University of Virginia Library

“Is this the Order Heav'n at first decreed,
To stamp Distinctions on our free-born Breed?
Is this the kind Creator's perfect Plan,
Thus to commission Man the curse of Man?
This Providence's right, impartial, Rule,
One made a Despot—one the Tyrant's Tool?
One human Creature thus ordain'd, by Birth,
To claim huge districts of devoted Earth;
Another, equal born, be deem'd unmeet
To touch the surface with unlicens'd feet?
One grasp the products of the procreant Soil,
Exempt from every study—care—and toil—
Another think, and work, each waking hour,
With scarce one scrap of property, or pow'r?
Subject, by need, to Fellow-Sinner's nod?
This, but a mere Machine—and that—a God?

“With heavenly Justice will such scheme accord?
One starve, a Labourer—while one struts, a Lord?
One with each luxury, in profusion, fed;
A Brother cringing for a crust of bread?
In garb of silk and gold, one, costly, cloth'd,
And one half-rob'd in rags, by Brethren loath'd?
One sped in splendid and sublime Abode,
And one in stinking Cottage closely stow'd;
Some with vast Wealth, and Counties at command,
Others without one Coin, or inch of Land.

“God ne'er could sanction such a partial Pact,
Nor will His Word confirm so foul an Act!
'Twas the vile Offspring of the human Mind,
The base, the monstrous, birth, of curs'd Mankind;
That One should rule thus insolent, and rash,
While crowds sustain the labour, and the lash!
Griev'd with intolerable burdens, groan,
With scarce one morsel, or one mite, their own!
Bear jibes—taunts—frowns—from Arrogance and Scorn,
Because, like Beasts, without possessions, born!
Spend all their strength—health—time—to Life's last hours,
To furnish comforts Despotism devours!
Preventing all its wants with thought, and toil,
Then portering off the dregs drunk spendthrifts spoil!
And while they cleanse each suffocating drain
Deem it Sedition should such Clowns complain!

“Had such false Tyrants' Wills full exercise
They'd lodge such Slaves in stables, or in styes!
Clothe them in sackcloth, just to shrowd their shame,
To keep such Brutes subordinate, and tame;
Nor deal one part of Nature's plenteous dow'rs,
From field, or garden, grain, herbs, fruits, or flow'rs,
But, barely, for sustaining Life assign
Offals, deem'd meet for Dogs, or swill, for Swine—
Would suffer none but Sycophants to share
One inspiration of pure, wholesome Air—
One drop of water pure, from springs, or streams,
Or unpolluted spark from Phœbus' beams.

“What pity 'twas,” for thus he turned, with pain,
From keen sarcastic, to ironic strain,
“What pity 'twas no compact could be made
Betwixt the Gods of gold and Tools of trade!
Betwixt the labouring Boors and swineherd Swains,
And rich liege Lords that rule the peopled Plains!
Betwixt Pomp's glorious Dames and Demigods,
And servile Suits that cringe to catch their nods!
That those high Peers and Peeresses might share
All Earth contains, with solar Light, and Air!

“What pity Nature's Author, good and great!
To make his providential gifts complete,
Ne'er legislated some exclusive clause,
Some strong criterion of such boundless Laws,
Conferr'd on those dear Delegates in trust,
To prompt their Passions, and enlarge their Lust,
Subjecting all to Pow'r, for Pride's content,
Both solid Land, and liquid Element;
With all the fields of Air, and floods of Light,
Affording Spleen full exercise for Spite;
To dribble out their scanty doles to all,
That Penury binds around this raving Ball!
To all that hardly earn their meagre mess,
And shabby robes that form their shapeless dress;
Their twinkling farthing light, and transient fire,
With little less which Nature's calls require;
In huts of turf and straw to spend their days
With endless toil, and nights devoid of ease;
All vested, fully, in Pride's amplest Pow'r,
To offer, or withold each fickle hour.

“What pity 'twas, when first the human Race,
Assum'd their proud, or sunk to abject, Place—
When Peleg, with his tyrant Chieftains, leagu'd,
Against their Fellow-mortals first intrigued—
First on wild forests—hills—woods—plains, appear'd,
And there their self-appointed standards rear'd,
To violate the Wills of virtuous Worth,
Monopolizing all the parts of Earth!
Or when tyrannic Nymrod's impious Mind
Presumed to hunt and persecute Mankind—
Or ere the spurious Ishmael's pompous plan,
The trade of making titles, first began;
Who, spurning Providence's sharp rebukes,
Created, dauntless, more than thirty Dukes—
Prescribing, bold, and consequential, bounds,
To idle epithets, and senseless sounds!
When first the Great began to burst with Pride,
Apprais'd the Poor so low—and, still, deride!
When first gaunt Peasant grip'd another's plough,
And fed their furrows from his dripping brow!
First reap'd the crops of alienated soil
While bladder'd palms were steep'd in blood with toil!
Bent down his aching back, to ply the spade!
And shaped lean shoulders like his bended blade!
Or, stooping lower still, for orts of meat
Bow'd, fawn'd, and cring'd, to kiss Wealth's scornful feet.

“What pity wonderous Peers, and peerless Dames,
Were not empowr'd to shut out counter-claims!
Such Lord-lieutenants, locum-tenens-Queens,
Whose parchment mounds inclose Earth's cultur'd Scenes,
Who'd fain, from agueish Poverty, withold
One heathy turf to tame the cutting cold—
What pity! what afflicting cause of grief!
And, while They worship Hell's exalted Chief,
And He can all created claims controul
Could get no royal grant to rule the Whole!
Then, clear, their full Commissions thus might run—
‘Know, all Men, by these Presents, that bright Sun
‘With both his attributes of Heat and Light,
‘Pour'd down, direct, or lent the Lamp of Night—
‘All feebler orbs that shine, and twinkle, round
‘His brilliant sphere, or speck the blue profound—
‘The fluid Air, ordain'd for general good,
‘With all the produce of Plain—Hill—or Wood,
‘And Watery Amplitude, be fully Their's,
‘With sole reversion to their sovereign Heirs’”
Then might They live, with Despot-pow'r, elate,
Scattering scant fragments, or dispensing Fate!
Smile into Life—annihilate with frowns—
And flash dread Lightnings from their dazzling Crowns!
Willing, as Tyrant's wish, on thundering Throne,
To favour slavering Sychophants, alone!
Those Apes that practise flattering—fawning arts,
The venturous Villain's, Pimp's, and Traytor's parts!
Storm as their Teachers storm—grin as they grin—
Cajole—deceive—lie—swear—thro' thick and thin!
Mark ev'ry motion—weigh each aweful Word—
And feign assent when frantic, or absurd!
Watch every look—dissolve with angry glow'r,
Or madden with one smile's transporting pow'r.
Each fellow Dupe deceive, thro' spleen and spite,
By representing wrong whate'er was right—
Repeat each peevish phrase from churlish Chief,
With aggravating tone for self-relief!
Load every cross, and make each comfort less,
Like Fiends, delighted in their Foes' distress!

Should Slave superior, find fair Worth forgot,
Thro' whim, or weakness, oft such Slavery's lot,
Thro' madd'ning megrims of the blood, and brain,
While Patroness looks down with harsh disdain,
Such favour'd Vassal's insolence abounds,
And business—order—influence, confounds—
While mean employer, with promoting hint,
Approving smile, arch wink, or look asquint,
Still strengthens, and inflames domestic strife,
To mix with misery Culprit's cup of Life!
Yet such poor Spaniels but with bones are fed,
And watch their Keeper's looks with louring dread,
While taught to growl, or grin, or bellow loud,
At other Puppies that compose the Crowd.
But could Commanders manage Light and Air,
Such Curs would scarce receive sufficient share;
For where Caprice and Spleen sway Sovereign pow'r,
No Sycophant's secures one single hour!
Ev'n Pimps and Panders often feel disgrace;
Such Needles point not long tow'rds northern place,
But, round the compass run, inconstant, still,
As Pride and Passion guide the graceless Will!
But woe to that condemn'd, devoted, Wight,
Compell'd to feel a Female's impish spite;
Whose vile Invention's ever on the stretch
To plague, and persecute such hapless Wretch!
A Pauper might compare his abject state
And bless kind Providence for better fate!
Prisoners, unbeat, some pity might bestow;
Tho', pin'd with want, experience less of woe!
A Galley-slave, who hourly tugs the oar,
Feels less of misery, though of labour more.
A Demon, tho' condemn'd with Hell's high Chief,
From curs'd compeers may find some faint relief,
And might commiserate such a wretched Elf,
A Creature curs'd more harshly than himself!
Himself's a name such Slave ne'er can apply,
Who always labours from Himself to fly!
Himself! unmeaning noun! no more his own!
Mere mute appendage of a Despot's throne!
His heart once judg'd for generous Friendship meet,
Become base football for false Tyrant's feet!
Crispin—at nobler boards, aforetime, fed,
Made subject, now, to meaner Vassal's tread!
A Tool to trouble others—while his Soul
Sustains much stronger feeling for the Whole!
The butt of black inquisitorial pow'r!
To meet fresh miseries every hateful hour!
Corrosive sorrows, and impaling pains,
Enhanc'd by snubs each Fellow-slave sustains.
Destroy'd by atoms! rack'd both day and night,
With poison dropp'd by Aspic's deadly bite—
Some opiate, soft, may soothe a moment's smart,
But leaves the venom rankling in his heart?
No Coup-de-main's emancipating rage
Drives the doom'd Victim from the torturing stage—
To burst his prison-doors—tear Body's bands—
And put the Spirit into holier hands!
Still kept in fetters by a pseudo-Friend,
Without one prospect, clear, of ease, or end!
All anxious care, or crucifying fear,
Poniards and plaisters, daily, year by year!

No Soul should mix among the courtly Train,
So proud! so passionate! revengeful! vain!
Among the higher, or the lower, Class,
Whose breast's not form'd of steel, and front of brass!
Should ne'er be tied to Fashion's fickle Tribes,
Whose heart's not proof against gross jeers and jibes—
Ne'er bend his neck beneath such servile yoke
Whose Spirit's not before completely broke;
Grown heedless of each act, or look, or word,
Howe'er insulting, or howe'er absurd!
Must hope no health—no happiness—no peace—
Throughout his hapless—humbling—yearly-lease;
But live prepar'd for painful, fractious, fray,
Trials, and tribulations, day by day!
But, chiefly, one who female Fury serves
Should, first, cut out, or cauterize, his nerves—
Excluding from his Conscience—breast—and brain,
All sense of injury—shame—reproach—and pain

In such connections, Common-Sense expects
Repeated conflicts—insults—and neglects—
But none, besides experienc'd Sufferers, know
The bitter trials Bond-Slaves undergo!
Such compact form'd, such treaty ratified,
Perdition stamps the Dupe of piquant Pride.
From friendly list soon finds himself eras'd
Who doubts his Despot's Politesse—or Taste!
For all such courtly circles far unfit
Who calls in question Individual's Wit:
The Slave, who Sense, or Wisdom, dares dispute,
Stands dubb'd a Blockhead, or pronounc'd a Brute.
Her Genius—Judgment—Virtue—not avow'd,
He's rank'd among the ignorant, clownish, Crowd.
Who-e'er disputes her Pow'r, infuriate, feels
Stillettos—poisons—burnings—whips, and wheels!
No more should such behold the Sun's bright blaze,
Nor feel, again, his warm, invigorating, rays;
His heart to cherish, or his eyes to chear,
But dwell in cold, and darkness, all the year;
Or see them dealt abroad in dribbling Light.
Just to see Day, distinct from sable Night;
With warmth sufficient, simply, to fulfil
The dictates of her arbitrary Will!
Should ne'er imbibe salubrious breath of Air,
Or Nature's beverage, pure, from fountain, share;
But fetter'd, strong, with grief and grating round,
Contemplate, still, each spirit-piercing wound!

Should stronger turpitude consist in crimes,
Which thwarted Pow'r by penning righteous Rhymes,
No ray should light him o'er the trackless heath,
But blazing lightnings blast his rustic wreath—
No breeze but Wealth's contaminated breath,
Should e'er, one Day, retard the stroke of Death—
No drink, but drips from Fashion's fulsome rooms
His thirst should gratify in dungeon glooms,
Till tears extinguish'd every spark of Spleen,
Blurr'd all bold truths, and blunted sharp and keen—
Till torment metamorphos'd libell'd lays,
And turn'd each peccant couplet round to praise—
While he whose luke-warm spirit, prone to faults,
Between full freedom and submission halts
Be press'd with weights till Greatness hears his cries
To give some gleanings of the Earth and Skies;
While with incessant sighs, and griefs, and groans,
His deep repentance for each fault atones!
But still each pain and grief to aggravate,
And add fresh curses to the Culprit's fate,
Inflicting all the force of scoff and scorn,
To prove the Bard of humble Parent born,
A crowd of crimes! a base, ignoble, Boor!
And, what's far worse, unpardonably poor!
These form a mass of shame—a gulph of guilt—
Rubbish—on which no merit can be built!
The lack of lustrous Wealth, or badge of Birth,
Precludes all moral, and religious, Worth!
Had he an Adam's Make, an Angel's Mind,
Court Churls could, there, no charms, nor Virtues, find!
Nor must he hope the pure and peaceful right,
Of solar beam, by day, or bed, by night;
But, led by twilight lantern's twinkling pow'rs,
To guard such godlike Creatures' dozing hours,
For crumbs scrap'ed up, and dealt in scanty doles,
Just soldering Bodies, and cementing Souls!
To keep the mere machinery's parts compact,
When call'd, like true automatons, to act—
To move the frame, or head, eyes, hands, and feet,
Or speak, when, what, how, Mistress thinks most meet—
To stand—sit—lie—to walk, to run, to rest,
As such sublime Commanders deem it best!

Should bold Ambition prompt mistaken Swain
To slight soft slumbers on the peaceful Plain—
To quit light cares—fast Friends—and quiet Cot,
And leave laborious, for licentious, lot—
Wak'd by wild Phantasms from delirious dreams,
And led, by Lusts, to try Utopian schemes—
Enroll'd with liveried list; broke in, till tame;
Or, badg'd, like collar'd Cur, feel feudal claim;
He, tho' uplifted more than motley Troop,
Still must his independent Spirit stoop,
Nor perfect Freedom plume her wing agen,
Or think mere Lacquies can be construed Men!

No needy Virtue weaves no web so dense
But Wealth squints thro' at Penury's foul offence—
Nor Erebus can dip so black a dye
But Pride perceives low Life, with half an eye;
Nor Talent so conceal a quondam Trade,
But Spite's exploring look will pierce the shade,
While secret Malice wishes oft to eye,
And winks her Partners to partake the joy!

While, on the plain, poor Crispin's pow'rs were plied,
To trade for Vanity, or tilt with Pride—
To work for whim—with Cunning to contend—
Falshood to counteract, or Truth defend—
Caprice oppose—confront strong Passions' storms,
And fight perfidious Art in endless forms—
These, with supreme Authority's controul,
Suppress'd each sacred purpose of the Soul;
So manacled by courtly Politesse,
Duty repelling Passion's harsh redress—
Debarr'd from firing, and forbid to draw,
By civil—social—and religious Law—
The butt of scorn, for cowardice, at large,
Or sure destruction at the first discharge;
While if his lips one syllable should blab,
His interest must expire with fatal stab.
Yet was he frequently expos'd to fall,
By pointed weapon, or exploded ball;
Or multiplying wounds, and woes, endure,
Hypocrisy's court-plaister ne'er could cure;
Nor unguents heart-aches, or sharp smarts assuage,
But aggravated more their maddening rage!

Nor these, alone, put Patience to the test,
Superior's pet—suspicion—jibe—and jest;
But Vassals, copying their Employer's crimes,
Afflicted, and perplex'd, this Man of Rhymes;
The leading maxim of whose moral Mind,
Was the meek wish for peace with all Mankind!
Much was he forc'd to meet remarks, and frowns,
From daring Coxcombs, and domestic Clowns,
Contriv'd by crooked Policy above,
To bend Endeavour from right line of Love!
There placing ignorant Pride in order, next,
With Envy, by subordination, vext.
Combin'd with black Malignity below,
Alternately each Man's, and Woman's foe;
In turns by each strong Lust, and Passion, sway'd,
Which Demons damn, and Mortals most degrade.

To counterbalance all this Hate and Strife,
And help him on thro' that loath'd state of Life,
Frail were the comforts that reliev'd his Lot,
In that unpleasant, tho' Arcadian, spot;
Where Pride, and Spleen, and Spite, curs'd every Class
Which form'd that motley, that unsocial Mass;
Encourag'd or connived at by their Chief,
Who judg'd each Member Miscreant, Jade, or Thief—
While to confirm her rule, and fix her reign,
She strove to tear each fond and friendly tie in twain!

No tender Daphne bless'd his bosom there!
No Child to comfort, and no Friend to chear!
And tho' much fresh Acquaintance might be found
No Friendship flourishes on graceless ground,
Nor grateful fruits of Love e'er fully grown
With pure and perfect flavour near a Throne!

His happiest hours, while far from earthly Friend,
Were, what the conscious Christian still attend;
When Wisdom could from Fraud, and Strife, retire,
To hold calm converse with celestial Sire!
While Fashion's Wretches far from reason run,
Their Maker's righteous claims, with care, to shun;
Or, Conscience's indignant calls to drown,
Mix each mad Folly thro' this frantic Town!
To silent shades he'd oft, sequester'd steal,
Ere Eve drew o'er the vales her dusky veil;
When Summer's milder beams and balmy Air,
Call'd forth to calm the heart and peace repair—
To tell his pains to Heavn's pure Advocate,
Who grants all furloughs, and who guides all fate!
To Him with prompt, and simple soul to pray,
For growth in grace, and food, each future day—
Or, when, at intervals, repriev'd from pain,
With chearful accent chaunt some sacred strain,
Humbly presented to that Parent's ear,
Where none, beside, but Angels listen'd near—
Weak, gentle, cadences, of Waters, join'd,
And breezey whispers of soft breathing Wind,
While Nightingales, and Owls, oft strove to raise,
In trills, and shoutings, their Provider's praise!

This was a Concert spiritual, and pure,
Which Saints admire, and Seraphs might endure—
Such as the pitying Saviour's Soul approves,
Which neither Lust, nor Pride, nor Passion, moves,
But such pure Passion, free from Lust, and Pride,
That thoughtless Folly, and lewd Vice, avoid.
Here were no studied strains—no manag'd notes,
From senseless things, or self-delighting, throats;
Nor, from immortal Mind, licentious lay,
For Flattery—self-applause—or sordid pay—
But Spirit, wing'd with flame, to Heav'n still flew,
With praise, delightful, where all praise is due!

When Autumn's frowns, and frigid breath, forbade
To dare disasters, in the gloomy glade,
He sought the skreen of those once holy walls,
Which, now proud feasts profane, and bustling balls—
Where once the Priest perform'd religious rites,
Now noisey scene of impious lust's delights—
Again to glad the roof with sacred Song,
But lately left by Bacchanalian throng—
Again to hail with hymns the sacred space
And purge, with pray'r that oft-polluted place—
Now fill'd with foul idolatrous devoirs
Instead of humble hearts, and echoing Choirs—
With all false compliments and flattering lies,
That Fancy's pow'r performs, or Wit supplies—
To peccant Creatures that full worship shewn,
Which all belongs to God—and God alone!

What rapture did his heart experience, there
From adoration deep, and love sincere!
From praise—thanksgiving—penitence—and pray'rs—
No Epicure conceives, or Sceptic shares!

Ye sensual Souls who wish for bosom bliss,
Could ye once find felicity like this,
To every darling Lust you'd bid adieu,
As dull deceptions—transient, and untrue—
Bid every base indulgence full farewell,
Which plagues you here, while plunges down to Hell!

What comfort can immortal Spirits feel,
While Conscience wounds with whips, and stabs of steel!
What pleasure prove in chaffy, childish trash,
While Heav'n chastises with its waling lash?
What in mad ramblings can calm Reason find,
To fill, or satisfy, Man's famish'd Mind?
What, in mere paltry mess one Wish to move,
Or Understanding, Reason's pow'r to prove?
With Objects, so jejune, impel the Will,
Pure Spirit charm, or Heart's affections fill?
How stir-up genuine intellectual joys,
Like Swine, to swill, or Dogs to gormandize;
Or bring forth bliss from foul and carnal, Cause
While counteracting Heav'n's kind, holy, Laws?
Can all frail Creature-blessings found below,
That Peace procure—transporting bliss bestow?
Will Nature's Wealth, with all the Works of skill,
E'er satisfy the faithless human Will?
Did e'er each poignant and expensive dish
Prove paramount to Man's unwearied wish?
Could e'er the deep intoxicating draught,
To full frutition wandering Fancy waft;
Or all dull fleshly pleasures e'er dispense
Full satisfaction to Man's mental Sense?
Did reasoning Soul e'er say—“I'm satisfied!”
When transient raptures jaded Joy supplied?
Did Spirit e'er declare—“I've quite enough!”
When Sense had swallow'd all its temporal stuff?
Was ever Eye, or Ear, thro' Nature's rounds,
Sufficed with tasteful Sights or tuneful Sounds?
Was e'er the eager, hankering Heart content
With gaudy Dress, or glittering Ornament?
Was ever Mind, immerg'd in stateliest Dome,
Completely pleas'd with what it found at Home;
Or Cramm'd, till cloy'd, by Providence's dow'r
With Honour—Influence—Fame—Wealth—Pomp—or Pow'r?
Could tyrant King e'er Tracts of Earth acquire
Commensurate with his Heart's enlarg'd Desire!
No! could his greedy Wishes grasp the Whole,
It ne'er could match the measure of his Soul,
Without those pleasures of superior Kind,
Pure joys, congenial to immortal Mind,
Which spring from heav'nly Spirit's pow'r alone,
Thro' Faith—Hope—Love—to Novices unknown—
Beyond all soar of Pride, and proofs of Sense;
Christians, alone, can prove, and Christ dispense!

Who shall the doubtful disputation state
Which long involv'd the World in deep debate;
And, while dark Understanding winds the Will
The doubting mass of Man's divided still.
Who shall some competent solution trace
To fix the Faith of every reasoning Race—
Shall stablish strong unalterable Rules,
To show who's Wise, and who are shameless Fools—
One whom no Rank, or Station, well can grudge,
With frank acknowledgment, to meet as Judge—
Betwixt the rich and pow'rful Courtier-Crowd,
So vain—so envious—insolent—and proud—
And Christians thinly scatter'd thro' Mankind,
So meek and humble both in Heart and Mind—
Betwixt pure Minds, where true Contentment springs,
And restless Hearts of Conquerors, Priests, and Kings!

Philosophers endeavour'd, long, in vain,
Imperfect systems, proudly, to maintain;
But not an individual understood
How to obtain the universal good—
All wander'd widely, each, in different rout,
Some seeking it within, and some without—
From all Mankind the secret's still conceal'd
Till the mysterious truth Heav'n's love reveal'd.
Tho' now reveal'd so clear, in heavenly light,
Mankind still reason oftener wrong that right.
A Brood of proud, perverse, rebellious, Elves,
Consulting silly Things much like Themselves;
Continuing still, a wretched Race, to live,
Without those comforts God, alone, can give;
But look around for pleasure—peace—and rest—
In temporal objects, hoping to be blest!

Let Him the long-disputed doubt decide,
Who all the wide extremes completely tried;
The full indulgence of gross Appetites,
With all that Pomp and Pride can call delights,
All that Man's wild Imagination warms,
That Passion e'er pursues, or Fancy forms;
Compared with Conscience's religious Joys,
Himself a King—by Wisdom counted wise.
He shows the shameful, mortifying fruits,
That fools partake in fanciful pursuits;
Those transient Means to which weak Mortals trust,
Who look for bliss from Pomp, and Pride, and Lust,
While from experience past he strictly tells,
Where permanent delight supremely dwells!
Tells, that on moral and religious ground;
Content and happiness, alone, are found!
In Wisdom's ways what clustering comforts grow,
To chear her Children in this World of Woe!
And rivers flowing, from the fount of Grace,
Dispense Peace—Health, and Pleasure, every pace!

This was the Way our Hero strove to tread,
Which, from the Wilderness, to Salem, led;
To feed on Honey, and fresh Milk, that flow'd,
For strength'ning Combatants thro' Canaan's road.
These was his heart oft strengthen'd to partake,
To chear his Spirit, for the Saviour's sake;
Sent from the sacred source of bliss, above,
Performing faithful promises of Love;
His Soul to solace, and that Strength sustain,
'Mid labours—griefs—and ponderings—on the Plain!