The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse (1735-1820): Edited by the Rev. R. I. Woodhouse |
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CHAPTER 10th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
Here let my Muse the duteous tasks describe
This Bardling bore amongst that haughty Tribe;
The toils—cares—pains, and woes, he underwent,
To earn small comfort, and yield less content.
For tho', with anxious toil, he, daily, strove
To foster Friendship, and conciliate Love;
Kindness to get, or confidence to gain;
Yet every virtuous effort prov'd in vain.
This Bardling bore amongst that haughty Tribe;
The toils—cares—pains, and woes, he underwent,
To earn small comfort, and yield less content.
For tho', with anxious toil, he, daily, strove
To foster Friendship, and conciliate Love;
Kindness to get, or confidence to gain;
Yet every virtuous effort prov'd in vain.
179
His Patroness, too, like a wayward Child,
Whom prompt indulgence and endeavour, spoil'd;
Whose light artillery of Wit, and Whim,
And Pride and Petulance aim'd most at Him;
While from sly quiver of her subtle craft,
His wounded Spirit felt full many a shaft.
Whom prompt indulgence and endeavour, spoil'd;
Whose light artillery of Wit, and Whim,
And Pride and Petulance aim'd most at Him;
While from sly quiver of her subtle craft,
His wounded Spirit felt full many a shaft.
But grim Suspicion was her greatest Foe,
And bore most heavily on all below;
Which, join'd with Jealousy became her curse,
Set like twin Sentries, to protect her purse,
With every article procur'd by coin,
Fire, food, and clothing, with all shew and shine;
Pimping, with all mean Pow'rs of Wit, and Art,
Lest some low Culprit should purloin a part.
And bore most heavily on all below;
Which, join'd with Jealousy became her curse,
Set like twin Sentries, to protect her purse,
With every article procur'd by coin,
Fire, food, and clothing, with all shew and shine;
Pimping, with all mean Pow'rs of Wit, and Art,
Lest some low Culprit should purloin a part.
Crispinus was compell'd, with blushing face,
To see her publish, daily, self-disgrace—
To hear her Mind's deluding, maddening, dreams,
Or act a part in plotting, cruel, schemes—
Contemptible, but cunning—basely sly—
Crimes to detect, or characters destroy.
To see her publish, daily, self-disgrace—
To hear her Mind's deluding, maddening, dreams,
Or act a part in plotting, cruel, schemes—
Contemptible, but cunning—basely sly—
Crimes to detect, or characters destroy.
She play'd, besides, unnumber'd paltry tricks,
In the quaint Science of Economics—
Quaint, in her Codes—which, in true Wisdom's found
Are prudent—proper—solid—safe—and sound.
In the quaint Science of Economics—
Quaint, in her Codes—which, in true Wisdom's found
Are prudent—proper—solid—safe—and sound.
Wisdom ne'er makes true Policy her Tool
To stablish harsh, unreasonable rule—
Ne'er feeds her Families with starving treat
That Pimps, and Flatterers may profusely eat.
Ne'er wraps, with paltry rags, the parts unseen,
That proud exteriors may outstrip the Queen.
Nor e'er forbad sufficient fires to blaze
To furnish glaring flames on gaudier days.
To stablish harsh, unreasonable rule—
Ne'er feeds her Families with starving treat
That Pimps, and Flatterers may profusely eat.
Ne'er wraps, with paltry rags, the parts unseen,
That proud exteriors may outstrip the Queen.
Nor e'er forbad sufficient fires to blaze
To furnish glaring flames on gaudier days.
Such were the plans pursued in restless rounds,
Accumulating pence, to squander pounds.
Inferior Vassals pinch'd, or, sparing, fed,
On musty butter, and on mouldy bread;
Compell'd to squeeze a part from Salary small,
To silence noisey Nature's clamorous call:
For they whose fobs are not full-gorg'd with guineas,
Must live like gudgeons—loaches—sprats—and minnies,
Compar'd with pikes, and dolphins; sharks, and whales;
Which murder millions with their teeth, and tails—
Or swallow hundreds at a single gulp,
As Men would mack'rels' roes or peaches' pulp—
Nor matter liberties—or limbs—or lives,
More than when hungry Bears besiege bee-hives—
But irritated bees, tho' small, sometimes
Make despot Bears repent their cruel crimes,
And loudly bellow, pinch'd with pungent smarts,
By fixing poison'd stings in tenderest parts.
Accumulating pence, to squander pounds.
Inferior Vassals pinch'd, or, sparing, fed,
On musty butter, and on mouldy bread;
Compell'd to squeeze a part from Salary small,
To silence noisey Nature's clamorous call:
For they whose fobs are not full-gorg'd with guineas,
Must live like gudgeons—loaches—sprats—and minnies,
Compar'd with pikes, and dolphins; sharks, and whales;
Which murder millions with their teeth, and tails—
Or swallow hundreds at a single gulp,
As Men would mack'rels' roes or peaches' pulp—
Nor matter liberties—or limbs—or lives,
More than when hungry Bears besiege bee-hives—
But irritated bees, tho' small, sometimes
Make despot Bears repent their cruel crimes,
And loudly bellow, pinch'd with pungent smarts,
By fixing poison'd stings in tenderest parts.
This was the general, tho' injurious, plan,
Which, thro' her mean domestic measures, ran,
Except when Fashion sent her cards, and scouts,
For Dinners—Readings—Concerts—Balls—and Routs.
Then Pride would whisper Prudence to relax,
That Vanity might levy larger tax—
For haughty Ostentation rul'd the roasts,
When Luxury rais'd her quick-recruited Hosts;
Nor fear'd Profusion, or the hurt of Health,
When entertaining Taste—and Wit—and Wealth;
But Fancy put in force her fullest pow'rs,
To catch vain Honours those convivial hours—
On all occasions fishing still for Fame,
And laying snares to seize the smallest Game;
Or spread Applause's fire, from feeblest sparks,
Struck by a Tradesman's tongue, or Office-Clerk's.
Which, thro' her mean domestic measures, ran,
Except when Fashion sent her cards, and scouts,
For Dinners—Readings—Concerts—Balls—and Routs.
Then Pride would whisper Prudence to relax,
That Vanity might levy larger tax—
For haughty Ostentation rul'd the roasts,
When Luxury rais'd her quick-recruited Hosts;
Nor fear'd Profusion, or the hurt of Health,
When entertaining Taste—and Wit—and Wealth;
But Fancy put in force her fullest pow'rs,
To catch vain Honours those convivial hours—
On all occasions fishing still for Fame,
And laying snares to seize the smallest Game;
Or spread Applause's fire, from feeblest sparks,
Struck by a Tradesman's tongue, or Office-Clerk's.
Full fifty wax-lights round her Temple shin'd,
When 'mid gay worshippers, the Goddess din'd;
And twice ten more, at Routs, full radiance shed—
When Mara warbled—and when Texier read.
About the glittering gates, and dazzling door,
Six brilliant lamps held high their blazing store,
Unqualified, thro' sordid scents, to shine
Near nostrils of assemblies so divine!
Within the walls, pure patent burners, bright,
Like lesser Suns, display'd superior light,
Which, free from nauseous vapours, beams dispense,
Lest Goddesses and Gods might find offence.
Subordinate to both bright lights, and lamps,
Fierce coak-fires burnt, to dissipate the damps,
Each mass so monstrous, so intense the glow,
They rais'd sad thoughts about fierce fires below;
And while foul fumes appress'd their panting breath,
All nearly died with dread from fear of Death!
These constellations tallow-lights enlarg'd,
But far from Presence-chambers all discharg'd;
For such celestial Beings breathing there,
Such sights and smells could not be borne so near—
Deem'd like the common broods of Man, too base,
To fill, or live in, ought but servile place;
With Slaves, like their's, fit, only, to be found
In rooms, remote, or stinking under ground.
When 'mid gay worshippers, the Goddess din'd;
And twice ten more, at Routs, full radiance shed—
When Mara warbled—and when Texier read.
About the glittering gates, and dazzling door,
Six brilliant lamps held high their blazing store,
Unqualified, thro' sordid scents, to shine
Near nostrils of assemblies so divine!
Within the walls, pure patent burners, bright,
Like lesser Suns, display'd superior light,
Which, free from nauseous vapours, beams dispense,
Lest Goddesses and Gods might find offence.
Subordinate to both bright lights, and lamps,
Fierce coak-fires burnt, to dissipate the damps,
Each mass so monstrous, so intense the glow,
They rais'd sad thoughts about fierce fires below;
And while foul fumes appress'd their panting breath,
All nearly died with dread from fear of Death!
These constellations tallow-lights enlarg'd,
But far from Presence-chambers all discharg'd;
For such celestial Beings breathing there,
Such sights and smells could not be borne so near—
Deem'd like the common broods of Man, too base,
To fill, or live in, ought but servile place;
With Slaves, like their's, fit, only, to be found
In rooms, remote, or stinking under ground.
180
Such, soon, alas! must be, alike, the lot
Of those that haunt the Hall, or crowd the Cot!
This, tho' believ'd by habitants of both,
To entertain that truth alike are loth.
But Death, dire Monster! merciless, and rude,
In each retirement will, ere long, obtrude,
To put out all their lights, with breath abrupt,
And leave their Frames, in caverns, to corrupt!
Meanwhile, should Pomp, as punishment for crimes,
Be doom'd, in future day, to read these Rhymes;
Or blundering Dupe, unwittingly, rehearse,
In courtly ears, such saws, and vulgar Verse;
They'll find no fragrant wax, or softening oil,
To greet their Senses, or their Souls beguile;
But lights, offensive, starting every turn,
Discovering rules cold Conscience loaths to learn:
Like tallow candles tainting every strain;
Tho' grease begone still mawkish snuffs remain.
Of those that haunt the Hall, or crowd the Cot!
This, tho' believ'd by habitants of both,
To entertain that truth alike are loth.
But Death, dire Monster! merciless, and rude,
In each retirement will, ere long, obtrude,
To put out all their lights, with breath abrupt,
And leave their Frames, in caverns, to corrupt!
Meanwhile, should Pomp, as punishment for crimes,
Be doom'd, in future day, to read these Rhymes;
Or blundering Dupe, unwittingly, rehearse,
In courtly ears, such saws, and vulgar Verse;
They'll find no fragrant wax, or softening oil,
To greet their Senses, or their Souls beguile;
But lights, offensive, starting every turn,
Discovering rules cold Conscience loaths to learn:
Like tallow candles tainting every strain;
Tho' grease begone still mawkish snuffs remain.
On calls, like these, so blissful! so sublime!
Economy itself became a crime;
And Prudence hardly for her cause complain'd
While these blest paroxysms thus blithely reign'd
Ev'n Sunday-schools, and Chimney-sweeper-show,
And more low Clients must fair claims forego,
Till costly Concert, and superfluous Feast,
With childish Rout, and cheerless Reading ceas'd,
Economy itself became a crime;
And Prudence hardly for her cause complain'd
While these blest paroxysms thus blithely reign'd
Ev'n Sunday-schools, and Chimney-sweeper-show,
And more low Clients must fair claims forego,
Till costly Concert, and superfluous Feast,
With childish Rout, and cheerless Reading ceas'd,
Alas! what foolish Wit, what frantic waste,
In trite Amusements fly, and foppish Taste!
Each idle Rout's expence in sport, and spoil,
Might rescue some sad Wretch from durance vile—
Relieve some Family from sore distress—
Some Widow cherish, or some Orphan bless—
And bring, from Heav'n, much brighter blessings down,
Than flattering compliments from all the Town!
Returning interest, for such gracious gold,
In Heav'n's unfailing funds an hundred fold;
And Conscience, oft, confer more rapturing meed,
When Memory marks, again, each godlike deed!
In trite Amusements fly, and foppish Taste!
Each idle Rout's expence in sport, and spoil,
Might rescue some sad Wretch from durance vile—
Relieve some Family from sore distress—
Some Widow cherish, or some Orphan bless—
And bring, from Heav'n, much brighter blessings down,
Than flattering compliments from all the Town!
Returning interest, for such gracious gold,
In Heav'n's unfailing funds an hundred fold;
And Conscience, oft, confer more rapturing meed,
When Memory marks, again, each godlike deed!
But how can Memory 'mid such proud Expence,
Yield satisfaction, e'en, for Common-Sense;
Or Conscience frequent Consolation find,
Among the filth such Follies leave behind!
Will Memory furnish, at each fresh review,
Some pious speech, or moral maxim, new?
Will fond Reflexion, still transported, run
O'er kind, disinterested, actions done?
Or Conscience, when she counts the wanton Cost,
Not mourn o'er Time, Wealth, Talents, worse than lost!
Yield satisfaction, e'en, for Common-Sense;
Or Conscience frequent Consolation find,
Among the filth such Follies leave behind!
Will Memory furnish, at each fresh review,
Some pious speech, or moral maxim, new?
Will fond Reflexion, still transported, run
O'er kind, disinterested, actions done?
Or Conscience, when she counts the wanton Cost,
Not mourn o'er Time, Wealth, Talents, worse than lost!
The cost of Texier's short dramatic treat
Might yield some Starveling, monthly Winter's meat;
While his weak efforts can alone relieve
A few Dupe's fancies one dull wintery Eve;
Yet more, for that Night's nonsense monies clear,
Than labouring Hind can earn thro' half the Year;
Without a waste of Strength, or wear of Tools,
In gratifying groups of gaping Fools!
Might yield some Starveling, monthly Winter's meat;
While his weak efforts can alone relieve
A few Dupe's fancies one dull wintery Eve;
Yet more, for that Night's nonsense monies clear,
Than labouring Hind can earn thro' half the Year;
Without a waste of Strength, or wear of Tools,
In gratifying groups of gaping Fools!
How would their bosoms beat—their eyes o'erflow—
While he rehears'd imaginary woe.
Each rapt with extacy, weeps, faints, or dies,
To hear an apish Proteus trolling Lies.
With time—attention—guineas—eager, part,
To feel mere mimicry o'erwhelm the heart;
Yet never seek for scenes of real grief,
Nor give one groat to yield a Wretch relief!
While he rehears'd imaginary woe.
Each rapt with extacy, weeps, faints, or dies,
To hear an apish Proteus trolling Lies.
With time—attention—guineas—eager, part,
To feel mere mimicry o'erwhelm the heart;
Yet never seek for scenes of real grief,
Nor give one groat to yield a Wretch relief!
If Pity such transporting pleasure yields,
Let them explore the thinly-peopled Fields;
Or search the City's or the Borough's, bounds,
For Misery's melancholy sights, and sounds;
In Garrets—Hovels—Cellars', filthy Cells,
With Want, and Woe—Pain—Sorrow—Sickness—dwells—
There might their sympathizing Spirits, find
Complete amusement for each pitying Mind—
Or Huts, and Hamlets, plenty more supply,
Of pining Subjects for such pensive joy.
Let them explore the thinly-peopled Fields;
Or search the City's or the Borough's, bounds,
For Misery's melancholy sights, and sounds;
In Garrets—Hovels—Cellars', filthy Cells,
With Want, and Woe—Pain—Sorrow—Sickness—dwells—
There might their sympathizing Spirits, find
Complete amusement for each pitying Mind—
Or Huts, and Hamlets, plenty more supply,
Of pining Subjects for such pensive joy.
If mournful Meditation loves to live,
On strongest traits of natural Narrative—
If silent Sympathy would wish to know
Where it may ponder every pain and woe—
A Father—Friend—and Brother, may be found
Who felt each poignant pain from woe and wound!
A Prince—of perfect innocence—and yet
In whom all punishments and miseries met!
Let them the Gospel's gracious truths attend,
The Saviour's blameless Life, and bleeding End!
There, with propriety, their eyes might pour,
As conscious Criminals, incessant show'r!
And while their lids effus'd the copious flood,
Their bosoms ought to burst with streams of blood!
Not looking on with cold, unfeeling, phlegm,
But mourn like those who know He bled for Them!
No! They, unconscious of their deadly debt,
That Saviour—yes, their sovereign God forget!
With dissipation, wild, indulge each whim
And sacrifice to Sense instead of Him!
Unconscious of their weakness, crimes, and curse,
Judge their own Virtues rise the full reverse—
And, when Friends' foibles—frailties—faults—are shown,
Condemn them—but remember not their own!
They fondly sigh, or swoon, o'er fictious pains,
Or fancied sorrows, told in plaintive strains,
Yet while They weep o'er sinful, silly, Elves,
Deserving death, and misery, like Themselves,
That history with indifference read, or hear
Without one plaintive tone, or pitying tear;
Tho' for their countless crimes, and impious pride,
He sigh'd—and groan'd—and wept—and bled—and died!
On strongest traits of natural Narrative—
If silent Sympathy would wish to know
Where it may ponder every pain and woe—
A Father—Friend—and Brother, may be found
Who felt each poignant pain from woe and wound!
A Prince—of perfect innocence—and yet
In whom all punishments and miseries met!
Let them the Gospel's gracious truths attend,
The Saviour's blameless Life, and bleeding End!
There, with propriety, their eyes might pour,
As conscious Criminals, incessant show'r!
And while their lids effus'd the copious flood,
Their bosoms ought to burst with streams of blood!
Not looking on with cold, unfeeling, phlegm,
But mourn like those who know He bled for Them!
No! They, unconscious of their deadly debt,
181
With dissipation, wild, indulge each whim
And sacrifice to Sense instead of Him!
Unconscious of their weakness, crimes, and curse,
Judge their own Virtues rise the full reverse—
And, when Friends' foibles—frailties—faults—are shown,
Condemn them—but remember not their own!
They fondly sigh, or swoon, o'er fictious pains,
Or fancied sorrows, told in plaintive strains,
Yet while They weep o'er sinful, silly, Elves,
Deserving death, and misery, like Themselves,
That history with indifference read, or hear
Without one plaintive tone, or pitying tear;
Tho' for their countless crimes, and impious pride,
He sigh'd—and groan'd—and wept—and bled—and died!
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CHAPTER 10th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |