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diff --git a/old/qntgl10.txt b/old/qntgl10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6999539 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/qntgl10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2177 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry +by Edmund Goldsmid + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry + +Author: Edmund Goldsmid + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6375] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 2, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, QUAINT GLEANINGS FROM ANCIENT POETRY *** + + + + +Beth Constantine, David Starner, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + +Quaint Gleanings From Ancient Poetry: + + +A COLLECTION OF CURIOUS POETICAL COMPOSITIONS +OF THE XVIth, XVIIth, AND XVIIIth CENTURIES. + + + +EDITED From MSS. and Rare Printed Originals +BY EDMUND GOLDSMID, F.R.H.S. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + +The following curious collection I have gathered together during +several years' reading in out-of-the-way corners. Manuscripts, in +public and private libraries; old books picked up on dusty bookstalls, +or carried away as prizes from the battlefield of the auction-room; +even pencillings on the inside of tattered bindings,--all have been +laid under contribution. I trust this medley, or _pot-pourri_, of +snatches of song, grave and gay, will prove as interesting to my +readers as they have been to myself. They claim attention on various +grounds: some are the works of well-known men, such as Anthony Munday +and Warren Hastings; some are bitter political squibs--such, for +instance, as the "Satyre against the Scots," page 47; some, again, are +exquisitely beautiful, as "The Dirge," page 53. A few have appeared in +different collections: but none of my readers, I will undertake to +say, have seen more than a half-dozen or so. + +With these few words I beg to introduce Volume One of the "Collectanea +Adamantaea." + +EDMUND GOLDSMID. + +Edinburgh, _March 6th_, 1884. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + +I. BEAUTIES FORT + +II. MY BONNY LASS, THINE EYE + +III. ANTHONY MUNDAY'S POEM ON THE CAPTIVITY OF JOHN FOX + +IV. CARE FOR THY SOUL + +V. MEGLIORA SPERO + +VI. A LETTER FROM THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH TO THE KING + +VII. THE KING'S ANSWER + +VIII. AN EPITAPH ON DUNDEE + +IX. THE ROBBER ROBB'D + +X. AH! THE SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE + +XI. VERSES TO A FRIEND + +XII. A PANYGYRICK UPON OATES + +XIII. THE MIRACLE + +XIV. THE PATRIOTS + +XV. JUSTICE IN MASQUERADE + +XVI. THE BRAWNY BISHOP'S LAMENT + +XVII. THE POOR BLIND BOY + +XVIII. THE INISKILLING REGIMENT + +XIX. A BALLAD ON THE FLEET + +XX. ON MR. FOX AND MR. HASTINGS + +XXI. AN IMITATION OF HORACE, BK. II, ODE 16 + +XXII. EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON + +XXIII. VERSES UPON THE ROAD + +XXIV. SATYR ON THE SCOTS + +XXV. THE MARSEILLAISE + +XXVI. A DIRGE + + + + +BEAUTIES FORT. + +FROM AN ANONYMOUS MS., LATELY IN POSSESSION OF +J. P. COLLIER, ESQ., F.S.A. + + + +When raging Love, with fierce assault, + Strikes at fair Beauties gate, +What army hath she to resist + And keepe her court and state? + +She calleth first on Chastitie + To lende her help in time; +And Prudence no lesse summons shee + To meet her foe so trim. + +And female Courage she alwaye + Doth bring unto the walle, +To blowe the trump in her dismaye, + Fearing her fort may falle. + +On force of wordes she much relies + Her foe without to keepe, +And parleyeth with her two bright eyes + When they her dyke would leape. + +Yet natheless the more she strives, + The lesse she keepes him out, +For she hath traitors in her camp + That keepe her still in doubt. + +The first and worst of these the Fleshe, + Then womans Vanitie +That still is caughte within the meshe + Of guilefull Flatterie. + +These traitors ope the gate at length; + And in, with sword in hande, +Came raging Love, and all her strength + No longer can withstande. + +Prudence and Chastitie both to + Submit unto the foe; +And female Courage nought can doe + But down her walls must goe. + +She needes must yield her castle strong, + And Love triumphs once more; +Its onely what the boy hath done + A thousand times before. + +None may resist his mightie power; + And though a boy, and blinde, +He knows to chase a happie hour + When maidens must be kinde. + + + + +MY BONNY LASS! THINE EYE. + +By THOMAS LODGE, M.D. + +[Footnote: The original of this poem not being within my reach at +present, I have inserted Professor Arber's modern version.] + + + + +My bonny lass! thine eye, + So sly, +Hath made me sorrow so. +Thy crimson cheeks, my dear! + So clear, +Have so much wrought my woe. + +Thy pleasing smiles and grace, + Thy face, +Have ravished so my sprites, +That life is grown to nought + Through thought +Of love, which me affrights. + +For fancy's flames of fire + Aspire +Unto such furious power, +As but the tears I shed + Make dead, +The brands would me devour. + +I should consume to nought + Through thought +Of thy fair shining eye, +Thy cheeks, thy pleasing smiles, + The wiles +That forced my heart to die, + +Thy grace, thy face, the part + Where art +Stands gazing still to see +The wondrous gifts and power, + Each hour, +That hath bewitched me. + + + + +ANTHONY MUNDAY'S POEM ON THE CAPTIVITY OF JOHN FOX. + + +Leeving at large all fables vainly us'd, + all trifling toys that doe no truth import, +Lo, here how the end (at length), though long diffus'd, + unfoldeth plaine a rare and true report, +To glad those minds who seek their countries wealth + by proffer'd pains t'enlarge its happy health. + +At Rome I was when Fox did there arrive; + therefore I may sufficiently express +What gallant joy his deedes did there revive + in the hearts of those which heard his valiantness. +And how the Pope did recompense his pains, + and letters gave to move his greater gains. + +But yet I know that many doe misdoubt + that those his pains are fables, and untrue; +Not only I in this will bear him out, + but divers more that did his Patents view, +And unto those so boldly I dare say + that nought but truth John Fox cloth here bewray. + +Besides, there's one was slave with him in thrall + lately return'd into our native land; +This witness can this matter perfect all: + what needeth more? for witness he may stand. +And thus I end, unfolding what I know; + the other man more larger proof can show. + "_Honos alit Artes_" + +The above lines by Anthony Munday are omitted by Hakluyt in his +reprint of the captivity of John Fox in his "Principal English +Voyages," vol. ii. p. 136, ed. 1598-1600. John Fox, of Woodbridge, +gunner of the _Three Half Moons_, was made prisoner by the Turks +in 1563. Escaped with 266 other Christians in 1577. + + + + +CARE FOR THY SOULE. + + +Care for thy soule, as thing of greatest pryce! + Made to the ende to taste of power Divine, +Devoid of guilt, abhorryng sin and vice, + Apt by God's grace to virtue to incline; +Care for it soe, as by thy retchless traine +It bee not brought to taste eternall paine! + +Care for thy corpse (body), but chiefely for soules sake, + Not of excess; sustainyng food is best +To vanquish pryde, but comely clothing take. + Seeke after skille; deepe ignorance detest; +Care so, I say, the flesh to feede and cloth, +That thou harm not thy soule and bodie both. + +Care for the world, to doe thy bodie right; + Back not thy wytt to win by wicked wayes; +Seeke not t'oppress the weak by wrongfull might; + To pay thy due, doe banish all delayes; +Care to dispend accordyng to thy store, +And, in like sort, bee mindfull of the pore. + +Care for thy soule, as for thy chiefest staye, + Care for thy bodie, for the soules avail; +Care for the world, for bodies helpe alwaye, + Care yett but soe as virtue may prevail; +Care in such sort, that thou be sure of this, +Care keepe the not from heaven and heavenlie blisse. + + + + +MEGLIORA SPERO. + +By Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford. + + +Faction, that ever dwells in Courte where witt excels, + Hath sett defiance; +Fortune and Love have sworne that they were never borne + Of one alliance. + +Cupid, which doth aspire to be god of Desire, + Swears he "gives lawes; +That where his arrows hit, somejoy, some sorrow it: + Fortune no cause." + +Fortune swears "weakest heartes," the bookes of Cupide's artes. + "Turn'd with her wheel, +Senselesse themselves shal prove. Venture hath place in love. + Aske them that feel!" + +This discord it begot atheists, that honour not. + Nature thought good +Fortune shoud ever dwel in Court where wits excel; + Love keepe the wood. + +Soe to the wood went I, with Love to live and dye; + Fortunes forlorne. +Experience of my youth made mee thinke humble Truth + In deserts borne. + +My saint I keepe to mee, and Joan herself is free, + Joan fair and true! +Shee that doth onely move passions of love with Love. + Fortune! adieu! + + + + +A LETTER FROM THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH TO THE KING. + + +Disgrac'd, undone, forlorn, made Fortune's Sport, +Banish'd your Kingdom first, and then your Court; +Out of my Places turn'd, and out of Doors, +And made the meanest of your Sons of Whores; +The scene of Laughter, and the common chats +Of your salt Bitches, and your other Brats; +Forc'd to a private Life, to Whore and Drink, +On my past Grandeur and my Follies Think: +Would I had been the Brat of some mean Drab, +Whom Fear or Chance had caus'd to choak or stab, +Rather than be the Issue of a King, +And by him made so wretched, scorn'd a Thing. +How little cause has mankind to be proud +Of Noble Birth, the Idol of the Crowd! +Have I abroad in Battels Honour won +To be at home dishonourably undone? +Mark'd with a Star and Garter, and made fine +With all those gaudy Trifles once call'd mine, +Your Hobby-Horses [1] and your Joys of State, +And now become the Object of your Hate; +But, d------'ee, Sir, I'll be Legitimate. +I was your Darling, but against your Will, +And know that I will be the Peoples still; +And when you're dead, I and my Friends, the Rout, +Will with my Popish Uncle try a Bout, +And to my Troubles this one Comfort bring, +Next after you, by ------, I will be King. + +[Footnote 1: At the age of sixteen he was made Master of the +Horse.] + + + + +THE KING'S ANSWER. + + +Ungrateful Boy! I will not call thee Son, +Thou hast thyself unhappily undone; +And thy Complaints serve but to show thee more, +How much thou hast enrag'd thy Father's Whore. +Resent it not, shake not thy addle Head, +And be no more by Clubs and Rascals led. +Have I made thee the Darling of my Joys, +The prettiest and the lustiest of my Boys? +Have I so oft sent thee with cost to France, +To take new Dresses up, and learn to dance? +Have I giv'n thee a Ribbon and a Star, +And sent thee like a Meteor to the War? +Have I done all that Royal Dad could do, +And do you threaten now to be untrue? +But say I did with thy fond Mother sport, +To the same kindness others had resort; +'Twas my good Nature, and I meant her Fame, +To shelter thee under my Royal Name. +Alas! I never got one Brat alone, +My Mistresses all are by each Fop well known, +And I still willing all their Brats to own. +I made thee once,'tis true, the Post of Grace, +And stuck upon thee every mighty Place, +Each glitt'ring Office, till thy heavy Brow +Grew dull with Honour, and my Pow'r low. +I spangled thee with Favours, hung thy Nose +With Rings of Gold and Pearl, till all grew Foes +By secret Envy at thy growing State: +I lost my safety when I made thee Great. +There's not the least Injustice to you shewn; +You must be ruin'd to secure my Throne. +Office is but a fickle Grace, the Badge +Bestow'd by fits, and snatch'd away in Rage; +And sure that Livery which I give my Slaves +I may take from 'em when my Portsmouth raves. +Thou art a Creature of my own Creation; +Then swallow this without Capitulation. +If you with feigned Wrongs still keep a Clutter, +And make the People for your Sake to mutter, +For my own Comfort, but your Trouble, know, +G------fish, I'll send you to the Shades below. + + + + +AN EPITAPH ON DUNDEE. + +ENGLISH'D BY MR. DRYDEN. + + +O Last and Bests of Scots! Who didst maintain +Thy Country's Freedom from a Foreign Reign, +New People fill the Land now thou art gone, +New Gods the Temples, and new Kings the Throne. +Scotland and thou did each in other live, +Thou wouldst not her, nor could she thee, survive. +Farewell! who living didst support the State, +And couldst not fall but with thy Country's Fate. + + + + +THE ROBBER ROBB'D. + + +I. + +A certain Priest had hoarded up + A mass of secret Gold. +And where he might bestow it safe + He knew not to be bold. + +II. + +At last it came into his Thought + To lock it in a Chest +Within the Chancel; and he wrote + Thereon, "_Hic Deus est_." + +III. + +A merry Grig, whose greedy Mind + Did long for such a Prey, +Respecting not the Sacred Words + That on the Casket lay, + +IV. + +Took out the Gold, and blotting out + The Priest's Inscript thereon, +Wrote, "_Resurrexit, non est hic_": + "Your God is rose and gone." + + + + +AH! THE SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE! + + +Ah! the shepherd's mournful fate! + When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish, +To bear the scornful fair one's hate, + Nor dare disclose his anguish. +Yet eager looks, and dying sighs, + My secret soul discover, +While rapture trembling thro' my eyes + Reveals how much I love her. +The tender glance; the redd'ning cheek, + O'erspread with rising blushes, +A thousand various ways they speak + A thousand various wishes. +For, oh! that form so heavenly fair, + Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, +That artless blush, and modest air, + So artfully beguiling! [2] +Thy every look and every grace + So charms whene'er I view thee, +Till death o'ertake me in the chase + Still will my hopes pursue thee; +Then when my tedious hours are past + Be this last blessing given, +Low at thy feet to breathe my last, + And die in sight of heaven. + +[Footnote 2: "_Ars celare artem_."] + + + + +SOME VERSES TO A FRIEND WHO TWICE VENTURED ON MARRIAGE. + +BY THOMAS BROWN. + + +The Husband's the Pilot, the Wife is the Ocean, +He always in danger, she always in motion; +And he that in Wedlock twice hazards his Carcase +Twice ventures the Drowning, and, Faith, that's a hard case. +Even at our Weapons the Females defeat us, +And Death, only Death, can sign our _Quietus_. +Not to tell you sad stories of Liberty lost, +Our Mirth is all pall'd, and our Measures all crost; +That Pagan Confinement, that damnable Station, +Sutes no other States or Degrees in the Nation. +The _Levite_ it keeps from Parochial Duty, +For who can at once mind Religion and Beauty? +The Rich it alarms with Expences and Trouble, +And a poor Beast, you know, can scarce carry double. +'Twas invented, they tell you, to keep us from falling; +Oh the Virtues and Graces of shrill Caterwauling! +How it palls in your Gain; but, pray, how do you know, Sir, +How often your Neighbour breaks in your Enclosure? +For this is the principal Comforts of Marriage, +You must eat tho' a hundred have spit in your Porridg. +If at night you're inactive, or fail in performing, +Enter Thunder and Lightning, and Blood-shed, next Morning; +Lust's the Bone of your Shanks, O dear Mr. Horner: +This comes of your sinning with Crape in a Corner. +Then to make up the Breach all your Strength you must rally, +And labour and sweat like a Slave in a Gaily; +And still you must charge--O blessed Condition!-- +Tho' you know, to your cost, you've no more Ammunition: +Till at last the poor fool of a mortified man +Is unable to make a poor Flash in the Pan. +Fire, Flood, and Female, begin with a letter, +But for all the World's not a Farthing the better. +Your Flood is soon gone, and your Fire you must humble, +If into Flames store of Water you tumble; +But to cure the damn'd Lust of your Wife's Titilation, +You may use all the Engines and Pumps in the Nation, +As well you may p---- out the last Conflagration. +And thus I have sent you my Thoughts of the matter; +You may judge as you please; I scorn for to flatter: +I could say much more, but here ends the Chapter. + + + + +A PANYGYRICK UPON OATES. + + +Of all the Grain our Nation yields +In Orchard, Gardens, or in Fields, +There is a grain which, tho' 'tis common, +Its Worth till now was known to no Man. +Not _Ceres_ Sickle e're did crop +A Grain with Ears of greater hope: +And yet this Grain (as all must own) +To Grooms and Hostlers well is known, +And often has without disdain +In musty Barn and Manger lain, +As if it had been only good +To be for Birds and Beasts the Food. +But now by new-inspired Force, +It keeps alive both Man and Horse. +Then speak, my Muse, for now I guess +E'en what it is thou wouldst express: +It is not Barley, Rye, nor Wheat, +That can pretend to do the Feat: +'Tis _Oates_, bare _Oates_, that is become +The Health of _England_, Bane of _Rome_, +And Wonder of all Christendom. +And therefore _Oates_ has well deserv'd +To be from musty Barn prefer'd, +And now in Royal Court preserv'd, +That like _Hesperian_ Fruit, _Oates_ may +Be watch'd and guarded Night and Day, +Which is but just retaliation +For having guarded a whole Nation. +Hence e'ery lofty Plant that stands +'Twixt _Berwick_ Walls and _Dover_ Sands, +The Oak itself (which well we stile +The Pride and Glory of our Isle), +Must strike and wave its lofty Head. +And now salute an Oaten Reed, +For surely Oates deserves to be +Exalted far 'bove any Tree. +The Agyptians once (tho' it seems odd) +Did worship Onions for their God, +And poor Peelgarlick was with them +Esteem'd beyond the richest Gem. +What would they then have done, think ye, +Had they but had such _Oates_ as we, +_Oates_ of such known Divinity? +Since then such good by _Oates_ we find, +Let _Oates_ at least be now enshrin'd; +Or in some sacred Press enclos'd, +Be only kept to be expos'd; +And all fond Relicks else shall be +Deem'd Objects of Idolatry. +Popelings may tell us how they saw +Their _Garnet_ pictur'd on a Straw. +'Twas a great Miracle, we know, +To see him drawn in little so: +But on an _Oaten_ stalk there is +A greater Miracle than this; +A Visage which, with comly Grace, +Did twenty _Garnets_ now outface: +Nay, to the Wonder to add more, +Declare unheard-of things before; +And thousand Myst'ries does unfold, +As plain as Oracles of old, +By which we steer Affairs of State, +And stave off _Britain's_ sullen Fate. +Let's then, in Honour of the Name +Of _OATES_, enact some Solemn Game, +Where Oaten Pipe shall us inspire +Beyond the charms of _Orpheus_ Lyre; +Stone, Stocks, and e'ery sensless thing +To _Oates_ shall dance, to _Oates_ shall sing, +Whilst Woods amaz'd to t'Ecchoes ring. +And that this Hero's Name may not, +When they are rotten, be forgot, +We'll hang Atchievments o'er their Dust, +A Debt we owe to Merits just +So if Deserts of _Oates_ we prize, +Let _Oates_ still hang before our Eyes, +Thereby to raise our contemplation, +_Oates_ being to this happy Nation +A Mystick Emblem of Salvation. + + + + +THE MIRACLE. + +TO THE TUNE OF "O YOUTH, THOU HADST BETTER BEEN STARVED AT NURSE." + + +I. + +You Catholick States-men and Church-men, rejoyce, +And praise Heaven's Goodness with Heart and with Voice; +None greater on Earth or in Heaven than She, +Some say she's as good as the best of the Three. + Her miracles bold + Were famous of old, +But a Braver than this was never yet told; +'Tis pity that every good Catholick living +Had not heard on't before the last Day of Thanksgiving. + +II. + +In _Lombardy-Land_ great _Modena's_ Duchess [3] +Was snatched from her Empire by Death's cruel clutches; +When to Heaven she came (for thither she went) +Each Angel received her with Joy and Content. + On her knees she fell down, + Before the bright Throne, +And begged that God's Mother would grant her one Boon: +Give _England_ a Son (at this Critical Point) +To put little _Orange's_ Nose out of Joynt. + +III. + +As soon as our Lady had heard her Petition, +To _Gabriel_, the Angel, she strait gave Commission; +She pluck'd off her Smock from her _Shoulders Divine_, +And charg'd him to hasten to _England's_ fair Queen. + "Go to the Royal Dame, + To give her the same, +And bid her for ever to praise my Great Name, +For I, in her favour, will work such a Wonder, +Shall keep the most Insolent Hereticks under. + +IV. + +"Tell _James_ (my best son) his part of the matter +Must be with this only to cover my daughter; +Let him put it upon her with's own Royal Hand, +Then let him go travel to visit the Land; + And the Spirit of Love + Shall come from above, +Though not as before, in form of a Dove; +Yet down He shall come in some likeness or other +(Perhaps like Count _Dada_), and make her a Mother." + +V. + +The Message with Hearts full of Faith was receiv'd, +And the next news we heard was _Q. M._ conceiv'd; +You great ones Converted, poor cheated Dissenters, +Grave Judges, Lords, Bishops, and Commons Consenters, + You Commissioners all + Ecclesiastical, +From _M_...[4] the Dutiful to _C_...[5] the Tall, +Pray Heav'n to strengthen Her Majesties Placket, +For if this Trick fail, beware of your Jacket. + +[Footnote 3: Maria Laura d'Este.] + +[Footnote 4: John, Earl of Mulgrave, Lord Chamberlain of the +Household.] + +[Footnote 5: William, Earl of Craven.] + + + + +THE PATRIOTS. + +WRIT ABOUT THE YEAR 1700. + + +I. + +Ye worthy Patriots, go on + To heal the Nation's Sores, +Find all Men's Faults out but your own, +Begin good Laws, but finish none, + And then shut up your Doors. + +II. + +Fail not our Freedom to secure, + And all our Friends disband, +And send those Men to t'other Shore +Who were such Fools as to come o'er + To help this grateful Land. + +III. + +And may the next that hears us pray, + And in Distress relieve us, +Go home like those without their Pay, +And with Contempt be sent away + For having once believ'd us. + +IV. + +And if the _French_ should e'er attempt + This Nation to invade, +May they be damn'd that list again, +But lead the fam'd Militia on, + To be like us betray'd. + +V. + +As for the Crown you have bestow'd, + With all its Limitations, +The meanest Prince in _Christendom_ +Would never stir a Mile from home + To govern three such Nations. + +VI. + +The King himself, whom once you call'd + Your Saviour in Distress, +You in his first Request deny'd, +And then his Royal Patience try'd + With a canting sham Address. + +VII. + +Ye are the Men that to be chose + Wou'd be at no Expences, +Who love no Friends, nor fear no Foes, +Have ways and means that no Man knows + To mortify your Senses. + +VIII. + +Ye are the Men that can condemn + By Laws made _ex post facto_, +Who can make Knaves of honest Men, +And married Women turn again + To be Virgo and Intacta. + +IX. + +Go on to purify the Court, + And damn the Men of Places +Till decently you send them home, +And get your selves put in their room, + And then you'll change your Faces. + +X. + +Go on for to establish Trade, + And mend our Navigation, +Let India invade, +And borrow on Funds will ne'er be paid, + And Bankrupt all the Nation. + +XI. + +'Tis you that calculate our Gold, + And with a senseless Tone, +Vote that you never understood, +That we might take them if we wou'd + Or let them all alone. + +XII. + +Your Missives you send round about + With Mr. _Speaker's_ Letter, +To fetch Folks in, and find Folks out, +Which Fools believe without dispute, + Because they know no better. + +XIII. + +With borrow'd Ships, and hir'd Men, + The _Irish_ to reduce, +Who will be paid the Lord knows when; +'Tis hop'd whene'er you want again, + You'll think of that Abuse. + +XIV. + +Ye laid sham Taxes on our Malt, + On Salt, on Glass, on Leather, +To wheedle Coxcombs in to lend; +And like true Cheats, you dropt that Fund, + And sunk them all altogether. + +XV. + +And now y'are piously enclin'd + The Needy to employ; +You'd better much your time bestow +To pay neglected Debts you owe, + Which makes them multiply. + +XVI. + +Against Prophaneness you declar'd, + And then the Bill rejected; +And when the Arguments appear'd, +They were the worst that e'er were heard, + And best that we expected. + +XVII. + +'Twas voted once that for the Sin + Of Whoring Men should die all; +But then it was wisely thought again. +The House would quickly grow so thin, + They durst not stand the Tryal. + +XVIII. + +King _Charles_ the Second knew your aim, + And Places gave, and Pensions; +And had King _William's_ Mony flown, +His Majesty would soon have known + Your Consciences Dimensions. + +XIX. + +But he has wisely given you up + To work your own desires, +And laying Arguments aside, +As things that have in vain been try'd, + To Fasting calls, and Prayers. + +CHORUS-- + Your Hours are choicely employ'd, + Your Petitions lie all on the Table, + With Funds Insufficient, + And Taxes Deficient, + And Deponents innumerable. + For shame leave this wicked Employment, + Reform both your Manners and Lives; + You were never sent out + To make such a Rout, + Go home, and look after your W----s. + + + + +JUSTICE IN MASQUERADE; OR, SCROGGS UPON SCROGGS. + + +A Butcher's Son's Judge Capital +Poor Protestants for to enthral, + And England to enslave, Sirs; +Lose both our Laws and Lives we must +When to do Justice we entrust + So known an arrant Knave, Sirs. + +Some hungry Priests he did once fell, +With mighty Strokes sent them to Hell, + Sent presently away, Sirs; +Would you know why? The Reason's plain +They had no _English_ nor _French_ coin + To make a longer stay, Sirs. + +The Pope to Purgatory sends +Who neither Money have nor Friends, + In this he's not alone, Sirs; +For our Judge to Mercy's no inclin'd, +'Less Gold change Conscience and his Mind, + You are infallibly gone, Sirs. + +His Father once exempted was +Out of all Juries [6]; why? because + He was a Man of Blood, Sirs; +And why the Butcherly Son (forsooth) +Shou'd now be Jury and Judge both + Cannot be understood, Sirs. + +The good Old Man with Knife and Knocks +Made harmless Sheep and stubborn Ox + Stoop to him in his Fury; +But the brib'd Son, like greasie Oaph, +Kneels down and worships Golden Calf, + And so do's all the Jury. + +Better thou'dst been at Father's Trade, +An honest Livelihood to have made, + In lamp'ring Bulls with Collars, +Than to thy Country prove unjust, +First sell, and then betray, thy Trust, + For so many hard Rix-Dollars. + +Priest and Physician thou didst save +From Gallows, Fire, and from the Grave, + For which we can't endure thee; +The one can ne'er absolve thy Sins, +And th'other (tho' he now begins) + Of Knav'ry ne'er can cure thee. + +But lest we all shou'd end his Life, +And with a keen-whet Chopping-Knife + In a Thousand pieces cleave him, +Let the Parliament first him undertake, +They'll make the Rascal stink at stake, + And so, like a Knave, let's leave him. + +[Footnote 6: By an old law, butchers and surgeons were unable to serve +on juries.] + + + + +THE BRAWNY BISHOP'S COMPLAINT. + +TO THE TUNE OF "PACKINGTON'S POUND." + + +I. + +When B----t [7] perceiv'd the beautiful Dames, +Who flock'd to the Chapel of Holy St. _James_, +On their Lovers the kindest Looks did bestow, +And smil'd not on him while he bellow'd below, + To the Princess he went + With Pious intent +This dangerous Ill in the Church to prevent: +"O Madam!" quoth he, "our Religion is lost +If the Ladies thus ogle the Knights of the Toast. + +II. + +"Your Highness observes how I labour and sweat +Their Affections to raise, and new Flames to beget; +And sure when I preach all the World, will agree +That their Ears and their Eyes should be pointed on me: + But now I can't find + One Beauty so kind +As my Parts to regard, or my Presence to mind; +Nay, I scarce have a sight of any one Face +But those of old _Oxford_ and ugly Arglas. + +III. + +"These sorrowful Matrons, with Hearts full of Truth, +Repent for the manifold Sins of their Youth: +The rest with their Tattle my Harmony spoil; +And Bur--ton, An--sey, K--gston, and B--le [8] + Their Minds entertain + With thoughts so profane +'Tis a mercy to find that at Church they contain; +Ev'n Hen--ham's [9] Shapes their weak Fancies intice, +And rather than me they will ogle the Vice. [10] + +IV. + +"These Practices, Madam, my Preaching disgrace; +Shall Laymen enjoy the just Rights of my Place? +Then all may lament my Condition for hard, +To thresh in the Pulpit without a Reward. + Then pray condescend + Such Disorders to end, +And from their ripe Vineyards such Labourers send; +Or build up the Seats, that the Beauties may see +The Face of no brawny Pretender but me." + +V. + +The Princess, by rude Importunities press'd, +Tho' she laugh'd at his Reasons, allow'd his request; +And now _Britain's_ Nymphs in a Protestant Reign +Are locked up at Pray'rs like the Virgins in Spain, + And all are undone + As sure as a Gun: +Whenever a Woman is kept like a Nun; +If any kind Man from Bondage will save her, +The Lass in Gratitude grants him the Favour. + +[Footnote 7: Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, who in 1674 was +preacher at the Rolls Chapel.] + +[Footnote 8: Burlington, Anglesey, Kingston, and Boyle.] + +[Footnote 9: Heningham.] + +[Footnote 10: The Vice-Chamberlain.] + + + + +THE POOR BLIND BOY. + +BY COLLY GIBBER, 1749. + + +Oh, say! what is that thing call'd _light_, + Which I can ne'er enjoy? +What is the blessing of the sight? + Oh, tell your poor blind boy. + +You talk of wondrous things you see; + You say the sun shines bright; +I feel his warmth, but how can he + E'er make it day or night? + +My day or night myself I make, + Whene'er I sleep or play; +And could I always keep awake, + It would be always day. + +With heavy sighs, I often hear + You mourn my hopeless woe; +But sure with patience I may bear + A loss I do not know. + +Then let not what I cannot have + My peace of mind destroy; +While thus I sing, I am a king, + Although a poor blind boy. + + + + +THE INISKILLING REGIMENT. + + +I. + +I will sing in the Praise, if you'll lend but an Ear, +Of the first Royal Regiment, but don't think I jeer +If I vow and protest they are as brave Men and Willing, +As ever old _Rome_ bred, or new _Iniskilling_. + +II. + +Oh, had you but seen them March with that _Decorum_ +That no _Roman_ Triumph could e're go before 'em, +Some smoking, some whistling, all meaning no harm, +Like _Yorkshire_ Attornies coming up to a Term, + +III. + +On Bobtails, on _Longtails_, on Trotters, on Pacers, +On Pads, Hawkers, Hunters, on Higlers, on Racers, +You'd ha' swore Knight and Squires, Prigs, Cuckolds, and Pandors. +Appear'd all like so many great _Alexanders_, + +IV. + +Whose Warriers who thorow all Dangers durst go. +Most bravely despising Blood, Battle, and Foe, +Were mounted on Steeds the last Lord Mayor's Day, +From _Turky, Spain, Barbary_, Coach, Cart, and Dray. + +V. + +'Twas that very day their high Prowess was shown, +In guarding the King thro' the Fire-works o' th' Town; +Tho' Sparks were unhors'd and their lac'd Coats were spoil'd, +They dreaded no Squibs of Men, Women, or Child. + +VI. + +The Cornet whose nose, though it spoke him no _Roman_, +Was mounted that day on a Horse that feared no man, +No Wounds, for all o're his Trappings so sumptuous +He had ty'd Squibs and Crackers; 'twas mighty presumptuous. + +VII. + +For note his Design; faith, 'tis worth your admiring: +'Twas to let the Queen se how his Horse could stand firing, +Not wisely consid'ring her Majesty's marry'd, +And he had been hang'd if the Queen had miscarry'd. + +VIII. + +All Hearts true as Steel, but of all brave Fellows +Th'Attorney for my money who was so zealous, +He went for the Lease of his own House from Home, +To make a new covering for the Troop's Kettle drum. + +IX. + +The Lieutenant being thrown by his Jennet, +His Son in Law fancying some Treachery in it, +Gave the Oaths to the Horse, which the Beast took, they say, +But swore by the Lord they went down like chopt hay. + +X. + +He the Nag of an _Irish_ Papist did buy, +So doubting his Courage and his Loyalty, +He taught him to eat with his Oats Gunpowdero, +And prance to the Tune of Lilly-bolero. [11] + +XI. +The Tub-preaching Saint was so furious a Blade, +In Jack-boots both Day and Night preacht, slept, and pray'd; +To call them to prayers he need no Saint's Bell, +For gingling his Spurs chim'd them all in as well. + +XII. + +A noble stout Scrivener that now shall be nameless, +That in Day of Battle he might be found blameless, +A War-horse of Wood from _Duck Carver_ buys, +To learn with more safety the Horse Exercise. + +XIII. + +With one eye on's Honour, the other on's Gain, +He fixes a Desk on _Bucephalus_ Main, +That so by that means he his Prancer bestriding, +Might practise at once both his Writing and Riding. + +XIV. + +But, oh, the sad news which their Joy now confounds, +To _Ireland_, their own, like the last Trumpet sounds; +Lord! Lord! how this sets them a Waiting Petitions, +And thinking of nothing but Terms and Conditions. + +XV. + +Oh, who will March for me? speak any that dare, +A Horse and an Hundred Pounds for him, that's fair; +Dear Courtiers, excuse me from Teagland and Slaughter, +And take which you please, _Sir_, my Wife or my Daughter." + +XVI. +Some feign'd themselves lame, some feign'd themselves clapt, +At last finding all themselves by themselves trapt, +The King most unanimously they addrest, +And told him the Truth, 'twas all but a Jest. + +XVII. +"A Jest," quoth the King, and with that the King smil'd, +"Come, it ne're shall be said such a Jest shall be spoil'd; +Therefore I dismiss you. in Peace all depart, +For it was more your Goodness than my Desert." + +XVIII. + +Thus happily freed from the dreadful Vexation +Of being Defenders of this, or that Nation, +They kist Royal Fist, and were drunk all for Joy, +And broke all their swords, and cry'd _Vive le Roy_. + +[Footnote 11: The refrain of a celebrated political song.] + + + + +A BALLAD ON THE FLEET. + + +I. + +A mighty great Fleet--the like was ne'er seen +Since the Reign of K. _William_ and _Mary_ the Q.-- +Design'd the Destruction of _France_, to have been, + _Which nobody can deny_, etc. + +II. + +The Fleet was composed of _English_ and _Dutch_; +For Men and for Guns there was never seen such, +Nor so little done when expected so much, + _Which_, etc. + +III. + +One hundred Ships which we Capital call, +With Frigots and Tenders, and Yatchts that were small, +Went out, and did little or nothing at all, + _Which_, etc. + +IV. + +260,500 and six Lusty Men, +Had they chanc'd to have met with the _French_ Fleet, oh, then, +As they beat 'em last year, so they'd beat 'em again, + _Which_, etc. + +V. + +Six thousand great Guns and seventy-eight more, +As good and as great as ever did roar; +It had been the same thing had they all been ashore, + _Which_, etc. + +VI. + +But T---- [12] now must command them no more; +We try'd of what Mettle he was made of before; +It's safer for him on the Land for to whore, + _Which_, etc. + +VII. + +For a Bullet perhaps from the loud Cannons Breech, +Which makes no distinction betwixt poor and rich, +Instead of his Dog might have taken his Bitch, + _Which_, etc. + + +VIII. + +But R---- the C---- C---- R---- is chose +His fine self and his Fleet to the Sea to expose, +But he'll have a care how he meets with his Foes, + _Which_, etc. + +IX. + +He had Sea-Colonels of the Nature of Otter, +Which either might serve by Land or by Water, +But of what they have done we have heard no great matter, + _Which_, etc. + +X. + +In the month of _May_ last they sail'd on the Main, +And now in _September_ they come back again +With the loss of some ships, but in Battle none slain, + _Which_, etc. + +[Footnote 12: Probably George, Viscount Torrington, First Lord of the +Admiralty in 1727.] + + + + +ON SEEING MR. FOX AND MR. HASTINGS AT CHELTENHAM. + + + "En redit Hastingus, pocatis regibus Indi, + Anglorum et posito nomine, et imperio, + Ecce silet vulpes, annosaque fabula Burki, + Faucibus haret, eheu, Dic, age, dic Sheridan." + +From Eastern climes, lo, Hastings! late return'd, +His struggles ended, and his fame well earn'd, +Illustrious Stateman! [13] to a distant age +Thy name shall live and grace th'historic page; +There licens'd falsehoods [14] shall no more prevail, +Nor Dodsley publish [15] Edmund's annual tale. +When France, exulting, deem'd our ruin near, +And Hyder's progress struck each Chief with fear; +When hostile nations press'd in league combin'd, +Collected, firm, and dauntless was thy mind; +Inspir'd by Hastings, Coote [16]: the seasons brav'd, +Embark'd his succours, and a kingdom sav'd. +Goddard [17] at his command our standard bore +Through lands to England's sons unknown before; +While Popham's victories rais'd our country's fame +And fix'd in realms remote the British name. +The sued-for peace [18] to Gualior's fall is due. +And Gualior's capture long was Hastings' view. +History shall tell how clos'd the scene of blood, +When to a world oppos'd Britannia stood; +No conquest Gallia claims on India's coast, +No splendid triumphs can the Belgian boast, +For millions wasted, [19] and a navy lost. +The keen Maratta and the fierce Mysore +Their league dissolve, and give the contest o'er; +And peace restor'd, e'en party owns, tho' late, [20] +That Hastings' firmness has preserv'd the State. +Succeeding ages this great truth shall know, +A truth recorded by a generous foe, [21] +That England's genius, in a luckless hour +For Gallic schemes, gave Hastings Sov'reign pow'r. + +[Footnote 13: Pitt, who moved the address upon the peace in Lord +Shelburne's administration, declared, in the course of his speech, +that he had no fears for India while so illustrious a stateman as Mr. +Hastings directed our councils, and so great a general as Sir Eyre +Coote commanded our armies. This declaration was the more honourable +for Mr. Hastings because at that time the absurd prejudices of the +Rockingham party had misled half the Nation.] + +[Footnote 14: It can be remembered with what diligence copies of the +reports of the Select Committee were circulated under the sanction of +the Ministry, and how many false and abusive libels were given away +through the kingdom, tending to depreciate the character of Mr. +Hastings, previous to Mr. Fox's bringing in his India Bill.] + +[Footnote 15: Mr. Burke published a speech almost every year after he +came into notice.] + +[Footnote 16: The preservation of the British empire in India depended +upon Sir Eyre Coote's safe arrival at Madras with money and troops at +the most dangerous season of the year, when merchant ships seldom +venture upon the coast.] + +[Footnote 17: General Goddard marched from Corah to Surat, across the +continent of Indostan, and after the conclusion of the peace the same +army returned to Bengal under the command of Colonel Charles Morgan, +through countries which we had formerly little knowledge of. Colonel +Pearce marched at the head of five regiments of Bengal Sepoys from +Calcutta to reinforce Sir Eyre Coote's army at Madras. This brave +detachment was distinguished in every action; on the attack of the +French lines at Cuddalore, one of the regiments was opposed to a +French European regiment, and much of the success of that day is +attributed to the spirited exertions of the Bengal detachment. Colonel +Pearce, on the conclusion of the peace with Tippoo, marched this +detachment back to Calcutta, where it was disbanded in the month of +January.] + +[Footnote 18: The separate peace with Madagee Scindia was entirely +owing to the capture of Gwalior and to the subsequent operations of a +detachment formed by Hastings for the express purpose of drawing +Scindia from Guzzerat to the defence of his own dominions, and as a +certain means of effecting a general peace.] + +[Footnote 19: The war in India cost France at least seven millions +sterling, and at the close of it we were in possession of all the +French and Dutch settlements on the continent of India, and were +besieging their forces in Cuddalore when intelligence of the peace in +Europe was received at Madras.] + +[Footnote 20: The Directors were divided at one period in their +opinion of Hastings; and Fox and Burke invariably laid great stress +upon the circumstance that thirteen directors were of opinion he ought +to be recalled in 1783, though ten of the same body, and 428 +proprietors, most strenuously supported him. Many of the thirteen who +voted his recall in 1783 were in the Direction when he received a +unanimous vote of thanks for his long, faithful, and important +services.] + +[Footnote 21: Monsieur Law, governor of Pondicherry, in a memoir +addressed to the French Minister, says, "In an evil hour for France +the English East India Company appointed Mr. Hastings governor of +Bengal." And Monsieur Suffrien, in a letter to Hastings, relative to +his treatment of English prisoners, says that he wishes to explain the +motives of his conduct to one "of whom all the world speaks well,"-and +surely a compliment of this kind was never paid with more justice to +any individual than to Warren Hastings. Throughout India and Europe, +the character of no man was more generally known or more universally +respected.] + + + +AN IMITATION OF HORACE + +BOOK II., ODE 16. + +WRITTEN BY WARREN HASTINGS +ON HIS PASSAGE FROM BENGAL TO ENGLAND IN 1785. +ADDRESSED TO JOHN SHORE, ESQ. + + +For ease the harass'd seaman prays, +When Equinoctial tempests raise + The Cape's surrounding wave; +When hanging o'er the reef, he hears +The cracking mast, and sees or fears, + Beneath, his wat'ry grave. + +For ease the slow _Maratta_ spoils, +And hardier _Sic_ erratic toils, + While both their ease forego; +For ease, which neither gold can buy, +Nor robes, nor gems, which oft belie, + The cover'd heart bestow; + +For neither gold nor gems combin'd +Can heal the soul, or suffering mind; + Lo! where their owner lies, +Perch'd on his couch Distemper breathes, +And Care like smoke, in turbid wreathes, + Round the gay cieling flies. + +He who enjoys, nor covets more, +The lands his father held before, + Is of true bliss possess'd: +Let but his mind unfetter'd tread +Far as the paths of knowledge lead, + And wise as well as blest. + +No fears his peace of mind annoy +Lest printed lies his fame destroy, + Which labour'd years have won, +Nor pack'd committees break his rest, +Nor avarice sends him forth in quest + Of climes beneath the sun. + +Short is our span; then why engage +In schemes, for which man's transient age + Was ne'er by Fate designed? +Why slight the gifts of Nature's hand? +What wanderer from his native land + E'er left himself behind? + +The restless thought, and wayward will, +And discontent attend him still, + Nor quit him while he lives; +At sea care follows in the wind, +At land it mounts the pad behind, + Or with the postboy drives. + +He would happy live to-day +Must laugh the present ills away, + Nor think of woes to come, +For come they will or soon or late, +Since mix'd at best is man's estate, + By Heaven's eternal doom. + +To ripen'd age Clive liv'd renown'd, +With lacks enrich'd, with honours crown'd, + His valour's well-earn'd meed; +Too long, alas! he lived to hate +His envied lot, and died [22] too late, + From life's oppression freed. + +An early death was Elliott's [23] doom; +I saw his opening virtues bloom, + And manly sense unfold, +Too soon to fade! I bade the stone +Record his name 'midst Hordes unknown, + Unknowing what it told. + +To thee, perhaps, the fates may give-- +I wish they may--in health to live, + Herds, flocks, and fruitful fields, +Thy vacant hours in mirth to shine; +With these, the muse already thine + Her present bounties yields. + +For me, O Shore! I only claim +To merit, not to seek for fame, + The good and just to please, +A state above the fear of want, +Domestic love, Heaven's choicest grant, + Health, leisure, peace, and ease. + +[Footnote 22: Lord Clive committed suicide 1774.] + +[Footnote 23: Mr. Elliott died in October, 1778, on his way to +Nangpore, the capital of Moodagees Boofla's dominions, being deputed +on an embassy to that prince by the Governor-General and Council; a +monument was erected to his memory on the spot where he was buried, +and the Marattas have since built a town there, called Elliott +Gunge, or Elliott's Town.] + + + + +EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON. + + +Here lies poor Johnson. Reader, have a care, +Tread lightly, lest you rouse a sleeping bear: +Religious, moral, generous, and humane +He was, but self-sufficient, rude, and vain; +Ill-bred and overbearing in dispute, +A scholar and a Christian--yet a brute. +Would you know all his wisdom and his folly, +His actions, sayings, mirth, and melancholy? +Boswell and Thrale, retailers of his wit, +Will tell you how he wrote, and talked, and cough'd, and spit. + + + + +VERSES UPON THE ROAD. +FACIT INDIGNATIO. + +AN UNPUBLISHED POEM, BY DAVID GARRICK, +TO LORD JOHN CAVENDISH. + + +Whilst all with sighs their way pursue + From Chatsworth's blest abode, +My mind still fires, my Lord, at you, + And thus bursts out in ode. + +Forgive my phrenzy, good Lord John, + For passion's my Apollo: +Sweet Hebe says, when sense is gone, + That nonsense needs must follow. + +Like Indian knife, or Highland sword, + Your words have hewn and hack'd me; +Whilst Quin, a rebel to his lord, + Like his own Falstaff back'd me. + +In vain I bounce, and fume, and fret, + Swear Shakespeare is divine; +Fitzherbert [24] can a while forget + His pains to laugh at mine. + +Lord Frederick, George, and eke his Grace, + My honest zeal deride; +Nay, Hubert's melancholy face + Smirks on your Lordship's side. + +With passion, zeal, and punch misled, + Why goad me on to strife? +Why send me to a restless bed + And disappointed wife? + +This my reward! and this from you! + Is't thus you Bowman [25] treat, +Who eats more toads than _you know who_ + Each night did strawberries eat? + +Did I not mount the dun-drawn chaise, + And sweat for many a mile? +And gave his Grace's skill much praise, + _Grinning a ghastly smile!_ + +Did I not elsewhere risk my bones, + My Lord-Duke's freaks took pride in? +Did I not trot down hills of Stones, + And call it pleasant riding? + +Did I not all your feats proclaim, + Nor once from duty shrink? +In flattery I sunk my fame, + A Bowman e'en in drink. + +Did I not oft my conscience force, + Against its dictates swear? +Have I not prais'd Lord Georg's horse? + Nay, e'en your Lordship's mare? + +Did I not oft, in rain and wind, + O'er hills, thro' vallies roam, +When wiser folk would lag behind, + And Spaniels staid at home? + +Have I not with your natives fed, + The worst of all my labours; +And ventur'd both my ears and head + Amongst your scalping neighbours? + +Not Quin's more blest with Calipee, + Fitzherbert in his puns, +Lord John in contradicting me, + Lord Frederick with his nuns, + +Than I am blest in Shakespear's muse! + Each drop within my standish, +Each drop of blood for him I'll lose, + As firm as any Ca'ndish. + +As Whig you gain the world's applause, + For once a Tory shine, +A Tory once in Shakespeare's cause, + And feel his right divine! + +Attack my wife, my patent tear, + Do deeds without a name! +Burn, kill, or ravish, Lord! but spare, + Oh, spare my Shakespeare's fame! + +Did not Dean Barker [26] wisely preach, + Opinion may be sin? +Did not his sermon wisely teach + To cleanse ourselves within? + +From infidelity awake! + Oh, melt your heart of stone; +Conceal your errors for my sake, + Or mend them for your own. + +[Footnote 24: William Fitzherbert, Esq., of Tissington, M.P. for +Derby.] + +[Footnote 25: The name of a character in "Lethe."] + +[Footnote 26: The Rev. William Barker, M.A., Dean of Raphoi He died +about 1777.] + + + + +SATYR ON THE SCOTS. + +BY MR. CLEVELAND. + + +Come, keen _Iambicks_, with your Badgers' Feet, +And Badger-like bite till your Teeth do meet; +Help ye, Tart Satyrists, to imp my Rage, +With all the Scorpions that should whip this Age. +But that there's Charm in Verse, I would not quote +The Name of Scot without an Antidote, +Unless my Head were red, that I might brew +Invention there that might be Poison too. +Were I a drowzy Judge, whose dismal Note +Disgorges Halters, as a Juggler's Throat +Does Ribbons; could I in Sir _Empyrick's_ Tone +Speak Pills in Phrase, and quack Destruction; +Or roar like _Marshal_, that _Geneva_ Bull, +Hell and Damnation a Pulpit full: +Yet to express a _Scot_, to play that Prize, +Not all those Mouth-Granadoes can suffice. +Before a _Scot_ can properly be curst, +I must, like Hocus, swallow Daggers first. +_Scots_ are like Witches; do but whet your Pen, +Scratch till the Blood comes, they'll not hurt you then. + +Now as the Martyrs were compell'd to take +The Shapes of Beasts, like Hypocrites at Stake, +I'll bait my _Scot_ so, yet not cheat your Eyes; +A Scot within a Beast is no Disguise. +No more let Ireland brag her harmless Nation +Fosters no Venom since that _Scots'_ Plantation; +Nor can our Feign'd Antiquity obtain, +Since they came in England has Wolves again. +Nature her self does _Scotch_-men Beasts confess, +Making their Country such a Wilderness; +A Land that brings in Question and Suspence +God's Omnipresence but that _Charles_ came thence, +But that _Montrose_ and _Crawford's_ Royal Band +Aton'd their Sin, and Christened half the Land. +Nor is it all the Nation has these Spots, +There is a Church as well as Kirk of Scots, +As in a Picture where the Squinting Paint +Shews Fiend on this Side and on that Side Saint; +He that Saw Hell in's Melancholy Dream, +And in the Twilight of his Fancy's Theme, +Scar'd from his Sins, repented in a Fright, +Had he view'd Scotland had turn'd Proselyte. +A Land where one may pray with curst Intent; +Oh, may they never suffer Banishment! +Had _Cain_ been _Scot_, God would have chant'd his Doom, +Not forc'd him wander, but confin'd him home. +Like _Jews_ they spread, and as Infection fly, +As if the Devil had Ubiquity. +Hence 'tis they live as Rovers, and defie +This or that Place, Rags of Geography. +They're Citizens o' th' World, they're all in all; +_Scotland's_ a Nation Epidemical. +And yet they ramble not to learn the Mode, +How to be drest, or how to lisp abroad; +To return knowing in the Spanish Shrug, +Or which of the _Dutch_ States a double Jug +Resembles most in Belly or in Beard; +The Card by which the Mariners are Steer'd. +No! The Scots-Errant fight, and fight to eat; +Their Ostrich Stomachs make their Swords their Meat. +Nature with _Scots_ as Tooth-drawers has dealt, +Who use to string their Teeth upon their Belt. +Not Gold, nor Acts of Grace, 'tis Steel must tame +The Stubborn _Scot_: A Prince that would reclaim +Rebels by yielding does like him. or worse, +Who saddled his own Back to shame his Horse. +Was it for this you left your leaner Soil, +Thus to lard _Israel_ with _Egypt's_ Spoil? +Lord! what a Goodly Thing is want of Shirts! +How a _Scotch_ Stomach and no Meat converts! +They wanted Food and Raiment, so they took +Religion for their Seamstress and their Cook. +Unmask them well; their Honours and Estate, +As well as Conscience, are Sophisticate. +Shrive but their Titles, and their Money poise; +A Laird and Twenty Pence,[27] pronounc'd with Noise, +When constru'd, but for a plain Yeoman go, +And a good sober Two-pence, and well so. +Hence then,'you Proud Imposters, get you gone, +You _Picts_ in Gentry and Devotion, +You Scandal to the Stock of Verse, a Race +Able to bring the Gibbet in Disgrace. +Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce +The Ostracism, and sham'd it out of Use. +The _Indian_ that Heaven did forswear +Because he heard some _Spaniards_ were there. +Had he but known what _Scots_ in Hell had been, +He would, Erasmus-like, have hung between. +My Muse has done. A voider for the Nonce; +I wrong the Devil should I pick the Bones. +That Dish is his, for when the _Scots_ decease, +Hell, like their Nation, feeds on Barnacles. +A _Scot_, when from the Gallows-Tree got loose, +Drops into _Stix_, and turns a _Soland_ Goose. [28] + +[Footnote 27: Ten pence Scots was a penny English.] + +[Footnote 28: Compare with this the first of the two political squibs +published in the Aungervyle Reprints Series, 2.] + + + +THE MARSEILLAISE. + +[Footnote: Written and composed by Roger de Lisle. This translation +has been attributed to Lord Auckland.] + + +Ye sons of France, awake to glory; + Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise! +Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, + Behold their tears, and hear their cries! +Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding, + With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, + Affright and desolate the land, +While Peace and Liberty lie bleeding? + To arms, to arms, ye brave, + Th'avenging sword unsheath; + March on, march on, all hearts resolv'd + On victory or death. + +Now, now, the dang'rous storm is rolling + Which treach'rous kings, confederate, raise; +The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, + And, lo! our fields and cities blaze; +And shall we basely view the ruin, + While lawless force, with guilty stride, + Spreads desolation far and wide, +With crimes and blood his hands embruing? + To arms, ye brave, etc. + +With luxury and pride surrounded, + The vile insatiate despots dare, +Their thirst of power and gold unbounded, + To mete and vend the light and air. +Like beasts of burden would they load us, + Like gods, would bid their slaves adore; + But man is man, and who is more? +Then shall they longer lash and goad us? + To arms, ye brave, etc. + +O Liberty! can man resign thee, + Once having felt thy gen'rous flame? +Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee, + Or whips thy noble spirit tame? +Too long the world has wept, bewailing + That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield; + But freedom is our sword and shield, +And all their arts are unavailing. + To arms, ye brave, etc. + + + + +A DIRGE. + + +Bow the head, thou lily fair, + Bow the head in mournful guise; +Sickly turn thy shining white, + Bend thy stalk, and never rise. + +Shed thy leaves, thou lovely rose, + Shed thy leaves, so sweet and gay; +Spread them wide on the cold earth, + Quickly let them fade away. + +Fragrant woodbine, all untwine, + All untwine from yonder bower; +Drag thy branches on the ground, + Stain with dust each tender flower, + +For, woe is me! the gentle knot + That did in willing durance bind +My happy soul to hers for life + By cruel death is now untwined. + +Her head, with dim, half-closed eyes, + Is bowed upon her breast of snow; +And cold and faded are those cheeks + That wont with cheerful red to glow. + +Mute, mute, is that harmonious voice + That wont to breathe the sounds of love, +And lifeless are those beauteous limbs + That with such ease and grace did move. + +And I, of all my bliss bereft. + Lonely and sad must ever moan, +Dead to each joy the world can give, + Alive to memory alone. + + + + +FINIS. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, QUAINT GLEANINGS FROM ANCIENT POETRY *** + +This file should be named qntgl10.txt or qntgl10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, qntgl11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, qntgl10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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