The Works of John Hall-Stevenson ... Corrected and Enlarged. With Several Original Poems, Now First Printed, and Explanatory Notes. In Three Volumes |
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| II. | CANTO II. |
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 | The Works of John Hall-Stevenson |  |
233
CANTO II.
THE ARGUMENT.
The great Humming Bee delineated-A list of orators—An exceeding fine speech-Tories, why called-Conclusion-Moral.
235
Their stings they brandish'd for a while,
Till growing cooler by degrees,
An Humble Bee , with an arch smile,
Answer'd the speech of Pericles ;
Pericles means, 'tis a Greek name,
A Bee of an exalted fame.
'Twas not a common hackney tit,
No, nor Bambalio with his clangor,
Nor Taratantara , whose wit
Is quite as harmless as his anger;
Nor he whose balmy words run off,
No words run smoother or distincter,
So oily, they would cure a cough,
As soon as Hill's Balsamic Tincture;
Nor the Bee-swain , a Bee as rare,
All cloath'd in sattin and in silk,
With speech and face both soft and fair,
Like poultices of bread and milk;
Nor Boreas , like a rumbling car,
Nor Bumbo , who must ever speak ill,
Whose eloquence resembles tar,
Much more than honey or even treacle,
Though he is sometimes called Molosses ,
Which signifies the scum of sugar,
So saith the druggerman Colossus ,
Who sold his master hugger-mugger;
This Humble Bee, far from a ranter,
Could not endure a noise and clatter,
His fort was sly socratic banter,
As to his name 'tis no great matter;
Said he , the honourable Humble
Is plac'd so high in our esteem,
That if he chance to slip and tumble,
I shall believe it is a dream.
And yet I wish he would take the trouble,
To shew his conduct in each point;
Right when 'tis simple, better double,
Most natural when out of joint.
I do not mean, I am not so blind,
So ignorant a ninny-hammer,
That Pericles should be confin'd
To rules of conduct or of grammar;
I only wish that he would shew
His right, by purchase or donation,
To all the faith we can bestow,
As well as all our admiration.
'Twould cut at once the Gordian knot,
And reconcile each contradiction,
Tergiversation be forgot,
Duplicity and dereliction.
In the mean time, on all occasions,
Till he complies with these conditions,
I must consider his orations
Only as human compositions.
Till he has clear'd this point before him,
Though I admire I can't adore him.
Why are the bagpipes such a sin?
Or why in him alone a crime?
Pericles try'd them out and in,
But he could never play in time;
And try'd, when it was all lost labour,
To rival him with pipe and tabour:
Nay, in the porches of her ear,
Like Hamlet's uncle with a phial,
When he could get the queen to hear,
Pour'd the base notes of his bass-viol.
He said, indeed, that all his playing
Was meant to disenchant the queen ;
But does he say what he is saying,
Like people that say what they mean?
So far from that, there's not a citling,
That makes excursions in the summer;
There's not a single shallow witling,
That does not take him for a hummer:
Therefore I earnestly beseech,
In the behalf of this poor nation,
That you will not regard his speech,
More than his life and conversation.
His arguments prove, more or less,
However furbelow'd or dress'd;
'Tis not so much for our distress,
As for himself, that he's distress'd.
His arguments are truly curious,
He hates him not for his ambition,
Nor as a drone, but he is furious,
Because he is the queen's musician:
He hates his tunes, he hates his ways,
And hates the pipe on which he plays:
But if a bagpipe be essential
To every drone both great and small,
If Pericles be consequential,
Then Pericles must hate them all.
For 'tis recorded in old stories,
How Drones and Tories got their name;
Pipes were call'd Drones, and Pipers Tories,
Now Drone and Tory mean the same.
His compliment to Drones, I take it,
Is not impenetrably deep,
There are some Tory heads awake yet,
That he would rather lull to sleep.
To dream of honey, milk, and wine,
For Tory dreams are always fine;
As children in their nurses lap,
Or rock'd in cradles sweetly lying,
Are happier dreaming of their pap,
Than when they're 'broad awake and crying.
Now take your balance, and compare
His speeches with his life and dealings,
Or else you may, without such care,
Take fine professions for fine feelings:
In early youth he lost his place,
He was a Trumpeter or Cornet ,
For spitting in the fav'rite's face,
And calling him an ugly hornet.
An old coquette amongst the wasps,
Whilst Pericles was fresh and young,
Whose sting and poison, like the asps,
Lay chiefly in her head and tongue,
Long after he was sent down stairs,
Seduc'd him with her harlot airs;
In the wasp cause he appeared hearty,
Assum'd their language and their form,
Vow'd to renounce the whole Bee-party,
And take her majesty by storm:
But when his passion was abated,
He veer'd about without much pain;
When love or avarice were sated,
He turn'd a loyal Bee again:
Ador'd the queen, humour'd the people
In all their fancies and requests;
Made the bells ring in every steeple,
And drove their foes from all their nests.
But ah! th' inconstancy of Bees!
Roving and changing every hour!
Wafted about by every breeze,
Allur'd by every specious flower;
For now, because the queen has pitch'd
Upon the Piper to amuse her,
Pericles swears she is bewitch'd ,
And sets his mob on to abuse her:
This sure is jealousy and spleen,
Not like true love and genuine duty;
For if, like me, he lov'd the Queen,
He could not injure such a beauty:
Yet, to do justice to his merits,
He always lov'd the Queen, I know;
It is the fever on his spirits
Makes him forget what subjects owe.
As Pericles has shewn the way,
Let me too introduce my tale ;
In a debate, before to-day,
I have known a fable turn the scale.
A Lion with a wand'ring gout,
Upon his couch, or bed, lay roaring;
The courtiers all stood round about,
Every god and aid imploring.
Excruciated like a martyr,
The doctors brought a thousand slops;
To pave the way for his departure,
They pour'd them down the Lion's chops
Of all the courtiers that attended,
Waiting about him in a ring,
The Wolf officiously pretended,
To sympathize most with the King:
Whilst we are all in such a fright,
Sir, said the Wolf, it must appear,
Neither convenient nor right,
That your attorney is not here;
My friend, the Fox, is much to blame,
Now that your Majesty's so ill,
To roam about killing your game,
When you may want to make your will.
At his return the Fox was told
How handsomely his friend had serv'd him;
His spite at me is very old,
Says master Fox, I have observ'd him;
Only because I go a fowling,
Am rich, and entertain my friends,
Whilst he, for very hunger howling,
Is fit to eat his fingers ends.
Volpone, that instant ran to court,
Salutes the Wolf quite frank and hearty,
The Monarch cried, had you good sport?
Sir Reynard, who was of your party?
Your Majesty, says the attorney,
Is misinform'd about my journey;
That I was hunting, is most true,
Making the strictest perquisitions
Of the most eminent physicians
About a remedy for you.
When your gout's fix'd or quite remov'd,
Then, Sir, my care and pious zeal,
For you, and for the common-weal,
Will be acknowledg'd and approv'd.
In the mean time, I must proceed
To tell my sov'reign of his cure;
His royal heart, I know, will bleed;
I feel myself, what he'll endure:
A Wolf must presently be got,
In such a case it is no sin,
Flay him alive, and piping hot
Wrap the King up in the Wolf's skin.
Thus Sir, if you will be directed,
Your pains will quickly be abated,
The morbid matter be ejected,
And health and vigour re-instated.
The Lion rising from his bed,
Proceeding without any heat
With one stroke only on the head,
Laid the Wolf breathless at his feet;
For simple vanity indited,
If the Mole's exile was decreed ,
I think the Wolf, that's so sharp-sighted,
Was with the greatest justice flay'd ,
For to vain-glory and weak pride,
He added perfidy beside.
If any here was flay'd alive,
Drawn in by any tempting snare,
To make the Queen alert and thrive,
'Twas not the Drone's plot you may swear.
But to conclude, let me advise
Pericles to withdraw his motion,
He must at last open his eyes,
'Tis so undutiful a notion;
Therefore, I hope, that he will use
His Sovereign better for the future;
And that you'll vote the Queen shall chuse
Whatever instrument may suit her.
As she loves bagpipes out of measure,
As Pericles is her aversion,
Indulge her royal health and pleasure,
It is an innocent diversion:
Let her old piper play his lilts,
Let him go on in his vocation;
Suffer not Pericles on stilts
To take away her consolation.
They all concurred, as you will guess,
And, as you must have pre-conceiv'd,
Drew up, and went with an address,
And were most graciously receiv'd.
The whole was nothing but collusion;
But what makes me, and should make you sick;
Pericles, chief of the confusion,
Was made the chief of the Queen's musick;
And thus these two renown'd debators,
Amus'd the people with sham matches;
And, like two honest gladiators
,
They made the fools pay for their scratches.
The Piper pipes, the Drones continue,
The Buzzers only gape and gaze,
Pericles, with a grand retinue,
Is humming somewhere about Hayes.
Till growing cooler by degrees,
An Humble Bee , with an arch smile,
Answer'd the speech of Pericles ;
Pericles means, 'tis a Greek name,
A Bee of an exalted fame.
'Twas not a common hackney tit,
No, nor Bambalio with his clangor,
Nor Taratantara , whose wit
Is quite as harmless as his anger;
Nor he whose balmy words run off,
No words run smoother or distincter,
So oily, they would cure a cough,
As soon as Hill's Balsamic Tincture;
Nor the Bee-swain , a Bee as rare,
All cloath'd in sattin and in silk,
236
Like poultices of bread and milk;
Nor Boreas , like a rumbling car,
Nor Bumbo , who must ever speak ill,
Whose eloquence resembles tar,
Much more than honey or even treacle,
Though he is sometimes called Molosses ,
Which signifies the scum of sugar,
So saith the druggerman Colossus ,
Who sold his master hugger-mugger;
This Humble Bee, far from a ranter,
Could not endure a noise and clatter,
His fort was sly socratic banter,
As to his name 'tis no great matter;
Said he , the honourable Humble
Is plac'd so high in our esteem,
237
I shall believe it is a dream.
And yet I wish he would take the trouble,
To shew his conduct in each point;
Right when 'tis simple, better double,
Most natural when out of joint.
I do not mean, I am not so blind,
So ignorant a ninny-hammer,
That Pericles should be confin'd
To rules of conduct or of grammar;
I only wish that he would shew
His right, by purchase or donation,
To all the faith we can bestow,
As well as all our admiration.
'Twould cut at once the Gordian knot,
And reconcile each contradiction,
Tergiversation be forgot,
Duplicity and dereliction.
In the mean time, on all occasions,
Till he complies with these conditions,
I must consider his orations
Only as human compositions.
238
Though I admire I can't adore him.
Why are the bagpipes such a sin?
Or why in him alone a crime?
Pericles try'd them out and in,
But he could never play in time;
And try'd, when it was all lost labour,
To rival him with pipe and tabour:
Nay, in the porches of her ear,
Like Hamlet's uncle with a phial,
When he could get the queen to hear,
Pour'd the base notes of his bass-viol.
He said, indeed, that all his playing
Was meant to disenchant the queen ;
But does he say what he is saying,
Like people that say what they mean?
So far from that, there's not a citling,
That makes excursions in the summer;
239
That does not take him for a hummer:
Therefore I earnestly beseech,
In the behalf of this poor nation,
That you will not regard his speech,
More than his life and conversation.
His arguments prove, more or less,
However furbelow'd or dress'd;
'Tis not so much for our distress,
As for himself, that he's distress'd.
His arguments are truly curious,
He hates him not for his ambition,
Nor as a drone, but he is furious,
Because he is the queen's musician:
He hates his tunes, he hates his ways,
And hates the pipe on which he plays:
But if a bagpipe be essential
To every drone both great and small,
If Pericles be consequential,
Then Pericles must hate them all.
240
How Drones and Tories got their name;
Pipes were call'd Drones, and Pipers Tories,
Now Drone and Tory mean the same.
His compliment to Drones, I take it,
Is not impenetrably deep,
There are some Tory heads awake yet,
That he would rather lull to sleep.
To dream of honey, milk, and wine,
For Tory dreams are always fine;
As children in their nurses lap,
Or rock'd in cradles sweetly lying,
Are happier dreaming of their pap,
Than when they're 'broad awake and crying.
Now take your balance, and compare
His speeches with his life and dealings,
Or else you may, without such care,
Take fine professions for fine feelings:
241
He was a Trumpeter or Cornet ,
For spitting in the fav'rite's face,
And calling him an ugly hornet.
An old coquette amongst the wasps,
Whilst Pericles was fresh and young,
Whose sting and poison, like the asps,
Lay chiefly in her head and tongue,
Long after he was sent down stairs,
Seduc'd him with her harlot airs;
In the wasp cause he appeared hearty,
Assum'd their language and their form,
Vow'd to renounce the whole Bee-party,
And take her majesty by storm:
But when his passion was abated,
He veer'd about without much pain;
When love or avarice were sated,
He turn'd a loyal Bee again:
242
In all their fancies and requests;
Made the bells ring in every steeple,
And drove their foes from all their nests.
But ah! th' inconstancy of Bees!
Roving and changing every hour!
Wafted about by every breeze,
Allur'd by every specious flower;
For now, because the queen has pitch'd
Upon the Piper to amuse her,
Pericles swears she is bewitch'd ,
And sets his mob on to abuse her:
This sure is jealousy and spleen,
Not like true love and genuine duty;
For if, like me, he lov'd the Queen,
He could not injure such a beauty:
Yet, to do justice to his merits,
He always lov'd the Queen, I know;
It is the fever on his spirits
Makes him forget what subjects owe.
243
Let me too introduce my tale ;
In a debate, before to-day,
I have known a fable turn the scale.
A Lion with a wand'ring gout,
Upon his couch, or bed, lay roaring;
The courtiers all stood round about,
Every god and aid imploring.
Excruciated like a martyr,
The doctors brought a thousand slops;
To pave the way for his departure,
They pour'd them down the Lion's chops
Of all the courtiers that attended,
Waiting about him in a ring,
The Wolf officiously pretended,
To sympathize most with the King:
Whilst we are all in such a fright,
Sir, said the Wolf, it must appear,
244
That your attorney is not here;
My friend, the Fox, is much to blame,
Now that your Majesty's so ill,
To roam about killing your game,
When you may want to make your will.
At his return the Fox was told
How handsomely his friend had serv'd him;
His spite at me is very old,
Says master Fox, I have observ'd him;
Only because I go a fowling,
Am rich, and entertain my friends,
Whilst he, for very hunger howling,
Is fit to eat his fingers ends.
Volpone, that instant ran to court,
Salutes the Wolf quite frank and hearty,
The Monarch cried, had you good sport?
Sir Reynard, who was of your party?
Your Majesty, says the attorney,
Is misinform'd about my journey;
245
Making the strictest perquisitions
Of the most eminent physicians
About a remedy for you.
When your gout's fix'd or quite remov'd,
Then, Sir, my care and pious zeal,
For you, and for the common-weal,
Will be acknowledg'd and approv'd.
In the mean time, I must proceed
To tell my sov'reign of his cure;
His royal heart, I know, will bleed;
I feel myself, what he'll endure:
A Wolf must presently be got,
In such a case it is no sin,
Flay him alive, and piping hot
Wrap the King up in the Wolf's skin.
Thus Sir, if you will be directed,
Your pains will quickly be abated,
The morbid matter be ejected,
And health and vigour re-instated.
246
Proceeding without any heat
With one stroke only on the head,
Laid the Wolf breathless at his feet;
For simple vanity indited,
If the Mole's exile was decreed ,
I think the Wolf, that's so sharp-sighted,
Was with the greatest justice flay'd ,
For to vain-glory and weak pride,
He added perfidy beside.
If any here was flay'd alive,
Drawn in by any tempting snare,
To make the Queen alert and thrive,
'Twas not the Drone's plot you may swear.
But to conclude, let me advise
Pericles to withdraw his motion,
He must at last open his eyes,
'Tis so undutiful a notion;
247
His Sovereign better for the future;
And that you'll vote the Queen shall chuse
Whatever instrument may suit her.
As she loves bagpipes out of measure,
As Pericles is her aversion,
Indulge her royal health and pleasure,
It is an innocent diversion:
Let her old piper play his lilts,
Let him go on in his vocation;
Suffer not Pericles on stilts
To take away her consolation.
They all concurred, as you will guess,
And, as you must have pre-conceiv'd,
Drew up, and went with an address,
And were most graciously receiv'd.
The whole was nothing but collusion;
But what makes me, and should make you sick;
Pericles, chief of the confusion,
Was made the chief of the Queen's musick;
And thus these two renown'd debators,
Amus'd the people with sham matches;
248
They made the fools pay for their scratches.
The Piper pipes, the Drones continue,
The Buzzers only gape and gaze,
Pericles, with a grand retinue,
Is humming somewhere about Hayes.
MORAL.
'Tis Anti-Mandivally true,True as the Gospel, or St. Paul,
The private vices of a few
Will be the ruin of us all.
This speech assumes to be the speech of Mr. Burke; and it contains some features of a speech of that Gentleman's in the House of Commons, soon after the dismission of Lord Rockingham, and the appointment of Lord Chatham to the office of Privy Seal. The Reader will still observe, that Pericles is Lord Chatham, and the Bagpiper Lord Bute.
The Poet does not here mean literally the Queen. In every hive of bees there is one large bee, called the Queen-bee. Under this character he includes the Court; or, more properly speaking, the Closet, and the secret influence that was asserted to prevail there.
By Drones here are meant the Country Gentlemen. But in other places (particularly in the last stanza, before the moral) the word signifies the Lords of the Bedchamber, and other sinecure placemen in the court and household, who are members or peers of parliament.
When Mr. Pitt accepted the title of Earl of Chatham, his popularity suffered a temporary diminution.
This tale is an allegorical description of Lord Chatham's illness at Bath, in 1767; and of the changes in the ministry, and the coalition with the Bedford party, which took place early in the year following. The Wolf is Lord Shelburne; the Fox (or attorney) Lord Camden.
| The Works of John Hall-Stevenson | |