Satires And Biography :: :: University of Virginia Library

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.

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!

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!—

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.

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.

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.

Pall Mall, August 8th, 1796.

Yours, as in duty bound, CARLTON HOUSE.