The Poems and Miscellaneous Compositions of Paul Whitehead With Explanatory Notes on his Writings, and His life written by Captain Edward Thompson. With a Head of the Author, From a Painting by Mr. Gainsborough |
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| THE STATE DUNCES;
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
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 | The Poems and Miscellaneous Compositions of Paul Whitehead |  |
1
THE STATE DUNCES;
A SATIRE.
Inscribed to Mr. POPE.
Written in 1733.
Written in 1733.
I from my soul sincerely hate
Both K*** and M******rs of State.
Both K*** and M******rs of State.
Swift.
3
While cringing crouds at faithless Levees wait,
Fond to be Fools of Fame, or Slaves of State;
And others, studious to increase their store,
Plough the rough Ocean for Peruvian ore;
How blest thy fate, whom calmer hours attend,
Peace thy companion, Fame thy faithful friend!
While in thy Twick'nham bow'rs, devoid of care,
You feast the fancy, and enchant the ear;
Thames gently rolls her silver tide along,
And the charm'd Naiads listen to thy song.
Fond to be Fools of Fame, or Slaves of State;
And others, studious to increase their store,
Plough the rough Ocean for Peruvian ore;
How blest thy fate, whom calmer hours attend,
Peace thy companion, Fame thy faithful friend!
While in thy Twick'nham bow'rs, devoid of care,
You feast the fancy, and enchant the ear;
Thames gently rolls her silver tide along,
And the charm'd Naiads listen to thy song.
4
Here peaceful pass the gentle hours away,
While tuneful Science measures out the day!
Here, happy Bard, as various fancies lead,
You paint the blooming Maid, or flow'ry Mead!
Sound the rough clangor of tumultuous War,
Or sing the ravish'd tendrils of the Fair!
Now melting move the tender tear to flow,
And wake our sighs with Eloisa's woe.
But chief, to Dullness ever foe decreed,
The Apes of Science with thy satire bleed;
Peers, Poets, Pandars, mingle in the throng,
Smart with thy touch, and tremble at thy song.
While tuneful Science measures out the day!
Here, happy Bard, as various fancies lead,
You paint the blooming Maid, or flow'ry Mead!
Sound the rough clangor of tumultuous War,
Or sing the ravish'd tendrils of the Fair!
Now melting move the tender tear to flow,
And wake our sighs with Eloisa's woe.
But chief, to Dullness ever foe decreed,
The Apes of Science with thy satire bleed;
Peers, Poets, Pandars, mingle in the throng,
Smart with thy touch, and tremble at thy song.
Yet vain, O Pope! is all thy sharpest rage,
Still starv'ling Dunces persecute the age;
Faithful to folly, or enrag'd with spite,
Still tasteless Timons build, and Tibbalds write;
Still Welstead tunes his Beer-inspired lays,
And Ralph, in metre, holds forth Stanhope's praise:
Ah! hapless victim to the Poet's flame,
While his eulogiums crucify thy fame.
Still starv'ling Dunces persecute the age;
Faithful to folly, or enrag'd with spite,
Still tasteless Timons build, and Tibbalds write;
5
And Ralph, in metre, holds forth Stanhope's praise:
Ah! hapless victim to the Poet's flame,
While his eulogiums crucify thy fame.
Shall embrio Wits thy studious hours engage,
Live in thy labours, and prophane thy page;
While Virtue, ever-lov'd, demands thy lays,
And claims the tuneful tribute of thy praise?
Can Pope be silent, and not grateful lend
One strain to sing the Patriot, and the Friend,
Who, nobly anxious in his Country's cause,
Maintains her Honours, and defends her Laws?
Could I, my Bard, but equal numbers raise,
Then would I sing—for, oh! I burst to praise—
Sing how a Pult'ney charms the list'ning throng,
While Senates hang enraptur'd on his tongue;
With Tully's fire how each oration glows,
In Tully's music how each period flows;
Instruct each babe to lisp the Patriot's name,
Who in each bosom breathes a Roman flame.
Live in thy labours, and prophane thy page;
While Virtue, ever-lov'd, demands thy lays,
And claims the tuneful tribute of thy praise?
Can Pope be silent, and not grateful lend
One strain to sing the Patriot, and the Friend,
6
Maintains her Honours, and defends her Laws?
Could I, my Bard, but equal numbers raise,
Then would I sing—for, oh! I burst to praise—
Sing how a Pult'ney charms the list'ning throng,
While Senates hang enraptur'd on his tongue;
With Tully's fire how each oration glows,
In Tully's music how each period flows;
Instruct each babe to lisp the Patriot's name,
Who in each bosom breathes a Roman flame.
So, when the Genius of the Roman age
Stemm'd the strong torrent of tyrannic rage,
In Freedom's cause each glowing breast he warm'd,
And, like a Pult'ney, then a Brutus charm'd.
Stemm'd the strong torrent of tyrannic rage,
In Freedom's cause each glowing breast he warm'd,
And, like a Pult'ney, then a Brutus charm'd.
How blest, while we a British
Brutus see,
And all the Roman stands confest in Thee!
Equal thy worth, but equal were thy doom,
To save Britannia, as he rescu'd Rome:
He from a Tarquin snatch'd the destin'd prey;
Britannia still laments a Walpole's sway.
And all the Roman stands confest in Thee!
Equal thy worth, but equal were thy doom,
To save Britannia, as he rescu'd Rome:
7
Britannia still laments a Walpole's sway.
Arise, my tuneful Bard, nor thus in vain
Let thy Britannia, whom thou lov'st, complain:
If Thou in moanful lays relate her woe,
Each heart shall bleed, each eye with pity flow:
If to revenge you swell the sounding strain,
Revenge and fury fire each British Swain:
Obsequious to thy verse each breast shall move,
Or burn with rage, or soften into love.
Let thy Britannia, whom thou lov'st, complain:
If Thou in moanful lays relate her woe,
Each heart shall bleed, each eye with pity flow:
If to revenge you swell the sounding strain,
Revenge and fury fire each British Swain:
Obsequious to thy verse each breast shall move,
Or burn with rage, or soften into love.
O let Britannia be her Poet's care!
And lash the Spoiler, while you save the Fair.
Lo! where he stands, amidst the servile Crew;
Nor blushes stain his cheek with crimson hue,
While dire corruption all around he spreads,
And ev'ry ductile conscience captive leads:
Brib'd by his boons, behold the venal band
Worship the Idol they could once command!
So Britain's now, as Judah's Sons before,
First raise a golden calf, and then adore.
And lash the Spoiler, while you save the Fair.
Lo! where he stands, amidst the servile Crew;
Nor blushes stain his cheek with crimson hue,
While dire corruption all around he spreads,
And ev'ry ductile conscience captive leads:
Brib'd by his boons, behold the venal band
Worship the Idol they could once command!
8
First raise a golden calf, and then adore.
Let dull Parnassian Sons of Rhime no more
Provoke thy satire, and employ thy pow'r;
New objects rise to share an equal fate,
The big, rich, mighty, Dunces of the State.
Shall Ralph, Cooke, Welstead, then engross thy rage,
While Courts afford a Hervey, York, or Gage?
Dullness no more roosts only near the sky,
But Senates, Drawing-rooms, with Garrets vye;
Plump Peers, and breadless Bards, alike are dull;
St. James's and Rag-fair club Fool for Fool.
Provoke thy satire, and employ thy pow'r;
New objects rise to share an equal fate,
The big, rich, mighty, Dunces of the State.
Shall Ralph, Cooke, Welstead, then engross thy rage,
While Courts afford a Hervey, York, or Gage?
Dullness no more roosts only near the sky,
But Senates, Drawing-rooms, with Garrets vye;
Plump Peers, and breadless Bards, alike are dull;
St. James's and Rag-fair club Fool for Fool.
Amidst the mighty Dull, behold how great
An Appius swells the Tibbald of the State!
Long had he strove to spread his lawless sway
O'er Britain's Sons, and force them to obey;
But, blasted all his blooming hopes, he flies
To vent his woe, and mourn his lost Excise.
An Appius swells the Tibbald of the State!
Long had he strove to spread his lawless sway
O'er Britain's Sons, and force them to obey;
But, blasted all his blooming hopes, he flies
To vent his woe, and mourn his lost Excise.
9
Pensive he sat, and sigh'd, while round him lay
Loads of dull lumber, all inspir'd by Pay:
Here, puny pamphlets, spun from Prelates' brains;
There, the smooth jingle of Cook's lighter strains:
Here, Walsingham's soft lulling Opiates spread;
There, gloomy Osborn's Quintessence of Lead:
With these the Statesman strove to ease his care,
To sooth his sorrows, and divert despair:
But long his grief Sleep's gentle aid denies;
At length a slumb'rous Briton clos'd his eyes.
Loads of dull lumber, all inspir'd by Pay:
Here, puny pamphlets, spun from Prelates' brains;
There, the smooth jingle of Cook's lighter strains:
Here, Walsingham's soft lulling Opiates spread;
There, gloomy Osborn's Quintessence of Lead:
With these the Statesman strove to ease his care,
To sooth his sorrows, and divert despair:
But long his grief Sleep's gentle aid denies;
At length a slumb'rous Briton clos'd his eyes.
Yet vain the healing balm of downy rest,
To chase his woe, or ease his lab'ring breast:
Now frightful forms rise hideous to his view,
More, Strafford, Laud, and all the headless crew;
Daggers and halters boding Terror breeds,
And here a Dudley swings, there Villiers bleeds.
To chase his woe, or ease his lab'ring breast:
Now frightful forms rise hideous to his view,
More, Strafford, Laud, and all the headless crew;
Daggers and halters boding Terror breeds,
And here a Dudley swings, there Villiers bleeds.
Now Goddess Dullness, watchful o'er his fate,
And ever anxious for her Child of State,
From couch of down slow rais'd her drowsy head,
Forsook her slumbers, and to Appius sped.
And ever anxious for her Child of State,
10
Forsook her slumbers, and to Appius sped.
Awake, my Son, awake, the Goddess cries,
Nor longer mourn thy darling lost Excise;
(Here the sad sound unseal'd the Statesman's eyes)
Why slumbers thus my Son, opprest with care?
While Dullness rules, say, shall her Sons despair?
O'er all I spread my universal sway;
Kings, Prelates, Peers, and Rulers, all obey:
Lo! in the Church my mighty pow'r I shew,
In Pulpit preach, and slumber in the Pew:
The Bench and Bar alike my influence owns;
Here prate my Magpies, and there doze my Drones.
In the grave Dons, how formal is my mien,
Who rule the Gallipots of Warwick-Lane!
At Court behold me strut in purple pride,
At Hockley roar, and in Crane-Court preside.
But chief in Thee my mighty pow'r is seen;
'Tis I inspire thy mind, and fill thy mien;
On Thee, my Child, my duller blessings shed,
And pour my opium o'er thy fav'rite head;
Rais'd thee a Ruler of Britannia's fate,
And led thee blund'ring to the Helm of State.
Nor longer mourn thy darling lost Excise;
(Here the sad sound unseal'd the Statesman's eyes)
Why slumbers thus my Son, opprest with care?
While Dullness rules, say, shall her Sons despair?
O'er all I spread my universal sway;
Kings, Prelates, Peers, and Rulers, all obey:
Lo! in the Church my mighty pow'r I shew,
In Pulpit preach, and slumber in the Pew:
The Bench and Bar alike my influence owns;
Here prate my Magpies, and there doze my Drones.
In the grave Dons, how formal is my mien,
Who rule the Gallipots of Warwick-Lane!
At Court behold me strut in purple pride,
At Hockley roar, and in Crane-Court preside.
But chief in Thee my mighty pow'r is seen;
'Tis I inspire thy mind, and fill thy mien;
11
And pour my opium o'er thy fav'rite head;
Rais'd thee a Ruler of Britannia's fate,
And led thee blund'ring to the Helm of State.
Here bow'd the Statesman low, and thus addrest:
O Goddess, sole inspirer of my breast!
To gall the British neck with Gallic chain,
Long have I strove, but long have strove in vain;
While Caleb, rebel to thy sacred pow'r,
Unveils those eyes which thou hast curtain'd o'er;
Makes Britain's Sons my dark designs foresee,
Blast all my schemes, and struggle to be free.
O, had my Projects met a milder fate,
How had I reign'd a Basha of the State!
How o'er Britannia spread imperial sway!
How taught each free-born Briton to obey!
No smiling Freedom then had chear'd her Swains,
But Asia's deserts vy'd with Albion's plains:
Turks, Vandals, Britain! then compar'd with thee,
Had hugg'd their chains, and joy'd that they were free;
While wond'ring Nations all around had seen
Me rise a Great Mogul, or Mazarin:
Then had I taught Britannia to adore,
Then led her captive to my lawless pow'r.
Methinks, I view her now no more appear
First in the train, and Fairest 'midst the Fair:
Joyless I see the lovely mourner lie,
Nor glow her cheek, nor sparkle now her eye;
Faded each grace, no smiling feature warm;
Torn all her tresses, blighted ev'ry charm:
Nor teeming Plenty now each valley crowns;
Slaves are her Sons, and tradeless all her Towns.
For this, behold yon peaceful Army fed;
For this, on Senates see my bounty shed;
For this, what wonders, Goddess, have I wrought!
How bully'd, begg'd, how treated, and how fought!
What wand'ring maze of error blunder'd thro',
And how repair'd old blunders still by new!
Hence the long train of never-ending jars,
Of warful Peaces, and of peaceful Wars,
Each mystic Treaty of the mighty store,
Which to explain, demands ten Treaties more:
Hence scarecrow Navies, floating Raree-shows;
And hence Iberia's pride, and Britain's woes.
These wond'rous works, O Goddess! have I done,
Works ever worthy Dullness' fav'rite Son.
O Goddess, sole inspirer of my breast!
To gall the British neck with Gallic chain,
Long have I strove, but long have strove in vain;
While Caleb, rebel to thy sacred pow'r,
Unveils those eyes which thou hast curtain'd o'er;
Makes Britain's Sons my dark designs foresee,
Blast all my schemes, and struggle to be free.
O, had my Projects met a milder fate,
How had I reign'd a Basha of the State!
How o'er Britannia spread imperial sway!
How taught each free-born Briton to obey!
No smiling Freedom then had chear'd her Swains,
But Asia's deserts vy'd with Albion's plains:
12
Had hugg'd their chains, and joy'd that they were free;
While wond'ring Nations all around had seen
Me rise a Great Mogul, or Mazarin:
Then had I taught Britannia to adore,
Then led her captive to my lawless pow'r.
Methinks, I view her now no more appear
First in the train, and Fairest 'midst the Fair:
Joyless I see the lovely mourner lie,
Nor glow her cheek, nor sparkle now her eye;
Faded each grace, no smiling feature warm;
Torn all her tresses, blighted ev'ry charm:
Nor teeming Plenty now each valley crowns;
Slaves are her Sons, and tradeless all her Towns.
For this, behold yon peaceful Army fed;
For this, on Senates see my bounty shed;
For this, what wonders, Goddess, have I wrought!
How bully'd, begg'd, how treated, and how fought!
13
And how repair'd old blunders still by new!
Hence the long train of never-ending jars,
Of warful Peaces, and of peaceful Wars,
Each mystic Treaty of the mighty store,
Which to explain, demands ten Treaties more:
Hence scarecrow Navies, floating Raree-shows;
And hence Iberia's pride, and Britain's woes.
These wond'rous works, O Goddess! have I done,
Works ever worthy Dullness' fav'rite Son.
Lo! on thy Sons alone my favours show'r;
None share my bounty that disdain thy pow'r:
Yon Feathers, Ribbons, Titles light as air,
Behold, Thy choicest Children only share:
Each views the pageant with admiring eyes,
And fondly grasps the visionary prize;
Now proudly spreads his Leading-string of State,
And thinks—to be a wretch, is to be great.
None share my bounty that disdain thy pow'r:
Yon Feathers, Ribbons, Titles light as air,
Behold, Thy choicest Children only share:
Each views the pageant with admiring eyes,
And fondly grasps the visionary prize;
Now proudly spreads his Leading-string of State,
And thinks—to be a wretch, is to be great.
14
But turn, O Goddess! turn thine eyes, and view
The darling Leaders of thy gloomy Crew.
The darling Leaders of thy gloomy Crew.
Full open-mouth'd Newcastle there behold,
Aping a Tully, swell into a scold,
Grievous to mortal ear.—As at the place
Where loud-tongu'd Virgins vend the scaly race,
Harsh peals of vocal thunder fill the skies,
And stunning sounds in hideous discord rise;
So, when He tries the wond'rous pow'r of noise,
Each hapless ear's a victim to his voice.
How blest, O Cheselden! whose art can mend
Those ears Newcastle was ordain'd to rend.
Aping a Tully, swell into a scold,
Grievous to mortal ear.—As at the place
Where loud-tongu'd Virgins vend the scaly race,
Harsh peals of vocal thunder fill the skies,
And stunning sounds in hideous discord rise;
So, when He tries the wond'rous pow'r of noise,
Each hapless ear's a victim to his voice.
How blest, O Cheselden! whose art can mend
Those ears Newcastle was ordain'd to rend.
See Harrington secure in silence sit;
No empty words betray his want of wit:
If sense in hiding solly is express'd,
O Harrington! thy wisdom stands confess'd.
No empty words betray his want of wit:
If sense in hiding solly is express'd,
O Harrington! thy wisdom stands confess'd.
15
To Dullness' sacred cause for ever true,
Thy darling Caledonian, Goddess, view;
The pride and glory of thy Scotia's plains,
And faithful Leader of her venal Swains:
Loaded he moves beneath a servile weight,
The dull laborious Packhorse of the State;
Drudges thro' tracks of infamy for Pay,
And hackneys out his conscience by the day:
Yonder behold the busy peerless Peer,
With aspect meagre and important air;
His form how Gothic, and his looks how sage!
He seems the living Plato of the age.
Blest form! in which alone thy merit's seen,
Since all thy wisdom centers in thy mien!
Thy darling Caledonian, Goddess, view;
The pride and glory of thy Scotia's plains,
And faithful Leader of her venal Swains:
Loaded he moves beneath a servile weight,
The dull laborious Packhorse of the State;
Drudges thro' tracks of infamy for Pay,
And hackneys out his conscience by the day:
Yonder behold the busy peerless Peer,
With aspect meagre and important air;
His form how Gothic, and his looks how sage!
He seems the living Plato of the age.
Blest form! in which alone thy merit's seen,
Since all thy wisdom centers in thy mien!
Here Egmont, Albemarle, (for Senates fit)
And W******by the Wise, in Council sit:
Here Looby G****n, Gr****m ever dull,
By birth a Senator, by fate a Fool.
And W******by the Wise, in Council sit:
Here Looby G****n, Gr****m ever dull,
By birth a Senator, by fate a Fool.
16
While these, Britannia, watchful o'er thy State,
Maintain thine Honours, and direct thy Fate,
How shall admiring Nations round adore,
Behold thy Greatness, tremble at thy Pow'r;
New Shebas come, invited by thy Fame,
Revere thy Wisdom, and extol thy Name!
Maintain thine Honours, and direct thy Fate,
How shall admiring Nations round adore,
Behold thy Greatness, tremble at thy Pow'r;
New Shebas come, invited by thy Fame,
Revere thy Wisdom, and extol thy Name!
Lo! to yon Bench now, Goddess, turn thine eye
And view thy Sons in solemn dullness rise;
All doating, wrinkled, grave, and gloomy, see
Each form confess thy dull Divinity;
True to thy cause behold each trencher'd Sage
Increas'd in folly as advanc'd in age:
Here Ch***r, learn'd in mystic prophecy,
Confuting Collins, makes each Prophet lye:
Poor Woolston by thy Smallbrook there assail'd;
Gaols sure convinc'd him, tho' the Prelate fail'd.
And view thy Sons in solemn dullness rise;
All doating, wrinkled, grave, and gloomy, see
Each form confess thy dull Divinity;
True to thy cause behold each trencher'd Sage
Increas'd in folly as advanc'd in age:
Here Ch***r, learn'd in mystic prophecy,
Confuting Collins, makes each Prophet lye:
Poor Woolston by thy Smallbrook there assail'd;
Gaols sure convinc'd him, tho' the Prelate fail'd.
But chief Pastorius, ever grave and dull,
Devoid of sense, of zeal divinely full,
Retails his Squibs of Science o'er the town,
While Charges, Past'rals, thro' each street resound;
These teach a heav'nly Jesus to obey,
While those maintain an earthly Appius' sway.
Thy Gospel truth, Pastorius, crost we see,
While God and Mammon's serv'd at once by Thee.
Devoid of sense, of zeal divinely full,
17
While Charges, Past'rals, thro' each street resound;
These teach a heav'nly Jesus to obey,
While those maintain an earthly Appius' sway.
Thy Gospel truth, Pastorius, crost we see,
While God and Mammon's serv'd at once by Thee.
Who would not trim, speak, vote, or conscience pawn,
To lord it o'er a See, and swell in Lawn?
If arts like those, O S*******k, honours claim,
Than Thee none merits more the Prelate's name:
Wond'ring behold him faithful to his Fee,
Prove Parliaments dependent to be free;
In Senates blunder, flounder, and dispute,
For ever reas'ning, never to confute.
Since Courts for this their fated gifts decree,
Say, what is Reputation to a See?
To lord it o'er a See, and swell in Lawn?
If arts like those, O S*******k, honours claim,
Than Thee none merits more the Prelate's name:
Wond'ring behold him faithful to his Fee,
Prove Parliaments dependent to be free;
In Senates blunder, flounder, and dispute,
For ever reas'ning, never to confute.
Since Courts for this their fated gifts decree,
Say, what is Reputation to a See?
18
Lo! o'er yon flood H**e casts his low'ring eyes,
And wishful sees the rev'rend turrets rise.
While Lambeth opens to thy longing view,
Hapless! the Mitre ne'er can bind thy brow:
Tho' Courts should deign the gift, how wond'rous hard
By thy own doctrines still to be debarr'd!
For, if from Change such mighty evil springs,
Translations sure, O H**e! are sinful things.
And wishful sees the rev'rend turrets rise.
While Lambeth opens to thy longing view,
Hapless! the Mitre ne'er can bind thy brow:
Tho' Courts should deign the gift, how wond'rous hard
By thy own doctrines still to be debarr'd!
For, if from Change such mighty evil springs,
Translations sure, O H**e! are sinful things.
These Rulers see, and nameless numbers more,
O Goddess, of thy train the choicest store,
Who Ignorance in Gravity entrench,
And grace alike the Pulpit and the Bench.
O Goddess, of thy train the choicest store,
Who Ignorance in Gravity entrench,
And grace alike the Pulpit and the Bench.
Full plac'd and pension'd, see! H*r**o stands;
Begrim'd his face, unpurify'd his hands:
To Decency he scorns all nice pretence,
And reigns firm foe to Cleanliness and Sense.
How did H*r***o
Britain's cause advance!
How shine the Sloven and Buffoon of France!
In Senates now, how scold, how rave, how roar,
Of Treaties run the tedious train-trow o'er!
