
And wink'd at their plunder
To share in the pelf.
Derry down, &c.
20
IV
He purchas'd abroad,While his ministers jobb'd;
And Hanover flourish'd,
While Britain was robb'd:
And when he chang'd hands
For a fresh set of men,
Where those took a shilling,
These villains took ten.
Derry down, &c.
V
This monarch deceas'd,His son did succeed;
A Prince more august,
Never came of his breed;
For tho' at his birth,
Lying wags had a fling,
He soon prov'd himself
The true son of a king.
Derry down, &c.
21
VI
Like measures he follow'd,Like servants he had;
And all things grew worse,
That before were too bad:
For Walpole still rul'd
With corruption and gold,
The monarch he bought,
And the nation he sold.
Derry down, &c.
VII
With armies at home,And with foreign troops paid;
With laws that cramp'd freedom,
As taxes cramp'd trade:
With maxims quite new,
He pursu'd his base ends,
And help'd our old foes
To oppress our old Friends.
Derry down, &c.
22
VIII
At length when CorruptionDrain'd treasuries dry,
And none would be bought—
For none offer'd to buy,
The courtiers quit leaders
They follow'd for pay,
And leaders turn courtiers,
Worse rascals than they.
Derry down, &c.
IX
My tale, Oh ye Britons!This moral does bring,
However descended,
A king is a king;
Whenever they're taken,
Most statesmen are knaves;
And patriots at court
Are the lowest of slaves.
Derry down, &c.
23
PLACE-BOOK FOR THE YEAR 1745:
A NEW BALLAD.
I
SINCE with the new year a new change hath begun,In spite of the father, in spite of the son;
Since those who were new, to more new must give way,
We all must confess that each dog has his day.
Derry down, &c.
II
But hold, let our verse in just order begin,To tell how at court all those heroes came in,
Those heroes who mean, like the old ones, to fool us,
How receiv'd by the Captain and hopeful Iulus.
Derry down, &c.
24
III
Sir Clement stood ready, his gloves in his hand,When Bedford appear'd at the head of the band,
A sailor who ne'er lov'd salt water before;
Should you ask us why now?—look behind and see Gower.
Derry down, &c.
VI
See Gower, who the court had oppos'd thick and thin,Was out, then was in, then was out, and now in;
He kiss'd hands—then look'd pensive—as much as to say,
“I can't judge which is best, to go or to stay.”
Derry down, &c.
25
V
Next in lollop'd Sandwich, with negligent grace,For the sake of a lounge, not for love of a place,
Quoth he, “Noble captain, your fleets now shall nick it,
“For I'll sit at your board, when at leisure from Cricket.”
Derry down, &c.
VI
The circle divides—who could fill such a spaceBut Broadbottom Cotton's broad rump, and broad face?
The King turn'd—let a f---t, which he strove for to smother,
—'Twas only Bum Royal saluting his brother.
Derry down, &c.
26
VII
Cries Jackey, “Great Sir, since I'm nam'd Chambermaid.“I henceforth will bely what I've hitherto said,
“Of Hogsheads to James I have drank not a few,
“But now paid, I will drink full as many to you.”
Derry down, &c.
VIII
Quoth Philips “No Roman the Welch could subdue,“But behold, Sir, I yield to your money—not you;
“Henceforth let Sir William assert, if he can,
“That his honest true Britons are true to a man.”
Derry down, &c.
27
IX
Next Pitt who has lately commenc'd to be loyal,Stood shiv'ring like Pelham, expecting kick royal;
He star'd, and he gap'd, and a speech would have made,
But only could say,—“I'm not us'd to the trade.”
Derry down, &c.
X
Gods! how we're perplex'd by promotions and claims!I'd sing of new measures, I'm sick of new names,
To write of fresh Placemen each year was a folly,
I'm tir'd of the text—leave the subject to Colley.
Derry down, &c.
40
OLD ENGLAND's TE DEUM.
WE complain of Thee, O King, we acknowledge Thee to be an Hanoverian.All Hungary doth worship Thee, the Captain Everlasting.
To Thee all Placemen cry aloud, the House of Lords, and all the Courtiers therein.
To Thee Carteret and Bath continually do cry,
Warlike, warlike, warlike Captain General, of the Armies! Brunswick and Lunenburgh are full of the brightness of our coin.
The venal company of Peers praise Thee.
The goodly fellowship of Ministers praise Thee.
The noble Army of Hanoverians praise Thee.
41
Thine honourable, true and steady Son.
Also my Lady Yarmouth the comforter.
Thou art a glorious Prince, O King!
Thou art the ever charming Son of the Father.
When thou tookest upon Thee to deliver this nation, thou didst not abhor thy Father's example.
When thou hadst overcome the sharpness of want, thou didst open the smiles of thy favour to all believers in a Court.
Thou sittest at the right hand of --- in the Treasury of the Father.
We believe that thou shalt come to be our scourge.
We therefore pray Thee provide for thy servants, whom thou hast fed with thy renown.
Make them to be numbered with thy slaves in livery everlasting.
O King, spare thy people of England.
42
Govern them as Thou hast done us.
And confine them to their turnips for ever.
Day by day we sing ballads unto Thee.
And we bawl against Hanover, ever world without end.
Vouchsafe O King, to keep us this year without thy Hanoverians.
The Lord have Mercy upon us; the Lord have Mercy upon us.
O King let thy Mercy lighten our taxes, as our Credit should be in Thee.
O King in Thee have I trusted, let me not be confounded.
Valour be to the Father, common sense to the Son, and a young bed-fellow to the Countess of Yarmouth; as was not in the beginning, is not now, nor is ever like to be, world without end:
43
THE MERRY CAMPAIGN;
OR THE WESTMINSTER AND GREEN-PARK SCUFFLE:
A NEW COURT BALLAD.
GOD prosper long our noble Peers,
And eke our Commons all;
A woful scuffle late there was,
Near Litigation-hall.
And eke our Commons all;
A woful scuffle late there was,
Near Litigation-hall.
To drub a Peer, with mickle might,
Bold Crowle he took his way;
His Lordship's bones might rue that night,
The drubbing of that day.
Bold Crowle he took his way;
His Lordship's bones might rue that night,
The drubbing of that day.
44
With Cane uprear'd, in ireful hand,
Brave Crowle th' attack begun,
Which from his Lordship's batter'd sconce
Soon made the blood to run.
Brave Crowle th' attack begun,
Which from his Lordship's batter'd sconce
Soon made the blood to run.
The Peer enrag'd, return'd the same,
Full fraught with fury dire,
His breast glow'd with indignant shame,
To be drubb'd by a 'squire.
Full fraught with fury dire,
His breast glow'd with indignant shame,
To be drubb'd by a 'squire.
Then thwick thwack fell the blows like hail,
On head, back, sides, and all;
Good Lord! how echo'd then the rooms!
Near Litigation-hall.
On head, back, sides, and all;
Good Lord! how echo'd then the rooms!
Near Litigation-hall.
Sir Blue-string startled at the noise,
Cry'd out with might and main,
A plot upon the ministry,
We all shall here be slain.
Cry'd out with might and main,
A plot upon the ministry,
We all shall here be slain.
45
Then out Will. Addle ran, to know
Whence came the dreadful sound;
And saw the champions stout engag'd,
With many a bleeding wound.
Whence came the dreadful sound;
And saw the champions stout engag'd,
With many a bleeding wound.
“Hold your dead-doing hands,” cry'd he,
Ye bold and hardy wights:
Know ye not these walls sacred are
To peace, and peaceful knights.
Ye bold and hardy wights:
Know ye not these walls sacred are
To peace, and peaceful knights.
Should but Sir Blue-string chance to know
You caus'd here these alarms,
You would be ta'en in custody,
Of serjeant 'clep'd at arms.
You caus'd here these alarms,
You would be ta'en in custody,
Of serjeant 'clep'd at arms.
Then company running between,
Did farther harm prevent;
God knows there how much precious blood
Had otherwise been spent.
Did farther harm prevent;
God knows there how much precious blood
Had otherwise been spent.
46
But still his Lordship glowd with ire,
And bloody vengeance vow'd,
On him who had him thus abus'd,
To cane him 'fore a crowd.
And bloody vengeance vow'd,
On him who had him thus abus'd,
To cane him 'fore a crowd.
Wherefore for pen and ink he call'd,
And these words strait did write,
Which by a brother Peer he sent,
His second in this fight.
And these words strait did write,
Which by a brother Peer he sent,
His second in this fight.
“Meet me,” said he, “thou recreant knave,
“I mean thy blood to spill,
“Because we will not parted be,
“On Constitution-hill.
“I mean thy blood to spill,
“Because we will not parted be,
“On Constitution-hill.
“A second likewise with thee bring,
“As I have one provided,
“That all our quarrels there at once
“May fairly be decided.”
“As I have one provided,
“That all our quarrels there at once
“May fairly be decided.”
47
The Peer straitway to th' Mitre goes,
And for the lawyer sent,
Who to him instantly repairs,
Suspecting the event.
And for the lawyer sent,
Who to him instantly repairs,
Suspecting the event.
Crowle having soon perus'd the scroll,
Was not the least dismay'd;
But, with a bold undaunted air,
Thus to the Peer he said:
Was not the least dismay'd;
But, with a bold undaunted air,
Thus to the Peer he said:
“Go, tell my Lord, this challenge I
“With as much joy receive,
“As would a condemn'd criminal,
“At Tyburn, a reprieve.
“With as much joy receive,
“As would a condemn'd criminal,
“At Tyburn, a reprieve.
“I'll meet him there without delay,
“Arm'd with my trusty steel,
“We soon shall see if he's a man
“Whose arm my blood can spill.”
“Arm'd with my trusty steel,
“We soon shall see if he's a man
“Whose arm my blood can spill.”
48
Then having ta'en a second bold,
Unto the Park he flies,
Where long he had not been before
The two Peers he espies.
Unto the Park he flies,
Where long he had not been before
The two Peers he espies.
“Welcome, proud Peer,” quoth he, “our wrongs
“Shall now revenged be,
“Or by my fall or thine”—this said,
He drew full manfully.
“Shall now revenged be,
“Or by my fall or thine”—this said,
He drew full manfully.
The Peer that instant did the same,
And many thrusts were made,
On both sides, but no deadly wounds
Were given, as is said.
And many thrusts were made,
On both sides, but no deadly wounds
Were given, as is said.
Then Crowle, indignant at delays,
Straitway ran in and clos'd,
And much blood had been shed, had not
Their seconds interpos'd.
Straitway ran in and clos'd,
And much blood had been shed, had not
Their seconds interpos'd.
49
“Oh! what a Peer might have been lost!
“And what a lawyer too!
“But, thanks to Fate! they parted were,
“Nor did much harm ensue.
“And what a lawyer too!
“But, thanks to Fate! they parted were,
“Nor did much harm ensue.
“God prosper long this peaceful land,
“And peace and plenty send,
“And grant that all domestic broils
“May have as harmless end.”
“And peace and plenty send,
“And grant that all domestic broils
“May have as harmless end.”
50
LABOUR IN VAIN.
A SONG, AN HUNDRED YEARS OLD.
I
YE patriots, who twenty long yearsHave struggled our rights to maintain;
View the end of your labours and fears,
And see them all ended in vain.
II
Behold! in the front stands your Hero,Behind him his patriot train;
Hear him rail at a tyrant and Nero;
Yet his railing all ended in vain.
III
Then see him attack a Convention,And calling for vengeance on Spain;
What pity such noble contention
And spirit should end all in vain!
51
IV
That the Place-bill he got for the nation,Was only a shadow, is plain;
For now 'tis a clear demonstration,
The substance is ended in vain.
V
His bloody and horrible vow,Which once gave the Courtiers such pain,
No longer alarums them now,
For his threats are all ended in vain.
VI
What though the Committee have found,That Or---d's a traitor in grain;
Yet wiser than they may compound,
And justice be ended in vain.
