Poems on Several Occasions In Two Volumes. By Mr. Joseph Mitchell |
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Congratulatory Verses To His Excellency Joseph Mitchell, Esq;
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
1
Congratulatory Verses To His Excellency Joseph Mitchell, Esq;
On a Report of his being preferr'd to the Government of Duck-Island, in St. James's Park.
Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero
Pulsanda tellus ------
Hor.
Pulsanda tellus ------
Hor.
When to my Ears the joyful Tidings came,
That Mitchell, Son of Phoebus, and of Fame!
Was rais'd, by Walpole's most auspicious Smile,
To sway the Sceptre of St. James's Isle,
Unusual Raptures in my Bosom sprung,
Beam'd in my Eyes, and trickled from my Tongue:
Nor ceas'd the social Sharers of the News,
T'extol the Patron and to hail the Muse.
That Mitchell, Son of Phoebus, and of Fame!
Was rais'd, by Walpole's most auspicious Smile,
To sway the Sceptre of St. James's Isle,
Unusual Raptures in my Bosom sprung,
Beam'd in my Eyes, and trickled from my Tongue:
2
T'extol the Patron and to hail the Muse.
Cou'd sage St. Evremond's immortal Shade
Know who his honour'd Successor is made,
In Realms of Death, he'd raise a tuneful Voice,
And kindred Bards, in Concert, wou'd rejoice.
Methinks, I hear the Burden of their Song—
“All Praise to Walpole! may he prosper long!
“Mitchell the great St. Evremond succeeds,
“And Ducks and Geese, with like Discretion, feeds.
Know who his honour'd Successor is made,
In Realms of Death, he'd raise a tuneful Voice,
And kindred Bards, in Concert, wou'd rejoice.
Methinks, I hear the Burden of their Song—
“All Praise to Walpole! may he prosper long!
“Mitchell the great St. Evremond succeeds,
“And Ducks and Geese, with like Discretion, feeds.
Yet tho' thy Shoulders were by Nature meant,
To bear the mighty Load of Government,
Wear not away the Springs of Life too fast,
Nor, with unwonted Toils, thy Spirits waste:
Appoint some Swain thy Regions to o'er-see,
A Vicar-general, or a Deputy,
And oh! that mine the happy Post might be!
But if the Trust, or Profit, seem too great,
Make me your Chaplain, or your Laureat.
To bear the mighty Load of Government,
Wear not away the Springs of Life too fast,
Nor, with unwonted Toils, thy Spirits waste:
Appoint some Swain thy Regions to o'er-see,
A Vicar-general, or a Deputy,
And oh! that mine the happy Post might be!
3
Make me your Chaplain, or your Laureat.
'Tis done—And, now, my Muse, unbounded, roves
Thro' twining Thickets, and embow'ring Groves;
On ev'ry mossy Bank with Rapture dwells,
And to each Tree the joyful News reveals;
Joins the loud Choirs that to the Groves resort,
Or Tench and Carp, that in the Waters sport.
Thro' twining Thickets, and embow'ring Groves;
On ev'ry mossy Bank with Rapture dwells,
And to each Tree the joyful News reveals;
Joins the loud Choirs that to the Groves resort,
Or Tench and Carp, that in the Waters sport.
A Libyan sage, once, in his dark Abode,
Taught Jays and Magpies to proclaim him God:
Then to the Woods dispatch'd the chattering Crew,
Who spread his Godship's Name, where'er they flew.
The People listen'd, wonder'd, and ador'd,
And μεγας Θεος ψαρων was the Word.
Taught Jays and Magpies to proclaim him God:
Then to the Woods dispatch'd the chattering Crew,
Who spread his Godship's Name, where'er they flew.
The People listen'd, wonder'd, and ador'd,
And μεγας Θεος ψαρων was the Word.
But leaving Heathen Greek, and Heathen Stories,
Let's now survey the happy State before us:
Where ev'ry free-born Subject still enjoys
His Liberty, and Property, of Noise:
Where none oppress'd, in vain, for Justice calls;
No secret Treason broods within your Walls:
No cursed Bribery corrupts the Chair,
No Duns, no Catch-poles, ever enter there.
No Cart, no Coach, no Chimney-sweeper, seen,
To break your Rest, or edge you off the Green.
Your Laws are just; your Ducks at Pleasure stray
From Pool to Pool, with Chearfulness obey,
And whake your Praise aloud, as well as they may.
For you, your Geese their grateful Notes employ,
Nod their grave Heads, and gabble forth their Joy.
Let's now survey the happy State before us:
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His Liberty, and Property, of Noise:
Where none oppress'd, in vain, for Justice calls;
No secret Treason broods within your Walls:
No cursed Bribery corrupts the Chair,
No Duns, no Catch-poles, ever enter there.
No Cart, no Coach, no Chimney-sweeper, seen,
To break your Rest, or edge you off the Green.
Your Laws are just; your Ducks at Pleasure stray
From Pool to Pool, with Chearfulness obey,
And whake your Praise aloud, as well as they may.
For you, your Geese their grateful Notes employ,
Nod their grave Heads, and gabble forth their Joy.
J. ROOKE.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |