Poems on Affairs of State

Say, Goddess Muse, for thy All-searching Eyes
Can Traytors trace thro ev'ry dark Disguise,
Can penetrate Intriguing Statesmens Hearts,
Their deepest Plots, and all their wily Arts.
Say, how a Fierce Cabal combin'd of late,
Imploy their anxious Thoughts t'imbroil the State;
What angry Pow'r inspires 'em to complain
In Anna's Gentle and Propitious Reign.

Faction, a restless and repining Fiend,
Curdles their Blood, and gnaws upon their Mind:
Off-spring of Chaos, Enemy to Form,
By whose destructive Arts the World is torn.
She taught the Giants to attempt the Sky,
And Jove's avenging Thunder to defy.
She rais'd the Hand, that struck the fatal Blow,
Which martyr'd Jove's Vicegerent here below:

She still pursues him with relentless Hate,
Arraigns his Mem'ry, and insults his Fate.
'Tis She, that would, for ev'ry slight Offence,
Depose a true Hereditary Prince;
That would Usurpers for their Treason crown,
Till Time and Vengeance drag them headlong down,
And exil'd Monarchs reassert their rightful Throne.

No Constitution in the World can boast
A Scheme of Laws more rational, more just,
Than England's are; where Sovereign, Kingly Sway
Is mixt and qualify'd with such Allay,
That Free-born Subjects willingly obey:
Nor yet so basely mixt, as that our Kings
Are only Tools of State, and Pow'rless Things.
For tho, indeed, they can have no Pretence
With Fundamental Contracts to dispense,
(For that were Conquest) yet, those Rights maintain'd,
Prerogative is high, and unrestrain'd;
In equal Distance from Extremes we move,
No Tyranny, nor Commonwealth approve.
Nor Tyranny, that Savage Brutal Pow'r,
Which not protects Mankind, but does devour:
Nor Commonwealth, a Monster, Hydra State,
Whose many Heads threaten each others Fate,
And load their Body with unweildy Weight:
But a successive Monarchy we own,
With all the lawful Sanctions of a Crown.

Such was our old establish'd English Frame,
Which might have flourish'd Ages yet the same,
But for this envious Fiend; who still prepares
To sow the Seed of long intestine Wars.

Near the Imperial Palace's Remains,
Where nothing now but Desolation reigns,
(Fatal Presage of Monarchy's Decline,
And Extirpation of the Regal Line!)

There stands an Antique Venerable Pile,
Whose Lords were once the Glories of our Isle:
But now it mourns that Race of Hero's dead,
And droops, and hangs its melancholy Head.
This Pile (howe'er for better Ends design'd,
An Emblem of the Noble Founder's Mind)
Is Faction's Refuge; where she keeps her Court,
Where all her darling Votaries resort.
Here, when their glorious N--- fell, they met
On new Resolves and Measures to debate.

Say then, my Muse, their secret Thoughts display,
Expose their dark Designs to open Day.

This Grand Cabal was held at dead of Night,
(For Ghosts and Furies always shun the Light)
Despair, and Rage, and Sorrow kept 'em dumb,
Till Moro rose (the Master of the Dome)
A Stamm'ring, Hot, Conceited, Laughing L---,
Who prov'd his want of Sense in ev'ry Word;
When hissing thus, his fetter'd Tongue broke loose,
‘I take it as an Honour that you've chose
‘For this Debate, your humble Servant's House.
‘The House henceforward shall recorded stand
‘As the Palladium of the sinking Land;
‘And I to future Ages be renown'd,
‘The Party's Bulwark, and the Nation's Mound.
‘Now N---, the immortal N---'s gone,
‘We justly his untimely Herse bemoan.
‘O that I could restore his Life again!
‘For who can bear a Woman's servile Chain?
Full of such stuff, he would have giv'n it vent,
But that black Ario's Fierceness did prevent;
A Scotch, Seditious, Unbelieving Priest,
The brawny Chaplain of the Calves-Head-Feast;
Who first his Patron, then his Prince betray'd,
And does that Church, he's sworn to guard, invade;
Warm with Rebellious Rage, he thus begun:
‘To talk of calling Life agen is vain.

‘Peace to the glorious Dead. We justly mourn
‘His Ashes, ever sacred be his Urn:
‘But here, my L---, we're all together met,
‘To vow to A---'s Sceptre endless Hate.
‘For since my hope of VVinton is expir'd,
‘With just Revenge and Indignation fir'd,
‘I'll write, and talk, and preach her Title down,
‘My thundring Voice shall shake her in the Throne;
‘Do you the Sword, and I'll engage the Gown.

A Pause ensu'd, till Patriarcho's Grace
Was pleas'd to rear his huge unweildy Mass;
A Mass unanimated with a Soul,
Or else he'd ne'er be made so vile a Tool;
He'd ne'er his Apostolick Charge profane,
And Atheists, and Fanaticks Cause maintain.
At length, as from the Hollow of an Oak,
The Bulky Primate yawn'd, and Silence broke.
‘I much approve my Brother's zealous Heat,
‘Such is the noble Ardour of the Great,
‘On which Success and Praise will ever wait.
‘But I'm untaught in Politician Schools,
‘Unpractis'd in their Arts, and studied Rules,
‘By which they make the Wisest of us Fools.
‘The Task be therefore yours, to forge some Plot,
‘And I'll be ready with my trusty Vote,
‘Nor e'er give your Commands a second Thought.
‘Tho I were mute, you must confess I've stood,
‘Fixt as a Rock, amidst the beating Flood:
‘Witness St. A---ph's, and St. D---d's Cause,
‘Where obstinately I transgress'd the Laws;
‘And did in either Case Injustice show,
‘Here sav'd a Friend, there triumph'd o'er a Foe.

Then old Mysterio shook his Silver Hairs,
Loaded with Learning, Prophecy and Years,

Whom Factious Zeal to fierce Unchristian Strife,
Had hurry'd in the lest Extream of Life.
Strange Dotage! Thus to sacrifice his Ease,
When Nature whispers Men to crown their days
With sweet Retirement and Religious Peace!
Fore-knowledg struggl'd in his heavy Breast,
E'er he in these dark Terms his Fears exprest.
‘The Stars rowl adverse, and malignant shine,
‘Some dire Portend! some Comet I divine!
‘I plainly in the Revelations find,
‘That A--- to the Beast will be inclin'd.
‘Howe're, tho She, and all her Senate frown,
‘I'll wage eternal War with P---ton,
‘And venture Life and Fame to pull him down.
As he went on, his Tongue a trembling seiz'd,
And all his Pow'r of Utterance suppress'd.
So when the Sibyl felt th'Inspiring God,
She raving lost her Voice, and speechless stood.

Unhappy Church, by such Usurpers sway'd!
How is thy Prim'tive Purity decay'd?
How are thy Prelates chang'd from what they were,
When Laud or Sancroft fill'd the sacred Chair?
Laud, tho by some traduc'd, with Zeal adorn'd,
Whilst Patriarcho is despis'd and scorn'd,
Shall be by me for ever prais'd, for ever mourn'd.
Sancroft's unblemish'd Life, divinely pure,
In its own heav'nly Innocence secure,
The teeth of Time, the blasts of Envy shall endure.

When for th'establish'd Faith they should contend,
Meekness and Christian Charity pretend;
But with a blind and unbecoming Rage,
For Schism and Toleration they engage;
With strange Delight and Eagerness espouse
Occasional Conformists shameful Cause;
Oppress thy Friends, and vindicate thy Foes.
Thy Guardian Laws to weaken they combine,
And tamely thy Essential Rights resign.

Thy antient Truths with modern Glosses blend,
Destroying the Religion they would mend.

So have they broke thy Pale and Fences down,
Such Arts have Christianity o'rethrown:
For Scepticism, that now triumphant reigns,
Condemns her Captive to inglorious Chains,
Where She Forlorn, Contemn'd, Despairing lies,
Nor hopes a Refuge but her Native Skies.
But Muse proceed, nor dwell on Thoughts too long,
That would inflame thy Satyrizing Song.

Clodio, with kindling Emulation, heard
What this Triumvirate of Priests declar'd.
Clodio, the Chief of all the Rebel-Race,
Uncheck'd by Fear, unhumbl'd by Disgrace;
Whose Working, Turbulent, Fanatick Mind
No Tenderness can move, no Ties can bind.
To gain a Rake he'll drink, and whore, and rant,
T'engage a Puritan will pray and cant.
So Satan can in differing Forms appear,
Or radiant Light, or gloomy Darkness wear.
Thrice he blasphem'd, and thrice he frantick swore
By ev'ry terrible Infernal Pow'r;
Then wav'd his Staff, and said:
‘Tho N---'s Death has all our Measures broke,
‘Yet never will we bend to A---'s Yoke.
‘The glorious Revolution was in vain,
‘If Monarchy once more its Rights regain.
‘Let all be Chaos, and Confusion all,
‘E're that damn'd Form of Government prevail.
‘O had he liv'd to perfect his Design,
‘We ne'er had been subjected to her Reign,
‘But rooted out the St---ts hated Line!
‘Howe'er, since Fate has otherwise decreed,
‘We may on his unfinish'd Scheme proceed.
‘We may 'gainst Pow'r repos'd in one inveigh,
‘And call all Monarchy Tyrannick Sway.

‘We may the Praises of the Dutch advance,
‘Rail at the Arbitrary Rule of France:
‘Extol the Commonwealth in Adria's Flood,
‘Which for ten rowling Centuries has stood:
‘Argue how th'Roman and Athenian State
‘Were only, when Republicks, truly Great.
‘'Tis easy the Unreas'ning Mob to guide,
‘For they are always on the Factious Side.
‘This labor'd here, 'twill be our next Resort,
‘To manage and cajole S---'s Court.
‘To---nd alone for such a Work is fit,
‘In all the Arts of Villany compleat.
‘The Scotch, a Rough, Revolting, Stubborn Kind,
‘Have long at England's growing Power repin'd.
‘Nor need we with unnecessary Care,
‘Endeavour to foment Rebellion there.
‘For scarce our N---'s Empire they endur'd,
‘Tho he their antient Liberties restor'd,
‘And murm'ring now they ask a foreign Lord.
‘But (Health suppos'd) to Ireland I'll repair,
‘And right or wrong usurp the Common's Chair;
‘That Point once gain'd, we'll soon secure our Cause,
‘Soon undermine our hot-brain'd tow'ring Foes.
‘At least I'll substitute some wealthy Friend,
‘Who shall with Heat and Arrogance contend
‘To thwart the Court in ev'ry just Command.
So Catiline the Fate of Rome design'd,
And when h'had form'd the Scheme within his Mind,
In such a warm Harangue his Friends addrest,
And open'd all the Secrets of his Breast.
This hit Sigillo's Thoughts, and made him cool,
Tho just before he scarcely could controul
The stormy Passion swelling in his Soul;

His restless Soul, that rends his sickly Frame,
Worn with a poys'nous and corroding Flame;
An unjust J---e, and blemish of the M---,
Witness the Bankers long depending Case;
A shallow Statesman, tho of mighty Fame,
For who can e'er that crust Par---on name,
But to his foul Disgrace, and to his Shame?
Besides, in spight of all his loud Defence,
He shew'd a want of Honesty or Sense,
In passing ev'ry plund'ring Courtier's Grants.
He is (for Satyr dares the Truth declare)
Deist, Republican, Adulterer.
Thus his lov'd Clodio for his Speech he prais'd,
And Joy and Wonder in the Hearers rais'd.
‘There spoke the Guardian Genius of our Cause,
‘Whose ev'ry Word deserves divine Applause.
‘Not ev'n Cethego's self could form a Plot,
‘More nicely spun, more exquisitely wrought;
‘Tho he, to his immortal envied Fame,
‘The Glory of the Revolution claim.
‘'Twas his profound unfathomable Wit,
‘Did James, and all his Jesuit-Train defeat.
‘He knew Reveal'd Religion was a Jest,
‘Impos'd upon the World by some designing Priest;
‘Nor therefore fear'd, but to their Idols bow'd,
‘Prevaricating with his King, his God.
‘A Proteus, ever acting in Disguise;
‘A finish'd Statesman, intricately wise;
‘A second Machiavel, who soar'd above
‘The little Tyes of Gratitude and Love;
‘Whose harden'd Conscience never felt Remorse;
‘Reflection is the puny Sinner's Curse.
‘But why should I Cethego's Praise pursue,
‘When all his Vertues, Clodio, shine in you?

‘You can another Revolution frame,
‘The same your Principle, your Skill the same.
‘Whilst then the wav'ring Irish are your Care,
‘Believe we'll use our utmost Efforts here,
‘Nor Time, nor Pains, nor Health, nor Mony spare.
‘Cethego in your Absence shall preside
‘O're our Debates, and ev'ry Consult guide:
‘Like the supreme directing Hand of Jove,
‘Shall act unseen, and all around him move.
‘I, as the Moderator of the Laws,
‘Will find a way to sanctify our Cause,
‘Will prove, in Passive Jacobites despight,
‘Rebellion is a free-born Peoples Right.
‘Then as we take our Circuits thro the Land,
‘We'll mould the stern Freeholders to our Hand;
‘Awe their Elections, and their Votes command.
‘When with our faithful City-Friends we dine,
‘We'll mingle Treason with the flowing Wine.
‘We'll plant in every Coffee-house a Spy,
‘That boldly shall the Ministry decry;
‘Shall praise the past, the present Reign condemn,
‘And all their Measures, all their Councils blame:
‘Shall spread a thousand idle, groundless Tales,
‘Of foreign Gold, the Pope, and P---ce of W---:
‘Shall never fail Objections still to raise,
‘(Whatever is transacted with Success)
‘And turn their greatest Honour to Disgrace.
‘This Chymick Art, perverting Nature's Law,
‘From sweetest Things will rankest Poyson draw.

Narcisso next, magnificently Gay,
Smil'd his Assent, but not a Word would say.
He fear'd to strain his Voice by talking loud,
Nor was his Quail-pipe made for such a Croud.
A batter'd Beau, yet youthful in Decay,
Who dresses, whores, and games his time away.
Fond of Sedition, but indulging Vice
With all that Wealth, profusely spent, supplies.

And yet this Debauchee pretends to claim
An injur'd Patriot's Meritorious Name.

Then squeal'd Orlando, but his furious Heat
Shew'd him for cool mature Debates unfit,
Nor will we here the blustring Speech repeat.
A Bully L---, whose wild mad Looks proclaim
His Bosom warm'd with more than Hero's Flame.
Fighting and Railing are his chief Delight,
Promiscuously opposing Wrong and Right.
Whate'er he does is always in Extreams,
Sometimes the Whig, sometimes the Tory damns.
His various Temper and impetuous Mind,
To ev'ry Party is by Starts inclin'd.
He never was, nor e'er will be content
With any Prince, with any Government.

Last rose Bathillo, deck'd with borrow'd Bays,
Renown'd for others Projects, others Lays.
A gay, pragmatical, pretending Tool,
Opiniatively wise, and pertly dull.
A Demy Statesman, Talkative and Loud,
Hot without Courage, without Merit proud;
A Leader fit for the unthinking Croud.
With dapper Gesture, but with haughty Look,
His leud Associates vainly he bespoke.
‘Do you perform the Politicians Part,
‘I'll bring th'Assistance of the Muses Art.
‘The Poet Tribe are all at my devoir,
‘And write as I command, as I inspire.
‘C---g---ve for me Pastora's Death did mourn,
‘And her white Name with Sable Verse adorn.
‘R--- too is mine, and of the Whiggish Train,
‘'Twas he that sung immortal Tamerlane,
‘Tho now he dwindles to an humbler Strain.

‘I help'd to polish G---th's rough, aukward Lays,
‘Taught him in tuneful Lines to sound our Party's Praise.
‘W---sh Votes with us, who, tho he never writ,
‘Yet passes for a Critick and a Wit.
‘Van's Baudy, Plotless Plays were once our boast,
‘But now the Poet's in the Builder lost.
‘On A---son we safely may depend,
‘A Pension never fails to gain a Friend.
‘Thro Alpine Hills he shall my Name resound,
‘And make his Patron known in Classick Ground.
‘These pay the Tribute to my Merit due,
‘Call me their Horace, and Mecænas too.
‘Princes but sit unsettl'd on their Thrones,
‘Unless supported by Apollo's Sons.
‘Augustus had the Mantuan, and Venusian Muse,
‘And happier N--- had his M---gues.
‘But A---, that ill fated Tory Queen,
‘Shall feel the Vengeance of the Poet's Pen.

Triton, who like the vast Leviathan
Long wallow'd in the Treasures of the Main,
Was all Attention, and suspended hung,
For ev'ry Rebel Heart has not a Tongue.
Besides, there stood a num'rous Train of P---,
Below the Notice of Recording Verse.
Beaus, Biters, Pathicks, B---rs and Cits,
Tosters, Kit-Kats, Divines, Buffoons and Wits
Compos'd the medly Crew; but I forbear
To give 'em any Place, or Mention here.
For since the Muse would blush to paint their Crimes,
Let Decency restrain th'Invective Rhimes.

When thus their Chiefs had spoke, thro all the Throng
Repeated Peals of Acclamations rung.
Not antient Demagogues, with more Applause,
Asserted and espous'd the Rabble's Cause.

Now this Assembly to adjourn prepar'd,
When Biblipolo from behind appear'd,
As well describ'd by th'old Satyrick Bard;
With Leering Looks, Bullfac'd and Freckled fair,
With two left Legs, and Judas colour'd Hair,
With Frowzy Pores, that taint the ambient Air.
Sweating and puffing for a while he stood,
And then broke forth in this insulting Mood.
‘I am the Touchstone of all Modern Wit,
‘Without my stamp in vain your Poets write.
‘Those only purchase everliving Fame,
‘That in my Miscellany plant their Name:
‘Nor therefore think that I can bring no Aid,
‘Because I follow a Mechanick Trade,
‘I'll print your Pamphlets, and your Rumours spread.
‘I am the Founder of your lov'd Kit-Kat,
‘A Club that gave Direction to the State.
‘'Twas there we first instructed all our Youth,
‘To talk profane, and laugh at Sacred Truth.
‘We taught them how to tost, and rhime and bite,
‘To sleep away the Day, and drink away the Night.
Some this fantastick Speech approv'd, some sneer'd,
The Wight grew Cholerick, and disappear'd.

Mean time the Fury smil'd, who all this while
Sat hov'ring on the Summet of the Pile.
A secret and exulting Joy she finds,
To see her Influence brooding on their Minds;
And the bare Prospect of such Noble Ills
Her Thoughts with rapt'rous Speculation fills.
Then She—

‘With what delight do I my Sons behold,
‘So resolutely brave, so fiercely bold?
‘Sure nothing can resist their boundless Course,
‘Nothing subdue their well-united Force.
‘Volpone, who will solely now command
‘The publick Purse, and T***s***e of the Land,

‘Wants Constancy and Courage to oppose
‘A Band of such exasperated Foes.
‘For how shall he that moves by Craft and Fear,
‘Or ever greatly think, or ever greatly dare?
‘What did he e'er in all his Life perform,
‘But shrunk at the Approach of every Storm;
‘But when the tott'ring Church his Aid requir'd,
‘With Moderation Principles inspir'd,
‘Forsook his Friends and decently retir'd.
‘Nor has he any real just Pretence
‘To that vast Depth of Politicks and Sense.
‘For where's the Depth, when Publick Credit's high,
‘To manage an o'reflowing T***s***y?
‘Or where the Sense to know the Tricks of Game,
‘Since S**ms, Sir Ja**es, H**ll**way may claim
‘A Knowledg as profound as his, as loud a Fame?
‘I fear the Man, who dares the Truth assert,
‘Who never plays the Double-dealing Part;
‘The Patriot's Soul disdains the Trimmer's Art.
‘Such Celsus is, but I foresee his Fate
‘To be supplanted by Sempronia's Hate.
‘(Sempronia of a leud procuring Race,
‘The Senate's Grievance, and the Court's Disgrace.)
‘'Tis well he cannot long his Ground maintain,
‘For Hell would then imploy her Fiend in vain.
‘He never knew to prostitute the State,
‘Never by being guilty to be Great.
‘Nor yet when Publick Storms came rowling on,
‘Did he or Danger or his Duty shun.
‘Rome's subtle Priests with Sophistry essay'd,
‘With Wealth and Honor in the Ballance laid,
‘To shock his Faith; but nothing could controul
‘The firm Resolves of his unbyass'd Soul,
‘True to his Conscience, as the Needle to the Pole.
‘Ally'd in Blood and Friendship to the Throne,
‘He nobly makes his Country's Cause his own;

‘Whilst others keep their Int'rest still in view,
‘And meaner Spirits meaner Ends pursue.
‘So the fixt Stars harmoniously comply
‘With the first Publick Motion of the Sky;
‘Whilst wandring Planets oppositely move,
‘Within the narrow Orbs of private Love.
She stopp'd—for now her Anger 'gan to rise,
Flush'd in her Cheeks, and sparkl'd in her Eyes.
And well it might a Fury's Passion raise,
That she was forc'd the Worth, she hates, to praise.

The Dawn dispers'd the Croud, she took her flight
To the low Regions of Eternal Night.

O England, how revolving is thy State!
How few thy Blessings! how severe thy Fate!
O destin'd Nation, to be thus betray'd
By those, whose Duty 'tis to serve and aid!
A griping vile degenerate Viper Brood,
That tears thy Vitals and exhausts thy Blood.
A varying Kind, that no fixt Rule pursue,
But often form their Principles anew;
Unknowing where to lodg Supreme Command,
Or in the King, or Peers, or People's Hand.
One while the People's Sov'reignty they own,
To vex and load a Peaceful Monarch's Crown;
Who to his Subjects when at length restor'd,
Without distinction was their common Lord.
What Party else to David's happy Throne,
Wou'd have prefer'd a giddy Absalon?
But when a King is moulded to their Mind,
Then they to him would have all Sway confin'd;
Nor in their own despotick boundless Reign,
Of injur'd Rights, and Property complain:
Nay with a Standing Force thy Sons would awe,
The Subjects Slavery, the Tyrants Law.
But if nor King, nor Commons will comply
With their detested Acts of Villany,

They strive the Peers declining Pow'r to raise,
And get Impeachments voted into Praise.
Blest Patriots these, who Liberty imploy,
T'elude thy Laws and Liberty destroy!

Where is the Noble Roman Spirit fled,
Which once inspir'd thy antient Patriots dead?
Who were above all private Ends, and joy'd,
When bravely for the publick Weal they dy'd:
Who spread, like Branching Oaks, their Arms around,
To shelter and protect their Parent Ground;
Tho Storms of Thunder rattl'd o'er their Head,
Yet all was safe beneath their Guardian Shade.
Or sure Historians on our Faith impose,
And never such a Race of Men arose;
Or Nodding Nature to a Period draws;
Or Providence, incens'd by guilty Times,
With-holds its Grace, and dooms us to our Crimes.

Pardon (for Harmony will bring Relief,
Will sooth thy anxious Cares, and charm thy Grief)
If my condoling mournful Muse presume
To visit thy Marcellus Sacred Tomb.
For his Hereditary Gifts alone
Could have retriev'd thy Fame, and carry'd down,
The Glorious Scene of Triumphs Anna has begun.
O may thy Angel guard her Royal Mind,
That Fav'rites nor seduce, nor Trimmers blind.
For 'tis on Her thy Church and State depend,
With Her will flourish, and with her will end.
But my shock'd Thoughts the sad Idea shun,
(The sad Idea gives eternal Moan)
When she shall late, but ah! too soon comply
With Nature, to adorn her kindred Sky.
For who can then pretend to wear her Crown?
Who represent the Mother, but the Son?
O! had the Pow'r, that governs human Fate,
His Years extended to a longer Date.

To what transcendance had his Genius sprung,
Which was so ripe, so perfect, yet so young!
But when fresh blooming Youth seem'd to proclaim
The lasting Structure of his Beauteous Frame,
When Health and Vigour with a kind Presage,
Promis'd the hoary Happiness of Age;
Then with a momentary swift Decay,
Thy Pride, thy darling Hope was snatch'd away.
So by the Course of the revolving Sphears,
Whene'er a new discover'd Star appears;
Astronomers with Pleasure and Amaze
Upon the Infant Luminary gaze.
They find their Heav'n inlarg'd, and wait from thence
Some blest, some more than common Influence,
But suddenly alas! the fleeting Light
Retiring leaves their Hopes involv'd in endless Night.

The Maidstone Lecture.

This Project was once talk'd of.

The Person here represented, was living at the time of this Cabal.

The Fair Penitent.

University of Virginia Library

Faction Display'd.