The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams ... From the Originals in the Possession of His Grandson The Right Hon. The Earl of Essex and Others: With Notes by Horace Walpole ... In Three Volumes, with Portraits |
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WYNDHAM AND PULTNEY;
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| III. |
 | The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams |  |
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WYNDHAM AND PULTNEY;
OR THE VISION AT BATH.
BATH, vex'd with courts, the country sought,
To ease his troubled mind;
But little dreamt the angry Peer,
More trouble there to find.
To ease his troubled mind;
But little dreamt the angry Peer,
More trouble there to find.
He strove to lay aside all cares,
Ev'n those for wealth or fame;
Nor brought a spark of malice down,
Except against the game.
Ev'n those for wealth or fame;
Nor brought a spark of malice down,
Except against the game.
The live-long day in sport he spent,
His toils surviv'd the light;
And yet, tho', wearied, home he came,
He slept not sound at night.
His toils surviv'd the light;
And yet, tho', wearied, home he came,
He slept not sound at night.
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Oh, Thought, thou busy, restless thing,
In Peasant and in Peer;
How durst thou plague so great a man,
Who holds his peace so dear?
In Peasant and in Peer;
How durst thou plague so great a man,
Who holds his peace so dear?
A man so great, three nations once,
Did on his steps attend;
Ev'n Statesmen trembled at his frown,
And Kings to him did bend.
Did on his steps attend;
Ev'n Statesmen trembled at his frown,
And Kings to him did bend.
Yet him, at times, thou durst reproach,
Durst tax him with his deeds;
Thus boldly should a man presume,
For his offence he bleeds.
Durst tax him with his deeds;
Thus boldly should a man presume,
For his offence he bleeds.
To stir his soul, yet'scape his ire,
An act he would not boast,
Knowing no mortal venture might,
Thought introduced a ghost.
An act he would not boast,
Knowing no mortal venture might,
Thought introduced a ghost.
The night was as Corruption dark,
Like Justice, mankind slept;
When to his lordship's working brain,
This dreadful Vision crept.
Like Justice, mankind slept;
When to his lordship's working brain,
This dreadful Vision crept.
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His mind revolving vast events,
His conscience Fancy caught;
And sudden to his aching sight,
Great Wyndham's shadow brought.
His conscience Fancy caught;
And sudden to his aching sight,
Great Wyndham's shadow brought.
With awful grandeur stalk'd the spright,
With terror shook the Peer;
When thus, the dread harangue begun,
He heard or seem'd to hear.
With terror shook the Peer;
When thus, the dread harangue begun,
He heard or seem'd to hear.
“Oh, Pultney! listen, Wyndham speaks,
“To him and truth attend;
“Who, living, still your cause espous'd,
“And now in death your friend.
“To him and truth attend;
“Who, living, still your cause espous'd,
“And now in death your friend.
“How bright thy thought, thy words how free,
“How upright seem'd thy soul:
“As if no hope thy heart could seize,
“Nor any fear control.
“How upright seem'd thy soul:
“As if no hope thy heart could seize,
“Nor any fear control.
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“Why didst thou seem so wise and good,
“And yet but act a part;
“Why; when applauded for that skill,
“Did it not touch thy heart?
“And yet but act a part;
“Why; when applauded for that skill,
“Did it not touch thy heart?
“How, once believing Virtue fair,
“Be to her cause untrue;
“Or fancy, after acting thus,
“A title was thy due?
“Be to her cause untrue;
“Or fancy, after acting thus,
“A title was thy due?
“Why justice seek, why fraud expose,
“If this you did not mean?
“Or having both to light reveal'd,
“Why, after, turn a screen?
“If this you did not mean?
“Or having both to light reveal'd,
“Why, after, turn a screen?
“How could you zealous seem for right,
“While meditating wrong?
“Or how believe, an ill-got pow'r
“Should e'er continue long?
“While meditating wrong?
“Or how believe, an ill-got pow'r
“Should e'er continue long?
“By friends admir'd, by nations lov'd,
“Like Cato's, Pultney's name;
“How could'st thou slight so great a good,
“How fool away such fame?
“Like Cato's, Pultney's name;
“How could'st thou slight so great a good,
“How fool away such fame?
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“How sprightly Stanhope could you quit,
“Deceive the great Argyle?
“How cheat the generous-hearted Pitt;
“Sir William how beguile?
“Deceive the great Argyle?
“How cheat the generous-hearted Pitt;
“Sir William how beguile?
“How slight thy faith, how break thy word,
“Thy country how undo?
“Who'd from a Briton this expect?
“Of Britons all from you.
“Thy country how undo?
“Who'd from a Briton this expect?
“Of Britons all from you.
“Ah! foolish man, to barter fame,
“For titles' tinsel grace!
“And poorly sell thy own desert,
“To dignify thy race.
“For titles' tinsel grace!
“And poorly sell thy own desert,
“To dignify thy race.
“Yet know that this thou can'st not do,
“'Tis Virtue gives a name;
“For titles if they 're basely got,
“Are but entails of shame.”
“'Tis Virtue gives a name;
“For titles if they 're basely got,
“Are but entails of shame.”
The cock had crow'd, the morning dawn'd,
And clowns began to wake;
Before the chief could from his view,
This dreadful Vision shake.
And clowns began to wake;
Before the chief could from his view,
This dreadful Vision shake.
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Then up he started from his bed,
And hurried back to town;
Where his return made as much noise
As did his going down.
And hurried back to town;
Where his return made as much noise
As did his going down.
But tho' his body changed its place,
Yet, as arch Horace writes,
His mind was just, still where it was,
He could not sleep at nights.
Yet, as arch Horace writes,
His mind was just, still where it was,
He could not sleep at nights.
He bus'ness hates, forgets the post,
From council stays away;
And what made people stare at most,
He miss'd the King's birth-day.
From council stays away;
And what made people stare at most,
He miss'd the King's birth-day.
Since then he sullen is, or sad,
Of great affairs makes light;
Talks much of being what he was,
And setting all things right.
Of great affairs makes light;
Talks much of being what he was,
And setting all things right.
Now God preserve our glorious King,
And send his Bishops grace;
Keeping all Lords for evermore,
From Bath's unhappy case.
And send his Bishops grace;
Keeping all Lords for evermore,
From Bath's unhappy case.
| The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams | |