eee ast. grea cit ae 2h % and d : : P: ad be thes Pures My er af Gouyepenere ; he a, Pra E a Ra By a eed Pk tye Fe ) | : bs ° ie tw RBA po aes hua. i | Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2021 with funding from Duke University Libraries httos://archive.org/details/restorationbeingOOwarn ie Rebellion in Bath: R, THE BATTLE OF THE UPPER-ROOMS: AN HEROICO-ODICO-TRAGICO-COMICO POEM, IN TWO CANTOS: By the late PETER PAUL PALLET. Myyiy, acide, ea-— Ovrowevyy. Hom. —— CANTO THE FIRST: Edited by his Nephew, TIMOTHY GOOSEQUILL : TO WHICH IS ADDED, A VINDICATION or tut GLORIOUS REVOLUTION rw 1688 From Aspersions cast on it in a Sermon preached by the Rev. Henry Phillpotts, Vicar of Kilmersden, Somerset, before the University of Oxford: By TOM TYPE. Aa ogwy KAEO® eoceras nar’ aay. ALCEUS. SS) = CGTec thre Bath Deities bee : Dambug; follee.r Glanitee. ed song LONDON: PRINTED FOR G,. WILKIE AND J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER=ROW. 1808. fd } sf ia oP e009 SE EY RO me | ONTAODOUTO A EO MIC-OOMO AN he 4OV AAD OUT AL, : ne 1A wy abs Alin sik eth siete laetateah . a Some) eeias! ET “oh | ieee). Oe . 3 dass, ane ONE ROT 2 wea LAV IGALOOD ADVTOMAT asi a ff ore ‘i diated’ “et venue or. ov, ee i). It must be recollected that our tzme of poetical action is the com- mencement of the second season of RamRov’s appointment to the Upper- rooms. His ¢ranslation from the Lower ones had taken place during the preceding season. 7 : By mortals call'd the Lower Rooms’, Fill’d with frights, and fetid fumes Exhaling from the motley crowd, Ill-dress'd, vulgar, rude, and loud, Who populate the Lower town, To fashionable life unknown. Gods! how I bless your kind decrees, Which, bearing me from scenes like these, Have plac’d, at length, within my hand The sceptre of that proms d land, To which my heart, my eyes, my ears, Have been directed twenty years. Possessing now, the post of ruling Realms so ‘fit to play the fool in, Visions bright of future joy, Open to my raptur'd eye. Many, many years I see Of undisputed sovereignty : © B.C. First Dialogue. 8 Of homage, flatt’ry, pretty things, Grateful to the ears of hings:; And the more substantial bliss Of golden compliment from miss, Whose little bosom pants to get My fiat, for the final minuet’. ‘Invested thus with blessings three, Power, profit, dignity ; Supported by such firm alliance, To fortune’s frowns I bid defiance: She cannot spoil me of my crown: She cannot undermine my throne.” But ah! how vain a thing is royal pride! How near to woe is happiness allied! | When the swoln bosom feeds on future joy, And no dark doubts the present good alloy; When the great man, with confidence elate, Builds on the perpetucty of state ; 7 The last minuet on the benefit night is reserved for the favourite lady who either dances best, or fees highest. 9 And, like the ancient king of Babylon, Boasts himself lord of all beneath the sun; