The Poems and Miscellaneous Compositions of Paul Whitehead With Explanatory Notes on his Writings, and His life written by Captain Edward Thompson. With a Head of the Author, From a Painting by Mr. Gainsborough |
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AN EPISTLE TO DOCTOR THOMPSON. |
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 | The Poems and Miscellaneous Compositions of Paul Whitehead |  |
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AN EPISTLE TO DOCTOR THOMPSON.
Sed quia mente minus validus, quam corpore toto,
Nil audire velim, nil discere, quod levet ægrum,
Fidis offendar medicis.------
Hor.
Nil audire velim, nil discere, quod levet ægrum,
Fidis offendar medicis.------
Hor.
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Why do you ask, “that in this courtly dance,
“Of In and Out, it ne'er was yet my chance,
“To bask beneath a Statesman's fost'ring smile,
“And share the plunder of the Public Spoil?”
“Of In and Out, it ne'er was yet my chance,
“To bask beneath a Statesman's fost'ring smile,
“And share the plunder of the Public Spoil?”
E'er wants my table the health-chearing meal,
With Banstead Mutton crown'd, or Essex Veal?
Smokes not from Lincoln meads the stately Loin,
Or rosy Gammon of Hantonian Swine?
From Darkin's roosts the Feather'd victims bleed,
And Thames still wafts me Ocean's scaly Breed.
Tho' Gallia's Vines their costly juice deny,
Still Tajo's banks the jocund glass supply;
Still distant worlds nectareous treasures roll,
And either India sparkles in my bowl;
Or Devon's boughs, or Dorset's bearded fields,
To Britain's arms a British beverage yields.
With Banstead Mutton crown'd, or Essex Veal?
Smokes not from Lincoln meads the stately Loin,
Or rosy Gammon of Hantonian Swine?
From Darkin's roosts the Feather'd victims bleed,
And Thames still wafts me Ocean's scaly Breed.
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Still Tajo's banks the jocund glass supply;
Still distant worlds nectareous treasures roll,
And either India sparkles in my bowl;
Or Devon's boughs, or Dorset's bearded fields,
To Britain's arms a British beverage yields.
Rich in these gifts, why should I wish for more?
Why barter conscience for superfluous store?
Or haunt the levee of a purse-proud Peer,
To rob poor Fielding of the Curule chair?
Let the lean Bard, whose belly, void of bread,
Puffs up Pierian vapours to his head,
In Birth-day Odes his flimsy fustian vent,
And torture truth into a compliment;
Wear out the knocker of a Great-Man's door,
Be Pimp and Poet, furnish Rhime or Whore;
Or fetch and carry for some foolish Lord,
To sneak—a Sitting Footman at his board.
If such the arts that captivate the Great,
Be yours, ye Bards! the sun-shine of a State;
For Place or Pension prostitute each line;
Make Gods of Kings, and Ministers divine;
Swear St. John's self could neither read nor write,
And *** out-bravoes Mars in fight;
Call Dorset Patriot, Willes a Legal tool,
Horace a Wit, and Dodington a Fool.
Such be your venal task; whilst, blest with ease,
'Tis mine, to scribble when, and what I please.
Why barter conscience for superfluous store?
Or haunt the levee of a purse-proud Peer,
To rob poor Fielding of the Curule chair?
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Puffs up Pierian vapours to his head,
In Birth-day Odes his flimsy fustian vent,
And torture truth into a compliment;
Wear out the knocker of a Great-Man's door,
Be Pimp and Poet, furnish Rhime or Whore;
Or fetch and carry for some foolish Lord,
To sneak—a Sitting Footman at his board.
If such the arts that captivate the Great,
Be yours, ye Bards! the sun-shine of a State;
For Place or Pension prostitute each line;
Make Gods of Kings, and Ministers divine;
Swear St. John's self could neither read nor write,
And *** out-bravoes Mars in fight;
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Horace a Wit, and Dodington a Fool.
Such be your venal task; whilst, blest with ease,
'Tis mine, to scribble when, and what I please.
“Hold! what you please? (Sir D**y cries) my Friend,
“Say, must my labours never, never end?
“Still doom'd 'gainst wicked wit my pen to draw,
“Correct each Bard by critic rules of Law;
“'Twixt Guilt and Shame the legal buckler place,
“And guard each courtly Culprit from disgrace?
“Hard task! should future Jurymen inherit
“The City-Twelve's self-judging British spirit.”
“Say, must my labours never, never end?
“Still doom'd 'gainst wicked wit my pen to draw,
“Correct each Bard by critic rules of Law;
“'Twixt Guilt and Shame the legal buckler place,
“And guard each courtly Culprit from disgrace?
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“The City-Twelve's self-judging British spirit.”
While You, my Thompson! spite of Med'cine save,
Mark how the College peoples every Grave!
See Mead transfer Estates from Sire to Son,
And ** bar succession to a Throne!
See Shaw scarce leave the passing-bell a Fee,
And N**'s set the captive husband free!
Tho' widow'd Julia giggles in her weed,
Yet who arraigns the Doctor for the deed?
O'er Life and Death all absolute his will,
Right the Prescription, whether cure or kill.
Mark how the College peoples every Grave!
See Mead transfer Estates from Sire to Son,
And ** bar succession to a Throne!
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And N**'s set the captive husband free!
Tho' widow'd Julia giggles in her weed,
Yet who arraigns the Doctor for the deed?
O'er Life and Death all absolute his will,
Right the Prescription, whether cure or kill.
Not so,—whose Practice is the Mind's disease;
His Potion must not only cure, but please:
Apply the Caustic to the callous heart,
Undone's the Doctor, if the Patient smart;
Superior Pow'rs his mental Bill controul,
And Law corrects the Physic of the Soul.
Shall Galen's Sons with privilege destroy,
And I not one sound Alt'rative employ,
To drive the rank distemper from within?
Or is Man's Life less precious than his Sin?
His Potion must not only cure, but please:
Apply the Caustic to the callous heart,
Undone's the Doctor, if the Patient smart;
Superior Pow'rs his mental Bill controul,
And Law corrects the Physic of the Soul.
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And I not one sound Alt'rative employ,
To drive the rank distemper from within?
Or is Man's Life less precious than his Sin?
With palsied hand should Justice hold the scale,
And o'er a Judge court-complaisance prevail,
Satire's strong dose the malady requires:
I write—when, lo! the Bench indignant fires;
Each hoary head erects its Load of Hair;
Their Furs all bristle, and their Eye-balls glare;
In rage they roar, “With rev'rend Ermine sport!
“Seize! seize him, Tipstaff!—'Tis Contempt of Court.”
And o'er a Judge court-complaisance prevail,
Satire's strong dose the malady requires:
I write—when, lo! the Bench indignant fires;
Each hoary head erects its Load of Hair;
Their Furs all bristle, and their Eye-balls glare;
In rage they roar, “With rev'rend Ermine sport!
“Seize! seize him, Tipstaff!—'Tis Contempt of Court.”
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Led by the meteor of a Mitre's ray,
If Sion's Sons thro' paths unhallow'd stray,
For courtly Rites neglect each rubric Rule,
Quit all the Saint, and truckle all the Tool;
Their Maker only in the Monarch see,
Nor e'er omit, at Brunswick's name, the Knee;
To cure this loyal Lethargy of Grace,
And rouse to Heav'n again its recreant race,
Say! should the Muse, with one irrev'rend line,
Probe but the mortal part of the Divine;
'Tis Blasphemy, by ev'ry Priest decreed!
No Benefit of Clergy may I plead;
With every Cannon pointed at my head,
Alive I'm censur'd, and I'm damn'd when dead.
If Sion's Sons thro' paths unhallow'd stray,
For courtly Rites neglect each rubric Rule,
Quit all the Saint, and truckle all the Tool;
Their Maker only in the Monarch see,
Nor e'er omit, at Brunswick's name, the Knee;
To cure this loyal Lethargy of Grace,
And rouse to Heav'n again its recreant race,
Say! should the Muse, with one irrev'rend line,
Probe but the mortal part of the Divine;
'Tis Blasphemy, by ev'ry Priest decreed!
No Benefit of Clergy may I plead;
With every Cannon pointed at my head,
Alive I'm censur'd, and I'm damn'd when dead.
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Lawyer and Priest, like Doctors, still agree;
'Tis theirs to give advice; 'tis ours, the Fee:
To them alone all earthly rule is giv'n,
Diploma'd from St. James's, and from Heav'n.
'Tis theirs to give advice; 'tis ours, the Fee:
To them alone all earthly rule is giv'n,
Diploma'd from St. James's, and from Heav'n.
Yet ills there are, nor Bench, nor Pulpit reach;
In vain may Ryder charge, or Sherlock preach;
For Law too mighty, and too proud for Grace,
Lurk in the Star, or lord it in a Place;
Brood in the sacred circle of a Crown,
While Fashion wafts their poison thro' the Town:
Hence o'er each Village the contagion wings,
And Peasants catch the maladies of Kings.
In vain may Ryder charge, or Sherlock preach;
For Law too mighty, and too proud for Grace,
Lurk in the Star, or lord it in a Place;
Brood in the sacred circle of a Crown,
While Fashion wafts their poison thro' the Town:
Hence o'er each Village the contagion wings,
And Peasants catch the maladies of Kings.
When purpled Vice shall humble Justice awe,
And Fashion make it current, spite of Law;
What sovereign Med'cine can its course reclaim?
What, but the Poet's Panacea—Shame!
Thus Wit's great Esculapius once prevail'd,
And Satire triumph'd, where the Fasces fail'd:
No Consul's wreath could lurking Folly hide,
No Vestal looks secure the guilty Bride:
The poignant Verse pierc'd thro' each fair disguise,
And made Rome's Matrons modest, Statesmen wise.
And Fashion make it current, spite of Law;
What sovereign Med'cine can its course reclaim?
What, but the Poet's Panacea—Shame!
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And Satire triumph'd, where the Fasces fail'd:
No Consul's wreath could lurking Folly hide,
No Vestal looks secure the guilty Bride:
The poignant Verse pierc'd thro' each fair disguise,
And made Rome's Matrons modest, Statesmen wise.
Search all your Statutes, Serjeant! where's the balm
Can cure the itching of a Courtier's palm?
Where the chaste Canon, say, thou hallow'd Sage,
The Virgin's glowing wishes can assuage?
Let but the Star his longing Lordship see,
What pow'r can set the captive Conscience free?
Hang but the sparkling Pendant at her ears,
What trembling Maid the gen'rous Lover fears?
Can cure the itching of a Courtier's palm?
Where the chaste Canon, say, thou hallow'd Sage,
The Virgin's glowing wishes can assuage?
Let but the Star his longing Lordship see,
What pow'r can set the captive Conscience free?
Hang but the sparkling Pendant at her ears,
What trembling Maid the gen'rous Lover fears?
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When lawless passion seiz'd th' Imperial Dame,
Brothels were only found, to quench the flame;
No Routs, or Balls, the kind convenience gave,
To lose her Virtue, yet her Honour save.
In Cupid's Rites, now, so improv'd our skill,
Mode finds the means, when Nature finds the will.
Each rev'rend Relict keeps a private pack,
And sturdy Stallion with Atlean back;
Where British Dames to mystic rites repair,
Nor fail to meet a lurking Clodio there;
In amorous stealths defraud the public Stews,
And rob the Drury Vestal of her dues;
Who hapless mourns her last, long-mortgag'd Gown,
While Douglass damns the Drums of Lady Brown.
Brothels were only found, to quench the flame;
No Routs, or Balls, the kind convenience gave,
To lose her Virtue, yet her Honour save.
In Cupid's Rites, now, so improv'd our skill,
Mode finds the means, when Nature finds the will.
Each rev'rend Relict keeps a private pack,
And sturdy Stallion with Atlean back;
Where British Dames to mystic rites repair,
Nor fail to meet a lurking Clodio there;
In amorous stealths defraud the public Stews,
And rob the Drury Vestal of her dues;
Who hapless mourns her last, long-mortgag'd Gown,
While Douglass damns the Drums of Lady Brown.
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By names celestial, mortal Females call;
Angels they are, but Angels in their fall.
One Royal Phœnix yet redeems the race,
And proves, in Britain, Beauty may have Grace.
Angels they are, but Angels in their fall.
One Royal Phœnix yet redeems the race,
And proves, in Britain, Beauty may have Grace.
Vain shall the Muse the various symptoms find,
When every Doctor's of a diff'rent mind.
In **'s palm, be foul Corruption found,
Each Court-empiric holds, his Grace is sound;
In Sackville's breast let Public Spirit reign,
Blisters! (they cry) the cause is in his brain;
So, Talbot's want of Place is want of Sense,
And Dashwood's stubborn Virtue, downright Insolence.
When every Doctor's of a diff'rent mind.
In **'s palm, be foul Corruption found,
Each Court-empiric holds, his Grace is sound;
In Sackville's breast let Public Spirit reign,
Blisters! (they cry) the cause is in his brain;
So, Talbot's want of Place is want of Sense,
And Dashwood's stubborn Virtue, downright Insolence.
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When ills are thus just what the Doctors please,
And the Soul's health is held the Mind's disease;
Not all thy art, O Horace! had prevail'd;
Here, all thy Roman recipes had fail'd.
And the Soul's health is held the Mind's disease;
Not all thy art, O Horace! had prevail'd;
Here, all thy Roman recipes had fail'd.
Had Fate to Flaccus but our days decreed,
What Pollio would admire? what Cæsar read?
Great Maro's self had dy'd an humble swain,
And Terence sought a Lælius now in vain.
Science no more employs the Courtier's care,
No Muse's voice can charm Northumberland's ear.
The solid Vote aërial Verse outweighs,
And wins all courtly favour from the Bays;
Hence flow alone the sacred gifts of Kings,
Staves, Truncheons, Feathers, Mitres, Stars, and Strings.
What Pollio would admire? what Cæsar read?
Great Maro's self had dy'd an humble swain,
And Terence sought a Lælius now in vain.
Science no more employs the Courtier's care,
No Muse's voice can charm Northumberland's ear.
The solid Vote aërial Verse outweighs,
And wins all courtly favour from the Bays;
Hence flow alone the sacred gifts of Kings,
Staves, Truncheons, Feathers, Mitres, Stars, and Strings.
Hence Cradles, see! with lisping Statesmen spawn,
And Infant limbs beswaddled in the Lawn;
While honest Boyle, too impotent for Place,
Sets, in meridian glory of Disgrace:
Nor all the patriot music of Malone
Can charm a Court, like Sackville, or like Stone;
Blest Twins of State! whom love and pow'r conjoin,
Like Leda's offspring, made by Jove divine;
Fix'd in Hibernia's hemisphere to rule,
And shed your influence o'er each Knave and Fool.
And Infant limbs beswaddled in the Lawn;
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Sets, in meridian glory of Disgrace:
Nor all the patriot music of Malone
Can charm a Court, like Sackville, or like Stone;
Blest Twins of State! whom love and pow'r conjoin,
Like Leda's offspring, made by Jove divine;
Fix'd in Hibernia's hemisphere to rule,
And shed your influence o'er each Knave and Fool.
Whilst the sad summons of the Mortar's knell
The rival deeds of each Diploma tell;
And Death's increasing muster-rolls declare,
That Health and Thompson are no longer here;
How shall the Muse this salutation send?
What place enjoys Thee? or what happier Friend?
Say, if in Eastbury's majestic towers,
Or wrapt in Ashley's amarantine bowers,
By Friendship favour'd, and unaw'd by State,
You barter Science with the Wise and Great;
O'er Pelham's Politics in judgment sit,
Reform the Laws of Nations, or of Wit;
With Attic zest enrich the social bowl,
Crack joke on joke, and mingle soul with soul;
On Laughter's wanton wing now frolic sport,
Nor envy Fox the closet of a Court.
The rival deeds of each Diploma tell;
And Death's increasing muster-rolls declare,
That Health and Thompson are no longer here;
How shall the Muse this salutation send?
What place enjoys Thee? or what happier Friend?
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Or wrapt in Ashley's amarantine bowers,
By Friendship favour'd, and unaw'd by State,
You barter Science with the Wise and Great;
O'er Pelham's Politics in judgment sit,
Reform the Laws of Nations, or of Wit;
With Attic zest enrich the social bowl,
Crack joke on joke, and mingle soul with soul;
On Laughter's wanton wing now frolic sport,
Nor envy Fox the closet of a Court.
Lost in this darling luxury of Ease,
Alike regardless both of Fame and Fees,
“Let Shaw (you cry) o'er Physic sov'reign reign,
“Or W** boast his hecatombs of slain:
“Be mine, to stay some Friend's departing breath,
“And Child's may take the Drudgery of Death.”
Alike regardless both of Fame and Fees,
“Let Shaw (you cry) o'er Physic sov'reign reign,
“Or W** boast his hecatombs of slain:
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“And Child's may take the Drudgery of Death.”
Yet, Thompson! say (whose gift it is to save,
Make Sickness smile, and rescue from the grave)
Say, to what end this healing pow'r was meant?
Nor hide the talent, which by Heav'n is lent.
Tho' Envy all her hissing serpents raise,
And join with harpy Fraud to blast thy bays;
Shall wan Disease in vain demand thy skill,
While Health but waits the summons of your quill?
Shall Egypt's Plague the Virgin cheek invade,
And Beauty's wreck not win Thee to its aid?
O! stretch a saving hand, and let the Fair
Owe all her future triumphs to thy care;
Resume the Pen! and be Thyself, once more,
What Ratcliff, Friend, and Syd'nham were before.
Make Sickness smile, and rescue from the grave)
Say, to what end this healing pow'r was meant?
Nor hide the talent, which by Heav'n is lent.
Tho' Envy all her hissing serpents raise,
And join with harpy Fraud to blast thy bays;
Shall wan Disease in vain demand thy skill,
While Health but waits the summons of your quill?
Shall Egypt's Plague the Virgin cheek invade,
And Beauty's wreck not win Thee to its aid?
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Owe all her future triumphs to thy care;
Resume the Pen! and be Thyself, once more,
What Ratcliff, Friend, and Syd'nham were before.
Yet, when reviving Patients set you free,
Let Vaughan yield one social hour to me.
Come then, my Friend! if Friendship's name can woo,
Come! bring me all I want, that all in You.
If rural scenes have still the pow'r to please,
Flocks, vallies, hills, streams, villas, cots, and trees;
Here all in one harmonious prospect blend,
And landscapes rise, scarce Lambert's art can mend.
Let Vaughan yield one social hour to me.
Come then, my Friend! if Friendship's name can woo,
Come! bring me all I want, that all in You.
If rural scenes have still the pow'r to please,
Flocks, vallies, hills, streams, villas, cots, and trees;
Here all in one harmonious prospect blend,
And landscapes rise, scarce Lambert's art can mend.
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Thames, made immortal by her Denham's strains,
Meand'ring glides thro' Twick'nham's flow'ry plains;
While Royal Richmond's cloud-aspiring wood
Pours all its pendent pomp upon the flood.
By Rome's proud dames let storied Tiber flow,
And all Palladio grace the banks of Po;
Here Nature's charms in purer lustre rise,
Nor seek from wanton Art her vain supplies.
Meand'ring glides thro' Twick'nham's flow'ry plains;
While Royal Richmond's cloud-aspiring wood
Pours all its pendent pomp upon the flood.
By Rome's proud dames let storied Tiber flow,
And all Palladio grace the banks of Po;
Here Nature's charms in purer lustre rise,
Nor seek from wanton Art her vain supplies.
Lo! Windsor, rev'rend in a length of years,
Like Cybele, her tow'r-crown'd summit rears;
And Hampton's turrets, with majestic pride,
Reflect their glories in the passing tide:
There British Henries gave to Gallia law;
Here bloom'd the laurels of a great Nassau.
O! could these scenes one Monarch more but please,
No frozen climates, no tempestuous seas,
For Brunswick's weal alarming fears should bring,
Nor Britain envy meaner Courts her King.
Like Cybele, her tow'r-crown'd summit rears;
And Hampton's turrets, with majestic pride,
Reflect their glories in the passing tide:
There British Henries gave to Gallia law;
Here bloom'd the laurels of a great Nassau.
O! could these scenes one Monarch more but please,
No frozen climates, no tempestuous seas,
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Nor Britain envy meaner Courts her King.
Here Campbell's varied shades with wonder see,
Like Heav'n's own Eden, stor'd with every tree;
Each plant with plant in verdant glory vies;
High-tow'ring pines, like Titans, scale the skies;
And Lebanon's rich groves on Hounslow's deserts rise.
Like Heav'n's own Eden, stor'd with every tree;
Each plant with plant in verdant glory vies;
High-tow'ring pines, like Titans, scale the skies;
And Lebanon's rich groves on Hounslow's deserts rise.
But chief—with awful step, O! let us stray,
Where Britain's Orpheus tun'd his sacred lay,
Whose Grove enchanted from his numbers grew,
And proves, what once was fabled, now is true.
Here oft the Bard with Arbuthnot retir'd;
Here flow'd the verse his Healing Art inspir'd:
Alike thy merit like thy fame should rise,
Could Friendship give, what feeble Art denies:
Tho' Pope's immortal verse the Gods refuse,
Accept this off'ring from an humbler Muse.
Weak tho' her flight, yet honest still her strain,
And what no Minister could ever gain;
Pleas'd if the grateful tribute of her song,
Thy merit, Thompson! shall one day prolong.
Where Britain's Orpheus tun'd his sacred lay,
Whose Grove enchanted from his numbers grew,
And proves, what once was fabled, now is true.
Here oft the Bard with Arbuthnot retir'd;
Here flow'd the verse his Healing Art inspir'd:
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Could Friendship give, what feeble Art denies:
Tho' Pope's immortal verse the Gods refuse,
Accept this off'ring from an humbler Muse.
Weak tho' her flight, yet honest still her strain,
And what no Minister could ever gain;
Pleas'd if the grateful tribute of her song,
Thy merit, Thompson! shall one day prolong.
In marshal'd Slaves let hungry Princes trade,
And Britain's bullion bribe their venal aid;
Let brave Boscawen trophied honours gain,
And Anson wield the Trident of the Main.
Safe, in the harbour of my Twick'nam bower,
From all the wrecks of State, or storms of Power;
No Wreaths I court, no Subsidies I claim,
Too rich for want, too indolent for fame.
Whilst here with Vice a bloodless war I wage,
Or lash the follies of a trifling age,
Each gay-plum'd Hour, upon its downy wings,
The Hybla freight of rich Contentment brings;
Health, rosy handmaid, at my table waits,
And halcyon Peace broods watchful o'er my gates.
And Britain's bullion bribe their venal aid;
Let brave Boscawen trophied honours gain,
And Anson wield the Trident of the Main.
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From all the wrecks of State, or storms of Power;
No Wreaths I court, no Subsidies I claim,
Too rich for want, too indolent for fame.
Whilst here with Vice a bloodless war I wage,
Or lash the follies of a trifling age,
Each gay-plum'd Hour, upon its downy wings,
The Hybla freight of rich Contentment brings;
Health, rosy handmaid, at my table waits,
And halcyon Peace broods watchful o'er my gates.
Here oft, on Contemplation's pinion bore,
To Heav'n I mount, and Nature's works explore;
Or, led by Reason's intellectual clue,
Thro' Error's maze, Truth's secret steps pursue;
View ages past in Story's mirror shown,
And make Time's mould'ring treasures all my own;
Or here the Muse now steals me from the throng,
And wraps me in th' enchantment of her song.
To Heav'n I mount, and Nature's works explore;
Or, led by Reason's intellectual clue,
Thro' Error's maze, Truth's secret steps pursue;
134
And make Time's mould'ring treasures all my own;
Or here the Muse now steals me from the throng,
And wraps me in th' enchantment of her song.
Thus flow, and thus for ever flow! my days,
Unaw'd by Censure, or unbrib'd by Praise;
No friend to Faction, and no dupe to Zeal;
Foe to all party, but the Public Weal.
Why then, from every venal bondage free,
Courts have no glitt'ring shackles left for me:
My reasons, Thompson! prithee ask no more;
Take them, as Oxford's Flaccus sung before.
Unaw'd by Censure, or unbrib'd by Praise;
No friend to Faction, and no dupe to Zeal;
Foe to all party, but the Public Weal.
Why then, from every venal bondage free,
Courts have no glitt'ring shackles left for me:
My reasons, Thompson! prithee ask no more;
Take them, as Oxford's Flaccus sung before.
“My ease and freedom if for aught I vend,
“Would not you cry, To Bedlam, Bedlam, Friend!
“But to speak out—shall what could ne'er engage
“My frailer youth, now captivate in age?
“What cares can vex, what terrors frightful be,
“To him whose shield is hoary Sixty-three?
“When life itself so little worth appears,
“That Ministers can give no hopes, or fears;
“Altho' grown grey within my humbler gate,
“I ne'er kiss'd Hands, or trod the rooms of State;
“Yet not unhonour'd have I liv'd, and blest
“With rich convenience, careless of the rest;
“What boon more grateful can the Gods bestow
“On those avow'd their favourite sons below?”
“Would not you cry, To Bedlam, Bedlam, Friend!
“But to speak out—shall what could ne'er engage
“My frailer youth, now captivate in age?
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“To him whose shield is hoary Sixty-three?
“When life itself so little worth appears,
“That Ministers can give no hopes, or fears;
“Altho' grown grey within my humbler gate,
“I ne'er kiss'd Hands, or trod the rooms of State;
“Yet not unhonour'd have I liv'd, and blest
“With rich convenience, careless of the rest;
“What boon more grateful can the Gods bestow
“On those avow'd their favourite sons below?”
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THE END.
| The Poems and Miscellaneous Compositions of Paul Whitehead | |