Chapter VIII: Part THE SECOND (5)

IV.
Th_a_se were the bands, 'mid tempests foul,
Who taught their master, somewhat loth,
To grant (Lord love his lib'ral soul!)
Commerce and constitution both.
Now p_a_ce restor'd,
This gracious lord
Would _tache_ them, as the scriptures say,
At _laiste_, that if
The Lord doth give,
The Lord doth likewise take away.
Fr_a_dom like this who _i_ver saw?
We will, henceforth, for _i_ver more,
Be after making _i_v'ry law,
Great Britain shall have made before[3].

V.
Hence, loath'd Monopoly,
Of Av'rice foul, and Navigation bred,
In the drear gloom
Of British Custom-house Long-room,
'Mongst cockets, clearances, and bonds unholy,
Hide thy detested head.
But come, thou goddess fair and free,
Hibernian reciprocity!
(Which _manes_, if right I take the plan,
Or _i_lse the tr_a_ity d_i_vil burn!
To get from England all we can;
And give her nothing in return!)
Thee, JENKY, skill'd in courtly lore,
To the _swate_ lipp'd William bore,
He Chatham's son (in George's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain),
Of garish day-light's eye afraid,
Through the postern-gate convey'd;
In close and midnight cabinet,
Oft the secret lovers met.
Haste thee, nymph, and quick bring o'er
Commerce, from Britannia's shore;
Manufactures, arts, and skill,
Such as may our pockets fill.
And, with thy left hand, gain by stealth,
Half our sister's envied wealth,
Till our island shall become
Trade's compl_a_te imporium[4].
Th_a_se joys, if reciprocity can give,
Goddess with thee h_i_nceforth let Paddy live!

VI.
Next to great George be peerless Billy sung:--
Hark! he _spakes!_ his mouth his opes!
Phrases, periods, figures, tropes,
_Strame_ from his mellifluous tongue--
Oh! had he crown'd his humble suppliant's hopes?
And given him near his much-lov'd Pitt,
Beyond the limits of the bar to sit,
How with his praises had St. Stephen's rung!
Though Pompey boast not all his patron's pow'rs,
Yet oft have kind Hibernia's Peers
To r_a_de his sp_aa_ches lent their ears:
So in the Senate, had his tongue, for hours.
Foremost, amid the youthful yelping pack,
That crow and cackle at the Premier's back,
A flow of Irish rhetoric let loose,
Beneath the _Chicken_ scarce, and far above the _Goose_.

[1] Ancient Irish name given to St. Patrick.

[2] The celebrated speech of a Great Personage, on reviewing the camp at Cox-heath, in the year 1779, when a French invasion was apprehended; the report of which animating apostrophe is supposed to have struck such terror into the breasts of our enemies, as to have been the true occasion of their relinquishing the design.

[3] Vide the Fourth Proposition.

[4] Vide Mr. Orde's speech.

_NUMBER XVI._

IRREGULAR ODE,

_By_ EDWARD LORD THURLOW, Lord High Chancellor of Great-Britain.

I.
Damnation seize ye all,
Who puff, who thrum, who bawl and squall!
Fir'd with ambitious hopes in vain,
The wreath, that blooms for other brows to gain;
Is THURLOW yet so little known?--
By G--d I swore, while GEORGE shall reign,
The seals, in spite of changes, to retain,
Nor quit the Woolsack till he quits the Throne!
And now, the Bays for life to wear,
Once more, with mightier oaths, by G--d I swear!
Bend my black brows that keep the Peers in awe,
Shake my full-bottom wig, and give the nod of law.

II.
What [1] tho' more sluggish than a toad,
Squat in the bottom of a well,
I too, my gracious Sov'reign's worth to tell,
Will rouse my torpid genius to an Ode!
The toad a jewel in his head contains--
Prove we the rich production of my brains!
Nor will I court, with humble plea,
Th' _Aonian_ Maids to inspire my wit:
One mortal girl is worth the _Nine_ to me;--
The prudes of _Pindus_ I resign to _Pitt_.
His be the classic art, which I despise:--
THURLOW on Nature, and himself relies.

III.
'Tis mine _to keep the conscience of the King_;
To me, each secret of his heart is shown:
Who then, like me, shall hope to sing
Virtues, to all but me, unknown?
Say who, like me, shall win belief
To tales of his paternal grief,
When civil rage with slaughter dy'd
The plains beyond th' Atlantic tide?
Who can, like me, his joy attest,
Though little joy his looks confest,
When Peace, at _Conway_'s call restor'd,
Bade kindred nations sheathe the sword?
How pleas'd he gave his people's wishes way,
And turn'd out _North_, when _North_ refus'd to stay!
How in their sorrows sharing too, unseen,
For _Rockingham_ he mourn'd, at _Windsor_ with the Queen!

IV.
His bounty, too, be mine to praise,
Myself th' example of my lays,
A _Teller_ in reversion I;
And unimpair'd I vindicate my place,
The chosen subject of peculiar grace,
Hallow'd from hands of _Burke_'s economy:
For [2] so his royal word my Sovereign gave;
And sacred here I found that _word_ alone,
When not his Grandsire's _Patent_, and his own,
To _Cardiff_, and to _Sondes_, their posts could save.
Nor should this chastity be here unsung,
That chastity, above his glory dear;
[3]But _Hervey_ frowning, pulls my ear,
Such praise, she swears, were satire from my tongue.

V.
Fir'd at her voice, I grow prophane,
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
To THURLOW's lyre more daring notes belong.
Now tremble every rebel soul!
While on the foes of George I roll
The deep-ton'd execrations of my song.
In vain my brother's piety, more meek,
Would preach my kindling fury to repose;
Like _Balaam_'s ass, were he inspir'd to speak,
'Twere vain! resolved I go to curse my Prince's foes.

VI.
"Begin! Begin!" fierce _Hervey_ cries,
See! the _Whigs_, how they rise!
What petitions present!
How _teize_ and _torment_!
D--mn their bloods, s--mn their hearts, d--mn their eyes.
Behold yon sober band
Each his notes in his hand;
The witnesses they, whom I brow-beat in vain;
Unconfus'd they remain.
Oh! d--mn their bloods again;
Give the curses due
To the factious crew!
Lo! _Wedgewood_ too waves his [4]_Pitt-pots_ on high!
Lo! he points, where the bottom's yet dry,
The _visage immaculate_ bear;
Be _Wedgewood_ d--mn'd, and double d--mn'd his ware.
D--mn _Fox_, and d--mn _North_;
D--mn _Portland_'s mild worth;
D--mn _Devon_ the good,
Double d--mn all his name;
D--mn _Fitzwilliam_'s blood,
Heir of _Rockingham_'s fame;
D--mn _Sheridan_'s wit,
The terror of _Pitt_;
D--mn _Loughb'rough_, my plague--wou'd his _bagpipe_ were split!
D--mn _Derby_'s long scroll,
Fill'd with names to the brims:
D--mn his limbs, d--mn his soul,
D--mn his soul, d--mn his limbs!
With _Stormont_'s curs'd din,
Hark! _Carlisle_ chimes in;
D--mn _them_; d--mn all their partners of their sin;
D--mn them, beyond what mortal tongue can tell;
Confound, sink, plunge them all to deepest, blackest Hell!

[1] This simile of myself I made the other day, coming out of Westminster Abbey. Lord _Uxbridge_ heard it. I think, however, that I have improved it here, by the turn which follows.

[2] I cannot here with-hold my particular acknowledgments to my virtuous young friend, Mr. Pitt, for the noble manner in which he contended, on the subject of my reversion, that the most religious observance must be paid to the _Royal promise_. As I am personally the more obliged to him, as in the case of the _Auditors of the Imprest_ the other day, he did not think it necessary to shew any regard whatever to a _Royal Patent_.

[3] I originally wrote this line,
But _Hervey_ frowning, as she hears, &c.
It was altered as it now standsj by my d--mn'd Bishop of a brother,
for the sake of an allusion to _Virgil_.
------Cynthius _aurem
Velit, et admonuit._

[4] I am told, that a scoundrel of a Potter, one Mr. _Wedgewood_, is making 10,000 vile utensils, with a figure of Mr. Pitt in the bottom; round the head is to be a motto, We will spit, On Mr. _Pitt_, And _other such_ d--mn'd ryhmes, suited to the uses of the different vessels.

_NUMBER XVII._

IRREGULAR ODE FOR MUSIC,

BY THE REV. DR. PRETTYMAN.

_The Notes (except those wherein Latin is concerned) by_ JOHN ROBINSON, _Esq._

RECITATIVE, _by Double Voices._
[1]Hail to the LYAR! whose all-persuasive strain,
Wak'd by the master-touch of art,
And prompted by th' inventive brain,
[2]Winds its sly way into the easy heart.

SOLO.
[3]Hark! do I hear the golden tone?--
Responsive now! and now alone!
Or does my fancy rove?
Reason-born Conviction, hence!
[4]And phrenzy-rapt be ev'ry sense,
With the _Untruth_ I love.
Propitious Fiction aid the song;
Poet and Priest to thee belong.

SEMI-CHORUS.
[5]By thee inspir'd, ere yet the tongue was glib,
The cradled infant lisp'd the nurs'ry fib;
Thy vot'ry in maturer youth,
Pleas'd, he renounc'd the name of truth;
And often dar'd the specious to defy,
Proud of th' expansive, bold, uncover'd lie.

AIR.
Propitious FICTION, hear!
And smile, as erst thy father smil'd
Upon his first-born child,
Thy sister dear;
When the nether shades among,
[6]Sin from his forehead sprung.

FULL CHORUS.
Grand deluder! arch impostor!
Countervailing _Orde_ and _Foster_!
Renoun'd Divine!
The palm is thine:
Be thy name or sung or _hist_,
Alone it stands--CONSPICUOUS FABULIST!

RECITATIVE _for the celebrated Female Singer from Manchester. Symphony of Flutes--pianissimo._

Now in cotton robe array'd,
Poor Manufacture, tax-lamenting maid,
Thy story heard by her devoted wheel,
Each busy-sounding spindle hush'd--

FUGUE.
Now, dreading Irish rape,
Quick shifting voice and shape--

DEEP BASS, _from Birmingham._
With visage hard, and furnace flush'd,
And black-hair'd chest, and nerve of steel,
The sex-chang'd listner stood
In surly pensive mood.

AIR, _accompanied with double Bassoons, &c._
While the promise-maker spoke
The anvil miss'd the wonted stroke;
In air suspended hammers hung,
While _Pitt_'s own frauds came mended from that tongue.

PART OF CHORUS REPEATED.
Renown'd Divine, &c.

AIR.
Sooth'd with the sound the Priest grew vain,
And all his tales told o'er again,
And added hundreds more;
By turns to this, or that, or both,
He gave the sanction of an oath,
And then the whole forswore.
"Truth," he sung, "was toil and trouble,
Honour but an empty bubble"--
_Glo'ster_'s aged--_London_ dying--
Poor, too poor, is simple lying!
If the lawn be worth thy wearing,
Win, oh! win it, by thy swearing!

FULL CHORUS REPEATED.
Grand deluder! arch-impostor, &c.[7]