Lusisti Satis, edisti Satis, atqueAbibisti,Tempus abire Tibi——Horat.
TheSecond Editioncorrected:With the Addition of Twenty Lines omitted in the former Impressions.
LONDON:
Printed forT. Cooper, at theGlobeinPaternoster-Row. MDCCXL.
ASome great and erudite Criticks, instead ofBibisti, readBribistiin this Place. Which of the two is the most applicable, ourQueristdoes not pretend to determine.
(Price One Shilling.)
The first Publication of the following Poem having been entrusted to the Care of the Printer, it came, thro' either his Ignorance or Timorousness, extremely mutilated, and incorrect from the Press. The twenty last Lines were left out, which made the Conclusion very abrupt, and in a great measure destroy'd the Intention, as well as Unity, of the whole Piece. The Characters of some great Personages were entirely omitted, and fictitious Names placed to others, instead of the real ones inserted by the Author, who was always of Opinion, that deserved Praise, as well as just Satire, should disdain a Mask. As to the Pointing, it was false in almost every Line, and there were many Words either mis-plac'd or mis-spell'd in almost every Page. Notwithstanding its appearing under these many Disadvantages, the Public were pleas'd to shew their Approbation of it in general, and to give it such a generous and uncommon Reception, that a large Number were obliged to be printed off, to supply the present Demand, before there was Leisure to restore or correct any thing. The following Edition was at length undertaken by the Author Himself, and is entirely agreeable to the Manuscript which he at first put into the Hands of the Printer.
Deadto the World's each Scene of Pomp or Care,Wrapp'd up in Apathy to all that's there;My soleAmbitiono'er myself to reign,MyAvariceto make each Hour a Gain;MyScorn—the Threats or Favours of a Crown,A Prince's Whisper, or a Tyrant's Frown;MyPride—forgetting and to be forgot;MyLux'ry—lolling in my peaceful Grot.All Rancour, Party, Pique, expung'd my Mind,Free or tolaughat, orlamentMankind;Here my calm Hours I with the Wise employ,And the greatGreek, orRomanSage enjoy;Or, gayly bent, the Mirth-fraught Page peruse,Or, pensive, keep aFast-Daywith the Muse.Close shut my Cottage-Gate, where none pretendsTo lift the Latch, but Virtue and her Friends;Tho' pardon me—a Word, Sir, in your Ear,Once,long ago, I think I saw You here.Yet to the World, all Hermit as I live,From all its vain Regards a Fugitive;Still in my Breast myCountryclaims a Part,And Love ofBritainclings about my Heart:Then tell me, Sir, for You, 'tis said, best know,Is She, as Fame reports her,fall'n so low?IsShe, who for so many Ages rodeUnquestion'dMonarch of theWater-Flood;Whose freighted Barks were hail'd in ev'ry Zone,And made eachIndia'senvy'd Wealth her own;Protected still by such a Guardian Force,That were they e'er molested in their Course,SureVengeanceon th' Aggressor straight was pour'd,UnlessSeven-foldwas for the Wrong restor'd?Is She now sunk to suchlow Degree,ThatGaulorSpainmustlimitout herSea?That She must askwhat Windsher Sails shall fill,And steer byBountywho once steer'dat Will?Whilst the vastNaviesrais'd for her Support,Nodon theMain, orrotbefore thePort;With Handsty'd upvainMenacesretail,Or try by meekPerswasionto prevail?And is there—What!—So manyMillionsgone,Somany,—Heavens! yet nothing,nothingdone?Do then her Pow'rs this drowsy Sabbath keep?Is there no Trump will rouse 'em from their Sleep?Are they, quite lost to Empire and Renown,Bemus'd at Home, or sunk inforeign Down?Or, is it true, what Fame pretends to say,ThatYou, Sir, are theAuthorofTo-day?That You're the fatal Cause ofBritain's Shame,TheSpend-thriftof her Freedom and her Fame?ThatAlbion's Sons are, by your Arts, becomeTheDupesof Foreigners, andSlavesof Home;That her fam'd S—te, on whose sage Debate,AndfreeResolves, dependedEurope's Fate,Now meanly on your Noddependentsit,AndYeaorNobut just as you think fit;Nay, that theChiefsof evenLevi's Tribe,Bow down to you, theConvertsof aBribe?Whilst our trimWarriors, deaf to Honour's Call,Now wage no War but in the Senate-Hall;There wait yourGeneralissimoCommand,To fightyourBattles 'gainst the Patriot Band?And that shouldOnemore noble than the rest,Disdain to truckle to your high Behest,Speak what he thinks, and freely plead the CauseOfBritain'sCommerce, Liberty, and Laws;Exert his Pow'r to check Corruption's Swing,And serve, atonce, his Country and his King,Hisdang'rousVirtues are discarded straight,As sure as they are Vertues of your Hate;Stripp'd of all Honour, Dignity, and Rule,To cloath someKindredOaf, orTitledTool.Or should a brave and honestAdm'raldareTo make one Conquest tho' in Time of War,Withoutyour Leaveto risk a vig'rous Blow,And shew whatBritons, if theymight, could do,Whilst ev'ry raptur'd Voice resounds his Praise,And grateful Hands triumphal Columns raise,Your venal Scribes are order'd all they canTolessenandprophanethegodlike Man.That thus theFountainofBritannia'sHealth,Sourceof her Grandeur, Liberty, and Wealth,Polluted by yourall-corruptingHand,With rank Infection deluges the Land;Parent at once ofWantandLuxury,Of open Rapine and dark Treachery;The KnavesElixir, and the Just Man'sBane,Foodto theLocust,Mildewto theSwain;Pouring on those who once inGoshendwelt;More deadly Plagues thanÆgyptever felt,AndworsethanIsrael's heaviestTask inflictsTho'goneourStrawyet claimingdouble BricksWhilstCommerceflies before th' oppressive Weight,And seeks inGaula more indulgent Fate;Where, Shame toBritain! the fair Stranger GuestIs hail'd with Raptures, and herWrongsredress'd."What then?" I'm told you say, "we nothing lose,"If they've our Commerce we've their wooden Shoes;"And since ourMerchantsare sofancygrown,"'Tis Time to pullsturdy Beggarsdown;"They mutiny'd forWar, andWarthey have,"Butsuch a onethat soon aPeacethey'll crave;"Peaceshall be Theirs, butsuch a Peace, that then"They'll curse their Prayers and wish for War again;"Thus pois'ning to 'em what they ask as best,"I'll ruin 'em bygrantingtheir Request.Are these Thingsso? Or is it Fiction all?Asland'rous Picturedrawn in Soot and Gall?Offspring of Disappointment or Disgrace,Of Those whowantor who havelostaPlace?If so, why lives the Scandal? up for Shame,Confront your Foes, and vindicate your Fame;For, trust me Sir, to wink at such Offence,Rather proclaims aFearthanInnocence;"No one is guilty 'till he's guilty prou'd——Come then, be this wild Clamour strait remov'd;Inconscious Justicecloath'd assert your Right,Shake off this Load of Obloquy and Spite,LikeSamueldauntless cry,Lo here I am!"Witness against me if I'm ought to blame."Before the Lord and his Anointed say"WhoseRightsorHonourshave I ta'en away?"Whom, speak, have Idefraudedoroppress'd,"Or ever pilfer'dForagefrom whose Beast?"Of what vileContractwas I e'er the Scribe,"Or of whose Hands have I receiv'd aBribe?"WhatSchemedid ever I at Home propose"But whence somenamelessProfit would have rose?"Or whatC—n——ne're devise abroad"But such asBritain's Se——e did applaud?"What of myCountry's Money e'er bestow'd"Except insecret Servicefor her Good?"Or whatIncumbranceon herCommercelaid,"But for th' Increase ofourRevenues made?"In my dear Country's Service nowgrown gray"SpotlessI've walk'd before you to this Day"My Thoughts laid out my precious Time all spent"In the hardSlaveryofGovernment;"MyBrothertoo thefruitlessBondage shares,"And all yourPeaceis owing to his Cares,"Girding his Loins he Travels far and near"And brings home somerare Treatyev'ry Year."You have mySonstoo with you who bow down"Beneath the weighty Service of the Crown;"MyCousinsand theirCousinstoo—hard Fate!"Areloadedwith the Offices of State;"And notone Soulof all my Kindred's free"Fromsharingin the Public Drudgery:"Why then these Shafts of Calumny you throw,"This groundlessOdiumcast on all I do?"Speak out with Freedom what you have to say,"Aside allInfluence,Pow'r, andSkreenI lay, }"And put my Conduct on the Proof To-day." }This Sir, if you dare stand the Inquest, do,And then if you've butSamuel'sAnswertoo,If all this heavy Charge is void of Ground,And by thepublick Voiceyou'reguiltlessfound,Resume your Power, with Terrors arm'd go forth,And blast the Villains that traduc'd your Worth;Who basely durst your Righteous Course Arraign,And Soil the Glory's of greatBrunswick's Reign.But if youknowyour Cause is not thebestKnow that you have Defrauded and Oppress'd,That you have ta'en and giv'n many a Bribe,And of awicked Contractbeen the Scribe.That youhavepilfer'dForagefrom the Beast,And with thePublick Wealthyourownencreas'd;That a direSchemeyou laid t'Excisethe Land,And to a vile C—v——n set your Hand;That you'veMonopoliz'deach Post and Place,To aggrandize your self andMushroomRace,That all your Kindred—Brother,Sons, andCousins,HaveTitlesandEmploymentsby theDozens;And for as manySidesmenas are wanted,New Placesare contriv'd,new Pensionsgranted.If you are travell'd in thesecrookedWaysWith a long Train of blacket Cetera's;Whilst thewhole Nationloaths your very Name,And Babes and Sucklings yourDispraiseproclaim;Turn your Eyes inward, on yourself reflect,Think what youare, then what you're toexpect:Pass a few Years theSisterscut your Thread,And rank you in the Number of the Dead;But of whatDead? not those whose Memory,Bloom with sweet Savour through Posterity.Those deathless Worthies, who, as Good as Great,Or rais'd a fall'n, or prop'd a sinking State;Or in the breach of Desolation stood,And for their Country's Welfare pledg'd their Blood.No! with theCurs'dyour Tomb shall foremost stand,TheGaveston'sandWolsey'sof the Land.Your Epitaph—In this foul Grave lies HE,Who dug the grave ofBritishLiberty.Since then your Glass has but few Hours to run,Quit quit the Reins before we're quite undone.Why should you torture out your Dregs of Life,In publick Tumult, Infamy and Strife?To the last gasp maintain a baneful PowerOnly to see your Country die before?If not forus—for yourownFamily,And as you've made 'emGreat, pray leave 'emFree.But if there's nothing that can bribe your Will,From this perverse Propensity to Ill;If to the Grave you are on Mischeif bent.By growth in Crimes too harden'd to Repent.If, whilstperhapsyou may, youwon't Retreat,Resolv'd the NationsRuinto compleat,OnBritain's Downfall to erect a Name,And trust to animmortal Guiltfor Fame,May'nt theJust Vengeanceof an injur'd Land,Thus greatly urg'd, exert a gloriousStand?Drive not theBraveandWretchedto Despair,For though of Freedom, Wealth and Power left bare,The Plunder'd still haveTongues—and they may rear,Their loud Complaints to reach theirSovereign'sEar,Lay, with one Voice, theirWrongsbefore theThrone,Whilst HE whoseFameto both the Poles is known,AllEurope'sArbiter, allAsia'sTheme,Affrick'sDelight,America'sSupreme;HE who does still express his Royal Care,His loving Subjects Injuries to repair;To theirAddressesgraciously attends,And above all theirLibertydefends,Who is as Wise as Pious, Mild as Great,And whose sole Business is to nurse the State;Mayjudge their Cause and, greatly rous'd, command,TheStaffofPowerfrom thypollutedHand,And to someabler Headandbetter Heart,His longdishonour'd Stewardshipimpart.Perhaps to Thee! greatCarteret, who can'st boast.Talents quite equal to the arduous Post;A keen Discernment; strong, yet bridled Thought,One Natures Dow'r, one by just Learning taught:Calm Fortitude, unwarp'd Integrity,And Flame divine to keep thy Country Free.Or to thy Conduct,Pultney! whose just Zeal,Is still exerted for the publick Weal;Whose boundless Knowledge and distinguish'd Sense,Flow in full Tides of rapid Eloquence;And to the native Treasures of whose Mind,We see form'd Worth, and wide Experience join'd.With these the darlingChesterfieldmay sitAnablePartner—if hisrebel Wit}Can to suchPainsandPenaltiessubmit. }And that fam'dCaledonian Youth, whose MornPropitious Skies, and Noon-tide Rays adorn,Who rose soearlyin his Country's Cause,Shone, though so Young,so bright, that our ApplauseWas lock'd in Wonder—gazing Senates hungOn the divine Enchantment of his Tongue;Hark with what Force he pleads in our Defence!How just he speaks an injur'd People's Sense!Halflost toBritainnow, He chides his Fate,For stealing him,by Titles, from the State;Whilst we, lov'dPolwarth! with thy Titlesmore,As might such Virtues to the State restore.Then too the nobleCobham, first of Men!May leave his Garden for the Camp again;Call'd, like old Rome's Dictator from the Plough,To plant once more the Laurel on his Brow.And BraveArgile, who's form'd alike to wieldThe Rhet'rick of the Senate and the Field,So tun'd whose Eloquence, whose Breast so Mann'd,None can theSpeakeror theChiefwithstand.Yet feign Methink's I'd hope that you were clearFrom thishigh Chargethat eccho's in my Ear;Trust that some Demon envious of my RestWith visionary Wrongs distracts my Breast,Or that this Blazon of enormous CrimesSprings from the wanton Licence of the Times.Therefore I put thisQuestionto your Heart,——Speak, Culprit—Are you Guilty? Nay, don't Start,This is a Question all have right to ask,To answer it withHonouris your Task;That, If you dare unbosom, I expect,Till when,I'm Yours, Sir, with alldueRespect.
Deadto the World's each Scene of Pomp or Care,Wrapp'd up in Apathy to all that's there;My soleAmbitiono'er myself to reign,MyAvariceto make each Hour a Gain;MyScorn—the Threats or Favours of a Crown,A Prince's Whisper, or a Tyrant's Frown;MyPride—forgetting and to be forgot;MyLux'ry—lolling in my peaceful Grot.All Rancour, Party, Pique, expung'd my Mind,Free or tolaughat, orlamentMankind;Here my calm Hours I with the Wise employ,And the greatGreek, orRomanSage enjoy;Or, gayly bent, the Mirth-fraught Page peruse,Or, pensive, keep aFast-Daywith the Muse.Close shut my Cottage-Gate, where none pretendsTo lift the Latch, but Virtue and her Friends;Tho' pardon me—a Word, Sir, in your Ear,Once,long ago, I think I saw You here.
Yet to the World, all Hermit as I live,From all its vain Regards a Fugitive;Still in my Breast myCountryclaims a Part,And Love ofBritainclings about my Heart:Then tell me, Sir, for You, 'tis said, best know,Is She, as Fame reports her,fall'n so low?IsShe, who for so many Ages rodeUnquestion'dMonarch of theWater-Flood;Whose freighted Barks were hail'd in ev'ry Zone,And made eachIndia'senvy'd Wealth her own;Protected still by such a Guardian Force,That were they e'er molested in their Course,SureVengeanceon th' Aggressor straight was pour'd,UnlessSeven-foldwas for the Wrong restor'd?Is She now sunk to suchlow Degree,ThatGaulorSpainmustlimitout herSea?That She must askwhat Windsher Sails shall fill,And steer byBountywho once steer'dat Will?Whilst the vastNaviesrais'd for her Support,Nodon theMain, orrotbefore thePort;With Handsty'd upvainMenacesretail,Or try by meekPerswasionto prevail?
And is there—What!—So manyMillionsgone,Somany,—Heavens! yet nothing,nothingdone?Do then her Pow'rs this drowsy Sabbath keep?Is there no Trump will rouse 'em from their Sleep?Are they, quite lost to Empire and Renown,Bemus'd at Home, or sunk inforeign Down?Or, is it true, what Fame pretends to say,ThatYou, Sir, are theAuthorofTo-day?That You're the fatal Cause ofBritain's Shame,TheSpend-thriftof her Freedom and her Fame?ThatAlbion's Sons are, by your Arts, becomeTheDupesof Foreigners, andSlavesof Home;That her fam'd S—te, on whose sage Debate,AndfreeResolves, dependedEurope's Fate,Now meanly on your Noddependentsit,AndYeaorNobut just as you think fit;Nay, that theChiefsof evenLevi's Tribe,Bow down to you, theConvertsof aBribe?Whilst our trimWarriors, deaf to Honour's Call,Now wage no War but in the Senate-Hall;There wait yourGeneralissimoCommand,To fightyourBattles 'gainst the Patriot Band?
And that shouldOnemore noble than the rest,Disdain to truckle to your high Behest,Speak what he thinks, and freely plead the CauseOfBritain'sCommerce, Liberty, and Laws;Exert his Pow'r to check Corruption's Swing,And serve, atonce, his Country and his King,Hisdang'rousVirtues are discarded straight,As sure as they are Vertues of your Hate;Stripp'd of all Honour, Dignity, and Rule,To cloath someKindredOaf, orTitledTool.
Or should a brave and honestAdm'raldareTo make one Conquest tho' in Time of War,Withoutyour Leaveto risk a vig'rous Blow,And shew whatBritons, if theymight, could do,Whilst ev'ry raptur'd Voice resounds his Praise,And grateful Hands triumphal Columns raise,Your venal Scribes are order'd all they canTolessenandprophanethegodlike Man.
That thus theFountainofBritannia'sHealth,Sourceof her Grandeur, Liberty, and Wealth,Polluted by yourall-corruptingHand,With rank Infection deluges the Land;Parent at once ofWantandLuxury,Of open Rapine and dark Treachery;The KnavesElixir, and the Just Man'sBane,Foodto theLocust,Mildewto theSwain;Pouring on those who once inGoshendwelt;More deadly Plagues thanÆgyptever felt,AndworsethanIsrael's heaviestTask inflictsTho'goneourStrawyet claimingdouble BricksWhilstCommerceflies before th' oppressive Weight,And seeks inGaula more indulgent Fate;Where, Shame toBritain! the fair Stranger GuestIs hail'd with Raptures, and herWrongsredress'd.
"What then?" I'm told you say, "we nothing lose,"If they've our Commerce we've their wooden Shoes;"And since ourMerchantsare sofancygrown,"'Tis Time to pullsturdy Beggarsdown;"They mutiny'd forWar, andWarthey have,"Butsuch a onethat soon aPeacethey'll crave;"Peaceshall be Theirs, butsuch a Peace, that then"They'll curse their Prayers and wish for War again;"Thus pois'ning to 'em what they ask as best,"I'll ruin 'em bygrantingtheir Request.
Are these Thingsso? Or is it Fiction all?Asland'rous Picturedrawn in Soot and Gall?Offspring of Disappointment or Disgrace,Of Those whowantor who havelostaPlace?If so, why lives the Scandal? up for Shame,Confront your Foes, and vindicate your Fame;For, trust me Sir, to wink at such Offence,Rather proclaims aFearthanInnocence;"No one is guilty 'till he's guilty prou'd——Come then, be this wild Clamour strait remov'd;Inconscious Justicecloath'd assert your Right,Shake off this Load of Obloquy and Spite,LikeSamueldauntless cry,Lo here I am!"Witness against me if I'm ought to blame."Before the Lord and his Anointed say"WhoseRightsorHonourshave I ta'en away?"Whom, speak, have Idefraudedoroppress'd,"Or ever pilfer'dForagefrom whose Beast?"Of what vileContractwas I e'er the Scribe,"Or of whose Hands have I receiv'd aBribe?"WhatSchemedid ever I at Home propose"But whence somenamelessProfit would have rose?"Or whatC—n——ne're devise abroad"But such asBritain's Se——e did applaud?"What of myCountry's Money e'er bestow'd"Except insecret Servicefor her Good?"Or whatIncumbranceon herCommercelaid,"But for th' Increase ofourRevenues made?"In my dear Country's Service nowgrown gray"SpotlessI've walk'd before you to this Day"My Thoughts laid out my precious Time all spent"In the hardSlaveryofGovernment;"MyBrothertoo thefruitlessBondage shares,"And all yourPeaceis owing to his Cares,"Girding his Loins he Travels far and near"And brings home somerare Treatyev'ry Year."You have mySonstoo with you who bow down"Beneath the weighty Service of the Crown;"MyCousinsand theirCousinstoo—hard Fate!"Areloadedwith the Offices of State;"And notone Soulof all my Kindred's free"Fromsharingin the Public Drudgery:
"Why then these Shafts of Calumny you throw,"This groundlessOdiumcast on all I do?"Speak out with Freedom what you have to say,"Aside allInfluence,Pow'r, andSkreenI lay, }"And put my Conduct on the Proof To-day." }This Sir, if you dare stand the Inquest, do,And then if you've butSamuel'sAnswertoo,If all this heavy Charge is void of Ground,And by thepublick Voiceyou'reguiltlessfound,Resume your Power, with Terrors arm'd go forth,And blast the Villains that traduc'd your Worth;Who basely durst your Righteous Course Arraign,And Soil the Glory's of greatBrunswick's Reign.
But if youknowyour Cause is not thebestKnow that you have Defrauded and Oppress'd,That you have ta'en and giv'n many a Bribe,And of awicked Contractbeen the Scribe.That youhavepilfer'dForagefrom the Beast,And with thePublick Wealthyourownencreas'd;That a direSchemeyou laid t'Excisethe Land,And to a vile C—v——n set your Hand;That you'veMonopoliz'deach Post and Place,To aggrandize your self andMushroomRace,That all your Kindred—Brother,Sons, andCousins,HaveTitlesandEmploymentsby theDozens;And for as manySidesmenas are wanted,New Placesare contriv'd,new Pensionsgranted.If you are travell'd in thesecrookedWaysWith a long Train of blacket Cetera's;Whilst thewhole Nationloaths your very Name,And Babes and Sucklings yourDispraiseproclaim;Turn your Eyes inward, on yourself reflect,Think what youare, then what you're toexpect:Pass a few Years theSisterscut your Thread,And rank you in the Number of the Dead;But of whatDead? not those whose Memory,Bloom with sweet Savour through Posterity.Those deathless Worthies, who, as Good as Great,Or rais'd a fall'n, or prop'd a sinking State;Or in the breach of Desolation stood,And for their Country's Welfare pledg'd their Blood.No! with theCurs'dyour Tomb shall foremost stand,TheGaveston'sandWolsey'sof the Land.
Your Epitaph—In this foul Grave lies HE,Who dug the grave ofBritishLiberty.
Since then your Glass has but few Hours to run,Quit quit the Reins before we're quite undone.Why should you torture out your Dregs of Life,In publick Tumult, Infamy and Strife?To the last gasp maintain a baneful PowerOnly to see your Country die before?If not forus—for yourownFamily,And as you've made 'emGreat, pray leave 'emFree.
But if there's nothing that can bribe your Will,From this perverse Propensity to Ill;If to the Grave you are on Mischeif bent.By growth in Crimes too harden'd to Repent.If, whilstperhapsyou may, youwon't Retreat,Resolv'd the NationsRuinto compleat,OnBritain's Downfall to erect a Name,And trust to animmortal Guiltfor Fame,May'nt theJust Vengeanceof an injur'd Land,Thus greatly urg'd, exert a gloriousStand?Drive not theBraveandWretchedto Despair,For though of Freedom, Wealth and Power left bare,The Plunder'd still haveTongues—and they may rear,Their loud Complaints to reach theirSovereign'sEar,Lay, with one Voice, theirWrongsbefore theThrone,Whilst HE whoseFameto both the Poles is known,AllEurope'sArbiter, allAsia'sTheme,Affrick'sDelight,America'sSupreme;HE who does still express his Royal Care,His loving Subjects Injuries to repair;To theirAddressesgraciously attends,And above all theirLibertydefends,Who is as Wise as Pious, Mild as Great,And whose sole Business is to nurse the State;Mayjudge their Cause and, greatly rous'd, command,TheStaffofPowerfrom thypollutedHand,And to someabler Headandbetter Heart,His longdishonour'd Stewardshipimpart.
Perhaps to Thee! greatCarteret, who can'st boast.Talents quite equal to the arduous Post;A keen Discernment; strong, yet bridled Thought,One Natures Dow'r, one by just Learning taught:Calm Fortitude, unwarp'd Integrity,And Flame divine to keep thy Country Free.
Or to thy Conduct,Pultney! whose just Zeal,Is still exerted for the publick Weal;Whose boundless Knowledge and distinguish'd Sense,Flow in full Tides of rapid Eloquence;And to the native Treasures of whose Mind,We see form'd Worth, and wide Experience join'd.
With these the darlingChesterfieldmay sitAnablePartner—if hisrebel Wit}Can to suchPainsandPenaltiessubmit. }
And that fam'dCaledonian Youth, whose MornPropitious Skies, and Noon-tide Rays adorn,Who rose soearlyin his Country's Cause,Shone, though so Young,so bright, that our ApplauseWas lock'd in Wonder—gazing Senates hungOn the divine Enchantment of his Tongue;Hark with what Force he pleads in our Defence!How just he speaks an injur'd People's Sense!Halflost toBritainnow, He chides his Fate,For stealing him,by Titles, from the State;Whilst we, lov'dPolwarth! with thy Titlesmore,As might such Virtues to the State restore.
Then too the nobleCobham, first of Men!May leave his Garden for the Camp again;Call'd, like old Rome's Dictator from the Plough,To plant once more the Laurel on his Brow.
And BraveArgile, who's form'd alike to wieldThe Rhet'rick of the Senate and the Field,So tun'd whose Eloquence, whose Breast so Mann'd,None can theSpeakeror theChiefwithstand.
Yet feign Methink's I'd hope that you were clearFrom thishigh Chargethat eccho's in my Ear;Trust that some Demon envious of my RestWith visionary Wrongs distracts my Breast,Or that this Blazon of enormous CrimesSprings from the wanton Licence of the Times.Therefore I put thisQuestionto your Heart,——Speak, Culprit—Are you Guilty? Nay, don't Start,This is a Question all have right to ask,To answer it withHonouris your Task;That, If you dare unbosom, I expect,Till when,I'm Yours, Sir, with alldueRespect.
FINIS
(Price One Shilling.)
Qui capit——
By theAuthorofAre these Things So?
LONDON:
Printed forT. Cooper, at theGlobeinPaternoster-Row. MDCCXL.
E.M.HailblestElizium! sweet, secure Retreat;Quiet and Contemplation's sacred Seat!Here may my Life's last Lamp in Freedom burn,Nor live to light my Country to her Urn:Die 'ere that hugeLeviathanof StateShall swallow all.—Who thunders at my Gate!SeeJohn—But hah! what Tempest shakes my Cell?Whence these big Drops that Ooze from ev'ry Shell?From this obdurate Rock whence flow those Tears?Sure someIll Power's at hand—Soft! it appears.E. M.What's That approaches,John?J.Why Sir, 'tis He.E. M.What He?J.Why He Himself, Sir; thegreatHe.E. M.Enough.G. M.Your Slave, Sir.E. M.No Sir, I'myour Slave,Or soon shall be.—How then must I behave?Must I fall prostrate at your Feet? Or how—I've heard theDean, but never saw himBow.G. M.Hoh! hoh! you make me laugh.E. M.SoNeroplay'd,WhilstRomewas by his Flames in Ashes laid.G. M.Well, solemn Sir, I'm come, if you think fit,To solve your Question.E. M.Bless me! pray, Sir, sit.G. M.The Door!E. M.No Matter, Sir, my Door won't shut:Stay here,John; we've noSecrets.G. M.Surly Put!How restiff still! but I havewhatwill win himBefore we part, or else the Devil's in him.E. M.I wait your Pleasure, Sir.G. M.WhyFame, you say,Reports that I'm the Author ofTo-Day:I am—But not the Day that you describe,Black with imagin'd Ills—Your Patriot Tribe,Those growling, restless, factious Malecontents,Who blast all Schemes, and rail at all Events;Whom Ministers, nor Kings, nor Gods can please;Whose Rage my Ruin only can appease;That motley Crew, the Scum of ev'ry Sect,Who'd fain destroy, because they can't direct;Wits, Common-Council-Men, and Brutes in Fur,Knights of the Shire, and of the Post.—E.M.This, Sir,IsGazetteerAbuse.G. M.These Miscreants direApply the Torch themselves, then cry out Fire;In Rhime, in Prose, in Prints, and in Debate,They falsly represent the Nation's State.Go forth, and see ifBritain's fall'nso low;Fly to her Coasts, and mark the gloriousShow:See Fleets how gallant! SeeMarineshowstout! }That wait but till theWind shall turn about. }E. M.What a wholeTwelvemonth!G. M.Pray Sir, hear me out. }See all their Sails unfurl'd, their Streamers play;You'd think oldNeptune's Self kept Holiday:These shall protect our Commerce, scour the Main,The Honour of theBritishFlag maintain;Pour the avenging Thunder on the Foe, }And—E. M.Mighty well; but when are they to go? }G. M.When? Psha! why look'ee, Sir, thatTimewill show. }Next view the martial Guardians of the Land:Lo! her gay Warriors redden all the Strand:CockadebehindCockade, each Entrance keep,Whilst in their Sheaths ten thousand Falchionssleep.E. M.But, Sir, 'tis urg'd that these are needless quite,Kept only for Review, and not for Fight:That Fleets areBritain's Safety—G. M.Stupid Elves!Why these, Sir, are tosave youfromyourselves:Ye're prone, ye're prone to murmur and rebel,And when mild Methods fail, we must compel:Besides, consider Sir,th' Election's near—E. M.—O, Sir, I'm answer'd—Now theCaseisclear.G. M.Ay,—I shall answer all the rest as well.E. M.I doubt it not.G. M.OnSe—snext you fell:Fie! that was paw—Se—saresacredThings,Andno morecapable ofIllthan—Kings.E. M.'Tis granted.G. M.Yet at them your Gall is spit;You're told theyYeaandNoas I think fit;And that if some braveOneRebellious prov'd,From his Lord's Banquet he was strait remov'd;Cast into utter Darkness, like the Guest,Who was not in aWedding GarmentDress'd.Well, What of that? should not theBlindbe led?Should not so vast aBodyhave aHead?And ifone Finger's gangreen'd, sure 'tis bestTo lop it off 'ere it infect the rest.FreeP——ts! mere stuff—What would be done?Let loose, five hundred diff'rent Ways they'd run;They'd Cavil, Jarr, Dispute, O'return, Project,And the great Bus'ness ofSupplyNeglect;OnGrievances, notWaysandMeanswould go;Nor one roundVote of Credite're bestow:Thesinking Fundwouldstrangelybe apply'd,Andsecret service Moneyquite denied:WhilstSoapandCandlesweuntax'd should rue,AndSaltitself would lose it'sSavourtoo:Ev'nGinwould then be drank without controul,And the poorcivil Listbe ne'relick'd whole.Down go allPensioners, allPlacemendown.Those lov'd and trusty Servants of the Crown,Who're always ready at their Chief's Command,Would have noVoteto save thesinkingLand:Ev'nLevy's Bench might lose it's sacredWeight,Remov'd, Osad Translation! from the State.Then Pen's like yours wouldfreelyvent their Rage,NoLicenseon thePress, or on theStage;Whilst loyalGazetteer's, tho' ne're so witty,No more might chasten the RebelliousCity:No more sageFreemantrumpet out my Fame,Norunstamp'd Farthing-Postsmy worth proclaim.E. M.Indeed—such direCalamitiesattend!O worse, Sir, worse—Heav'n knows where it might end.PerhapsOurselfand our dearBrothertoo,No longer might our Country's Business do—E. M.That, Sir, you've done already—rather, then,YourBusiness would be done.G. M.Ungrateful Men!We that have serv'd you at such vast Expence, }And gone thro' thick and thin.E. M.There's no Defence, }Would serve your Purpose—Hence, then, good Sirs, Hence; }Fly, for the Evil Days at Hand, Pray fly—G. M.What leave my Country to belost?—Not I;The Danger's yet but in Imagination,I hope oneSeven Years moretosavethe Nation.In vain you Patriot Oafs pronounce my Fall,Like the greatLaureat,S'Blood I'll stand you all.What tho' you've made thePeopleloath my Name,I live not on such slender Food as Fame;And yet thatPeople'smine—My Will obey, }Implicit Bow beneath my sovereign Sway, }Whilst these myMessengersprepare my Way; }These all your Slanders will at Sight refute,They're sterling Evidence which none dispute.For these, Content, or to be Damn'd or Sav'd—E. M.—Nay if they will, why let 'em be enslav'd:If they will barter all that's Good and Great,For present Pelf, nor Mind their future State;If none Thy baleful Influence will withstand,Go forth,Corruption, Lord it o'er the Land;If they are Thine for better and for worse,On Them and on their Children light the Curse.G. M.Corruption, Sir!—pray use a milder Term;'Tis only a Memento to befirm;The Times are greatly alter'd—Years ago,A Man would blush the World hisPriceshould know:Scruple to own hisVoicewas to be bought;And meanly minded what the Million thought;Our Age morePrudent, andSincereis grown,The Hire theywiselytake, theybravelyown;Laugh at the Fool, who let's hisConsciencestand,To barr his Passage to the promis'd Land;Or, sway'd by Prejudice, or puny Pride,ThinksRightandInt'restof a different Side.E. M.O Nationlost to Honour and to Shame!So, then, Corruption now has chang'd its Name:And what was once a paultryBribe, to DayIs gently stil'd anHonourablePay.Blessings on that great Genius who has wroughtThis strange Conversion—Who has bravely boughtOur Liberty from Virtue—Pray go on.G. M.Of Commerce next you talk—pretend 'tis gone,ToForeignClimes—Amen, for what I care,Perdition on the Merchants—They must dare!To thwart my Purpose—I detest them—E. M.How!G. M.Yes—And I think I'mevenwith 'em now.They would not beconvention'd, norexcis'd,But they shall feel the Scourge themselves advis'd;They shall be swinginglybewarr'd, I'll swear;And since they'd not mylittle Fingerbear,MyLoinsshall press 'em 'till they guilty plead,And sue for Mercy at my Feet.E. M.Indeed!G. M.Aye, trust me, shall they——E. M.But don't tell 'em so; }For they're a stubbornsturdyGang you know, }G. M.O! they'll besupplewhen their Cash runs low.TheirPurse, which makes them proud and insolent,A trav'ling with their Commerce shall be sent—E. M.Take Care they don't sendyoua trav'ling first;G. M.No, Sir, I dare 'em now to do their Worst.Seven Sessionsmore I am at least secure—E. M.Nay then you'll crush 'em quite?—But are you sure,There is aSpirit, Sir?G. M.What Spirit pray?ASpiritthat theTreasurycan't lay.E. M.I'm answer'd Sir,—G. M.Next, Friend, one Word aboutThose spiteful Innuendoes you throw out,That squint atContracts,Forage, and what not,'Tismorethan Time that those Things were forgot.You should not link thepresentwith thepast—E. M.Yes when they make oneglorious Wholeat last;When, tho'Times differ,Actionsstillagree,And what Menweretheyare—What theywillbe,We safely may pronounce—G. M.Well, Sir, but whyOn my dear Family and Friends this Cry?Suppose they've Places, Wealth, and Titles too,MeritlikeOursshould surely have itsDue.ThatsquaemishSteward's of all Fools the worst,That lays not up for hisown Housholdfirst;Nor takes aproperCare of thosestaunchFriends,By whosegood Serviceshe gains his Ends.Besides, who'd drudge theMill-Horseof the State;Curst by the Vulgar, envy'd by the Great;In one fastidious Round of Hurry live,And join, in Toil, theMatinwith theEve;Be hourly plagu'd 'bout Pensions, Strings, Translations,Or, worse! thatdamn'd AffairofForeignNations.MakeWarandTreatieswith alternate Pain:First sweat to build, then to pull down again.Who'd cringe atLevees, or inClosets—Oh!Stoop to theroughRemonstrance of theToe?Did not some Genius whisper, "That's the Road"To Opulence, and Honours bless'd Abode;"Thus you may aggrandize yourself, and Race;"PensionthisKnight, or give thatPeeraPlace."E. M.SoAngria, Sir, as justly might declare,Heplunder'donly toenrichhisHeir;Nor longer would hisPiraciespursue,Than 'till he hadprovidedfor hisCrew.G. M.Your Servant, Sir, I think you're prettyfree— }E. M.Why Truth is Truth, Sir, and will out, you see; }G. M.Yes, s'death! butcouple Angriawithme!E. M.I'll say no more on't—G. M.No you've saidenough;And what you next advise, is canting Stuff.Turn my Eyes inward! not quite so devout;They've Task sufficient to look sharpwithout:And should the fatal Sisters cut my ThreadSomescore Yearshence—I trouble not my Head }WhereI'm entomb'd, or number'd withwhatDead; }I want noGrave-Stoneto promulge myFame,Nor trust tobreathless Marblefor aName,Britannia'sself aMonumentshall standOf thebless'd DowryI bequeath my Land:Her Sons shall hourly mydear Conductboast;Theybestcan speak it, who willfeelit most.But if some grateful Versemustgrace my Urn,Attend yeGazeteers—Be this the Turn—Weep, Britons,weep—Beneath this Stone lies He,Who set your Isle from dire Divisions free,}And made your various Factions all agree. }E. M.That's right,G. M.You'd have me quit too—No, I'll stillDrive on, and make you happy 'gainst your Will.As for yourmayandmay, Sir,—may be Not,Can myvast ServicesbeThereforgot?As for thoselauded Successorsyou name,If once in Pow'r, they'd act the verysame.E. M.That's Cobweb Sophistry—Did they not fillThe noblest Posts? And had they not, pray,still,But that they greatly scorn'd toleaguewith those,Who were at once their King's and Country's Foes?G. M.Well, Sir, as there is nothing I can sayWill with your starch'd unbending Temper weigh;My lastbestAnswerI'll inWritingleave;Pray mark it—E. M.How! May I my Eyes believe?G. M.You may—I thought I should convince you,E. M.Yes,That Fame for once spoke Truth—And as forThis—G. M.Furies! Mythousand Bank, Sir,E. M.Thus I Tear,Go, blend,Corruption, withcorruptingAir.G. M.Amazing Frenzie! Well, if this won't do,What think you of aPension?E. M.As ofYou.G. M.APlace—E. M.Be gone,G. M.ATitle—E. M.is aLieWhen ill conferr'dG. M.ARibband—E. M.I defieFarewell then Fool—If you'll accept ofNeither,You and yourCountrymay bedamn'dtogether.
E.M.HailblestElizium! sweet, secure Retreat;Quiet and Contemplation's sacred Seat!Here may my Life's last Lamp in Freedom burn,Nor live to light my Country to her Urn:Die 'ere that hugeLeviathanof StateShall swallow all.—Who thunders at my Gate!SeeJohn—But hah! what Tempest shakes my Cell?Whence these big Drops that Ooze from ev'ry Shell?From this obdurate Rock whence flow those Tears?Sure someIll Power's at hand—Soft! it appears.
E. M.What's That approaches,John?J.Why Sir, 'tis He.
E. M.What He?J.Why He Himself, Sir; thegreatHe.
E. M.Enough.G. M.Your Slave, Sir.E. M.No Sir, I'myour Slave,Or soon shall be.—How then must I behave?Must I fall prostrate at your Feet? Or how—I've heard theDean, but never saw himBow.
G. M.Hoh! hoh! you make me laugh.E. M.SoNeroplay'd,WhilstRomewas by his Flames in Ashes laid.
G. M.Well, solemn Sir, I'm come, if you think fit,To solve your Question.E. M.Bless me! pray, Sir, sit.
G. M.The Door!E. M.No Matter, Sir, my Door won't shut:Stay here,John; we've noSecrets.G. M.Surly Put!How restiff still! but I havewhatwill win himBefore we part, or else the Devil's in him.
E. M.I wait your Pleasure, Sir.G. M.WhyFame, you say,Reports that I'm the Author ofTo-Day:I am—But not the Day that you describe,Black with imagin'd Ills—Your Patriot Tribe,Those growling, restless, factious Malecontents,Who blast all Schemes, and rail at all Events;Whom Ministers, nor Kings, nor Gods can please;Whose Rage my Ruin only can appease;That motley Crew, the Scum of ev'ry Sect,Who'd fain destroy, because they can't direct;Wits, Common-Council-Men, and Brutes in Fur,Knights of the Shire, and of the Post.—E.M.This, Sir,IsGazetteerAbuse.G. M.These Miscreants direApply the Torch themselves, then cry out Fire;In Rhime, in Prose, in Prints, and in Debate,They falsly represent the Nation's State.Go forth, and see ifBritain's fall'nso low;Fly to her Coasts, and mark the gloriousShow:See Fleets how gallant! SeeMarineshowstout! }That wait but till theWind shall turn about. }
E. M.What a wholeTwelvemonth!G. M.Pray Sir, hear me out. }See all their Sails unfurl'd, their Streamers play;You'd think oldNeptune's Self kept Holiday:These shall protect our Commerce, scour the Main,The Honour of theBritishFlag maintain;Pour the avenging Thunder on the Foe, }And—E. M.Mighty well; but when are they to go? }
G. M.When? Psha! why look'ee, Sir, thatTimewill show. }Next view the martial Guardians of the Land:Lo! her gay Warriors redden all the Strand:CockadebehindCockade, each Entrance keep,Whilst in their Sheaths ten thousand Falchionssleep.
E. M.But, Sir, 'tis urg'd that these are needless quite,Kept only for Review, and not for Fight:That Fleets areBritain's Safety—G. M.Stupid Elves!Why these, Sir, are tosave youfromyourselves:Ye're prone, ye're prone to murmur and rebel,And when mild Methods fail, we must compel:Besides, consider Sir,th' Election's near—
E. M.—O, Sir, I'm answer'd—Now theCaseisclear.
G. M.Ay,—I shall answer all the rest as well.
E. M.I doubt it not.G. M.OnSe—snext you fell:Fie! that was paw—Se—saresacredThings,Andno morecapable ofIllthan—Kings.
E. M.'Tis granted.G. M.Yet at them your Gall is spit;You're told theyYeaandNoas I think fit;And that if some braveOneRebellious prov'd,From his Lord's Banquet he was strait remov'd;Cast into utter Darkness, like the Guest,Who was not in aWedding GarmentDress'd.
Well, What of that? should not theBlindbe led?Should not so vast aBodyhave aHead?And ifone Finger's gangreen'd, sure 'tis bestTo lop it off 'ere it infect the rest.FreeP——ts! mere stuff—What would be done?Let loose, five hundred diff'rent Ways they'd run;They'd Cavil, Jarr, Dispute, O'return, Project,And the great Bus'ness ofSupplyNeglect;OnGrievances, notWaysandMeanswould go;Nor one roundVote of Credite're bestow:Thesinking Fundwouldstrangelybe apply'd,Andsecret service Moneyquite denied:WhilstSoapandCandlesweuntax'd should rue,AndSaltitself would lose it'sSavourtoo:Ev'nGinwould then be drank without controul,And the poorcivil Listbe ne'relick'd whole.Down go allPensioners, allPlacemendown.Those lov'd and trusty Servants of the Crown,Who're always ready at their Chief's Command,Would have noVoteto save thesinkingLand:Ev'nLevy's Bench might lose it's sacredWeight,Remov'd, Osad Translation! from the State.Then Pen's like yours wouldfreelyvent their Rage,NoLicenseon thePress, or on theStage;Whilst loyalGazetteer's, tho' ne're so witty,No more might chasten the RebelliousCity:No more sageFreemantrumpet out my Fame,Norunstamp'd Farthing-Postsmy worth proclaim.
E. M.Indeed—such direCalamitiesattend!O worse, Sir, worse—Heav'n knows where it might end.PerhapsOurselfand our dearBrothertoo,No longer might our Country's Business do—
E. M.That, Sir, you've done already—rather, then,YourBusiness would be done.G. M.Ungrateful Men!We that have serv'd you at such vast Expence, }And gone thro' thick and thin.E. M.There's no Defence, }Would serve your Purpose—Hence, then, good Sirs, Hence; }Fly, for the Evil Days at Hand, Pray fly—
G. M.What leave my Country to belost?—Not I;The Danger's yet but in Imagination,I hope oneSeven Years moretosavethe Nation.
In vain you Patriot Oafs pronounce my Fall,Like the greatLaureat,S'Blood I'll stand you all.What tho' you've made thePeopleloath my Name,I live not on such slender Food as Fame;And yet thatPeople'smine—My Will obey, }Implicit Bow beneath my sovereign Sway, }Whilst these myMessengersprepare my Way; }These all your Slanders will at Sight refute,They're sterling Evidence which none dispute.For these, Content, or to be Damn'd or Sav'd—
E. M.—Nay if they will, why let 'em be enslav'd:If they will barter all that's Good and Great,For present Pelf, nor Mind their future State;If none Thy baleful Influence will withstand,Go forth,Corruption, Lord it o'er the Land;If they are Thine for better and for worse,On Them and on their Children light the Curse.
G. M.Corruption, Sir!—pray use a milder Term;'Tis only a Memento to befirm;The Times are greatly alter'd—Years ago,A Man would blush the World hisPriceshould know:Scruple to own hisVoicewas to be bought;And meanly minded what the Million thought;Our Age morePrudent, andSincereis grown,The Hire theywiselytake, theybravelyown;Laugh at the Fool, who let's hisConsciencestand,To barr his Passage to the promis'd Land;Or, sway'd by Prejudice, or puny Pride,ThinksRightandInt'restof a different Side.
E. M.O Nationlost to Honour and to Shame!So, then, Corruption now has chang'd its Name:And what was once a paultryBribe, to DayIs gently stil'd anHonourablePay.Blessings on that great Genius who has wroughtThis strange Conversion—Who has bravely boughtOur Liberty from Virtue—Pray go on.
G. M.Of Commerce next you talk—pretend 'tis gone,ToForeignClimes—Amen, for what I care,Perdition on the Merchants—They must dare!To thwart my Purpose—I detest them—E. M.How!G. M.Yes—And I think I'mevenwith 'em now.They would not beconvention'd, norexcis'd,But they shall feel the Scourge themselves advis'd;They shall be swinginglybewarr'd, I'll swear;And since they'd not mylittle Fingerbear,MyLoinsshall press 'em 'till they guilty plead,And sue for Mercy at my Feet.E. M.Indeed!G. M.Aye, trust me, shall they——E. M.But don't tell 'em so; }For they're a stubbornsturdyGang you know, }G. M.O! they'll besupplewhen their Cash runs low.TheirPurse, which makes them proud and insolent,A trav'ling with their Commerce shall be sent—E. M.Take Care they don't sendyoua trav'ling first;G. M.No, Sir, I dare 'em now to do their Worst.Seven Sessionsmore I am at least secure—E. M.Nay then you'll crush 'em quite?—But are you sure,There is aSpirit, Sir?G. M.What Spirit pray?ASpiritthat theTreasurycan't lay.E. M.I'm answer'd Sir,—G. M.Next, Friend, one Word aboutThose spiteful Innuendoes you throw out,That squint atContracts,Forage, and what not,'Tismorethan Time that those Things were forgot.You should not link thepresentwith thepast—E. M.Yes when they make oneglorious Wholeat last;When, tho'Times differ,Actionsstillagree,And what Menweretheyare—What theywillbe,We safely may pronounce—G. M.Well, Sir, but whyOn my dear Family and Friends this Cry?Suppose they've Places, Wealth, and Titles too,MeritlikeOursshould surely have itsDue.ThatsquaemishSteward's of all Fools the worst,That lays not up for hisown Housholdfirst;Nor takes aproperCare of thosestaunchFriends,By whosegood Serviceshe gains his Ends.Besides, who'd drudge theMill-Horseof the State;Curst by the Vulgar, envy'd by the Great;In one fastidious Round of Hurry live,And join, in Toil, theMatinwith theEve;Be hourly plagu'd 'bout Pensions, Strings, Translations,Or, worse! thatdamn'd AffairofForeignNations.MakeWarandTreatieswith alternate Pain:First sweat to build, then to pull down again.Who'd cringe atLevees, or inClosets—Oh!Stoop to theroughRemonstrance of theToe?Did not some Genius whisper, "That's the Road"To Opulence, and Honours bless'd Abode;"Thus you may aggrandize yourself, and Race;"PensionthisKnight, or give thatPeeraPlace."
E. M.SoAngria, Sir, as justly might declare,Heplunder'donly toenrichhisHeir;Nor longer would hisPiraciespursue,Than 'till he hadprovidedfor hisCrew.
G. M.Your Servant, Sir, I think you're prettyfree— }E. M.Why Truth is Truth, Sir, and will out, you see; }G. M.Yes, s'death! butcouple Angriawithme!E. M.I'll say no more on't—G. M.No you've saidenough;And what you next advise, is canting Stuff.
Turn my Eyes inward! not quite so devout;They've Task sufficient to look sharpwithout:And should the fatal Sisters cut my ThreadSomescore Yearshence—I trouble not my Head }WhereI'm entomb'd, or number'd withwhatDead; }I want noGrave-Stoneto promulge myFame,Nor trust tobreathless Marblefor aName,Britannia'sself aMonumentshall standOf thebless'd DowryI bequeath my Land:Her Sons shall hourly mydear Conductboast;Theybestcan speak it, who willfeelit most.But if some grateful Versemustgrace my Urn,Attend yeGazeteers—Be this the Turn—
Weep, Britons,weep—Beneath this Stone lies He,Who set your Isle from dire Divisions free,}And made your various Factions all agree. }
E. M.That's right,G. M.You'd have me quit too—No, I'll stillDrive on, and make you happy 'gainst your Will.
As for yourmayandmay, Sir,—may be Not,Can myvast ServicesbeThereforgot?
As for thoselauded Successorsyou name,If once in Pow'r, they'd act the verysame.E. M.That's Cobweb Sophistry—Did they not fillThe noblest Posts? And had they not, pray,still,But that they greatly scorn'd toleaguewith those,Who were at once their King's and Country's Foes?G. M.Well, Sir, as there is nothing I can sayWill with your starch'd unbending Temper weigh;My lastbestAnswerI'll inWritingleave;Pray mark it—E. M.How! May I my Eyes believe?G. M.You may—I thought I should convince you,E. M.Yes,That Fame for once spoke Truth—And as forThis—G. M.Furies! Mythousand Bank, Sir,E. M.Thus I Tear,Go, blend,Corruption, withcorruptingAir.G. M.Amazing Frenzie! Well, if this won't do,What think you of aPension?E. M.As ofYou.G. M.APlace—E. M.Be gone,G. M.ATitle—E. M.is aLieWhen ill conferr'dG. M.ARibband—E. M.I defieFarewell then Fool—If you'll accept ofNeither,You and yourCountrymay bedamn'dtogether.
FINIS
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARKMEMORIAL LIBRARYUNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1948-1949
16. Henry Nevil Payne,The Fatal Jealousie(1673).
17. Nicholas Rowe,Some Account of the Life of Mr. William Shakespear(1709).
18. Anonymous, "Of Genius," inThe Occasional Paper, Vol. III, No. 10 (1719), and Aaron Hill, Preface toThe Creation(1720).
1949-1950
19. Susanna Centlivre,The Busie Body(1709).
20. Lewis Theobald,Preface to the Works of Shakespeare(1734).
22. Samuel Johnson,The Vanity of Human Wishes(1749), and twoRamblerpapers (1750).
23. John Dryden,His Majesties Declaration Defended(1681).
1951-1952
26. Charles Macklin,The Man of the World(1792).
31. Thomas Gray,An Elegy Wrote in a Country Churchyard(1751), andThe Eton College Manuscript.
1952-1953
41. Bernard Mandeville,A Letter to Dion(1732).
1962-1963
98. Selected Hymns Taken Out of Mr. Herbert'sTemple... (1697).
1964-1965
109. Sir William Temple,An Essay Upon the Original and Nature of Government(1680).
110. John Tutchin,Selected Poems(1685-1700).
111. Anonymous,Political Justice(1736).
112. Robert Dodsley,An Essay on Fable(1764).
113. T. R.,An Essay Concerning Critical and Curious Learning(1698).
114.Two Poems Against Pope: Leonard Welsted,One Epistle to Mr. A. Pope(1730), and Anonymous,The Blatant Beast(1742).
1965-1966
115. Daniel Defoe and others,Accounts of the Apparition of Mrs. Veal.
116. Charles Macklin,The Covent Garden Theatre(1752).
117. Sir Roger L'Estrange,Citt and Bumpkin(1680).
118. Henry More,Enthusiasmus Triumphatus(1662).
119. Thomas Traherne,Meditations on the Six Days of the Creation(1717).
120. Bernard Mandeville,Aesop Dress'd or a Collection of Fables(1740).
1966-1967
123. Edmond Malone,Cursory Observations on the Poems Attributed to Mr. Thomas Rowley(1782).
124. Anonymous,The Female Wits(1704).
125. Anonymous,The Scribleriad(1742). Lord Hervey,The Difference Between Verbal and Practical Virtue(1742).
1967-1968
129. Lawrence Echard, Prefaces toTerence's Comedies(1694) andPlautus's Comedies(1694).
130. Henry More,Democritus Platonissans(1646).
132. Walter Harte,An Essay on Satire, Particularly on the Dunciad(1730).
1968-1969
133. John Courtenay,A Poetical Review of the Literary and Moral Character of the Late Samuel Johnson(1786).
134. John Downes,Roscius Anglicanus(1708).
135. Sir John Hill,Hypochondriasis, a Practical Treatise(1766).
136. Thomas Sheridan,Discourse ... Being Introductory to His Course of Lectures on Elocution and the English Language(1759).
137. Arthur Murphy,The Englishman From Paris(1736).
1969-1970
138. [Catherine Trotter],Olinda's Adventures(1718).
139. John Ogilvie,An Essay on the Lyric Poetry of the Ancients(1762).
140.A Learned Dissertation on Dumpling(1726) andPudding Burnt to Pot or a Compleat Key to the Dissertation on Dumpling(1727).
141. Selections from Sir Roger L'Estrange'sObservator(1681-1687).
142. Anthony Collins,A Discourse Concerning Ridicule and Irony in Writing(1729).
143.A Letter From A Clergyman to His Friend, With An Account of the Travels of Captain Lemuel Gulliver(1726).
144.The Art of Architecture, A Poem. In Imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry(1742).
1970-1971
145-146. Thomas Shelton,A Tutor to Tachygraphy, or Short-writing(1642) andTachygraphy(1647).
147-148.Deformities of Dr. Samuel Johnson(1782).
149.Poeta de Tristibus: or, the Poet's Complaint(1682).
150. Gerard Langbaine,Momus Triumphans: or, the Plagiaries of the English Stage(1687).
Publications of the first fifteen years of the Society (numbers 1-90) are available in paperbound units of six issues at $16.00 per unit, from the Kraus Reprint Company, 16 East 46th Street, New York, N.Y. 10017.
Publications in print are available at the regular membership rate of $5.00 for individuals and $8.00 for institutions per year. Prices of single issues may be obtained upon request. Subsequent publications may be checked in the annual prospectus.
William Andrews ClarkMemorial Library
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