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CHAPTER 7th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
CHAPTER 7th.
Poor Crispin, tabernacled, now, agen,
Among his native Mounts, and native Men;
Near his lov'd rocks, and Heliconian springs,
Again strolls calm, and climbs, and sips, and sings!
Makes all his talents duteous tasks discharge,
His Will unshackled, and his limbs at large;
While faculties and strength, without controul,
Felt pow'r to act from full expanse of Soul!
No passive reference, now—no slavish fear—
No stern injunctions—reprimands austere—
No captious force, with folly to comply—
No cramp caprice—no flagellating lie—
No cruel cavil plucks the painful nerve—
No wish absurd, whence sober judgment swerve—
No false assertions fix their barbs of steel,
While subtle Sophistry makes Reason reel;
Nor hints, nor innuendos, frame a fault,
To blind clear Truth, and make right Conscience naught!
No pow'r despotic, with ungracious growth,
On word, and deed, sits judge and jury both;
Nor arbitrary mandate measures time,
Decreeing common rest a real crime:
In each prompt movement urging greater speed—
Nor deems it rash delinquency to read!
Among his native Mounts, and native Men;
Near his lov'd rocks, and Heliconian springs,
Again strolls calm, and climbs, and sips, and sings!
Makes all his talents duteous tasks discharge,
His Will unshackled, and his limbs at large;
While faculties and strength, without controul,
Felt pow'r to act from full expanse of Soul!
No passive reference, now—no slavish fear—
No stern injunctions—reprimands austere—
No captious force, with folly to comply—
No cramp caprice—no flagellating lie—
No cruel cavil plucks the painful nerve—
No wish absurd, whence sober judgment swerve—
No false assertions fix their barbs of steel,
While subtle Sophistry makes Reason reel;
Nor hints, nor innuendos, frame a fault,
To blind clear Truth, and make right Conscience naught!
No pow'r despotic, with ungracious growth,
On word, and deed, sits judge and jury both;
Nor arbitrary mandate measures time,
Decreeing common rest a real crime:
In each prompt movement urging greater speed—
Nor deems it rash delinquency to read!
Here Heav'n might all its sovereign views fulfil—
The rot might Sheep, or murrain, Cattle, kill!
Pigs, now, might pine, without impeaching care;
Or Horses fail without a trick unfair,
When Carters quit their rest, to take their flight,
And ride their labouring Nags to death by night.
Should Crops be scanty, now, or Harvests late,
None dares poor Crispin's lack of prudence rate,
No more he stoops before a Tyrant's throne,
But humbly bows to Providence alone!
The rot might Sheep, or murrain, Cattle, kill!
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Or Horses fail without a trick unfair,
When Carters quit their rest, to take their flight,
And ride their labouring Nags to death by night.
Should Crops be scanty, now, or Harvests late,
None dares poor Crispin's lack of prudence rate,
No more he stoops before a Tyrant's throne,
But humbly bows to Providence alone!
Her dough, poor Daphne need not, now, prepare,
Mid colds and damps of midnight wintery air;
Nor, now, inspect each loaf, with luckless pain,
Lest Whim should cavil, or weak Pride complain,
Need not o'er scanty milk, or cream, or butter, moan—
Nor grieve o'er barren kine, now, all her own.
Should eggs grow addled—chickens catch the pip,
It spreads no livid paleness o'er her lip.
If truant turkeys leave neglected nest,
It breeds no horrors in her halcyon breast.
Should poults expire, or foxes dams destroy,
No dread of reprehension drowns her eye;
No cruel mockery doubles all her smarts,
Nor her harsh sorrows choak her Children's hearts!
Their tears, lost Liberty no more bewail—
No Legislators, now, but Parents, rail—
No Mistress makes their bosoms burn, or freeze,
Their sports, their diet, or their dress, decrees—
Claims, now, no rule, no sumptuary right,
Or wills it criminal to clothe in white.
Nature was, now, sole arbiter of sleep,
And taught them when to laugh, and when to weep.
True Freedom lighten'd every care and toil—
'Twas, there, no petit-larceny to smile—
Not construed, now, high-treason, there, to cry,
Nor uttering accents of their genuine joy.
No more they fear'd a Tyrant's awful frowns—
No cruel stigma felt as Fools or Clowns—
Nor, simple Souls! a Favourite's fault sustain'd,
While wounding Epithet, as Thieves, arraign'd.
They, now, might look on flow'rs, or long for fruits,
Without the badge of Cannibals, or Brutes—
Experience Paradise again begin,
Not, now, expell'd, or pain'd, except for Sin.
Their Parents, only, might amusement stint—
Enforce a moral, or religious, hint—
Before no other bar compell'd to plead,
For trifling look, light word, or witless deed;
While motive—thought—or wish—to them unknown,
Must Conscience canvas—Jesus judge, alone,
And fix just Lots, alike, when Time's no more,
On all the Prosperous, as on all the Poor.
Mid colds and damps of midnight wintery air;
Nor, now, inspect each loaf, with luckless pain,
Lest Whim should cavil, or weak Pride complain,
Need not o'er scanty milk, or cream, or butter, moan—
Nor grieve o'er barren kine, now, all her own.
Should eggs grow addled—chickens catch the pip,
It spreads no livid paleness o'er her lip.
If truant turkeys leave neglected nest,
It breeds no horrors in her halcyon breast.
Should poults expire, or foxes dams destroy,
No dread of reprehension drowns her eye;
No cruel mockery doubles all her smarts,
Nor her harsh sorrows choak her Children's hearts!
Their tears, lost Liberty no more bewail—
No Legislators, now, but Parents, rail—
No Mistress makes their bosoms burn, or freeze,
Their sports, their diet, or their dress, decrees—
Claims, now, no rule, no sumptuary right,
Or wills it criminal to clothe in white.
Nature was, now, sole arbiter of sleep,
And taught them when to laugh, and when to weep.
True Freedom lighten'd every care and toil—
'Twas, there, no petit-larceny to smile—
Not construed, now, high-treason, there, to cry,
Nor uttering accents of their genuine joy.
No more they fear'd a Tyrant's awful frowns—
No cruel stigma felt as Fools or Clowns—
Nor, simple Souls! a Favourite's fault sustain'd,
While wounding Epithet, as Thieves, arraign'd.
They, now, might look on flow'rs, or long for fruits,
Without the badge of Cannibals, or Brutes—
Experience Paradise again begin,
Not, now, expell'd, or pain'd, except for Sin.
Their Parents, only, might amusement stint—
Enforce a moral, or religious, hint—
Before no other bar compell'd to plead,
For trifling look, light word, or witless deed;
While motive—thought—or wish—to them unknown,
Must Conscience canvas—Jesus judge, alone,
And fix just Lots, alike, when Time's no more,
On all the Prosperous, as on all the Poor.
Here was full exercise for all their parts,
In useful toils, and ornamental arts.
The Children form'd their chosen times to fill,
With works of exigence, or works of skill—
To ply the labours of the spinning-wheel,
Or evolutions of the pointed steel—
To fill the troughs with sustenance for Swine—
To farm the cowhouse, or to feed the Kine—
To press, from spouting teats, the milky spoil,
Or work the clouted cream to solid oil;
And, at more favour'd moments, garments form,
To decorate their frames, while keeping warm.
In useful toils, and ornamental arts.
The Children form'd their chosen times to fill,
With works of exigence, or works of skill—
To ply the labours of the spinning-wheel,
Or evolutions of the pointed steel—
To fill the troughs with sustenance for Swine—
To farm the cowhouse, or to feed the Kine—
To press, from spouting teats, the milky spoil,
Or work the clouted cream to solid oil;
And, at more favour'd moments, garments form,
To decorate their frames, while keeping warm.
Industrious Daphne, thro' long waking hours,
To duteous tasks applied her ductile pow'rs;
Her happy Mate to cherish, and to chear,
Both Night and Day, throughout the toilsome Year,
And, by rare Prudence bless the rising Brood,
With useful clothing, clean, and strength'ning food.
To duteous tasks applied her ductile pow'rs;
Her happy Mate to cherish, and to chear,
Both Night and Day, throughout the toilsome Year,
And, by rare Prudence bless the rising Brood,
With useful clothing, clean, and strength'ning food.
Crispin applied his diligence, and care,
Their hopes to animate, and toils to share.
Prepar'd each necessary, well-known, aid,
To try his strength in agricultural trade;
And, to accommodate pedestrian calls,
Assum'd, once more, his hammer and his awls.
Spent Morning's earliest, Evening's latest, hours,
To rear his esculents, and nurse his flow'rs.
Engag'd, again, low, literary skill,
To scatter knowledge round his native hill;
While all his Race, as humble Ushers, wrought,
Strength'ning self-knowledge all the time they taught.
Their hopes to animate, and toils to share.
Prepar'd each necessary, well-known, aid,
To try his strength in agricultural trade;
And, to accommodate pedestrian calls,
Assum'd, once more, his hammer and his awls.
Spent Morning's earliest, Evening's latest, hours,
To rear his esculents, and nurse his flow'rs.
Engag'd, again, low, literary skill,
To scatter knowledge round his native hill;
While all his Race, as humble Ushers, wrought,
Strength'ning self-knowledge all the time they taught.
But tho' these honest efforts all were tried,
His happiest wish wise Providence denied!
Still thwarting Poverty barr'd every way;
Stopp'd each attempt, or baffled each essay—
Hung, like a palsied limb, in each pursuit,
Or, like a churl, refus'd expected fruit!
Nature connecting still some cruel curse,
The sure companion of a shallow purse;
While meagre Want, a treacherous Monster! stood,
Devouring labour—blasting livelihood.
His happiest wish wise Providence denied!
Still thwarting Poverty barr'd every way;
Stopp'd each attempt, or baffled each essay—
Hung, like a palsied limb, in each pursuit,
Or, like a churl, refus'd expected fruit!
Nature connecting still some cruel curse,
The sure companion of a shallow purse;
While meagre Want, a treacherous Monster! stood,
Devouring labour—blasting livelihood.
No new-launch'd Characters can sail, or swim,
Unless their canvass flutter full and trim;
And, to secure success, within the Hold,
A freight, and ballast, both, of goods, and gold.
From port the vacant Vessel never gets,
Or soon without such balance oversets—
Nor e'er can gain Golconda's shining shores,
Except with bullion boatmen poise their oars;
For useful hands ne'er help them on their way,
Till crews and pilots can secure their pay.
This common adage dullest Rustics know;
Unless their canvass flutter full and trim;
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A freight, and ballast, both, of goods, and gold.
From port the vacant Vessel never gets,
Or soon without such balance oversets—
Nor e'er can gain Golconda's shining shores,
Except with bullion boatmen poise their oars;
For useful hands ne'er help them on their way,
Till crews and pilots can secure their pay.
That, “Money, only, makes the mare to go;”
And Crispin, to his cost, completely found,
That, tho' 'twas common, 'twas most strictly sound.
In Wealth's communities, accounted wise,
A golden Sun confounds the strongest eyes.
When, on a Throne, by Politicians built,
An Idol's plac'd proud Art has grav'd, and gilt,
No spot, no wrinkle, courtly Flatterers find
While Wits and Blockheads gaze till both grow blind:
So when inferior Idols Dupes behold,
Adorn'd with grandeur, and enrich'd with gold,
The dazzling Object so disturbs their sight
They note no difference whether black or white.
O'er-pow'rd with Pomp, would Prejudice declare,
A Dwarf was tall; a Negroe, fresh, and fair—
That coxcomb Sparrows' chirps, in pompous cage,
Might more than Nightingales, in woods, engage—
That caws of Crows and Rooks, round sumptuous tow'rs,
Outvie the Redbreast's trills in woodbine bow'rs;
And chattering Daws be deem'd much nobler Birds,
Than sapient Owls ne'er using silly words.
No Eagle soars sublime till Pimps behold
And tell its pinions glow with plumes of gold—
No Dove is docile—woodland Songster sweet,
Unless hatch'd—hous'd—fed—taught, in Wealth's retreat.
Poor Crispin's Muse ne'er grubb'd in golden Mine,
Whose produce made his purse, or pinion, shine;
But dug for peat, or delv'd in gravel ground,
Where no bright diamonds, but dull flints, were found,
Had he plough'd silver ore, in place of sands,
He'd ne'er been driven back from distant lands—
Had he discover'd pearls, instead of peat,
He'd ne'er been banish'd from that sordid seat.
But he acquir'd no praise, amass'd no pelf,
To please Employer, or enrich Himself.
The best endeavours, urg'd with utmost might,
When unsuccessful ne'er are reckon'd right;
Tho' every step with care, and skill, be trod,
No single slip escapes the scourging rod.
From sordid Souls no gratitude's obtain'd,
Who fancy greater profits might be gain'd,
Nor hankering heart feels thankful for much store,
Which deems its factor might have furnish'd more.
But censure falls on that afflicted Soul
Which comes within such tyrannies controul!
Romantic views, and visionary schemes
Fade like frail flow'rs, and melt like morning dreams!
In sublunary life scarce more appears,
Than plans, pursuits and failures; hopes and fears!
With cruel troubles every station's curst,
And Wisdom's office is to shun the worst.
Man's best distinguish'd from the Fool, or Beast.
When two ills offer, still to chuse the least:
Here, no alternative, no choice, was giv'n,
By strong Necessity on danger driv'n!
From shelter'd moorings forc'd, at once, to flee,
With scanty stowage—on uncertain sea—
Still firm on Faith and Hope Endeavour stood,
He knew his Pilot pow'rful—wise—and good!
Afflictions follow'd, in a trying train—
Deep disappointment, misery, and pain!
These were, alike, the plaintive Poet's lot,
In gothic Mansion, or in cribbing Cot!
Alike when perch'd in Patronesses Seat,
Or lowly lodg'd in primitive Retreat!
Alike when labouring for his daily bread,
Or, idly, at Scintilla's table fed!
Sickness and sorrow seiz'd his feeble flock,
While watch'd and folded on his natal rock!
Distemper stamp'd indelible disgrace
On every tender, interesting, face!
The reddening rose—untarnish'd lily—tore—
Whose opening blooms deckt each bright face before!
Each mangled charm proud scorn, or pity, felt,
Where long admiring love had fondly dwelt!
When Death, to prove his arbitrary pow'r,
Snatch'd from the group fond Crispin's favourite flow'r!
A flower, among large numbers, only left,
Grim Friend! before their birth, of life bereft!
While, worse than death, far different evils rose,
To grieve his Friends, and gratify his Foes!
Deep disappointment, misery, and pain!
These were, alike, the plaintive Poet's lot,
In gothic Mansion, or in cribbing Cot!
Alike when perch'd in Patronesses Seat,
Or lowly lodg'd in primitive Retreat!
Alike when labouring for his daily bread,
Or, idly, at Scintilla's table fed!
Sickness and sorrow seiz'd his feeble flock,
While watch'd and folded on his natal rock!
Distemper stamp'd indelible disgrace
On every tender, interesting, face!
The reddening rose—untarnish'd lily—tore—
Whose opening blooms deckt each bright face before!
Each mangled charm proud scorn, or pity, felt,
Where long admiring love had fondly dwelt!
When Death, to prove his arbitrary pow'r,
Snatch'd from the group fond Crispin's favourite flow'r!
A flower, among large numbers, only left,
Grim Friend! before their birth, of life bereft!
While, worse than death, far different evils rose,
To grieve his Friends, and gratify his Foes!
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Such fame, and favour, as a hamlet yields—
Such sustenance as flows from rented fields—
Such gain as from retail'd instruction grew,
Integrity, and diligence, and labour, knew.
The Wardens' honours, and the Master's meed,
The Vestry, and the Vicinage, decreed.
Each debt, and duty, chearfully, discharg'd,
His practice amplified, and pow'r enlarg'd;
And every trust, and trial, well sustain'd,
New confidence engaged—new friendships gain'd.
But still he scorn'd, from his parochial throne,
To spurn his peers, or make griev'd paupers groan—
To flatter Wealth, or give the Weak offence,
For heightening interest, or to spare his pence.
From cruel Plenty, or impoverish'd Clown
Incurr'd no imprecation—fear'd no frown—
But rather challeng'd rich Churls rashest curse,
Than pinch the Poor to skreen the common purse.
For, tho' possess'd of no superfluous pelf,
To imitate the woes of worn-out Elf;
Yet, still, each thankful voice proclaim'd his praise,
Imploring plenty, health, and length of days!
Tho' blest with little house, and little land,
And little money, he had small command;
Yet Penury's penetration ne'er mistook
Love's soothing tone, and sympathizing look—
And every eye and ear could clearly tell,
When he refus'd their suit he wish'd them well—
Renew'd no grievances—reveng'd no grudge—
Felt, like a Friend, but balanc'd like a Judge.
Such sustenance as flows from rented fields—
Such gain as from retail'd instruction grew,
Integrity, and diligence, and labour, knew.
The Wardens' honours, and the Master's meed,
The Vestry, and the Vicinage, decreed.
Each debt, and duty, chearfully, discharg'd,
His practice amplified, and pow'r enlarg'd;
And every trust, and trial, well sustain'd,
New confidence engaged—new friendships gain'd.
But still he scorn'd, from his parochial throne,
To spurn his peers, or make griev'd paupers groan—
To flatter Wealth, or give the Weak offence,
For heightening interest, or to spare his pence.
From cruel Plenty, or impoverish'd Clown
Incurr'd no imprecation—fear'd no frown—
But rather challeng'd rich Churls rashest curse,
Than pinch the Poor to skreen the common purse.
For, tho' possess'd of no superfluous pelf,
To imitate the woes of worn-out Elf;
Yet, still, each thankful voice proclaim'd his praise,
Imploring plenty, health, and length of days!
Tho' blest with little house, and little land,
And little money, he had small command;
Yet Penury's penetration ne'er mistook
Love's soothing tone, and sympathizing look—
And every eye and ear could clearly tell,
When he refus'd their suit he wish'd them well—
Renew'd no grievances—reveng'd no grudge—
Felt, like a Friend, but balanc'd like a Judge.
Should He assume the Christian's noblest Name
While murd'rously encountering Misery's claim?
Could He expect with plenty to be fed,
Who grudg'd Necessity its meagre bread;
Or fancy he should find long Life and Health,
Who prest the Poor by lifting weight from Wealth?
He hope warm robes by Heav'n would be supplied,
Who coverings, coarse, to Nakedness denied?
E'er feel refresh'd before his blazing fire,
Whilst letting Toil without a spark expire?
Could Wealth taste quiet rest, secure, and warm,
While Penury lay expos'd to every storm;
Or close his eyes, on feathery couch, for shame,
While harden'd planks bruis'd Labour's painful Frame?
While murd'rously encountering Misery's claim?
Could He expect with plenty to be fed,
Who grudg'd Necessity its meagre bread;
Or fancy he should find long Life and Health,
Who prest the Poor by lifting weight from Wealth?
He hope warm robes by Heav'n would be supplied,
Who coverings, coarse, to Nakedness denied?
E'er feel refresh'd before his blazing fire,
Whilst letting Toil without a spark expire?
Could Wealth taste quiet rest, secure, and warm,
While Penury lay expos'd to every storm;
Or close his eyes, on feathery couch, for shame,
While harden'd planks bruis'd Labour's painful Frame?
Ah! what avails the sympathetic Soul,
Where Indigence denies the needful dole!
What benefit can flow from barren pray'r,
Where Poverty no unclaim'd pence can spare!
What will import the unproductive wish,
While Heav'n devises no superfluous dish!
What kind Compassion's insufficient sigh,
If Providence no second coat supply;
Or what mere Pity's pearly drops produce,
For Sorrow's comfort, or for Hunger's use!
Soft Sympathy's pure looks may mourn such lot!
But cannot Bodies clothe, or build a Cot!
May swell the sigh, or wing the wish, aloft,
But yields no fuel—makes no floor more soft!
Her eyes may bubble, and her heart may bleed,
But mere emotions neither fence, nor feed.
The ineffectual tear, and fruitless groan,
Can only make her fellow-feelings known;
May copy misery, and can echo grief,
Yet whelm not woe, nor lend one Want relief!
Where Indigence denies the needful dole!
What benefit can flow from barren pray'r,
Where Poverty no unclaim'd pence can spare!
What will import the unproductive wish,
While Heav'n devises no superfluous dish!
What kind Compassion's insufficient sigh,
If Providence no second coat supply;
Or what mere Pity's pearly drops produce,
For Sorrow's comfort, or for Hunger's use!
Soft Sympathy's pure looks may mourn such lot!
But cannot Bodies clothe, or build a Cot!
May swell the sigh, or wing the wish, aloft,
But yields no fuel—makes no floor more soft!
Her eyes may bubble, and her heart may bleed,
But mere emotions neither fence, nor feed.
The ineffectual tear, and fruitless groan,
Can only make her fellow-feelings known;
May copy misery, and can echo grief,
Yet whelm not woe, nor lend one Want relief!
Had Crispin stores of treasur'd pelf possest,
Large as the plans of his capacious breast,
His bounteous heart had emptied all his bags,
To metamorphose wretchedness and rags!
In that poor Vicinage was room enough
For Vanity's and Pomp's superfluous stuff!
True Charity might there her pounds employ,
In giving and receiving mutual joy!
Philanthropy might there expand her pow'rs,
And spread bright sunbeams o'er her cloudiest hours!
Humanity might boast unmingled bliss,
And taste pure transports in a World like this!
Might all their wants and weaknesses withstand
And light up comforts in a famish'd Land.
There was enough of Want for Wealth's supplies—
Ignorance enough for Learning's exercise—
Folly enough for Wisdom to correct,
And yield Benevolence its full effect:
Sufficient Vice for Virtue to controul;
And Sin enough to prompt each praying Soul!
Large as the plans of his capacious breast,
His bounteous heart had emptied all his bags,
To metamorphose wretchedness and rags!
In that poor Vicinage was room enough
For Vanity's and Pomp's superfluous stuff!
True Charity might there her pounds employ,
In giving and receiving mutual joy!
Philanthropy might there expand her pow'rs,
And spread bright sunbeams o'er her cloudiest hours!
Humanity might boast unmingled bliss,
And taste pure transports in a World like this!
Might all their wants and weaknesses withstand
And light up comforts in a famish'd Land.
There was enough of Want for Wealth's supplies—
Ignorance enough for Learning's exercise—
Folly enough for Wisdom to correct,
And yield Benevolence its full effect:
Sufficient Vice for Virtue to controul;
And Sin enough to prompt each praying Soul!
Tho' there all these were found yet found not more
Than ev'ry Place affords 'mong friendless Poor;
And Riches looking diligently round,
May find such Objects near each Site abound.
But needy Brethren rarely, now, engage
State's least attention in this iron Age!
Lust—Pride—Pomp—Ostentation—need not roam
They find Necessities enough at home.
Wealth feels continual want of something fresh,
To feast the Fancy, or to feed the Flesh—
Its eyes for ever wandering full of Lust,
And, 'midst fruition, feel still greater gust;
While sateless Ostentation, Pomp, and Pride,
With numerous Worlds would ne'er feel satisfied!
Than ev'ry Place affords 'mong friendless Poor;
And Riches looking diligently round,
May find such Objects near each Site abound.
But needy Brethren rarely, now, engage
State's least attention in this iron Age!
Lust—Pride—Pomp—Ostentation—need not roam
They find Necessities enough at home.
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To feast the Fancy, or to feed the Flesh—
Its eyes for ever wandering full of Lust,
And, 'midst fruition, feel still greater gust;
While sateless Ostentation, Pomp, and Pride,
With numerous Worlds would ne'er feel satisfied!
The Poor experience more content of Mind,
Their hopes all humble, and their calls confin'd;
But every human heart must feel, and flinch,
When cold oppresses; thirst and hunger, pinch.
This was the desperate case where Crispin dwelt;
Yet, tho' so fully seen, so sadly felt,
They set their fears, and sorrows, all aside,
And follow'd Nature as their faithful guide.
Their hopes all humble, and their calls confin'd;
But every human heart must feel, and flinch,
When cold oppresses; thirst and hunger, pinch.
This was the desperate case where Crispin dwelt;
Yet, tho' so fully seen, so sadly felt,
They set their fears, and sorrows, all aside,
And follow'd Nature as their faithful guide.
Some few enjoy'd their cots and scraps of Soil,
To skreen their households, and endear their toil.
To lift their labouring bands above distress,
But left no crumbs the neighbouring crows to bless.
Yet tho' they claim'd but scant contiguous ground,
Their fears were lessen'd as they look'd around,
While marking countless useful Arts engag'd
The pow'rs of either Sex, when young, or ag'd—
And, tho' they found few cultur'd fields to till,
Still other crafts employ'd their strength and skill.
The fibrous flax employ'd each spinning wheel,
While ductile iron, and indurated steel,
Engag'd the industry of every growth,
Precluding scarcity, and curing Sloth;
But yet with all their labour, skill, and care,
Still Poverty could find no crusts to spare.
The ampler portions of surrounding Lands,
By Providence were plac'd in idler hands;
And, by imperious, churlish, Chiefs employ'd
To gratify their Pomp, and Lust, and Pride.
The rest, rapacious Squires, or Yeomen proud,
Who grasp'd the pence, and spurn'd the groaning crowd;
With supercilious insolence oppress'd,
But neither Need supplied, nor Labour bless'd!
To skreen their households, and endear their toil.
To lift their labouring bands above distress,
But left no crumbs the neighbouring crows to bless.
Yet tho' they claim'd but scant contiguous ground,
Their fears were lessen'd as they look'd around,
While marking countless useful Arts engag'd
The pow'rs of either Sex, when young, or ag'd—
And, tho' they found few cultur'd fields to till,
Still other crafts employ'd their strength and skill.
The fibrous flax employ'd each spinning wheel,
While ductile iron, and indurated steel,
Engag'd the industry of every growth,
Precluding scarcity, and curing Sloth;
But yet with all their labour, skill, and care,
Still Poverty could find no crusts to spare.
The ampler portions of surrounding Lands,
By Providence were plac'd in idler hands;
And, by imperious, churlish, Chiefs employ'd
To gratify their Pomp, and Lust, and Pride.
The rest, rapacious Squires, or Yeomen proud,
Who grasp'd the pence, and spurn'd the groaning crowd;
With supercilious insolence oppress'd,
But neither Need supplied, nor Labour bless'd!
This was no place where Wealth would Worth protect;
Where Genius—Wit—or Parts could hope respect—
Where Honesty could Fortune's favours carve,
Or Industry do ought but strive and starve—
A Site where Sensibility must find
Much more to grieve, than gratify the Mind—
Where Art, or Science, scarcely could discern,
One subject prompt to teach, or proud to learn—
A Garden where few fruits of Knowledge grew,
Nor Skill, nor Taste, one Cultivator knew—
Where Learning, rarely, single scyon rear'd,
And ev'n Apollo's self had sung unheard—
Whence fair Morality was nearly flown,
And rational Religion hardly known;
Whose gleams, reflected from the gospel Sun,
Few hearts awaken'd, few'r affections won!
But little fervid Faith, or Hope, was found—
Few pious Psalms, or Hymns, responded round—
On Sabbaths, Charity scarce seen to chear
Want's trembling cheek, or soak up Sorrow's tear;
For Poverty had spread its general reign,
O'er every procreant Hamlet—Hill—and Plain!
Where Genius—Wit—or Parts could hope respect—
Where Honesty could Fortune's favours carve,
Or Industry do ought but strive and starve—
A Site where Sensibility must find
Much more to grieve, than gratify the Mind—
Where Art, or Science, scarcely could discern,
One subject prompt to teach, or proud to learn—
A Garden where few fruits of Knowledge grew,
Nor Skill, nor Taste, one Cultivator knew—
Where Learning, rarely, single scyon rear'd,
And ev'n Apollo's self had sung unheard—
Whence fair Morality was nearly flown,
And rational Religion hardly known;
Whose gleams, reflected from the gospel Sun,
Few hearts awaken'd, few'r affections won!
But little fervid Faith, or Hope, was found—
Few pious Psalms, or Hymns, responded round—
On Sabbaths, Charity scarce seen to chear
Want's trembling cheek, or soak up Sorrow's tear;
For Poverty had spread its general reign,
O'er every procreant Hamlet—Hill—and Plain!
But Crispin's heaviest want was mental meat;
Such as his pamper'd Spirit, now, could eat.
Shenstone long lost, and Lyttleton now gone,
He found few letter'd loaves to feed upon;
None but the larder of lov'd Dudley Ward,
Who then maintain'd His primitive regard.
But Penury rais'd insuperable bar,
Against importing printed food so far;
For sev'nths of Time were claim'd by Heav'n's behest,
Demands of duty call'd for all the rest.
Here varied Fortune press'd most vital pain;
His fall'n finance could no new stock obtain—
He chew'd his own choice morsels o'er and o'er,
But found they yielded nourishment no more;
While fervour striving some fresh store to find,
Increas'd the cravings of his famish'd Mind!
Such as his pamper'd Spirit, now, could eat.
Shenstone long lost, and Lyttleton now gone,
He found few letter'd loaves to feed upon;
None but the larder of lov'd Dudley Ward,
Who then maintain'd His primitive regard.
But Penury rais'd insuperable bar,
Against importing printed food so far;
For sev'nths of Time were claim'd by Heav'n's behest,
Demands of duty call'd for all the rest.
Here varied Fortune press'd most vital pain;
His fall'n finance could no new stock obtain—
He chew'd his own choice morsels o'er and o'er,
But found they yielded nourishment no more;
While fervour striving some fresh store to find,
Increas'd the cravings of his famish'd Mind!
What living Mortal not of limbs bereft,
While one faint spark of active Spirit's left,
By Hope attracted, and impell'd by Fear,
Would wish to fix Time's tabernacle there?
Except some Vision, or some obvious voice
Had charm'd his faculty, and fix'd his choice—
Some Messenger commission'd from the Sky
On whom both Sense and Reason might rely—
Whom Conscience might with confidence receive,
And Christian scrupulosity believe,
Had warn'd him, at his peril still to stay,
To 'scape dire evils of much drearier day;
Lest countless tribulations new, and strange,
Might wound his heart, and make him wail a change.
While one faint spark of active Spirit's left,
By Hope attracted, and impell'd by Fear,
Would wish to fix Time's tabernacle there?
Except some Vision, or some obvious voice
Had charm'd his faculty, and fix'd his choice—
Some Messenger commission'd from the Sky
On whom both Sense and Reason might rely—
Whom Conscience might with confidence receive,
And Christian scrupulosity believe,
Had warn'd him, at his peril still to stay,
To 'scape dire evils of much drearier day;
Lest countless tribulations new, and strange,
Might wound his heart, and make him wail a change.
128
Had he possess'd such floods of wealth as flow
To Nabob's treasury from Want and Woe,
Or such as greater Savages can get
From kidnapp'd Negroe's blisters, blood, and sweat—
Such as from Courtier's Posts and pensions rise,
Or Conqu'rors gather 'midst groans, tears, and cries—
Wealth Peers possess, from Providence's hands,
With larger cultur'd lots of neighb'ring Lands,
He ne'er had sought such companies to quit,
For Wealthier Friends, with Learning, Taste, and Wit;
But gladlier giv'n his native Poor support,
Than share the sunshine of a canting Court.
Had rather spent on Toil superfluous hoards
Than heard his own applause round splendid boards;
Or adding guilty gold, those heaps to swell,
Like Dives, leave, and count the cost in Hell!
With Wealth, he might have tasted, there, those joys
That Mortals rarely reach below the Skies!
Those genuine joys, those raptures, never known
By Sycophants, that throng round earthly Throne!
Disinterested transports! heavenly bliss!
Felt by pure Faith alone in Scenes like this!
Pure happiness! by grandeur ne'er enjoy'd,
'Mong idol hosts of Vanity and Pride!
By Ostentation never understood;
Bliss, giv'n to all, by Heav'n—while doing good!
To Nabob's treasury from Want and Woe,
Or such as greater Savages can get
From kidnapp'd Negroe's blisters, blood, and sweat—
Such as from Courtier's Posts and pensions rise,
Or Conqu'rors gather 'midst groans, tears, and cries—
Wealth Peers possess, from Providence's hands,
With larger cultur'd lots of neighb'ring Lands,
He ne'er had sought such companies to quit,
For Wealthier Friends, with Learning, Taste, and Wit;
But gladlier giv'n his native Poor support,
Than share the sunshine of a canting Court.
Had rather spent on Toil superfluous hoards
Than heard his own applause round splendid boards;
Or adding guilty gold, those heaps to swell,
Like Dives, leave, and count the cost in Hell!
With Wealth, he might have tasted, there, those joys
That Mortals rarely reach below the Skies!
Those genuine joys, those raptures, never known
By Sycophants, that throng round earthly Throne!
Disinterested transports! heavenly bliss!
Felt by pure Faith alone in Scenes like this!
Pure happiness! by grandeur ne'er enjoy'd,
'Mong idol hosts of Vanity and Pride!
By Ostentation never understood;
Bliss, giv'n to all, by Heav'n—while doing good!
It was not whim nor merely love of change,
That made Crispinus long again to range.
Not for Himself he dreaded Fortune's frown,
He'd pass'd Life's summit, and was wandering down.
The prospect look'd less dazzling while more clear,
His near horizon narrowing every Year.
Example prov'd, and Self-reflection found
His head grew hourly nearer to the ground;
While strong, or weak, whene'er he waked, or slept,
Still on his downward way he constant kept.
Whether he spent his time in sigh, or song,
His pains, or pleasures, could not, now, be long—
And, whether in his movement swift or slow,
He soon must sink in some small spot below!
That made Crispinus long again to range.
Not for Himself he dreaded Fortune's frown,
He'd pass'd Life's summit, and was wandering down.
The prospect look'd less dazzling while more clear,
His near horizon narrowing every Year.
Example prov'd, and Self-reflection found
His head grew hourly nearer to the ground;
While strong, or weak, whene'er he waked, or slept,
Still on his downward way he constant kept.
Whether he spent his time in sigh, or song,
His pains, or pleasures, could not, now, be long—
And, whether in his movement swift or slow,
He soon must sink in some small spot below!
His youthful troop was labouring to ascend,
And ill could spare a Father, Guide, and Friend.
Tho' conscious many sojourners must drop,
Before their youthful feet attain'd the top,
Their breasts beat high while clambering up the Hill,
For every step their prospects open'd, still.
The curve extended—objects multiplied—
Which call'd attention from the farther side.
Imagination wing'd each new-wak'd hope,
While vernal Suns illum'd the swelling slope;
Diffusing o'er the whole a brightening beam,
To draw back vision from the dark extreme:
All seem'd attainable—all rich—all gay—
Like painted harlots, plotting to betray!
Fair by Creation—but deprav'd by Sin—
Yet Fancy found enough her wish to win;
All so disguised by meritricious Art,
Each bosom panted to obtain a part.
He warn'd them, daily, of each dangerous snare,
Which youthful inclination longs to share;
For, till Experience proves those cautions right,
Frail Flesh will follow Sense, and Appetite.
He knew no earthly joys were long enjoy'd,
And wish'd to check all falshood, lust, and pride.
Still strove in prayer each offspring might be blest
With peace, and comfort, in some place of rest—
In some sequester'd cove each anchor cast,
Secure from shipwreck, want, and blustering blast;
When all his doubts, and fears, and cares, might cease,
Then, calmly, close his aged eyes in peace!
And ill could spare a Father, Guide, and Friend.
Tho' conscious many sojourners must drop,
Before their youthful feet attain'd the top,
Their breasts beat high while clambering up the Hill,
For every step their prospects open'd, still.
The curve extended—objects multiplied—
Which call'd attention from the farther side.
Imagination wing'd each new-wak'd hope,
While vernal Suns illum'd the swelling slope;
Diffusing o'er the whole a brightening beam,
To draw back vision from the dark extreme:
All seem'd attainable—all rich—all gay—
Like painted harlots, plotting to betray!
Fair by Creation—but deprav'd by Sin—
Yet Fancy found enough her wish to win;
All so disguised by meritricious Art,
Each bosom panted to obtain a part.
He warn'd them, daily, of each dangerous snare,
Which youthful inclination longs to share;
For, till Experience proves those cautions right,
Frail Flesh will follow Sense, and Appetite.
He knew no earthly joys were long enjoy'd,
And wish'd to check all falshood, lust, and pride.
Still strove in prayer each offspring might be blest
With peace, and comfort, in some place of rest—
In some sequester'd cove each anchor cast,
Secure from shipwreck, want, and blustering blast;
When all his doubts, and fears, and cares, might cease,
Then, calmly, close his aged eyes in peace!
Such happy, enviable, stablish'd, state,
Is ne'er dispens'd by Fortune, or by Fate;
Nor springs, alone, from prudence, care, or skill,
From personal graces, or the World's Good-Will;
But from that boundless Wisdom, Love, and Pow'r,
Which still bestows, on all, each bounteous dow'r,
And must those gifts with mental Graces bless,
Ere Man's endeavours meet with wish'd success.
But every Soul that seeks those gifts to share,
Must ask of Heav'n, with penitence, by Pray'r;
And seek such counsel, from that faithful Friend,
As Reason's and Religion's calls commend;
For Conscience calls, and Heav'n's injunctions, join'd,
Press those plain Duties upon all Mankind.
Is ne'er dispens'd by Fortune, or by Fate;
Nor springs, alone, from prudence, care, or skill,
From personal graces, or the World's Good-Will;
But from that boundless Wisdom, Love, and Pow'r,
Which still bestows, on all, each bounteous dow'r,
And must those gifts with mental Graces bless,
Ere Man's endeavours meet with wish'd success.
But every Soul that seeks those gifts to share,
Must ask of Heav'n, with penitence, by Pray'r;
And seek such counsel, from that faithful Friend,
As Reason's and Religion's calls commend;
For Conscience calls, and Heav'n's injunctions, join'd,
Press those plain Duties upon all Mankind.
Some recent favours, from the former Source,
Reach'd Crispin's cottage, in appropriate course—
Some reflex rays that earthly Luna shed,
Which sooth'd his Soul, and eas'd his pensive head;
Renewing Gratitude, with wonted glow,
And pure Affection's sentimental flow,
Till Hate and Envy turn'd the stream aside,
And Cruelty and Scorn all debts destroy'd.
Reach'd Crispin's cottage, in appropriate course—
Some reflex rays that earthly Luna shed,
Which sooth'd his Soul, and eas'd his pensive head;
Renewing Gratitude, with wonted glow,
And pure Affection's sentimental flow,
Till Hate and Envy turn'd the stream aside,
And Cruelty and Scorn all debts destroy'd.
129
He fondly felt his grateful bosom burn,
To make his Friends, and Patrons, full return—
For each true Christian, who believes his Creeds,
Tho' he appreciates proud Delinquent's deeds;
Yet, finding Self so full of earthly leav'n,
So oft offending 'gainst the God of Heav'n—
While Faith—Hope—Love—within his bosom live,
Hears Christ, and Conscience, whisper, “Friend—forgive.”
To make his Friends, and Patrons, full return—
For each true Christian, who believes his Creeds,
Tho' he appreciates proud Delinquent's deeds;
Yet, finding Self so full of earthly leav'n,
So oft offending 'gainst the God of Heav'n—
While Faith—Hope—Love—within his bosom live,
Hears Christ, and Conscience, whisper, “Friend—forgive.”
How can a Man his Master's pray'r repeat,
Whose ears refuse to hear a Friend intreat;
Or all Heav'n's gracious blessings hope to gain,
Who, unconcern'd, can hear that Friend complain!
Who never feels his flinty heart relent,
When Fellow-Sinners prove their Souls repent!
These were the clear conditions Heav'n display'd,
When God's dear Son the perfect pattern made;
And so ordain'd the stipulated plan
Of mutual Mercy, shewn by Man, to Man!
Such peccant Creatures should no Culprits spurn,
Who, back to Duty, by repentance, turn;
Nor persecute, with spite, tho' oft perverse,
But pardon, still, to 'scape Heav'n's fatal curse:
How can fall'n Man perform a Christian's part,
Who harbours hatred in his vengeful heart?
Frail, sinful, Souls, ought all revenge forego,
When pardon'd Friend appears no more a Foe;
Yea, all revengeful punishment suspend,
Tho' persecuting Foe ne'er proves a Friend—
Much more should Brethren pardon Brethren's crimes,
Repented, still, to thrice ten thousand times:
Should blot each blemish out—forgive disgrace—
And cordially renew the kind embrace:
Not hurried on by Passion, or by Pride,
With finite Knowledge forfeitures decide;
But, with Christ's Grace, believing in God's Word,
Leave in His hands the balance and the sword—
His Vengeance may, awhile, at rest remain,
But His strict Justice bears no sword in vain!
Whose ears refuse to hear a Friend intreat;
Or all Heav'n's gracious blessings hope to gain,
Who, unconcern'd, can hear that Friend complain!
Who never feels his flinty heart relent,
When Fellow-Sinners prove their Souls repent!
These were the clear conditions Heav'n display'd,
When God's dear Son the perfect pattern made;
And so ordain'd the stipulated plan
Of mutual Mercy, shewn by Man, to Man!
Such peccant Creatures should no Culprits spurn,
Who, back to Duty, by repentance, turn;
Nor persecute, with spite, tho' oft perverse,
But pardon, still, to 'scape Heav'n's fatal curse:
How can fall'n Man perform a Christian's part,
Who harbours hatred in his vengeful heart?
Frail, sinful, Souls, ought all revenge forego,
When pardon'd Friend appears no more a Foe;
Yea, all revengeful punishment suspend,
Tho' persecuting Foe ne'er proves a Friend—
Much more should Brethren pardon Brethren's crimes,
Repented, still, to thrice ten thousand times:
Should blot each blemish out—forgive disgrace—
And cordially renew the kind embrace:
Not hurried on by Passion, or by Pride,
With finite Knowledge forfeitures decide;
But, with Christ's Grace, believing in God's Word,
Leave in His hands the balance and the sword—
His Vengeance may, awhile, at rest remain,
But His strict Justice bears no sword in vain!
That Being whence all others boast their birth,
Bright Hosts of Heav'n—and Habitants of Earth—
At one vast view, past, present, future, sees,
And knows their fate—but not by fixt decrees—
While by his boundless Pow'r—Love—Wisdom—Will,
He actuates—governs—guides—supports them, still;
Bestowing ample bounty free, to all,
Which crowd the Skies, and range this rounded Ball;
But not to Spirits pure, or Man, is known
Their future lot, but Deity alone.
Bright Hosts of Heav'n—and Habitants of Earth—
At one vast view, past, present, future, sees,
And knows their fate—but not by fixt decrees—
While by his boundless Pow'r—Love—Wisdom—Will,
He actuates—governs—guides—supports them, still;
Bestowing ample bounty free, to all,
Which crowd the Skies, and range this rounded Ball;
But not to Spirits pure, or Man, is known
Their future lot, but Deity alone.
Crispin's dissatisfaction Fame reveal'd—
He ne'er with care true sentiments conceal'd;
But friendly correspondence frankly led
To facts which Rumour's colloquies had spread,
That he again had tempting offers made
To leave his farm, and literary trade;
And when Heav'n opens advantageous views,
Prudence should ne'er demur, nor Faith refuse.
He ne'er with care true sentiments conceal'd;
But friendly correspondence frankly led
To facts which Rumour's colloquies had spread,
That he again had tempting offers made
To leave his farm, and literary trade;
And when Heav'n opens advantageous views,
Prudence should ne'er demur, nor Faith refuse.
With him Reserve was no prevailing Vice—
Candour's ne'er troubl'd long with tedious choice—
Ne'er, long, twixt opposite opinions halts,
Conceals its failures, or denies its faults.
Tho' not, at all times, like the Serpent, wise;
It ne'er puts on the Hypocrite's disguise;
But most resembles undesigning Doves,
As Nature prompts, it speaks, and looks, and loves!
Candour's ne'er troubl'd long with tedious choice—
Ne'er, long, twixt opposite opinions halts,
Conceals its failures, or denies its faults.
Tho' not, at all times, like the Serpent, wise;
It ne'er puts on the Hypocrite's disguise;
But most resembles undesigning Doves,
As Nature prompts, it speaks, and looks, and loves!
Reserve is, often, but a prim pretence
For want of Wit, Worth, Honesty, or Sense.
It may support, sometimes, prudential rules;
But oftener forms a cloak for Knaves or Fools.
Truth may by Puppies, Pimps, or Prudes, be blam'd,
But, as the proverb shows, can ne'er be sham'd—
May prove impertinent, in time, or place;
But ne'er incurs a criminal disgrace.
May mimic specious wit, or spurious taste;
But, when stark naked, never looks unchaste.
May Pride affront, or Affectation hurt,
But pains no Duty—pilfers no Desert.
May Priests, or Politicians, oft offend;
But proves good Pastor's, and good Patriot's, Friend.
May strip the Church, or stigmatize the Court;
Yet still true peace, and piety, support.
May make a Prelate storm—a Statesman wince—
With profligacy brand a spendthrift Prince—
Those fix'd on Thrones with Fools, or Misers, mix,
Yet never plots to play them slippery tricks.
Must trouble Bigots—weak Fanatics wound,
But shocks no genuine Faith, nor Doctrine sound.
Must Superstition's blind devotion blame,
But always leads to Heav'n from whence it came.
'Tis Reason's rule—Religion's best defence—
The track of Science, and the test of Sense—
Blest Revelation's fairest, surest, Friend;
The base on which pure Faith and Hope depend—
The dernier point where all Dispute should rest,
And leave in love and peace each happy breast!
For want of Wit, Worth, Honesty, or Sense.
It may support, sometimes, prudential rules;
But oftener forms a cloak for Knaves or Fools.
Truth may by Puppies, Pimps, or Prudes, be blam'd,
But, as the proverb shows, can ne'er be sham'd—
May prove impertinent, in time, or place;
But ne'er incurs a criminal disgrace.
May mimic specious wit, or spurious taste;
But, when stark naked, never looks unchaste.
May Pride affront, or Affectation hurt,
But pains no Duty—pilfers no Desert.
May Priests, or Politicians, oft offend;
But proves good Pastor's, and good Patriot's, Friend.
May strip the Church, or stigmatize the Court;
Yet still true peace, and piety, support.
May make a Prelate storm—a Statesman wince—
With profligacy brand a spendthrift Prince—
Those fix'd on Thrones with Fools, or Misers, mix,
Yet never plots to play them slippery tricks.
Must trouble Bigots—weak Fanatics wound,
But shocks no genuine Faith, nor Doctrine sound.
Must Superstition's blind devotion blame,
But always leads to Heav'n from whence it came.
'Tis Reason's rule—Religion's best defence—
The track of Science, and the test of Sense—
Blest Revelation's fairest, surest, Friend;
130
The dernier point where all Dispute should rest,
And leave in love and peace each happy breast!
Where Crispin's labours past protection shar'd,
Connexions, new, kind Providence prepar'd;
Which, now, appear'd to promise better things
Than fiery Serpent's fangs, and bitter Springs;
Murmurs, and menaces, and deep disgrace,
So oft experienc'd in his former place—
From post to post, thro' pains and perils led;
And, tho' securely bless'd with cloaths and bread,
Yet still continual agitations toss'd,
For Jordan's current had not yet been cross'd.
Seduc'd with placid smiles, and smoothest speech,
Again residing in a Tyrant's reach,
Tho' quails, and manna, Appetites might bless,
He still was wandering in a Wilderness!
Connexions, new, kind Providence prepar'd;
Which, now, appear'd to promise better things
Than fiery Serpent's fangs, and bitter Springs;
Murmurs, and menaces, and deep disgrace,
So oft experienc'd in his former place—
From post to post, thro' pains and perils led;
And, tho' securely bless'd with cloaths and bread,
Yet still continual agitations toss'd,
For Jordan's current had not yet been cross'd.
Seduc'd with placid smiles, and smoothest speech,
Again residing in a Tyrant's reach,
Tho' quails, and manna, Appetites might bless,
He still was wandering in a Wilderness!
He dreamt that nothing, now, endanger'd rest—
Of plenty—pleasure—permanence—possest!
A sumptuous habitation! vestments fair!
His food—fire—chattels—free from cost, and care.
Fancy now grasp'd the Canaanitish grapes—
Held flow'rs in ever-varying hues and shapes—
Rich milky fountains, and mellifluent show'rs,
But quite forgot the giants—forts—and tow'rs!
Ere long the fascinating Vision fled,
That thus allur'd his heart, and lull'd his head;
For, soon, with startling terrors, wide awake,
He found his error—felt his mad mistake!
Of plenty—pleasure—permanence—possest!
A sumptuous habitation! vestments fair!
His food—fire—chattels—free from cost, and care.
Fancy now grasp'd the Canaanitish grapes—
Held flow'rs in ever-varying hues and shapes—
Rich milky fountains, and mellifluent show'rs,
But quite forgot the giants—forts—and tow'rs!
Ere long the fascinating Vision fled,
That thus allur'd his heart, and lull'd his head;
For, soon, with startling terrors, wide awake,
He found his error—felt his mad mistake!
His Daphne, tho' no prophetess, profess'd,
Like fam'd Cassandra, felt her troubled breast,
Not anxious care, alone, and sorrow, swell,
With omens, direful, and prognostics, fell,
But warning words pronounc'd impending lot
In form and manner memory ne'er forgot—
What woes and pains would press each heavy hour,
When placed again within the Despot's pow'r!
That, when his flock was left, and he, alone,
Would pay his deep devoirs before her throne,
Her gracious compliments, and glowing smiles,
Might calm his cares, and mitigate his toils;
But when his Consort, and his Children, came
Within the influence of the ficke Dame,
Her Soul foresaw a striking change of state—
That strife, and taunts, and frowns, would be his fate—
For tried experience taught, from what was past,
In such a clime no sunshine long would last;
But soon by blustering storms, and biting frost,
Faith's leaves, and Friendship's flow'rs, would all be lost!
All Hope's fair flow'rs, by Fancy shown so bright,
Not fed by Love will fall by Passion's blight;
And all the summer fruits Faith sought to see,
Soon fell from Patronage's fruitless Tree!
Like fam'd Cassandra, felt her troubled breast,
Not anxious care, alone, and sorrow, swell,
With omens, direful, and prognostics, fell,
But warning words pronounc'd impending lot
In form and manner memory ne'er forgot—
What woes and pains would press each heavy hour,
When placed again within the Despot's pow'r!
That, when his flock was left, and he, alone,
Would pay his deep devoirs before her throne,
Her gracious compliments, and glowing smiles,
Might calm his cares, and mitigate his toils;
But when his Consort, and his Children, came
Within the influence of the ficke Dame,
Her Soul foresaw a striking change of state—
That strife, and taunts, and frowns, would be his fate—
For tried experience taught, from what was past,
In such a clime no sunshine long would last;
But soon by blustering storms, and biting frost,
Faith's leaves, and Friendship's flow'rs, would all be lost!
All Hope's fair flow'rs, by Fancy shown so bright,
Not fed by Love will fall by Passion's blight;
And all the summer fruits Faith sought to see,
Soon fell from Patronage's fruitless Tree!
Heav'n, in just vengeance for his impious wish,
To leave plain diet for high-season'd dish;
Great store of onions, leeks, and garlic, gave,
But fix'd him, firmly, as a servile Slave!
No cucumbers, or melon's, were denied—
The flesh-pots, and the fish, were well supplied—
But the pure bread from Heav'n no longer greets
The Spirit's palate with celestial sweets;
By daily bounty scatter'd from the Skies,
Of which one Omer ought a Saint suffice—
And all, whose greediness will gather more,
Find rottenness, and stench, corrupt their store!
The heavenly fountain, and fresh manna, fails,
While punishment pursues requests for quails,
Now doom'd again in Egypt's land to groan,
For the same female Pharaoh rul'd the throne.
To leave plain diet for high-season'd dish;
Great store of onions, leeks, and garlic, gave,
But fix'd him, firmly, as a servile Slave!
No cucumbers, or melon's, were denied—
The flesh-pots, and the fish, were well supplied—
But the pure bread from Heav'n no longer greets
The Spirit's palate with celestial sweets;
By daily bounty scatter'd from the Skies,
Of which one Omer ought a Saint suffice—
And all, whose greediness will gather more,
Find rottenness, and stench, corrupt their store!
The heavenly fountain, and fresh manna, fails,
While punishment pursues requests for quails,
Now doom'd again in Egypt's land to groan,
For the same female Pharaoh rul'd the throne.
Again, to bribe him she fresh arts essay'd,
To quit his Family and farming trade;
The vulgar village, and the pensive plain,
To brood beneath her gracious wings again,
And every pow'r and privilege enjoy,
That Potiphar conferr'd on Hebrew boy.
The full command of town, and country, domes—
The mingl'd furniture and motley tomes—
Vast reservoirs of stores, and rooms of state—
Proud magazines of parchments—and of plate—
Candles, and lamps, and various food for fire—
Chequer'd and tinsel'd suits of slaves attire—
Innumerous articles of daily bread
On which high Demigods, and Dupes, were fed;
With all the Beasts that form the stables store,
That stump on two legs, or which fly on four—
With endless items Wits would call uncouth;
Not fit for tuneful Registers of truth—
Such sounds as Tradesmens' catalogues might name,
But quite unfit for Chronicles of Fame—
Too trite; too tiresome; ludicrous, and large,
For ought but Butler's or Housekeeper's charge.
Vested with vast authority o'er all
That cram the kitchen, or that haunt the hall—
With many mammock'd fragments that remain'd
Which he and all his fellow-slaves sustained;
That round the royal presence proudly shine,
Inspect the wardrobe, or dispense the wine.
Authority o'er all but private pelf,
Trinkets, and toys; his Mistress, and—Himself:
For pow'r a greater gives, and can recal,
Is, in reality, no pow'r at all.
The mingled mass of treasure—time—and will—
The pow'r to nominate—the pow'r to nill—
To punish—to reward—deny—demur,
With all her adjuncts, center'd, sole, in Her.
Command of bodies, and command of Souls,
Subject to Her executive controuls;
All—all—depending on supreme decree,
Which left no other individual free.
To quit his Family and farming trade;
The vulgar village, and the pensive plain,
To brood beneath her gracious wings again,
And every pow'r and privilege enjoy,
That Potiphar conferr'd on Hebrew boy.
The full command of town, and country, domes—
The mingl'd furniture and motley tomes—
Vast reservoirs of stores, and rooms of state—
Proud magazines of parchments—and of plate—
Candles, and lamps, and various food for fire—
Chequer'd and tinsel'd suits of slaves attire—
Innumerous articles of daily bread
On which high Demigods, and Dupes, were fed;
With all the Beasts that form the stables store,
That stump on two legs, or which fly on four—
With endless items Wits would call uncouth;
Not fit for tuneful Registers of truth—
Such sounds as Tradesmens' catalogues might name,
But quite unfit for Chronicles of Fame—
Too trite; too tiresome; ludicrous, and large,
For ought but Butler's or Housekeeper's charge.
131
That cram the kitchen, or that haunt the hall—
With many mammock'd fragments that remain'd
Which he and all his fellow-slaves sustained;
That round the royal presence proudly shine,
Inspect the wardrobe, or dispense the wine.
Authority o'er all but private pelf,
Trinkets, and toys; his Mistress, and—Himself:
For pow'r a greater gives, and can recal,
Is, in reality, no pow'r at all.
The mingled mass of treasure—time—and will—
The pow'r to nominate—the pow'r to nill—
To punish—to reward—deny—demur,
With all her adjuncts, center'd, sole, in Her.
Command of bodies, and command of Souls,
Subject to Her executive controuls;
All—all—depending on supreme decree,
Which left no other individual free.
This was a pure, unmix'd, despotic, state—
Small room for council—none for free debate.
No pow'r to stop, to turn, or to restrain,
One wheel of government, or golden grain:
And, maugre all sophistic arguments,
Such are all cunning Tyrants' clear intents.
What He possess'd of influence, or of force,
Was barely borrow'd from the sovereign source;
All faint reflection from the thrifty Throne;
No warmth, no radiance, could He call his own.
Weak, lunar, light, such Primaries dispense.
As guards of Liberty, or guides of Sense—
In fact, such Slaves, as Secondaries, run,
In different orbits, round their central Sun;
And He was only placed, o'er other Loons,
First Minister among inferior Moons.
Oft meaner Moons, in each revolving race,
Were suffer'd to usurp superior place;
Encourag'd, or commanded to appear,
With fuller influence in his proper sphere;
While dull, in different aspects, he, displays,
Each day—each hour—each moment—different phase—
Now horn'd—bisected—gibbous—full—or dark—
As She transmitted each proportion'd spark.
Full oft the Earth's dark shadows crept between—
Then were the beams of brightness seldom seen—
And when this World obscur'd brows, eyes, and lips,
Poor Crispin suffer'd a complete eclipse!
Small room for council—none for free debate.
No pow'r to stop, to turn, or to restrain,
One wheel of government, or golden grain:
And, maugre all sophistic arguments,
Such are all cunning Tyrants' clear intents.
What He possess'd of influence, or of force,
Was barely borrow'd from the sovereign source;
All faint reflection from the thrifty Throne;
No warmth, no radiance, could He call his own.
Weak, lunar, light, such Primaries dispense.
As guards of Liberty, or guides of Sense—
In fact, such Slaves, as Secondaries, run,
In different orbits, round their central Sun;
And He was only placed, o'er other Loons,
First Minister among inferior Moons.
Oft meaner Moons, in each revolving race,
Were suffer'd to usurp superior place;
Encourag'd, or commanded to appear,
With fuller influence in his proper sphere;
While dull, in different aspects, he, displays,
Each day—each hour—each moment—different phase—
Now horn'd—bisected—gibbous—full—or dark—
As She transmitted each proportion'd spark.
Full oft the Earth's dark shadows crept between—
Then were the beams of brightness seldom seen—
And when this World obscur'd brows, eyes, and lips,
Poor Crispin suffer'd a complete eclipse!
Such changes oft are found among the Great,
Suns, and attendant Satellites of State,
Where Ministers, and Courtiers, form the rings,
Circles, concentric, round the thrones of Kings.
Where, with soft smiles, when mighty Monarch speaks,
Their fluttering pulses play ten thousand freaks;
But if his voice revolts, and features frown,
The hapless Panders hang, or shoot, or drown.
Suns, and attendant Satellites of State,
Where Ministers, and Courtiers, form the rings,
Circles, concentric, round the thrones of Kings.
Where, with soft smiles, when mighty Monarch speaks,
Their fluttering pulses play ten thousand freaks;
But if his voice revolts, and features frown,
The hapless Panders hang, or shoot, or drown.
By such precarious tenure Crispin held—
Caprice attracted, or Caprice repell'd:
Nought constant stood but ostentatious Pride,
And mix'd emotions to its Lusts allied;
For stablish'd Prejudice their strength maintain'd,
'Mid pow'rful Passions, which, alternate, reign'd.
Caprice attracted, or Caprice repell'd:
Nought constant stood but ostentatious Pride,
And mix'd emotions to its Lusts allied;
For stablish'd Prejudice their strength maintain'd,
'Mid pow'rful Passions, which, alternate, reign'd.
Those, tho' perverted, still feel faultless laws,
All things depending on the parent Cause.
A petty type of that stupendous plan
That, to his Maker, ties poor peccant Man;
Where the wide chasm, thro' that unbounded space,
Is occupied by Mercy—Love—and Grace!
All things depending on the parent Cause.
A petty type of that stupendous plan
That, to his Maker, ties poor peccant Man;
Where the wide chasm, thro' that unbounded space,
Is occupied by Mercy—Love—and Grace!
In this the vast essential difference lies,
Betwixt the Government of Earth and Skies;
Knaves, Fools, or Frantics, here, may sit supreme;
There, One, all-perfect, holds the Blade, and Beam—
Weighs every Wight in Wisdom's equal scales,
And wards, or wounds, as Love, or Lust, prevails;
But each, with boundless Charity, suspends,
Till, with the term of Life, all Tryal ends!
Meantime, tho' punishments may oft have place,
None can, distinctly, all their pointings trace;
For, tho' on Emperor—Peer—Mechanic—Clown—
He drops, apparent, partial blessings down—
And tho' to ignorant Mortals' misty sights,
He gives the worldly Great all Earth's delights;
In Angel's eyes, the happiest, and the high'st,
Is he whose Faith—Hopes—Comforts—rest on Christ—
In Earth, and Heav'n, the most completely bless'd,
Who copies, clear, His perfect pattern best—
Betwixt the Government of Earth and Skies;
Knaves, Fools, or Frantics, here, may sit supreme;
There, One, all-perfect, holds the Blade, and Beam—
Weighs every Wight in Wisdom's equal scales,
And wards, or wounds, as Love, or Lust, prevails;
But each, with boundless Charity, suspends,
Till, with the term of Life, all Tryal ends!
Meantime, tho' punishments may oft have place,
None can, distinctly, all their pointings trace;
For, tho' on Emperor—Peer—Mechanic—Clown—
He drops, apparent, partial blessings down—
And tho' to ignorant Mortals' misty sights,
He gives the worldly Great all Earth's delights;
In Angel's eyes, the happiest, and the high'st,
Is he whose Faith—Hopes—Comforts—rest on Christ—
In Earth, and Heav'n, the most completely bless'd,
Who copies, clear, His perfect pattern best—
Here God oft gives to simpler Souls, obscure,
An honest heart—firm faith—and spirit pure!
On bootless Toil confers far better dow'r,
Than dangerous Riches, or obnoxious Pow'r—
On pious Pauper, more content bestows
Than impious Prelate—Prince—or Monarch, knows!
An honest heart—firm faith—and spirit pure!
On bootless Toil confers far better dow'r,
Than dangerous Riches, or obnoxious Pow'r—
On pious Pauper, more content bestows
Than impious Prelate—Prince—or Monarch, knows!
Will Wisdom, infinite, and Love, divine,
Respect those most where bounteous gifts combine?
Which gave them sprightly Health? and spirits gay?
More charms of Mind, and comelier-moddl'd Clay?
Wealth—Honours—Influence—every treacherous trust,
All prone to tempt the Soul to Pride and Lust!
More than those Creatures, that His kind regard,
From all such traps, and trials, thus debarr'd?
Mortals might then condemn their Maker's deed,
For faults, and follies, which from Pride proceed.
Whose wishes, rash, Themsleves as idols, raise—
Fill their frail censers with sweet fumes of praise—
Spread o'er each faulty part some gilt disguise
Then offer all, to Self—fond Sacrifice!
The great Creator, ever just and true!
Respect those most where bounteous gifts combine?
132
More charms of Mind, and comelier-moddl'd Clay?
Wealth—Honours—Influence—every treacherous trust,
All prone to tempt the Soul to Pride and Lust!
More than those Creatures, that His kind regard,
From all such traps, and trials, thus debarr'd?
Mortals might then condemn their Maker's deed,
For faults, and follies, which from Pride proceed.
Whose wishes, rash, Themsleves as idols, raise—
Fill their frail censers with sweet fumes of praise—
Spread o'er each faulty part some gilt disguise
Then offer all, to Self—fond Sacrifice!
Must rectitude and order still pursue;
Ne'er Men, invested with such gifts, reveres,
Who outstrip Him, and trample on their Peers!
He looks on all Mankind with equal eye
Who sway proud sceptres, or in dungeons die!
No golden God is rear'd by His command—
No summon sent thro' every slavish Land,
With martial trumps, and instruments of mirth,
Convening vain inhabitants of Earth,
To bow, with awe, before such haughty Shrine,
And hold dead Metal, or dull Man, divine;
Nor lights fierce fires, to make Men's Lives a prey,
Who dare such Despot's mandates disobey!
He casts no Culprit down in lion's den
Who practises pure pious rights of Men;
Or destines multitudes to burn or bleed,
Whose Conscience execrates each papal Creed!
Such phrensies every hour infest Mankind,
Thro' native pride, and impotence of Mind.
Clerics and Laics both alike disturb,
Till true Religion strains her tighten'd curb.
All honour, pow'r, or property, pursue,
Some greater goods to gain, or, ills, eschew—
While each with wealth—pow'r—pomp—and pride, possest,
Hopes adoration paid by all the rest!
The same propensities impel the Crowd—
Alike imperious, positive, and proud.
Their Inclination only dormant lies
Thro' lack of stimulants to make it rise.
Strike but a spark to kindle Pride, or Lust,
Each graceless heart will glow with equal gust;
Or Passions' breezes, blowing, fan to flame,
Each breast will burn, and blood will boil, the same.
Alike imperious, positive, and proud.
Their Inclination only dormant lies
Thro' lack of stimulants to make it rise.
Strike but a spark to kindle Pride, or Lust,
Each graceless heart will glow with equal gust;
Or Passions' breezes, blowing, fan to flame,
Each breast will burn, and blood will boil, the same.
The strong distinctions, that so prompt appear,
Spring from the prevalence of Hope, or Fear;
The hope of Happiness, or fear of Woe,
Which Influence can inflict, or Wealth bestow—
Almighty Money makes the only odds,
Betwixt poor Peasants and Earth's golden Gods!
All Wisdom's attributes belong to Wealth,
Bestow'd by ancestry, or got by Stealth.
The strong necessity, and powerful source,
Of soft persuasion, and resistless force.
To Wealth all Pow'r—Fame—Influence—belong;
That buttress up the Throne, and blind the Throng.
A Vortex, which, in high, or abject, place,
Absorbs, or whirls about, Man's mortal Race!
To Honour hoisted, or to Slavery hurl'd—
Thus Tools and Tyrants constitute the World!
Some in proud shapes of Emperors—Princes—Popes—
Distribute stars and ribbands—titles—ropes—
And still the rising Ranks, with eager eyes,
Gaze, hankering for each paltry prize;
While ignorant Fools, below, look wide agape,
To see such Prodigies in human shape!
Meantime with secret, but consummate, skill,
They hide base Art, and arbitrary Will;
And, while appearing Patrons of the Whole,
Enslave each Body, and ensnare each Soul;
And still fresh wants, or novel whimsies, find,
To plague, or please; to grieve, or glad, Mankind!
Spring from the prevalence of Hope, or Fear;
The hope of Happiness, or fear of Woe,
Which Influence can inflict, or Wealth bestow—
Almighty Money makes the only odds,
Betwixt poor Peasants and Earth's golden Gods!
All Wisdom's attributes belong to Wealth,
Bestow'd by ancestry, or got by Stealth.
The strong necessity, and powerful source,
Of soft persuasion, and resistless force.
To Wealth all Pow'r—Fame—Influence—belong;
That buttress up the Throne, and blind the Throng.
A Vortex, which, in high, or abject, place,
Absorbs, or whirls about, Man's mortal Race!
To Honour hoisted, or to Slavery hurl'd—
Thus Tools and Tyrants constitute the World!
Some in proud shapes of Emperors—Princes—Popes—
Distribute stars and ribbands—titles—ropes—
And still the rising Ranks, with eager eyes,
Gaze, hankering for each paltry prize;
While ignorant Fools, below, look wide agape,
To see such Prodigies in human shape!
Meantime with secret, but consummate, skill,
They hide base Art, and arbitrary Will;
And, while appearing Patrons of the Whole,
Enslave each Body, and ensnare each Soul;
And still fresh wants, or novel whimsies, find,
To plague, or please; to grieve, or glad, Mankind!
Thus they, whom Providence hath plac'd on high,
Neglect their posts, and plot against the Sky!
In Fancy's fairy-land to Gods they grow,
And look for Worship from the World below!
Pile Pomp on Pow'r, to pillar up their Pride,
And deem all pygmies on the Earth beside—
With slime and clay their temp'ral Babels build,
While with confusion all Creation's fill'd!
Neglect their posts, and plot against the Sky!
In Fancy's fairy-land to Gods they grow,
And look for Worship from the World below!
Pile Pomp on Pow'r, to pillar up their Pride,
And deem all pygmies on the Earth beside—
With slime and clay their temp'ral Babels build,
While with confusion all Creation's fill'd!
In every Order, downward, Self still sways—
Claims of precedence, false—each trust betrays—
Spreads courtly colours; aping Apes above—
Lisps frail possessions—grins, egregious Love—
Each male and female—ugly—old—or dull—
All heads, and hearts, with fond Self-preference full,
Endeavour to impose despotic sway,
The lowest thinking thousands low'r than they.
Claims of precedence, false—each trust betrays—
Spreads courtly colours; aping Apes above—
Lisps frail possessions—grins, egregious Love—
Each male and female—ugly—old—or dull—
All heads, and hearts, with fond Self-preference full,
Endeavour to impose despotic sway,
The lowest thinking thousands low'r than they.
133
Thus Common-Sense each human Creature sees,
In different forms, and different degrees.
The self-same blind propensities abound,
In every Class, above—below—around.
Like pride—congenial passions—carnal bent—
Alone unlike in colour, or extent:
All wishing idol-worship—flattery—fame—
The vizor, only, varying—Self the same.
In different forms, and different degrees.
The self-same blind propensities abound,
In every Class, above—below—around.
Like pride—congenial passions—carnal bent—
Alone unlike in colour, or extent:
All wishing idol-worship—flattery—fame—
The vizor, only, varying—Self the same.
Midst these concentric orbits Crispin run;
First Satellite, attending his terrestrial Sun;
And, from that middle scite, could clearly scan,
The mixt epitome of Motley Man:
Where, in each Place, when accurately spell'd,
Like plans, pursuits, and Hopes, his Mind beheld.
Great—middling—little, much the same, he saw
Were govern'd, all, by like unvaried Law;
The Rich not more, or less, mean—vicious—vain,
Than the poor Creatures that compos'd their Train.
No notes of difference, nor distinction, strike;
Lords and their Lacqueys acting just alike:
If this discernment any difference found,
'Twas in external suit, or titled sound;
And oft were Servants more than Masters, seen
To shine, in garnish'd garb, shape, air, and mien.
Ev'n in proud Priests, of high or low, degree,
And stiff Attendants, he could scarcely see
The least distinction—but, both low'st and high'st,
Look'd unlike Christians—how much less like Christ!
Archbishops, no Evangelists, or Seers—
Bishops, not meek Apostles, but proud Peers—
And all the Priests that fill'd inferior posts,
How different from the first discipled Hosts!
Prophets, and Priests, of old, were never vain;
Or turn'd sham godliness to shining gain!
Sought no revenues vast, for pride, or lust—
They took their Master's promises, on trust!
Ne'er to provoke His pow'r, and Men to mock,
With hirelings left their own immortal flock!
To Sunday-routs, or feasts, ne'er fled from Church;
Leaving the Souls of Sinners in the lurch!
For choicest business never Sabbaths chose,
Incurring scorn from Faith's inveterate Foes!
Ne'er from their Chapels, and Cathedrals, kept,
To anger Heav'n, while Saints and Angels wept!
Ne'er through each Town, for impious pleasure, stray'd,
While gracious Priests, and Congregations, pray'd!
Infring'd no sacred Rites, or Servants' rest,
While Curates preach'd, or Penitents confess'd!
No pompous Equipage paraded round,
True Christians' Consciences, and hearts, to wound;
Nor hop'd applauses from the thoughtless throngs
While Heav'n's pure praise burst forth from tuneful tongues!
Ne'er proudly stood amidst a pious Crowd,
While, struck with guilt, each humbly bent and bow'd;
Nor rear'd their heads with high primatic pride,
While poor Repentants wept, and groan'd, and sigh'd!
Ne'er practis'd tricks to make their face more fair,
While saints were supplicating Heav'n with pray'r—
Which Crispin mark'd with mix'd contempt and grief,
When view'd, in vain Hibernian Church's Chief.
First Satellite, attending his terrestrial Sun;
And, from that middle scite, could clearly scan,
The mixt epitome of Motley Man:
Where, in each Place, when accurately spell'd,
Like plans, pursuits, and Hopes, his Mind beheld.
Great—middling—little, much the same, he saw
Were govern'd, all, by like unvaried Law;
The Rich not more, or less, mean—vicious—vain,
Than the poor Creatures that compos'd their Train.
No notes of difference, nor distinction, strike;
Lords and their Lacqueys acting just alike:
If this discernment any difference found,
'Twas in external suit, or titled sound;
And oft were Servants more than Masters, seen
To shine, in garnish'd garb, shape, air, and mien.
Ev'n in proud Priests, of high or low, degree,
And stiff Attendants, he could scarcely see
The least distinction—but, both low'st and high'st,
Look'd unlike Christians—how much less like Christ!
Archbishops, no Evangelists, or Seers—
Bishops, not meek Apostles, but proud Peers—
And all the Priests that fill'd inferior posts,
How different from the first discipled Hosts!
Prophets, and Priests, of old, were never vain;
Or turn'd sham godliness to shining gain!
Sought no revenues vast, for pride, or lust—
They took their Master's promises, on trust!
Ne'er to provoke His pow'r, and Men to mock,
With hirelings left their own immortal flock!
To Sunday-routs, or feasts, ne'er fled from Church;
Leaving the Souls of Sinners in the lurch!
For choicest business never Sabbaths chose,
Incurring scorn from Faith's inveterate Foes!
Ne'er from their Chapels, and Cathedrals, kept,
To anger Heav'n, while Saints and Angels wept!
Ne'er through each Town, for impious pleasure, stray'd,
While gracious Priests, and Congregations, pray'd!
Infring'd no sacred Rites, or Servants' rest,
While Curates preach'd, or Penitents confess'd!
No pompous Equipage paraded round,
True Christians' Consciences, and hearts, to wound;
Nor hop'd applauses from the thoughtless throngs
While Heav'n's pure praise burst forth from tuneful tongues!
Ne'er proudly stood amidst a pious Crowd,
While, struck with guilt, each humbly bent and bow'd;
Nor rear'd their heads with high primatic pride,
While poor Repentants wept, and groan'd, and sigh'd!
Ne'er practis'd tricks to make their face more fair,
While saints were supplicating Heav'n with pray'r—
Which Crispin mark'd with mix'd contempt and grief,
When view'd, in vain Hibernian Church's Chief.
They spent no portion of Heav'n's holy day,
In noise, and nonsense—garrulously gay!
No vanities profane, or vicious sports,
Engross'd God's glory, or contemn'd his Courts!
They read His Word—obey'd His bless'd Will—
All Duties learnt—and labour'd to fulfil!
In noise, and nonsense—garrulously gay!
No vanities profane, or vicious sports,
Engross'd God's glory, or contemn'd his Courts!
They read His Word—obey'd His bless'd Will—
All Duties learnt—and labour'd to fulfil!
They every proud pre-eminence abhorr'd;
And loath'd those sounding syllables—“My Lord!”
Claim'd no appellatives from pow'r, or place,
“Rev'rend—Most Rev'rend—Lordship—or, Your Grace!”
Yet felt Ambition bolder aims inspire,
For nobler Objects—Names, and Honours, high'r—
Not palaces—Demesnes—and Mitres—here,
But Throne—Crowns—Kingdoms—in celestial Sphere!
And loath'd those sounding syllables—“My Lord!”
Claim'd no appellatives from pow'r, or place,
“Rev'rend—Most Rev'rend—Lordship—or, Your Grace!”
Yet felt Ambition bolder aims inspire,
For nobler Objects—Names, and Honours, high'r—
Not palaces—Demesnes—and Mitres—here,
But Throne—Crowns—Kingdoms—in celestial Sphere!
These modern Prelates plan more carnal scheme;
To steal within one step of pow'r supreme—
And, framing practice by their private Code,
Hope to ride on to Heav'n, an easier road!
They choose, in spite of genuine Truth, to judge,
And hate the narrow path where Pilgrims trudge—
On wicket-gate no kind attention fix,
But wish to travel on with Coach-and-six.
Push all their hopes, and interests, here, with Men,
And spurn, with sport the being born again;
Like Nicodemus wondering what is meant,
With natural knowledge, common truths content;
Nor drudge to be adopted Heaven's Heirs,
While temporal pleasures are already theirs.
Form close connexions with the Rich, and Great,
To feast their fill, in splendour, pomp, and state!
From fear of Conscience, or of Heav'n's behest,
They leave no Pride, or Passion, long, unbless'd;
Nor e'er, in harshly-mortifying mood,
Refrain from any kind of carnal food.
Ne'er captiously dispute with Brother Paul,
That 'tis not well to taste of wine at all,
But, rather than be counted over-nice,
Will patiently adopt his kind advice;
A little, still, and still, a little, take;
Not for indulgence, but their stomach's-sake!
For, if abstemious Timothy had need,
From tenderness of stomach, so to feed,
They can prefer a much more pow'rful plea,
Having far more infirmities than He.
All superstitious forms, and deeds, disclaim,
Nor seek from self-denial saintly name;
They'd rather wish their frames well cloth'd, and fed,
Than live like Wretches chronicled in red,
Ne'er weakly long a single Soul to win,
By recluse lives, and looks poor, pale, and thin;
But deem it better to indulge desire,
Than purchase fame with perishing by fire.
They, like Apostles, never, rashly, roam,
Preferring plenty, peace, and ease, at home—
Inspir'd examples never try to reach,
Nor think it requisite to pray, or preach;
But, with Armagh, decline all cleric charge;
Or, like wild, wandering Derry, live at large.
They ne'er attend the toll of Sabbath-bell—
Curates, tho' Deacons, act their part as well;
Nay, were some Christians to decide the case
Their Deputies deserve the upper place.
To steal within one step of pow'r supreme—
And, framing practice by their private Code,
Hope to ride on to Heav'n, an easier road!
They choose, in spite of genuine Truth, to judge,
And hate the narrow path where Pilgrims trudge—
On wicket-gate no kind attention fix,
But wish to travel on with Coach-and-six.
Push all their hopes, and interests, here, with Men,
And spurn, with sport the being born again;
Like Nicodemus wondering what is meant,
With natural knowledge, common truths content;
Nor drudge to be adopted Heaven's Heirs,
While temporal pleasures are already theirs.
Form close connexions with the Rich, and Great,
To feast their fill, in splendour, pomp, and state!
134
They leave no Pride, or Passion, long, unbless'd;
Nor e'er, in harshly-mortifying mood,
Refrain from any kind of carnal food.
Ne'er captiously dispute with Brother Paul,
That 'tis not well to taste of wine at all,
But, rather than be counted over-nice,
Will patiently adopt his kind advice;
A little, still, and still, a little, take;
Not for indulgence, but their stomach's-sake!
For, if abstemious Timothy had need,
From tenderness of stomach, so to feed,
They can prefer a much more pow'rful plea,
Having far more infirmities than He.
All superstitious forms, and deeds, disclaim,
Nor seek from self-denial saintly name;
They'd rather wish their frames well cloth'd, and fed,
Than live like Wretches chronicled in red,
Ne'er weakly long a single Soul to win,
By recluse lives, and looks poor, pale, and thin;
But deem it better to indulge desire,
Than purchase fame with perishing by fire.
They, like Apostles, never, rashly, roam,
Preferring plenty, peace, and ease, at home—
Inspir'd examples never try to reach,
Nor think it requisite to pray, or preach;
But, with Armagh, decline all cleric charge;
Or, like wild, wandering Derry, live at large.
They ne'er attend the toll of Sabbath-bell—
Curates, tho' Deacons, act their part as well;
Nay, were some Christians to decide the case
Their Deputies deserve the upper place.
Tho' spending Life in luxury and ease,
They hope their kind Creator still to please;
Not the Creator that can fix their fate,
But He that made them Lords; and may translate—
That Pride which prompts them loftier still to soar,
Loaths every danger of descending low'r;
Yet scarce would call it a pure proof of Love,
By Heav'n translated to higher Sees above;
For all the pleasures, and employments, there,
Are so unlike their long-lov'd habits here,
That while such lusts, and luxuries, can be us'd,
They'd hope kind Heav'n would keep them long excus'd.
They hope their kind Creator still to please;
Not the Creator that can fix their fate,
But He that made them Lords; and may translate—
That Pride which prompts them loftier still to soar,
Loaths every danger of descending low'r;
Yet scarce would call it a pure proof of Love,
By Heav'n translated to higher Sees above;
For all the pleasures, and employments, there,
Are so unlike their long-lov'd habits here,
That while such lusts, and luxuries, can be us'd,
They'd hope kind Heav'n would keep them long excus'd.
But he who blames this base prelatic plan,
Condemns not Order, but the craft of Man—
Deems due subordination always best;
But grieves that God's free Grace is judg'd a jest!
Agrees that godly Peers are precious things,
In Bishop-shapes, as well as christian Kings.
Not Priests, appointed just to prop their state,
Which carnal Popes or impious Kings create.
Confirm'd by vows profane, and perjur'd Oaths,
Which Heav'n detests, and each true Christian loathes:
Not Tools selected from some titled Race,
Devoid of Virtue, and all gifts of Grace;
Nor Blockheads, call'd by nameless Blockhead's nod,
Usurping pow'rs which all belong to God!
But Knowledge, naming Prelates to their Post,
With Grace well-gifted by the Holy Ghost;
Possess'd of Science, and pure Wisdom's dow'r,
Not mummery mocking at that Spirit's pow'r;
But such as Porteus, pious—Horsley, learn'd;
And bounteous Barrington, whose Spirit spurn'd,
Each false pretence—but, with sublimer Soul,
Soar'd high beyond Hypocrisy's controul!
Condemns not Order, but the craft of Man—
Deems due subordination always best;
But grieves that God's free Grace is judg'd a jest!
Agrees that godly Peers are precious things,
In Bishop-shapes, as well as christian Kings.
Not Priests, appointed just to prop their state,
Which carnal Popes or impious Kings create.