How blunder out whate'er should be conceal'd,
And how keep secret what should be reveal'd!
True Child of Dullness! see him, Goddess, claim
Pow'r next myself, as next in Birth and Fame.
Begrim'd his face, unpurify'd his hands:
To Decency he scorns all nice pretence,
And reigns firm foe to Cleanliness and Sense.
19
How shine the Sloven and Buffoon of France!
In Senates now, how scold, how rave, how roar,
Of Treaties run the tedious train-trow o'er!
How blunder out whate'er should be conceal'd,
And how keep secret what should be reveal'd!
True Child of Dullness! see him, Goddess, claim
Pow'r next myself, as next in Birth and Fame.
Silence! ye Senates, while enribbon'd Younge
Pours forth melodious Nothings from his tongue!
How sweet the accents play around the ear,
Form'd of smooth periods, and of well-tun'd air!
Leave, gentle Younge, the Senate's dry debate,
Nor labour 'midst the Labyrinths of State;
Suit thy soft Genius to more tender themes,
And sing of cooling shades, and purling streams;
With modern Sing-song murder ancient Plays,
Or warble in sweet Ode a Brunswick's praise:
So shall thy strains in purer Dullness flow,
And laurels wither on a Cibber's brow.
Say, can the Statesman wield the Poet's quill,
And quit the Senate for Parnassus' Hill?
Since there no venal vote a Pension shares,
Nor wants Apollo Lords Commissioners.
Pours forth melodious Nothings from his tongue!
How sweet the accents play around the ear,
Form'd of smooth periods, and of well-tun'd air!
Leave, gentle Younge, the Senate's dry debate,
Nor labour 'midst the Labyrinths of State;
Suit thy soft Genius to more tender themes,
And sing of cooling shades, and purling streams;
20
Or warble in sweet Ode a Brunswick's praise:
So shall thy strains in purer Dullness flow,
And laurels wither on a Cibber's brow.
Say, can the Statesman wield the Poet's quill,
And quit the Senate for Parnassus' Hill?
Since there no venal vote a Pension shares,
Nor wants Apollo Lords Commissioners.
There W******* and P*******, Goddess, view,
Firm in thy cause, and to thy Appius true!
Lo! from their labours what reward betides!
One pays my Army, one my Navy guides.
Firm in thy cause, and to thy Appius true!
Lo! from their labours what reward betides!
One pays my Army, one my Navy guides.
21
To dance, dress, sing, and serenade the Fair,
“Conduct a Finger, or reclaim a Hair,”
O'er baleful Tea with females taught to blame,
And spread a slander o'er a Virgin's fame;
Form'd for these softer arts shall Hervey strain
With stubborn Politics his tender brain!
For Ministers laborious pamphlets write,
In Senates prattle, and with Patriots fight!
Thy fond Ambition, pretty Youth, give o'er,
Preside at Balls, old Fashions lost restore;
So shall each Toilette in thy cause engage,
And H***ey shine a P*******re of the age.
“Conduct a Finger, or reclaim a Hair,”
O'er baleful Tea with females taught to blame,
And spread a slander o'er a Virgin's fame;
Form'd for these softer arts shall Hervey strain
With stubborn Politics his tender brain!
For Ministers laborious pamphlets write,
In Senates prattle, and with Patriots fight!
Thy fond Ambition, pretty Youth, give o'er,
Preside at Balls, old Fashions lost restore;
So shall each Toilette in thy cause engage,
And H***ey shine a P*******re of the age.
Behold a Star emblazon C****n's coat!
Not that the Knight has Merit, but a Vote.
And here, O Goddess, num'rous Wrongheads trace,
Lur'd by a Pension, Ribband, or a Place.
Not that the Knight has Merit, but a Vote.
And here, O Goddess, num'rous Wrongheads trace,
Lur'd by a Pension, Ribband, or a Place.
22
To murder Science, and my cause defend,
Now shoals of Grub-street Garretteers descend;
From Schools and Desks the writing insects crawl,
Unlade their Dullness, and for Appius bawl.
Now shoals of Grub-street Garretteers descend;
From Schools and Desks the writing insects crawl,
Unlade their Dullness, and for Appius bawl.
Lo! to thy darling Osborne turn thine eyes,
See him o'er Politics superior rise;
While Caleb feels the venom of his quill,
And wond'ring Ministers reward his skill:
Unlearn'd in Logic, yet he writes by rule,
And proves himself in Syllogism—a Fool;
Now flies obedient, war with Sense to wage,
And drags th' idea thro' the painful page:
Unread, unanswer'd, still he writes again,
Still spins the endless cobweb of his brain;
Charm'd with each line, reviewing what he writ,
Blesses his stars, and wonders at his wit.
See him o'er Politics superior rise;
While Caleb feels the venom of his quill,
And wond'ring Ministers reward his skill:
Unlearn'd in Logic, yet he writes by rule,
And proves himself in Syllogism—a Fool;
Now flies obedient, war with Sense to wage,
And drags th' idea thro' the painful page:
Unread, unanswer'd, still he writes again,
Still spins the endless cobweb of his brain;
Charm'd with each line, reviewing what he writ,
Blesses his stars, and wonders at his wit.
Nor less, O Walsingham, thy Worth appears!
Alike in merit, tho' unlike in years:
Ill-fated Youth! what stars malignant shed
Their baneful influence o'er thy brainless head,
Doom'd to be ever writing, never read!
For bread to libel Liberty and Sense,
And damn thy Patron weekly with defence.
Drench'd in the sable flood, O hadst thou still
O'er skins of parchment drove thy venal quill,
At Temple Ale-house told an idle tale,
And pawn'd thy credit for a mug of ale;
Unknown to Appius then had been thy name,
Unlac'd thy coat, unsacrific'd his fame;
Nor vast unvended reams would Peele deplore,
As victims destin'd to the common-shore.
Alike in merit, tho' unlike in years:
23
Their baneful influence o'er thy brainless head,
Doom'd to be ever writing, never read!
For bread to libel Liberty and Sense,
And damn thy Patron weekly with defence.
Drench'd in the sable flood, O hadst thou still
O'er skins of parchment drove thy venal quill,
At Temple Ale-house told an idle tale,
And pawn'd thy credit for a mug of ale;
Unknown to Appius then had been thy name,
Unlac'd thy coat, unsacrific'd his fame;
Nor vast unvended reams would Peele deplore,
As victims destin'd to the common-shore.
As Dunce to Dunce in endless numbers breed,
So to Concanen see a Ralph succeed;
A tiny Witling of these writing days,
Full-fam'd for tuneless Rhimes, and short-liv'd Plays.
Write on, my luckless Bard, still unasham'd,
Tho' burnt thy Journals, and thy Drama's damn'd;
'Tis Bread inspires thy Politics and Lays,
Not thirst of immortality or praise.
So to Concanen see a Ralph succeed;
A tiny Witling of these writing days,
Full-fam'd for tuneless Rhimes, and short-liv'd Plays.
24
Tho' burnt thy Journals, and thy Drama's damn'd;
'Tis Bread inspires thy Politics and Lays,
Not thirst of immortality or praise.
These, Goddess, view, the choicest of the train,
While yet unnumber'd Dunces still remain;
Deans, Critics, Lawyers, Bards, a motley crew,
To Dullness faithful, as to Appius true.
While yet unnumber'd Dunces still remain;
Deans, Critics, Lawyers, Bards, a motley crew,
To Dullness faithful, as to Appius true.
Enough, the Goddess cries, Enough I've seen;
While these support, secure my Son shall reign;
Still shalt thou blund'ring rule Britannia's fate,
Still Grub-street hail Thee Minister of State.
While these support, secure my Son shall reign;
Still shalt thou blund'ring rule Britannia's fate,
Still Grub-street hail Thee Minister of State.
THE END.
| The Poems and Miscellaneous Compositions of Paul Whitehead | |