An Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers, Knight Comptroller General of His Majesty's Works, And Author of a late Dissertation on Oriental Gardening. Enriched with explanatory Notes, chiefly extracted from that elaborate Performance. The Thirteenth Edition [by William Mason] |
 |
 | An Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers, Knight |  |
5
AN HEROIC EPISTLE TO Sir WILLIAM CHAMBERS, Knight, &c. &c.
Knight of the Polar Star! by Fortune plac'd
To shine the Cynosure of British taste;
Whose orb collects, in one refulgent view,
The scatter'd glories of Chinese Virtù;
And spread their lustre in so broad a blaze,
That Kings themselves are dazzled while they gaze.
O let the Muse attend thy march sublime,
And, with thy prose, caparison her rhyme;
Teach her, like thee, to gild her splendid song,
With scenes of Yven-Ming, and sayings of Li-Tsong;
Like thee to scorn Dame Nature's simple fence;
Leap each Ha Ha of truth and common sense;
And proudly rising in her bold career,
Demand attention from the gracious ear
Of him, whom we and all the world admit,
Patron supreme of science, taste, and wit.
Does Envy doubt? Witness ye chosen train!
Who breathe the sweets of his Saturnian reign;
Witness ye H*lls, ye J*ns*ns, So*ts, S*bb*s,
Hark to my call, for some of you have ears.
Let D**d H*e, from the remotest North,
In see-saw sceptic scruples hint his worth;
D**d, who there supinely deigns to lye
The fattest Hog of Epicurus' stye;
Tho' drunk with Gallic wine, and Gallic praise,
D**d shall bless Old England's halcyon days;
The mighty Home bemir'd in prose so long,
Again shall stalk upon the stilts of song;
While bold Mac-Ossian, wont in ghosts to deal,
Bids candid Smollet from his coffin steal;
Bids Mallock quit his sweet Elysian rest,
Sunk in his St. John's philosophic breast,
And, like old Orpheus, make some strong effort
To come from Hell, and warble truth at Court.
To shine the Cynosure of British taste;
Whose orb collects, in one refulgent view,
The scatter'd glories of Chinese Virtù;
6
That Kings themselves are dazzled while they gaze.
O let the Muse attend thy march sublime,
And, with thy prose, caparison her rhyme;
Teach her, like thee, to gild her splendid song,
With scenes of Yven-Ming, and sayings of Li-Tsong;
Like thee to scorn Dame Nature's simple fence;
Leap each Ha Ha of truth and common sense;
And proudly rising in her bold career,
Demand attention from the gracious ear
Of him, whom we and all the world admit,
Patron supreme of science, taste, and wit.
7
Who breathe the sweets of his Saturnian reign;
Witness ye H*lls, ye J*ns*ns, So*ts, S*bb*s,
Hark to my call, for some of you have ears.
Let D**d H*e, from the remotest North,
In see-saw sceptic scruples hint his worth;
D**d, who there supinely deigns to lye
The fattest Hog of Epicurus' stye;
Tho' drunk with Gallic wine, and Gallic praise,
D**d shall bless Old England's halcyon days;
The mighty Home bemir'd in prose so long,
Again shall stalk upon the stilts of song;
While bold Mac-Ossian, wont in ghosts to deal,
Bids candid Smollet from his coffin steal;
Bids Mallock quit his sweet Elysian rest,
Sunk in his St. John's philosophic breast,
And, like old Orpheus, make some strong effort
To come from Hell, and warble truth at Court.
8
There was a time, “in Esher's peaceful grove,
“When Kent and Nature vy'd for Pelham's love,”
That Pope beheld them with auspicious smile,
And own'd that Beauty blest their mutual toil.
Mistaken Bard! could such a pair design
Scenes fit to live in thy immortal line?
Hadst though been born in this enlighten'd day,
Felt, as we feel, Taste's oriental ray,
Thy satire sure had given them both a stab,
Called Kent a Driveller, and the Nymph a Drab.
For what is Nature? Ring her changes round,
Her three flat notes are water, plants, and ground;
Prolong the peal, yet spite of all your clatter,
The tedious chime is still ground, plants, and water.
So, when some John his dull invention racks,
To rival Boodle's dinners, or Almack's,
Three uncouth legs of mutton shock our eyes,
Three roasted geese, three butter'd apple-pies.
“When Kent and Nature vy'd for Pelham's love,”
That Pope beheld them with auspicious smile,
And own'd that Beauty blest their mutual toil.
