 | Churchill defended, a poem |  |
Ye gen'rous Public, is it not unjust
That Churchill is accus'd of Rapine's Lust,
Merely of seeking undeserved Gold,
Because, forsooth, his precious Works are sold?
Let us from Aldgate move to Temple-Bar;
Is there a Drayman, one who drives a Car,
Is there a Cobler in his humble Stall,
Plodding with Last, with Bristles, and with Awl;
Is there a simpering Merchant in our Way,
Who gives us Bows, and bites from Day to Day,
Whom ever we reproach because they're paid
For plying their inferior pimping Trade?
How then can bount'ous Englishmen refuse
A proper Premium to a generous Muse?
Is not the Man deserving a Support
Who'd not take Millions from a tainted Court?
For writing Nonsense hath not Hume Reward?
How can we then refuse it to a Bard?
That Churchill is accus'd of Rapine's Lust,
Merely of seeking undeserved Gold,
Because, forsooth, his precious Works are sold?
Let us from Aldgate move to Temple-Bar;
Is there a Drayman, one who drives a Car,
Is there a Cobler in his humble Stall,
Plodding with Last, with Bristles, and with Awl;
Is there a simpering Merchant in our Way,
Who gives us Bows, and bites from Day to Day,
17
For plying their inferior pimping Trade?
How then can bount'ous Englishmen refuse
A proper Premium to a generous Muse?
Is not the Man deserving a Support
Who'd not take Millions from a tainted Court?
For writing Nonsense hath not Hume Reward?
How can we then refuse it to a Bard?
Thou, who to latest Times art doom'd to live,
The hardy Tribute of my Muse forgive,
Who just from Trouble struggling to get free,
The Theme of her Exertion chuses thee!
Justice to Greatness here is only meant,
Tho' bold her Effort, gen'rous her Intent.
The hardy Tribute of my Muse forgive,
Who just from Trouble struggling to get free,
The Theme of her Exertion chuses thee!
Justice to Greatness here is only meant,
Tho' bold her Effort, gen'rous her Intent.
Sure this World's Limits cannot be the Goal
Of our aspiring, immaterial Soul,
So often in her best Endeavours blind,
So oft repell'd by Heaven's almighty Mind.
And must I then thy Exit now deplore?
I'm told this Moment—Churchill is no more!
Whither is England's Guardian Angel fled?
Her Wilkes is outlaw'd, and her Churchill dead!
Ill-fated Friends!—no further must I go,
Words are but Mock'ry of my pungent Woe.
Of our aspiring, immaterial Soul,
So often in her best Endeavours blind,
So oft repell'd by Heaven's almighty Mind.
And must I then thy Exit now deplore?
I'm told this Moment—Churchill is no more!
18
Her Wilkes is outlaw'd, and her Churchill dead!
Ill-fated Friends!—no further must I go,
Words are but Mock'ry of my pungent Woe.
| Churchill defended, a poem | |