Ball room votaries or, Canterbury and its vicinity. Second Edition, with considerable alterations and additions [by Edward Quillinan] |
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But whence proceeds that distant bustle now?
A Ramsgate party entering I vow!
A Ramsgate party entering I vow!
The wedded consort of a Prince's bed,
The gen'rous S*ss*x enters at their head;
That chaste, that honour'd and majestic dame,
Who at heav'n's gate her lofty right may claim;
That widow'd wife whom tyrant law deprives
Of spousal love, although her spouse survives;
That tender mother who delights to trace
In her dear pledge the lines of princely grace,
Hang in soft fondness o'er her only joy,
And dwell in rapture on her Royal boy.
The gen'rous S*ss*x enters at their head;
That chaste, that honour'd and majestic dame,
Who at heav'n's gate her lofty right may claim;
That widow'd wife whom tyrant law deprives
Of spousal love, although her spouse survives;
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In her dear pledge the lines of princely grace,
Hang in soft fondness o'er her only joy,
And dwell in rapture on her Royal boy.
Much treasur'd scion of a noble tree!
Her hopes, her fears, are all awake for thee!
For thee alone her cup of bliss tastes pure,
And the cup sweetens as thy years mature.
Her hopes, her fears, are all awake for thee!
For thee alone her cup of bliss tastes pure,
And the cup sweetens as thy years mature.
And thou, the guardian of a darling trust!
Wouldst thou be firm, and in affection just,
And wouldst thou see thy manly offspring rise
The proudest object of admiring eyes,
Seek a wise man his talents to expand,
And till with labour'd care the fertile land;
With erudition feed his youthful mind,
And let his genius be in taste enshrin'd.
The fond attentions of maternal help
Must nurse with gen'rous food the Lion's whelp;
So shall her right be royal not in vain,
And strength adorn the youthful Lion's mane.
Wouldst thou be firm, and in affection just,
And wouldst thou see thy manly offspring rise
The proudest object of admiring eyes,
Seek a wise man his talents to expand,
And till with labour'd care the fertile land;
With erudition feed his youthful mind,
And let his genius be in taste enshrin'd.
The fond attentions of maternal help
Must nurse with gen'rous food the Lion's whelp;
So shall her right be royal not in vain,
And strength adorn the youthful Lion's mane.
Let not false kindness, with destructive blight,
Enfeeble talent till exhausted quite;
Lop the vain branches of the sapling root,
'Twill stronger grow, and more luxuriant shoot;
And give at length a thick and grateful shade,
Where thou shalt sit beneath, thy glorious care repaid.
Enfeeble talent till exhausted quite;
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'Twill stronger grow, and more luxuriant shoot;
And give at length a thick and grateful shade,
Where thou shalt sit beneath, thy glorious care repaid.
The avenue to royalty is barr'd
By hand that knows not blame, though harsh and hard,
By the cold hand of stern despotic law,
Which even monarchs contemplate with awe:
Then let him follow the enchantress Fame
Through other paths, and wreath with her's his name.
Let him the bold and beauteous form pursue
Through learning's maze, and study be his clue.
By hand that knows not blame, though harsh and hard,
By the cold hand of stern despotic law,
Which even monarchs contemplate with awe:
Then let him follow the enchantress Fame
Through other paths, and wreath with her's his name.
Let him the bold and beauteous form pursue
Through learning's maze, and study be his clue.
And if the youth the arms of war would wield,
Let him rush forward to th'embattled field,
Embrace her offer'd charms on glory's plain,
And lead through laurel land the warrior train;
But give him first the gorgeous mental fare
The fruit of finish'd education's care,
His soul to arm, his valour to prepare.
Let him rush forward to th'embattled field,
Embrace her offer'd charms on glory's plain,
And lead through laurel land the warrior train;
But give him first the gorgeous mental fare
The fruit of finish'd education's care,
His soul to arm, his valour to prepare.
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So shall his sword like lightning dart along,
With ev'n more skill than now he smacks the thong.
Or if the senate's pride seduce his soul,
Pursue the object, nor the will controul;
Make him an orator—of what avail
Are great ideas if expression fail?
Teach argument attention's ear to please,
Blend force with wit, and dignity with ease;
The voice of reas'ning must call forth his fire,
Or quickly will the patriot spark expire;
Oh nurse that embryo spark within his breast,
And it shall one day blazon forth confess'd;
So shall thine offspring in the senate shine,
And add a lustre to the Brunswick line;
So shall he better hold the state's strong reins,
Than now his little chariot's he retains,
And thou, enraptur'd, shalt exclaim with truth,
'Twas I, his mother, train'd the royal youth:
While Britons hail him with deserv'd applause,
Noble and worthy of the royal cause;
And shout that mother's praise, that guardian's wit,
That form'd of princely mould a second Pitt.
With ev'n more skill than now he smacks the thong.
Or if the senate's pride seduce his soul,
Pursue the object, nor the will controul;
Make him an orator—of what avail
Are great ideas if expression fail?
Teach argument attention's ear to please,
Blend force with wit, and dignity with ease;
The voice of reas'ning must call forth his fire,
Or quickly will the patriot spark expire;
Oh nurse that embryo spark within his breast,
And it shall one day blazon forth confess'd;
So shall thine offspring in the senate shine,
And add a lustre to the Brunswick line;
So shall he better hold the state's strong reins,
Than now his little chariot's he retains,
And thou, enraptur'd, shalt exclaim with truth,
'Twas I, his mother, train'd the royal youth:
While Britons hail him with deserv'd applause,
Noble and worthy of the royal cause;
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That form'd of princely mould a second Pitt.
Lamented Pitt! whose mind shone forth awhile
The star, the glory of Britannia's isle—
Who long presiding at the nation's helm,
When ruin threaten'd all to overwhelm,
Still struggled with the tempest's threat'ning force,
Unconquer'd struggled, and maintain'd thy course,
Saw empires round thee to confusion hurl'd,
Yet sav'd thy country mid the shipwreck'd world.
The star, the glory of Britannia's isle—
Who long presiding at the nation's helm,
When ruin threaten'd all to overwhelm,
Still struggled with the tempest's threat'ning force,
Unconquer'd struggled, and maintain'd thy course,
Saw empires round thee to confusion hurl'd,
Yet sav'd thy country mid the shipwreck'd world.
How soon, alas! thy labours past forgot,
Neglected, left to moulder and to rot;
To all thy wants in life no notice paid,
In death reviled thy venerable shade;
Unnoticed by the public and the throne,
And all they gave thee was a sculptur'd stone:
Ev'n this was envied, scarcely held thy due
By that ephemeral parsimonious crew,
Whose little malice would thy plans oppose,
Their country injure, and support thy foes;
By that litigious contumacious throng,
Who always bray'd the minister was wrong;
Unless he'd yield to their fantastic schemes,
A Fox's ravings, and a Windham's dreams.
Neglected, left to moulder and to rot;
To all thy wants in life no notice paid,
In death reviled thy venerable shade;
Unnoticed by the public and the throne,
And all they gave thee was a sculptur'd stone:
Ev'n this was envied, scarcely held thy due
By that ephemeral parsimonious crew,
Whose little malice would thy plans oppose,
Their country injure, and support thy foes;
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Who always bray'd the minister was wrong;
Unless he'd yield to their fantastic schemes,
A Fox's ravings, and a Windham's dreams.
And oh! shall it be said to Britons' shame,
Sunk in the tomb they still insult thy name!
But envy's rage his virtues shall defy,
The fame of Pitt was never doom'd to die.
No, long as upright patriots' breasts shall glow
With country's love and England have a foe;
Long as around the British Isle shall roar
Vast ocean's billows, and protect her shore;
Long as the planets in their orbs shall run,
So long shall last thy fame, O Chatham's son.
Sunk in the tomb they still insult thy name!
But envy's rage his virtues shall defy,
The fame of Pitt was never doom'd to die.
No, long as upright patriots' breasts shall glow
With country's love and England have a foe;
Long as around the British Isle shall roar
Vast ocean's billows, and protect her shore;
Long as the planets in their orbs shall run,
So long shall last thy fame, O Chatham's son.
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