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141
NOBILITY.
A MORAL ESSAY.
'Tis said that ere fair virtue learnt to sigh,
The crest to libel, and the star to lye,
The poet glow'd with all his sacred fire,
And bade each virtue live along the lyre,
Led humble science to the blest abode,
And rais'd the hero till he shone a god.
The crest to libel, and the star to lye,
The poet glow'd with all his sacred fire,
And bade each virtue live along the lyre,
Led humble science to the blest abode,
And rais'd the hero till he shone a god.
Our modern bards, by some unhappy fate,
Condemn'd to flatter ev'ry fool of state,
Have oft, regardless of their heav'n-born flame,
Enthron'd proud greatness in the shrine of fame,
Bestow'd on vice the wreaths that virtue wove,
And paid to Nero what was due to Jove.
Condemn'd to flatter ev'ry fool of state,
Have oft, regardless of their heav'n-born flame,
Enthron'd proud greatness in the shrine of fame,
Bestow'd on vice the wreaths that virtue wove,
And paid to Nero what was due to Jove.
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Yet hear, ye great! whom birth and titles crown
With alien worth, and glories not your own;
Hear me affirm, that all the vain can show,
All Anstis boasts of, and all kings bestow,
All envy wishes, all ambition hails,
All that supports St. James's, and Versailles,
Can never give distinction to a knave,
Or make a lord whom vice has made a slave.
With alien worth, and glories not your own;
Hear me affirm, that all the vain can show,
All Anstis boasts of, and all kings bestow,
All envy wishes, all ambition hails,
All that supports St. James's, and Versailles,
Can never give distinction to a knave,
Or make a lord whom vice has made a slave.
In elder times, ere heralds yet enroll'd
The bleeding ruby in a field of gold,
Or infant language pain'd the tender ear
With fess, bend, argent, chev'ron, and saltier;
'Twas he alone the bay's bright verdure wore,
Whose strength subdu'd the lion or the boar,
Whose art from rocks could call the mellowing grain,
And give the vine to laugh along the plain;
Or, tracing nature in her moral plan,
Explor'd the savage till he found the man.
For him the rustic hind, and village maid,
Stripp'd the gay spring of half its bloom and shade:
With annual dances grac'd the daisy-mead,
And sung his triumphs on the oaten reed;
Or, fond to think him sprung from yonder sky,
Rear'd the turf fane, and bade the victim die.
The bleeding ruby in a field of gold,
Or infant language pain'd the tender ear
With fess, bend, argent, chev'ron, and saltier;
'Twas he alone the bay's bright verdure wore,
Whose strength subdu'd the lion or the boar,
Whose art from rocks could call the mellowing grain,
And give the vine to laugh along the plain;
Or, tracing nature in her moral plan,
Explor'd the savage till he found the man.
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Stripp'd the gay spring of half its bloom and shade:
With annual dances grac'd the daisy-mead,
And sung his triumphs on the oaten reed;
Or, fond to think him sprung from yonder sky,
Rear'd the turf fane, and bade the victim die.
In Turkey, sacred as the Koran's page,
These simple manners live thro' ev'ry age;
The humblest swain, if virtue warms the man,
May rise the genius of the grave Divan:
And all, but Othman's race, the only proud,
Fall with their sires, and mingle with the croud.
These simple manners live thro' ev'ry age;
The humblest swain, if virtue warms the man,
May rise the genius of the grave Divan:
And all, but Othman's race, the only proud,
Fall with their sires, and mingle with the croud.
For three campaigns Caprouli's hand display'd
The Turkish crescent on thy walls, Belgrade!
Imperial Egypt own'd him for her lord,
And Austria trembled if he touch'd the sword:
Yet all his glories set within his grave,
One son a Janizary, one a slave.
Politer courts, ingenious to extend
The father's glories, bid his pomps descend;
With strange good nature give his worthless son,
The very laurels that his virtue won:
And with the same appellatives adorn
A living hero, and a sot unborn.
The Turkish crescent on thy walls, Belgrade!
Imperial Egypt own'd him for her lord,
And Austria trembled if he touch'd the sword:
Yet all his glories set within his grave,
One son a Janizary, one a slave.
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The father's glories, bid his pomps descend;
With strange good nature give his worthless son,
The very laurels that his virtue won:
And with the same appellatives adorn
A living hero, and a sot unborn.
Hence, without blushing (say whate'er we can)
We more regard th' escutcheon than the man:
Yet, true to nature and her instincts, prize
The hound or spaniel as his talent lies;
Careless from what paternal blood he rose,
We value Bowman only for his nose.
We more regard th' escutcheon than the man:
Yet, true to nature and her instincts, prize
The hound or spaniel as his talent lies;
Careless from what paternal blood he rose,
We value Bowman only for his nose.
Say, should you see a gen'rous steed outfly
The swiftest zephyr of th' autumnal sky,
Wou'd you at once his ardent wishes kill,
Give him the dogs, or chain him to a mill,
Because his humbler fathers, grave, and slow,
Clean'd half the jakes of Houndsditch or Soho?
The swiftest zephyr of th' autumnal sky,
Wou'd you at once his ardent wishes kill,
Give him the dogs, or chain him to a mill,
Because his humbler fathers, grave, and slow,
Clean'd half the jakes of Houndsditch or Soho?
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In spite of all that in his grandsire shone,
An horse's worth is, like a king's, his own.
If in the race, when length'ning shouts inspire
His bold compeers, and set their hearts on fire,
He seems regardless of th' exulting sound,
And scarcely drags his legs along the ground:
What will't avail that, sprung from heav'nly seed,
His great forefathers swept th' Arabian mead;
Or, dress'd in half an empire's purple, bore
The weight of Xerxes on the Caspian shôre?
An horse's worth is, like a king's, his own.
If in the race, when length'ning shouts inspire
His bold compeers, and set their hearts on fire,
He seems regardless of th' exulting sound,
And scarcely drags his legs along the ground:
What will't avail that, sprung from heav'nly seed,
His great forefathers swept th' Arabian mead;
Or, dress'd in half an empire's purple, bore
The weight of Xerxes on the Caspian shôre?
I grant, my lord! your ancestors outshone
All that e'er grac'd the Ganges, or the Rhone,
Born to protect, to rouze those godlike fires
That genius kindles, or fair fame inspires,
O'er humble life to spread indulgent ease,
To give the veins to flow without disease,
From proud oppression injur'd worth to screen,
And shake alike the senate and the scene.
All that e'er grac'd the Ganges, or the Rhone,
Born to protect, to rouze those godlike fires
That genius kindles, or fair fame inspires,
O'er humble life to spread indulgent ease,
To give the veins to flow without disease,
From proud oppression injur'd worth to screen,
And shake alike the senate and the scene.
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And see, to save them from the wrecks of age,
Exulting science fills her every page,
Fame grasps her trump, the Epic muse attends,
The lyre re-ecchoes, and the song ascends,
The sculptor's chissel with the pencil vies,
Rocks leap, and animated marbles rise:
All arts, all pow'rs, the virtuous chiefs adorn,
And spread their pomps to ages yet unborn.
Exulting science fills her every page,
Fame grasps her trump, the Epic muse attends,
The lyre re-ecchoes, and the song ascends,
The sculptor's chissel with the pencil vies,
Rocks leap, and animated marbles rise:
All arts, all pow'rs, the virtuous chiefs adorn,
And spread their pomps to ages yet unborn.
All this we own—but if, amidst the shine,
Th' enormous blaze that beams along the line,
Some scoundrel peer, regardless of his sires,
Pursues each folly, and each vice admires:
Shall we enrol his prostituted name
In honour's zenith, and the lists of fame?
Th' enormous blaze that beams along the line,
Some scoundrel peer, regardless of his sires,
Pursues each folly, and each vice admires:
Shall we enrol his prostituted name
In honour's zenith, and the lists of fame?
Exalted titles, like a beacon, rise
To tell the wretched where protection lies.
He then who hears unmov'd affliction's cry,
His birth's a phantom, and his name's a lye.
To tell the wretched where protection lies.
He then who hears unmov'd affliction's cry,
His birth's a phantom, and his name's a lye.
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The Egyptians thus on Cairo's sacred plain,
Saw half their marbles move into a fane;
The glorious work unnumber'd artists ply,
Now turn the dome, now lift it to the sky:
But when they enter'd the sublime abode,
They found a serpent where they hop'd a god.
Saw half their marbles move into a fane;
The glorious work unnumber'd artists ply,
Now turn the dome, now lift it to the sky:
But when they enter'd the sublime abode,
They found a serpent where they hop'd a god.
Anstis observes that, when a thousand years
Roll thro' a race of princes, or of peers,
Obliging virtue sheds her ev'ry beam
From son to son, and waits upon the stream.
Yet say, ye great! who boast another's scars,
And think your lineage ends but in the stars,
What is this boon of heav'n? dependent still
On woman's weakness, and on woman's will;
Dare ye affirm that no exotic blood
Has stain'd your glories ever since the flood?
Might not some brawny slave, from Afric fled,
Stamp his base image in the nuptial bed?
Might not, in Pagan days, your mothers prove
The fire of Phœbus, and the strength of Jove?
Or, more politely to their vows untrue,
Love, and elope, as modern ladies do?
Roll thro' a race of princes, or of peers,
Obliging virtue sheds her ev'ry beam
From son to son, and waits upon the stream.
Yet say, ye great! who boast another's scars,
And think your lineage ends but in the stars,
What is this boon of heav'n? dependent still
On woman's weakness, and on woman's will;
Dare ye affirm that no exotic blood
Has stain'd your glories ever since the flood?
Might not some brawny slave, from Afric fled,
Stamp his base image in the nuptial bed?
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The fire of Phœbus, and the strength of Jove?
Or, more politely to their vows untrue,
Love, and elope, as modern ladies do?
But grant that all your gentle grandames shone
Clear, and unsullied as the noon-day sun;
Tho' nature form'd them of her chastest mold,
Say, was their birth illustrious as their gold?
Full many a lord, we know, has chose to range
Among the wealthy beauties of the change;
Or sigh'd, still humbler, to the midnight gale
For some fair peasant of th' Arcadian vale:
Then blame us not if backward to adore
A name polluted by a slave or whore;
Since, spite of patents, and of king's decrees,
And blooming coronets on parchment-trees,
Some alien stain may darken all the line,
And Norfolk's blood descend as mean as mine.
Clear, and unsullied as the noon-day sun;
Tho' nature form'd them of her chastest mold,
Say, was their birth illustrious as their gold?
Full many a lord, we know, has chose to range
Among the wealthy beauties of the change;
Or sigh'd, still humbler, to the midnight gale
For some fair peasant of th' Arcadian vale:
Then blame us not if backward to adore
A name polluted by a slave or whore;
Since, spite of patents, and of king's decrees,
And blooming coronets on parchment-trees,
Some alien stain may darken all the line,
And Norfolk's blood descend as mean as mine.
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You boast, my lord! a race with laurels crown'd,
By senates honour'd, and in war renown'd;
Shew then the martial soul to danger bred
When Poitiers thunder'd, and when Cressy bled,
Shew us those deeds, those heav'n-directed fires,
That ages past saw beaming on your sires,
That freeborn pride no tyrant durst enslave,
That godlike zeal that only liv'd to save.
By senates honour'd, and in war renown'd;
Shew then the martial soul to danger bred
When Poitiers thunder'd, and when Cressy bled,
Shew us those deeds, those heav'n-directed fires,
That ages past saw beaming on your sires,
That freeborn pride no tyrant durst enslave,
That godlike zeal that only liv'd to save.
Dare you, tho' faction bawl thro' all her tribe,
Tho' monarchs threaten, and tho' statesmen bribe,
Feel for mankind, and gallantly approve
All virtue teaches, and all angels love?
Know you the tear that flows o'er worth distrest,
The joy that rises when a people's blest?
Then, if you please, immortalize your line,
With all that's great, heroic and divine:
Explore with curious eye th' historic page,
The rolls of fame, the monuments of age,
Adopt each chief immortal Homer sings,
All Greece's heroes, and all Asia's kings:
If earth's too scanty, search the blest abode,
And make your first progenitor a god.
We grant your claim, whate'er you wish to prove,
The son of Priam, or the son of Jove.
Tho' monarchs threaten, and tho' statesmen bribe,
Feel for mankind, and gallantly approve
All virtue teaches, and all angels love?
Know you the tear that flows o'er worth distrest,
The joy that rises when a people's blest?
Then, if you please, immortalize your line,
With all that's great, heroic and divine:
Explore with curious eye th' historic page,
The rolls of fame, the monuments of age,
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All Greece's heroes, and all Asia's kings:
If earth's too scanty, search the blest abode,
And make your first progenitor a god.
We grant your claim, whate'er you wish to prove,
The son of Priam, or the son of Jove.
Statesmen and patriots thus to glory rise,
The self-born fun that gilds them never dies:
While he ennobled by those gewgaw things,
The pride of patents, and the breath of kings,
Glares the pale meteor of a little hour,
Fed by court sunshine, and poetic show'r,
Then sinks at once, unpitied, and unblest,
A nation's scandal, and a nation's jest.
The self-born fun that gilds them never dies:
While he ennobled by those gewgaw things,
The pride of patents, and the breath of kings,
Glares the pale meteor of a little hour,
Fed by court sunshine, and poetic show'r,
Then sinks at once, unpitied, and unblest,
A nation's scandal, and a nation's jest.
Nobility had something in her blood,
When to be great was only to be good:
Sublime she sat in virtue's sacred fane,
With all the sister graces in her train.
She still exists, 'tis true, in Grosvenor Square,
And leads a life, a kind of—as it were—
And see! self-shelter'd from the world's alarms,
The dying goddess sleeps in Fortune's arms:
Fond luxury attends her soft retreats,
The modest Frazi warbles while she eats,
Arabia's sweets distil at ev'ry pore,
Her flatt'rers sooth her, and her slaves adore;
Indulg'd by all our senates to forget,
Those worst of plagues, a promise and a debt.
When to be great was only to be good:
Sublime she sat in virtue's sacred fane,
With all the sister graces in her train.
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And leads a life, a kind of—as it were—
And see! self-shelter'd from the world's alarms,
The dying goddess sleeps in Fortune's arms:
Fond luxury attends her soft retreats,
The modest Frazi warbles while she eats,
Arabia's sweets distil at ev'ry pore,
Her flatt'rers sooth her, and her slaves adore;
Indulg'd by all our senates to forget,
Those worst of plagues, a promise and a debt.
Not but there are, amidst the titled crew,
Unknown to all but Collins, and the stew,
Men who improve their heav'n-descended fires,
Rise on their blood, and beam upon their sires;
Men who, like diamonds from Golconda's mine,
Call from themselves the ray that makes them shine.
Unknown to all but Collins, and the stew,
Men who improve their heav'n-descended fires,
Rise on their blood, and beam upon their sires;
Men who, like diamonds from Golconda's mine,
Call from themselves the ray that makes them shine.
Pleas'd let me view a Cecil's soul array'd
With all that Plato gather'd in the shade;
Reflect how nobly Radnor can descend
To lose his title in the name of friend;
At Dorset look, and bid Hibernia own
Her viceroy form'd to sit upon a throne;
Admire how innocence can lend to truth
Each grace of virtue, and each charm of youth:
And then enraptur'd bend the suppliant knee
To heav'n's high throne, O Rockingham! for thee.
With all that Plato gather'd in the shade;
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To lose his title in the name of friend;
At Dorset look, and bid Hibernia own
Her viceroy form'd to sit upon a throne;
Admire how innocence can lend to truth
Each grace of virtue, and each charm of youth:
And then enraptur'd bend the suppliant knee
To heav'n's high throne, O Rockingham! for thee.
Let then vain fools their proud escutcheons view,
Allied to half the Yncas of Peru,
With every vice those lineal glories stain
That rose in Pharamond, or Charlemagne:
But ye, dear youths! whom chance or genius calls
To court pale wisdom in these hallow'd walls,
Scorn ye to hang upon a blasted name
Another's virtue, and another's fame.
In two short precepts all your business lies—
Wou'd you be great?—be Virtuous and be Wise.
Allied to half the Yncas of Peru,
With every vice those lineal glories stain
That rose in Pharamond, or Charlemagne:
But ye, dear youths! whom chance or genius calls
To court pale wisdom in these hallow'd walls,
Scorn ye to hang upon a blasted name
Another's virtue, and another's fame.
In two short precepts all your business lies—
Wou'd you be great?—be Virtuous and be Wise.
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