All the talents' garland or, A few rockets let off at a celebrated ministry. Including Elijah's mantle, the Uti Possidetis, and other poems of the same author. By eminent political characters. The third edition, greatly enlarged [by E. A. Barrett] |
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BLUE AND BUFF:
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 | All the talents' garland |  |
BLUE AND BUFF:
OR, THE INS OUT.
Describe each lawless, bold, empiric,
Who, with the Blue and Buffs' sad crew,
Now stripp'd in buff, shall look so blue.
Dealer in wholesale quack'ry stuff,
Who, far beyond fam'd Katterfelt,
Prescrib'd what ne'er was seen or felt;
Lest Law and Reason in the lurch,
To mould the Senate, twist the Church:
But wand'ring once from Downing-street,
Great Buckingham's old dome to greet,
With grand Catholiconian pill,
Was lost—on Constitution-hill.
Who all things knows—except himself;
Of all that in his cranium stalks;
Whose regular ideas fear
Militia much, more Volunteer;
A wild inapplicable genius,
Scarce vers'd in policy's quæ genus;
In syntax yet more scantly read,
Without one concord in his head.
Where little P---tty apes great Pitt;
This year in woe-begone oration,
To Britons paints a bankrupt nation:
Resources all delapidate,
Taxation at extremest fate;
Whilst next this little, great, small man,
Heigh! presto! pass! by one bold plan,
Restores you all to peace and plenty;
The deuce is in't! won't this content ye?
With necromantic rod of Moses
(A twig cut from a bush of roses),
To ease at once your ev'ry fear,
Turns bear to bull, and bull to bear.
The gallant E*rl of L---d---e
Become the dupe of Benevento;
Hush'd to soft sleep like “Baby Bunting,”
Whilst Nap the Great went out “a-hunting.”
Or was it, say, thou bonny chiel,
Thy ardent love for Britain's weal,
That led thy steps, a peep to take
At thy great territorial stake;
The purchase of thine assignâts,
Thy Corso-Gallican contrâts:
At once th'opprobrium and solution,
Of all thy love for revolution.
Thy long lost Sh---d---n appears;
He who, with more than Attic wit,
Could ev'ry human foible hit;
In Nature's happiest moment born
To grace the drama, not to scorn;
He who, with talents right directed,
A nation's virtue had protected;
An empire's morals had improv'd,
Enrich'd by all, by all belov'd:
But now behold, ah! sad reverse!
A trifling age, a bankrupt purse;
The leaf of life in yellow sear,
Nor honour, love, obedience near;
That troop of friends to real worth,
To hail its late return to earth;
But curses deep, not loud, proclaim
The spendthrift's want of timely shame;
Who never yet could pay a bill,
Or strive a promise to fulfil.
To charge with harm the harmless D---ct---r;
When, unâ voce, all allow,
He would do right—if he knew how.
One man of real parts we view;
With mind for highest station fit;
The colleague, friend, yet foe of Pitt;
That Pitt's last list, one great name, wanted;
He who with every talent shone,
Except consistency alone;
“We smile if such a man there be,
“But weep if Grenville should be he.”
| All the talents' garland | |