 | The Patriots, A Satyr |  |
INTRODUCTION.
'Tis strange to see how Men will enter,(Upon a former Misadventure)
To try their Skill for new Success,
When very oft 'tis but a Guess.
'Tis true, when Interest and Fame
Are lost, we must play desp'rate Game:
The utmost Risque we here can run,
Is at the worst to be undone.
But for Redress here not to try,
Is but a mean, prepost'rous Way.
This Case is not apply'd to you,
Illustrious Patriots, since we owe
The utmost Thanks we can bestow,
For your disinterested Bravery
To free our Nation from its Slavery.
And tho' your Aims should not succeed,
As much we fear they won't indeed;
The utmost of you we can say
iv
But when such apt Conjectures meet,
Which here indeed we shan't repeat,
And Matters to your Wish succeed;
Then you'll come out Great Men indeed!
Some of these Junctures may be told:
Why yes, we'll some of them unfold:
As when the King shall see, God bless him,
B---'s Hocus Tricks then not to miss him;
But turn him out of every Post,
That you yourselves may rule the Roast.
When all these happy things arrive,
By your new Projects we shall thrive.
5
THE PATRIOTS, A SATYR.
Now are your Senate Members chosen;
Stanch Patriots counted by the dozen:
Stout Sticklers for the Nation's Good,
As can be made of Flesh and Blood.
Since then of Patriots you have Store,
You'll all be rich, what would you more?
But in this Reckoning we may fail,
Since Flesh and Blood, you know, are frail.
Faith Sir, I own you reason well,
This is not quite impossible;
Yet our wise Nation did provide
A Remedy, had it been try'd:
But W--- came in shape of Cash,
Which did our deepest Projects dash,
And with his damn'd ill-purchast Treasures
Has quite confounded all our Measures.
A Set of Men, at his Command,
Were pickt, who would set out his Hand,
And flinch at nothing that his Tongue
Could utter, whether right or wrong:
But Right, here comes not patly in,
Since he and that are not a-kin.
For when in's way of Money-taking,
He's sure to send her still a packing:
And when the distant Poles unite,
Then Righteousness and he may meet.
How blest a Nation then are we,
Rul'd by a Man so just as he!
Whose Industry has scrap'd together
But poor Ten Plumbs, a Toy, a Feather;
A thing of small, or no Avail,
A Million English in Detail,
By which to carry all he's able,
In Senate, or at Council-Table.
But whence this overgrown Estate,
Old Nick and he can tell you that.
But not to be with them too prolix,
We'll leave them to their proper Frolicks,
And scribble on, 'tis no great matter,
It can't be wrong, if 'tis but Satyr,
In which Attempt we cannot fail,
If but the naked Truth prevail:
And tho' they prov'd but fustian Rhimes,
The better suited to the Times;
(Since this dull Scene now nothing brings,
But Squeezings and the Dregs of Things;)
Yet ours perhaps may stand their Ground,
Unless with Criticks most profound,
Who without Thought may run them down;
As senseless Curs bark at the Moon.
Tho' he that seeks for Fame this Way,
Does little more than hunt a Flea,
Is own'd by such as write the best;
But let's go on where we digress'd.
Stanch Patriots counted by the dozen:
Stout Sticklers for the Nation's Good,
As can be made of Flesh and Blood.
Since then of Patriots you have Store,
You'll all be rich, what would you more?
6
Since Flesh and Blood, you know, are frail.
Faith Sir, I own you reason well,
This is not quite impossible;
Yet our wise Nation did provide
A Remedy, had it been try'd:
But W--- came in shape of Cash,
Which did our deepest Projects dash,
And with his damn'd ill-purchast Treasures
Has quite confounded all our Measures.
A Set of Men, at his Command,
Were pickt, who would set out his Hand,
And flinch at nothing that his Tongue
Could utter, whether right or wrong:
But Right, here comes not patly in,
Since he and that are not a-kin.
For when in's way of Money-taking,
He's sure to send her still a packing:
7
Then Righteousness and he may meet.
How blest a Nation then are we,
Rul'd by a Man so just as he!
Whose Industry has scrap'd together
But poor Ten Plumbs, a Toy, a Feather;
A thing of small, or no Avail,
A Million English in Detail,
By which to carry all he's able,
In Senate, or at Council-Table.
But whence this overgrown Estate,
Old Nick and he can tell you that.
But not to be with them too prolix,
We'll leave them to their proper Frolicks,
And scribble on, 'tis no great matter,
It can't be wrong, if 'tis but Satyr,
In which Attempt we cannot fail,
If but the naked Truth prevail:
8
The better suited to the Times;
(Since this dull Scene now nothing brings,
But Squeezings and the Dregs of Things;)
Yet ours perhaps may stand their Ground,
Unless with Criticks most profound,
Who without Thought may run them down;
As senseless Curs bark at the Moon.
Tho' he that seeks for Fame this Way,
Does little more than hunt a Flea,
Is own'd by such as write the best;
But let's go on where we digress'd.
A Crew of Peers with high Grimaces,
Set up to fill our Members Places,
In Patriots Shapes with different Faces,
But the same Consciences I ween,
The Devil a whit to choose between.
A Patron too they had so great,
They wou'd, or could not smoke the Cheat.
He would have fain the Knight supplanted,
But some of R---'s Pence he wanted:
For now since Votes are bought and sold,
Most Votes they have who give most Gold.
Which whoso wants, whate'er he be,
A Dunce can do as much as he.
Strange! Men should be such foolish Elves,
Then not be bit, we'll bite our selves.
Since had these Pseudo-Patriots gain'd,
An equal Fate we had sustain'd:
As when we're stabb'd, 'tis all a Case,
Whether it be in Cart or Tierce:
Or if we're murder'd, much all one,
Whether it be by Sword or Gun.
So let them pass, we'll ne'er repent,
'Tis but a broken Kuuvenant.
But if their Aims were just and fair,
'Tis Action must make that appear;
And not like Bullies, raill and thunder
With empty Words, and then knock under:
Or snarling Currs, who out of Spite
Will show their Teeth, yet dare not bite.
Such is the Language of the C---t,
Who of your Grievances make Sport.
For know, you Peers, your loud Protests
Are ridicul'd at B---'s Feasts:
By whom they're valu'd just as much
As who shou'd say—Come kiss my Breech.
If such Affronts you won't resent,
You shew your selves not what you meant.
Your Constitution now abolish'd,
Machines and Projects quite demolish'd;
Your brave Resolves, in such Extremes,
Must be to overturn your Schemes:
Your Craft and Cunning in this Way,
Will prove you quite as Arch as they;
To lodge your selves in all such Cases,
Like better Bowlers in their Places;
Impeach the Rogues, say I Amen;
In Faith, 'twould be a pretty Scene.
When Knaves have pickt their Fellows Pockets,
And they again to fleece their Jackets,
And so recover all the Money;
Then all our Blessings will be on ye:
For you're the likely Men, no doubt,
To bring such gracious things about;
For you are they, Heavens bless you for't,
Who were our only grand Support.
When our best Men, (nor fewer they)
Who neither knew to hide nor flee;
When Lives and Fortunes were at Stake,
What wondrous Methods did you take
To free us from our dismal Troubles!
You were the Dupes and we the Bubbles;
We lookt for Aid, you plaid your Parts,
Left us to smart, with all your Hearts.
Try'd and condemn'd by foreign Juries,
And laid about you, just like Furies,
And voted like true Patriots,
To raise your selves by cutting Throats:
And now when you're cashier'd and chous'd,
Pretend, the Nation's much abus'd.
But all this Bluster and Parade
Is but a Scene in Masquerade:
Your own Ends gain'd, we may depend on't,
The Vizard's dropt, and there's an End on't.
Yet in Old England still remains
A Sett, whom Bribes, nor Arts nor Pains
Can from their Principles remove;
Deep smitten with their Country's Love,
And just as Dials to the Sun,
Altho' they be not shin'd upon.
Set up to fill our Members Places,
In Patriots Shapes with different Faces,
But the same Consciences I ween,
The Devil a whit to choose between.
A Patron too they had so great,
9
He would have fain the Knight supplanted,
But some of R---'s Pence he wanted:
For now since Votes are bought and sold,
Most Votes they have who give most Gold.
Which whoso wants, whate'er he be,
A Dunce can do as much as he.
Strange! Men should be such foolish Elves,
Then not be bit, we'll bite our selves.
Since had these Pseudo-Patriots gain'd,
An equal Fate we had sustain'd:
As when we're stabb'd, 'tis all a Case,
Whether it be in Cart or Tierce:
Or if we're murder'd, much all one,
Whether it be by Sword or Gun.
So let them pass, we'll ne'er repent,
'Tis but a broken Kuuvenant.
But if their Aims were just and fair,
10
And not like Bullies, raill and thunder
With empty Words, and then knock under:
Or snarling Currs, who out of Spite
Will show their Teeth, yet dare not bite.
Such is the Language of the C---t,
Who of your Grievances make Sport.
For know, you Peers, your loud Protests
Are ridicul'd at B---'s Feasts:
By whom they're valu'd just as much
As who shou'd say—Come kiss my Breech.
If such Affronts you won't resent,
You shew your selves not what you meant.
Your Constitution now abolish'd,
Machines and Projects quite demolish'd;
Your brave Resolves, in such Extremes,
Must be to overturn your Schemes:
Your Craft and Cunning in this Way,
11
To lodge your selves in all such Cases,
Like better Bowlers in their Places;
Impeach the Rogues, say I Amen;
In Faith, 'twould be a pretty Scene.
When Knaves have pickt their Fellows Pockets,
And they again to fleece their Jackets,
And so recover all the Money;
Then all our Blessings will be on ye:
For you're the likely Men, no doubt,
To bring such gracious things about;
For you are they, Heavens bless you for't,
Who were our only grand Support.
When our best Men, (nor fewer they)
Who neither knew to hide nor flee;
When Lives and Fortunes were at Stake,
What wondrous Methods did you take
To free us from our dismal Troubles!
12
We lookt for Aid, you plaid your Parts,
Left us to smart, with all your Hearts.
Try'd and condemn'd by foreign Juries,
And laid about you, just like Furies,
And voted like true Patriots,
To raise your selves by cutting Throats:
And now when you're cashier'd and chous'd,
Pretend, the Nation's much abus'd.
But all this Bluster and Parade
Is but a Scene in Masquerade:
Your own Ends gain'd, we may depend on't,
The Vizard's dropt, and there's an End on't.
Yet in Old England still remains
A Sett, whom Bribes, nor Arts nor Pains
Can from their Principles remove;
Deep smitten with their Country's Love,
And just as Dials to the Sun,
Altho' they be not shin'd upon.
13
But one whose loud pretending Bawl
Proclaim'd him Paramount to all,
Turn'd in a trice from Best to Worst;
Like Satan fell, and still's accurst.
Proclaim'd him Paramount to all,
Turn'd in a trice from Best to Worst;
Like Satan fell, and still's accurst.
Why these are Lies—we wish they were:
But you hear sturdy Bubo swear
To make me Great, and raise my House;
You cannot ask what I'll refuse.
Says bravest G--- to his Face,
Give me thine Hand, thou Villain base,
Thou greatest Rogue of Adam's Race,
May thou with thy false Heart and Tongue,
In monumental Chains be hung.
But you hear sturdy Bubo swear
To make me Great, and raise my House;
You cannot ask what I'll refuse.
Says bravest G--- to his Face,
Give me thine Hand, thou Villain base,
Thou greatest Rogue of Adam's Race,
May thou with thy false Heart and Tongue,
In monumental Chains be hung.
But nothing now avails us, since
Self-Int'rest is the mighty Prince,
Who governs all without Controul,
And dastards even the very Soul;
By whom she's mated and abus'd,
That nought of Worth can be produc'd.
And Conscience here hath nought to do,
But grovel like a conquer'd Foe;
While Int'rest with a threatning Frown,
Brow-beats her still, and knocks her down;
While, like corrected Child, afraid
She slinks, and dares not shew her Head.
Sometimes she calls, and we're reproach'd;
But Int'rest has her so debauch'd,
That nothing worse on any score,
We dread than Thoughts of being poor;
Which makes us here, 'tis such a Curse,
Despis'd, and even ridiculous,
And Heaps of Troubles on us brings;
Such is the wretched State of things.
Conscience, forsook of Reason's Use,
Knows neither how to judge, nor choose:
For Reason and Self-Interest
Must always keep a closs Contest,
And Conscience still from Wall to Wall
Is bandy'd like a Tennis-Ball;
Still rambling on, she knows not how,
And so, poor Devil! let her go.
Self-Int'rest is the mighty Prince,
Who governs all without Controul,
And dastards even the very Soul;
By whom she's mated and abus'd,
14
And Conscience here hath nought to do,
But grovel like a conquer'd Foe;
While Int'rest with a threatning Frown,
Brow-beats her still, and knocks her down;
While, like corrected Child, afraid
She slinks, and dares not shew her Head.
Sometimes she calls, and we're reproach'd;
But Int'rest has her so debauch'd,
That nothing worse on any score,
We dread than Thoughts of being poor;
Which makes us here, 'tis such a Curse,
Despis'd, and even ridiculous,
And Heaps of Troubles on us brings;
Such is the wretched State of things.
Conscience, forsook of Reason's Use,
Knows neither how to judge, nor choose:
For Reason and Self-Interest
15
And Conscience still from Wall to Wall
Is bandy'd like a Tennis-Ball;
Still rambling on, she knows not how,
And so, poor Devil! let her go.
But why with such insipid Nonsense,
Dost keep a Pother with this Conscience,
And talk'st of nothing but a Name,
A State-exploded, threadbare Sham,
To shew your little or no Wit,
When few will value you or it?
Dost keep a Pother with this Conscience,
And talk'st of nothing but a Name,
A State-exploded, threadbare Sham,
To shew your little or no Wit,
When few will value you or it?
Says B---.—But Sir hold a Blow,
For all your Pride and noisy Show;
Tho' now you think her wondrous easy,
Or think her nothing; yet she'll squeeze ye,
And shew you such a Devil's Trick,
Shall gall your Gizzard to the Quick.
Wer't in my Power to use thee thus,
I'd soon remove the gen'ral Curse.
But let's proceed, and shew for once,
How B--- plies his Myrmidons,
And makes his Tricks upon 'em pass:
Compar'd to him, Old Nick's an Ass.
For all your Pride and noisy Show;
Tho' now you think her wondrous easy,
Or think her nothing; yet she'll squeeze ye,
And shew you such a Devil's Trick,
Shall gall your Gizzard to the Quick.
Wer't in my Power to use thee thus,
16
But let's proceed, and shew for once,
How B--- plies his Myrmidons,
And makes his Tricks upon 'em pass:
Compar'd to him, Old Nick's an Ass.
For thus he manages his Tools:
“Believe me, Friends, we're all but Fools,
“Since now the only Point is Gain.
“For both our sakes I must be plain.
“Know—Merit, Truth, in Court and Nation,
“Are Trifles, now quite out of Fashion:
“Whate'er Impostor did begin them,
“We're pretty sure there's nothing in 'em.
“It follows then sans Ceremony,
“That all true Merit lies in Money;
“And he's accounted but a Sot,
“That wants wherewith to boil the Pot.
“Then cheat, deceive, trepan, betray,
“Baulk nothing you can do or say,
“But grasp at Money any Way.
“Tho' Fools may call you this or that,
“Their Tattle is not worth a Groat.
“But go you on still to be Great,
“And imitate my envy'd State.
“For Money, like a Deity,
“Will make us all we'd wish to be.
“And Store of Gold, that matchless thing,
“Will make a Man as great's a King.
“To sum up all what we have said,
“A Subsidy must needs be had:
“Let's then exert our Power and Skill,
“Or things may else go very ill.
“The King wants Money, and we fear
“To be o'erwhelm'd with dreadful War:
“Should we of all then be bereav'd,
“And by those foreign Powers enslav'd,
“I'd ask those supercilious Men,
“What is our Country to us then?
“Since they to Sense can claim no Title,
“Who venture all to save a little:
“Or who is he who would not rather
“Prefer the Cap before the Feather?
“Since then such Reasons must convince
“Each thinking Man of sober Sense,
“Then dine and vote with me.—For Want
“You need not fear, nor shall repent;
“And to set right your Apprehension
“Rest you secure of Post or Pension.”
“Believe me, Friends, we're all but Fools,
“Since now the only Point is Gain.
“For both our sakes I must be plain.
“Know—Merit, Truth, in Court and Nation,
“Are Trifles, now quite out of Fashion:
“Whate'er Impostor did begin them,
“We're pretty sure there's nothing in 'em.
“It follows then sans Ceremony,
“That all true Merit lies in Money;
“And he's accounted but a Sot,
“That wants wherewith to boil the Pot.
17
“Baulk nothing you can do or say,
“But grasp at Money any Way.
“Tho' Fools may call you this or that,
“Their Tattle is not worth a Groat.
“But go you on still to be Great,
“And imitate my envy'd State.
“For Money, like a Deity,
“Will make us all we'd wish to be.
“And Store of Gold, that matchless thing,
“Will make a Man as great's a King.
“To sum up all what we have said,
“A Subsidy must needs be had:
“Let's then exert our Power and Skill,
“Or things may else go very ill.
“The King wants Money, and we fear
“To be o'erwhelm'd with dreadful War:
“Should we of all then be bereav'd,
18
“I'd ask those supercilious Men,
“What is our Country to us then?
“Since they to Sense can claim no Title,
“Who venture all to save a little:
“Or who is he who would not rather
“Prefer the Cap before the Feather?
“Since then such Reasons must convince
“Each thinking Man of sober Sense,
“Then dine and vote with me.—For Want
“You need not fear, nor shall repent;
“And to set right your Apprehension
“Rest you secure of Post or Pension.”
Tho' all this told by this false Jew,
The never a Word of which is true,
Yet with such Trash close pent in Lobby,
He spirits up the senseless Booby,
Who now replies with Zeal so fervent,
Sir, I'm your most obedient Servant:
In ev'ry Case I'll take your Part,
Your Eccho, Sir, with all my Heart.
I marry Sir, and this is civil,
Altho' he post you to the D---l;
You needs must go;—for Sir, in troth,
Who serves the one, must serve them both.
The never a Word of which is true,
Yet with such Trash close pent in Lobby,
He spirits up the senseless Booby,
Who now replies with Zeal so fervent,
19
In ev'ry Case I'll take your Part,
Your Eccho, Sir, with all my Heart.
I marry Sir, and this is civil,
Altho' he post you to the D---l;
You needs must go;—for Sir, in troth,
Who serves the one, must serve them both.
But once B--- mistook his Man,
For all his Wiles and fine Chicane;
And which is more, you will admire,
Was bobb'd by a plain Country Squire.
The Squire lookt shabby, rough and bare,
Yet he was honest, which is rare;
His Linen was but course and foul,
But he possess'd a noble Soul;
A Soul refin'd without Allay,
Which took no Tincture from its Clay.
His manly, penetrating Parts
Were Proof against all B---'s Arts:
Ill drest, and rude he did appear,
The Knight mistook him by his Gear:
As Rome's fam'd Orator no less
Mistook great Cæsar by his Dress.
The noble Squire but lookt uncomely,
To whom the Knight, in Terms as homely:
Sir there's a Game call'd, Tit for Tat;
Come give me this, I'll give you that:
We need not speak more plainly out;
You understand me, Sir, no doubt.
Sq.
For all his Wiles and fine Chicane;
And which is more, you will admire,
Was bobb'd by a plain Country Squire.
The Squire lookt shabby, rough and bare,
Yet he was honest, which is rare;
His Linen was but course and foul,
But he possess'd a noble Soul;
A Soul refin'd without Allay,
Which took no Tincture from its Clay.
His manly, penetrating Parts
20
Ill drest, and rude he did appear,
The Knight mistook him by his Gear:
As Rome's fam'd Orator no less
Mistook great Cæsar by his Dress.
The noble Squire but lookt uncomely,
To whom the Knight, in Terms as homely:
Sir there's a Game call'd, Tit for Tat;
Come give me this, I'll give you that:
We need not speak more plainly out;
You understand me, Sir, no doubt.
Yes, Sir, I understand you well;
You want to buy, and I must sell.
I hope, I don't mistake the Knight.
Kn.
No, no, says he, you hit me right.
Sq.
What is't, pray Sir, that you can give?
Kn.
Why, Money for to make you live.
Sq.
O! may he dangle on a Rantree,
21
As thou, so infamously great,
Still cheats to give, and gives to cheat.
Tho' you mistook me by my Guise,
You and your Bribes alike I prize,
And both (as you do Heaven) despise.
Yet now for all thy Pomp and State,
Thy Plumbs and thy huge massy Plate,
Thy richest Wines, and costly Fare
Thou dost for greater Rogues prepare.
Shou'd such a Frenzy seize thy Brain,
To trump thy late E---e again,
The Mob will be upon thy Bones,
And sacrifice thee all at once;
Pursue thee with the utmost Hate,
And thou shalt share Sejanus' Fate.
Then shall this sudden dismal Blow
Exclude thee from Repentance; now
Thy Time is out, and thou must go
22
Thou must be d---d with all thy Politicks.
Heavens! are we then so stupid grown,
To let such Rogues as this go on
To pillage us by Fraud and Stealth,
And rant, and batten on our Wealth?
While he, secure of any Blow,
Believes no Power can him o'erthrow.
But since thou'rt strong in Unbelief,
I'll waft a Prayer for thy Relief:
“Heavens blast thee for thy bloody Crimes,
“And send us better Men and Times.
To let such Rogues as this go on
To pillage us by Fraud and Stealth,
And rant, and batten on our Wealth?
While he, secure of any Blow,
Believes no Power can him o'erthrow.
But since thou'rt strong in Unbelief,
I'll waft a Prayer for thy Relief:
“Heavens blast thee for thy bloody Crimes,
“And send us better Men and Times.
FINIS.
| The Patriots, A Satyr | |