Confirm'd by vows profane, and perjur'd Oaths,
Which Heav'n detests, and each true Christian loathes:
Not Tools selected from some titled Race,
Devoid of Virtue, and all gifts of Grace;
Nor Blockheads, call'd by nameless Blockhead's nod,
Usurping pow'rs which all belong to God!
But Knowledge, naming Prelates to their Post,
With Grace well-gifted by the Holy Ghost;
Possess'd of Science, and pure Wisdom's dow'r,
Not mummery mocking at that Spirit's pow'r;
But such as Porteus, pious—Horsley, learn'd;
And bounteous Barrington, whose Spirit spurn'd,
Each false pretence—but, with sublimer Soul,
Soar'd high beyond Hypocrisy's controul!
Prelates, proclaim'd by Kings, and calls divine,
Should, like great Lights, more luminously shine.
Not, in a sphere confin'd, such lustre shed,
Beneath a bushel, or beneath a bed;
But labour thro' the Bishop's course to run,
As Paul prescrib'd to Timothy, his Son:
To lead a sober, sage, religious, Life,
The wise and faithful Husband of one Wife—
Not living Bachelors' abandon'd lives,
Nor keeping Concubines as well as Wives.
Should, like great Lights, more luminously shine.
Not, in a sphere confin'd, such lustre shed,
Beneath a bushel, or beneath a bed;
But labour thro' the Bishop's course to run,
As Paul prescrib'd to Timothy, his Son:
To lead a sober, sage, religious, Life,
The wise and faithful Husband of one Wife—
Not living Bachelors' abandon'd lives,
Nor keeping Concubines as well as Wives.
Their Wives—poor Souls! it vex'd the Bard to find
All titular distinctions left behind!
Who—if they boast no Title by their Birth,
Are levell'd with the lowest hordes on Earth!
For Ma'am, and Mistress, Custom's fix'd, like Fate,
To Chimney-brusher's Bride, and Nightman's Mate!
All titular distinctions left behind!
Who—if they boast no Title by their Birth,
Are levell'd with the lowest hordes on Earth!
For Ma'am, and Mistress, Custom's fix'd, like Fate,
To Chimney-brusher's Bride, and Nightman's Mate!
Ye elevated Chiefs, who rule the Church,
How can you leave your Consorts in the lurch!
Leave them to share, alone, your lineal Name—
Oh! fie! right reverend Benchers—fie! for shame!
Each might as well abide with boorish Sire,
As grasp a Hierarch, and get no high'r!
Tho' dress'd, and deck'd, like Queens each claims a Coach,
Still, this takes not away such rude reproach!
Would it not more with dignity accord,
To call, “My Lady”—when she calls, “My Lord?”
And would it not be nobler for your Dears
To rank as Peeresses, while you are Peers?
Oh! 'tis a sad subordinating sign
Your views, hopes, projects, are not all divine,
But arbitrary pride, and tends to prove
They're objects of Dominion, more than Love!
Love equalizes all! extirpates Pride!
And leaves no Bridegroom greater than his Bride!
How can you leave your Consorts in the lurch!
Leave them to share, alone, your lineal Name—
Oh! fie! right reverend Benchers—fie! for shame!
Each might as well abide with boorish Sire,
As grasp a Hierarch, and get no high'r!
Tho' dress'd, and deck'd, like Queens each claims a Coach,
Still, this takes not away such rude reproach!
Would it not more with dignity accord,
To call, “My Lady”—when she calls, “My Lord?”
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To rank as Peeresses, while you are Peers?
Oh! 'tis a sad subordinating sign
Your views, hopes, projects, are not all divine,
But arbitrary pride, and tends to prove
They're objects of Dominion, more than Love!
Love equalizes all! extirpates Pride!
And leaves no Bridegroom greater than his Bride!
When Heav'n, at first, the Marriage-rite made known,
The Wife was flesh of flesh—and bone of bone—
But when her folly wisht forbidden fruit,
Love felt corruption at the very root;
And He whose Will may punish, or prefer,
Subtracted full equality from Her—
Pluck'd, from her soaring wing, one single plume,
Lest Vanity should vie, or Pride presume—
Just to make Man's prerogative prevail,
Withdrew some scruples from the Woman's scale;
From proud aspiring projects simply, kept her,
Lest Wives might seize the Sword, and claim the Sceptre!
But Nature's Author ne'er could play such pranks,
Thus rating them below their Husbands' ranks.
Each Christian Chief should, strenuously, strive,
Like Saints, to keep equality alive—
Still, more particularly, equal State,
Between their Lordships and each loving Mate;
As humble patterns for the human Race,
They ought to spurn all Titles, Pomp, and Place;
But if they must maintain high Honour, still,
So very adverse to their lowly Will!
Then let them every apt expedient use
To gain their griev'd Companions proper dues;
To bless the feelings of each bosom Friend,
Each noble Noun, and Adjective, extend,
That both, alike, when listening crowds are near,
The same sweet, rapturing, sounds may, ever, hear!
That their pure bosoms may as nobly burn—
As often hear each tuneful note return—
As oft those matchless melodies enjoy,
Which ne'er can ears of tasteful females cloy!
As frequent feel the wish to cry encore,
At those dear cadences their Souls adore!
Let not their tenderer nerves be longer torn,
With empty epithets of common scorn;
For all the Wives of all the Bishops' bench,
Are styl'd no nobler than their Kitchen-wench—
While a low Housekeeper, or Lady's Doll,
A prudish Sycophant, or Sailor's Poll;
The Meanest Daughter of the meanest Trade,
A Beggar's Brat—lewd Jilt—or lecherous Jade,
Who can, by cunning, or gay conduct, get
Some temporal Peer, or paltry Baronet,
With her to Church, or Gretna-Green, to trip
Becomes both Lady, and, her Ladyship!
The Wife was flesh of flesh—and bone of bone—
But when her folly wisht forbidden fruit,
Love felt corruption at the very root;
And He whose Will may punish, or prefer,
Subtracted full equality from Her—
Pluck'd, from her soaring wing, one single plume,
Lest Vanity should vie, or Pride presume—
Just to make Man's prerogative prevail,
Withdrew some scruples from the Woman's scale;
From proud aspiring projects simply, kept her,
Lest Wives might seize the Sword, and claim the Sceptre!
But Nature's Author ne'er could play such pranks,
Thus rating them below their Husbands' ranks.
Each Christian Chief should, strenuously, strive,
Like Saints, to keep equality alive—
Still, more particularly, equal State,
Between their Lordships and each loving Mate;
As humble patterns for the human Race,
They ought to spurn all Titles, Pomp, and Place;
But if they must maintain high Honour, still,
So very adverse to their lowly Will!
Then let them every apt expedient use
To gain their griev'd Companions proper dues;
To bless the feelings of each bosom Friend,
Each noble Noun, and Adjective, extend,
That both, alike, when listening crowds are near,
The same sweet, rapturing, sounds may, ever, hear!
That their pure bosoms may as nobly burn—
As often hear each tuneful note return—
As oft those matchless melodies enjoy,
Which ne'er can ears of tasteful females cloy!
As frequent feel the wish to cry encore,
At those dear cadences their Souls adore!
Let not their tenderer nerves be longer torn,
With empty epithets of common scorn;
For all the Wives of all the Bishops' bench,
Are styl'd no nobler than their Kitchen-wench—
While a low Housekeeper, or Lady's Doll,
A prudish Sycophant, or Sailor's Poll;
The Meanest Daughter of the meanest Trade,
A Beggar's Brat—lewd Jilt—or lecherous Jade,
Who can, by cunning, or gay conduct, get
Some temporal Peer, or paltry Baronet,
With her to Church, or Gretna-Green, to trip
Becomes both Lady, and, her Ladyship!
Till this absurd, obnoxious, Custom's cur'd,
By human Nature not to be endur'd!
It leaves this maxim fix'd on each fair Mind,
That High-priests are most proud of all Mankind!
Prouder than Princes—there each Partner shares
All the extatic Titles that are theirs—
Prouder than Potentates, whose Wives are known
To share all Honours that attend a Throne!
By human Nature not to be endur'd!
It leaves this maxim fix'd on each fair Mind,
That High-priests are most proud of all Mankind!
Prouder than Princes—there each Partner shares
All the extatic Titles that are theirs—
Prouder than Potentates, whose Wives are known
To share all Honours that attend a Throne!
O, Ye, dread Pow'rs! whence all Earth's honour springs!
Kings; Favourites, Friends, and Ministers, of Kings!
Ye that possess your pow'rful Prince's ear!
Ye that still deem a Female's favours dear!
Ye that your Sovereign's gracious Councils guide,
And gild your speech to gratify His pride;
Use all your interest—all your eloquence,
To gain such Sufferers due benevolence!
Implore your Head to exercise His Will,
Lest sharp chagrin unladied Ladies kill!
For tho' they yet retain accustom'd breath,
They must, at length, needs die a lingering death!
Kings; Favourites, Friends, and Ministers, of Kings!
Ye that possess your pow'rful Prince's ear!
Ye that still deem a Female's favours dear!
Ye that your Sovereign's gracious Councils guide,
And gild your speech to gratify His pride;
Use all your interest—all your eloquence,
To gain such Sufferers due benevolence!
Implore your Head to exercise His Will,
Lest sharp chagrin unladied Ladies kill!
For tho' they yet retain accustom'd breath,
They must, at length, needs die a lingering death!
Ye Commons, all; both eloquent and mute;
Call forth your faculties this Case to suit.
Exert your talents to their full extent,
All you who reason, and use argument,
Or largely deal in declamation loud,
Try all your strength to win the waking Crowd;
And you, who doze, and dream from day to day,
For once, without a bribe, vociferate—Aye!
Call forth your faculties this Case to suit.
Exert your talents to their full extent,
All you who reason, and use argument,
Or largely deal in declamation loud,
Try all your strength to win the waking Crowd;
And you, who doze, and dream from day to day,
For once, without a bribe, vociferate—Aye!
Ye cold, indifferent, silent, sleepy, Peers,
Have some compassion on your Cousin's tears!
Rouze reasoning pow'rs, if such your Souls possess,
To still their troubles, and these wrongs redress!
Have some compassion on your Cousin's tears!
Rouze reasoning pow'rs, if such your Souls possess,
To still their troubles, and these wrongs redress!
Ye Prelates, proud! in Colleagues' Cause appear,
And try if Truth can reach the Royal ear.
Leave lulling stalls—with rhetoric rouse the House—
Nor longer let lay Lords your Consorts chouse—
One Sermon more, if possible now preach,
That may your Sovereign's careless Conscience reach—
Thus, pitying, take your injur'd Spouses' parts,
To rouze up King's and Commons' heedless hearts;
While Justice loudly calls the Lordly class,
To see such new arrangement ought to pass.
All, use best efforts both of tongue and pen,
To make Your worshipp'd Master add—Amen!
And try if Truth can reach the Royal ear.
Leave lulling stalls—with rhetoric rouse the House—
Nor longer let lay Lords your Consorts chouse—
One Sermon more, if possible now preach,
136
Thus, pitying, take your injur'd Spouses' parts,
To rouze up King's and Commons' heedless hearts;
While Justice loudly calls the Lordly class,
To see such new arrangement ought to pass.
All, use best efforts both of tongue and pen,
To make Your worshipp'd Master add—Amen!
Blest be the Patriot who propounds a Law
To heal this oversight—this dreadful flaw!
And calls the Commons' senatorial Sense
To set aside this flagrant, gross, offence!
Blest the lay Peers who help the Plaintiff's pray'rs
To make the Prelates' Helpmates rank with Their's;
And blest, thrice blest must that good Monarch be,
Who fully sanctions such a kind Decree!
To heal this oversight—this dreadful flaw!
And calls the Commons' senatorial Sense
To set aside this flagrant, gross, offence!
Blest the lay Peers who help the Plaintiff's pray'rs
To make the Prelates' Helpmates rank with Their's;
And blest, thrice blest must that good Monarch be,
Who fully sanctions such a kind Decree!
Ye Peers, who second such a right Request
Tho' Consorts curse, by Bishops you'll be blest—
And for you, once a month, perhaps, may pray,
In Lent—or Session-time—on Sabbath-day!
Tho' Wealth's most wish'd, to Pomp they're ne'er averse—
Would fondly feed their Pride—tho' more their purse.
It cannot amplify their ample store
But might contribute one distinction more.
It could not to their Time or Income, add,
But Honours always make their hearts full glad!
Ribs may be crooked—are, sometimes, a clog—
Still stands the Proverb; “Love Me, love my Dog!”
Tho' Consorts curse, by Bishops you'll be blest—
And for you, once a month, perhaps, may pray,
In Lent—or Session-time—on Sabbath-day!
Tho' Wealth's most wish'd, to Pomp they're ne'er averse—
Would fondly feed their Pride—tho' more their purse.
It cannot amplify their ample store
But might contribute one distinction more.
It could not to their Time or Income, add,
But Honours always make their hearts full glad!
Ribs may be crooked—are, sometimes, a clog—
Still stands the Proverb; “Love Me, love my Dog!”
Their grateful Wives would graciously address,
Perhaps repay you with a warm caress,
While joyful veins would push the purple flood,
For Bishops' Wives, you know, are flesh and blood.
'Twill stand the high'st atchievement of your Lives;
Nor need you fear your own offended Wives—
Their spiteful pride most certainly will pout,
But their caresses you can shift without—
Your Mistresses can feel no mighty grutch,
They have no honour, and they hope none such.
Your purse and your protection's all they claim—
They must not ask Nobility, or Name—
They wish no Titles while your Wealth's enjoy'd,
They have your arms, and boast your hearts beside!
Perhaps repay you with a warm caress,
While joyful veins would push the purple flood,
For Bishops' Wives, you know, are flesh and blood.
'Twill stand the high'st atchievement of your Lives;
Nor need you fear your own offended Wives—
Their spiteful pride most certainly will pout,
But their caresses you can shift without—
Your Mistresses can feel no mighty grutch,
They have no honour, and they hope none such.
Your purse and your protection's all they claim—
They must not ask Nobility, or Name—
They wish no Titles while your Wealth's enjoy'd,
They have your arms, and boast your hearts beside!
This is a most inexplicable Case,
That both, made Lords, by Men of heavenly Race;
Both holding equal Honour, all their Lives,
Should, yet, so oddly op'rate on their Wives—
One should with titles charm, and t'other chouse,
Yet vote alike in legislative House!
'Tis passing strange a Woman should be wiv'd
By One, with special pow'rs from Heav'n deriv'd,
Whose holy hands, with ev'n the slightest touch,
On Barons, as on Boors, confer so much;
Still on their Wives no blessing can bestow,
More than the blackguard Rogues that rank below;
Whilst lay-Lords' Wives in Wedlock's bands combin'd
Can such a change from Curates' fingers find!!
Nay, ev'n Archbishops, with their warmest kiss,
Ne'er work this wonderous Metamorphosis—
Tho' next their Kings in privilege and pow'r,
Contribute not one Title's darling dow'r;
But must submit to let their Madams stand
Like all mere Mistresses throughout the Land!
That both, made Lords, by Men of heavenly Race;
Both holding equal Honour, all their Lives,
Should, yet, so oddly op'rate on their Wives—
One should with titles charm, and t'other chouse,
Yet vote alike in legislative House!
'Tis passing strange a Woman should be wiv'd
By One, with special pow'rs from Heav'n deriv'd,
Whose holy hands, with ev'n the slightest touch,
On Barons, as on Boors, confer so much;
Still on their Wives no blessing can bestow,
More than the blackguard Rogues that rank below;
Whilst lay-Lords' Wives in Wedlock's bands combin'd
Can such a change from Curates' fingers find!!
Nay, ev'n Archbishops, with their warmest kiss,
Ne'er work this wonderous Metamorphosis—
Tho' next their Kings in privilege and pow'r,
Contribute not one Title's darling dow'r;
But must submit to let their Madams stand
Like all mere Mistresses throughout the Land!
If Offsprings come, Chief-Priests communicate
No sound of Title—no fix'd note of State;
Nor Place, or Peerage, to their Heirs convey—
But lay-Lords, both—for ever and for aye!!!
No sound of Title—no fix'd note of State;
Nor Place, or Peerage, to their Heirs convey—
But lay-Lords, both—for ever and for aye!!!
They're like two Churches, in this mighty Town;
In one, the Prelate's pow'r descends quite down
To the deep centre—where each honour'd head
May sleep secure, in consecrated bed,
While, on the ornamented walls, around,
Might noble Name, and flattering phrase, be found;
Then, from that dark deposit, soon might rise
A Being, new—more noble—bright—or wise!
But, on the surface, only, t'other, blest;
Where Prelates, a short space, might roam, or rest;
Yet all the parts, below, be left profane,
And only common substances contain—
Or, hollow'd under, hold, for proper use,
Materials often turn'd to base abuse:
Nor, there, inestimable Titles, grace,
The blank circumference of that hapless place;
Nor from the parts beneath can ever spring
Aught but some common, mean ignoble Thing!
In one, the Prelate's pow'r descends quite down
To the deep centre—where each honour'd head
May sleep secure, in consecrated bed,
While, on the ornamented walls, around,
Might noble Name, and flattering phrase, be found;
Then, from that dark deposit, soon might rise
A Being, new—more noble—bright—or wise!
But, on the surface, only, t'other, blest;
Where Prelates, a short space, might roam, or rest;
Yet all the parts, below, be left profane,
And only common substances contain—
Or, hollow'd under, hold, for proper use,
Materials often turn'd to base abuse:
Nor, there, inestimable Titles, grace,
The blank circumference of that hapless place;
Nor from the parts beneath can ever spring
Aught but some common, mean ignoble Thing!
This amply argues temporal Things, alone,
Are raised and cherish'd by an earthly Throne—
How Princes plant, and nourish, branch, and root,
While flatter'd by the flow'rs, and fed with fruit.
How Honours pour, profuse, from regal Urn,
While all the streamlets to the Fount return;
But when they, promptly, seek the pristine Source,
Soon Law, and Custom, stop their proper course;
And soon the transient nourishment that springs,
For sacred Priests, from Emperors, or Kings,
Lets all the foliage—flow'rs—and fruitage, drop,
When their bless'd Benefactor claims the Crop!
Are raised and cherish'd by an earthly Throne—
How Princes plant, and nourish, branch, and root,
While flatter'd by the flow'rs, and fed with fruit.
How Honours pour, profuse, from regal Urn,
While all the streamlets to the Fount return;
But when they, promptly, seek the pristine Source,
Soon Law, and Custom, stop their proper course;
And soon the transient nourishment that springs,
137
Lets all the foliage—flow'rs—and fruitage, drop,
When their bless'd Benefactor claims the Crop!
These facts disturb'd the unfashionable Bard,
Who thought Religion's lot extremely hard—
That One, who, only with a loan of Love,
Claim'd Crowns, and Kingdoms, in the World above,
Could neither Pow'r, or Privilege, bestow,
Amongst Mankind in this base World below!
How did his bowels yearn—his heart repine—
When Votaries rallied round Vanessa's shrine,
To see such humble Devotees, devoid
Of all distinction 'mid the troops of Pride
That when blythe Bishops dignified the Throng,
And Grace—or Lordship—troll'd from every tongue,
Their Wives should no high'r privilege possess
Than the pert Dowdeys that put on their Dress—
But, while they mingled with the motley Crowd,
Should hear their simple Surnames roar'd aloud;
Fairer, perhaps, in fortune, fame, form, face,
Than nominal, my Lady, or, your Grace!
Who thought Religion's lot extremely hard—
That One, who, only with a loan of Love,
Claim'd Crowns, and Kingdoms, in the World above,
Could neither Pow'r, or Privilege, bestow,
Amongst Mankind in this base World below!
How did his bowels yearn—his heart repine—
When Votaries rallied round Vanessa's shrine,
To see such humble Devotees, devoid
Of all distinction 'mid the troops of Pride
That when blythe Bishops dignified the Throng,
And Grace—or Lordship—troll'd from every tongue,
Their Wives should no high'r privilege possess
Than the pert Dowdeys that put on their Dress—
But, while they mingled with the motley Crowd,
Should hear their simple Surnames roar'd aloud;
Fairer, perhaps, in fortune, fame, form, face,
Than nominal, my Lady, or, your Grace!
His Mistress must experience vast relief,
Class'd with the Consorts of each Church's Chief!
To find their Names not standing higher in State
Than Her's, while hamper'd with untitled Mate.
Much soothe each sigh—and mitigate each groan—
To find herself not so kept low, alone;
Nor stoop to high, unwarrantable, airs,
Whose proper appellation rank'd with Their's.
But this requires more Patience than Man finds,
Connects, in common, with proud female Minds,
Where heavenly Virtues bear but feeble sway,
To make strong Passions, and stiff Pride, obey—
Her ostentatious Vanity controul,
And turn the bias of such tyrant Soul,
When, in a palace, with full pow'rs possest,
While, grand, in gold—silks—pearls—and diamonds, drest!
Class'd with the Consorts of each Church's Chief!
To find their Names not standing higher in State
Than Her's, while hamper'd with untitled Mate.
Much soothe each sigh—and mitigate each groan—
To find herself not so kept low, alone;
Nor stoop to high, unwarrantable, airs,
Whose proper appellation rank'd with Their's.
But this requires more Patience than Man finds,
Connects, in common, with proud female Minds,
Where heavenly Virtues bear but feeble sway,
To make strong Passions, and stiff Pride, obey—
Her ostentatious Vanity controul,
And turn the bias of such tyrant Soul,
When, in a palace, with full pow'rs possest,
While, grand, in gold—silks—pearls—and diamonds, drest!
Who could such inauspicious lot support,
When hearing Coach—Chair—Chariot—call'd, at Court—
E'er tranquil stand, at any public Place.
Beneath such loads of infamous disgrace—
Or join with decent joy the jovial dance
'Mid such low notes of insignificance.
In Routs, at home, unmov'd, plain Madam, hear,
Or sit at ease the single Mistress there!
How could a princely Dome delights impart,
While such expression sunk the aching heart!
How broider'd bed, and proud resplendent rooms,
Where want of Title glowr'd eternal glooms!
How trees—shrubs—well roll'd walks—and smooth-shav'd lawns,
Where mortified Ambition hourly yawns;
Or all the pomps and luxuries of Life,
If, undistinguish'd from a Tradesman's Wife!
When hearing Coach—Chair—Chariot—call'd, at Court—
E'er tranquil stand, at any public Place.
Beneath such loads of infamous disgrace—
Or join with decent joy the jovial dance
'Mid such low notes of insignificance.
In Routs, at home, unmov'd, plain Madam, hear,
Or sit at ease the single Mistress there!
How could a princely Dome delights impart,
While such expression sunk the aching heart!
How broider'd bed, and proud resplendent rooms,
Where want of Title glowr'd eternal glooms!
How trees—shrubs—well roll'd walks—and smooth-shav'd lawns,
Where mortified Ambition hourly yawns;
Or all the pomps and luxuries of Life,
If, undistinguish'd from a Tradesman's Wife!
What Widow would not pettish speech revoke,
With rash Resolve, in idle passion spoke
Who might wit, wisdom, and proud wealth, employ,
To purchase honours, with connubial joy?
Feel all vile Celibacy's vows abhorr'd,
To link alliance with a courtly Lord?
Would not rescind rash, independent, plan,
And bear, again, mock government of Man;
To find her Fame resound on every side
And hear the honours of a Baron's Bride?
All burdens, pains, and penalties, incur,
To have a Title realiz'd, in Her!
With rash Resolve, in idle passion spoke
Who might wit, wisdom, and proud wealth, employ,
To purchase honours, with connubial joy?
Feel all vile Celibacy's vows abhorr'd,
To link alliance with a courtly Lord?
Would not rescind rash, independent, plan,
And bear, again, mock government of Man;
To find her Fame resound on every side
And hear the honours of a Baron's Bride?
All burdens, pains, and penalties, incur,
To have a Title realiz'd, in Her!
What wonderous raptures would her heart dilate,
To boast of such a beatific State!
More lov'd than melody from Mara's lip
Would lisp the tuneful trill—“Your Ladyship!”
Would make her Mind with greater transport glow,
Than Fischer's flute—Cramer's, with Crosdill's bow!
More full her feelings, and affection strong,
Than Texier's action, join'd with Texier's tongue—
More than sweet sound of Poet's Patroness,
Or Chimney-sweeper's shout, and May-day Dress.
'Twere better be Cit's dull, and plodding, Spouse,
And with low Vintner—Grocer—Hosier, house;
At length in annual Palace once appear,
And be a Lady, but a single Year,
Than live, for ever, thus in splendid Halls,
And hear no Title echoing round the Walls!
To boast of such a beatific State!
More lov'd than melody from Mara's lip
Would lisp the tuneful trill—“Your Ladyship!”
Would make her Mind with greater transport glow,
Than Fischer's flute—Cramer's, with Crosdill's bow!
More full her feelings, and affection strong,
Than Texier's action, join'd with Texier's tongue—
More than sweet sound of Poet's Patroness,
Or Chimney-sweeper's shout, and May-day Dress.
'Twere better be Cit's dull, and plodding, Spouse,
And with low Vintner—Grocer—Hosier, house;
At length in annual Palace once appear,
And be a Lady, but a single Year,
Than live, for ever, thus in splendid Halls,
And hear no Title echoing round the Walls!
Lady!—what extacy attends the sound!
While each lov'd voice reverberates, loud, around.
More fascinating far to Female's ears,
Than all the fancied tones of tuneful Spheres!
Sweeter than symphonies in vernal grove,
Tho' choicest swain should join to chaunt his Love!
Should she her long-neglected charms unfurl,
Beneath fond pressure of a plastic Earl,
How much must Countess raise commotions higher,
Than flat-key'd Relict of a Country-Squire!
But—were she dubbed the counterpart of Duke,
How bold she'd brave the envious World's rebuke!
Yet Fate, it's fear'd, before the nuptial Night,
Would suffocate her heart, with hop'd delight!
But, such fierce conflict should her frame survive,
And meet Love's consummation, still alive,
More dangerous, far, than batter'd Duke's embrace,
Would sound those monosyllables—“Your Grace!”
Would, like strong Incantation, stop her breath,
And end her glorying in the grasp of Death!
But should each strong, each struggling, bliss be borne,
And her enraptur'd Life survive till Morn,
What full felicity! what genuine joy!
To hear Domestics “Grace”—and “Duchess”—cry;
While flattering Troops, that o'er her threshold throng,
Greet her with “Grace,” and “Duchess,” all day long!
Still happier to perceive, proclaim'd aloud,
The Duchess, and her Grace, in public Crowd;
But most of all to hear each rapturing tone
Resound from throngs of Courtiers, round the Throne!
Such sounds, in Drawing-Room, repeated still,
Not long would Life support the Spirit's thrill!
While each lov'd voice reverberates, loud, around.
More fascinating far to Female's ears,
Than all the fancied tones of tuneful Spheres!
Sweeter than symphonies in vernal grove,
Tho' choicest swain should join to chaunt his Love!
Should she her long-neglected charms unfurl,
Beneath fond pressure of a plastic Earl,
How much must Countess raise commotions higher,
138
But—were she dubbed the counterpart of Duke,
How bold she'd brave the envious World's rebuke!
Yet Fate, it's fear'd, before the nuptial Night,
Would suffocate her heart, with hop'd delight!
But, such fierce conflict should her frame survive,
And meet Love's consummation, still alive,
More dangerous, far, than batter'd Duke's embrace,
Would sound those monosyllables—“Your Grace!”
Would, like strong Incantation, stop her breath,
And end her glorying in the grasp of Death!
But should each strong, each struggling, bliss be borne,
And her enraptur'd Life survive till Morn,
What full felicity! what genuine joy!
To hear Domestics “Grace”—and “Duchess”—cry;
While flattering Troops, that o'er her threshold throng,
Greet her with “Grace,” and “Duchess,” all day long!
Still happier to perceive, proclaim'd aloud,
The Duchess, and her Grace, in public Crowd;
But most of all to hear each rapturing tone
Resound from throngs of Courtiers, round the Throne!
Such sounds, in Drawing-Room, repeated still,
Not long would Life support the Spirit's thrill!
Such blissful chaunt would charm her bosom more
Than Wilton Carpets, spread on every floor!
Or, when full-fitted to her nuptial Name,
More sweet than snow-white Feather-work in frame—
More than its bright festoons, in perfect bloom,
Pinn'd up, so rich! round all her Dressing-room—
Yea, when fix'd firm, while, with applauses, view'd,
By Cæsar's Bride, and all her female Brood!!!
Than Wilton Carpets, spread on every floor!
Or, when full-fitted to her nuptial Name,
More sweet than snow-white Feather-work in frame—
More than its bright festoons, in perfect bloom,
Pinn'd up, so rich! round all her Dressing-room—
Yea, when fix'd firm, while, with applauses, view'd,
By Cæsar's Bride, and all her female Brood!!!
Such silv'ry sounds would past compare excel
All precious tinkling of the Porter's bell,
When Plenipos, and Ministers of State,
In groups come pressing through her palace-gate!
More than bright patent-lamps, and waxen-lights,
At Concerts—Readings—Routs—or Dinner-Nights!
More soft than accents from Italian's tongue,
Or rustling silks, as Courtiers trail along!
Far nobler notes, that strike her tympanums,
When brother Duke, or sister Duchess, comes!
Mellower than double-bass of courtly Coach,
When wonderous Queen, and Princesses, approach!
All precious tinkling of the Porter's bell,
When Plenipos, and Ministers of State,
In groups come pressing through her palace-gate!
More than bright patent-lamps, and waxen-lights,
At Concerts—Readings—Routs—or Dinner-Nights!
More soft than accents from Italian's tongue,
Or rustling silks, as Courtiers trail along!
Far nobler notes, that strike her tympanums,
When brother Duke, or sister Duchess, comes!
Mellower than double-bass of courtly Coach,
When wonderous Queen, and Princesses, approach!
With added transport, still, would vision view
The servile Suite enlarg'd—laced liveries, new;
The countless proofs in colours, or on plate;
Glories pourtray'd, or grav'd, in splendid State!
With pompous ostentation, vast, and vain,
Endeavouring to outstrip each Equal's train—
All, eager eyes attention to engage;
Outvie ev'n Princes in proud Equipage!
The servile Suite enlarg'd—laced liveries, new;
The countless proofs in colours, or on plate;
Glories pourtray'd, or grav'd, in splendid State!
With pompous ostentation, vast, and vain,
Endeavouring to outstrip each Equal's train—
All, eager eyes attention to engage;
Outvie ev'n Princes in proud Equipage!
What painful pleasure must from raptures rise,
To mark Escutcheon shine with dazzling dyes!
To ramble o'er the fair enchanting field,
And rich Achievements of ennobling Shield!
The widow'd angles raz'd, and ducal charms
Conjointly quarter'd with unlozeng'd Arms—
Whilst enigmatic motto, underneath,
On silvery ribband, or on golden wreath,
In language, learn'd, and false, ambiguous, phrase
Apt, striking hints, to construing skill, conveys,
Of pious manners—might—or warring worth,
Transmitted down to Dukes of modern birth,
But wrought by doughty long-departed Sire;
To which, in latter times few Sons aspire—
With wavey mantlings hung, on either side,
In velvet pomp, or gold-embroider'd pride!
But more than mantling speaks, or Poet writes,
Or hieroglyphic Heraldry recites—
More than train'd complimental tongue recounts
The glorious crested Coronet surmounts—
With jewels, bright, and burnish'd gilding, bound,
And gay fragarian foliage wreath'd around—
Honours far higher than all the ample host
Of new-created, humbler, Barons, boast!
Than Viscounts—Earls—and Marquisses—ev'n all
Whose leaves are blended with degrading ball!
To mark Escutcheon shine with dazzling dyes!
To ramble o'er the fair enchanting field,
And rich Achievements of ennobling Shield!
The widow'd angles raz'd, and ducal charms
Conjointly quarter'd with unlozeng'd Arms—
Whilst enigmatic motto, underneath,
On silvery ribband, or on golden wreath,
In language, learn'd, and false, ambiguous, phrase
Apt, striking hints, to construing skill, conveys,
Of pious manners—might—or warring worth,
Transmitted down to Dukes of modern birth,
But wrought by doughty long-departed Sire;
To which, in latter times few Sons aspire—
With wavey mantlings hung, on either side,
In velvet pomp, or gold-embroider'd pride!
But more than mantling speaks, or Poet writes,
Or hieroglyphic Heraldry recites—
More than train'd complimental tongue recounts
The glorious crested Coronet surmounts—
With jewels, bright, and burnish'd gilding, bound,
And gay fragarian foliage wreath'd around—
Honours far higher than all the ample host
Of new-created, humbler, Barons, boast!
Than Viscounts—Earls—and Marquisses—ev'n all
Whose leaves are blended with degrading ball!
This must all other ornaments surpass,
Tho' multiplied by each reflecting glass.
Would claim idolatrous distinction, more
Than lock'd-up libraries' chaotic store.
More than the Bible Cunning recommends,
Not as an object for Herself, but Friends—
More than commodes conceal, or caskets hold,
Of glittering stones, or gowns emboss'd with gold—
More than shelves, tables, trunks, whose burdens, break,
With modern plate, or porcelain antique.
This would contribute happiness immense,
More than perceiv'd by every other Sense.
To dwell on splendour spread o'er ducal Crown,
Blazing at home, and flaming thro' the Town!
Toys, and utensils, all proclaiming State!
Each badge of servitude! each scrap of plate!
Holsters and bridles—buckles—bits—and beads,
On prancing saddle-horse, and champing steeds;
While coach, and chariot, vis-à-vis, and chair,
On pannel, pole, and perch, like Pomp declare!
Tho' multiplied by each reflecting glass.
Would claim idolatrous distinction, more
Than lock'd-up libraries' chaotic store.
More than the Bible Cunning recommends,
Not as an object for Herself, but Friends—
More than commodes conceal, or caskets hold,
Of glittering stones, or gowns emboss'd with gold—
More than shelves, tables, trunks, whose burdens, break,
With modern plate, or porcelain antique.
This would contribute happiness immense,
More than perceiv'd by every other Sense.
To dwell on splendour spread o'er ducal Crown,
Blazing at home, and flaming thro' the Town!
Toys, and utensils, all proclaiming State!
139
Holsters and bridles—buckles—bits—and beads,
On prancing saddle-horse, and champing steeds;
While coach, and chariot, vis-à-vis, and chair,
On pannel, pole, and perch, like Pomp declare!
But sly Scintilla, now, with all her Art,
Could never hope to gain a Noble's heart!
No youthful Bridegroom, gay, would now, engage,
So sour'd in temper, and so sunk in Age.
Tho' not of Wealth, nor much of Wit, bereft,
No 'ticeing trait of loveliness was left.
Stern, ruthless, Time, no proofs of pity show'd,
But, on her, yearly, laid an added load,
Till all her limbs relax'd—her fabric bow'd—
For wedlock look'd less fit than funereal shrowd!
Each sinew swelled so high, and muscle shrunk,
Show'd a mere shape of bones and bended trunk—
Had mix'd with white her 'minish'd ebon hair,
And furrow'd o'er that face she once thought fair!
A fancy, Women must not boldly blame,
For each vain female fondly thinks the same—
A face, when youthful, her prompt tongue declar'd,
With airs of triumph, to the blushing Bard,
An Artist judg'd was just the very Thing
Whence skill might sketch an emblematic Spring.
But long that gay, self-worshipp'd Spring was gone,
With brighter beauties that through Summer shone—
Ev'n Autumn's charms were now completely lost,
And nought was found but wintery storms, and frost;
Except when Pride, with Passions instant glow,
Transform'd to sanguine fire her face of snow.
Could never hope to gain a Noble's heart!
No youthful Bridegroom, gay, would now, engage,
So sour'd in temper, and so sunk in Age.
Tho' not of Wealth, nor much of Wit, bereft,
No 'ticeing trait of loveliness was left.
Stern, ruthless, Time, no proofs of pity show'd,
But, on her, yearly, laid an added load,
Till all her limbs relax'd—her fabric bow'd—
For wedlock look'd less fit than funereal shrowd!
Each sinew swelled so high, and muscle shrunk,
Show'd a mere shape of bones and bended trunk—
Had mix'd with white her 'minish'd ebon hair,
And furrow'd o'er that face she once thought fair!
A fancy, Women must not boldly blame,
For each vain female fondly thinks the same—
A face, when youthful, her prompt tongue declar'd,
With airs of triumph, to the blushing Bard,
An Artist judg'd was just the very Thing
Whence skill might sketch an emblematic Spring.
But long that gay, self-worshipp'd Spring was gone,
With brighter beauties that through Summer shone—
Ev'n Autumn's charms were now completely lost,
And nought was found but wintery storms, and frost;
Except when Pride, with Passions instant glow,
Transform'd to sanguine fire her face of snow.
Unbless'd with wealth, when young, her Friends thought fit
To praise her beauty, and applaud her Wit—
Exhibited abroad a hopeful bait
To trail a Squire, and hook a clear Estate.
When, searching round the woodland, hill, and plain,
They beat, and quest, and hunt—but not in vain—
She, practising the tricks her Parents taught,
The prey was started, soon, and Reynard caught—
For, tho' the Fox was old, the Chick was young,
And, tho' he'd pillaged folds, robb'd henroosts, long,
Yet, wearied, now, with taking things by stealth,
He wish'd an Heir to give his gather'd Wealth.
To praise her beauty, and applaud her Wit—
Exhibited abroad a hopeful bait
To trail a Squire, and hook a clear Estate.
When, searching round the woodland, hill, and plain,
They beat, and quest, and hunt—but not in vain—
She, practising the tricks her Parents taught,
The prey was started, soon, and Reynard caught—
For, tho' the Fox was old, the Chick was young,
And, tho' he'd pillaged folds, robb'd henroosts, long,
Yet, wearied, now, with taking things by stealth,
He wish'd an Heir to give his gather'd Wealth.
Her aggrandizement was her Friends' first aim;
Securing Riches—and some nobler Name,
And, both made sure by craft and civil Laws,
To govern Fashion, and to gain applause—
But all the specious Plot was nearly spoil'd
For Deity bestow'd but one, weak, Child;
Which, tho' a Son, to make their hope secure
Soon, with each wish, it perished premature!
Securing Riches—and some nobler Name,
And, both made sure by craft and civil Laws,
To govern Fashion, and to gain applause—
But all the specious Plot was nearly spoil'd
For Deity bestow'd but one, weak, Child;
Which, tho' a Son, to make their hope secure
Soon, with each wish, it perished premature!
Thus Providence with prescient counsel scann'd,
And counterplotted all their Cunning plann'd;
For, putting forth that providential pow'r,
Which form'd, and fed the bud, and embryo flow'r,
To make still more His Will, and Wisdom, known,
Cut off the idol bloom before 'twas blown.
And counterplotted all their Cunning plann'd;
For, putting forth that providential pow'r,
Which form'd, and fed the bud, and embryo flow'r,
To make still more His Will, and Wisdom, known,
Cut off the idol bloom before 'twas blown.
The mourning Mother had but little car'd
If Heav'n had snatch'd the Sire, the Offspring spared,
For Wealth was pounded by the Marriage pact,
Herself at large with ample pow'rs to act.
Should Charity herself decide the Case,
Where Interest occupies the upper place,
And Ostentation triumphs over all,
The Duties are but weak—the Love but small.
If Heav'n had snatch'd the Sire, the Offspring spared,
For Wealth was pounded by the Marriage pact,
Herself at large with ample pow'rs to act.
Should Charity herself decide the Case,
Where Interest occupies the upper place,
And Ostentation triumphs over all,
The Duties are but weak—the Love but small.
To make surmise and calm opinion, clear,
Let full uncontroverted facts appear—
The different dispositions of their Souls
Were wide as Earth's Antipodes, or Poles;
And all the objects that awak'd desire
Were adverse as the pow'rs of phlegm and fire.
His Mind was diffident, but Her's was bold.
He, taciturnal—She, a frequent Scold.
He, unassuming—She, like Satan, proud.
He lov'd retirement—She, a courtly Crowd.
He, modest—unaffected—studious—plain—
She, splendid—specious—talkative—and vain.
He was domesticated—She was gay—
'Twas Chaucer's January match'd with May.
A thoughtful Owl, from every eye retir'd,
And pompous Peacock ne'er enough admir'd.
Let full uncontroverted facts appear—
The different dispositions of their Souls
Were wide as Earth's Antipodes, or Poles;
And all the objects that awak'd desire
Were adverse as the pow'rs of phlegm and fire.
His Mind was diffident, but Her's was bold.
He, taciturnal—She, a frequent Scold.
He, unassuming—She, like Satan, proud.
He lov'd retirement—She, a courtly Crowd.
He, modest—unaffected—studious—plain—
She, splendid—specious—talkative—and vain.
He was domesticated—She was gay—
'Twas Chaucer's January match'd with May.
A thoughtful Owl, from every eye retir'd,
And pompous Peacock ne'er enough admir'd.
Could opposites, like these, in taste, and dress;
Age—manners—aims—pursuits—e'er coalesce?
Could such discordant instruments be found
In harmony, or unison of sound?
Were seconds, or were sevenths, ever known
To mix in fine felicity of tone?
Rondeaus, or dialogues, in parts, agree;
One natural, one in artificial, key?
Where different chaunts in different rhythms run,
And sharps oft ending what in flats begun?
Seldom one tone, in treble, or in bass,
Was ornamented with a single grace,
Scarce e'er, in concert, cross'd a double bar
But all ears tingled with unnatural jar—
Ne'er tried a close duette, but sore mistakes
Convuls'd each quavering pipe with open shakes.
Age—manners—aims—pursuits—e'er coalesce?
Could such discordant instruments be found
In harmony, or unison of sound?
Were seconds, or were sevenths, ever known
To mix in fine felicity of tone?
Rondeaus, or dialogues, in parts, agree;
One natural, one in artificial, key?
Where different chaunts in different rhythms run,
And sharps oft ending what in flats begun?
140
Was ornamented with a single grace,
Scarce e'er, in concert, cross'd a double bar
But all ears tingled with unnatural jar—
Ne'er tried a close duette, but sore mistakes
Convuls'd each quavering pipe with open shakes.
On every topic was opinion split—
Morals, and Manners—Eloquence, and Wit.
Each point in Politics produc'd a flame—
Each tenet in Religion just the same.
As certain spirits cool and calm remain,
Which vessels, distant, and distinct contain;
But, mix'd ferment, and instantly, conspire,
To vent their violence in fumes and fire—
Or as disparted clouds their clamour hide,
And, o'er the airy regions, calmly ride;
Till, negative, and positive, in pow'r,
Approaching near, their heavy aspects low'r,
Whence flashes fly, and sullen echoes sound,
Distressing every eye, ear, heart, around.
Morals, and Manners—Eloquence, and Wit.
Each point in Politics produc'd a flame—
Each tenet in Religion just the same.
As certain spirits cool and calm remain,
Which vessels, distant, and distinct contain;
But, mix'd ferment, and instantly, conspire,
To vent their violence in fumes and fire—
Or as disparted clouds their clamour hide,
And, o'er the airy regions, calmly ride;
Till, negative, and positive, in pow'r,
Approaching near, their heavy aspects low'r,
Whence flashes fly, and sullen echoes sound,
Distressing every eye, ear, heart, around.
Such fierce contentions, as a common Friend,
Did poor Crispinus oft, with pain attend,
And, as their sentiments could ne'er agree,
Was, sometimes, nam'd a sorrowing Referee.
Neither would learn, but both aspire to teach—
He aimed at truth—She, at applausive Speech—
While demonstration was His constant scope
She snatcht a simile; or tried a trope.
Kings, and their Creatures were His warmest hate—
But She ador'd a Court, and courtly State.
She lov'd a Drawing-room, and pompous Prig—
He look'd aloof, an independent Whig.
She lov'd Kings, Queens, and all the regal Clan,
He was an upright, plumb Republican.
He wish'd one Servant to attend, alone—
She wish'd as many Slaves as throng a Throne;
Wish'd all Mankind dependent on her breath—
A downright Despot! an Elizabeth!
Did poor Crispinus oft, with pain attend,
And, as their sentiments could ne'er agree,
Was, sometimes, nam'd a sorrowing Referee.
Neither would learn, but both aspire to teach—
He aimed at truth—She, at applausive Speech—
While demonstration was His constant scope
She snatcht a simile; or tried a trope.
Kings, and their Creatures were His warmest hate—
But She ador'd a Court, and courtly State.
She lov'd a Drawing-room, and pompous Prig—
He look'd aloof, an independent Whig.
She lov'd Kings, Queens, and all the regal Clan,
He was an upright, plumb Republican.
He wish'd one Servant to attend, alone—
She wish'd as many Slaves as throng a Throne;
Wish'd all Mankind dependent on her breath—
A downright Despot! an Elizabeth!
Religion was, with Her, a specious plea,
But He despis'd both Priests and Piety.
He Revelation's finish'd Code forsook—
She made her Bible a convenient Book;
A very stalking-horse to try for game,
To hunt for flattery, or to hawk for fame.
He deem'd religious rites mere tricks in Trade—
Mere Courtiers' cant, or Hypocrites' Parade.
He wanted Liberty to live at large—
She panted to enforce each priestly Charge.
He long'd to set aside each Hierarch's dow'r
She labour'd to enlarge prelatic pow'r.
He from all forms determin'd to elope—
She long'd to prove a second Lady-pope.
He dreamt that Being would with Body die—
She hop'd unending blessedness to buy—
Hop'd Heav'n by right-lin'd conduct to deserve,
Tho' always wandering in some devious curve.
Thought Charity, tho' sour'd with selfish leav'n,
Might purchase some snug settlement in Heav'n.
Flatter'd herself a few important pence,
And those giv'n grudgingly from heaps immense,
Might some celestial policy procure,
And Stock, and Building, both, from fire ensure—
Would bribe that Being, who had lent the Whole,
Not to expend small Fees to save her Soul,
While squandering all the mighty mass, beside
In Lust, and Vanity—and Pomp—and Pride.
She judg'd large Loans, to Family, and Friends,
Might make, for all offences, full amends—
Small silver doles deceive the Judge divine,
And Angel-Hosts corrupt with copper-coin—
Some small donations to needy Poor,
Might smoothe her path to Paradise's door;
And, with one Penny, Simon Peter win,
To turn his golden Key, and let her in.
She fancied Seas of broth might well suffice,
To swim both Soul, and Body, to the Skies,
Yet was their flood so weak, and shallow, found,
Her bad-steer'd Boat was like to run aground.
She thought her moral claims were much increas'd,
By Sweeps', and Sunday-Schools', fallacious feast;
Whose warey benefits would reimburse
All Providence had pour'd, yet spare her purse—
That ostentatitious boons on these bestow'd,
Would raise loud acclamations all the road—
Cockets, and passports, by such Customs paid,
Remove all dull impediments to Trade;
While crusts and scraps would pay off each arrear,
Secure her place and her whole passage clear.
But He despis'd both Priests and Piety.
He Revelation's finish'd Code forsook—
She made her Bible a convenient Book;
A very stalking-horse to try for game,
To hunt for flattery, or to hawk for fame.
He deem'd religious rites mere tricks in Trade—
Mere Courtiers' cant, or Hypocrites' Parade.
He wanted Liberty to live at large—
She panted to enforce each priestly Charge.
He long'd to set aside each Hierarch's dow'r
She labour'd to enlarge prelatic pow'r.
He from all forms determin'd to elope—
She long'd to prove a second Lady-pope.
He dreamt that Being would with Body die—
She hop'd unending blessedness to buy—
Hop'd Heav'n by right-lin'd conduct to deserve,
Tho' always wandering in some devious curve.
Thought Charity, tho' sour'd with selfish leav'n,
Might purchase some snug settlement in Heav'n.
Flatter'd herself a few important pence,
And those giv'n grudgingly from heaps immense,
Might some celestial policy procure,
And Stock, and Building, both, from fire ensure—
Would bribe that Being, who had lent the Whole,
Not to expend small Fees to save her Soul,
While squandering all the mighty mass, beside
In Lust, and Vanity—and Pomp—and Pride.
She judg'd large Loans, to Family, and Friends,
Might make, for all offences, full amends—
Small silver doles deceive the Judge divine,
And Angel-Hosts corrupt with copper-coin—
Some small donations to needy Poor,
Might smoothe her path to Paradise's door;
And, with one Penny, Simon Peter win,
To turn his golden Key, and let her in.
She fancied Seas of broth might well suffice,
To swim both Soul, and Body, to the Skies,
Yet was their flood so weak, and shallow, found,
Her bad-steer'd Boat was like to run aground.
She thought her moral claims were much increas'd,
By Sweeps', and Sunday-Schools', fallacious feast;
Whose warey benefits would reimburse
All Providence had pour'd, yet spare her purse—
That ostentatitious boons on these bestow'd,
Would raise loud acclamations all the road—
Cockets, and passports, by such Customs paid,
Remove all dull impediments to Trade;
While crusts and scraps would pay off each arrear,
Secure her place and her whole passage clear.
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CHAPTER 7th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |