 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
173
The first Satire of Juvenal imitated.
Shall every pension'd scribbler draw his pen,
And gild with venal praise the worst of men?
(E'en Dixon glean the scandal of a year
In one dull tripos, to be thought severe?)
Shall
Wilks his Golden Farmer still rehearse,
And void of thought roar out his frantic verse?
Then by mad fits with margin notes explain
The mystic labours of his muddy brain?
Shall tragic Macer plague the sacred nine,
Nor fear the satire of one Dunciad line?
Or barren Codrus strain his bastard wit,
To be the jest of galleries and pit?
And gild with venal praise the worst of men?
(E'en Dixon glean the scandal of a year
In one dull tripos, to be thought severe?)
174
And void of thought roar out his frantic verse?
Then by mad fits with margin notes explain
The mystic labours of his muddy brain?
Shall tragic Macer plague the sacred nine,
Nor fear the satire of one Dunciad line?
Or barren Codrus strain his bastard wit,
To be the jest of galleries and pit?
175
To me scarce any place is better known,
Where fops resort, the triflers of the town,
Than the large theatre, and vaulted hall,
Where emulating hawkers pamphlets bawl.
What ladies an Italian's favour boast,
(For him the fair sex innocently toast)
When the shrill eunuch warbles out his charms,
What rapture, Gods! to pant within his arms?
His thrilling notes their ravish'd souls employ,
Tho' drudging husbands scarce can give them joy.
Where fops resort, the triflers of the town,
Than the large theatre, and vaulted hall,
Where emulating hawkers pamphlets bawl.
What ladies an Italian's favour boast,
(For him the fair sex innocently toast)
When the shrill eunuch warbles out his charms,
What rapture, Gods! to pant within his arms?
His thrilling notes their ravish'd souls employ,
Tho' drudging husbands scarce can give them joy.
176
Such themes our youthful poetasters charm,
Who fir'd with thirst of fame in numbers swarm,
With brazen lungs to bellow out their wit,
Till the dome trembles, and the columns split:
While wiser bards from Merlin's prophecies
To sooth the great extract a thousand lyes;
From whose dark record of eight-hundred years,
That Caroline should bless this land, appears;
Born with a taste each science to refine,
To sink a cave, or raise a hermit's shrine.
Who fir'd with thirst of fame in numbers swarm,
With brazen lungs to bellow out their wit,
Till the dome trembles, and the columns split:
While wiser bards from Merlin's prophecies
To sooth the great extract a thousand lyes;
From whose dark record of eight-hundred years,
That Caroline should bless this land, appears;
Born with a taste each science to refine,
To sink a cave, or raise a hermit's shrine.
177
This privilege of verse all authors claim;
Who write for bread, or for immortal fame.
Such madness I abhorr'd, and rather chose
To give good counsel even to my foes;
To warn corrupted statesmen of their fate,
And bid the knight withdraw before too late;
Left Cochran's destiny reward his pains,
And if no patent, sure to hang in chains.
When such a swarm of scribblers plague this age,
Why should the muse restrain her pointed rage?
But hold, says one! is there no subject fit,
But writing satire to employ your wit?
Sir Robert's virtues claim a just applause;
I leave Sir Robert to his country's laws.
What!— no encomiums on the British fleet,
When every year such mighty squadrons meet:
How would Iberia tremble to behold
Such naval forces, — were it not for gold?—
To treat,— not fight,— was their pacific aim;
And make a mighty monarch sign his name.
These are the triumphs happy counsels bring,
When such wise ministers will serve their king.
Who write for bread, or for immortal fame.
Such madness I abhorr'd, and rather chose
To give good counsel even to my foes;
To warn corrupted statesmen of their fate,
And bid the knight withdraw before too late;
Left Cochran's destiny reward his pains,
And if no patent, sure to hang in chains.
178
Why should the muse restrain her pointed rage?
But hold, says one! is there no subject fit,
But writing satire to employ your wit?
Sir Robert's virtues claim a just applause;
I leave Sir Robert to his country's laws.
What!— no encomiums on the British fleet,
When every year such mighty squadrons meet:
How would Iberia tremble to behold
Such naval forces, — were it not for gold?—
To treat,— not fight,— was their pacific aim;
And make a mighty monarch sign his name.
These are the triumphs happy counsels bring,
When such wise ministers will serve their king.
179
But thanks to Fleury! whose refining art
'Twixt jarring nations play'd so nice a part;
What senates labour'd, he perform'd alone,
And cancell'd treaties which we blush to own:
Convention-tools their former votes disdain,
And claim unbounded empire o'er the main:
But by your leave, good Sir, the reason's clear,
Why satires flourish each revolving year.
When eunuchs by the ladies favour thrive,
And in the sun-shine of a palace live;
'Twixt jarring nations play'd so nice a part;
What senates labour'd, he perform'd alone,
And cancell'd treaties which we blush to own:
Convention-tools their former votes disdain,
And claim unbounded empire o'er the main:
But by your leave, good Sir, the reason's clear,
Why satires flourish each revolving year.
When eunuchs by the ladies favour thrive,
And in the sun-shine of a palace live;
180
When fops protest, and younger brothers swear,
The spawn of Rome are stallions to the fair;
When tender virgins mount the fleeting horse,
And urge with full career the rapid course;
Fir'd with a thirst of glory never rest,
Till the beast's spoils adorn their manly breast:
When upstart politicians, venal knaves,
Basely conspire to make their betters slaves;
The spawn of Rome are stallions to the fair;
When tender virgins mount the fleeting horse,
And urge with full career the rapid course;
Fir'd with a thirst of glory never rest,
Till the beast's spoils adorn their manly breast:
When upstart politicians, venal knaves,
Basely conspire to make their betters slaves;
181
When vulgar wretches, by dependance great,
Commence the necessary tools of state;
Tho' born to labour, delicately nice,
To live like modern Conoisseurs in vice;
What honest spirit can his spleen contain,
Nor dare to lash the vices of this reign?
Matho, the curse of chairmen for his weight,
To every court of justice rides in state,
Commence the necessary tools of state;
Tho' born to labour, delicately nice,
To live like modern Conoisseurs in vice;
What honest spirit can his spleen contain,
Nor dare to lash the vices of this reign?
Matho, the curse of chairmen for his weight,
To every court of justice rides in state,
182
With all his useful implements of law;
Saints that can swear to what they never saw:
Vile minions!— who with ease their fortunes earn,
And candidates without a vote return;
Assisted by these arts, great Matho's cause
Eludes stern justice, and defies the laws;
While forfeited estates his zeal reward,
Tho' patriots scarce can move without a guard:
To him all lesser villains bow their heads,
E'en Sk---r without bribes his presence dreads;
Saints that can swear to what they never saw:
Vile minions!— who with ease their fortunes earn,
And candidates without a vote return;
Assisted by these arts, great Matho's cause
Eludes stern justice, and defies the laws;
While forfeited estates his zeal reward,
Tho' patriots scarce can move without a guard:
To him all lesser villains bow their heads,
E'en Sk---r without bribes his presence dreads;
183
To country principles a friend profess'd,
But now like G---h thinks honour but a jest;
Without one sigh each virtue can resign,
And prove in ministers a right divine;
Curs'd by his stars to bear the public scorn,
By nature form'd a slave, a villain born:
E'en female wits in state intrigues too wise
Are banish'd, lest their tongue betray their eyes,
Tho' libertines, by being dupes to lust,
Supplant you, as more worthy of the trust;
But now like G---h thinks honour but a jest;
Without one sigh each virtue can resign,
And prove in ministers a right divine;
Curs'd by his stars to bear the public scorn,
By nature form'd a slave, a villain born:
E'en female wits in state intrigues too wise
Are banish'd, lest their tongue betray their eyes,
Tho' libertines, by being dupes to lust,
Supplant you, as more worthy of the trust;
184
With brawny vigour act the stallion's part:
Such gallantry may gain the widow's heart.
Insatiate Messalina's death will prove
Him richest, who has best indulg'd her love.
