University of Virginia Library

Jekyll, the wag of Law, the scribler's pride,
Calne to the Senate sent, when Townsend dy'd.
So Lansdown will'd—the old hoarse rook at rest.
A jack-daw phenix chatters from his nest.
Statesman, and Lawyer now, with clashing cares
The important youth roams thro' the Temple-squares.
Yet stays his step, where with congenial play
The well-known fountain babbles day by day:
The little fountain!—whose restricted course,
In low faint Essays owns its shallow source:
There, to the tinkling jet, he tun'd his tongue,
While Lansdown's fame, and Lansdown's fall he sung.

“Where were our friends, when the remorseless crew
“Of felon Whigs,—great Lansdown's pow'r o'erthrew?
“For neither then within St. Stephen's wall
“Obedient Westcote hail'd the Treasury-call;
“Nor Treachery then had branded Eden's fame,
“Or taught mankind the miscreant Minchin's name.
“Joyful no more—(tho' Tommy spoke so long!)
“Was high-born Howard's cry, or Powney's pratling tongue.
“Vaid was thy roar. Mahon!—tho' loud and deep;
“Nor our own Gilbert could be rouz'd from sleep.
“No bargain yet the tribe of Phipps had made;
“Lansdown! you sought in vain ev'n Mulgrave's aid:
“Mulgrave—at whose harsh scream, in wild surprize
“The speechless Speaker lifts his drowsy eyes.
“Ah! hapless day! still as thy hours return,
“Let Jesuits, Jews, and sad Dissenters mourn:
“Each Quack, and sympathizing juggler groan,
“While bankrupt brokers echo moan for moan.
“Oh! much lov'd Peer! my Patron! Model! Friend!
“How does thy alter'd state my bosom rend!
“Alas! the ways of Courts are strange, and dark!
“Pitt scarce would make thee now a Treasury-Clerk!”

Stung with the maddening thought—his griefs, his fears,
Dissolve the plaintive Counsellor in tears.
“How oft (he cries) has wretched Lansdown said—
“Curs'd be the toilsome hours by statesmen led!
“Oh! had kind Heaven ordain'd my humbler fate,
“A Country Gentleman's—of small estate!
“With Price and Priestley in some distant grove,
“Blest I had led the lowly life I love.
“Thou, Price! had deign'd to calculate my flocks!
“Thou, Priestley! sav'd them from the lightning's shocks!
“Unknown the storms and tempests of the state,
“Unfelt the mean ambition to be great,
“In Bowood's shade had past my peaceful days,
“Far from the Court and its delusive ways.
“The crystal brook my beverage; and my food
“Hips—cornels—haws—and berries of the wood.

“Blest Peer! eternal wreaths adorn thy brow,
“Thou Cincinnatus of the British plough!
“But rouze again thy talents and thy zeal;
“Thy Sovereign sure must wish thee Privy Seal.
“Or what—if from the Seals thou art debarr'd?
“Chandos at least he might for thee discard.
“Come, Lansdown! come—thy life no more thy own;—
“Oh! brave again the smoke and noise of town:
“For Britain's sake, the weight of greatness bear.
“And suffer honors thou art doom'd to wear.
“To thee, her Princes, lo! where India sends,
“All Benfield's here,—and there all Hastings's friends:
“Macpherson—Wraxall—Sullivan behold!
“Call—Barwell—Middleton—with heaps of gold:
“Rajahs—Nabobs—from Oude—Tanjore—Arcot,
“And see! (nor oh! disdain him) Major Scot!
“Ah! give the Major but one gracious nod!
“Ev'n Pitt himself once deign'd to court the Squad!
“Oh, be it theirs, with more than patriot heat,
“To snatch thy virtues from their lov'd retreat,
“Drag thee reluctant to the haunts of men,
“and make thee Minister!—Oh God! but when?”

Thus mouru'd the youth—'till sunk in pensive grief,
He woo'd his handkerchief for soft relief;
In either pocket, either hand he threw;
When lo! from each a precious tablet flew.
Thus—his sage patron's wond'rous speech on trade!
This—his own book of sarcasms, ready made!
Tremendous book!—thou motley magazine
Of stole severities, and pilter'd spleen!
Oh! rich in ill!—within thy leaves entwin'd,
What glittering adders lurk to sting the mind!
Satire's Museum—with Sir Ashton's lore,
The Naturalist of malice, eyes thy store;
Ranging with fell Virtu his poisonous tribes
Of embryo sneers, and animalcule gibes.
Here insect puns their feeble wings expand,
To speed, in little flights, their Lord's command;
There, in their paper chrysalis, he sees,
Specks of bon mots, and eggs of repartees.
In modern spirit ancient wit he steeps;
If not its gloss, the reptile's venom keeps:
Thy quaintness, Dunning;—but without thy sense,
And just enough of Bearcroft, for offence.

On these lov'd leaves a transient glance he threw;
But weightier themes his anxious thoughts pursue:
Deep senatorial pomp intent to reach,
With ardent eyes he hangs o'er Lansdown's speech:
Then loud the youth proclaims the enchanting words,
That charm'd the noble natures of the Lords.
“Lost and obscur'd in Bowood's humble bow'r,
“No party-tool—no candidate for pow'r,—
“I come, my Lords—an Hermit from my cell,
“A few blunt truths in my plain style to tell.
“Highly I praise your late commercial plan;
“Kingdoms should all unite—like man and man:
“The French love peace; ambition they detest;
“But Cherburg's frightful works deny me rest.
“With joy I see now wealth for Britain shippid:
“Lisbon's a froward child—and should be whipp'd:
“Yet Portugal's our old and best Ally!
“And Gallic faith is but a slender tie.
“My Lords!—the Manufacturer's a fool!
“The Clothier too knows nothing about wool!
“Their interests still demand your constant care;
“Their fears are mine—their griefs are my despair.
“My Lords! my soul is big with dire alarms:
“Turks—Germans—Russians—Prussians—all in arms!
“A noble Pole—(I'm proud to call him friend!)
“Tells me of things—I cannot comprehend.
“Your Lordship's hairs would stand an end, to hear
“My last dispatches from the Grand Vizier.
“The fears of Dantzic—Merchants can't be told:
“Accounts from Cracow—make my blood grow cold.
“The state of Portsmouth, and of Plymouth Docks,
“Your trade—your taxes—army—navy—stocks,—
“All haunt me in my dreams:—and, when I rise,
“The Bank of England scares my opening eyes.
“I see—I know some dreadful storm in brewing,
“Arm all your coasts—your navy is your ruin.
“I say it still:—(but let me be believ'd)
“In this your Lordships have been much deceiv'd.
“A noble Dnke affirms I like his plan:
“I never did, my Lords—I never can.
“Shame on the slanderous breath! which dares instill
“That I, who now condemn, advis'd the ill.
“Plain words, thank Heaven! are always understood;
“I could approve, I said—but not I would.
“Anxious to make the noble Duke content,
“My view was just to seem to give consent,
“While all the world might see that nothing less was meant.

While Jehyll thus the rich exhaustless store
Of Lansdown's rhetorick ponders o'er and o'er;
And, wrapt in happier dreams of future days,
His patron's triumphs in his own surveys;
Admiring barristers in crouds resort,
From Figtree—Brick—Hare—Pump—and Garden Court:
Anxious they gaze, and watch with silent awe
The motley son of politics and law.
Meanwhile, with softest smiles and courteous bows,
He, graceful bending, greets their ardent vows.
“Thanks, generous friends! (he cries) kind Templars, thanks!
“Tho' now, with Lansdown's band pour Jeqyll ranks,
“Think not, he wholly quits black-letter cares:
“Still, still the Lawyer with the Statesman shares.
“But see! the shades of night o'er spread the skies!
“Thick fogs and vapours from the Thames arise!
“Far different hopes our separate toils inspire;
“To parchment, you, and precedent retire!
“With deeper bronze your darkest looks imbrown,
“Adjust your brows for the demurring frown;
“Brood o'er the fierce rebutters of the bar,
“And brave the issue of the gowned war.

“Me, all unpractis'd in the bashful mood,
“Strange novice thoughts, and alien cares delude;
“Yes, modest Eloquence! ev'n I must court
“For once, with mimic vows, thy coy support.
“Oh! wou'dst thou lend the semblance of thy charms!
“Feig'd agitations, and assum'd alarms,
“Twere all I'd ask!—but for one day alone
“To ape thy downcast look—thy suppliant tone;
“To pause—and bow with hesitating grace,
“Here try to faulter—there a word misplace;
“Long banish'd blushes this pale cheek to teach,
“And act the miseries of a maiden speech!”