VII
How certain would be our undoing,Should the people their wishes obtain?
Then to save us from danger of ruin,
He has ended our wishes in vain.
52
VIII
Then let us give thanks and be glad,That he knew how our passions to rein,
And wisely prevented the bad,
By ending the good all in vain.
IX
About Brutus let Rome disagree,We won't from our praises refrain;
Our Brutus has more cause than he
To declare even virtue in vain.
X
Three thousand five hundred a year,He valu'd it not of a grain;
His scorn of such filth is most clear,
Since that too he ended in vain.
XI
Corruption he hates like a toad,And calls it the National Bane,
Yet damn'd T---s, his virtue to load,
Say, that all is not ended in vain.
53
XII
He rejects all employments and places,And thinks ev'ry pension a stain;
Yet T---s, with their damn'd sly faces,
Say, that all is not ended in vain.
XIII
In spite of his caution and care,To avoid the appearance of gain,
Say those Tories, his wife has a share,
And all is not ended in vain.
54
THE EXPIRING SWAN,
ON LOSING HER MATE.
Written in 1741.
WHEN Phœbus coursing to the West,
His warmer beams withdrew;
Inviting kindly all to rest,
And bid the plains adieu;
His warmer beams withdrew;
Inviting kindly all to rest,
And bid the plains adieu;
As then in silence all things lay,
Bright Luna's charms display'd,
The Goddess deck'd in silver ray,
Supply'd the day decay'd.
Bright Luna's charms display'd,
The Goddess deck'd in silver ray,
Supply'd the day decay'd.
On Thames' delightful crystal stream,
A dying Swan complain'd;
While sad departing love's her theme,
Her mournful throat thus strain'd:
A dying Swan complain'd;
While sad departing love's her theme,
Her mournful throat thus strain'd:
55
“Why have the fates so cruel been?
“Philander's loss I mourn;
“Was ever I with others seen,
“Why am I thus alone.
“Philander's loss I mourn;
“Was ever I with others seen,
“Why am I thus alone.
“No; rather, I believe, my dear
“By man's unlucky game;
“A victim fell, or he'd been here,
“Who never slack'd his flame.
“By man's unlucky game;
“A victim fell, or he'd been here,
“Who never slack'd his flame.
“If so, my Swan, I'll follow thee,
“My love shall egg me on;
“When in Elysium happy we,
“We'll glide the Halcyon.
“My love shall egg me on;
“When in Elysium happy we,
“We'll glide the Halcyon.
“But first farewell, my sisters dear,
“And all the feather'd train;
“Of Love's kind passion have a care,
“Lest you like me complain.
“And all the feather'd train;
“Of Love's kind passion have a care,
“Lest you like me complain.
“And fare thee well once happy glade!
“Alas, to part I weep;
“Thy rush and ozier oft our shade,
“Where murmurs lull'd our sleep.
“Alas, to part I weep;
“Thy rush and ozier oft our shade,
“Where murmurs lull'd our sleep.
56
“But, now those balmy joys are fled,
“Ye purling streams adieu!
“Since then the gay Philander's dead,
“Sylvia's no more with you.”
“Ye purling streams adieu!
“Since then the gay Philander's dead,
“Sylvia's no more with you.”
Thus sung the lily-drooping fair,
Then from the stream retired;
Her grave she made where rushes are,
And, sighing, there expired.
Then from the stream retired;
Her grave she made where rushes are,
And, sighing, there expired.
110
TO CHLOE:
A PERSUASIVE TO LOVE.
SINCE Nature ne'er acted in vain,Say, Chloe, why are you so fair?
Was beauty designed to give pain,
And wit only meant for a snare?
No, no, you were form'd to delight,
And here all your business is love;
What Nature design'd must be right,
Her dictates we are bound to approve.
Haste, then, let us time now employ,
And ev'ry refinement improve;
Make life a full circle of joy,
Its centre immutable love.
In pleasure we'll sport ev'ry day,
And ne'er take account of our hours;
Let time fly as swift as he may,
The present must always be ours.
111
THE FAIR MORALIST.
AS late by Thames's verdant side,With solitary pensive air,
Fair Chloe search'd the silver tide,
With pleasing hope and patient care:
Forth as she cast the silken fly,
And musing stroll'd the bank along;
She thought no list'ning ear was nigh,
While thus she tun'd her moral song:
“The poor unhappy thoughtless fair,
“Like the mute race are oft undone;
“These with a gilded fly we snare,
“With gilded flatt'ry those are won.
“Careless, like them, they frolic round,
“And sportive toss th'alluring bait;
“At length they feel the treach'rous wound,
“And struggle to be free too late.
112
“Of gaudy colours lurks a hook!
“Cautious the bearded mischief view,
“And ere you leap, be sure to look.”
More she'd have sung, when, from the shade
Rush'd forth gay Damon, brisk and young;
And, whatsoe'er he did, or said,
Poor Chloe quite forgot her song.
On Pope's having just published his Dunciad.
AT length Pope conquers; Hervey, Wortley, yield,And nameless numbers cover all the field:
Just so of old, or Roman story lies,
Domitian triumph'd o'er a host of flies.
113
VERSES BY SIR C. HANBURY WILLIAMS,
ADDRESSED TO HIS DAUGHTER THE COUNTESS OF ESSEX.
FANNY, beware of flattery,
Your sex's much-lov'd enemy;
For other foes we are prepar'd,
And Nature puts us on our guard:
In that alone such charms are found,
We court the dart, we nurse the hand;
And this, my child, an Æsop's Fable
Will prove much better than I'm able.
Your sex's much-lov'd enemy;
For other foes we are prepar'd,
And Nature puts us on our guard:
In that alone such charms are found,
We court the dart, we nurse the hand;
And this, my child, an Æsop's Fable
Will prove much better than I'm able.
A young vain female Crow,
Had perch'd upon a pine tree's bough,
And sitting there at ease,
Was going to indulge her taste,
In a most delicious feast,
Consisting of a slice of cheese.
A sharp-set Fox (a wily creature)
Pass'd by that way
In search of prey;
When to his nose the smell of cheese,
Came in a gentle western breeze;
No Welchman knew, or lov'd it better:
He bless'd th' auspicious wind,
And strait look'd round to find,
What might his hungry stomach fill,
And quickly spied the Crow,
Upon a lofty bough,
Holding the tempting prize within her bill.
But she was perch'd too high,
And Reynard could not fly:
She chose the tallest tree in all the wood,
What then could bring her down?
Or make the prize his own?
Nothing but flatt'ry could.
He soon the silence broke,
And thus ingenious hunger spoke:
“Oh, lovely bird,
“Whose glossy plumage oft has stirr'd
“The envy of the grove;
“Thy form was Nature's pleasing care,
“So bright a bloom, so soft an air,
“All that behold must love.
“But, if to suit a form like thine,
“Thy voice be as divine;
“If both in these together meet,
“The feather'd race must own
“Of all their tribe there's none,
“Of form so fair, of voice so sweet.
“Who'll then regard the linnet's note,
“Or heed the lark's melodious throat?
“What pensive lovers then shall dwell
“With raptures on their Philomel?
“The goldfinch shall his plumage hide,
“The swan abate her stately pride,
“And Juno's bird no more display
“His various glories to the sunny day:
“Then grant thy Suppliant's prayer,
“And bless my longing ear
“With notes that I would die to hear!”
Had perch'd upon a pine tree's bough,
And sitting there at ease,
Was going to indulge her taste,
In a most delicious feast,
Consisting of a slice of cheese.
114
Pass'd by that way
In search of prey;
When to his nose the smell of cheese,
Came in a gentle western breeze;
No Welchman knew, or lov'd it better:
He bless'd th' auspicious wind,
And strait look'd round to find,
What might his hungry stomach fill,
And quickly spied the Crow,
Upon a lofty bough,
Holding the tempting prize within her bill.
But she was perch'd too high,
And Reynard could not fly:
She chose the tallest tree in all the wood,
What then could bring her down?
Or make the prize his own?
Nothing but flatt'ry could.
He soon the silence broke,
And thus ingenious hunger spoke:
“Oh, lovely bird,
“Whose glossy plumage oft has stirr'd
115
“Thy form was Nature's pleasing care,
“So bright a bloom, so soft an air,
“All that behold must love.
“But, if to suit a form like thine,
“Thy voice be as divine;
“If both in these together meet,
“The feather'd race must own
“Of all their tribe there's none,
“Of form so fair, of voice so sweet.
“Who'll then regard the linnet's note,
“Or heed the lark's melodious throat?
“What pensive lovers then shall dwell
“With raptures on their Philomel?
“The goldfinch shall his plumage hide,
“The swan abate her stately pride,
“And Juno's bird no more display
“His various glories to the sunny day:
“Then grant thy Suppliant's prayer,
“And bless my longing ear
“With notes that I would die to hear!”
116
Flattery prevail'd, the Crow believ'd
The tale, and was with joy deceiv'd;
In haste to show her want of skill,
She open'd wide her bill:
She scream'd as if the de'el was in her;
Her vanity became so strong
That, wrapt in her own frightful song,
She quite forgot, and dropt her dinner:
The morsel fell quick by the place
Where Reynard lay,
Who seized the prey
And eat it without saying grace.
The tale, and was with joy deceiv'd;
In haste to show her want of skill,
She open'd wide her bill:
She scream'd as if the de'el was in her;
Her vanity became so strong
That, wrapt in her own frightful song,
She quite forgot, and dropt her dinner:
The morsel fell quick by the place
Where Reynard lay,
Who seized the prey
And eat it without saying grace.
He, sneezing, cried “The day's my own,
“My end's obtain'd,
“The prize is gain'd,
“And now I'll change my note.
“Vain, foolish, cheated, Crow,
“Lend your attention now,
“A truth or two I'll tell you;
“For, since I've fill'd my belly,
“Of course my flatt'ry's done:
“Think you I took such pains,
“And spoke so well only to hear you croak?
“No, 'twas the luscious bait,
“And a keen appetite to eat,
“That first inspir'd, and carried on the cheat.
“'Twas hunger furnish'd hands and matter,
“Flatterers must live by those they flatter;
“But weep not, Crow; a tongue like mine
“Might turn an abler head than thine;
“And though reflection may displease,
“If wisely you apply your thought,
“To learn the lesson I have taught,
“Experience, sure, is cheaply bought,
“And richly worth a slice of cheese.”
“My end's obtain'd,
“The prize is gain'd,
“And now I'll change my note.
“Vain, foolish, cheated, Crow,
“Lend your attention now,
“A truth or two I'll tell you;
“For, since I've fill'd my belly,
“Of course my flatt'ry's done:
117
“And spoke so well only to hear you croak?
“No, 'twas the luscious bait,
“And a keen appetite to eat,
“That first inspir'd, and carried on the cheat.
“'Twas hunger furnish'd hands and matter,
“Flatterers must live by those they flatter;
“But weep not, Crow; a tongue like mine
“Might turn an abler head than thine;
“And though reflection may displease,
“If wisely you apply your thought,
“To learn the lesson I have taught,
“Experience, sure, is cheaply bought,
“And richly worth a slice of cheese.”
118
VERSES,
Written by Sir C. H. Williams, on seeing a Man with a heavy Load on his Back and an Oak Leaf in his Hat on the 29th of May— Communicated by Wm. Coombes, Esq., Henley on Thames.
“POOR fellow, what is it to you,
“Or King, or Restoration?
“'Twill make no difference to you,
“Whoever rules the nation.
“Or King, or Restoration?
“'Twill make no difference to you,
“Whoever rules the nation.
“Still must thy back support the load,
“Still bend thy back with toil;
“Still must thou trudge the self-same road,
“While great ones share the spoil.”
“Still bend thy back with toil;
“Still must thou trudge the self-same road,
“While great ones share the spoil.”
END OF VOL. III.
| The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams | |