[A poetical rhapsody on the times, in] Tit for tat ; or, a purge for a pill being an answer to a scurrilous pamphlet, lately published, entitled "A pill for porcupine." |
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 | [A poetical rhapsody on the times, in] Tit for tat ; or, a purge for a pill |  |
32
THE JACOBIN OATH.
With every righteous government at odds,I swear by all the goddesses and gods,
That wheresoever law and justice send me,
A restless disposition shall attend me.
The soil that gave me birth I found too hot,
And many a legal threshing there I got.
My mind a storm, I never could be quiet—
My only sustenance was mobs and riot—
Until a pack, with wigs and gowns and bands,
And arms so long, none could escape their hands,
To check the boiling of my patriot fury,
Condemn'd me by that bane of rogues, a jury;
But, thank kind fortune, I escap'd a jail,
And gave them for security—leg-bail
Free from their cursed gripe, to this blest shore,
A friendly bark my precious carcase bore.
33
That all my virtuous deeds are labor lost;
The people free, and happy, and well fed,
Can't be persuaded that they have no bread,
Or, that for plundering there exists a cause,
So long as truth and justice prop the laws.
And tho' th' industrious live in peace and ease,
Some folks I find can't do just as they please:
Courts, Judges, Juries, Lawyers, and such things,
Contriv'd for rogues, are here, altho' no kings.
This will not do—the Devil whom I serve,
Knows, if the times are tranquil I must starve.
1
A POETICAL RHAPSODY ON THE TIMES.
DESCRIBING THE DISASTERS OF AN EMIGRANT.
3
How impudence can varnish crimes,
And prove, by syllogistic rule,
That turpitude is virtue's tool.
The Devil, prank'd in holy guise,
A cherub is to vulgar eyes;
And fortune-hunting folk agree
That lawless rage is liberty.
Thus oft they cause a compromise
'Twixt wrangling contrarieties:
Or, in the topsy turvy cause,
Invert both offices and laws:
As Irish logic never fails
To geer draught-horses by their tails.
Hence bold reformers make appear
That Prudence is a name for Fear;
That Rapine, Sacrilege, and Treason,
Do constitute the Age of Reason;
That gentle love is deadly spite;
4
And clear, beyond belief of some,
That civil war is peace at home.
Hence, in this period of reform,
They woo the Goddess in a storm;
Or, bless'd with paper-spoiling skill,
Transfuse their madness thro' a quill:
Secure of coming in for shares,
Set other people by the ears;
And make, of unsuspecting elves,
A pussey's paw to serve themselves.
'Tis they who strive to patch and press
Democracy in Freedom's dress.
To lead the multitude astray
They clothe her out in colours gay.
What wore a gorgon face before,
With liberty they lacker o'er;
To Athens swiftly they repair
To cull for her a laurel there,
And pass her on the giddy throng,
For a fresh beauty fair and young.
But lo! beneath her placid mien
The fiend licentiousness is seen:
See frantic horror at her side,
Her hands with guiltless blood bedy'd,
And, ill conceal'd by sophist art,
See all the Devil in her heart;
Then, gentle people, all beware,
And ever shun her deadly snare.
Let not the painted lure deceive,
5
Death lurks beneath her Circéan charms,
Take not the harlot to your arms,
For should her cup his lips pollute
The noblest man becomes a brute.
But you who still with faith run o'er,
And are too lazy to explore;
Who hold that caution is a jest
Where things are with appearance blest;
With some content, and little pain,
Instruction from a Tale may gain
And are too lazy to explore;
Who hold that caution is a jest
Where things are with appearance blest;
With some content, and little pain,
Instruction from a Tale may gain
A hungry Frenchman, starv'd and lank,
To try a sansculottish prank,
Of filthy mud and God knows what,
With Honey gilded o'er a Pot;
And, sprightly thro' the gaping throng,
With pot and pottage skip'd along,
Bawling for life, at every leap.
Excellent Quelque-chose! vera cheap!
The people gather'd round Monsieur,
In haste to view his wond'rous ware;
When one, more bold, the rest among,
Convey'd a sample to his tongue:
And, calling Monsieur Fourbe a sot,
Swore it was honey in the pot.
Ma foi, quoth he, de name be all,
I cannot tell vat you may call.
Me call it Quelque-chose, fair with you—
It shall be honey, s'il plait vous
The man resolv'd with no more fuss,
To back his judgment with his purse;
The price demanded, tip'd the pay,
And proudly lug'd the goods away.
But who can paint the Dupe's surprise
With mouth a-gape, and saucer eyes,
When, dipping for a second taste
He found he'd bargain'd in a haste;
And thence discover'd, luckless wight,
'Twas little better than a bite.
Le Fourbe, again one day he met
And thus the artful rogue beset:
No doubt, to you, the sport is brave,
You lean, soup meagre, juggling knave,
That I contribute, not a little,
To find your frogship's paunch in vittle.
But know that I, with other folks,
Don't altogether like your jokes,
And will not, kindly, understand
Your honey mong'ring slight of hand.
