University of Virginia Library

Prostituted honour,

or LOTHARIO,

A character.

Unmark'd by Censure, unrestrain'd by Fear,
Shall lowborn Vice its shameless forehead rear?
From Honour's height look down with saucy brow,
On all the grovelling world that toils below,
At Poverty's lone cot dare wag its tongue,
And scorn the dirty dunghill whence it sprung?
Thanks to those powers who gave me to deride
Wealth's swelling port, and tinsel'd meanness, pride.
Silent I cannot view with patient eye
Pageants like these that stink and flutter by.
In days of yore with valour for her guide
Justice alone preferr'd the worth she tried;
Our gallant knights, in lov'd Eliza's reign,
France bade be dumb, and heart-struck haughty Spain.
Then the shrill summons of the vigorous chace,
Strung the firm nerve, and flush'd the ruddy face.
Fashion in vain her Proteus form display'd;
No public offerings at her shrine were paid:
She dared not then affrighted sense lay waste,
Or taint the sacred source of public taste.
Alike Refinement tried her soft'ning sway
To catch the sturdy manners of the day:
Her efforts vain! Britannia's favour'd isle
Renounced the lurking evil of her smile.
Ye sons of Fame, whose memories impart
A constant transport to the feeling heart;
From souls like yours we catch a kindred ray,
And feel infused the genius of the day.
Ye Sidneys, Raleighs, whose undaunted eye
Flash'd the keen glance of ancient Liberty,
Your lives with joy the th' enraptur'd Muse survey.
That claim the meed of never-fading praise.
Oh! what a thrilling thought, that deathless Fame
To ages yet unborn shall tell each name
Of those immortal few, for Albion's good,
Who dauntless paid the tribute of their blood!
And as she waves her legend scroll on high
To other climes, in other tongues, shall cry,
“These are the deeds of those who never die!’
No more with dazzling light the regal ray
Shines unobscured and chears the coming day.
Sorrowing the Muse beholds the throne disgraced,
Its lustre tarnish'd and its gifts misplaced,
Daub'd with false honours whilst Lothario's mien
Provokes the threat'ning eye of honest spleen;
Swell'd with base pride, exempt from ev'ry grace,
Vice in his heart, and folly in his face,
Studious to keep the naked poor in awe,
And grind their needy souls with harpy law,
With silly dimpling smirk, and bland grimace,
With smile that gads so sweetly o'er his face,
Methinks I see him labouring to be great
Rais'd on the tottering stilts of awkward state;
First of the tribe who shift with ready art
The ductile feelings of a venal heart;
Sir Knight become, how big dear self-appears,
And whilst the title greets his greedy ears,
He shakes his booby head and wonders what he hears.
Ere lull'd to slumber in the nurse's arms,
The squalling infant thus a coral charms,
Pleas'd it attends the discord for a while
And hugs the glittering bauble with a smile.