 | Satires And Biography |  |
THE NEW BRIGHTON GUIDE;
INVOLVING A COMPLETE, AUTHENTIC, AND HONORABLE SOLUTION OF THE RECENT MYSTERIES OF CARLTON HOUSE.
Qui ambulat simpliciter, ambulat confidenter; et qui depravat vias suas manifestus erit.
5
A MORAL EPISTLE FROM THE PAVILION AT BRIGHTON TO CARLTON HOUSE, LONDON.
DEAR COUSIN CARLEY,
It was said, and said wisely, that telling one's grief,
In a certain degree, will insure us relief:
And I hope you're too just, though I'm craz'd and forlorn,
To unite with the vulgar, and treat me with scorn.
That I'm not what I was, is but wofully true;
But I trust I shall ever be valu'd by you.
Ah me! what a change has occurr'd in my state,
Since he who enjoy'd me has prov'd an ingrate!
I am like an old wife, now, continually weeping—
Who would think, from my visage, I e'er was in keeping?
When he first nestled here he was handsome and thin,
No razor had then mown his stubbleless chin:
He was sportive and careless, bland, upright, and young,
And I smil'd on his feats when he said or he sung:
Then youth bore its own, pardon, while stumbling o'er ill,
As the passions o'erthrew what was meant by the will.
In a certain degree, will insure us relief:
And I hope you're too just, though I'm craz'd and forlorn,
To unite with the vulgar, and treat me with scorn.
That I'm not what I was, is but wofully true;
But I trust I shall ever be valu'd by you.
Ah me! what a change has occurr'd in my state,
Since he who enjoy'd me has prov'd an ingrate!
6
Who would think, from my visage, I e'er was in keeping?
When he first nestled here he was handsome and thin,
No razor had then mown his stubbleless chin:
He was sportive and careless, bland, upright, and young,
And I smil'd on his feats when he said or he sung:
7
As the passions o'erthrew what was meant by the will.
When the full ardent Moon, from her silvery post,
O'erheated the sculls of the world's motley host;
Made the chymist more zealous to transmute his dross,
And adventurers losing to treble that loss;
I have seen him inwove with a pestilent crew,
Who nine-tenths came undone, and the rest to undo!
When those caitiffs came thund'ring in impudent state,
And drew up their tandems and gigs at my gate,
Full of wrath at their daring, I rav'd and I swore,
Then I let in an Eddy that slamm'd to the door:
But, alas! it avail'd not—'twas open'd again,
And the P--- rose, and welcom'd the toad-eating train!
He urbane smil'd on all, where 'twas sin to look sad,
As God's light aids in common the good and the bad.
I tore off Folly's cloak to exhibit the wrong;
How I toil'd to advise, but was stunn'd with a song:
I made signs on my plaster to rally them all,
But no Daniel was there to decipher the wall.—
Ah! I know his large heart and beneficent plan;
Though he's run from the course, yet he feels like a man:
Though he dissipates seeds of an undeserv'd sorrow,
And gaily puts off half his ills till the morrow,
His radical nobleness knows no decay;
He will act, but not cant—he'll relieve ere he'll pray:
As Charity's retinue own, while embrac'd,
In his gift he gives twice, 'tis a deed so well grac'd.
O'erheated the sculls of the world's motley host;
Made the chymist more zealous to transmute his dross,
And adventurers losing to treble that loss;
8
Who nine-tenths came undone, and the rest to undo!
When those caitiffs came thund'ring in impudent state,
And drew up their tandems and gigs at my gate,
Full of wrath at their daring, I rav'd and I swore,
Then I let in an Eddy that slamm'd to the door:
But, alas! it avail'd not—'twas open'd again,
And the P--- rose, and welcom'd the toad-eating train!
He urbane smil'd on all, where 'twas sin to look sad,
As God's light aids in common the good and the bad.
I tore off Folly's cloak to exhibit the wrong;
How I toil'd to advise, but was stunn'd with a song:
I made signs on my plaster to rally them all,
But no Daniel was there to decipher the wall.—
Ah! I know his large heart and beneficent plan;
Though he's run from the course, yet he feels like a man:
Though he dissipates seeds of an undeserv'd sorrow,
And gaily puts off half his ills till the morrow,
His radical nobleness knows no decay;
He will act, but not cant—he'll relieve ere he'll pray:
As Charity's retinue own, while embrac'd,
In his gift he gives twice, 'tis a deed so well grac'd.
9
When their mirth grew to madness, and jests met the ear,
Which Philosophy scorns, and no maiden should hear,
Convuls'd with disdain I soon alter'd their note,
For I shut up the principal valve of my throat;
Till the smoke in vast volumes pour'd into their room,
And enwrapp'd the loud mob in a horrible gloom,
More fœtid than Vulcan inhal'd with his breath;
More thick than e'er pass'd o'er the threshold of Death;
More choking than Cyclops drank in at their forge;
More rank than the reptile of Thebes could disgorge:
As they gasp'd, it rush'd down their intestines, and clogg'd 'em,
And from pharynx to rectum begrim'd and befogg'd 'em:
While hoarsely they growl'd at the house and the smother,
Though, by knowing the cause, they had curs'd one another.
'Mid their baneful carousals I've fum'd and I've fretted,
Till from kitchen to garret I've croak'd and I've sweated;
By pressure I made my joints crack—I can't bawl—
And drops, drawn from my heart, ran from every wall:
But his H---ss, not knowing my woes or displeasure,
Renew'd the broad catch, and refill'd every measure;
While the rascals around him, revil'd the damp mansion,
And my marrow scorch'd up by the fire's expansion:
Which so heated my fibres and bones—I mean wood—
That a putrescent fever polluted my blood;
Which settled behind the bed's-head of the P---e,
And I've not had my health or my ease ever since;
Yet I'm sure he would grieve, his politeness is such,
Had he known that a lady had suffer'd so much.
Thus they swill'd and reswill'd, and repeated their boozings,
Till their shirts became dy'd with purpureal oozings.
When the taster sought wine of a primary sort,
I have cough'd 'neath the bin, and shook all the old port,
Till 'twas muddy as Will B---ck's brains—yet each varlet
Said 'twas bright as a ruby, and toasting some harlot,
Would then smack his lips in despite of my labor!
Oh ye gods! how I wish'd for a fist and a sabre,
To cut down the hiccupping braggarts with glee,
That is, if their heads could be injur'd by me.
When Weltjie has cook'd for the half-famish'd group,
How oft have I belch'd pecks of soot in his soup:
Yet e'en that could not drive them from board or from bed,
Though 'twas render'd as black as an Ethiop's head:
When I've made it as foul as a Scot's ragged tartan,
The rogues gulp'd it down, and all swore it was Spartan.
When they've sat near the fire in knee-squeezing rows,
I have spit out a coal, and demolish'd their hose:
All my grates have breath'd sulphur to stifle their powers;
I'd a watch in my sides to beat minutes and hours:
When I've seen a Blight glide 'twixt the earth and the skies,
I've coax'd in the demon, and ruin'd their eyes:
I have edg'd down a poker on legs swell'd with gout,
Till the miscreant has roar'd like swine stuck in the snout:
When Lord --- from my windows was making a beck,
I have hurl'd down my sashes, and wounded his neck;
Though my rage could but bruise him black, yellow, and blue,
'Twas a hint that might show what the nation should do:
But each knave all the arts of my anger withstood,
For the leeches will suck while the body has blood.
I'd have prophesied much, had I Cerberus' three tongues;
I would fulminate oaths, but, alas! I've no lungs.
When they thought 'twas an earthquake that palsied my walls,
It was I who was shuddering to witness their brawls.
There's no office so dirty but they would fulfil;
There's no sense of debasement could alter their will:
When the munching of immature codlings might gripe him,
They would tear out the leaves of the Psalter to wipe him.
Yet these summer-fed vermin will fly him, if e'er
His wintery fortunes should leave his trunk bare;
Then he'll know that but virtue can keep the soul great,
As they'd make their past meanness the cause of their hate!
I have dropp'd lumps of lime in their glasses while drinking;
I've made thieves in the candle to move him to thinking;
I have clatter'd my casements and chairs to confound 'em;
I have let in the dews and the blast all around 'em;
I have elbow'd my timbers 'gainst many a head;
I have stirr'd up the sewers to stink 'em to bed:
Yet this mass of antipathy marr'd my own liver,
And my tears fill'd the gutter like Egypt's deep river.
—My eyes, my dear Coz, are exhausted with crying;
So I'll give o'er at present—I'm yours till I'm dying.
Which Philosophy scorns, and no maiden should hear,
Convuls'd with disdain I soon alter'd their note,
For I shut up the principal valve of my throat;
Till the smoke in vast volumes pour'd into their room,
And enwrapp'd the loud mob in a horrible gloom,
More fœtid than Vulcan inhal'd with his breath;
More thick than e'er pass'd o'er the threshold of Death;
More choking than Cyclops drank in at their forge;
More rank than the reptile of Thebes could disgorge:
As they gasp'd, it rush'd down their intestines, and clogg'd 'em,
And from pharynx to rectum begrim'd and befogg'd 'em:
While hoarsely they growl'd at the house and the smother,
Though, by knowing the cause, they had curs'd one another.
'Mid their baneful carousals I've fum'd and I've fretted,
Till from kitchen to garret I've croak'd and I've sweated;
By pressure I made my joints crack—I can't bawl—
And drops, drawn from my heart, ran from every wall:
But his H---ss, not knowing my woes or displeasure,
Renew'd the broad catch, and refill'd every measure;
While the rascals around him, revil'd the damp mansion,
And my marrow scorch'd up by the fire's expansion:
Which so heated my fibres and bones—I mean wood—
That a putrescent fever polluted my blood;
Which settled behind the bed's-head of the P---e,
And I've not had my health or my ease ever since;
10
Had he known that a lady had suffer'd so much.
Thus they swill'd and reswill'd, and repeated their boozings,
Till their shirts became dy'd with purpureal oozings.
When the taster sought wine of a primary sort,
I have cough'd 'neath the bin, and shook all the old port,
Till 'twas muddy as Will B---ck's brains—yet each varlet
Said 'twas bright as a ruby, and toasting some harlot,
Would then smack his lips in despite of my labor!
Oh ye gods! how I wish'd for a fist and a sabre,
To cut down the hiccupping braggarts with glee,
That is, if their heads could be injur'd by me.
When Weltjie has cook'd for the half-famish'd group,
How oft have I belch'd pecks of soot in his soup:
Yet e'en that could not drive them from board or from bed,
Though 'twas render'd as black as an Ethiop's head:
When I've made it as foul as a Scot's ragged tartan,
The rogues gulp'd it down, and all swore it was Spartan.
When they've sat near the fire in knee-squeezing rows,
I have spit out a coal, and demolish'd their hose:
All my grates have breath'd sulphur to stifle their powers;
I'd a watch in my sides to beat minutes and hours:
When I've seen a Blight glide 'twixt the earth and the skies,
I've coax'd in the demon, and ruin'd their eyes:
I have edg'd down a poker on legs swell'd with gout,
Till the miscreant has roar'd like swine stuck in the snout:
When Lord --- from my windows was making a beck,
I have hurl'd down my sashes, and wounded his neck;
11
'Twas a hint that might show what the nation should do:
But each knave all the arts of my anger withstood,
For the leeches will suck while the body has blood.
I'd have prophesied much, had I Cerberus' three tongues;
I would fulminate oaths, but, alas! I've no lungs.
When they thought 'twas an earthquake that palsied my walls,
It was I who was shuddering to witness their brawls.
There's no office so dirty but they would fulfil;
There's no sense of debasement could alter their will:
When the munching of immature codlings might gripe him,
They would tear out the leaves of the Psalter to wipe him.
Yet these summer-fed vermin will fly him, if e'er
His wintery fortunes should leave his trunk bare;
Then he'll know that but virtue can keep the soul great,
As they'd make their past meanness the cause of their hate!
I have dropp'd lumps of lime in their glasses while drinking;
I've made thieves in the candle to move him to thinking;
I have clatter'd my casements and chairs to confound 'em;
I have let in the dews and the blast all around 'em;
I have elbow'd my timbers 'gainst many a head;
I have stirr'd up the sewers to stink 'em to bed:
Yet this mass of antipathy marr'd my own liver,
And my tears fill'd the gutter like Egypt's deep river.
12
So I'll give o'er at present—I'm yours till I'm dying.
Steyne, Brighthelmstone, August 6th, 1796.
PAVILION.
P.S. My respects to old James. When I write by next post,
I will send you an Ode, which this bacchanal host
Sung or said, and alarm'd all the fish from our coast.
I will send you an Ode, which this bacchanal host
Sung or said, and alarm'd all the fish from our coast.
SENTIMENTAL EPISTLE FROM CARLTON HOUSE TO THE PAVILION AT BRIGHTON.
MY DEAR LITTLE PAV.
Pr'ythee whence could you get so much gall for your pen?
But let me set you right, who've more knowledge of men:
You evince to possess an illustrious soul—
You are right in the abstract, but wrong in the whole.
That his H---ss's rev'llers you treat with disdain,
I approve; but let Charity marshal your vein;
As I've not yet resolv'd, but he's less safe, by half,
With the knaves who seem grave, than with varlets who laugh.
But let me set you right, who've more knowledge of men:
You evince to possess an illustrious soul—
You are right in the abstract, but wrong in the whole.
That his H---ss's rev'llers you treat with disdain,
I approve; but let Charity marshal your vein;
As I've not yet resolv'd, but he's less safe, by half,
With the knaves who seem grave, than with varlets who laugh.
13
In the love of our lives we forget what we owe;
For the heart runs in debt, while the passions bestow:
As the latter, like truants, when vicious, will run,
And make the heart answer that mischief they'd done.—
Now the broad robe of manhood is wove for his shoulders;
Now he stands as a mark for the region's beholders;
Mean Policy now supersedes his lov'd Truth,
And that permit's destroy'd which was granted his youth:
No excuse, like a courier avant, scuds before him,
No apologist waits to repurge and restore him.
That oblivion is past, which the liberal meant
Should envelope the fact, and but show the intent:
P*** has stripp'd him quite naked, and burnt ev'ry cover,
Where his frailties could hide, or as husband or lover;
And left him expos'd to the blast and the beam,
The frost of repugnance, and sycophant's gleam;
With domestics call'd forth from the haunts of his foes,
Whom he cannot approve, and he will not oppose:
As one wily ****, to eschew his disgrace,
Spunge up all he yields, but to squeeze o'er their race;
By dread incantations, to calumny dear,
With a tale of a tub cheat the popular ear;
Act up to the little designs of their chief,
Till that phantom, Morality, bleeds in belief;
And a lady's destroy'd by their fibs and their funning,
Whose only defect was, a want of—their cunning!
For the heart runs in debt, while the passions bestow:
As the latter, like truants, when vicious, will run,
And make the heart answer that mischief they'd done.—
Now the broad robe of manhood is wove for his shoulders;
Now he stands as a mark for the region's beholders;
Mean Policy now supersedes his lov'd Truth,
And that permit's destroy'd which was granted his youth:
No excuse, like a courier avant, scuds before him,
No apologist waits to repurge and restore him.
That oblivion is past, which the liberal meant
Should envelope the fact, and but show the intent:
P*** has stripp'd him quite naked, and burnt ev'ry cover,
Where his frailties could hide, or as husband or lover;
And left him expos'd to the blast and the beam,
The frost of repugnance, and sycophant's gleam;
With domestics call'd forth from the haunts of his foes,
Whom he cannot approve, and he will not oppose:
As one wily ****, to eschew his disgrace,
Spunge up all he yields, but to squeeze o'er their race;
By dread incantations, to calumny dear,
With a tale of a tub cheat the popular ear;
14
Till that phantom, Morality, bleeds in belief;
And a lady's destroy'd by their fibs and their funning,
Whose only defect was, a want of—their cunning!
While he play'd on the waters of life without care,
Independent of guile, and unknown to despair;
Haply splashing what pass'd, without meaning offence,
The gay victim of Hazard, the minion of Sense;
Often doing that deed which Discretion would shun,
High above all disguise, and as bland as the sun;
He was gull'd down the stream, where the breakers destroy,
And the whirlpool's fell circles ingulph'd all his joy:
Thus he'll run and re-run, giddy, helpless, and light,
Till his spirit's absorb'd in indefinite night!—
Independent of guile, and unknown to despair;
Haply splashing what pass'd, without meaning offence,
The gay victim of Hazard, the minion of Sense;
Often doing that deed which Discretion would shun,
High above all disguise, and as bland as the sun;
He was gull'd down the stream, where the breakers destroy,
And the whirlpool's fell circles ingulph'd all his joy:
Thus he'll run and re-run, giddy, helpless, and light,
Till his spirit's absorb'd in indefinite night!—
He was promis'd God wot—Fortunatus's cap;—
Indemnity—duplicates—jewels—[OMITTED] [OMITTED] [OMITTED]
Was it done?—do not ask—count your beads, and go pray;
For mum is the order which governs the day.
Indemnity—duplicates—jewels—[OMITTED] [OMITTED] [OMITTED]
15
For mum is the order which governs the day.
They caught him while melting with Love's lambent flame,
In the blaze of affection—the acme of fame;
They seiz'd him, while warm, in the precincts of beauty,
And sous'd him all o'er in the cold baths of duty.
Ere that lineament's faded which govern'd his sigh—
Ere that tablet's remov'd which impress'd the soul's eye—
Ere that odour had perish'd which freighted her kiss—
Ere the fibre ceas'd thrilling with Sympathy's bliss—
Ere the birth of new wonders had lessen'd his care—
As the system was writhing, and touch'd by despair;
They bisected that nerve whence his hope knew increase,
And the web was unravell'd that shelter'd his peace.
Like a fen-gather'd vapour, or insect-fraught wind,
They mildew'd a harvest that gladden'd mankind!
Who can say what would be in a crisis so try'd?
Who can answer for ends when the means are deny'd?
Though the nymph were more charmful than Zeuxis e'er saw—
Though the nation demanded the deed as a law—
Though heralds proclaim'd her august, as they do—
Though her manners were perfect, her sentiment true—
Though she rose, like Aurora, by zephyrs new fann'd—
Though she came, like young Spring, breathing health to the land—
Though she burst, like Jove's Hebe, transcendently bright—
Though blithe as the first emanation of light—
Though temper'd in thought by sweet Chastity's fire—
Though each Grace hail'd her step, and each God her desire:
Yet e'en such may not primary habits destroy,
Or compel the slow pulses to quicken in joy;
As who can act up to a passion that's feign'd?
The heart's noblest energies cannot be chain'd.
In the blaze of affection—the acme of fame;
They seiz'd him, while warm, in the precincts of beauty,
And sous'd him all o'er in the cold baths of duty.
Ere that lineament's faded which govern'd his sigh—
Ere that tablet's remov'd which impress'd the soul's eye—
Ere that odour had perish'd which freighted her kiss—
Ere the fibre ceas'd thrilling with Sympathy's bliss—
Ere the birth of new wonders had lessen'd his care—
As the system was writhing, and touch'd by despair;
They bisected that nerve whence his hope knew increase,
And the web was unravell'd that shelter'd his peace.
Like a fen-gather'd vapour, or insect-fraught wind,
They mildew'd a harvest that gladden'd mankind!
Who can say what would be in a crisis so try'd?
Who can answer for ends when the means are deny'd?
Though the nymph were more charmful than Zeuxis e'er saw—
Though the nation demanded the deed as a law—
Though heralds proclaim'd her august, as they do—
Though her manners were perfect, her sentiment true—
Though she rose, like Aurora, by zephyrs new fann'd—
Though she came, like young Spring, breathing health to the land—
16
Though blithe as the first emanation of light—
Though temper'd in thought by sweet Chastity's fire—
Though each Grace hail'd her step, and each God her desire:
Yet e'en such may not primary habits destroy,
Or compel the slow pulses to quicken in joy;
As who can act up to a passion that's feign'd?
The heart's noblest energies cannot be chain'd.
To return to yourself, my dear Pav., you but prove
How inconstant we are e'en to that which we love:
I remember the time when you bragg'd of your downs,
Your salubrious breezes, wheat-ears, and green-gowns;
Your mackerel, that leap'd from the sea to the pot;
Your flat-fish and maids, and your soles, and what not;
Your fine views of the billows that roar round our isle;
Your large draughts of salt water to drench out the bile;
Your mirth at the fellows who p---'d 'gainst your rails;
Your licentious embraces with amorous Gales;
Your inns, where the bills won't admit of your sotting;
Your church-yards, where bodies have pleasure in rotting;
Your machines, where the pennyless get lodging gratis;
Your priest, who, each night, tells the gamesters how late 'tis;
Your flocks, rich as Tempe's, on each hillock grazing;
And fifty more points as well sketch'd and amazing:
Yet now you're, forsooth, calling out to be pitied,
'Cause you've had too much faith, and have been too self-witted!—
I protest I'm so anger'd you've turn'd such a fool,
Were you but some years younger, I'd send you to school:
But learn this from an elder, all things are revolving,
And one prejudice sinks in another dissolving:
When our wish becomes realiz'd, Rapture foregoes
That estate in our mind whence she parried our woes;
In having, we lose half we priz'd in the toy;
In commanding a blessing, we narrow our joy.
Hope at best is a strumpet, who smiles to betray,
Who'll deny the next morn what she promis'd to-day:
She holds seeming cordials to interest our lips,
But embitters the draught while the simpleton sips:
Her influence, like fire, dispelling cold glooms,
Eternally warms, but in warming consumes:
There are few would be grappling at what they exact,
Would the gypsey Cumæan develope the fact.
How inconstant we are e'en to that which we love:
I remember the time when you bragg'd of your downs,
Your salubrious breezes, wheat-ears, and green-gowns;
Your mackerel, that leap'd from the sea to the pot;
Your flat-fish and maids, and your soles, and what not;
Your fine views of the billows that roar round our isle;
Your large draughts of salt water to drench out the bile;
Your mirth at the fellows who p---'d 'gainst your rails;
Your licentious embraces with amorous Gales;
Your inns, where the bills won't admit of your sotting;
Your church-yards, where bodies have pleasure in rotting;
17
Your priest, who, each night, tells the gamesters how late 'tis;
Your flocks, rich as Tempe's, on each hillock grazing;
And fifty more points as well sketch'd and amazing:
Yet now you're, forsooth, calling out to be pitied,
'Cause you've had too much faith, and have been too self-witted!—
I protest I'm so anger'd you've turn'd such a fool,
Were you but some years younger, I'd send you to school:
But learn this from an elder, all things are revolving,
And one prejudice sinks in another dissolving:
When our wish becomes realiz'd, Rapture foregoes
That estate in our mind whence she parried our woes;
In having, we lose half we priz'd in the toy;
In commanding a blessing, we narrow our joy.
Hope at best is a strumpet, who smiles to betray,
Who'll deny the next morn what she promis'd to-day:
She holds seeming cordials to interest our lips,
But embitters the draught while the simpleton sips:
Her influence, like fire, dispelling cold glooms,
Eternally warms, but in warming consumes:
There are few would be grappling at what they exact,
Would the gypsey Cumæan develope the fact.
Pall Mall, August 8th, 1796.
Yours, as in duty bound, CARLTON HOUSE.
18
ANOTHER MORAL EPISTLE FROM THE PAVILION AT BRIGHTON TO CARLTON HOUSE.
MY DEAR CARLEY,
'Tis a saying, as ancient as Greece, that none know
In what manner the pantoufle pinches the toe,
But the object who wears it: yet you, in a strain
Of indecorous heat, bid me cease to complain:
All this may be vastly in point, not to fret;
But believe me I'm not so philosophis'd yet.
As to grinning when jobbernowls urin'd upon me,
'Tis false, by my honor:—who d'ye think has undone me?
There's Marlborough House knows, the last time they did it,
I preach'd them a sermon to check and forbid it;
And now e'en the sauciest decently hie
In corners remote from the general eye.
Had I Bangor's huge fist, I'd have pummell'd the scroyles;
But it's best as it is, as I execrate broils.
I've the tedium vitæ, ennui, and look blue;
I've ta'en bark, and liqueurs, and a dram—but 'twon't do.
I could moralize now till the sun left the west,
Till the night cools my lawn, or pale Hecate's undrest.
In a round of enjoyments, my exquisite friend,
Believe me there's neither beginning nor end:
'Tis pursuing a shadow that makes the soul sad,
And, like dogs in a circle, we run ourselves mad:
They enfeeble the mind like a lunatic's dreams,
As our joys, like our beauties, are prov'd by extremes;
Yet the bliss is short-liv'd with the drab or the sot,
As no pleasure remains where the virtues are not.
In what manner the pantoufle pinches the toe,
But the object who wears it: yet you, in a strain
Of indecorous heat, bid me cease to complain:
All this may be vastly in point, not to fret;
But believe me I'm not so philosophis'd yet.
As to grinning when jobbernowls urin'd upon me,
'Tis false, by my honor:—who d'ye think has undone me?
There's Marlborough House knows, the last time they did it,
I preach'd them a sermon to check and forbid it;
And now e'en the sauciest decently hie
In corners remote from the general eye.
19
But it's best as it is, as I execrate broils.
I've the tedium vitæ, ennui, and look blue;
I've ta'en bark, and liqueurs, and a dram—but 'twon't do.
I could moralize now till the sun left the west,
Till the night cools my lawn, or pale Hecate's undrest.
In a round of enjoyments, my exquisite friend,
Believe me there's neither beginning nor end:
'Tis pursuing a shadow that makes the soul sad,
And, like dogs in a circle, we run ourselves mad:
They enfeeble the mind like a lunatic's dreams,
As our joys, like our beauties, are prov'd by extremes;
Yet the bliss is short-liv'd with the drab or the sot,
As no pleasure remains where the virtues are not.
Whate'er your opinion of rustics may be,
We have Rules for Good Breeding, and those you shall see.
I have sent you a copy along with the Ode,
Which I've charg'd Boulton's lads not to lose on the road.
This place is so chang'd, from its manners and mirth,
That I scarce can believe 'tis the spot gave me birth:
Half the houses are lanterns, much brick and much glass;
Half the ladies are tinder; the men lead or brass.
'Tis the rage but to walk on the Steyne in the eve,
When the dews fall as rapid as sand through a sieve;
Till their clothes hang dependent, absorbing a damp,
More fatal than steams from an African swamp:
When the blast's south or east the spray rides in the gale,
Till you're crusted with salt like Dutch herrings for sale;
And when north or east, the impertinent wind
Incessantly cuts, like a razor behind:
If the nerves are too fine, the pedestrian decays;
If not, he's lumbago'd the rest of his days.
The cold humid sod will provoke a disease,
And Catarrhs ride in ambush in every breeze.
Can a station be fitter to make Death elate,
Or suppress an incumbent who clogs an estate;
Take a shrew from a cuckold whom Hymen has given,
Or remove a fond spouse from his deary to heaven?
Sure all nature is twisting, our morals decay,
And every Season is dancing the hay.
Would you dream, gentle Coz, of so base a vagary?—
Both N---lk and W---m have puk'd on my dairy.
The twelve statutes of Charles each domestic derides,
And M---rr---ce's bawdry's been nail'd to my sides:
There it sticks, like a blister, to glad gaping crews,
And I sweat and I writhe while the sensual peruse.—
Some grimalkin, at midnight, pursuing his rib,
Has polluted my cap, and bedribbled my bib:
The owl's deadly screech has awak'd me with fears,
And the vagabond swallows have dung'd in my ears:
Care has furrow'd my visage with terrible ruts;
Some rats have run up me, and injur'd my guts:
How I roar'd for a trap when my proboscis smelt 'em!
How I shiver'd, and rav'd, and blasphem'd when I felt 'em!
When first I complain'd to the medical train,
Some averr'd 'twas a scirrhus, and others a strain:
Others snatching their fees, said, “You're ill, and must die!”
One pronounc'd I was gravell'd—and that was no lie!
Some thought, with deep woe, th'hypogastrium was spread!
They examin'd my vulva, and each shook his head!
Some swore 'twas a scrophula lurking unseen,
Others scurvy, or lues, or something between:
“Take the Syrup de Velnos,” all urg'd, “and be clean:”
And before on what ail'd me these dolts could decide,
The vermin had eaten one third of my side!—
I was courted, last Lammas, by Marlborough House,
Though he's not got a shirt, and is not worth a souse;
He presum'd on his rank, and his being my neighbour,
His blood of the Spencers, and powers of labor:
But my virgin affections he never could steal,
For his carcase is red, and his yard's ungenteel:
No spinster would let such a monster assail her;
By the lord, I'd as soon be in bed with a taylor!
We have Rules for Good Breeding, and those you shall see.
20
Which I've charg'd Boulton's lads not to lose on the road.
21
That I scarce can believe 'tis the spot gave me birth:
22
Half the ladies are tinder; the men lead or brass.
23
When the dews fall as rapid as sand through a sieve;
24
More fatal than steams from an African swamp:
25
Till you're crusted with salt like Dutch herrings for sale;
26
Incessantly cuts, like a razor behind:
If the nerves are too fine, the pedestrian decays;
If not, he's lumbago'd the rest of his days.
The cold humid sod will provoke a disease,
And Catarrhs ride in ambush in every breeze.
Can a station be fitter to make Death elate,
Or suppress an incumbent who clogs an estate;
27
Or remove a fond spouse from his deary to heaven?
Sure all nature is twisting, our morals decay,
And every Season is dancing the hay.
Would you dream, gentle Coz, of so base a vagary?—
Both N---lk and W---m have puk'd on my dairy.
The twelve statutes of Charles each domestic derides,
And M---rr---ce's bawdry's been nail'd to my sides:
There it sticks, like a blister, to glad gaping crews,
And I sweat and I writhe while the sensual peruse.—
Some grimalkin, at midnight, pursuing his rib,
Has polluted my cap, and bedribbled my bib:
The owl's deadly screech has awak'd me with fears,
And the vagabond swallows have dung'd in my ears:
Care has furrow'd my visage with terrible ruts;
Some rats have run up me, and injur'd my guts:
How I roar'd for a trap when my proboscis smelt 'em!
How I shiver'd, and rav'd, and blasphem'd when I felt 'em!
When first I complain'd to the medical train,
Some averr'd 'twas a scirrhus, and others a strain:
Others snatching their fees, said, “You're ill, and must die!”
One pronounc'd I was gravell'd—and that was no lie!
Some thought, with deep woe, th'hypogastrium was spread!
They examin'd my vulva, and each shook his head!
Some swore 'twas a scrophula lurking unseen,
Others scurvy, or lues, or something between:
“Take the Syrup de Velnos,” all urg'd, “and be clean:”
28
The vermin had eaten one third of my side!—
I was courted, last Lammas, by Marlborough House,
Though he's not got a shirt, and is not worth a souse;
He presum'd on his rank, and his being my neighbour,
His blood of the Spencers, and powers of labor:
But my virgin affections he never could steal,
For his carcase is red, and his yard's ungenteel:
No spinster would let such a monster assail her;
By the lord, I'd as soon be in bed with a taylor!
How hard 'tis to tell what young damsels should do,
When a rakehelly bachelor banters to woo:
Should they hapless consent, then the lady's too fond;
Should they not, then they're proud to see lovers despond.
We have passions, yet dare not conjecture they live;
We are lib'ral, yet custom denies us to give;
And while all other animals sate their desires,
Poor Woman's heart melts by her own pent-up sires!
And I've heard some avow, whom his H---ss thought clever,
That good men marry early—sagacious ones never!
When a rakehelly bachelor banters to woo:
Should they hapless consent, then the lady's too fond;
Should they not, then they're proud to see lovers despond.
We have passions, yet dare not conjecture they live;
We are lib'ral, yet custom denies us to give;
And while all other animals sate their desires,
Poor Woman's heart melts by her own pent-up sires!
And I've heard some avow, whom his H---ss thought clever,
That good men marry early—sagacious ones never!
My fair body is cover'd, ah me, what a shame!
With barb'rous designs, like Caractacus' frame:
The foul loves of the Gods, and their bestial enjoyments;
Young, pert, breechless Cupids at naughty employments;
Venus looking behind in a filthy condition;
An old rogue with a snake, whom they call a physician;
A swan and a hussey enfolding and billing;
A girl ravish'd in air, but appearing half-willing;
Nymphs, naked as Folly in Westminster-hall;
And some near undone, yet not seeming to bawl:
At gross feats, such as these, even Grizzle would flout;
Nay, the stones in my joints ope their jaws, and cry out.
Here a patriarch might gaze, and forget how to pray;
Here a vestal might look all her virtue away:
Here Saint Bruno himself would of Bathsheba dream;
And our Queen's maids of honor ideally teem;
Th'electrical plaster will flash on each sense,
Changing faith to loose thoughts, and those thoughts to offence.
This was done while I slept, by a loon clep'd Rebecca;
Pr'ythee seize him, ye Winds; bear the varlet to Mecca:
It is surely enough to be plagu'd with desires,
Without such a bellows to heat the soul's fires.
With barb'rous designs, like Caractacus' frame:
The foul loves of the Gods, and their bestial enjoyments;
Young, pert, breechless Cupids at naughty employments;
Venus looking behind in a filthy condition;
An old rogue with a snake, whom they call a physician;
29
A girl ravish'd in air, but appearing half-willing;
Nymphs, naked as Folly in Westminster-hall;
And some near undone, yet not seeming to bawl:
At gross feats, such as these, even Grizzle would flout;
Nay, the stones in my joints ope their jaws, and cry out.
Here a patriarch might gaze, and forget how to pray;
Here a vestal might look all her virtue away:
Here Saint Bruno himself would of Bathsheba dream;
And our Queen's maids of honor ideally teem;
Th'electrical plaster will flash on each sense,
Changing faith to loose thoughts, and those thoughts to offence.
This was done while I slept, by a loon clep'd Rebecca;
Pr'ythee seize him, ye Winds; bear the varlet to Mecca:
It is surely enough to be plagu'd with desires,
Without such a bellows to heat the soul's fires.
Loose caricaturas are stuck on my ribs,
In the spirit all libels—the letter, all fibs:
There's Pitt, as a fungus, the Crown had emitted!
There's suffering Ierne by Beresford spitted!
Farmer George and his housewife both cramming their pigs!
Mun Burke making Bentinck destroy the old whigs!
That vile monster, the Public, o'erladen with taxes!
The rich binding Justice, and stealing her axes!
Tooke marking the busts of our monarchs as ninnies!
Bank Directors exploring their chests for five guineas!
Little Wilberforce tickling the hope of a negro!
Fraud dancing through life like another Allegro!
The Promont'ry of Noses, where, clad as a mumper,
Pepper Arden is seen begging hard for a thumper!
Oh bear me, meek Angels, where slander may cease;
Let my body be tranquil, my spirit have peace:
I would lodge in that row near the town's magazine,
Were there not, at all hours, such nudities seen,
Fellows running about like Di's nymphs without smocks:
Where the devil's the constable?—where are the stocks?
Bite their toes, famish'd crabs, as they lave in the deep;
Scorch their buttocks, high Sol, till they fry and they weep:
Pr'ythee take me to Abraham's bosom to rest;
That is, if the mob have not crowded his breast.
In the spirit all libels—the letter, all fibs:
There's Pitt, as a fungus, the Crown had emitted!
There's suffering Ierne by Beresford spitted!
Farmer George and his housewife both cramming their pigs!
Mun Burke making Bentinck destroy the old whigs!
30
The rich binding Justice, and stealing her axes!
Tooke marking the busts of our monarchs as ninnies!
Bank Directors exploring their chests for five guineas!
Little Wilberforce tickling the hope of a negro!
Fraud dancing through life like another Allegro!
The Promont'ry of Noses, where, clad as a mumper,
Pepper Arden is seen begging hard for a thumper!
Oh bear me, meek Angels, where slander may cease;
Let my body be tranquil, my spirit have peace:
I would lodge in that row near the town's magazine,
Were there not, at all hours, such nudities seen,
Fellows running about like Di's nymphs without smocks:
Where the devil's the constable?—where are the stocks?
Bite their toes, famish'd crabs, as they lave in the deep;
Scorch their buttocks, high Sol, till they fry and they weep:
Pr'ythee take me to Abraham's bosom to rest;
That is, if the mob have not crowded his breast.
Lord, cousin, I'm frighten'd much worse than before;
His H---, enrag'd at our ingrates here, swore
That he'd make me a Barrack;—oh heaven and earth,
Why was I created?—why had I a birth?
And shall my perfum'd body be made such a den?
Pray what lady could please a whole reg'ment of men?
Must I live like a strumpet—my name be revil'd?
Great God! should I prove in the issue with child,
Who would foster the babe? neither Holland nor Wyatt;
Yet how shall I keep such strong roisterers quiet?
S'blood, what will become of my soul in futurity?
I will muzzle their guns: I will bind them in surety:
Th'Orange family must have some small-clothes will suit me;
Perhaps if I scratch 'em, the ruffians will shoot me:
I'll ne'er sleep but in trowsers; you've some of big Sam's,
Would cover me close from my hips to my hams.
I have heard that the prudes of Castile have a way,
To lock up their honor by night and by day:
But suppose they should force me in sleep by surprise,
By the fist of the Virgin I'll tear out their eyes:
I will shriek till the dead rise and ask why I did it;
I will lift up a quarry, and crush those who bid it:
I will tear ope the mountain's rough bowels, and hide me,
I will skulk to the tomb where no sin can misguide me:
I will spread desolation and horror around me;
I will—yet pray why should my anger confound me?
For if such is Fate's order, I think I must share it,
And I hope that my strength will be able to bear it.
His H---, enrag'd at our ingrates here, swore
31
Why was I created?—why had I a birth?
And shall my perfum'd body be made such a den?
Pray what lady could please a whole reg'ment of men?
Must I live like a strumpet—my name be revil'd?
Great God! should I prove in the issue with child,
Who would foster the babe? neither Holland nor Wyatt;
Yet how shall I keep such strong roisterers quiet?
S'blood, what will become of my soul in futurity?
I will muzzle their guns: I will bind them in surety:
Th'Orange family must have some small-clothes will suit me;
Perhaps if I scratch 'em, the ruffians will shoot me:
I'll ne'er sleep but in trowsers; you've some of big Sam's,
Would cover me close from my hips to my hams.
I have heard that the prudes of Castile have a way,
To lock up their honor by night and by day:
But suppose they should force me in sleep by surprise,
By the fist of the Virgin I'll tear out their eyes:
I will shriek till the dead rise and ask why I did it;
I will lift up a quarry, and crush those who bid it:
I will tear ope the mountain's rough bowels, and hide me,
I will skulk to the tomb where no sin can misguide me:
32
I will—yet pray why should my anger confound me?
For if such is Fate's order, I think I must share it,
And I hope that my strength will be able to bear it.
Brighton, August 10th, 1796.
Yours, till death do us part, PAVILION.
ODE TO BACCHUS.
[_]
(SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY MAJOR H**G*R.) The Music selected from Lord Kellie, Lord Mornington, Carolan, &c.
STROPHE.
Illustrious son of Jove and Semele,Who once lay snug on high,
Within the muscles of your father's thigh;
To thee we dedicate this pile,
Built for the royal tenant of your isle,
33
When Death shall call his powers into play,
Embrace his subjects as a monstrous family:
Oh! guard this consecrated haunt
From prostitution vile, and bailiff dire;
The means to celebrate thy glory grant;
Oh! give us fuel to support the fire.
34
And follow Pleasure in the mazy dance;
With jocund step we'll nimbly trip,
As the high-mettled tribe,
The grape's celestial joys imbibe,
And press the goblet to the parched lip.
But, zounds! can we be sorry, sad, or sick,
Who own the influence of laughing Dick?
Oh, Richard! name propitious to our cause,
To Virtue dear, and honor'd by our laws—
Damme, now I think on't, I'll give you a toast—
But, let me see,
By heav'ns! I think we've three,
Who're in themselves a host!
Dick Fitzpatrick, Dick Sheridan, and Dick Rigby,
With many other Dicks that fain would big be:
Come, charge your gaping glasses,
High as if drinking the Parnassian lasses;
Come, my roaring boys, prepare,
No heel-taps, no sky-lights—all fair:
“Oh! give us young Augustus for a friend,
“Priests without fraud, and Richards without end.”
But is n't it odd, my lads, we ne'er could find
The zig-zag alleys of a lady's mind?
A SOLEMN ORAISON.
Some have presum'd to roam the Cretan maze,
When Reason only gave their Wit a clew;
Or sweep the oozy bed of Persia's seas,
And Hope ne'er bade the laborers adieu.
When Reason only gave their Wit a clew;
Or sweep the oozy bed of Persia's seas,
And Hope ne'er bade the laborers adieu.
35
But none, except by Desperation fir'd,
Have e'er relied on their restricted skill,
To gain those heights Ambition oft desir'd,
And trace the windings of the female will.
Have e'er relied on their restricted skill,
To gain those heights Ambition oft desir'd,
And trace the windings of the female will.
In that frail origin of nameless deeds,
That seat of Gladness, and that womb of Woe,
The mental olive's choak'd by noisome weeds,
And Worth and Vanity in union grow.
That seat of Gladness, and that womb of Woe,
The mental olive's choak'd by noisome weeds,
And Worth and Vanity in union grow.
There wish meets wish, and sighs succeed to sighs,
Till each the other mutually annoys;
There kindred Passions wrestle as they rise,
And what the judgment claims, the heart destroys.
Till each the other mutually annoys;
There kindred Passions wrestle as they rise,
And what the judgment claims, the heart destroys.
All-pitying Fate, who gave our race to Care,
And touch'd with pestilence the human breath;
Correct their system, make them wise as fair,
And let our heaven antecede our death.
And touch'd with pestilence the human breath;
Correct their system, make them wise as fair,
And let our heaven antecede our death.
ANTISTROPHE.
Come, stretch your silver throats, my lads of wax,To join the thyasus, and glad the god;
Let each distend his windpipe till it cracks,
And make the heavenly brandy-merchant nod;
That true-born Britons may be free from thinking,
And we eternally be drunk, or drinking;
Empty the Thames, the Severn, Humber, Dee,
And bid their vile, insipid waters flee;
Then exercise a privilege divine,
And fill the boundless vacuum with wine.
36
Oh, lead us from the dangers of the deep.
If ever I forget thy recent kindness,
May black Perdition strike me dark with blindness,
May heaven suppress the greenness of my youth,
May I be ravish'd by the naked Truth.
STROPHE.
May spinsters, impell'd by Love's flame, flock around us,
May the demons of Apathy never confound us;
May we live all our lives,
With profusion of treasure,
And kiss widow'd wives,
Till we fill up Love's measure:
Be this carousal lauded by that strumpet,
Wondrous Renown, till she has burst her trumpet.
We'll scale the empyrean, cleave the yielding air,
Embrace old Jove's proud paralytic bride,
Or, in a fit of high-wrought fury, tear
The blue-ey'd Hebe from the Thunderer's side.
We'll ballot Death among us, he's so clever,
He loves the turf, my boys, and prompts our ends;
When one of us, he may not smite his friends,
And we may live—for ever!!!
May the demons of Apathy never confound us;
May we live all our lives,
With profusion of treasure,
And kiss widow'd wives,
Till we fill up Love's measure:
Be this carousal lauded by that strumpet,
Wondrous Renown, till she has burst her trumpet.
We'll scale the empyrean, cleave the yielding air,
Embrace old Jove's proud paralytic bride,
Or, in a fit of high-wrought fury, tear
The blue-ey'd Hebe from the Thunderer's side.
We'll ballot Death among us, he's so clever,
He loves the turf, my boys, and prompts our ends;
When one of us, he may not smite his friends,
And we may live—for ever!!!
37
Then, then, we'll roar, and give the bully welcome,
The grave shall think it is not he, but hell come:—
Then we'll sweep Tartarus, make evil worse,
Ravish the ghosts, and empty Crœsus' purse;
Burn Minos' wig, roll Charon in the kennel,
And send grim Cerberus to hunt with Meynel:
We'll break the cynic's lantern all to shivers,
Make Lusitania's hogsheads run like rivers;
Tear out the leaves from Retribution's ledger,
Seize callow Schism by the skirts, and fledge her:
We'll make the elements all bend to suit us,
Embrazen Hope, and let no soph confute us:
Twist the vast linch-pin of th'erratic planet,
Illume Love's fane, and bid the Muses fan it:
We'll teaze the Cardinal Sisters till they fret,
And catch sweet spinsters in a silken net;
Emboss our flagons with the smockless graces,
And crush those loons who blush to show their faces:
We'll brain the Magi, terrify the watch,
And make the Privy Council sing a catch;
Ope Fortune's door, and bid the million enter,
And chain th'illiberal to creation's centre.
The grave shall think it is not he, but hell come:—
Then we'll sweep Tartarus, make evil worse,
Ravish the ghosts, and empty Crœsus' purse;
Burn Minos' wig, roll Charon in the kennel,
And send grim Cerberus to hunt with Meynel:
We'll break the cynic's lantern all to shivers,
Make Lusitania's hogsheads run like rivers;
Tear out the leaves from Retribution's ledger,
Seize callow Schism by the skirts, and fledge her:
We'll make the elements all bend to suit us,
Embrazen Hope, and let no soph confute us:
Twist the vast linch-pin of th'erratic planet,
Illume Love's fane, and bid the Muses fan it:
We'll teaze the Cardinal Sisters till they fret,
And catch sweet spinsters in a silken net;
Emboss our flagons with the smockless graces,
And crush those loons who blush to show their faces:
We'll brain the Magi, terrify the watch,
And make the Privy Council sing a catch;
Ope Fortune's door, and bid the million enter,
And chain th'illiberal to creation's centre.
When high Augustus mingles with the dust,
As all of us, my toping gallants, must;
Taylor shall have the hens, and chicks, and geese;
D---by a cock, and Watty Wynne the cheese:
W---dh---m shall hunt the bucks for Weltjie's spit:
We'll send the milk, when skimm'd, to Billy Pitt:
Brooks shall have half the pigeons; Rose the muck;
C---th---e a cart; and each M. D. a duck!
We'll give the hogs to L---gge, R---d the bull;
Turnips to Young, Sir John S---cl---r the wool:
We'll send th'Imperial Gen'ral Funk the waggons;
The Ship and Castle taps shall have the flagons:
We'll give the cream to Sherry for his jokes;
The Lords of Session shall have all the yokes.
We'll give the scythe to Time, the rope to Reeves!
Ad---r the goats—to Mellish all the beeves!
Fortune shall take the ass, An---ch the rams!
The poor the grain, and Rowland Hill the lambs!
Canning shall have the whey—Mark-lane the scales,
Phœbus the steeds, and Eton School the flails:
Burke and John Ketch may share the whips by halves!
And Cam and Isis shall have all the calves!
Each rood shall slumber fallow for a year,
Unsuck'd by wheat, or oats, or beans, or bere:
And then we'll pay, my boys, each cumbrous debt,
And tell the gaping world, a farm's to let!
As all of us, my toping gallants, must;
Taylor shall have the hens, and chicks, and geese;
D---by a cock, and Watty Wynne the cheese:
38
We'll send the milk, when skimm'd, to Billy Pitt:
Brooks shall have half the pigeons; Rose the muck;
C---th---e a cart; and each M. D. a duck!
We'll give the hogs to L---gge, R---d the bull;
Turnips to Young, Sir John S---cl---r the wool:
We'll send th'Imperial Gen'ral Funk the waggons;
The Ship and Castle taps shall have the flagons:
We'll give the cream to Sherry for his jokes;
The Lords of Session shall have all the yokes.
We'll give the scythe to Time, the rope to Reeves!
Ad---r the goats—to Mellish all the beeves!
Fortune shall take the ass, An---ch the rams!
The poor the grain, and Rowland Hill the lambs!
Canning shall have the whey—Mark-lane the scales,
Phœbus the steeds, and Eton School the flails:
Burke and John Ketch may share the whips by halves!
And Cam and Isis shall have all the calves!
Each rood shall slumber fallow for a year,
Unsuck'd by wheat, or oats, or beans, or bere:
And then we'll pay, my boys, each cumbrous debt,
And tell the gaping world, a farm's to let!
What say you, lads, shall we exert our powers,
Arrest old Time, and subjugate his hours?
Shall it be said that we despair?
Not I; nor you; nor you!
We'll seize that bold usurper, Care,
And beat him black and blue;
And, d'ye hear, I'll bet the gods,
Ten to one,
Or give them—the long odds—
The thing is done.
Arrest old Time, and subjugate his hours?
39
Not I; nor you; nor you!
We'll seize that bold usurper, Care,
And beat him black and blue;
And, d'ye hear, I'll bet the gods,
Ten to one,
Or give them—the long odds—
The thing is done.
Thou jocund child of Semele,
Protect our jovial family—
What means this genial light,
Chasing the inmates of the sombrous night?
See, see, the god descends!
Bacchus and we are friends;
By heavens! he's taking off his jacket,
I'll be his bottle-holder, while you support the racket.
Damme, Lade, the god for a hundred;
Where's the spanish?—Done! Done!
Here's your fun:
Though his stomach's stor'd,
And he has got his beer on board,
The boy, when groggy, never blunder'd.
Now begin the chorus,
To give him spunk to drive the dog before us!
Protect our jovial family—
What means this genial light,
Chasing the inmates of the sombrous night?
See, see, the god descends!
Bacchus and we are friends;
By heavens! he's taking off his jacket,
I'll be his bottle-holder, while you support the racket.
Damme, Lade, the god for a hundred;
Where's the spanish?—Done! Done!
Here's your fun:
Though his stomach's stor'd,
And he has got his beer on board,
The boy, when groggy, never blunder'd.
Now begin the chorus,
To give him spunk to drive the dog before us!
GRAND CHORAL BURST.
Come, spiflicate that scoundrel Care,Gruel him, bruise him, never fear;
Oh! may the powers gymnastic
Make the ruddy youth elastic:
40
See already how the villain staggers!
Don't give it in—peg away,
His H---ss will see fair play:
That's your sort—wipe his jowl,
He's bottom;—he's a soul.
With a handful of bones let his mazzard be cramm'd;
He a Pugilist!—he be d---d!
Stand up to him stoutly, and tip him a straight one,
Now rattle his head, for the slave has a great one;
Cross buttock the vagabond, trip up his creepers,
Darken his daylights, and pepper his peepers;
Now at his bread-basket, just in the nick there;
See, the dog turns his breech about, give him a kick there.
Zounds! here's a fight should be sung by Apollo,
For Bacchus will beat the old reprobate hollow.
Now try your might,
Touch him under the left ribs—that's right,
He's broke his jaw,
Huzza!
Repeat your blows,
There he goes;
Sew up his eyes,
There he lies, and dies,
Never, never, never, never, never more to rise!
41
ANOTHER SERIOUS EPISTLE FROM CARLTON HOUSE TO THE PAVILION AT BRIGHTON.
DEAR PAV.
Your
ironical Ode, the loose fancy combin'd,
As a novel, amuses the overstrain'd mind:
Though varlets, like tendrils, impressively free,
Clung around his fair trunk, they've not injur'd the tree;
Then let not Hypocrisy sneer so malign,
Or draw forth her snakes—the auspicium's benign:
No envy, no meanness could cleave to his will,
And his soul ever scorn'd adaptation to ill.
When the throne's his estate, and he issues his thought,
He'll irradiate the realm, and be all that he ought.
The imperial eagle shall proudly ride o'er him;
All humanity hail, and all Britons adore him.
As a novel, amuses the overstrain'd mind:
Though varlets, like tendrils, impressively free,
Clung around his fair trunk, they've not injur'd the tree;
Then let not Hypocrisy sneer so malign,
Or draw forth her snakes—the auspicium's benign:
No envy, no meanness could cleave to his will,
And his soul ever scorn'd adaptation to ill.
When the throne's his estate, and he issues his thought,
He'll irradiate the realm, and be all that he ought.
The imperial eagle shall proudly ride o'er him;
All humanity hail, and all Britons adore him.
The caprices of Fashion are wondrous indeed,
And the wrigglings of Folly oft make my heart bleed:
Though not old as the hills, I remember the day,
When St. James's Park was the scene to display
All the beauty of Britain; then beaus with long sleeves,
And long skirts, and long stories, made love to their Eves;
Made their vows to their Daphnes, who each kept her man
At the end of her hoop, and the end of her fan:
Beyond that, not a Tarquin could venture;—but now
The fond sluts let 'em buss, in that moment they bow:
No dread of destruction enfeebles their act;—
Nay, they'd kiss without blushing, and publish the fact:
Were they plac'd where the dragon withheld lawless fruit,
They would each munch a pippin, and poison the brute:
The Tabby's fell obloquy's now lost its force,
Each seems bad, till you know her companion, who's worse:
Has thought fled the vile inconsiderate elves?
Pray who'll honor that sex that don't honor themselves?
And the wrigglings of Folly oft make my heart bleed:
Though not old as the hills, I remember the day,
When St. James's Park was the scene to display
42
And long skirts, and long stories, made love to their Eves;
Made their vows to their Daphnes, who each kept her man
At the end of her hoop, and the end of her fan:
Beyond that, not a Tarquin could venture;—but now
The fond sluts let 'em buss, in that moment they bow:
No dread of destruction enfeebles their act;—
Nay, they'd kiss without blushing, and publish the fact:
Were they plac'd where the dragon withheld lawless fruit,
They would each munch a pippin, and poison the brute:
The Tabby's fell obloquy's now lost its force,
Each seems bad, till you know her companion, who's worse:
Has thought fled the vile inconsiderate elves?
Pray who'll honor that sex that don't honor themselves?
The metropolis now an excrescence is grown;
It is spread like the evil—'tis gone out of town!
But the realm, as a body, no health can impart,
The north road's the aorta, and that is the heart;
Whence it forces vile blood all th'anatomy over,
From Snowdon to Caithness, from Penzance to Dover:
It lies stretch'd on the main, and fortuitous driven,
Like a wallowing monster insulting high heaven:
It creates its own vermin, who crawl o'er its face,
Bellowing loud of their rights while they worship disgrace!
It's diseas'd and decrepit, old, wicked, and sly,
And as pregnant with humours as dogs in July.
When an ulcer is burst on its navel or jaw,
Its pediculi suck it, and call it a Spa;
Raise irregular huts to confederate thick,
Make their faith their perdition, and drink themselves sick!
It is spread like the evil—'tis gone out of town!
But the realm, as a body, no health can impart,
The north road's the aorta, and that is the heart;
Whence it forces vile blood all th'anatomy over,
From Snowdon to Caithness, from Penzance to Dover:
It lies stretch'd on the main, and fortuitous driven,
Like a wallowing monster insulting high heaven:
It creates its own vermin, who crawl o'er its face,
Bellowing loud of their rights while they worship disgrace!
It's diseas'd and decrepit, old, wicked, and sly,
And as pregnant with humours as dogs in July.
When an ulcer is burst on its navel or jaw,
Its pediculi suck it, and call it a Spa;
43
Make their faith their perdition, and drink themselves sick!
You've a Dutchess, I'm told, dress'd as Puritans would;
And some dairy-maids clad as our dutchesses should:
Though in either 'tis madness to rush to be blam'd,
Yet they're privately pleas'd that they're publicly sham'd.
'Tis the rage to be noted, makes Folly inclin'd
To laugh loud at the altar, and ride o'er the blind:
Many catch, e'en in guilt, at the general gaze,
And seem blest in proportion as each can amaze:
But whene'er Observation shall cease to descry,
Notoriety'll pine, and our foplings will die.
And some dairy-maids clad as our dutchesses should:
Though in either 'tis madness to rush to be blam'd,
Yet they're privately pleas'd that they're publicly sham'd.
'Tis the rage to be noted, makes Folly inclin'd
To laugh loud at the altar, and ride o'er the blind:
Many catch, e'en in guilt, at the general gaze,
And seem blest in proportion as each can amaze:
But whene'er Observation shall cease to descry,
Notoriety'll pine, and our foplings will die.
How many are curs'd in the strife to be gay!
How many but live at the death of the day!
How the heart's soft emotions are slain by excess!
For that nymph has no slave who would commonly bless!
Though she blazons thus roseate, and prattles so fine,
Her health is all—rouge, and her spirits—bad wine.
We're egregiously taking our joys upon trust,
Till the farce is compress'd, and we moulder in dust:
In living beyond what's prescrib'd for our pow'rs,
We absorb true delight to anticipate hours.—
Yet who gains by thus marring the night and the morn?—
'Tis abridging the use of a day that's unborn!
Though they knit in the dance, and are dreadfully glad,
'Twill predim their bright eyes, and make Beauty's soul sad.
How brittle's existence!—how futile our health!
How deceptive is grandeur!—how slippery our wealth!
Some are cut down by Time, while half shav'd and half lather'd;—
But old Q. fully mown, to his fathers is gather'd.
Ah! he died like a saint, though he'd smack'd of the sinner:
He's snatch'd from Life's feast, having mumbled his dinner.
Thus, you see, Magnanimity's ta'en a peg lower:
Think of this, you pert minx—seek Repentance, and know her.
All the nap may be worn from the superfine drapery;
The young Day may be chas'd by a Night black and vapoury:
Maudlin Juno might perish for ripping Jove's breeches!
Agile Hermes be hung, who'd ta'en Plutus's riches!
Ceres' barn be unroof'd—Ocean swallow our cities!
Old Mars lose his halberd, and Phœbus his ditties!
Th'exciseman seize Bacchus with tubs of run gin!
Lean Hope punt at Pharo, and yet never win!
D'ye expect, you vile jade, like the Sybarite crew,
To sleep but on vi'lets, and drink roses' dew?
Your betters can suffer, and not yield a tear;
Zounds! I've been in a pillory many a year!
Thank your stars for a your cates—ring not Misery's bell,
There are few bricklayers' daughters can live half so well.
How many but live at the death of the day!
How the heart's soft emotions are slain by excess!
For that nymph has no slave who would commonly bless!
Though she blazons thus roseate, and prattles so fine,
Her health is all—rouge, and her spirits—bad wine.
We're egregiously taking our joys upon trust,
Till the farce is compress'd, and we moulder in dust:
In living beyond what's prescrib'd for our pow'rs,
We absorb true delight to anticipate hours.—
Yet who gains by thus marring the night and the morn?—
'Tis abridging the use of a day that's unborn!
Though they knit in the dance, and are dreadfully glad,
'Twill predim their bright eyes, and make Beauty's soul sad.
How brittle's existence!—how futile our health!
How deceptive is grandeur!—how slippery our wealth!
44
But old Q. fully mown, to his fathers is gather'd.
Ah! he died like a saint, though he'd smack'd of the sinner:
He's snatch'd from Life's feast, having mumbled his dinner.
45
Think of this, you pert minx—seek Repentance, and know her.
All the nap may be worn from the superfine drapery;
The young Day may be chas'd by a Night black and vapoury:
Maudlin Juno might perish for ripping Jove's breeches!
Agile Hermes be hung, who'd ta'en Plutus's riches!
Ceres' barn be unroof'd—Ocean swallow our cities!
Old Mars lose his halberd, and Phœbus his ditties!
Th'exciseman seize Bacchus with tubs of run gin!
Lean Hope punt at Pharo, and yet never win!
D'ye expect, you vile jade, like the Sybarite crew,
To sleep but on vi'lets, and drink roses' dew?
Your betters can suffer, and not yield a tear;
Zounds! I've been in a pillory many a year!
Thank your stars for a your cates—ring not Misery's bell,
There are few bricklayers' daughters can live half so well.
Pall Mall, August 13th, 1796.
Yours, &c. CARLTON HOUSE.
46
A DIDACTIC EPISTLE FROM SAINT JAMES'S PALACE TO THE PAVILION AT BRIGHTON, GREETING.
MY DEAR PAV.
Carlton House show'd me your complaints;
You must not think that men are saints:
Besides, you minx, you're much too young
To judge of life, and right and wrong:
Not but your morals please me much,
Though, to be frank, they are not such
As fits the age—pray learn from me,
Who've seen more years than you or she;
And though extrema senectute,
I've some remains of manly beauty:
So many throng'd here from the north,
They broke my back last June the fourth.
When prelates die, I'm so berook'd,
D. D.'s have gorg'd me till I puk'd;
And when reg'mental chiefs expire,
With scarlet mobs I'm all on fire.
I once, like Pepys, jalap'd all,
The gross, the slender, short, and tall:
Mark the reverse of mortal pride;
Now kings carouse where lepers died!—
You must not think that men are saints:
Besides, you minx, you're much too young
To judge of life, and right and wrong:
Not but your morals please me much,
Though, to be frank, they are not such
As fits the age—pray learn from me,
Who've seen more years than you or she;
And though extrema senectute,
I've some remains of manly beauty:
So many throng'd here from the north,
They broke my back last June the fourth.
When prelates die, I'm so berook'd,
D. D.'s have gorg'd me till I puk'd;
And when reg'mental chiefs expire,
With scarlet mobs I'm all on fire.
I once, like Pepys, jalap'd all,
The gross, the slender, short, and tall:
Mark the reverse of mortal pride;
Now kings carouse where lepers died!—
47
Though Carlton whimpers not, like you,
She has her cares, and those not few—
W---t---e and Fitz had ample claws,
And hunger, that ne'er knew a pause;
Though to be useful they were taken,
They ate, not sav'd, their master's bacon:
Ere lying Rumour's trump was blowing,
And he'd a crust just worth bestowing,
They've stuck to what could scarce a mouse hold,
The Tom and Phillis of the household:
In lovely sympathy they tarried,
How piteous they were never married!
But when the storm began to lower,
And little Villany had power,
Each, with the instinct of a rat,
Waddled away surcharg'd with fat;
Wish'd that his reason might be stronger,
And sigh'd their prey would last no longer;
Became most insolently kind,
And mark'd his woes to sooth his mind!
Then, that his pangs might cease with life,
They turn'd him over to—his wife!
But to the statutes I'd enforce;
I'm old, and garrulous of course:
Urge what I may to the aggriev'd,
I'm like Cassandra, ne'er believ'd;
E'en though each circumstance I tell
Were all as true as heat's in hell!
Yet, if oppos'd by dunce or devil,
Truth will, like water, find its level.
Some men of failings make a jest,
In secret by themselves possest;
Hoping, by aid of timely cunning,
To turn the streams of social funning.
I know the Cabinet right well,
Yet half I know I dare not tell:
Oh could I change them, while they're sitting,
To so many old women knitting!
They hang together great and small,
Like stairs built geometrical:
Thus brother gradual raises brother
By slight attachments to each other.
With Policy's cameleon host,
Civility's but Friendship's ghost:
Some seem to drive their neighbour on,
Who really wish the dolt undone:
Yet to say P---t abhors the whigs
As much as Goldsmid, Mawbey's pigs,
Would be absurd as my supposing
Equity 'mid the judges dozing:
Yet now they mingle as they may,
Rare spirits all, blue, black, and grey;
Drawing too fast on destiny,
And some (how hapless!) hope to be
Fed like the prophet in the vale,
When ravens brought him cakes and ale;
With hunger'd cormorants' inclinations,
Grappling at all the good of nations.
Ne'er can my mind forget the view,
When B--- led on the recreant crew:
I'm dizzy when I read his name;
I shrunk with horror when he came;
I fainted when I saw him drag
His dogs to bark at Peace, and brag
Of dread achievements, in the womb
Of Time, to glut a kingdom's tomb!
As gaunt Alecto smil'd at Sin,
Till Nature shudder'd at the grin:
Drest in their tributary charms,
They sold (full dearly) their alarms:
All magnifying buoyant fibs,
While loyal slabb'ring stain'd their bibs:
As every Thing expectant stood,
And nam'd his price for doing good,
She has her cares, and those not few—
W---t---e and Fitz had ample claws,
And hunger, that ne'er knew a pause;
Though to be useful they were taken,
They ate, not sav'd, their master's bacon:
Ere lying Rumour's trump was blowing,
And he'd a crust just worth bestowing,
They've stuck to what could scarce a mouse hold,
The Tom and Phillis of the household:
In lovely sympathy they tarried,
How piteous they were never married!
But when the storm began to lower,
And little Villany had power,
Each, with the instinct of a rat,
Waddled away surcharg'd with fat;
Wish'd that his reason might be stronger,
And sigh'd their prey would last no longer;
Became most insolently kind,
And mark'd his woes to sooth his mind!
Then, that his pangs might cease with life,
They turn'd him over to—his wife!
48
I'm old, and garrulous of course:
49
I'm like Cassandra, ne'er believ'd;
50
Were all as true as heat's in hell!
51
Truth will, like water, find its level.
52
In secret by themselves possest;
53
To turn the streams of social funning.
54
Yet half I know I dare not tell:
55
To so many old women knitting!
56
Like stairs built geometrical:
57
By slight attachments to each other.
58
Civility's but Friendship's ghost:
Some seem to drive their neighbour on,
Who really wish the dolt undone:
Yet to say P---t abhors the whigs
As much as Goldsmid, Mawbey's pigs,
Would be absurd as my supposing
Equity 'mid the judges dozing:
Yet now they mingle as they may,
Rare spirits all, blue, black, and grey;
Drawing too fast on destiny,
And some (how hapless!) hope to be
Fed like the prophet in the vale,
When ravens brought him cakes and ale;
With hunger'd cormorants' inclinations,
Grappling at all the good of nations.
Ne'er can my mind forget the view,
When B--- led on the recreant crew:
I'm dizzy when I read his name;
I shrunk with horror when he came;
I fainted when I saw him drag
His dogs to bark at Peace, and brag
59
Of Time, to glut a kingdom's tomb!
60
Till Nature shudder'd at the grin:
Drest in their tributary charms,
They sold (full dearly) their alarms:
All magnifying buoyant fibs,
While loyal slabb'ring stain'd their bibs:
As every Thing expectant stood,
And nam'd his price for doing good,
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