University of Virginia Library

On Loyalty.

A POEM IN LATIN SENT TO “DEAR TOBY” (PROBABLY MR. CLOTWORTHY ROWLEY) IN 1754.

Since kings sustain the burdens of the state,
No pleasant hours, no leisure for the great.
Since the uneasy head which wears a crown
The threatenings of impending wars weigh down,
Why do the people rage with murmurs dark
Ready to fall on him who steers the bark?
'Tis his to watch, attent to every call
Lest any burden on his people fall.
'Tis Satan leads astray with devilish art
For Satan ever takes the fouler part.
Nay, rather, be the people's love his due
Who to his people's love is always true,
Him let the nations love and guard and bless,
Whom, loving, guarding, blessing, all confess.
But thou, if such thou art, who dar'st with ill
To curse that sacred head—Oh, “Peace be still.”
Truth to the king may meet with rare reward,
Think not his claim on thee is therefore barred,
Approve thyself praiseworthy—that is best,
Only deserving, loyal souls can rest.

A Song of Mercy and Judgment.

WRITTEN AT ST. ALBANS IN 1764, AFTER THE POET'S RECOVERY.

A Thunder Storm.

Heu! Quam Remotus.

On the Trial of Admiral Keppel.

(END OF 1778.)

An Address to the Mob on Occasion of the late Riot at the House of Sir Hugh Palliser.

(END OF 1788.)

And is it thus, ye base and blind,
And fickle as the shifting wind,
Ye treat a warrior staunch and true,
Grown old in combating for you?
Can one false step and made in haste
Thus cancel every service past?
And have ye all at once forgot
(As whose deservings have ye not?)
That Palliser, like Keppel brave,
Has baffled France on yonder wave;
And when his country asked the stake
Has pledged his life for England's sake!
Though now he sink, oppressed with shame,
Forgetful of his former fame,
Yet Keppel with deserv'd applause
Proclaims him bold in Britain's cause,
And to his well-known courage pays
The tribute of heroic praise—
Go learn of him, whom ye adore,
Whose name now sets you in a roar,
Whom ye were more than half prepar'd
To pay with just the same reward,
To render praise where praise is due,
To keep his former deeds in view
Who fought and would have died for you.

The Bee and the Pineapple.

(PROBABLY SEPTEMBER, 1779.)

A bee, allured by the perfume
Of a rich pineapple in bloom,
Found it within a frame enclosed,
And licked the glass that interposed.
Blossoms of apricot and peach,
The flowers that blowed within his reach,
Were arrant drugs compared with that
He strove so vainly to get at
No rose could yield so rare a treat,
Nor jessamine were half so sweet.
The gard'ner saw this much-ado
(The gardener was the master too),
And thus he said: “Poor restless bee!
I learn philosophy from thee.
I learn how just it is and wise,
To use what Providence supplies,
To leave fine titles, lordships, graces,
Rich pensions, dignities, and places—
Those gifts of a superior kind—
To those for whom they were designed.
I learn that comfort dwells alone
In that which Heaven has made our own,
That fools incur no greater pain
Than pleasure coveted in vain.”

Another on the Same.

Anti-thelyphthora, or The Doves.

(JUNE 5, 1780.)

ACCOMPANYING A LETTER TO MRS. NEWTON.

Tom Raban.

(AUGUST 31, 1780.)

The Cancelled Passage in Expostulation.

(FEBRUARY, 1781.)

“Hast thou admitted, with a blind, fond trust,
The lie that burned my father's bones to dust,
That first adjudged them heretics, then sent
Their souls to heaven and cursed them as they went?
The lie that Scripture strips of its disguise,
And execrates above all other lies,
The lie that claps a lock on mercy's plan,
And gives the key to yon infirm old man,
Who once ensconced in apostolic chair
Is deified, and sits omniscient there;
The lie that knows no kindred, owns no friend
But him that makes its progress his chief end,
That having spilt much blood, makes that a boast,
And canonizes him that sheds the most?
Away with charity that soothes a lie,
And thrusts the truth with scorn and anger by;
Shame on the candour and the gracious smile
Bestowed on them that light the martyr's pile,
While insolent disdain in frowns expressed
Attends the tenets that endured the test!
Grant them rights of men, and while they cease
To vex the peace of others grant them peace:
But trusting bigots whose false zeal has made
Treachery their duty, thou art self-betrayed.”

The Degeneracy of the Clergy.

WRITTEN ON A LACE-BUYER'S BILL. (POSSIBLY EXCISED FROM THE “PROGRESS OF ERROR.”)

Methinks I see thee decently arrayed
In long-flowed nightgown of stuff damask made,
Thy cassock underneath it closely braced
With surcingle about thy moderate waist.
Thy morning wig, grown tawny to the view,
Though once a grizzle, and thy square-toed shoe.
The day was when the sacerdotal race
Esteemed their proper habit no disgrace,
Or rather when the garb their order wears
Was not disgraced as now by being theirs.

The Love of God the End of Life.

(August, 1782.)

Against Interested Love.

(PROBABLY 1782.)

Who does not blush when charged with selfish views
Man boasts for man a principle of love;
But each with God a different course pursues,
And interest is the spring by which they move.
Oh, blindness of our mean and stupid race!
The selfish and the sordid we despise,
And yet the love of God incurs disgrace,
While love to man is sounded to the skies.
How speaks the world?—in Friendship's sacred cause
A generous service is its own reward,
A maxim all have stamped with their applause,
How speaks the world? My dear and valued friend
My recompense is found in serving you.

To a Lady (Lady Austen) WHO WORE A LOCK OF HIS HAIR SET WITH DIAMONDS.

(ABOUT 1784.)

To a Young Lady (Miss Ann Green).

WITH A PRESENT OF TWO COXCOMBS.

(PERHAPS ABOUT 1784.)

Two powdered Coxcombs wait at your command,
And what is strange, both dressed by Nature's hand,
Like other fops they dread a sudden shower
And seek a shelter in your closest bower,
Showy like them, like them they yield no fruit,
But then to make amends they both are mute.

The Critics Chastised.

Written on a Page of “The Monthly Review.”

(1784.)

These critics, who to faith no quarter grant,
But call it mere hypocrisy and cant
To make a just acknowledgment of praise,
And thanks to God for governing our ways,
Approve Confucius more, and Zoroaster,
Than Christ's own servant, or that servant's Master.

Box and Bays.

(FEB. 2, 1791.)

Dear Tom! my muse this moment sounds your praise,
And turns at once your sprig of box to bays.”

To Sir John Fenn.

(The first editor of the Paston Letters.)

(MAY 20, 1792.)

Two omens seem propitious to my fame,
Your spouse embalms my verse and you my name,
A name which, all self-flatt'ry far apart,
Belongs to one who venerates in his heart
The wise and good, and therefore of the few
Known by those titles, Sir, both yours and you.

Morsels.

DEVOID OF LITERARY MERIT.

THE MUSLIN IS FOUND.

(At the end of a letter to Unwin, June 8, 1783.)

The muslin is found, the gown is admired,
Procure us some franks—adieu, I am tired.

THE HAMPER.

We have received beef, tongues, and tea,
And certainly from none but thee;
Therefore with all our power of lungs,
Thanks for beef, and tea, and tongues.

HAYLEY'S PORTRAIT.

(NOVEMBER 25, 1792.)

Achilles and Hector and Homer and all
When your face appears shall come down from the wall,
And mine, theme of many an angry remark,
Shall then hide its pickpocket looks in the dark.

AN EPIGRAM.

[An epigram is but a feeble thing]

An epigram is but a feeble thing
With straw in tale, stuck there by way of sting.