The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
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| 2. |
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| 3. | The Third Part. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
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| 2. |
| 3. |
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
179
3. The Third Part.
Thus have we prov'd the Sceptick worse than mad;
And yet to what is said we'll further add,
The Men in Place and Power are quite as bad:
Nay cou'd we paint 'em justly, we shou'd see
That Greatest Names have most of Infamy.
And yet to what is said we'll further add,
The Men in Place and Power are quite as bad:
Nay cou'd we paint 'em justly, we shou'd see
That Greatest Names have most of Infamy.
The Politician first does cross our Eyes,
That first of Fools of all that think they're Wise
Sometimes he with a Youthful Face is seen,
At once his Age and Intellectuals Green,
His Notion Moody and uncouth his Mien;
Proud of his Parts he looks to be Rever'd,
As if we never yet in Senate heard
Of Legislative Fops without a Beard.
If twice or thrice he passes in Debate,
He thinks on Nothing but to Steer the State;
Forgetting quite no Fame arises thence
Where Arrogance supplies the Place of Sense;
Or when a Lawless Sp---r over rules,
To be his Substitute in Gulling Fools.
Sometimes he like a rough Divine is dress'd,
More Foolish in that Shape than all the rest:
A State above can little be his Care
Who Studies nothing but his Rising here:
Vain the Endeavour and his Notions wild,
That wou'd have GOD and Mammon reconcil'd.
Sometimes he like a finish'd Beau appears,
Prink'd up in Contradiction to his Years;
Sometimes he wears a heavy Gown of State,
With feeble Hams that scarce Support the Weight;
Creeping he Walks, as Tony whilom did,
And in his Breast as deep a Rancour's hid.
But tho' on high the Mace before we find,
And a long Train besmear'd with Gold behind,
Looking, while the Litigious Tribe attends,
Like Lucifer surrounded by his Fiends,
'Tis all but Pageantry; and shewn abroad
To make the Ass Obsequious to his Load.
But these are but a Poor and Mungrel sort
Of Politicians, rais'd or sunk in sport
By those more true ones that Preside at Court
Who make all other Reading Mortal Sin
But Richlieu, Machiavel, and Mazarine,
Or Hobs, their Favorite from another Bent,
Who teaches—after Death no Punishment.
But how can we that Wretch a Patriot name
Whose Guilt is the Foundation of his Fame?
What e'er he may in Cabinet debate,
His Whores have more his Service than the State.
View but at home his Follies and his Crimes,
You'd Swear a Fiend might sooner mend the Times,
Want, Rapine, Dunning and Domestick strife
Imbitter all his Hours, and make a Hell of Life.
What care can of his Countries Good be shown
So Mindless, or so Reckless of his own?
His Patrimony he does thus Divide;
One part in Three is Squander'd by his Bride
At Ombre,—and a certain Game beside;
The other Two his Punks and Flatt'rers get;
So all he Eats and Drinks and Wears—is Debt.
At last, (his Children's Marriage grown his Care,)
Resolv'd his Broken Fortunes to repair,
He puts his Prince on Arbitrary Rule,
And turns a Rogue for having plaid the Fool.
His Counsels if but likely to succeed
He cares not who is Ruin'd, who does Bleed.
Whole Subsidies does thro' his Fingers go;
And as a famous Lord was said to do,
The Mighty Mass, regardless of the Laws,
He cross a large Grid-inon slowly draws;
What he brings over, happens to the Crown;
And all that falls between he Pockets for his own.
Mean while, by Wealth Indempnify'd from fear,
The British Glory's not at all his Care;
Nor does he mind our Balance, fam'd so far,
Of weighing out to Europe Peace, or War;
But Bribing high each Legislative Brother
He sinks one half, and stops their Mouths with 'tother.
How can the Senator, tho' wond'rous wise,
See with a Golden Mist before his Eyes?
Secure, it all Assemblies Over-Rules,
But most, 'tis seen in those where Most are Knaves and Fools.
Such Representatives too sadly prove
They Bribe below but to be Brib'd above.
Hence are our present Scene of Ills deriv'd,
And by the accursed Pattern more contriv'd:
Hence lie our Armies and our Fleets unpaid;
Hence Spring the Publick Debts, and bane of Publick Trade.
For how can such a Wretch; tho' he may sit
At Helm advanc'd for his pernicious Wit,
Believe a Nation Prosp'rous can be
From Counsels laid, and hatch'd in Villany?
Raising Estates by such Flagitious Ways
As shames the Rapine of all former Days?
Pension'd from Foreign Courts, and taking Pay
Our Country, King, and Councils to betray?
How dare he talk of Conq'ring France, or Rome
That brings us to the last Distress at home?
If 'twere his dearest Brother held the Glass
He cou'd not less than for a Villain pass;
And much a Villain must be more an Ass.
Thus by the Politician we may see
That Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
That first of Fools of all that think they're Wise
Sometimes he with a Youthful Face is seen,
At once his Age and Intellectuals Green,
His Notion Moody and uncouth his Mien;
Proud of his Parts he looks to be Rever'd,
As if we never yet in Senate heard
Of Legislative Fops without a Beard.
