The toast An heroick poem: In four Books, Written originally in Latin, by Frederick Scheffer: Now done into English, and illustrated with Notes and Observations, by Peregrine Odonald [i.e. William King] |
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| THE APPENDIX. |
 | The toast |  |
197
THE APPENDIX.
199
[Me, and the Muses could'st thou bribe]
Me, and the Muses could'st thou bribe,And cause us all our Pow'rs unite,
To teach thee in Heroic Strains to write;
Yet, Scheffer, thou could'st ne'er describe
Her matchless Figure, her exalted Deeds,
And the amazing Theme pursue;
But thou must make 'em less, to make 'em true.
The simple History all Faith exceeds.
When her own Knight incircled moves,
He doubts the Virtues, which he proves.
Old P---t, who boasts the Nerves of Youth,
(Renown'd for Probity and Truth)
Wou'd be suspected, should he tell,
How he attack'd, and how he fell.
And A--- too, once Rival of her Fame,
By Man unconquer'd, when she tries
The puissant Genius of this wond'rous Dame,
Tinges her sable Cheeks, and raptur'd cries;
In Woman can there be such Might!
In Female Friendship such Delight!
209
AN EXTRACT OUT OF Mr. Scheffer's first Epistle to H*garth, a famous British Painter.
I.
Draw the Sun without a Ray,Rambling by a borrow'd Light,
Tippling till the Dawn of Day,
With a Collier and a Knight:
Paint his Looks, when he was roasted;
Paint the Donna, whom he toasted.
II.
Draw a Cully Chevalier,Near a crafty, wealthy Fox;
Then a Centry-Grenadier,
With a C---tess in his Box.
Shew the Bottle-maker's Gear;
And his Trulla with a P---x.
Paint the Warrior's Arms and Chattles,
And his Bloody-minded Battles.
211
AN EXTRACT FROM Mr. Scheffer's second Epistle to Mr. H*garth .
I
Hogarth , draw a Gothic Group;Here old Myra and her Measure,
Hiding Impy in her --- Hoop:
There the Gridir'n, and the Treasure:
II
Here a Wife or wanton Maid,With a Matron spread upon her;
There a mighty Hero laid
In the truckle-bed of Honour:
III
Here a little angry Wight,Fam'd for Hunting, Arms, and Arts,
With an Ell of Wig bedight,
Which conceal'd a thousand Darts:
IV
There a bulky bearded Shrew,Nor of Men or Gods afraid,
Yielding to a feeble Foe,
Lest an Eunuch she be made.
217
ODE.
[The Captain draws as fierce as stout]
The Captain draws as fierce as stout,
And A--- throws her Wit about;
With Poison, Myra too gives out,
She'll work us.
And A--- throws her Wit about;
With Poison, Myra too gives out,
She'll work us.
They all invoke the wicked Sprite,
Which dwelt in Body of Sir Knight,
Compell'd with Furies now to fight
In Orcus.
Which dwelt in Body of Sir Knight,
Compell'd with Furies now to fight
In Orcus.
Bane of his House, in Blood and Strife,
Inflam'd by B---lew's wicked Wife,
He studied Vengeance all his Life,
And dying.
Inflam'd by B---lew's wicked Wife,
He studied Vengeance all his Life,
And dying.
I value not the Sword of P---
The Croak of Raven, A---'s Chat,
The Witch—and by her Imps all that
She's trying.
The Croak of Raven, A---'s Chat,
The Witch—and by her Imps all that
She's trying.
An Hempen String may chance reward
Those Curses, which I disregard.
Phœbus preserves the pious Bard
From Fate here.
Those Curses, which I disregard.
Phœbus preserves the pious Bard
From Fate here.
Phœbus instructs me how to joke,
The Hags, and Collier to provoke,
And make 'em feel the keenest Stroke
Of Satire.
The Hags, and Collier to provoke,
And make 'em feel the keenest Stroke
Of Satire.
221
ODE TO THE Chevalier PIERCY
Scriberis Vario fortis, & hostium
Victor, &c.
Victor, &c.
Sonorous Bards in Epic Verse
Thy matchless Virtues may rehearse;
Extol the gallant Kevan Band,
Proud to march under thy Command;
And tell what great Exploits were done,
Both with the Pole-axe and the Gun.
Thy matchless Virtues may rehearse;
Extol the gallant Kevan Band,
Proud to march under thy Command;
And tell what great Exploits were done,
Both with the Pole-axe and the Gun.
But shall a Ballad-singing Swain,
Who never try'd an higher Strain,
Say, how a Don of muckle Might,
Full fraught with Craft, and prone to fight,
Led forth his Troops to spoil and burn,
Resolv'd to conquer, or—return?
Who never try'd an higher Strain,
Say, how a Don of muckle Might,
Full fraught with Craft, and prone to fight,
Led forth his Troops to spoil and burn,
Resolv'd to conquer, or—return?
How some ill-fated Trees, that dar'd
Appear at Distance like a Guard,
(For Danger multiplies our Fear
And makes each Shrub a Grenadier)
After a Council duly held,
The Gen'ral order'd to be fell'd.
Appear at Distance like a Guard,
(For Danger multiplies our Fear
And makes each Shrub a Grenadier)
222
The Gen'ral order'd to be fell'd.
His Sword, by this Success grown vain,
He flourish'd thrice, and thrice again;
Both to express his Joy and Rage,
Like Kindred Heroes of the Stage:
Then fearless charg'd the Palisade;
Which little Opposition made,
Tho' rais'd by Mars at vast Expence,
Well form'd, and pointed for Defence.
For down he smote at ev'ry Stroke
A Pale—tho' all were Heart of Oak!
He flourish'd thrice, and thrice again;
Both to express his Joy and Rage,
Like Kindred Heroes of the Stage:
Then fearless charg'd the Palisade;
Which little Opposition made,
Tho' rais'd by Mars at vast Expence,
Well form'd, and pointed for Defence.
For down he smote at ev'ry Stroke
A Pale—tho' all were Heart of Oak!
And next, to cut off fresh Supplies,
Or haply to prevent Surprize,
(For might not, Sirs, an Ambuscade
In a huge wooden Pump be laid,
As treach'rous Greeks, an armed Force,
Were whilom hid in wooden Horse?)
The Chieftain, in the Voice of Thunder,
Commands the Pump be cleft asunder.
Or haply to prevent Surprize,
(For might not, Sirs, an Ambuscade
In a huge wooden Pump be laid,
As treach'rous Greeks, an armed Force,
Were whilom hid in wooden Horse?)
The Chieftain, in the Voice of Thunder,
Commands the Pump be cleft asunder.
Then round the House with martial Grace
Marching to spy the weakest Place,
He mark'd, how many Panes were crack'd,
“The Windows must be first attack'd!”
So, tho' his Vet'rans thought him rash,
He points his Guns against a Sash.
The Frame was old, the Glass was thin,
And no Resistance from within:
A Breach was made, thro' which he ventur'd,
After his Soldiers all had enter'd.
Marching to spy the weakest Place,
He mark'd, how many Panes were crack'd,
“The Windows must be first attack'd!”
So, tho' his Vet'rans thought him rash,
He points his Guns against a Sash.
The Frame was old, the Glass was thin,
And no Resistance from within:
A Breach was made, thro' which he ventur'd,
After his Soldiers all had enter'd.
Thus fifty Wights, arm'd Cap-a-pee,
By dint of Courage conquer'd Three.
Tho' Men of Chapel-Izzod say,
The Gen'rals Conduct gain'd the Day.
By dint of Courage conquer'd Three.
Tho' Men of Chapel-Izzod say,
The Gen'rals Conduct gain'd the Day.
223
Now, since the Poet has been crush'd,
'Tis best, the Matter should be hush'd.
I hope the K---g, who lives so far,
Will hear no Tidings of this War:
For Kings, as well as simple Knights,
Are sometimes jealous of their Rights.
And you, great Guardian of the Laws,
Gracious review the Hero's Cause.
Tho' it may seem a rash Affair,
Consider, Piercy is Surveyor!
Do not conceive, he claims a Right,
Or storm'd the Royal Lodge in spite:
He strove to burn it, ere it yielded,
In hopes hereafter—to rebuild it.
'Tis best, the Matter should be hush'd.
I hope the K---g, who lives so far,
Will hear no Tidings of this War:
For Kings, as well as simple Knights,
Are sometimes jealous of their Rights.
And you, great Guardian of the Laws,
Gracious review the Hero's Cause.
Tho' it may seem a rash Affair,
Consider, Piercy is Surveyor!
Do not conceive, he claims a Right,
Or storm'd the Royal Lodge in spite:
He strove to burn it, ere it yielded,
In hopes hereafter—to rebuild it.
But hark, ye Warriors, how this Battle
Inclines my gossip Muse to prattle!
Tho' I have told her, 'tis not fit
To spoil great Deeds for want of Wit;
By Scraps and Hints to tell a Story,
And thus to sully Piercy's Glory.
Inclines my gossip Muse to prattle!
Tho' I have told her, 'tis not fit
To spoil great Deeds for want of Wit;
By Scraps and Hints to tell a Story,
And thus to sully Piercy's Glory.
When Phœbus will not lend a Beam,
Nor match the Numbers to the Theme;
What Bard can aptly draw Sir Mars
Acting the Hero of a Farce?
Or who describe his dreadful Note,
His warlike Strut, and broider'd Coat?
Nor match the Numbers to the Theme;
What Bard can aptly draw Sir Mars
Acting the Hero of a Farce?
Or who describe his dreadful Note,
His warlike Strut, and broider'd Coat?
Who can relate the Rise and Fall,
The various Shapes of Dublin Vol?
Shew him among the Mud-nymphs gay,
Or a grave Evidence for Pay?
Or else, majestic in his Hole,
Meting out Bally-Castle Coal?
No British Collier is so black,
Or can produce—a broader Back.
The various Shapes of Dublin Vol?
Shew him among the Mud-nymphs gay,
Or a grave Evidence for Pay?
Or else, majestic in his Hole,
Meting out Bally-Castle Coal?
No British Collier is so black,
Or can produce—a broader Back.
224
But, Piercy, greatest of the Three!
Mirror of modern Chivalry!
What Verse is equal to your Merit,
Who can display your active Spirit?
Whether, exerting all your Skill,
You plan a House, or—make a Will:
Or, aided by the Beldam's Charm,
You bid your Mercenaries arm:
Take Castles without Loss of Man,
As Spanish Quixots took Oran.
Shall it suffice—thou hast a Place.
That thou art dubb'd by D---t's Grace?
Or, since the Danger all is past,
Shall this bold Action be thy last?
No—thou shalt higher—higher rise,
Till thy great Head shall touch the Skies;
Till Jove shall smile with gracious Nod,
And Scheffer change thee to a God.
Mirror of modern Chivalry!
What Verse is equal to your Merit,
Who can display your active Spirit?
Whether, exerting all your Skill,
You plan a House, or—make a Will:
Or, aided by the Beldam's Charm,
You bid your Mercenaries arm:
Take Castles without Loss of Man,
As Spanish Quixots took Oran.
Shall it suffice—thou hast a Place.
That thou art dubb'd by D---t's Grace?
Or, since the Danger all is past,
Shall this bold Action be thy last?
No—thou shalt higher—higher rise,
Till thy great Head shall touch the Skies;
Till Jove shall smile with gracious Nod,
And Scheffer change thee to a God.
Whilst I, content with humble Lays,
Repeat the sable Frokin's Praise;
Describe her Face, her Shape, her Carriage;
Her Art of Love, and Art of Marriage.
Or—ever mindful of my Wrongs,
At Leisure to compose new Songs,
I couple Donnas a-la-mode,
And dress old Myra in an Ode.
Repeat the sable Frokin's Praise;
Describe her Face, her Shape, her Carriage;
Her Art of Love, and Art of Marriage.
Or—ever mindful of my Wrongs,
At Leisure to compose new Songs,
I couple Donnas a-la-mode,
And dress old Myra in an Ode.
225
ODE TO MYRA
[_]
(To which the Note on Verse 194. Book III. refers) In imitation of Horace's Ode to Canidia. Lib. Ep. Od. 17.
Jam jam efficaci do manus scientiæ, &c.
Cease! thy direful Vengeance cease!
Mighty Sorc'ress, give me Ease!
Like thy self a Convert grown,
Now thy Magic Power I own.
See the Bard with supp'lant Hands
Meanest Slave of thy Commands!
Mighty Sorc'ress, give me Ease!
Like thy self a Convert grown,
Now thy Magic Power I own.
See the Bard with supp'lant Hands
Meanest Slave of thy Commands!
Be thou pleas'd! my Voice I'll raise,
Tune my Lyre to sound thy Praise;
I will form thee all Divine;
And no Muse shall lie like mine.
Tune my Lyre to sound thy Praise;
I will form thee all Divine;
And no Muse shall lie like mine.
By thy sacred Self I'll swear,
Thou art fairest of the Fair;
That thy Morn-or Evening Face
Modest shines with native Grace;
Thy Complexion, when 'tis Pale,
Shews the Lilies of the Vale;
When thy Cheeks are over-spread
With a bright Vermilion-red,
Greater Beauties they disclose,
Charming, as the op'ning Rose.
Thou art fairest of the Fair;
That thy Morn-or Evening Face
Modest shines with native Grace;
Thy Complexion, when 'tis Pale,
Shews the Lilies of the Vale;
When thy Cheeks are over-spread
With a bright Vermilion-red,
Greater Beauties they disclose,
Charming, as the op'ning Rose.
226
Then thy Tresses I'll display;
Swear, they are unmixt with grey:
That thy hollow Eyes are Jet,
Brilliant Di'monds, tho' ill set:
Or, low Similes to shun,
Either Orb shall be a Sun.
With thy Rays, like Cupid's Darts,
Thou shalt pierce the stoutest Hearts;
Change us, when thy Work is done,
(Like Medusa) into Stone.
Swear, they are unmixt with grey:
That thy hollow Eyes are Jet,
Brilliant Di'monds, tho' ill set:
Or, low Similes to shun,
Either Orb shall be a Sun.
With thy Rays, like Cupid's Darts,
Thou shalt pierce the stoutest Hearts;
Change us, when thy Work is done,
(Like Medusa) into Stone.
Next I'll smooth thy wrinkled Skin,
Paint, without a Beard, thy Chin;
Swear, thy Breath (which never fails)
Is as sweet as spicy Gales:
That thy Teeth are all thy own,
('Tis a Set that's newly grown)
But I think I shall not Lie,
If I swear, they're Ivory.
Paint, without a Beard, thy Chin;
Swear, thy Breath (which never fails)
Is as sweet as spicy Gales:
That thy Teeth are all thy own,
('Tis a Set that's newly grown)
But I think I shall not Lie,
If I swear, they're Ivory.
Then a well turn'd Neck I'll shew,
Whiter than the falling Snow:
And each Breast shall be as small,
Round, and hard, as Billiard-ball.
Whiter than the falling Snow:
And each Breast shall be as small,
Round, and hard, as Billiard-ball.
Then I'll mould thy muckle Waist,
Shape it to a Critick's Taste:
If he fancies, 'tis too wide
To be compass'd with an Hide;
Let him measure, as did Dido;
Or else let him lie, as I do:
For I'll with a Span surround it;
Swear, that Venus' Girdle bound it.
Shape it to a Critick's Taste:
If he fancies, 'tis too wide
To be compass'd with an Hide;
Let him measure, as did Dido;
Or else let him lie, as I do:
For I'll with a Span surround it;
Swear, that Venus' Girdle bound it.
Wou'd the modest Fair excuse
Some few Freedoms in the Muse;
I'd unveil a nobler Part,
Touch it with Dan Ovid's Art;
Not compare it, like a Sloven,
To a Furnace, or an Oven;
To a Bushel, or a Bowl,
Large as thy capacious Soul:
But a Figure I'd devise,
Which shou'd dignify my Lies,
By neat Metaphors express'd,
In a Virgin's Likeness dress'd;
Such as Anch'rets wou'd inspire;
Reconcile the angry Frier;
Teach an Irish King to love,
And even make a Bull of Jove.
Some few Freedoms in the Muse;
227
Touch it with Dan Ovid's Art;
Not compare it, like a Sloven,
To a Furnace, or an Oven;
To a Bushel, or a Bowl,
Large as thy capacious Soul:
But a Figure I'd devise,
Which shou'd dignify my Lies,
By neat Metaphors express'd,
In a Virgin's Likeness dress'd;
Such as Anch'rets wou'd inspire;
Reconcile the angry Frier;
Teach an Irish King to love,
And even make a Bull of Jove.
But ah! then a Damp I'd cast;
For I'd swear, that thou art chaste;
True to every Husband's Bed,
To their Mem'ry, when they're dead:
That thou never had'st Affair
With a Porter, or a Player;
With the Bully Chevalier,
Or with Centry Grenadier;
Pam or Piercy P--- or Gore;
With—about an hundred more,
Whom the saucy People name,
Eccho'd by that Brazen Fame.
For I'd swear, that thou art chaste;
True to every Husband's Bed,
To their Mem'ry, when they're dead:
That thou never had'st Affair
With a Porter, or a Player;
With the Bully Chevalier,
Or with Centry Grenadier;
Pam or Piercy P--- or Gore;
With—about an hundred more,
Whom the saucy People name,
Eccho'd by that Brazen Fame.
Then I'll falsify Report,
Standing Jest of Viceroy's Court;
Fabled in the Comic Play,
Tattled over Cards and Tea;
Always whisper'd with a Sneer,
When thy Frow and thou art near.
What if Sappho was so naught?
I'll deny, that thou hast taught
How to pair the Female Doves,
How to practise Lesbian Loves:
But when little Al is spread
In her Grove, or on thy Bed,
I will swear, 'tis Nature's Call,
'Tis exalted Friendship all.
Standing Jest of Viceroy's Court;
Fabled in the Comic Play,
Tattled over Cards and Tea;
228
When thy Frow and thou art near.
What if Sappho was so naught?
I'll deny, that thou hast taught
How to pair the Female Doves,
How to practise Lesbian Loves:
But when little Al is spread
In her Grove, or on thy Bed,
I will swear, 'tis Nature's Call,
'Tis exalted Friendship all.
Then, because I'm often told,
Mighty Sorc'ress, thou grow'st old;
That, few Bards in Days of Yore
Fancied Beauties of Threescore;
I'll unbend the Work of Time,
I'll restore thee to thy Prime,
Feign, that now thou art as young,
As when am'rous G---ville sung.
Mighty Sorc'ress, thou grow'st old;
That, few Bards in Days of Yore
Fancied Beauties of Threescore;
I'll unbend the Work of Time,
I'll restore thee to thy Prime,
Feign, that now thou art as young,
As when am'rous G---ville sung.
Then I'll strike an higher String,
And thy matchless Virtues sing;
Singing swear, that thou art Just,
Grateful, Faithful to thy Trust:
That thy Piety excels
All that Romish Legend tells;
That thou'rt Disciplin'd with Rods,
Tho' thou hast abjur'd thy Gods:
That thy Purse, and—eke thy Door
Ever opens to the Poor;
That thou givest without Measure,
In exchange for heav'nly Treasure.
And thy matchless Virtues sing;
Singing swear, that thou art Just,
Grateful, Faithful to thy Trust:
That thy Piety excels
All that Romish Legend tells;
That thou'rt Disciplin'd with Rods,
Tho' thou hast abjur'd thy Gods:
That thy Purse, and—eke thy Door
Ever opens to the Poor;
229
In exchange for heav'nly Treasure.
Then to prove thy Truth and Wit,
I'll repeat what thou hast writ;
In my Numbers Both shall shine,
And be priz'd as much as—mine.
I'll repeat what thou hast writ;
In my Numbers Both shall shine,
And be priz'd as much as—mine.
Indian Priests avert all Evil,
By cajoling angry Devil;
Praise his Beauty, and his Youth,
Give him Virtue, Wit and Truth;
Flatter, sacrifice and lie,
And old Satan deify:
So let me thy Wrath appease!
So do thou thy Vengeance cease!
Soften'd by my lying Lyre,
Gracious imitate thy Sire;
And at least such Favour shew,
As the Devil wou'd bestow.
By cajoling angry Devil;
Praise his Beauty, and his Youth,
Give him Virtue, Wit and Truth;
Flatter, sacrifice and lie,
And old Satan deify:
So let me thy Wrath appease!
So do thou thy Vengeance cease!
Soften'd by my lying Lyre,
Gracious imitate thy Sire;
And at least such Favour shew,
As the Devil wou'd bestow.
232
FINIS.
| The toast | |