The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams ... From the Originals in the Possession of His Grandson The Right Hon. The Earl of Essex and Others: With Notes by Horace Walpole ... In Three Volumes, with Portraits |
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| I. |
SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS
TO
EDWARD HUSSEY, ESQ. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams |  |
167
SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS TO EDWARD HUSSEY, ESQ.
STOP, stop, my steed! Hail, Cambria, hail,
With craggy clifts and darksome vale,
May no rude steps defile 'em!
Your poet with a vengeance sent
From London post, is hither bent,
To find a safe asylum.
With craggy clifts and darksome vale,
May no rude steps defile 'em!
Your poet with a vengeance sent
From London post, is hither bent,
To find a safe asylum.
168
Bar, bar the doors, exclude e'en fear
Who prest upon my horse's rear,
And made the fleet still fleeter;
There shall my hurry'd soul repose,
And, undisturb'd by Irish prose,
Renew my lyric metre.
Who prest upon my horse's rear,
And made the fleet still fleeter;
There shall my hurry'd soul repose,
And, undisturb'd by Irish prose,
Renew my lyric metre.
Thus Flaccus at Philippi field,
Behind him left his little shield,
And sculk'd in Sabine cavern:
Had I not wrote that cursed ode,
My coward heart I ne'er had show'd,
The jest of ev'ry tavern.
Behind him left his little shield,
And sculk'd in Sabine cavern:
Had I not wrote that cursed ode,
My coward heart I ne'er had show'd,
The jest of ev'ry tavern.
Ye guardians of Mercurial men,
I boast from you my sprightly pen,
I rhyme by your direction:
Why did you partial gifts impart?
You gave a head, but gave no heart,
No heart, for head's protection.
I boast from you my sprightly pen,
I rhyme by your direction:
Why did you partial gifts impart?
You gave a head, but gave no heart,
No heart, for head's protection.
Hence 'tis my wit outruns my strength,
And scans each inch of Hussey's length,
His length of sword forgetting;
Hence, angry boys my rhyme provoke,
I ne'er (too serious proves the joke)
Can think on't without sweating.
And scans each inch of Hussey's length,
169
Hence, angry boys my rhyme provoke,
I ne'er (too serious proves the joke)
Can think on't without sweating.
What the Lieutenant once deny'd
My inauspicious wit supply'd,
And forc'd me into action;
To me as to this scribe indite,
Hibernia's sons—I cannot write
To give them satisfaction.
My inauspicious wit supply'd,
And forc'd me into action;
To me as to this scribe indite,
Hibernia's sons—I cannot write
To give them satisfaction.
Fool, could I sing for other's sport,
The taking of the duchess' fort,
And which the way to win her:
I, undisturb'd, my town enjoy'd,
Then (Nero like) with fire destroy'd,
In springing mines within her.
The taking of the duchess' fort,
And which the way to win her:
I, undisturb'd, my town enjoy'd,
Then (Nero like) with fire destroy'd,
In springing mines within her.
170
Oh! had I sung sweet roundelay,
Great George's birth, or new-year's day,
As innocent as Colley,
Your other Pope (oh! hear, ye Nine)
He'd gladly all his odes resign,
And screen himself in folly.
Great George's birth, or new-year's day,
As innocent as Colley,
Your other Pope (oh! hear, ye Nine)
He'd gladly all his odes resign,
And screen himself in folly.
Ah! since my fear has forc'd me hither,
I feel no more that sweet blue weather,
The Muses most delight in:
Dark, and more dark, each cloud impends,
And ev'ry message from my friends,
Conveys sad hints of fighting.
I feel no more that sweet blue weather,
The Muses most delight in:
Dark, and more dark, each cloud impends,
And ev'ry message from my friends,
Conveys sad hints of fighting.
To harmless themes I'll tune my reed;
Listen, ye lambkins, whilst ye feed,
Ye shepherds, nymphs and fountains:
Ye bees, with soporiferous hums,
Ye pendent goats, if Hussey comes,
Convey me to your mountains.
Listen, ye lambkins, whilst ye feed,
Ye shepherds, nymphs and fountains:
Ye bees, with soporiferous hums,
Ye pendent goats, if Hussey comes,
Convey me to your mountains.
171
There may I sing secure, nor fear
Shall pull the songster by the ear,
T' advise me whilst I'm writing:
Or, if my satire will burst forth,
I'll lampoon parsons in my wrath,
Their cloth forbids them fighting.
Shall pull the songster by the ear,
T' advise me whilst I'm writing:
Or, if my satire will burst forth,
I'll lampoon parsons in my wrath,
Their cloth forbids them fighting.
Whene'er I think, can Williams brook
To sculk beneath this lonely nook,
And tamely bear what few will?
H---r---t like Priam's son appears,
Cries, as he shakes his bloody ears,
Beware of Irish Duel.
To sculk beneath this lonely nook,
And tamely bear what few will?
H---r---t like Priam's son appears,
Cries, as he shakes his bloody ears,
Beware of Irish Duel.
I flutter like Macbeth; arise
Strange scenes, and swim before my eyes,
Swords, pistols, bloody—shocking!
Whole crowds of Irish cross my view,
I feel th' involuntary dew,
Run trickling down my stocking.
Strange scenes, and swim before my eyes,
Swords, pistols, bloody—shocking!
Whole crowds of Irish cross my view,
I feel th' involuntary dew,
Run trickling down my stocking.
172
Sure sign how all's within, I trow;
Cornwall once forc'd such streams to flow,
So dreadful he to meet is;
Should gentle Cornbury, Leicester, Bath,
Or drowsy Stanhope wake in wrath,
'Twould cause a diabetes.
Cornwall once forc'd such streams to flow,
So dreadful he to meet is;
Should gentle Cornbury, Leicester, Bath,
Or drowsy Stanhope wake in wrath,
'Twould cause a diabetes.
Oh, Patrick, courage-giving saint,
Reverse my prayer thou late didst grant,
Or I'm for ever undone;
Rust all their pistols, break their swords,
And if they'll fight it out in words,
I'll come again to London.
Reverse my prayer thou late didst grant,
Or I'm for ever undone;
Rust all their pistols, break their swords,
And if they'll fight it out in words,
I'll come again to London.
| The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams | |