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Parliamentary Letters, and Other Poems

By Q. in the Corner [i.e. N. T. H. Bayly]
 

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Parliamentary Letters.
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Parliamentary Letters.


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FROM AN ELECTIONEERING CANDIDATE TO A FRIEND IN LONDON.

My dear cousin Edward, I know you will stare,
When you hear that my uncle has made me his heir!
In his will he has left me his mansion and goods,
His household appendages, acres, and woods;
And I mean, as I'm greatly enrich'd by his bounty,
To sit down in splendour, and stand for the county.
Yes, Ned, you may wonder, and start an objection,
Attempting to end my political plan;

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Yet at the ensuing contested election,
I've hopes of becoming a Parliament Man.
And why should I not? I've a landed estate,
Which gives me a title to rank with the great;
And having a family seat, you'll allow
That a seat in the House will be due to me now:
I shall not be the first who contrived to obtain
Popularity—bought with the lucre of gain;
They say I'm not clever—but he that is worse
May carry his point, if he carry a purse!
Though whilst all are eager to glean from his store,
Those who vote in his favour may vote him a bore.
The great dissolution-of-parliament day
Will soon clear the seats of both Houses they say,
Our Members would doubtless remain there for ever,
If left 'till they all had exhausted their breath:

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But that's not the case, for a Parliament never
Is suffer'd to die of a natural death:
When like to be ousted, and laid on the shelf
'Twill always lay violent hands on itself;
As a sensible dog, who knows what he's about,
Sneaks off—at a rumour of turning him out.
Then many a Member will prove he is willing,
For England's advantage, to spend his last shilling;
Regardless of self, he'll throw thousands about him,
Assured that the Senate could not do without him.
The man who is Member at present, I hear,
Intends, if he can, to oppose my career;
But as I am the richest, his friends will soon see
Some weighty inducements for fixing on me;
And they'll say, when his fortune no longer contents them,
Their old representative misrepresents them.

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For boroughs, like flirts, have but little objection
To changing their suitors as politics veer;
And he may be hooted, and lose his election,
Whose fortune was wasted to gain it last year:
Constituents know, when a candidate offers,
'Tis prudent to make the best bargain they can;
And having well weighed the contents of his coffers,
They vote for the money much more than the man.
I fear I have lived in the country so long,
That at first setting out I shall do something wrong;
For of news I know nothing, except what I've met,
Once a week at our club, in the County Gazette;
As I then never meddled in matters of state,
I seldom had leisure to read the debate,
But just glanced it over in haste; looking after
The “hears,” and the “cheers,” and the “very loud laughter;

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Though I often was puzzled at last, to find out
What the Parliament Men had been laughing about.
As I know not exactly what course to pursue,
Dear Ned, I shall place my reliance on you;
And beg you will send, when you've leisure to pen it,
A new Vade-Mecum for men in the Senate.
Be clear and concise; and explicitly note
Which side I shall find it most proper to vote;
What men in the state now possess most authority,
And also what sentiments please the majority;
Direct me in all things, and say if my glory
Will most be enhanced as a Whig, or a Tory:
And when that is settled, I beg you will show
The distinguishing marks which each party possesses;
Whether Tory or Whig, a man may as well know
An item or two of the creed he professes.

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When my canvass begins I suppose they'll expect me
To state my opinions before they elect me.
Then haste (for there is not a day to be lost)
And send my political thoughts by the post;
Be speedy, I beg, for I'm longing to see
My letters and papers directed M.P.

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Letter IN ANSWER TO THE FORMER.

Hail! child of promise! thou whose soul aspires
To shame all antecedent country squires,
Who, every inch a senator, wouldst sit
Famed for your learning, eloquence, and wit;
Resolved in England's history to claim
An ample page devoted to your name.
In my mind's eye already I perceive
Our savour'd county's representative;
And view him raised to his exalted station,
A first-rate Member of the legislation.
You ask advice; a thing which, I believe,
Is always found more hard to take than give;

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All men will ask it of their friends like you,
But most men pre-determine what to do;
And if their friend opposes them, they still
Pursue their plan, and think he judges ill:
—As mine, however, is the easy task,
I nib my pen to give you what you ask.
If you would have me show the best of ways
To move with men's applause in modern days,
If you would know how praises are obtain'd,
And learn how popularity is gain'd;
The wondrous secret is not hard to tell,
One little word—reform—contains the spell.
Reform should be your watchword; day and night
This ultimatum should be kept in sight;
Declare that ministers in church and state,
And princes too, should be regenerate;

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Reform their habits first; when that is done,
On leisure days you may reform your own.
Take public characters of every sort,
(Preferring those, of course, who go to court);
Let all their actions be severely tried,
Discover, if you can, their weaker side;
Find out a flaw, and, in your next oration,
Compassionately plan their reformation;
And in your comments, carefully make use
Of inuendos, scandal, and abuse.
Though fear or delicacy form a fence
To guard our equals from malevolence,
These (or at least the latter) cannot be
A check to those who slander Royalty;
No qualm of conscience ever intervenes
To bid us spare our princes, dukes, or queens:

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Those who rule over us we freely scan,
And of their actions think the worst we can.
All men who sit in Parliament possess
Some independent notions, more or less;
But independence, Doctor Johnson says,
May be defined distinctly in two ways;
His page first calls it “freedom,” but the whole
Proclaims it “an exemption from control:”
Freedom is England's pride; yet, spite of this,
Some think control at times is not amiss:
And small constraints we wisely should endure,
To make our country's freedom more secure:
Men of reputed worth have argued thus,
But old opinions are despised by us;
Our fathers err'd, poor men, and knowledge runs
In streams far more resplendent to their sons.

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We see how admirably men succeed
In misinterpreting the books they read;
I mean, we view them (slighting all the rest)
Fix on the inference which suits them best;
Our Independent Members thus agree
In being constant friends of liberty;
Which (as their actions show us) they define
Freedom from laws both human and Divine.
In days of yore a man might freely own
(Without much blame) attachment to the crown;
To British hearts, the isle that gave them birth
Appeared the dearest, brightest spot on earth;
Loyalty was not thought a stigma then;
And England was the pride of Englishmen;
Her sons, while foreign nations own'd her fame,
Were not the first to vilify her name:
But love of country, and such things, of late
Have properly been voted out of date.

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It has been said (and said by men of sense,
Which makes their errors of more consequence)
That every station, whether high or low,
Has its peculiar share of joy and woe;
That all gradations wisely were design'd
To aid the common welfare of mankind,
And that these boundaries of rank secure
The mutual benefit of rich and poor.
Weak-sighted men! we boast a nobler plan,
And boldly vindicate the rights of man.
The day may yet arrive, when we shall see
Mankind enjoy a blest equality;
When all shall safely trample on the crown,
And empty coronets be melted down;
When mighty justice shall no more look big,
And law shall lose his terrors and his wig;

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When all alike shall share the common store,
And paupers' claims be misnamed stealth no more;
When industry shall be a name unknown,
And men shall rise by strength of limbs alone;
When rich and poor the feather'd tribe may eat,
And game certificates be obsolete;
When church and state shall lose their load of evil,
And all created beings find their level;
When learned pedants shall no longer dare
Maintain established creeds and forms of prayer;
But those may preach who feel they have a call,
And grace give ordinations to us all.
O blessed consummation! days of peace!
Commitments, bailiffs, debts, and duns, shall cease;
And “Universal Suffrage” shall bespeak
A bran new parliament just once a week;

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Mankind shall walk about without offence
In unsophisticated innocence;
Statutes at large shall rot upon their shelves,
And none shall hang,—but those who hang themselves.
When we direct the helm, I meditate
A mighty revolution in the state;
Our wives and daughters we'll no more condemn
Eternally to pucker, darn, and hem;
But raised from household culinary cares,
Females shall interfere in state affairs:
Then shall they stand (nor heed a husband's frowns)
Fair representatives of borough-towns;
Then those rare talents, which are now confined
To the dull task of stitching for mankind;
Those bright imaginations, which have toil'd
In the alternatives of roast and boil'd,

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Shall shine in public life, and overawe
Surrounding states with politics and law.
Petticoat government! through future ages
This brilliant theme shall grace historic pages;
Our country's annals shall hereafter state
How ladies shone in council or debate;
Our maiden aunts shall breathe emphatic words,
And shake the House of Commons or of Lords;
And blooming belles shall benefit the nation,
By writing pamphlets on administration.
Woman! too long, by tyrant custom tied,
Has thy tongue's eloquence been misapplied;
Those who have voices to such vast extent
Should surely have a voice in Parliament:
Too long, alas! thy radiant sun has set
Behind the flimsy veil of etiquette;

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Too long propriety, with frown severe,
Withheld thy talents from their proper sphere;
And lordly man's authoritative tone
Too long has claim'd the senate as his own;
Thy genius doom'd to slumber, or possess
No aim but folly, flattery, and dress.
But now be bold! reform shall aid our plan;
Step forth, and snatch the laurel wreath from man;
With gift of speech all potentates perplex,
And scorn the title of the softer sex!
Methinks e'en now I see St. Stephen's shine
With senators profound and feminine;
Their cheeks all blushing with the warmth they feel,
Their eyes all bright with patriotic zeal!
Then shall those nymphs who now peruse at most
La Belle Assemblée, or the Morning Post,

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Sagely explore, with comprehensive glance,
The maze of treaties, taxes, and finance;
Then academic honours shall prepare
A female speaker for the Speaker's chair;
And pretty lips shall eloquently speak
In learned Latin, and more learned Greek;
Saying—what scarce can be explain'd when said,
And writing franks that scarcely can be read.
The privilege of franking, I believe
You think a Member's best prerogative;
E'en now with visionary bliss you see
Epistles of three sheets, yet postage free!
And from your country friends you claim a host
Of tender benedictions sent per post:
'Tis true the prospect smiles; but earthly joy,
Moralists say, is mingled with alloy;

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And 'midst your honours, troubles will unite
To make you feel that moralists are right.
When you are just elected, and can claim
M. P. to dignify your noble name;
Eer your unpractised fingers can command
A Member's unintelligible hand;
Notes will arrive with compliments and thanks,
Unconscionably claiming scores of franks;
'Till to your neighbours you become almost
A regular appendage to the post.
It now shall be my aim to represent
The most prevailing pleas of discontent;
To store your mind with murmurs, and to teach
How much those murmurs ornament a speech:
In war you should exclaim, “'Twere better far
“To live all slaves, than bear the ills of war;

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“Taxes and burdens of all kinds increase;
“On any terms 'twere better to have peace.”
Condemn the gift of pensions, and applause,
For loss of limbs, in so absurd a cause;
Declare defeat is certain;—or pretend
Defeat would be an eligible end;
Let laurels flourish round a foreign brow,
We demand peace,—obtain'd—no matter how.
It also is your duty to bestow,
In artful language, praises on our foe;
He fights our country; but a liberal mind
Discovers countrymen in all mankind;
Should England fall, and bear another name,
—England or France;—to us 'twere all the same.
If war, and its anticipated ill,
Bring peace and glory, you may murmur still;

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If public men give dinners,—take offence
At your low means, and their magnificence;
Forget the services they did the state,
And grumble at their services of plate:
In all rejoicings, search out a pretence
For blaming fetes, and folly, and expense;
Look coldly on, and show that you despise
Such childish sport, such vulgar prejudice.
I know, dear Ben, it is your cruel fate
To be by birth descended from the great;
But 'tis your interest to feel,—or feign,
For birth an insurmountable disdain;
Despise all honorary claims, and sport
With ribbons, titles, stars of every sort;
With great humility your rank disclaim,
And view your noble pedigree with shame;

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Your ancestors were British Peers; what then?
We need no more Right Honourable men;
And whilst you shade the honours they have won,
Be famed as their dishonourable son.
Go tell the mob—(but hold, I'm not discreet,
Mob is a slavish word, grown obsolete:)
Go tell the multitude, you offer cures
For all their griefs,—and that those griefs are yours;
And if they boast no grievances, point out
Some new distress they ought to grieve about:
Use high-flown words and beautiful bombast;
Say ills disgrace times present and times past;
Proclaim to all, your projects are pursued
For patriotic ends and public good;
Let every sentence harrow up the soul,
With Want, Oppression, Famine, and Controul;

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Let tales of woe unmerited be heard,
And rank rebellion lurk in every word;
Talk loud and long, and only just withdraw
In time to shun the vigilance of law;
And in each prudent pause it will appear
That more is understood than meets the ear:
Spare none in place,—or, if one man is spared,
Show you would talk high treason,—if you dared.
Lead those you seem to serve: the multitude
Are led with ease to evil or to good;
Whate'er may be their present idol's aim,
Worthy or worthless, theirs will be the same:
And those who, with enthusiastic zeal,
Now talk of loyalty they seem to feel;
To-morrow, led astray, with hearts as warm,
Will pelt nobility, and cry reform.

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Let their worst passions labour for your use,
For all their errors find some fit excuse;
And whilst they serve your purpose, and maintain
The daring schemes of your seditious brain;
Whilst by their crimes you boldly hope to rise
To that high state you outwardly despise;
Whilst they believe you seek their good alone
—More worldly wise, you struggle for your own.
These are my counsels: now, my friend, go forth,
And let my pupil's actions prove their worth;
Let your consistency be firm and strong;
Oppose all measures, whether right or wrong:
Say ministers, and all who aid them too,
Have nothing but emolument in view;
Would vote for Beelzebub,—be bought or sold;
Would rather steal “than eat their mutton cold.”

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If you should doubt my judgment, look around—
Some perfect specimens may soon be found,
Who act as you must do, and boldly storm
About their injuries, and seek reform;
Who speak of liberty, and prove that each
At least possesses liberty of speech.
Behold some pert apprentice stoutly stand,
A home-made champion of his native land;
This self-elected judge his plan produces
For cleansing Parliament of all abuses;
Spurning the shop, for counters grown too great,
His rising talents rise against the state;
In reformation's cause so firmly staunch,
He'd fell the constitution, root and branch;
And reproduce the senate and the throne,
Raised on new plans and fancies of his own.

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He thus, by means not rightly understood,
Disturbs his country—for his country's good;
And oft applies, its safety to secure,
Desperate remedies, that kill or cure:
Inflamed with party politics, he aims
To swell the list of patriotic names;
And feels that if posterity be just,
Ages to come will venerate his bust:
His vehement career no fears can check;
In freedom's cause who would not risk his neck?
In freedom's name his standard is unfurl'd,
Which sows the seeds of discord in the world;
Whilst others' lives are risk'd in the pursuit,
He fondly hopes to reap the golden fruit.
Possess'd of nought, this patriotic man
At worst can only end as he began:
He cannot lose; and since his thoughts disdain
Justice and law,—he possibly may gain.

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There have been men (by folly misnamed great)
Who sought reform by means more moderate;
Who loved the soil, and, though they were aware
Some weeds had mingled with the blossoms there,
With caution would have moved them, for they knew
A careless hand might kill the blossoms too:
They fear'd to check the errors in their growth,
Lest rashness should annihilate them both.
These said that if our cause had been the best,
Which revolution ever yet possest;
If all our enmities were justly aim'd,
And all out plots by sense and reason framed;
The methods used, and those who use them too,
Would surely crush the end we have in view.
Others, far more misguided than the rest,
Think that the present system is the best:

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“Is that corrupt,” they say, “which stood alone
“Whilst other Governments were overthrown?
“Which smiled amidst the storm, and still possest
“Safety at home, and shelter for the rest;
“Can that be weak, or liable to fall,
“Which felt the woes of war, and braved them all?
“Why should we seek by visionary ways
“To find security for future days?
“Why are these untried theories pursued,
“Whilst this has proved so practically good?”
Some timid fools, perhaps, who fear the laws,
Adoring what they call “the good old cause,”
Will spurn our principles, and madly cling—
(Oh! matchless ignorance!) to church and king!
“If none must labour, how”—it will be said,—
“Can the large loaves they promise us be made?

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“If none must judge or govern, and the strong
“Encompass all, who'll guard the weak from wrong?”
We look with scorn on those who argue thus,
And they, poor creatures, look with scorn on us;
Such weak objections cannot hurt our scheme,
We'll have a government that works by steam:
Before our systems, Whigs and Tories fall;
Both we despise, and are despised by all.

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Letter FROM THE CANDIDATE TO HIS FRIEND IN LONDON.

My Mentor! my oracle! trust me, I feel
Much obliged by your friendly affection and zeal;
More just admonitions were never yet heard,
There's sense and discretion in every word;
I'll keep your injunctions for ever in view,
And you'll find in due time they will benefit you:
Yes, you, my dear Edward; for when I appear
At the loftiest height of my brilliant career;
When biographers trace my political course,
Describe my perfections, and search for their source;
At the end of my memoirs in quarto—your name
Some flattering note may undoubtedly claim;

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And the lasting reward of your kindness shall be
A slight immortality, borrowed from me.
I'm sure of success, my procession's prepared,
And Monday, or Tuesday, I hope to be chair'd;
And three times a day at a mirror I stand
In an attitude holding my hat in my hand;
To tutor my face for the multitude, blending
The dignified frown with the smile condescending:
I've twenty extempore speeches in store,
Which have been in rehearsal a fortnight or more.
The women adore you, and call you defender,
And friend to the rights of the feminine gender;
My sisters and cousins, nay, all that I meet,
With eloquent ardour your praises repeat;
And you're likely some tender emotions to plant
In the sensitive breast of my elderly aunt;

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You've charm'd the poor woman; she now talks of seeking
Some man who professes to teach public speaking;
But I rather suspect (so beware what you do)
She'd rejoice in some snug private speaking with you.
I hear that electors expect to be fed,
And will dine (at my cost) at a guinea a-head;
I shall take your advice, not a hint shall be lost;
Reform shall be mingled with every toast:
I've engaged the hotel, and I mean to begin
By making it splendid without and within;
Transparent devices shall shine on the wall,
And “Speedy Reform” be the motto of all;
And our landlord, when friends of reform meet to dine,
I hope will contrive a reform in his wine:

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We'll make an agreement to set all our faces
Against the receivers of sinecure places.
And, talking of that, if I ever should see
A place of some consequence offer'd to me;
A sinecure place;—Ned, I supplicate you
To tell me what then 'twill be decent to do.
To you, my dear friend, I explicitly state
My scholastic attainments are not very great;
The village church-warden (an honour'd vocation)
Was superindendent of my education;
My master's own portion of knowledge amounts
To spelling, and reading, and casting accounts;
And I'm in no danger, it must be confess'd,
Of eclipsing the talents my tutor possess'd;
Now I've lately been frighten'd with stories concerning
Some Members of Parliament noted for learning:

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They tell me that gentlemen sometimes arise
Extremely sarcastic,—unpleasantly wise;
Who speak very much to the purpose, 'tis said,
And quote from all languages, living and dead.
If one, thus enlighten'd by college and schools,
Were to measure my speeches by critical rules,
Or to treat my remarks in a sholar-like way,
O! how should I answer? or what should I say?
For even suppose I'd the volumes to quote;
—Ye gods! what a trouble to learn them by rote!!

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Answer TO THE CANDIDATE'S SECOND LETTER.

Again I write, delighted to perceive
How much you estimate the hints I give;
A voluntary pupil, you may be
Soon amply qualified to lecture me:
Yet whilst you urge me to resume my pen,
And freely write of manners and of men;
Whilst thus you court my counsels, and attend
Implicitly to all the rules I send;
Whilst arguments so flattering you use
To make me scribble;—how can I refuse?
And O! believe me, whilst my labour leads
My friend to do imperishable deeds;

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Whilst thus his guileless innocence I guard;
The occupation is its own reward:
But were it not, the promises you give,
That in your life my humble name shall live,
Would make me diligent, and bid me claim
Borrow'd effulgence, and reflected fame;
And though one note alone should crown my task
In modern volumes, that is all I ask;
Each modern writer of a book devotes
One half to long explanatory notes;
One work is written—wonderfully good!—
It needs another to be understood.
Ere long, some highly favour'd hand shall trace
Each varied look of your expressive face;
And gaping multitudes shall daily stop
To view your charms in an engraver's shop:

38

Works of all kinds shall issue from the press,
To tell the world the virtues you possess;
Enumerating all you've done and said,
And giving us your life before you're dead;
Your “beauties” then shall grace some hot-press'd page
(Selected beauties now are all the rage);
When these are cull'd, their next resource will be
Your great success in wit and repartee;
And whilst each new perfection meets your eyes,
Perhaps you'll stare to find yourself so wise.
You'll live to be a poet, for I spy
A poet's frenzy rolling in your eye;
But should you write—(and in these scribbling times
What poet ever yet withheld his rhymes?)
Should you e'er write an epic, never hint
Your thoughts on politics before you print;

39

Remember the reviewers:—some may praise,
And find a spark of genius in your lays;
But fear those party writers who condemn
Each hapless youth who does not think with them.
Still undecided, it appears to me
You argue thus,—“To be, or not to be:”
That's an important question, I admit;
If courage fails you, I will answer it:—
Be all you wish: shall one, whose breast is warm
With happy dreams of radical reform,
Shrink from the fray, and let his ardour cease
For want of arguments from Rome or Greece?
Or fear to benefit the present age,
Because he never studied Homer's page?
No,—genius is resplendent, overturning
All the dull efforts of pedantic learning;

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Should they quote Latin, never look aghast;—
But talk the louder, you'll be heard at last.
You ask if, after all the ills you find
In place-receivers, you could change your mind;
Yes,—if a tempting offer should appear,
Some thousand comfortable pounds a year,—
You may accept them all, nor fear disgrace,
Your former scruples would be out of place;
Say learned men have kindly set you right:
You see the matter in its proper light;
Nor can the change be call'd a dereliction,
It only proves you're open to conviction.
Let not expensive dinners give you pain—
This is a tax which greatness must sustain;
Your voters have no interested views,
But turtle feasts 'twere madness to refuse;

41

And their huge appetites a proof will give
In this they need no representative.
Besides, when mortal men on business meet,
Without a dinner all seems incomplete:
At justice meetings, where grave sages sit
Arranging roads or rates, as they think fit;
At parish meetings, where in long debate
Churchwardens frown in enviable state;
At corporation meetings, where 'tis just
Paving and lighting should be well discuss'd;
At quarter day, when lawyers are intent
Collecting in due form a client's rent;—
In fact, whate'er is done by saint or sinner,
Nothing will prosper if there's not a dinner.
Your aunt is worthy of her nephew; now
'Tis time to decorate the female brow

42

With lasting laurels; and your aunt shall claim
The glory of establishing their fame.
Oh! let her hasten to secluded shades,
And found a college for scholastic maids;
Let caps and gowns their lovely persons grace;
Not fashion's dress, but suited to the place;
Their volubility of tongue and pen
Will far exceed the oldest, ablest men;
She most will charm who most intently tries
To take degrees, or struggle for a prize;
And we shall boast, midst those who aid our cause,
Spinsters of arts, and doctresses of laws.
Avoid all those who party views reject,
Who always vote as conscience may direct;
But worship those who, kings and realms to shake,
Boldly oppose, for opposition's sake;

43

And, to obtain the sanction of the throng,
Vociferate “whatever is,—is wrong.”
When all your plans have prosper'd, and you find
Your potent spells regenerate mankind;
When your reforming influence imparts
Foreign propensities to British hearts;
When opposition to your voice is sin,
When all your foes are out, and you are in;
When you possess importance, pension, place,
Your ministers—all ministers of grace;
When your decree is law;—you may engage
The age to come will be a golden age.
END OF PARLIAMENTARY LETTERS.