Poor Limberham expects in vain to share
One half, whose limbs such labour could not bear;
And sure lord Vainlove can have no pretence
To please a blooming widow's craving sense.
But let such miscreants earn their gilded dust,
By being slaves to courts, or women's lust;
Till rioting in vice has made them pale,
As batter'd harlots, when their colours fail;
Such gallantry may gain the widow's heart.
Insatiate Messalina's death will prove
Him richest, who has best indulg'd her love.
Poor Limberham expects in vain to share
One half, whose limbs such labour could not bear;
And sure lord Vainlove can have no pretence
To please a blooming widow's craving sense.
But let such miscreants earn their gilded dust,
By being slaves to courts, or women's lust;
Till rioting in vice has made them pale,
As batter'd harlots, when their colours fail;
185
As trembling orators that plead for life,
Or gallants taken with a neighbour's wife.
What other evils shall the muse relate?
Of guardians, by their orphans ruin great;
Of senators that only can complain,
(For W---'s numbers make impeachments vain;)
Those arts, by which he rose, maintain his pow'r,
A standing army and a royal dow'r;
Or gallants taken with a neighbour's wife.
What other evils shall the muse relate?
Of guardians, by their orphans ruin great;
Of senators that only can complain,
(For W---'s numbers make impeachments vain;)
Those arts, by which he rose, maintain his pow'r,
A standing army and a royal dow'r;
186
His crimes confirm the greatness of his soul,
Above nice conscience, and the laws controul;
He smiles to think how frantic patriots rage,
And blesses the corruption of the age.
Above nice conscience, and the laws controul;
He smiles to think how frantic patriots rage,
And blesses the corruption of the age.
But nobler sentiments inspir'd his youth,
Who boldly spoke in the defence of truth;
Who stood the vengeance of perverted laws,
Who suffer'd chains in freedom's glorious cause,
And with a sigh lamented Fleury's fate,
Because his country's thraldom made him great:
But statesmen's principles will strangely veer,
In the short course of one revolving year:
The public spirit of an honest heart
Degenerate, to act a villain's part;
The voice of liberty in senates loud
Now rails at patriots,— a licentious croud,
And the free sentiments which charm'd before,
Can flatter kings in arbitrary pow'r.
Who boldly spoke in the defence of truth;
Who stood the vengeance of perverted laws,
Who suffer'd chains in freedom's glorious cause,
And with a sigh lamented Fleury's fate,
Because his country's thraldom made him great:
187
In the short course of one revolving year:
The public spirit of an honest heart
Degenerate, to act a villain's part;
The voice of liberty in senates loud
Now rails at patriots,— a licentious croud,
And the free sentiments which charm'd before,
Can flatter kings in arbitrary pow'r.
But now this flaming meteor of the skies
Has spent his blaze, and in oblivion dies,
Whose conduct had estrang'd the people's love.
Their ardent zeal the willing nation prove
Against rebellion to defend the crown,
And with their loyal persons guard the throne.
Has spent his blaze, and in oblivion dies,
Whose conduct had estrang'd the people's love.
Their ardent zeal the willing nation prove
Against rebellion to defend the crown,
And with their loyal persons guard the throne.
188
Since vice is sacred held among the great,
And virtue spurn'd by ministers of state;
Since men, with delegated power drunk,
Without a blush in triumph wed a punk;
Whose shining virtues should deserve command,
Set bad examples to a tainted land:
While gaping crouds with dazzled eyes adore
The gems that sparkle on a foreign whore:
And virtue spurn'd by ministers of state;
Since men, with delegated power drunk,
Without a blush in triumph wed a punk;
Whose shining virtues should deserve command,
Set bad examples to a tainted land:
While gaping crouds with dazzled eyes adore
The gems that sparkle on a foreign whore:
Shall such dark vices seek the gloom of night,
Nor satire dare to drag them forth to light?
But the nice manners of the present age
Abhor the name of villain on the stage;
When a feign'd traytor's tainted blood is spilt,
The real statesman shudders at the guilt.
Gustavus
, pleading in his country's cause
For liberty, the first of nature's laws,
Offends the wise reformers of the times,
Whose stern decree makes public virtues — crimes.
Let other poets haunt the purling stream,
And spin out verses softer than their theme:
Such trifling subjects would defile my page,
Whose pointed lines should glow with manly rage.
When husbands, that have blooming beauties, snore,
To give their loving consorts leave to whore;
When noble heirs esteem it no disgrace
To spend their fortunes, and then beg a place;
Thro' gaping crouds in gilded cars to ride,
While harlots blaze in jewels by their side,
And as their wills direct, the coursers guide.
When forging lawyers injur'd heirs beguile,
Grow rich, and fatten on the perjur'd spoil;
Affect to dress like fops with foreign air,
With vests embroider'd, and their bosoms bare;
Such flagrant follies would make Welsted write
In Pope's, Minerva's, and the Muses spite.
Nor satire dare to drag them forth to light?
But the nice manners of the present age
Abhor the name of villain on the stage;
When a feign'd traytor's tainted blood is spilt,
The real statesman shudders at the guilt.
189
For liberty, the first of nature's laws,
Offends the wise reformers of the times,
Whose stern decree makes public virtues — crimes.
Let other poets haunt the purling stream,
And spin out verses softer than their theme:
Such trifling subjects would defile my page,
Whose pointed lines should glow with manly rage.
190
To give their loving consorts leave to whore;
When noble heirs esteem it no disgrace
To spend their fortunes, and then beg a place;
Thro' gaping crouds in gilded cars to ride,
While harlots blaze in jewels by their side,
And as their wills direct, the coursers guide.
191
Grow rich, and fatten on the perjur'd spoil;
Affect to dress like fops with foreign air,
With vests embroider'd, and their bosoms bare;
Such flagrant follies would make Welsted write
In Pope's, Minerva's, and the Muses spite.
But these are trifles, when to some compar'd,
Who trade in blood, and murder for reward:
Such dark artificers are skill'd in death,
To stab, or poison your untainted breath.
If wanton wives their wicked aid implore,
Or spendthrift sons wish fathers were no more,
Gold signs their passage to the Stygian shore.
If you resolve some vast estate to raise,
Leave starving honesty to barren praise!
Act some unheard of sin, that hell may own
Its master foil'd, and all his crimes undone,
The splendid equipage, and stately dome,
Magnificence, that rivals ancient Rome,
Are no more signs of merit, than a place,
Stars, garters, titles, emblems of disgrace.
Tho' lands are mortgag'd, yet their crimes afford,
To spread rich banquets on the costly board.
When virgin brides their lawful husbands flight,
And make them cuckolds on the wedding-night;
When beardless youths adulteries commit,
Rapes, riots, massacres, to show their wit:
Fir'd with just wrath, his pen each poet draws,
And writes without a muse in virtue's cause.
Who trade in blood, and murder for reward:
192
To stab, or poison your untainted breath.
If wanton wives their wicked aid implore,
Or spendthrift sons wish fathers were no more,
Gold signs their passage to the Stygian shore.
If you resolve some vast estate to raise,
Leave starving honesty to barren praise!
193
Its master foil'd, and all his crimes undone,
The splendid equipage, and stately dome,
Magnificence, that rivals ancient Rome,
Are no more signs of merit, than a place,
Stars, garters, titles, emblems of disgrace.
Tho' lands are mortgag'd, yet their crimes afford,
To spread rich banquets on the costly board.
When virgin brides their lawful husbands flight,
And make them cuckolds on the wedding-night;
194
Rapes, riots, massacres, to show their wit:
Fir'd with just wrath, his pen each poet draws,
And writes without a muse in virtue's cause.
From the first period of revolving time,
When blooming nature flourish'd in her prime,
The various passions, which to man belong,
Their hopes, and fears, are subjects of my song.
When were such glaring vices ever known
To spread contagion over all the town?
How many, born to riches that suffice
For more than all the luxury of vice,
Their whole estate upon a card advance,
The fools of fortune, and the slaves of chance?
Whose hopes, like visionary chymists, fail,
That waking find their golden dream a jail.
When blooming nature flourish'd in her prime,
The various passions, which to man belong,
Their hopes, and fears, are subjects of my song.
195
To spread contagion over all the town?
How many, born to riches that suffice
For more than all the luxury of vice,
Their whole estate upon a card advance,
The fools of fortune, and the slaves of chance?
196
That waking find their golden dream a jail.
When did such tow'ring fabrics ever rise,
Or such rich banquets feast our fathers eyes?
Yet, starving clients from the Forum haste,
And find a shotten herring their repast;
But first their patrons, in a surly tone,
Ask the mean tools what party-service done?
Then with fair promises their cause promote;
And livings in reversion for a vote!
While slaves and nobles croud their levees door,
And with a servile voice some boon implore;
Pimps, peers, and courtiers eagerly contend,
Whose darkest deeds shall gain the greatest friend.
Here a proud upstart with his lordship vies,
And spite of merit carries off the prize;
Tho' rich in virtue, if your fortune's less,
'Tis reckon'd arrogance to wish success.
Gold is at court, the standard of all merit,
Makes ideots wise, and cowards men of spirit:
Then, Plutus, let us sacrifice to thee:
E'en atheists will adore thy deity.
Now sordid patrons yearly reckon o'er,
How much extortion has increas'd their store;
While needy clients mourn their wretched state,
Whose plunder'd fortunes make oppressors great.
Or such rich banquets feast our fathers eyes?
Yet, starving clients from the Forum haste,
And find a shotten herring their repast;
197
Ask the mean tools what party-service done?
Then with fair promises their cause promote;
And livings in reversion for a vote!
While slaves and nobles croud their levees door,
And with a servile voice some boon implore;
Pimps, peers, and courtiers eagerly contend,
Whose darkest deeds shall gain the greatest friend.
198
And spite of merit carries off the prize;
Tho' rich in virtue, if your fortune's less,
'Tis reckon'd arrogance to wish success.
Gold is at court, the standard of all merit,
Makes ideots wise, and cowards men of spirit:
199
E'en atheists will adore thy deity.
Now sordid patrons yearly reckon o'er,
How much extortion has increas'd their store;
While needy clients mourn their wretched state,
Whose plunder'd fortunes make oppressors great.
200
When the bright sun first gilds the purple dawn,
And fair Aurora ushers in the morn,
Dependant wretches on proud Sylla wait,
And cringe obsequious at his palace-gate;
In servile crouds before his chariot run,
And strive, like fools, who first shall be undone;
Buoy'd up with promises of friends profess'd,
To starve in expectation of a feast.
While ransack'd elements their stores reveal,
To make a glutton happy for a meal:
Whose lands are forfeited to gorge his maw,
Tho' sure to groan beneath the griping law.
E'en hungry citizens would blush to eat,
With such devouring rage, at sheriffs treat.
The banquet o'er, each bloated guest complains
Of sudden qualms, short breath, and racking pains:
Nature wants strength to circulate the blood,
Oppress'd with loads of indigested food.
Scarce have the wretches time to make a will,
So swift is foul intemperance to kill,
Beyond Ward's drop, or epidemic pill;
Whose disappointed parasites lament
Their sudden death without a testament.
Posterity will curse these hated times,
And damn themselves in vain to match our crimes;
Each vice has reach'd its greatest altitude,
Spent all its rage, and deviates into good.
But where's a genius, whose satiric quill
Can make such harden'd wretches blush at ill?
Where is that ancient liberty of wit,
When every fool, and knave, by name was hit?
Then servile H---l---ms might know his abject state,
Who feels the world's bleak scorn without their hate;
Polite to please, to flatter, to deceive,
Wily as Satan when he tempted Eve;
In whose dark mind his double actions blend
The secret villain with the public friend;
The mean servility, and humble pride,
Which men of spirit with contempt deride.
Curs'd with five senses to endure his pain,
With industry, to seek relief in vain;
With parts and learning, which the world respect;
With honesty, that all mankind suspect;
With tyranny, which makes himself a slave,
Weary of life, yet shudders at the grave;
With principles,—by which some fools are shamm'd,
And just enough religion,—to be damn'd.
Let others fulsome panegyrics write,
While I set villains in a proper light;
Or else describe a fop in smoother stile,
Correct my muse, and make e'en satire smile.
St. James's modish petit maitres own
Philemon is the darling of the town:
A mighty pretty book Philemon wrote,
Without one glimmering of sense or thought:
Exact in judging, as the fair agree,
Of fans, and silks, perfumes, or Hyson tea;
Endow'd by nature with a trifling mind,
Prone to spread scandal like the female kind:
But fops, like him, that propagate abuse,
Are scarcely worth the censure of the muse;
Then let the coxcomb unmolested pass,
To that fool's paradise, a looking-glass.
And fair Aurora ushers in the morn,
Dependant wretches on proud Sylla wait,
And cringe obsequious at his palace-gate;
201
And strive, like fools, who first shall be undone;
Buoy'd up with promises of friends profess'd,
To starve in expectation of a feast.
While ransack'd elements their stores reveal,
To make a glutton happy for a meal:
Whose lands are forfeited to gorge his maw,
Tho' sure to groan beneath the griping law.
202
With such devouring rage, at sheriffs treat.
The banquet o'er, each bloated guest complains
Of sudden qualms, short breath, and racking pains:
Nature wants strength to circulate the blood,
Oppress'd with loads of indigested food.
203
So swift is foul intemperance to kill,
Beyond Ward's drop, or epidemic pill;
Whose disappointed parasites lament
Their sudden death without a testament.
Posterity will curse these hated times,
And damn themselves in vain to match our crimes;
Each vice has reach'd its greatest altitude,
Spent all its rage, and deviates into good.
204
Can make such harden'd wretches blush at ill?
Where is that ancient liberty of wit,
When every fool, and knave, by name was hit?
Then servile H---l---ms might know his abject state,
Who feels the world's bleak scorn without their hate;
Polite to please, to flatter, to deceive,
Wily as Satan when he tempted Eve;
In whose dark mind his double actions blend
The secret villain with the public friend;
205
Which men of spirit with contempt deride.
Curs'd with five senses to endure his pain,
With industry, to seek relief in vain;
With parts and learning, which the world respect;
With honesty, that all mankind suspect;
With tyranny, which makes himself a slave,
Weary of life, yet shudders at the grave;
With principles,—by which some fools are shamm'd,
And just enough religion,—to be damn'd.
206
While I set villains in a proper light;
Or else describe a fop in smoother stile,
Correct my muse, and make e'en satire smile.
St. James's modish petit maitres own
Philemon is the darling of the town:
A mighty pretty book Philemon wrote,
Without one glimmering of sense or thought:
207
Of fans, and silks, perfumes, or Hyson tea;
Endow'd by nature with a trifling mind,
Prone to spread scandal like the female kind:
But fops, like him, that propagate abuse,
Are scarcely worth the censure of the muse;
Then let the coxcomb unmolested pass,
To that fool's paradise, a looking-glass.
208
When, arm'd for virtue, manly Pope will write,
What swarm of fools precipitate their flight?
Each secret villain, struck with conscious awe,
Dreads more his censure than the penal law;
E'en harden'd Peter blushes at his satire,
And wishes honesty was in his nature:
Gay modern atheists kiss the poet's rod,
Reform their lives, and tremble at a God.
Tho' Walpole's virtues claim applause from peers,
From courtiers, senates, bishops, gazetteers;
The muse secure may point each venom'd line,
With Empson, Dudley, or a Cataline;
Brand their foul names to each succeeding age,
And make the living dread the future page.
What swarm of fools precipitate their flight?
Each secret villain, struck with conscious awe,
Dreads more his censure than the penal law;
E'en harden'd Peter blushes at his satire,
And wishes honesty was in his nature:
Gay modern atheists kiss the poet's rod,
Reform their lives, and tremble at a God.
Tho' Walpole's virtues claim applause from peers,
From courtiers, senates, bishops, gazetteers;
209
With Empson, Dudley, or a Cataline;
Brand their foul names to each succeeding age,
And make the living dread the future page.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |