Satires And Biography :: :: University of Virginia Library

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,

Who must one day,
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.

Thus prim'd and loaded, boldly we'll advance,
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Guard us, blithe deity, whene'er we sleep,
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!!!

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.

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!

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.

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!

GRAND CHORAL BURST.

Come, spiflicate that scoundrel Care,
Gruel him, bruise him, never fear;
Oh! may the powers gymnastic
Make the ruddy youth elastic:

Blood! never fear him, though he swaggers,
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!