 | An Heroic Epistle to Sir James Wright |  |
AN HEROIC EPISTLE TO SIR JAMES WRIGHT.
But that two villains (whose false Oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect Honour) swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans.
Shakespeare.
You look for present pence, or future fame,
Accept the willing tribute of the Muse,
Who to such blended worth can ne'er refuse
The blooming Garland round an head like thine;
While, with no venal voice, she shall impart
Her faithful Councils to your feeling Heart.
Truth will direct her Lay, nor shall she pain
Thy honest bosom with a flattering strain.
One candid Spirit to each Object blind
Of sordid Int'rest, and who looks to stray
But where true Honour marks the thorny way!
Whose daring thoughts and wishes nobly roam
Beyond the Suburbs of his native home,
And, in one animated grasp, embrace
His friends, his Country, and the human race;
Unmov'd by perils, but by death subdu'd,
Urg'd by the Godlike Hopes of doing good.
Those well-won Trophies which are seen no more:
When, by the Love of sacred fame inspir'd,
By Kings encourag'd, and by Beauty fir'd,
The youthful Hero took his ardent way,
And robb'd the Griffin Passion of his prey;
Protected helpless Innocence, and gave
Death to the Tyrant, Freedom to the Slave;
And sought a glorious Fate, or liv'd renown'd,
By Kings rewarded, and by Beauty crown'd.
No sordid Treasures to his home he bore;
The wreath which Love and Glory gave he wore:
His batter'd Arms and deep-indented Scars,
Won 'mid the Toil of honourable wars,
Confirm'd his Glory, and enroll'd his Name
In the bright Annals of recording Fame.
Not such the Titles of our modern Times,
When men, instead of Virtues, for their crimes,
Are Knights and Ministers and Nobles made.
Honour is now the Moon-struck Madman's Theme;—
The valiant Stripling sees him in a Dream,
But 'waking, he is gone!—The Love of Self,
Of empty titles, and of solid pelf,
Supplies his place, and th' ill-gotten see
Buys the best rights of modern Chivalry.
Spits forth its foamings on this idle page.
You'll tell me that the noble Brothers bore
The brightest Honour from the Northern shore;
That Honour penn'd the orders which controul'd
The Zeal for fight and Courage of the bold,
From the quick ruin of the depths below:
That, late return'd from its excursive flights
'Mid the camp's gay alarms and soft delights,
It takes its common post, well-pleas'd to wait,
In meek Submission, at St. James's Gate:
There smiles importance, and expands its Wings
O'er Kings and Footmen, and the Slaves of Kings.
'Twas there you bow'd, and with some little Skill
In what is painting well or painting ill,
You crept, with silent pace, amid the Band
That bears the Banner of the Bloody Hand.
The new, the ruddy Emblem of your State
Glows on your Coach, and blushes at your Gate.
Engrav'd with curious art, and made more bright,
Your Jorden is the Jorden of a Knight:
And, in the Village-walk, the Echo teems
With your new title,—and returns Sir James!
An idle subject for a merry Jest.
But why exert your skill and try your art
To paint the bloody hand upon your Heart?
'Tis this awakes my pen, and will prolong
The honest rage of my unpolish'd song.
The stubborn foe of Cowardice and Pride;
Friend to the virtuous, wheresoe'er they dwell,
Or in the gilded dome or lonely cell:
Nor quits them dead;—but, to his Nature just,
Guards from polluting hands their sacred dust.
E'en now, despising ev'ry titled slave,
He weeps, in silence, over Chatham's Grave.
—Behold his splendid Form, in sorrow drown'd,
With darksome Yew and baleful Cypress crown'd;
Waters the Laurel he has planted there!
There shall it flourish, in eternal bloom,
And shroud, in verdant pride, the holy tomb.
—Here could I weep, but that resentment dries
The briny streams which sorrow's tide supplies;
A fix'd and stern resentment against those,
Who, foes to Britain, are her Chatham's Foes;
And, stung with Envy, or with selfish aim,
Strove with foul whisp'rings to pollute his fame.
To Honour, Justice, Truth, and common sense,
Must that Man be who wishes to controul
The just emotions, in his conscious soul,
Which urge, with gen'rous force, the homage due
To worth superior—to the noble few,
Live, fight, and die, in that forsaken cause!
—Yet such there are, who never yet were known
To look on any Merit but their own;
Who, sway'd by Int'rest, or inflam'd by Pride,
Ne'er saw the worth they did not wish to hide;
And with the same foul jaundic'd Eye behold
The rich, the wise, the virtuous, and the bold:
While some, less brave, more subtle arts employ,
Praise but to damn, and flatter to destroy.
—Yes, such there are—But if there should arise
Some Giant Merit, whose stupendous size
Would awe and still at once the hissing croud,
Make the proud humble, and the humble proud;
And, form'd to give a mighty Nation Laws,
Should, by his Virtues, win the world's Applause;
And, crown'd with fame and patriot glory, prove
The first great Object of his Country's Love—
And in their filthy dens in secret lie;
Or take some Courtier's form, and patient wait
Till the sure, all-controuling Hand of Fate
Shall lay him low:—Then how the cowards brave
That after-fame which lives beyond the Grave;
With sacrilegious Joy pronounce his doom,
And spit their Venom on his rev'rend Tomb!
It griev'd me to behold a Knight like You.
I saw the terrors of your bloody hand;
I heard the Scotchman give his proud command;
I saw you, shrouded in rebellious plaid,
Hie to the Tomb where Chatham's bones are laid;—
Drawn from your breast the treach'rous Dirk appear'd,
When, lo! her angry form Britannia rear'd,
Forgiveness of the Lord of Luton-Hoo.
That made you thus a Traitor to yourself?
The deed's but poorly paid, tho' it ensure
The silver Star, or golden Sinecure.
—Was promis'd Honour the inviting bait,
Which tempted you to trifle with the State?—
Honour is often coy,—tho' Kings accord
The blazon'd Patent which creates a Lord.
—If to be known was your high-minded aim,
Rejoice, Sir J---s! for while accursing Fame
Can blow her trump, you ne'er will be forgot,
—The pliant Engine of a treach'rous Scot.
—Thus the bold Fool, who, to secure a name,
To Dian's Temple bore th' unwilling flame,
Fame gave the meed to frantic folly due.
Without deserted, and within assail'd
By keen vexation's smart;—compell'd to fly
To that Tribunal which detests a Lie;—
What for your future Comfort can remain,
But cold Compassion's miserable strain,
That makes the mind a quicker anguish feel,
And wounds more deeply, where it strives to heal!
—Leave, then, Ambition,—aim not to assume
An higher Office than a Royal Groom;
Content that twice a Year your Eyes will see
The common dressing-room of Majesty:
Too happy that the royal Lace expands
Its ruffled Beauties o'er your honour'd hands;
And with a regal 'Kerchief wipe your nose;
Too honour'd that you still enjoy the place
Which Mordaunt oft has curs'd, and Mordaunt's race .
Was never meant to flourish into fame.
—No more among the clouds attempt to roam,
But scold your wife, and tyrannize at Home:
How Reubens' Colours glow,—how Reynolds' fade:
From Village Neighbours some light honours claim,
And speak with Reverence of your Master's Name :
Grin sweet Importance,—by yourself repine;
But laugh in public at a verse like mine:
And if your purse should fail,—you still may flea
More Dupes beside the K--- and Coventry .
I am my Country's Friend, and no man's foe.
Ne'er will I my unsheath'd resentment hide,
When British Folly stoops to Scottish Pride:
While Britons are by Villain-Statesmen led,
Like senseless Drunkards reeling to their Bed:
While the same voice which sells a Monarch's Fame
Its venal Slander flings at Chatham's Name .
A Broker, according to Shakespeare's definition, is a Man who deals in Old Household Goods, Pictures, &c.—I flatter myself, therefore, that the well-instructed Reader will acquit me of the Guilt of Misapplication.
This melancholy truth may, I fear, be, with equal Justice, applied to Ministers of all denominations, but its immediate relation is only meant to extend to the Corps diplomatique. Sir J--- W--- well knows that a supposed Knowledge in the Trade of Picture-dealing has been considered as an essential Qualification in a Minister appointed to an Italian Republic;—and that his business there was not so much to enquire into the secrets of the cabinet abroad, as to purchase Decorations for his Master's Cabinet at home.
The King's Lace, Linen, &c. are yearly divided, by Lot, among the Grooms of the Bedchamber. The consequence derived from the wearing of royal rags does not appear to be very great: nevertheless, I have been present when a Slave of St. James's glowed with Importance from an impudent exposure of the Tail of his Shirt, to shew an astonished Company the Crown and G. R. which were worked upon it.
This Gentleman is of a very respectable family in the County of Warwick, and was, as many of his Ancestors had been, one of its representatives in Parliament: however, from this Honour he was rejected at the last Election, on account of his being a Groom of the King's Bedchamber, the lower class of voters being artfully impressed with a belief that certain very obscene duties are annexed to that Office.
When this Person (for at that time he was not advanced to Knighthood) was first, appointed to his courtly employment, no one knew who he was, or had ever heard of him; he seemed, like one of Cadmus's Men, to have sprung out of the Earth: however, it was soon discovered that he either was himself, or had married, a Relation of the Bingley Family, who were connected by marriage with the late Earl of Northington,—and so on.
From Sir J---s's description of the reverence with which he thinks the sacred Name of Majesty should be mentioned (see his Defence), I should really suppose that, if he had been a Papist, he never would have spoke of his Master without making the sign of the Cross.
While Sir J--- resided at Venice, several Cargoes of Vertu were sent from thence to the Q---s Palace.—And it is equally certain that, some Years ago, he sold a Collection of Pictures to the Earl of C--- for several Thousand Pounds, the real value of which was then well known to every one but the Noble Purchaser.
That Huzzas have been purchased for Parliament-street, and Plaudits for the Theatre, is well known; nay, in the late military Expedition, the same Care for his M---'s Glory has been exerted.—It may, therefore, be naturally supposed that the hireling voices which are applied to the purposes of political Flattery, may be equally useful in the business of political Detraction, unless the ministerial policy, in fashion, of dividing places, should operate, in this particular, to the employment of distinct People in these honourable Commissions.
| An Heroic Epistle to Sir James Wright | |