If twice or thrice he passes in Debate,
He thinks on Nothing but to Steer the State;
180
Where Arrogance supplies the Place of Sense;
Or when a Lawless Sp---r over rules,
To be his Substitute in Gulling Fools.
Sometimes he like a rough Divine is dress'd,
More Foolish in that Shape than all the rest:
A State above can little be his Care
Who Studies nothing but his Rising here:
Vain the Endeavour and his Notions wild,
That wou'd have GOD and Mammon reconcil'd.
Sometimes he like a finish'd Beau appears,
Prink'd up in Contradiction to his Years;
Sometimes he wears a heavy Gown of State,
With feeble Hams that scarce Support the Weight;
Creeping he Walks, as Tony whilom did,
And in his Breast as deep a Rancour's hid.
But tho' on high the Mace before we find,
And a long Train besmear'd with Gold behind,
Looking, while the Litigious Tribe attends,
Like Lucifer surrounded by his Fiends,
'Tis all but Pageantry; and shewn abroad
To make the Ass Obsequious to his Load.
But these are but a Poor and Mungrel sort
Of Politicians, rais'd or sunk in sport
By those more true ones that Preside at Court
Who make all other Reading Mortal Sin
But Richlieu, Machiavel, and Mazarine,
Or Hobs, their Favorite from another Bent,
Who teaches—after Death no Punishment.
But how can we that Wretch a Patriot name
Whose Guilt is the Foundation of his Fame?
What e'er he may in Cabinet debate,
His Whores have more his Service than the State.
View but at home his Follies and his Crimes,
You'd Swear a Fiend might sooner mend the Times,
181
Imbitter all his Hours, and make a Hell of Life.
What care can of his Countries Good be shown
So Mindless, or so Reckless of his own?
His Patrimony he does thus Divide;
One part in Three is Squander'd by his Bride
At Ombre,—and a certain Game beside;
The other Two his Punks and Flatt'rers get;
So all he Eats and Drinks and Wears—is Debt.
At last, (his Children's Marriage grown his Care,)
Resolv'd his Broken Fortunes to repair,
He puts his Prince on Arbitrary Rule,
And turns a Rogue for having plaid the Fool.
His Counsels if but likely to succeed
He cares not who is Ruin'd, who does Bleed.
Whole Subsidies does thro' his Fingers go;
And as a famous Lord was said to do,
The Mighty Mass, regardless of the Laws,
He cross a large Grid-inon slowly draws;
What he brings over, happens to the Crown;
And all that falls between he Pockets for his own.
Mean while, by Wealth Indempnify'd from fear,
The British Glory's not at all his Care;
Nor does he mind our Balance, fam'd so far,
Of weighing out to Europe Peace, or War;
But Bribing high each Legislative Brother
He sinks one half, and stops their Mouths with 'tother.
How can the Senator, tho' wond'rous wise,
See with a Golden Mist before his Eyes?
Secure, it all Assemblies Over-Rules,
But most, 'tis seen in those where Most are Knaves and Fools.
Such Representatives too sadly prove
They Bribe below but to be Brib'd above.
Hence are our present Scene of Ills deriv'd,
And by the accursed Pattern more contriv'd:
182
Hence Spring the Publick Debts, and bane of Publick Trade.
For how can such a Wretch; tho' he may sit
At Helm advanc'd for his pernicious Wit,
Believe a Nation Prosp'rous can be
From Counsels laid, and hatch'd in Villany?
Raising Estates by such Flagitious Ways
As shames the Rapine of all former Days?
Pension'd from Foreign Courts, and taking Pay
Our Country, King, and Councils to betray?
How dare he talk of Conq'ring France, or Rome
That brings us to the last Distress at home?
If 'twere his dearest Brother held the Glass
He cou'd not less than for a Villain pass;
And much a Villain must be more an Ass.
Thus by the Politician we may see
That Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
Th'Ambitious Man do's next ascend the Stage;
The high rais'd Beacons of a Sanguin Age.
Whether by Heav'n they are directly sent
To be a Sinful People's Punishment;
Or whether what the Prince of Hell intends,
To prove some Men more Impious than his Fiends;
Or whether 'tis deriv'd from Noble Blood,
Which least of all Delights in doing Good;
Be it what ever way y'are pleas'd to guess,
'Tis all Transcendency of Wickedness!
Rape, Plunder, Devastation, Fire and Dread
Attend their horrid Steps where e'er they tread;
And like the Sea usurping on the Shore,
They make the affrighted Country fly before.
In vain You urge that there was never known
An Age so Wise and Polish'd as our own,
When the most Learn'd and the Politest Times
Produce the Deepest Plots, and Bloodiest Crimes.
From the first William to Eliza read
Our Annals o'er; count ev'ry Wicked Deed
Thro' all those Reigns, of Statesmen, Priest and Prince,
They're nothing to the Tale committed since.
What was it that in James his time cou'd Frame
The Powder Plot? a Crime beyond a Name!
What but Ambition? true, we must confess
To hide the Fraud it took a Priestly Dress;
But underneath the Gown the Ponyard lay,
To make three Glorious Realms at once the Papal Pray.