Mistaken Bard! could such a pair design
Scenes fit to live in thy immortal line?
Hadst though been born in this enlighten'd day,
Felt, as we feel, Taste's oriental ray,
Thy satire sure had given them both a stab,
Called Kent a Driveller, and the Nymph a Drab.
For what is Nature? Ring her changes round,
Her three flat notes are water, plants, and ground;
9
The tedious chime is still ground, plants, and water.
So, when some John his dull invention racks,
To rival Boodle's dinners, or Almack's,
Three uncouth legs of mutton shock our eyes,
Three roasted geese, three butter'd apple-pies.
Come then, prolific Art, and with thee bring
The charms that rise from thy exhaustless spring;
To Richmond come, for see, untutor'd Brown
Destroys those wonders which were once thy own.
Lo, from his melon-ground the peasant slave
Has rudely rush'd, and levell'd Merlin's Cave;
Knock'd down the waxen Wizzard, seiz'd his wand,
Transform'd to lawn what late was Fairy land;
And marr'd, with impious hand, each sweet design
Of Stephen Duck, and good Queen Caroline.
Haste, bid yon live-long Terras re-ascend,
Replace each vista, straighten every bend;
Shut out the Thames; shall that ignoble thing
Approach the presence of great Ocean's King?
No! let Barbaric glories feast his eyes,
August Pagodas round his palace rise,
And finish'd Richmond open to his view,
“A work to wonder at, perhaps a” Kew.
The charms that rise from thy exhaustless spring;
To Richmond come, for see, untutor'd Brown
Destroys those wonders which were once thy own.
Lo, from his melon-ground the peasant slave
Has rudely rush'd, and levell'd Merlin's Cave;
Knock'd down the waxen Wizzard, seiz'd his wand,
Transform'd to lawn what late was Fairy land;
And marr'd, with impious hand, each sweet design
Of Stephen Duck, and good Queen Caroline.
10
Replace each vista, straighten every bend;
Shut out the Thames; shall that ignoble thing
Approach the presence of great Ocean's King?
No! let Barbaric glories feast his eyes,
August Pagodas round his palace rise,
And finish'd Richmond open to his view,
“A work to wonder at, perhaps a” Kew.
Nor rest we here, but, at our magic call,
Monkies shall climb our trees, and lizards crawl;
Huge dogs of Tibet bark in yonder grove,
Here Parrots prate, there cats make cruel love;
In some fair island will we turn to grass
(With the Queen's leave) her elephant and ass.
Giants from Africa shall guard the glades,
Where hiss our snakes, where sport our Tartar maids;
Or, wanting these, from Charlotte Hayes we bring
Damsels alike adroit to sport and sting.
Monkies shall climb our trees, and lizards crawl;
11
Here Parrots prate, there cats make cruel love;
In some fair island will we turn to grass
(With the Queen's leave) her elephant and ass.
Giants from Africa shall guard the glades,
Where hiss our snakes, where sport our Tartar maids;
Or, wanting these, from Charlotte Hayes we bring
Damsels alike adroit to sport and sting.
Now to our lawns of dalliance and delight,
Join we the groves of horror and affright;
This to atchieve no foreign aids we try,
Thy gibbets, Bagshot! shall our wants supply;
Hounslow, whose heath sublimer terror fills,
Shall with her gibbets lend her powder mills.
Here too, O King of Vengeance, in thy fane,
Tremendous Wilkes shall rattle his gold chain;
And round that fane on many a Tyburn tree,
Hang fragments dire of Newgate-history;
On this shall H*ll*d's dying speech be read,
Here B---te's confession, and his wooden head;
While all the minor plunderers of the age
(Too numerous far for this contracted page)
The R*g*ys, Mungos, B*ds*ws there,
In straw-stufft effigy, shall kick the air.
But say, ye powers, who come when fancy calls,
Where shall our mimic London rear her walls?
That Eastern feature, Art must next produce,
Tho' not for present, yet for future use;
Our sons some slave of greatness may behold,
Cast in the genuine Asiatic mould;
Who of three realms shall condescend to know
No more than he can spy from Windsor's brow;
For him that blessing of a better time,
The Muse shall deal a while in brick and lime;
Surpass the bold ΑΔΕΛΦΙ in design,
And o'er the Thames fling one stupendous line
Of marble arches, in a bridge, that cuts
From Richmond Ferry slant to Brentford Butts.
Brentford with London's charms will we adorn;
Brentford, the bishoprick of Parson Horne.
There at one glance, the royal eye shall meet
Each varied beauty of St. James's Street;
Stout T*lb*t there shall ply with hackney chair,
And Patriot Betty fix her fruitshop there.
Like distant thunder, now the coach of state
Rolls o'er the bridge that groans beneath its weight.
The Court have cross'd the stream; the sports begin;
Now N**l preaches of Rebellion's sin:
And as the powers of his strong pathos rise,
Lo, brazen tears fall from Sir Fl**r's eyes.
While skulking round the pews, that babe of grace,
Who ne'er before at sermon shew'd his face,
See Jemmy Twitcher shambles; stop! stop thief!
He's stol'n the E* of D*nb*h's handkerchief.
Let B*rr*t*n arrest him in mock fury,
And M**d hang the knave without a jury.
But hark the voice of battle shouts from far,
The Jews and Macaronis are at war:
The Jews prevail, and, thund'ring from the stocks,
They seize, they bind, they circumcise C*s F*.
Fair Schw***n smiles the sport to see,
And all the Maids of Honour cry Te! He!
Join we the groves of horror and affright;
This to atchieve no foreign aids we try,
Thy gibbets, Bagshot! shall our wants supply;
Hounslow, whose heath sublimer terror fills,
Shall with her gibbets lend her powder mills.
12
Tremendous Wilkes shall rattle his gold chain;
And round that fane on many a Tyburn tree,
Hang fragments dire of Newgate-history;
On this shall H*ll*d's dying speech be read,
Here B---te's confession, and his wooden head;
While all the minor plunderers of the age
(Too numerous far for this contracted page)
The R*g*ys, Mungos, B*ds*ws there,
In straw-stufft effigy, shall kick the air.
13
Where shall our mimic London rear her walls?
That Eastern feature, Art must next produce,
Tho' not for present, yet for future use;
Our sons some slave of greatness may behold,
Cast in the genuine Asiatic mould;
Who of three realms shall condescend to know
No more than he can spy from Windsor's brow;
For him that blessing of a better time,
The Muse shall deal a while in brick and lime;
Surpass the bold ΑΔΕΛΦΙ in design,
And o'er the Thames fling one stupendous line
14
From Richmond Ferry slant to Brentford Butts.
Brentford with London's charms will we adorn;
Brentford, the bishoprick of Parson Horne.
There at one glance, the royal eye shall meet
Each varied beauty of St. James's Street;
Stout T*lb*t there shall ply with hackney chair,
And Patriot Betty fix her fruitshop there.
Like distant thunder, now the coach of state
Rolls o'er the bridge that groans beneath its weight.
The Court have cross'd the stream; the sports begin;
Now N**l preaches of Rebellion's sin:
And as the powers of his strong pathos rise,
Lo, brazen tears fall from Sir Fl**r's eyes.
15
Who ne'er before at sermon shew'd his face,
See Jemmy Twitcher shambles; stop! stop thief!
He's stol'n the E* of D*nb*h's handkerchief.
Let B*rr*t*n arrest him in mock fury,
And M**d hang the knave without a jury.
But hark the voice of battle shouts from far,
The Jews and Macaronis are at war:
The Jews prevail, and, thund'ring from the stocks,
They seize, they bind, they circumcise C*s F*.
Fair Schw***n smiles the sport to see,
And all the Maids of Honour cry Te! He!
16
Be these the rural pastimes that attend
Great B*nsw*k's leisure: these shall best unbend
His royal mind, whene'er from state withdrawn,
He treads the velvet of his Richmond lawn;
These shall prolong his Asiatic dream,
Tho' Europe's balance trembles on its beam.
And thou, Sir William! while thy plastic hand
Creates each wonder, which thy Bard has plann'd,
While, as thy art commands, obsequious rise
Whate'er can please, or frighten, or surprize,
O! let that Bard his Knight's protection claim,
And share, like faithful Sancho, Quixote's fame.
Great B*nsw*k's leisure: these shall best unbend
His royal mind, whene'er from state withdrawn,
He treads the velvet of his Richmond lawn;
These shall prolong his Asiatic dream,
Tho' Europe's balance trembles on its beam.
And thou, Sir William! while thy plastic hand
Creates each wonder, which thy Bard has plann'd,
While, as thy art commands, obsequious rise
Whate'er can please, or frighten, or surprize,
O! let that Bard his Knight's protection claim,
And share, like faithful Sancho, Quixote's fame.
FINIS.
| An Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers, Knight | |