University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The Battiad

[by Moses Mendez]

collapse section 
collapse section 
 1. 
 2. 
CANTO the Second.


3

CANTO the Second.


3

O thou, great Chief of Physic and Grimace,
Thou modern Janus with a double Face!
Tho' long detain'd, behold me once again;
Unbid, your Poet mingles in your Train.
From when the Lark salutes the rising Ray,
'Till the fell Owl at Evening scours for Prey,
I'll pay the Tribute to thy Worth sublime
In all the vast Varieties of Rhyme:
Nor think to make your Harlequin Escapes;
Know, I will hunt you thro' your Proteus' Shapes;
Whig, Jack, or Tory, change to what you will,
Believe me, BATTUS, I will hold you still.
When Art, oppress'd, gives way to Pique or Gain,
Where are the Chiefs that shou'd her Cause sustain?
Where slumbers MEAD, when Truth and Justice calls?
Like them, he flies the hated C**ll**ge Walls.
Rise from thy Trance, thou venerable Sage,
Avenge the Wrong'd, and dignify thy Age;

4

So shall my Muse, tho' little us'd to soar,
Add to thy Wreaths one humble Laurel more.
But see—the Banquet smoaks upon the Board;
How hard the Task its Honours to record!
Else might a Bard, well-vers'd in Eating Phrase,
His Numbers polish, swell his dainty Lays;
'Till the huge M**k**y shou'd commend each Line,
Lick his thick Lips, and cry, “'tis all divine.”
Yet not unsung must be the Forest's Pride;
An hundred Knives are bury'd in his Side;
The gashing Blades descending Crimson streaks,
Gaunt Terror whitens ev'ry Sage's Cheeks:
In Sign of Wrath, their wrinkl'd Brows they draw,
And mutter feebly, “oh! 'tis raw, 'tis raw.”
All for a While is silent as the Tomb,
Save the hoarse Rumbling of Dame POCUS' Womb.
Now shift the Scene, to Bacchus raise the Song;
Curious in Drinking is the Scarlet Throng.
The Toasts are nam'd, and round they quickly pass;
Champaign's rich Grape bounds sparkling o'er the Glass;
In deeper Tints Burgundian Nectar glows,
Rival of Beauty's Cheek, and Summer's Rose:
From Breast to Breast unusual Pleasure runs,
And Comus hollows to his laughing Sons:
Each told his Tale, and won th'approving Smile,
When to the rest thus spoke the Man of Guile.

5

“Behold, my Friends, what this right Hand contains,
“See this dear Offspring of my fertile Brains;
“A new LYCURGUS in your BATTUS find,
“A little CZAR! 'tis mine to mend Mankind;
“Nor think I idly float on Thames's Wave,
“From Poachers Hands the scaly Herd to save;
“Think not in Bow'rs fast by her Silver Spring
“I rust in Ease, and lyrick Measures sing:
“No, Brethren, no; this Volume you behold
“(Dear as to Misers Bosoms treasur'd Gold)
“Teems with deep Plots, built up on Counsels sage:
“This little Quarto's worth the Sybil's Page.
“Who pulls the Blossom from the vernal Shoot,
“Shall ne'er in Autumn taste the ripen'd Fruit.
“Secrets too soon divulg'd are render'd vain,
“As Pieces over-charg'd recoil again;
“Else to such Friends, I'd ev'ry Thought disclose,
“And hold at nought the MEAD's and the MONRO's.”
He ceas'd and bow'd; around the Bottles pass,
And the gay Doctors bumper ev'ry Glass,
Save BATTUS' self, who ever shunn'd to taste
The genial Liquor at the rich Repast.
Designing Gamesters thus, intent on Prey,
Set on the heedless Rook, but never play.
The Midwife slung his Wig, grew wond'rous wife,
And the Grape's Dew came drizzling thro' his Eyes,

6

His sallow Face impurpl'd o'er with Wine
Look'd Mother Red-cap on a Country Sign:
And thus he mumbl'd in his BATTUS' Ear;
“Thy Views I reach not, yet I shake with Fear;
“For from a Friend endu'd with second Sight,
“And prompted by the Visions of the Night,
“These Accents broke”—“‘I feel my Breast on fire
“‘And utter Truths: Retire, Profane, retire,
“‘See mighty Legions rushing to the War,
“‘Their burnish'd Armour glitters from afar;
“‘And now their floating Banners they unfold,
“‘The Names of CAM and ISIS glare in Gold:
“‘Our nerveless Squadrons from their Fury run,
“‘So Birds of Night avoid the piercing Sun;
“‘While BATTUS, POCUS, by their Friends forlorn,
“‘Contention's Twins, are doom'd to endless Scorn;
“‘Maids, Wives, and Children, hoot them ev'ry where,
“‘And Ballads sing the disappointed Pair;
“‘Ev'n Farthing Pictures shew, in Postures quaint,
“‘Th'affected Patriot, and obstetric Saint.’”
Sly BATTUS sneer'd, and turn'd his Head aside,
Then, whisp'ring to LUCINA's Priest, replied;
“The Village Lad is rough and free from Art,
“The Courtier easy, and the 'Prentice smart.
“We draw from Friends the Colour of our Life;
“And thou, Companion to each teeming Wife,

7

“Must from the Sex the soft Infection bear,
“Of dreading Danger when no Peril's near.
“Think not my Hopes are built on idle Schemes,
“I deal, my Friend, in no Prophetic Dreams:
“But in a certain Place there dwells a Wight,
“Perhaps a Doctor, and perhaps a Knight;
“Who, taught by Prudence, deep from View retires,
“Skulks 'twixt the Scenes, and pulls your Punch's Wires.
Thus BATTUS, cautious not too much to say,
For shallow Praters ev'ry Scheme betray.
The nicest Workmen handle different Tools,
And Politicians want both Knaves and Fools;
The Wise like biting Faulchions we may use,
Blockheads like Cudgels serve to bang and bruise.
So, when the Thirst of Fame the Chieftain calls,
To set his Legions round be-leaguer'd Walls;
Small Use, or none, the martial Pike affords,
And Bullets there are wanted more than Swords.
Shall I relate how some, with Aspect wise,
Talk'd for whole Hours of Moths and Butterflies?
How some their Ardour for Virtù profess,
And clasp mild Dulness, in fair Learning's Dress;
Who purchase Coins if there be Rust enough,
Where hood-wink'd Knowledge plays at Blindman's-buff?
Or shall I tell how BATTUS debonnair,
Skrew'd up his Face, and frisk'd from Chair to Chair?

8

Not wanton Pug was ever seen so gay,
So full of Mischief, and so full of Play.
“This Night, he cry'd, in Jollity maintain!
“To-morrow Business shall resume the Rein;
“Exhaust the Bottle, drain the mantling Bowl,
“Till the Legs totter, and the Eye-balls roll;
“Such gen'rous Juice shall ev'ry Thought refine,
“Make the Grave sportful, and the Blockhead shine.”
More had he said, but Somnus wav'd his Rod,
And ev'ry Sage confess'd the drowsy God;
With lengthen'd Faces yawning they retreat,
Sated with Converse, and Excess of Meat.
On to the Door the slow Procession past;
Dame POCUS waddl'd first, and BATTUS bounded last.
Thus, when pale Cynthia gilds the placid Sphere,
The Fowls to Wisdom and to Dulness dear
On nimble Wing thro' Air's vast Region fly,
Hoot in Disport, and gambol thro' the Sky:
But, when the Delian Virgin blunts her Horn,
And Lucifer awakes the rosy Morn,
The fateful Birds avoid the blazing Ray,
And pass in grave Stupidity the Day.
A While farewel, ye Seers of Warwick-Lane;
Soon I propose to visit you again,
On ev'ry Shrine new Trophies shall be hung
To Thee, great Master of the double Tongue.
The End of the Second Canto.