Had but the Train have taken, where had been
The once so Impious Name of Catiline?
Had He the Empire of the World o'erthrown,
He had long been doing what a Moment here had done:
King, Lords and Commons, high as well as low,
Had all at once been murder'd at a Blow:
But Powder was to Him unknown; the Earth
Had then not teem'd with that Prodigious Birth!
What made the Leaders in this Prince's Reign
Sow Feuds and Sect'aries thro' the British Plain,
But, when the Season serv'd, to reap the Gain?
For Hero's not for Fame alone devour,
As know'ng Profit must be link'd to Pow'r,
If Crowds believe they Act in their Defence,
Weak are the Laws, Precarious is the Prince.
Such were the Times when Charles the Scepter sway'd;
That best of Princes, and the worst Obey'd,
What was it but some few Ambitious Men,
Where yet the Leaders are but Eight or Ten,
That caus'd the War? by which, on either side,
A Hundred Thousand Native Britons dy'd?
Who had their Valour been Employ'd abroad,
France had been humbl'd, and its Tyrant aw'd;
While by a bless'd Prevention, we had sav'd
The Blood that since w'ave lost, and Kingdoms since Enslav'd.
What but Ambition, at this Martyr's Fall,
Made an Audacious Senate grasp at all?
And what but That inclin'd their Bloody Chief
To make 'em Fools, tho' rais'd for their Relief?
What but th'Ambition of the Fiends of Rome,
(And Legislative Sots in feuds at home,)
Seal'd, sign'd, and carry'd on the Irish Doom?
A scene of Cruelty exceeding far
All that was ever done by Famine, Plague and War.
And what but that, or yet a worse Pretence,
Has made 'em seek our Ruin ever since?
In secret Murders first they flesh'd their Cause,
In Armies next, and Violated Laws:
With Plots on Plots our Peace they undermin'd,
Which as detected still they more design'd
And tho' so bad, yet worse Remain'd behind:
Till Glorious William did at last appear,
And Leaving Law to lay their Practice bare,
Ended at once their Treach'ry and our Fear.
Nor only them; but, with pernicious Rage,
This Vice does Influence Sex, Degree, and Age.
What have not Wives, what have not Virgins done
To rise, and be the Strumpets of a Throne?
The Country Bumkin, bred with Labour hard,
Thinks all Ambition is to mount the Guard:
But in a little Time he fain wou'd be
An Officer of some advanc'd Degree;
That Officer a General wou'd commence.
And Cromwell like, possess'd of Pow'r wou'd next depose his Prince.
The Nobler born uneasy with delay,
Pursue Advancement by a readier way:
If the old Prince their Proud Demands deny,
(as most of Pride has least of Loyalty)
Without Remorse his Ruin they pursue,
To purchase S---rs and Titles of the new.
Cou'd it be known what Villanies are done
To wear a G---rge, and Tye a Gr---ter on,
Our English Annals might of Horrors tell
At once outvying Sodom, Rome and Hell;
No Tye, however Sacred, stops their Course,
But on they furious drive, from bad to worse:
Nor can you Mention any Glorious Ill,
Be it to Ravish, Bugger, Burn or Kill,
But if they have the Means, the'll find the Will.
And thus, by the Ambitious Man, we see
That Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
The high rais'd Beacons of a Sanguin Age.
Whether by Heav'n they are directly sent
To be a Sinful People's Punishment;
Or whether what the Prince of Hell intends,
To prove some Men more Impious than his Fiends;
Or whether 'tis deriv'd from Noble Blood,
Which least of all Delights in doing Good;
Be it what ever way y'are pleas'd to guess,
'Tis all Transcendency of Wickedness!
Rape, Plunder, Devastation, Fire and Dread
Attend their horrid Steps where e'er they tread;
And like the Sea usurping on the Shore,
They make the affrighted Country fly before.
In vain You urge that there was never known
An Age so Wise and Polish'd as our own,
When the most Learn'd and the Politest Times
Produce the Deepest Plots, and Bloodiest Crimes.
183
Our Annals o'er; count ev'ry Wicked Deed
Thro' all those Reigns, of Statesmen, Priest and Prince,
They're nothing to the Tale committed since.
What was it that in James his time cou'd Frame
The Powder Plot? a Crime beyond a Name!
What but Ambition? true, we must confess
To hide the Fraud it took a Priestly Dress;
But underneath the Gown the Ponyard lay,
To make three Glorious Realms at once the Papal Pray.
Had but the Train have taken, where had been
The once so Impious Name of Catiline?
Had He the Empire of the World o'erthrown,
He had long been doing what a Moment here had done:
King, Lords and Commons, high as well as low,
Had all at once been murder'd at a Blow:
But Powder was to Him unknown; the Earth
Had then not teem'd with that Prodigious Birth!
What made the Leaders in this Prince's Reign
Sow Feuds and Sect'aries thro' the British Plain,
But, when the Season serv'd, to reap the Gain?
For Hero's not for Fame alone devour,
As know'ng Profit must be link'd to Pow'r,
If Crowds believe they Act in their Defence,
Weak are the Laws, Precarious is the Prince.