Whoever acts an honest part
Will pay you soundly for your art,
And drub some penitential tones,
You lying rascal, from your bones,
For off'ring in the open street,
Your filthy trash for honey sweet.
Pardonnez moi, quoth he, 'tis you
A qui dat complement est due,
Who swore, before you pay de money,
Dat Quelque chose be de French for honey!
Quelque chose me call, Quelque chose it be,
Who tell de lie sir, you or me.
To try a sansculottish prank,
Of filthy mud and God knows what,
With Honey gilded o'er a Pot;
And, sprightly thro' the gaping throng,
With pot and pottage skip'd along,
Bawling for life, at every leap.
Excellent Quelque-chose! vera cheap!
The people gather'd round Monsieur,
In haste to view his wond'rous ware;
When one, more bold, the rest among,
Convey'd a sample to his tongue:
And, calling Monsieur Fourbe a sot,
Swore it was honey in the pot.
Ma foi, quoth he, de name be all,
I cannot tell vat you may call.
6
It shall be honey, s'il plait vous
The man resolv'd with no more fuss,
To back his judgment with his purse;
The price demanded, tip'd the pay,
And proudly lug'd the goods away.
But who can paint the Dupe's surprise
With mouth a-gape, and saucer eyes,
When, dipping for a second taste
He found he'd bargain'd in a haste;
And thence discover'd, luckless wight,
'Twas little better than a bite.
Le Fourbe, again one day he met
And thus the artful rogue beset:
No doubt, to you, the sport is brave,
You lean, soup meagre, juggling knave,
That I contribute, not a little,
To find your frogship's paunch in vittle.
But know that I, with other folks,
Don't altogether like your jokes,
And will not, kindly, understand
Your honey mong'ring slight of hand.
Whoever acts an honest part
Will pay you soundly for your art,
And drub some penitential tones,
You lying rascal, from your bones,
For off'ring in the open street,
Your filthy trash for honey sweet.
Pardonnez moi, quoth he, 'tis you
A qui dat complement est due,
7
Dat Quelque chose be de French for honey!
Quelque chose me call, Quelque chose it be,
Who tell de lie sir, you or me.
Thus will you find, in every state,
Experience teaches wit too late;
And, if you heed th'insidious crew,
I'th' end they'll turn the laugh on you.
But, in the end, you'll also find
The Devil pays his friends in kind;
As I shall give you proof enough in
The hist'ry of a raggamuffin.
Experience teaches wit too late;
And, if you heed th'insidious crew,
I'th' end they'll turn the laugh on you.
But, in the end, you'll also find
The Devil pays his friends in kind;
As I shall give you proof enough in
The hist'ry of a raggamuffin.
Tho' 'tis allow'd that France the most
Anarchs superlative can boast;
Yet Ireland makes, of such-like ware,
For Lucifer an ample share.
I therefore, from Shelalah Land,
The Knave of clubs will take in hand;
A mask, to shuffling rogues, of use,
Who, nothing staking, play the deuce:
Will shew how, being in the dumps,
He put his partners to their trumps;
And ere the tricks o'the game were done,
How he was forc'd to cut and run.
Anarchs superlative can boast;
Yet Ireland makes, of such-like ware,
For Lucifer an ample share.
I therefore, from Shelalah Land,
The Knave of clubs will take in hand;
A mask, to shuffling rogues, of use,
Who, nothing staking, play the deuce:
Will shew how, being in the dumps,
He put his partners to their trumps;
And ere the tricks o'the game were done,
How he was forc'd to cut and run.
Whether he drew his bogster blood,
Like Memphian Monster, from the mud;
Or was from vagrant meteor shotten;
Or on a cloud was storm-begotten;
Was ne'er promulg'd nor would't I trow,
Much edify the World to know.
Yet did he live; but in what year?
No matter, so the rest is clear.
He was a man, on truth 'tis founded,
Of every evil thing compounded.
His brain, an emblem of foul weather,
Where jarring atoms fight together,
Was copied in the smallest print:
His mental optics look'd asquint,
And, to the fashion of his eye,
The thoughts were couple'd so awry,
That oft his words, a motley crew,
Most whimsically squinted too.
A beast he was of such a grain
No switch could move, or bit restrain,
In legal sense; but in a fray,
If cudgel'd well, he ran away.
The laws, he thought, were ever meant,
As certain bars to his preferment;
For 'twas his fortune still to stray,
And keep the interdicted way.
Thus, if a wish to pilfer rose,
Justice, good wench, would interpose,
By twitching him beneath the ear,
As who should say, beware! beware!
Whene'er he sought a fresh supply,
She like a halter rattle'd by;
And oft', when Paddy would proceed,
She cuff'd him soundly for the deed.
The Constitution too he saw
Was Parent of the smallest law;
Which guarded her, from head to heel,
Like Wantley's Knight, with pikes of steel;
And made our hero own, by styx,
'Twas hard to kick against the pricks.
Thence was it that he daily sent
His curses forth on Parliament;
And, from his soul abominated
The King, and all to him related.
Like Memphian Monster, from the mud;
Or was from vagrant meteor shotten;
Or on a cloud was storm-begotten;
Was ne'er promulg'd nor would't I trow,
Much edify the World to know.
8
No matter, so the rest is clear.
He was a man, on truth 'tis founded,
Of every evil thing compounded.
His brain, an emblem of foul weather,
Where jarring atoms fight together,
Was copied in the smallest print:
His mental optics look'd asquint,
And, to the fashion of his eye,
The thoughts were couple'd so awry,
That oft his words, a motley crew,
Most whimsically squinted too.
A beast he was of such a grain
No switch could move, or bit restrain,
In legal sense; but in a fray,
If cudgel'd well, he ran away.
The laws, he thought, were ever meant,
As certain bars to his preferment;
For 'twas his fortune still to stray,
And keep the interdicted way.
Thus, if a wish to pilfer rose,
Justice, good wench, would interpose,
By twitching him beneath the ear,
As who should say, beware! beware!
Whene'er he sought a fresh supply,
She like a halter rattle'd by;
And oft', when Paddy would proceed,
She cuff'd him soundly for the deed.
The Constitution too he saw
Was Parent of the smallest law;
9
Like Wantley's Knight, with pikes of steel;
And made our hero own, by styx,
'Twas hard to kick against the pricks.
Thence was it that he daily sent
His curses forth on Parliament;
And, from his soul abominated
The King, and all to him related.
The inward man, one might discern,
Was Prototype to the extern,
Which, take it altogether, could
Not boast two members of a mould.
Thus edified, and thus endow'd,
Our brave Turf-cutter took the road,
To where a dark cabal resorted,
And thus the yelping pack exhorted;
In language glean'd from uncouth pratings
At Boxing matches, and Bear-baitings.
Was Prototype to the extern,
Which, take it altogether, could
Not boast two members of a mould.
Thus edified, and thus endow'd,
Our brave Turf-cutter took the road,
To where a dark cabal resorted,
And thus the yelping pack exhorted;
In language glean'd from uncouth pratings
At Boxing matches, and Bear-baitings.
“Ogh honee! jewels are you there then,
“And after tauking off you borthen,
“If I dont len a han at that
“The D---l may run away with Pat.
“What, shall the dogs our tricks prevent,
“And bridle us wi' government.
“Den every Irish Sanculotte
“May get de halter round his troat;
“And after being saddle'd too
“Be rode to death widout a shoe.
“The Sansculottes at th' head of things,
“Live just, my dears like Lords and Kings;
“While, for de welfare of de nation,
“Poor folk must undergo starvation:
“And I, for this confounded law,
“Can ne'er accommodate my maw;
“Widout I live on stick and stone,
“Or to my fingers work de bone.
“Sure God sent all things here in common,
“Nor made a deed, to man nor woman,
“Of copy hold or simple fee,
“By right of which to jockey me.
“Adam 'tis true, with his heirs male
“Of Paradise was seiz'd in tail;
“But, when h'unwisely sought an heir,
“Was driven, in a trice from dere.
“Snug, wid his coushins all alone,
“De Bear, in safety knaws his bone;
“While we, as hungry every straw,
“Poor Democrats, get none to knaw.
“Our hungry brod'ren in de West
“In troth have lately had one drest;
“A present from Dan Porcupine,
“Where every moder's son may dine:
“With which dey may, as children do,
“Bote eat their cake, and have it too!
“Or like de Scandinavian Boar,
“Of Odin's Hall in days of yore,
“Who gorg'd by Ghosts from tail to chin,
“At dinner time was dere agin.
“And after tauking off you borthen,
“If I dont len a han at that
“The D---l may run away with Pat.
“What, shall the dogs our tricks prevent,
“And bridle us wi' government.
“Den every Irish Sanculotte
“May get de halter round his troat;
“And after being saddle'd too
“Be rode to death widout a shoe.
“The Sansculottes at th' head of things,
10
“While, for de welfare of de nation,
“Poor folk must undergo starvation:
“And I, for this confounded law,
“Can ne'er accommodate my maw;
“Widout I live on stick and stone,
“Or to my fingers work de bone.
“Sure God sent all things here in common,
“Nor made a deed, to man nor woman,
“Of copy hold or simple fee,
“By right of which to jockey me.
“Adam 'tis true, with his heirs male
“Of Paradise was seiz'd in tail;
“But, when h'unwisely sought an heir,
“Was driven, in a trice from dere.
“Snug, wid his coushins all alone,
“De Bear, in safety knaws his bone;
“While we, as hungry every straw,
“Poor Democrats, get none to knaw.
“Our hungry brod'ren in de West
“In troth have lately had one drest;
“A present from Dan Porcupine,
“Where every moder's son may dine:
“With which dey may, as children do,
“Bote eat their cake, and have it too!
“Or like de Scandinavian Boar,
“Of Odin's Hall in days of yore,
“Who gorg'd by Ghosts from tail to chin,
“At dinner time was dere agin.
“B'your leave” exclaim'd another wight,
“I'll set my broder Paddy right;
“It was no bone upon my word,
“For when they met with one accord
“To pick a bit, and wet their whistle,
“Lo! in their chaps, they mouth'd a thistle;
“And den were told, as th' story passes,
“That thistle is the food for asses.
“Well well! quoth Pat, the time may come
“When things will shaft dere feet at home;
“When we, dat harnt a wholesome rag on,
“May drive de governmental waggon:
“For by my shoul, when once we rise,
“We'll take de Kingdom by surprise,
“Seize all de Garters, Stars and strings,
“And all my coushins shall be kings.
“Arah, honeys, why not now proceed,
“We're all united, sure, indeed!
“Then let's wid bludgeons, spades and axes,
“Go make reprisal of de taxes;
“And, if de dogs refuse to gi'em,
“By Jases, cross a cudgel wi'em.”
“I'll set my broder Paddy right;
11
“For when they met with one accord
“To pick a bit, and wet their whistle,
“Lo! in their chaps, they mouth'd a thistle;
“And den were told, as th' story passes,
“That thistle is the food for asses.
“Well well! quoth Pat, the time may come
“When things will shaft dere feet at home;
“When we, dat harnt a wholesome rag on,
“May drive de governmental waggon:
“For by my shoul, when once we rise,
“We'll take de Kingdom by surprise,
“Seize all de Garters, Stars and strings,
“And all my coushins shall be kings.
“Arah, honeys, why not now proceed,
“We're all united, sure, indeed!
“Then let's wid bludgeons, spades and axes,
“Go make reprisal of de taxes;
“And, if de dogs refuse to gi'em,
“By Jases, cross a cudgel wi'em.”
He said: the kindling faction ran
From brain to brain, from man to man;
And hey go mad! like fleas the fly on,
With open mouths, to eat the Lion.
In quest of Parliament, the rogues,
With hoofs well fortified with brogues,
And tongues wi' the same as roughly shod,
Away, in a hurly-burly, trod.
The People they had heard declare
The burthen was too much to bear;
So, as they trudg'd along the road,
Humanely eas'd them of their load.
But Paddy and his brother quacks,
To a worse burthen brought their backs:
To stripes, of various sorts and sizes,
Fit med'cine for such enterprizes,
That might, on Paddy's constitution,
Provoke reform or dissolution.
Now having curs'd his foil'd assurance
While penance doing months in durance,
Our restless Knave found means to doff
His gentle gyves, and scamper off.
But this he deem'd a certain rule,
That Government would kick a fool;
That all seditious clubs must fail
Against her mob-repelling mail;
And that their whiskey-bred attacks
Recoil'd, with int'rest, on their backs.
He therefore quickly cast about,
To smell some safer project out.
From brain to brain, from man to man;
And hey go mad! like fleas the fly on,
With open mouths, to eat the Lion.
In quest of Parliament, the rogues,
With hoofs well fortified with brogues,
And tongues wi' the same as roughly shod,
Away, in a hurly-burly, trod.
The People they had heard declare
The burthen was too much to bear;
12
Humanely eas'd them of their load.
But Paddy and his brother quacks,
To a worse burthen brought their backs:
To stripes, of various sorts and sizes,
Fit med'cine for such enterprizes,
That might, on Paddy's constitution,
Provoke reform or dissolution.
Now having curs'd his foil'd assurance
While penance doing months in durance,
Our restless Knave found means to doff
His gentle gyves, and scamper off.
But this he deem'd a certain rule,
That Government would kick a fool;
That all seditious clubs must fail
Against her mob-repelling mail;
And that their whiskey-bred attacks
Recoil'd, with int'rest, on their backs.
He therefore quickly cast about,
To smell some safer project out.
From many a grove and rosey vale,
America perfum'd the gale;
But also, from her nestled foes,
The fœtid breath of Faction rose,
And wafted bliss to Paddy's nose.
'Twas then his hopes were all alive
A more successful trade to drive;
The Government to draw and quarter
'Mong folks on t'other side the water;
America perfum'd the gale;
But also, from her nestled foes,
The fœtid breath of Faction rose,
And wafted bliss to Paddy's nose.
'Twas then his hopes were all alive
A more successful trade to drive;
The Government to draw and quarter
'Mong folks on t'other side the water;
13
Then view our bog-bred cub on board,
The sails expand, the Ship unmoor'd,
And ev'ry loyal breeze at play
To puff the monster far away.
Now here, now there, aloft, below,
Would Paddy, with his comrades, go;
And would to gain a Sailors ear,
Without a murmur, reef and steer.
All this to animate his wishes
About the land of loaves and fishes,
Would he perform, while they regale
His ears with many a golden tale:
That schemes were forming, with ablution,
To wash away our Constitution;
And try, for Ills they say she hath,
Virginia chabybéate bath;
And if she there should make a leg.
To take the Goddess down a peg.
As rusty pipe of Indian Squaw
The candle flame delights to draw,
And proudly swells to take with joy,
What must in time it's life destroy;
So Paddy suck'd, with joyous grin,
Their monstrous tales, and humbugs in;
And was inflated with the joke,
(As little sparks may make a smoke,
When mid a heap of chaff they're cast)
That Paddy must consume at last.
Great plans, from forth his brain asleep,
Would rise like dæmons from the deep:
To pluck the pidgeons in the West
And feather for himself a nest;
The fed'ral prop of state to level;
To drive our Eagle to the Devil;
And to reform the Legislature,
And bad œconomy of nature.
These and a thousand pretty schemes
Ran nightly thro' his drunken dreams:
But, when awake, he swore 'twas strange
The moon should have the face to change;
That ev'ry brook and little drain
Should bear its tribute to the Main,
Superfluously bestowing more
On that which had too much before;
And that it was a burning shame
The day and night were not the same.
He would, to mend Miss Luna's case,
Spread glowing blushes in her face;
Each nameless rill or flood of fame,
He'd drive to th' place from whence it came:
And, if the blessed Sun so bright,
Was not more equal in his light,
He'd rend away his flaming robe,
And scatter it around the Globe.
Thus as, sublim'd, his transport went
E'en to the acmé of content,
Mad Pat, to pad the hoof once more,
Of freedom landed on the shore.
But folly, wheresoe'er inclin'd,
Bears her sharp recompense behind;
As oft' our meddling thing of mire.
Experienc'd to his heart's desire.
The sails expand, the Ship unmoor'd,
And ev'ry loyal breeze at play
To puff the monster far away.
Now here, now there, aloft, below,
Would Paddy, with his comrades, go;
And would to gain a Sailors ear,
Without a murmur, reef and steer.
All this to animate his wishes
About the land of loaves and fishes,
Would he perform, while they regale
His ears with many a golden tale:
That schemes were forming, with ablution,
To wash away our Constitution;
And try, for Ills they say she hath,
Virginia chabybéate bath;
And if she there should make a leg.
To take the Goddess down a peg.
As rusty pipe of Indian Squaw
The candle flame delights to draw,
And proudly swells to take with joy,
What must in time it's life destroy;
So Paddy suck'd, with joyous grin,
Their monstrous tales, and humbugs in;
And was inflated with the joke,
(As little sparks may make a smoke,
When mid a heap of chaff they're cast)
That Paddy must consume at last.
Great plans, from forth his brain asleep,
Would rise like dæmons from the deep:
14
And feather for himself a nest;
The fed'ral prop of state to level;
To drive our Eagle to the Devil;
And to reform the Legislature,
And bad œconomy of nature.
These and a thousand pretty schemes
Ran nightly thro' his drunken dreams:
But, when awake, he swore 'twas strange
The moon should have the face to change;
That ev'ry brook and little drain
Should bear its tribute to the Main,
Superfluously bestowing more
On that which had too much before;
And that it was a burning shame
The day and night were not the same.
He would, to mend Miss Luna's case,
Spread glowing blushes in her face;
Each nameless rill or flood of fame,
He'd drive to th' place from whence it came:
And, if the blessed Sun so bright,
Was not more equal in his light,
He'd rend away his flaming robe,
And scatter it around the Globe.
Thus as, sublim'd, his transport went
E'en to the acmé of content,
Mad Pat, to pad the hoof once more,
Of freedom landed on the shore.
But folly, wheresoe'er inclin'd,
Bears her sharp recompense behind;
15
Experienc'd to his heart's desire.
Of markets and their gains to prattle
Of fruit, of poultry, corn, and cattle.
Some Farmers on the wharf together
Had met, when Paddy blunder'd thither.
These to encounter, beard to beard,
No time nor impudence he spar'd;
But whisper'd that to shew them play
He came from Ireland all the way.
With thread-bare saws, and oaths unmatch'd,
His stupid gab was all o'er patch'd.
To cry the British Min'stry down,
He thought it stood him much upon;
For which his tainted brain was stor'd
With many a senseless magpie word:
And, storming on, with might and main,
He rail'd, took breath, and rail'd again.
Thus it is that patriots prate,
In noise and nonsense only great,
Of politics; when in their gears
They'd mount, ye Gods, beyond the Spheres;
Without reflecting, by the by,
An Ass must get him wings to fly.
Says one of these “th' effect I see,
“What then is principle to me;
“This watch instructs me o'er and o'er;
“I view her face, and ask no more.”
That watch, however you came by't,
Much like your head, is seldom right:
Yet let some skilful artist well
Adjust the motive principle,
The cause correct, I'm bold to say
The face will lead you not astray.
But is the time piece, e'er so true,
It still must change to pleasure you;
Or wrong, or right, or fast, or slow,
Just as your veering passions go;
Which, as the weather is inclin'd,
Are blown ahead, or left behind.
Of fruit, of poultry, corn, and cattle.
Some Farmers on the wharf together
Had met, when Paddy blunder'd thither.
These to encounter, beard to beard,
No time nor impudence he spar'd;
But whisper'd that to shew them play
He came from Ireland all the way.
With thread-bare saws, and oaths unmatch'd,
His stupid gab was all o'er patch'd.
To cry the British Min'stry down,
He thought it stood him much upon;
For which his tainted brain was stor'd
With many a senseless magpie word:
And, storming on, with might and main,
He rail'd, took breath, and rail'd again.
Thus it is that patriots prate,
In noise and nonsense only great,
Of politics; when in their gears
They'd mount, ye Gods, beyond the Spheres;
Without reflecting, by the by,
An Ass must get him wings to fly.
Says one of these “th' effect I see,
“What then is principle to me;
“This watch instructs me o'er and o'er;
“I view her face, and ask no more.”
That watch, however you came by't,
Much like your head, is seldom right:
16
Adjust the motive principle,
The cause correct, I'm bold to say
The face will lead you not astray.
But is the time piece, e'er so true,
It still must change to pleasure you;
Or wrong, or right, or fast, or slow,
Just as your veering passions go;
Which, as the weather is inclin'd,
Are blown ahead, or left behind.
What can your monkey meddling mean?
'Tis you who spoil the whole machine:
Your thumbs without, by frequent change,
In every part the works derange:
And that which merit did enhance
You ruin by your ignorance.
If right by you it must be made,
'Twere prudent first to learn the trade;
And ere you censure or repair,
Gain some slight knowledge of th' affair.
But to resume the thread, again,
Of th' argument: where now amain
See cit'zen Pat, and farmer John,
In altercation pro and con.
To every province Paddy ventur'd,
And church or state at random censur'd.
Religion he could never find
In cut or cloth to suit his mind;
For why? he saw her angel breath
To his dark politics was death.
Therefore he held himself in trim
To curse that faith which curses him.
Quoth he, “To the Priests we're bound to give,
“Just to get dying while we live;
“And when we die, oh hone, so clever,
“We den begin to live for ever.
“But ogh! de teefs don't know we'll have
“But meagre living in de grave,
“Widout one offal beggars bone
“For poor Pilgarlick but his own.
“Long life to maestress France, so civil,
“Dat cries hands off to God and Devil;
“But dat's all one, mere puppy's play,
“De Devil knows his own dey say.”
Quoth John, “Your latter words are true,
“And may as safe be said of you;
“Who have so long, with France, by Heaven,
“To Satan's buffetings, been given:
“But, still to bind your shackles faster,
“You've made a Treaty with your master;
“For ev'ry novice understands
“You play into each others hands;
“Exchange a monkey for a Devil,
“To give and take is counted civil.
“Thus comes it how in France are found
“So many devils above ground;
“And, if your brethren people hell,
“Sir Paddy Whack, you best can tell.
Quoth he, “I'll prove it on your creed,
“The French are very good indeed.
“To hold dere own, de saints declare.
“'Gainst sinful flesh, a holy war;
“How pious den are Frenchmen, sith
“They've almost none to quarrel with.
Quoth he, “to settle that account,
“The mind and flesh are tantamount:
“If you'd a friend, God mend the few,
“To pay a compliment to you,
“He might aver, what all confess,
“The great arch-devil lies in dress;
“And that your rogueship must be sainted,
“Who're not with dressing much acquainted;
“Whose back can scarcely boast a coat;
“You mungrel, bog-brain'd sansculotte.
“What nether wind, or hide-bound weather,
“Was't blow'd your rotten carcase hither?
“Was't here to lime your twigs for game,
“Or to illumine us you came?
“If one, you may yourself be caught,
“If t'other, you must first be taught:
“We here no lightening-bugs require
“To set your cousins brains on sire.
“Bringing your toad spawn precepts over,
“I think will gain you credit no where;
“Our Eagle, sir, disdains to gather
“His notes from birds of such a feather.
“St. Patrick thought it meritorious
“O'er rascal frogs to be victorious;
“But you would joyfully advance
“To welcome shoals of them from France.
“Then since you hold it little sin,
“To barter Cross for Guillotin,
“I hope your faith to kingdom come
“Will lead by th' way of Martyrdom.
'Tis you who spoil the whole machine:
Your thumbs without, by frequent change,
In every part the works derange:
And that which merit did enhance
You ruin by your ignorance.
If right by you it must be made,
'Twere prudent first to learn the trade;
And ere you censure or repair,
Gain some slight knowledge of th' affair.
But to resume the thread, again,
Of th' argument: where now amain
See cit'zen Pat, and farmer John,
In altercation pro and con.
To every province Paddy ventur'd,
And church or state at random censur'd.
Religion he could never find
In cut or cloth to suit his mind;
For why? he saw her angel breath
17
Therefore he held himself in trim
To curse that faith which curses him.
Quoth he, “To the Priests we're bound to give,
“Just to get dying while we live;
“And when we die, oh hone, so clever,
“We den begin to live for ever.
“But ogh! de teefs don't know we'll have
“But meagre living in de grave,
“Widout one offal beggars bone
“For poor Pilgarlick but his own.
“Long life to maestress France, so civil,
“Dat cries hands off to God and Devil;
“But dat's all one, mere puppy's play,
“De Devil knows his own dey say.”
Quoth John, “Your latter words are true,
“And may as safe be said of you;
“Who have so long, with France, by Heaven,
“To Satan's buffetings, been given:
“But, still to bind your shackles faster,
“You've made a Treaty with your master;
“For ev'ry novice understands
“You play into each others hands;
“Exchange a monkey for a Devil,
“To give and take is counted civil.
“Thus comes it how in France are found
“So many devils above ground;
“And, if your brethren people hell,
“Sir Paddy Whack, you best can tell.
18
“The French are very good indeed.
“To hold dere own, de saints declare.
“'Gainst sinful flesh, a holy war;
“How pious den are Frenchmen, sith
“They've almost none to quarrel with.
Quoth he, “to settle that account,
“The mind and flesh are tantamount:
“If you'd a friend, God mend the few,
“To pay a compliment to you,
“He might aver, what all confess,
“The great arch-devil lies in dress;
“And that your rogueship must be sainted,
“Who're not with dressing much acquainted;
“Whose back can scarcely boast a coat;
“You mungrel, bog-brain'd sansculotte.
“What nether wind, or hide-bound weather,
“Was't blow'd your rotten carcase hither?
“Was't here to lime your twigs for game,
“Or to illumine us you came?
“If one, you may yourself be caught,
“If t'other, you must first be taught:
“We here no lightening-bugs require
“To set your cousins brains on sire.
“Bringing your toad spawn precepts over,
“I think will gain you credit no where;
“Our Eagle, sir, disdains to gather
“His notes from birds of such a feather.
“St. Patrick thought it meritorious
“O'er rascal frogs to be victorious;
19
“To welcome shoals of them from France.
“Then since you hold it little sin,
“To barter Cross for Guillotin,
“I hope your faith to kingdom come
“Will lead by th' way of Martyrdom.
This said, it caus'd a cloud to rise
Of Passion o'er his faculties;
Which soon was decompos'd again,
In light'ning, thunder, and in rain;
In light'ning from his eyes; and both
In froth and thunder from his mouth.
Of Passion o'er his faculties;
Which soon was decompos'd again,
In light'ning, thunder, and in rain;
In light'ning from his eyes; and both
In froth and thunder from his mouth.
Quoth he, “d'ye know what brought me here?
A ship and lack o' provender.
“Why friends are left, and home forsaken?—
To get your bread, and save your bacon.
“No fet! it wa'nt to stand your butt,
“I rode so many miles afoot;
“But just to take de flowing rein
“In hand myself, and live and reign
“With 'e sovereign people, who, 'twas said,
“Had, every man, a crown on's head.
“I tought dat here each chimney devil
“Wid British lords was on a level;
“And dat b'a living here, was meant
“The same as seat in Parliament.
“But by my soul de case is plain;
“Ye're all aristocrats in grain;
“Who will not join we Cit'zen Bones
“To beat de monarchs off dere trones.
“Therefore I dub you great and small,
“And part my curse among ye all.
“Quoth he, “That is conceding more
“By half than we were stickling for;
“A circumstance, that could not miss you,
“And brings the contest to an issue.
“Don't be alarm'd, pray no demur,
“You must excuse my freedom sir,
“My fingers must your throttle greet:
“Nay, by my shoul, there's no retreat.
“What, mangy cur, is't me you snarl at?
“You spunging, function-lacking varlet,
“This, only, saves your forfeit ears,
“That fools are licens'd slanderers;
“But, since on foot you cross'd the main,
“Good Paddy foot it back again.”
He said; and in the ebbing tide
The wight he plung'd, who sinking cri'd
“Oh! Jesus—oh!—thy help I crave—
“A sinner res—cue from the wave,”
He would have said;—but half the pray'r
In bubbles floated here and there.
Dear Spirit of our happy Clime,A ship and lack o' provender.
“Why friends are left, and home forsaken?—
To get your bread, and save your bacon.
“No fet! it wa'nt to stand your butt,
“I rode so many miles afoot;
“But just to take de flowing rein
“In hand myself, and live and reign
“With 'e sovereign people, who, 'twas said,
“Had, every man, a crown on's head.
“I tought dat here each chimney devil
“Wid British lords was on a level;
“And dat b'a living here, was meant
“The same as seat in Parliament.
“But by my soul de case is plain;
“Ye're all aristocrats in grain;
“Who will not join we Cit'zen Bones
“To beat de monarchs off dere trones.
20
“And part my curse among ye all.
“Quoth he, “That is conceding more
“By half than we were stickling for;
“A circumstance, that could not miss you,
“And brings the contest to an issue.
“Don't be alarm'd, pray no demur,
“You must excuse my freedom sir,
“My fingers must your throttle greet:
“Nay, by my shoul, there's no retreat.
“What, mangy cur, is't me you snarl at?
“You spunging, function-lacking varlet,
“This, only, saves your forfeit ears,
“That fools are licens'd slanderers;
“But, since on foot you cross'd the main,
“Good Paddy foot it back again.”
He said; and in the ebbing tide
The wight he plung'd, who sinking cri'd
“Oh! Jesus—oh!—thy help I crave—
“A sinner res—cue from the wave,”
He would have said;—but half the pray'r
In bubbles floated here and there.
With star deck'd Tiar', and port sublime,
Who hear'st the savage yell of war,
And giv'st to pity many a tear;
Canst thou, believe, oh! Goddess blest!
Such styg'an fiends thy realm infest.
Yes, such against thy ray serene
Do darkling bowl with wolfish spleen;
21
Thy seamless garments to divide.
Can he who 'gainst his parent rais'd
His impious arm, by us be prais'd?
No; rather, each Columbian breast
The vagrant caitiff will detest.
Can he who made the law his foe
At's home, with us, be faithful? No:
The dog that bit his Master there
Walks in a longer tether here.
Then, mid a thousand, is there one
That would not act like honest John.
“What! Paddy, almost gone no doubt!
“Poor flound ring wretch, I'll help thee out;
“Bad as thou art from crotch to crown,
“God knows, I would not let thee drown.”
Now, dripping thro' the shouting throng,
He wash'd and scour'd the streets along;
And, like Olympia in a gale,
Ran with a rainbow at his tail.
The storm he 'scap'd, but not t' his mind,
For hope her anchor left behind;
And Paddy 'scap'd the wat'ry grave
To prove himself the viler knave.
For lo! beyond the stretch of thought,
No change in him the plunging wrought;
For now, behold, in ev'ry vein,
His temper breaking out again,
22
The keen, bright, Quills of Porcupine.
So wretche'd wight, to quench his skin,
With bathing drives the pimples in,
But finds, at length, the Proverb clear,
That evil humours will appear.
In ambush couch'd he held the odds,
And plied his foe with missile clods,
Which daub'd, they so at random flew,
But every one, the Lord knows who.
At length he fancied Peter's eye
Mark'd his retreat, and strove to fly;
When policy, or what you please
Brought Paddy Whack upon his knees.
With lifted hands, and down-cast eyes,
Have mercy! on poor Pat, he cries.
There let him tremble abject cur!
The scorn of every passenger;
While we the form of peace survey,
And tune to her our parting lay.
In Vernons' Groves whose shade unites
The active joys, and calm delights,
The victor's wreath, and civic crown,
Content, Love, Friendship, and Renown;
Where endless smiles Potomac wears,
The halcyon PEACE her nest prepares.
The Patriot Chief who there resides,
As down the stream of life he glides,
23
With musick of the heav'nly spheres.
When late she heard the distant cry
Of War, and spread her wings to fly,
'Twas he who charm'd her fears to rest,
And sooth'd her on his parent breast.
Yes, Peace, 'twas he who kindly strove
To wed thee to our Eagle's love.
Then still with all thy bashful train,
Of golden blessings, haunt the plain:
Bid Beauty loose her musky hair,
Bid Pleasure wreath'd in smiles be there;
The muses sport thy beams among,
And jocund plenty laugh along,
While safely, in thy olive shade,
At ease her careless limbs are laid.
Bless'd Saint at thy enlivening word
The voice of gladness shall be heard;
And all our joyous vales along,
How charming sweet, thy Turtles' Song:
Till War, amidst his wild career,
Suspends his whirlwind rage to hear,
And every weary realm rejoice
To echo back thy angel voice.
And thou, “immortal Freedom's sire”!
Whom all revere, esteem, admire;
With all that Gratitude can give,
Forever in our breasts shalt live.
24
For standing forth thy country's friend,
Reflect 'tis by the breath of those
Who rank among thy country's foes:
Whose dark cabals and factious cry,
Would raise the civil tempest high,
That they, amid th'ensanguin'd broil,
Secure might fatten on the spoil:
Like famish'd Vultures on the shore,
With joy survey the labouring oar,
The perish'd wretch on land that's cast,
And scream, and feed amid the blast.
Lives there a man who, of thy toil,
Enjoys the corn, the wine, the oil;
Whose serpent tongue would streak with blame
The virgin whiteness of thy name;
May Heav'n's command the tiger far
To some bleak, blasted island bear,
Whose leafless spray no shade provides
For houseless heads and unfed sides.
There may he press the dreary mould,
Within all comfortless and cold;
In horror fix his haggard eye
On the pale Moon, and winter sky;
And, hated by the Good and Just,
In moody madness sink to dust.
The Flatterers' labours I contemn,
I leave the venal song to them;
25
And love the smile of virtue still;
I'll say thy name, where'er it goes,
Exalted sage! no rival knows;
And that thy services command
The praises of a grateful land.
If, worn with toil, with care oppress'd,
Thou seek'st for solitude and rest,—
The deep'ning shade, sequester'd cell,
The hill, the plain, the musing dell,
And rosey blush of flow'rets sweet,
Shall bless thy last, thy lov'd retreat.
Thy gentle ear at least shall there
No rude and thankless scoffings hear:
No, nor the rill that ripling slows,
Shall murmur at thy calm repose;
But still, at ease, may'st thou recline
Beneath thy own o'er-mantling vine;
And, as thy years and fame increase,
Be shadow'd with the wing of Peace.
| [A poetical rhapsody on the times, in] Tit for tat ; or, a purge for a pill | |