[The Hamiltoniad or, An extinguisher for the royal faction of New-England. With copious notes, illustrative, biographical, philosophical, critical, admonitory, and political; being intended as a high-heeled shoe for all limping republicans. By Anthony Pasquin] [i.e. by John Williams] |
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| 2. | CANTO THE SECOND. |
| 3. |
 | [The Hamiltoniad |  |
CANTO THE SECOND.
Argument.
A chilling description of the Autumnal Season, coloured from life—The Tories in a political purgatory—The King's Fisher, is sorely diseased in spirit and vomits his grief, in numbers, more varied in feet, than the Centiped— He confesseth multifarious transgressions—Pope Timothy become pious from sympathy—The minor Feds, put in their claim to consideration.
Through Heaven's high arch pursued his beamy way,
To visit Libra; (an autumnal form)
Convulsing Ocean with a ruthless storm,
That buried navies in th'unfathom'd deep:—
When withering Ministers made Nature weep—
34
And shed the honors of the Forest round;
(Sad, mortal emblem, for perturbed man!)
When Ants, in myriads, to their grain'ries ran—
When Yeomen squeez'd their apples into juice;
Expressing cyder for the hamlet's use:
35
When ruddy cheek'd Pomona hous'd her fruit:
When the tann'd Husbandman had stack'd his corn;
The husking past; and Plenty sill'd her horn:
When Flies, who'd seen three moons, with age grew blind:
When Geese prepar'd to perish for mankind!
36
When Care began to pile his winter's logs:
When Robins ceas'd to warble on the spray,
And Nature's vigour seem'd to feel decay:
When Housewives buy new blankets for their beds:
The shatter'd remnants of these Royal Feds,
37
Pourtray'd their matchless agonies, in song!!—
First, the King's Fisher (now no halcyon nigh)
Commenc'd his peerless ditty, with a sigh!
Th'egregious Dabbler, in the parts of speech,
Alternately would threaten and beseech:
38
Led by the Ignis fatuus of his brain!
Oh, for the loyal days of Gen'ral Gage;
When Yankees sung, their sorrows, in—a cage!
Express'd a reverence in the tone of fear,
And paid their tribute with a decent tear:
39
With perfect modesty, how Coleman—lies:
The bronze of Carpenter proclaims his sect;
And Park gives nonsense aspect and effect;
How Imposition doats upon their clack!
What charming chesnuts, for the De'el to crack!
40
The R---lls drink their claret from—my scull:
Ligneous lump, the seat of mental pains,
Cumbrous as woe, yet unoppress'd with—brains!
John A---s growls, indignant, but forlorn,
While the world gives their pity for his scorn!
God help the little States, they're full of trouble;
Fortune's a jilt! Ambition is a bubble;
Good by'e, Rhode-Island—Delaware, adieu;
Behold these tears! they gush, they flow, for you:
Forefend them Heaven, for sure that day will come,
When Pennsylvania's and Virginia's claws,
Shall seize these tiny Darlings, for their maws,
And gulp them, as the Cow did Tommy Thumb!
The Philosophic Chief of Monticello,
Is such a heterodox and hungry fellow;
Churches and Chapels, Synagogues and Kirkies,
To him are Capons, Ducks, and Geese and Turkies.
Faith stalks at large—Urbanity will swagger;
And redd'ning Bigotry must hide his dagger:
Had I his power, prerogative, and place,
I'd trim these Wits, and flog 'em into—grace;
Fry, like Saint Larry, casuistic Souls;
Satan might like a rasher on the coals—
My heated temper mounts, inflam'd with ire;
And, boils, like Julien's soup, upon the fire!
Would I were metamorphos'd to a Flea,
I'd hop to Washington, with cruel glee,
Steal in the galligaskins of our Chief,
And make his Excellency twist with grief;
Watch, when he wrote of Diplomatic news;
And make him careless of his P's and Q's.
Ah, now I droop, beneath the thumb of Care,
I'll take off Horror's cutting edge, by prayer:
While the world gives their pity for his scorn!
41
Fortune's a jilt! Ambition is a bubble;
Good by'e, Rhode-Island—Delaware, adieu;
Behold these tears! they gush, they flow, for you:
Forefend them Heaven, for sure that day will come,
When Pennsylvania's and Virginia's claws,
Shall seize these tiny Darlings, for their maws,
And gulp them, as the Cow did Tommy Thumb!
42
Is such a heterodox and hungry fellow;
Churches and Chapels, Synagogues and Kirkies,
To him are Capons, Ducks, and Geese and Turkies.
43
And redd'ning Bigotry must hide his dagger:
Had I his power, prerogative, and place,
I'd trim these Wits, and flog 'em into—grace;
Fry, like Saint Larry, casuistic Souls;
Satan might like a rasher on the coals—
44
And, boils, like Julien's soup, upon the fire!
Would I were metamorphos'd to a Flea,
I'd hop to Washington, with cruel glee,
Steal in the galligaskins of our Chief,
And make his Excellency twist with grief;
45
And make him careless of his P's and Q's.
Ah, now I droop, beneath the thumb of Care,
I'll take off Horror's cutting edge, by prayer:
The King's Fisher's Prayer.
Vir bonus est QUIS!
The good man's a political Quiz!
The good man's a political Quiz!
Vide Dog-Latin.
46
For thee, oh George, and kingly craft,
From my heart's core, I fervent waft
My sighs across the ocean:
Ah! could I here thy influence see,
I'd grub up Freedom's sacred tree,
And give the Furies motion.
From my heart's core, I fervent waft
My sighs across the ocean:
Ah! could I here thy influence see,
I'd grub up Freedom's sacred tree,
And give the Furies motion.
47
Farmers and vile Mechanics too,
(Faugh! now I scent the vulgar crew)
Will in the Congress gabble;
Where none but pension'd Lords should sit,
T'indorse the writs of Billy Pitt,
And muzzle all the rabble.
(Faugh! now I scent the vulgar crew)
Will in the Congress gabble;
Where none but pension'd Lords should sit,
T'indorse the writs of Billy Pitt,
And muzzle all the rabble.
48
Hot Rage, is gnawing through my trunk,
Be calm, my soul—I'll try the Monk,
Come hither, Jedidiah!
Let Faith's pure articles be mine;
I know you'd swallow thirty-nine,
And be a mitre higher.
Be calm, my soul—I'll try the Monk,
Come hither, Jedidiah!
Let Faith's pure articles be mine;
I know you'd swallow thirty-nine,
And be a mitre higher.
49
I will not be that Thing I am;
Give to my grasp the Oriflamme;
I'll wield the gaudy banners:
Dazzle the senses of the croud,
Amaze the weak—Seduce the proud,
And royalize their manners.
Give to my grasp the Oriflamme;
I'll wield the gaudy banners:
Dazzle the senses of the croud,
Amaze the weak—Seduce the proud,
And royalize their manners.
50
My throbbing heart can bear no more:
Make me combustious—half seas o'er:
High charg'd from Treason's cup:
Then lead me midst the virtuous throng,
I'll watch the acmé of their song,
Then burst and blow 'em up!
Make me combustious—half seas o'er:
High charg'd from Treason's cup:
Then lead me midst the virtuous throng,
I'll watch the acmé of their song,
Then burst and blow 'em up!
51
Ah! would the witch of Colchos, shew,
(For I'm no Conjuror you know)
How she makes Dragons dozy:
I'd physic Pasquin and Duane,
Lull the fierce guards of Cheetham's brain,
Till Truth, with wrath, was rosy!
(For I'm no Conjuror you know)
How she makes Dragons dozy:
I'd physic Pasquin and Duane,
Lull the fierce guards of Cheetham's brain,
Till Truth, with wrath, was rosy!
52
As I grow old, I go astray;
Come sweet Hygeia wash away
The bile from off my liver;
Having but Sysiphean skill,
To raise a stone that rolls down hill,
I curse the gift and giver.
Come sweet Hygeia wash away
The bile from off my liver;
Having but Sysiphean skill,
To raise a stone that rolls down hill,
I curse the gift and giver.
53
There's --- swore he'd stab our Chief,
And yet the wretch ('tis past belief)
Mocks God at the communion!
If I cry, zounds! how Deacons bark,
Or get six cents worth, in the dark,
'Tis told to all the Union!
And yet the wretch ('tis past belief)
Mocks God at the communion!
If I cry, zounds! how Deacons bark,
Or get six cents worth, in the dark,
'Tis told to all the Union!
54
Were we hung up in classic skies,
As signals, chang'd, for telling lies,
How Bonaparte'd stare!
E---y a lateral Crab you'd see;
Bandano and grim Laco'd be
The great and lesser Bear!
As signals, chang'd, for telling lies,
How Bonaparte'd stare!
E---y a lateral Crab you'd see;
Bandano and grim Laco'd be
The great and lesser Bear!
55
My whiskers, once of hazel hue,
Chang'd, like Moll Coggin's wig, to blue,
May aid to 'scape detection:
My cheeks are wet with tory tears;
Each Wish is pinch'd by rising Fears,
And Chagrin rides Reflection.
Chang'd, like Moll Coggin's wig, to blue,
May aid to 'scape detection:
My cheeks are wet with tory tears;
Each Wish is pinch'd by rising Fears,
And Chagrin rides Reflection.
56
What reck'ning Freedom has 'gainst me!
Could she but keep an Inn, d'ye see,
I'd list while Patriots talk:
Steal in her bar with visage sad,
Swear that the heart-burn made me mad,
And lick off all the chalk!
Could she but keep an Inn, d'ye see,
I'd list while Patriots talk:
Steal in her bar with visage sad,
Swear that the heart-burn made me mad,
And lick off all the chalk!
57
What's Aristocracy, but woe?
A social bane—the Christian's foe!
I would, but can't, run from it:
Grandeur's a bubble, boiling hot,
For God's sake, Patience, bring the pot,
'Fore Heaven, I shall vomit!
A social bane—the Christian's foe!
I would, but can't, run from it:
Grandeur's a bubble, boiling hot,
For God's sake, Patience, bring the pot,
'Fore Heaven, I shall vomit!
58
Then Wisdom thus, with pitying looks,
“Egregious man, I gave thee books,
But you have never read 'em;
Embrace those blisses Fate has sent;
Be Free—Be equal—Be content,
And smile, once more, at Dedham!
“Egregious man, I gave thee books,
But you have never read 'em;
Embrace those blisses Fate has sent;
Be Free—Be equal—Be content,
And smile, once more, at Dedham!
59
Let Britain fight, for Britain's self.
Put all thy essays on the shelf;
Propel no more the riot:
Contract the measure of thy cares;
Eschew sedition—say thy pray'rs:
And go to sleep in quiet.”
Put all thy essays on the shelf;
Propel no more the riot:
Contract the measure of thy cares;
Eschew sedition—say thy pray'rs:
And go to sleep in quiet.”
60
Like the Phœbeian Byblis, craz'd with fears,
Sat Pontiff Tim, dissolving into tears;
By Misery mark'd, and smarting with her rod,
He threw his Lexicon at Laco's god:
Now wept, now laugh'd, at each convulsive throe,
A Tragi-comic, spectacle of woe!
At length, in pity, to his matchless grief,
Morpheus descended to infuse relief;
Gather'd a herb, from the Cimmerian bed,
And squeez'd the zest, with labour, through his head;
Then, most sublimely stupid, Yale's black lord,
Fell down recumbent, snuffled, writh'd and snor'd—
Rapt, in his sleep, all gorgeous, big and bright,
The vast Hierarch fill'd his mental sight;
To all the Diocesan aims allied!—
Forestalling every privilege of pride!—
Freighting with thunders from the Mother Church!—
Leaving the vulgar Christian in the lurch!—
Sinking in soul, a Despot to adore!—
Kissing the skirts of Babylon's red whore!—
To make D. D.'s ennobled, rich and grand,
And scatter mitres o'er the promis'd land:
For Massachusetts, (on the Monk's petition)
He trac'd an Abbey, for his own condition:
But gave Connecticut the—INQUISITION!
While yet the vision blisses could impart;
While Joy's full tide was pouring through his heart:
The papal bubble broke!—That Imp of song,
His own man Noah (ever in the wrong)
Stole in to tell him, with a hideous yell,
How C---b had struggled, and how W---l fell!
When all his nerves were knitted by Despair;
And Grandeur melted into viewless air!
Thus, when a vapour, (issued from a fen,)
Fraught with a pest, to sow disease 'mong men,
Hangs pendant on the margin of a Town,
With sullen ponderance and sable frown;
A keen North-Wester, rushing from the Lakes,
Bursts the concretion and the fluid breaks.
Then rosy-finger'd Health resumes her sway,
And Truth's broad beam irradiates the day.
Superb New-Haven moan'd—Hope look'd askew,
And pale Uriah's candles all burnt blue:
The minor Feds pour'd in, with panting breath,
To crave his blessing, ere they sunk in death;
But Tim was so bewilder'd with his sorrow,
He d---d them all, and bade them call to-morrow:
While Retribution, to coerce their glories,
Spread a tenesmus and hard-bound the Tories!
Sat Pontiff Tim, dissolving into tears;
By Misery mark'd, and smarting with her rod,
He threw his Lexicon at Laco's god:
Now wept, now laugh'd, at each convulsive throe,
A Tragi-comic, spectacle of woe!
At length, in pity, to his matchless grief,
Morpheus descended to infuse relief;
Gather'd a herb, from the Cimmerian bed,
And squeez'd the zest, with labour, through his head;
61
Fell down recumbent, snuffled, writh'd and snor'd—
Rapt, in his sleep, all gorgeous, big and bright,
The vast Hierarch fill'd his mental sight;
To all the Diocesan aims allied!—
Forestalling every privilege of pride!—
Freighting with thunders from the Mother Church!—
Leaving the vulgar Christian in the lurch!—
Sinking in soul, a Despot to adore!—
Kissing the skirts of Babylon's red whore!—
To make D. D.'s ennobled, rich and grand,
And scatter mitres o'er the promis'd land:
For Massachusetts, (on the Monk's petition)
He trac'd an Abbey, for his own condition:
But gave Connecticut the—INQUISITION!
62
While Joy's full tide was pouring through his heart:
The papal bubble broke!—That Imp of song,
His own man Noah (ever in the wrong)
Stole in to tell him, with a hideous yell,
How C---b had struggled, and how W---l fell!
When all his nerves were knitted by Despair;
And Grandeur melted into viewless air!
63
Fraught with a pest, to sow disease 'mong men,
Hangs pendant on the margin of a Town,
With sullen ponderance and sable frown;
A keen North-Wester, rushing from the Lakes,
Bursts the concretion and the fluid breaks.
Then rosy-finger'd Health resumes her sway,
And Truth's broad beam irradiates the day.
64
And pale Uriah's candles all burnt blue:
The minor Feds pour'd in, with panting breath,
To crave his blessing, ere they sunk in death;
But Tim was so bewilder'd with his sorrow,
He d---d them all, and bade them call to-morrow:
While Retribution, to coerce their glories,
Spread a tenesmus and hard-bound the Tories!
END OF CANTO SECOND.
| [The Hamiltoniad | |