Such were the Times when Charles the Scepter sway'd;
That best of Princes, and the worst Obey'd,
What was it but some few Ambitious Men,
Where yet the Leaders are but Eight or Ten,
That caus'd the War? by which, on either side,
A Hundred Thousand Native Britons dy'd?
Who had their Valour been Employ'd abroad,
France had been humbl'd, and its Tyrant aw'd;
While by a bless'd Prevention, we had sav'd
The Blood that since w'ave lost, and Kingdoms since Enslav'd.
184
Made an Audacious Senate grasp at all?
And what but That inclin'd their Bloody Chief
To make 'em Fools, tho' rais'd for their Relief?
What but th'Ambition of the Fiends of Rome,
(And Legislative Sots in feuds at home,)
Seal'd, sign'd, and carry'd on the Irish Doom?
A scene of Cruelty exceeding far
All that was ever done by Famine, Plague and War.
And what but that, or yet a worse Pretence,
Has made 'em seek our Ruin ever since?
In secret Murders first they flesh'd their Cause,
In Armies next, and Violated Laws:
With Plots on Plots our Peace they undermin'd,
Which as detected still they more design'd
And tho' so bad, yet worse Remain'd behind:
Till Glorious William did at last appear,
And Leaving Law to lay their Practice bare,
Ended at once their Treach'ry and our Fear.
Nor only them; but, with pernicious Rage,
This Vice does Influence Sex, Degree, and Age.
What have not Wives, what have not Virgins done
To rise, and be the Strumpets of a Throne?
The Country Bumkin, bred with Labour hard,
Thinks all Ambition is to mount the Guard:
But in a little Time he fain wou'd be
An Officer of some advanc'd Degree;
That Officer a General wou'd commence.
And Cromwell like, possess'd of Pow'r wou'd next depose his Prince.
The Nobler born uneasy with delay,
Pursue Advancement by a readier way:
If the old Prince their Proud Demands deny,
(as most of Pride has least of Loyalty)
Without Remorse his Ruin they pursue,
To purchase S---rs and Titles of the new.
185
To wear a G---rge, and Tye a Gr---ter on,
Our English Annals might of Horrors tell
At once outvying Sodom, Rome and Hell;
No Tye, however Sacred, stops their Course,
But on they furious drive, from bad to worse:
Nor can you Mention any Glorious Ill,
Be it to Ravish, Bugger, Burn or Kill,
But if they have the Means, the'll find the Will.
And thus, by the Ambitious Man, we see
That Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
With these we may the tow'ring Minion place,
Rais'd to a Fa'vorite from a Linage base;
Whether for Merit we'll not here dispute,
Or to Indulge a Vice that ne'er produces Fruit:
But once aloft, the utmost Scorn he flings
On those below, talks proud and mighty things,
And, Elbowing all the Peers, will only Herd with Kings.
The Skies he thinks are by his Footsteps trod;
His Prayers, Extortion, and the Prince, his God.
Some Thousands, hence, we Yearly see undone,
To raise a vast Possession but for one.
No Course he for his Master thinks unjust
That may advance his Inte'rest, Pow'r or Lust.
Conscience and Law he deems as empty things;
And Compacts, Ties beneath the care of Kings.
The Courtier when he frowns their Ruin doubt;
Just as He's pleas'd in Office, or without.
The Nobles of an Ancient Line he hates;
First, aming at their Heads; and next, at their Estates:
Tho' yet perhaps our Annals may allow
That they were rais'd by what he rises now.
Thus does the wretch audaciously drive on,
Careless of Right, and cover'd by a Throne,
Nor dreams amid'st his Glories of a Turn;
As now our Wonder, to be then our Scorn.
Unhappy He! and crazy in his Sense,
That rashly strives, in Seasons of Offence,
T'Enslave the People, or mislead the Prince:
They once will meet (as where the Grain has been)
And grind to Dust the Seeds of Strife between:
And just the Fate; that wou'd whole Nations Fool
With Squander'd Taxes, and Despotick Rule.
But tho' this haughty Minion stand so high,
No basest Office must he e'er deny,
But e'en be damn'd without enquiring, why?
The Pleasure of his Prince he must advance
With Strumpets here, or Politicks from France;
As Wolsey did the hard-Mouth'd Henry wait,
His Ev'ning Pimp, and Morning Slave of State.
The way at Court to Grandeur must be sure
When Crimes like these are made the Rise to Pow'r.
Ah Wrethed Man! who, his Paternal Seat
Disdaining, will be Wicked to be Great!
That thinks not, rais'd by Ruin Blood and Strife,
On his late Father's Peaceful Country Life:
Who free from Guilt, and so, of course, from Fear,
Liv'd nobly on Two Hundred Pounds a Year.
And wisely managing that happy Store,
Kept out of Debt, and fed the Neigh'bring Poor,
Without one thought of ever seeking more:
Till reaching at the last an Honour'd Age,
With Universal Praise he left the Stage;
But with this Lesson to his Son behind.—
I leave as I was left; nor more desire to find,
Pervert not the last dying Wills of Men,
Nor hold at Court a Secretaries Pen
With Thousand Mischiefs, You'll be then beset,
Which in this Guiltless Shade I never met.
Then You must Bribe a Senator to be,
And Villains of the blackest Infamy,
And yet the Guiltier grow as higher in Degree.
Then Innocence You'll use with utmost Spite,
And with Successful Wrong extinguish feeble Right.
Then to your Side corrupted Votes you'll draw;
False shall usurp on True, and Pow'r shall be the Law.
The Guiltless BARD shall be in Durance thrown,
The Scandal his, and yet the Crime your own.
In short, You then must be Sir S---rs Tool,
Alternate, now a Knave and now a Fool.
In vain, alas! this Good Advice is given;
Father and Son but seldom go to Heav'n.
Quite thwarting of a Dying Parents Will,
And higher rising more confirm'd in Ill,
He shoves along; and Nest'ling near a Crown,
Thinks all the British Dignities his own;
The Bad advances, does the Good depress,
And, like a Devil, proud of the Success:
Thoughtless, amidst his Glories of a Turn,
As now our Wonder to be then our Scorn;
Or that a Future Doom will once Impeach
The Crimes that stand too high for Human Law to reach.
But chiefly for this Pride of Mind he's known
Of carrying thro' all future Ages down
His Riches, Issue, Titles and Renown:
So blest a Fate! that, wou'd he but reflect,
On former Times 'twere Madness to expect.
For where is Gaveston's and Spencer's Name?
Where's Empson, Dudley, N. and Buckingham?
If for those Founders in their several Lines
We deign to look, there's Nothing Dimlier shines;
Vapours, that long ago exhal'd, are gone,
And while they Influenc'd Boding to the Throne.
So that, as Heretofore, we yet may see
The Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
Rais'd to a Fa'vorite from a Linage base;
Whether for Merit we'll not here dispute,
Or to Indulge a Vice that ne'er produces Fruit:
But once aloft, the utmost Scorn he flings
On those below, talks proud and mighty things,
And, Elbowing all the Peers, will only Herd with Kings.
The Skies he thinks are by his Footsteps trod;
His Prayers, Extortion, and the Prince, his God.
Some Thousands, hence, we Yearly see undone,
To raise a vast Possession but for one.
No Course he for his Master thinks unjust
That may advance his Inte'rest, Pow'r or Lust.
Conscience and Law he deems as empty things;
And Compacts, Ties beneath the care of Kings.
The Courtier when he frowns their Ruin doubt;
Just as He's pleas'd in Office, or without.
The Nobles of an Ancient Line he hates;
First, aming at their Heads; and next, at their Estates:
Tho' yet perhaps our Annals may allow
That they were rais'd by what he rises now.
Thus does the wretch audaciously drive on,
Careless of Right, and cover'd by a Throne,
186
As now our Wonder, to be then our Scorn.
Unhappy He! and crazy in his Sense,
That rashly strives, in Seasons of Offence,
T'Enslave the People, or mislead the Prince:
They once will meet (as where the Grain has been)
And grind to Dust the Seeds of Strife between:
And just the Fate; that wou'd whole Nations Fool
With Squander'd Taxes, and Despotick Rule.
But tho' this haughty Minion stand so high,
No basest Office must he e'er deny,
But e'en be damn'd without enquiring, why?
The Pleasure of his Prince he must advance
With Strumpets here, or Politicks from France;
As Wolsey did the hard-Mouth'd Henry wait,
His Ev'ning Pimp, and Morning Slave of State.
The way at Court to Grandeur must be sure
When Crimes like these are made the Rise to Pow'r.
Ah Wrethed Man! who, his Paternal Seat
Disdaining, will be Wicked to be Great!
That thinks not, rais'd by Ruin Blood and Strife,
On his late Father's Peaceful Country Life:
Who free from Guilt, and so, of course, from Fear,
Liv'd nobly on Two Hundred Pounds a Year.
And wisely managing that happy Store,
Kept out of Debt, and fed the Neigh'bring Poor,
Without one thought of ever seeking more:
Till reaching at the last an Honour'd Age,
With Universal Praise he left the Stage;
But with this Lesson to his Son behind.—
I leave as I was left; nor more desire to find,
Pervert not the last dying Wills of Men,
Nor hold at Court a Secretaries Pen
With Thousand Mischiefs, You'll be then beset,
Which in this Guiltless Shade I never met.
187
And Villains of the blackest Infamy,
And yet the Guiltier grow as higher in Degree.
Then Innocence You'll use with utmost Spite,
And with Successful Wrong extinguish feeble Right.
Then to your Side corrupted Votes you'll draw;
False shall usurp on True, and Pow'r shall be the Law.
The Guiltless BARD shall be in Durance thrown,
The Scandal his, and yet the Crime your own.
In short, You then must be Sir S---rs Tool,
Alternate, now a Knave and now a Fool.
In vain, alas! this Good Advice is given;
Father and Son but seldom go to Heav'n.
Quite thwarting of a Dying Parents Will,
And higher rising more confirm'd in Ill,
He shoves along; and Nest'ling near a Crown,
Thinks all the British Dignities his own;
The Bad advances, does the Good depress,
And, like a Devil, proud of the Success:
Thoughtless, amidst his Glories of a Turn,
As now our Wonder to be then our Scorn;
Or that a Future Doom will once Impeach
The Crimes that stand too high for Human Law to reach.
But chiefly for this Pride of Mind he's known
Of carrying thro' all future Ages down
His Riches, Issue, Titles and Renown:
So blest a Fate! that, wou'd he but reflect,
On former Times 'twere Madness to expect.
For where is Gaveston's and Spencer's Name?
Where's Empson, Dudley, N. and Buckingham?
If for those Founders in their several Lines
We deign to look, there's Nothing Dimlier shines;
Vapours, that long ago exhal'd, are gone,
And while they Influenc'd Boding to the Throne.
So that, as Heretofore, we yet may see
The Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
188
You'll say (perhaps) I undistinguish'd strike,
And use the Vile and Worthy both a like;
That many of the Great are truely Just;
And as these dye, by consequence there must
Be others rais'd to Honour, Pow'r and Trust.
Nay, You may further add, we now may view
A set of Men no Nation else can shew,
The least of whom cou'd bear an Empires Weight
And steer the Helm in worst Extremes of Fate;
Men to whose Reach our Foes designs are known,
Yet think so deep no Sight can pierce their own,
Till to the Birth, and level'd Right they come
This Nation to Protect, or That to Doom.
And then as such so well can Counsel, so
There is a Class that can as Nobly do,
Conquer at Land, and Triumph on the Seas.—
And who Detracts from Men so brave as These?
Forbid it Heav'n we shou'd revile the Name
Of Dev---shr, of L---ds and Not---hm,
Of Shr---s---ry, Mar---b---row and Fames early Son
Great Or---nd, and the Prudent Ad---don,
With Roch---ter, the Guardian of the Throne.
Nor must we Thee, O Nor---m---by! omit,
If we'd be just to Worth, or true to Wit:
Tho' high you sit in the Judicial Chair,
You are no less a Legislator here.
With the same Wonder Rome did Horace view
The British Isle shall ever mention YOU!
Scarce cou'd Appollo nobler Laws ordain,
Or write 'em in a more Harmonious Strain:
In all You Teach so Useful Just, and Great,
That 'tis, methinks, Descending to Intend the State.
To Men like these, so faithful in the Cause
Of Royalty, Religion, and the Laws,
We shou'd Address as if above Applause:
And well they may the Muses aid disclaim,
That from themselves derive Immortal Fame;
And to be truely Patriots understood,
Nor Value Praise or Blame, or Wealth or Blood,
In Competition with their Countries Good.
But then, on 'tother side, there are a Set
Of Courtiers, only just like Tumors Great;
Bloated with Pride they Lord it o'er their Kind,
And never Just but when 'tis undesign'd.
No real Worth they bear from Top to Toe,
But all's Appearance, Lacquer, Wash, and Show:
Prudence is quite Exploded, Truth defy'd,
And Interest made their Universal Guide:
Stiff in Deportment, Treach'rous in Address,
Crushing the Brave, and barring all Access:
Justling for Place, and eager of a Name,
They drive at all, and shove along to Fame.
Ne'er but in Brib'ry parting with their Store,
Or Feeing Lawyers to defraud the Poor;—
In short, just the Reverse of those we nam'd before
But certainly, to oppress their Fellow-Creature
As he like them, was not of Human Nature;
By Fraud and Rapine vast Estates to get,
Yet never lend nor ever pay a Debt;
On Things Divine opprobrious Terms to fix,
And place all Merit in a Coach and Six;
To ruin Tenants, Witnesses Subborn,
Make Villainy their Care, and Worth their Scorn;
To blast the Vertue which they can't debauch,
In Lux'ry plung'd, and laughing ut Reproach:
Both Friends and Foes relentless to devour.
That stand between 'em and their Rise to Pow'r:
To Sell to France the Fruits of all our Care,
And make a Peace of worse Effects than War.
To think no Glory is on Earth so Great
As that of being nam'd in the Gazette;
Where among Spaniels lost their Acts are shown
Equal in Worth, and Rivals in Renown:
To think it Honour only to have Riches,
And Sense to make in S--- Factious Speeches;
Where one bad Man is capable to do
More Mischief, and shall have more Followers, too,
In Faction, Innovation, Strife and Blood,
Than Fifty that design their Countries Good:
So that, perhaps, of late we Judge too wide
To think the most to be the better Side;
True Musick don't consist in Tale of Notes,
Nor Justice in Majority of Votes.
If Office can (I say) such Crimes create,
The basest Life is thus becomming Great:
Mean while we by such Legislators see
That Greatest Names are first in Infamie.
And use the Vile and Worthy both a like;
That many of the Great are truely Just;
And as these dye, by consequence there must
Be others rais'd to Honour, Pow'r and Trust.
Nay, You may further add, we now may view
A set of Men no Nation else can shew,
The least of whom cou'd bear an Empires Weight
And steer the Helm in worst Extremes of Fate;
Men to whose Reach our Foes designs are known,
Yet think so deep no Sight can pierce their own,
Till to the Birth, and level'd Right they come
This Nation to Protect, or That to Doom.
And then as such so well can Counsel, so
There is a Class that can as Nobly do,
Conquer at Land, and Triumph on the Seas.—
And who Detracts from Men so brave as These?
Forbid it Heav'n we shou'd revile the Name
Of Dev---shr, of L---ds and Not---hm,
Of Shr---s---ry, Mar---b---row and Fames early Son
Great Or---nd, and the Prudent Ad---don,
With Roch---ter, the Guardian of the Throne.
Nor must we Thee, O Nor---m---by! omit,
If we'd be just to Worth, or true to Wit:
Tho' high you sit in the Judicial Chair,
You are no less a Legislator here.
With the same Wonder Rome did Horace view
The British Isle shall ever mention YOU!
Scarce cou'd Appollo nobler Laws ordain,
Or write 'em in a more Harmonious Strain:
In all You Teach so Useful Just, and Great,
That 'tis, methinks, Descending to Intend the State.
To Men like these, so faithful in the Cause
Of Royalty, Religion, and the Laws,
We shou'd Address as if above Applause:
189
That from themselves derive Immortal Fame;
And to be truely Patriots understood,
Nor Value Praise or Blame, or Wealth or Blood,
In Competition with their Countries Good.
But then, on 'tother side, there are a Set
Of Courtiers, only just like Tumors Great;
Bloated with Pride they Lord it o'er their Kind,
And never Just but when 'tis undesign'd.
No real Worth they bear from Top to Toe,
But all's Appearance, Lacquer, Wash, and Show:
Prudence is quite Exploded, Truth defy'd,
And Interest made their Universal Guide:
Stiff in Deportment, Treach'rous in Address,
Crushing the Brave, and barring all Access:
Justling for Place, and eager of a Name,
They drive at all, and shove along to Fame.
Ne'er but in Brib'ry parting with their Store,
Or Feeing Lawyers to defraud the Poor;—
In short, just the Reverse of those we nam'd before
But certainly, to oppress their Fellow-Creature
As he like them, was not of Human Nature;
By Fraud and Rapine vast Estates to get,
Yet never lend nor ever pay a Debt;
On Things Divine opprobrious Terms to fix,
And place all Merit in a Coach and Six;
To ruin Tenants, Witnesses Subborn,
Make Villainy their Care, and Worth their Scorn;
To blast the Vertue which they can't debauch,
In Lux'ry plung'd, and laughing ut Reproach:
Both Friends and Foes relentless to devour.
That stand between 'em and their Rise to Pow'r:
To Sell to France the Fruits of all our Care,
And make a Peace of worse Effects than War.
To think no Glory is on Earth so Great
As that of being nam'd in the Gazette;
190
Equal in Worth, and Rivals in Renown:
To think it Honour only to have Riches,
And Sense to make in S--- Factious Speeches;
Where one bad Man is capable to do
More Mischief, and shall have more Followers, too,
In Faction, Innovation, Strife and Blood,
Than Fifty that design their Countries Good:
So that, perhaps, of late we Judge too wide
To think the most to be the better Side;
True Musick don't consist in Tale of Notes,
Nor Justice in Majority of Votes.
If Office can (I say) such Crimes create,
The basest Life is thus becomming Great:
Mean while we by such Legislators see
That Greatest Names are first in Infamie.
But these are Subjects:—let us next Survey
The Few that have the height of Human Sway:
And first the Gallick Monarch shall appear,
Nor need we mention more; for all we hear
Or read of Tyrant is included there:
A Spacious Kingdom by Descent his Own,
Where he might Reign with Glory and Renown,
May justly be conceiv'd enough for One.
With Peace, with Plenty, Piety and Trade,
How happy might that Ancient Realm be made!
Nor better can a Prince himself secure
Than by his Subjects Love, the surest Base of Pow'r.
Quite Contrary, on Strife he builds his Throne,
Faithless to other States, but Fatal to his own;
Nor any Good has all his Life design'd
But Blood, and the Enslaving Humankind:
In the Black Roll of Tyrants justly first,
As well of Princes, as of Christians worst;
And here shall stand Eternally accurst.
What Neigh'bring Nations has he over-run!
What Devastations caus'd! what Mischiefs done!
And for no End but barely to Devour,
And by his Cruelty assert his Pow'r.
Proud as the Angel that from Heav'n was flung.
And threat'ns with the same Audacious Tongue:
But never cou'd his Pride his mind inflame
To Martial Deeds; he shun'd the dangerous Game,
Nor e'er in Fighting Field wou'd dare to purchase Fame
To Cæsar's Glory vainly he aspires,
Who when the Din of War begins, retires:
What Thoughts he has of GOD he does proclaim
In mock Te Deums sung at Notre-Dame;
Where Publickly he does his Thanks address,
When any Treach'rous Action meets Success;
That the Gull'd Subject may from thence be brought
To think he Conquer'd what he basely bought.
What Countless Treasure has he rais'd by Force?
Levy'd by Plunder, yet dispos'd of worse.
In Poys'ning only Millions he employs,
And smiles when he can Kill without a Noise.
Thus Feuds and Murders he thro' Europe sends,
And chiefly Prospers by dividing Friends.
To such a Num'rous Tale his Crimes abound,
That Mercy Shrinks, and Sickens at the Sound!
Who after this, to his Eternal Shame,
Wou'd e'er assume the Peaceful Christian Name?
Most Christian, too!—as if he understood
Our SAVIOUR's Laws were all, like Draco's, writ in Blood.
O Parricide! O eldest born of Hell!
O Arrogance that knows no Parallel!
Remit, O Gracious Heav'n! thy Raging Ire,
And let the Monster now, at last, expire:
Enough, enough of Christian Blood is shed,
Nor can the Grave contain the Crowded Dead.
Let Europe her Dejected Visage raise,
Wash of her Gore, and see some Halcyon Days,
And next employ 'em all in thy Eternal Praise.
We own our Sins, the sad Effects we rue;
But take away this Plague and grant a New:
Beneath thy Hand we shall some Favours find,
But nothing from this Scourge of Human kind:
Below some burning Mountain let him Howl,
Eternally convinc'd he has a Soul.
Or, if it better please Thee, let him here
Have first a Tast of what he Merits there:
Tho' now he thinks He's Seated in the Skies,
Precipitate Him down, no more to Rise;
Let Him in vain for past Successes call;
'Twill be a very Hell to see his Fall:
Let him at last perceive, in very Deed,
That rank Ambition is a Poys'nous Weed,
Not of Celestial but Infernal Seed;
And that like Oaks, the more its height ascends,
The more the Root shoots downward to the Fiends.
'Twere loss of Time for further Proof to see;
For here's an Instance in the last Degree,
That Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
The Few that have the height of Human Sway:
And first the Gallick Monarch shall appear,
Nor need we mention more; for all we hear
Or read of Tyrant is included there:
A Spacious Kingdom by Descent his Own,
Where he might Reign with Glory and Renown,
May justly be conceiv'd enough for One.
With Peace, with Plenty, Piety and Trade,
How happy might that Ancient Realm be made!
Nor better can a Prince himself secure
Than by his Subjects Love, the surest Base of Pow'r.
Quite Contrary, on Strife he builds his Throne,
Faithless to other States, but Fatal to his own;
Nor any Good has all his Life design'd
But Blood, and the Enslaving Humankind:
In the Black Roll of Tyrants justly first,
As well of Princes, as of Christians worst;
And here shall stand Eternally accurst.
191
What Devastations caus'd! what Mischiefs done!
And for no End but barely to Devour,
And by his Cruelty assert his Pow'r.
Proud as the Angel that from Heav'n was flung.
And threat'ns with the same Audacious Tongue:
But never cou'd his Pride his mind inflame
To Martial Deeds; he shun'd the dangerous Game,
Nor e'er in Fighting Field wou'd dare to purchase Fame
To Cæsar's Glory vainly he aspires,
Who when the Din of War begins, retires:
What Thoughts he has of GOD he does proclaim
In mock Te Deums sung at Notre-Dame;
Where Publickly he does his Thanks address,
When any Treach'rous Action meets Success;
That the Gull'd Subject may from thence be brought
To think he Conquer'd what he basely bought.
What Countless Treasure has he rais'd by Force?
Levy'd by Plunder, yet dispos'd of worse.
In Poys'ning only Millions he employs,
And smiles when he can Kill without a Noise.
Thus Feuds and Murders he thro' Europe sends,
And chiefly Prospers by dividing Friends.
To such a Num'rous Tale his Crimes abound,
That Mercy Shrinks, and Sickens at the Sound!
Who after this, to his Eternal Shame,
Wou'd e'er assume the Peaceful Christian Name?
Most Christian, too!—as if he understood
Our SAVIOUR's Laws were all, like Draco's, writ in Blood.
O Parricide! O eldest born of Hell!
O Arrogance that knows no Parallel!
Remit, O Gracious Heav'n! thy Raging Ire,
And let the Monster now, at last, expire:
Enough, enough of Christian Blood is shed,
Nor can the Grave contain the Crowded Dead.
192
Wash of her Gore, and see some Halcyon Days,
And next employ 'em all in thy Eternal Praise.
We own our Sins, the sad Effects we rue;
But take away this Plague and grant a New:
Beneath thy Hand we shall some Favours find,
But nothing from this Scourge of Human kind:
Below some burning Mountain let him Howl,
Eternally convinc'd he has a Soul.
Or, if it better please Thee, let him here
Have first a Tast of what he Merits there:
Tho' now he thinks He's Seated in the Skies,
Precipitate Him down, no more to Rise;
Let Him in vain for past Successes call;
'Twill be a very Hell to see his Fall:
Let him at last perceive, in very Deed,
That rank Ambition is a Poys'nous Weed,
Not of Celestial but Infernal Seed;
And that like Oaks, the more its height ascends,
The more the Root shoots downward to the Fiends.
'Twere loss of Time for further Proof to see;
For here's an Instance in the last Degree,
That Greatest Names are first in Infamy.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |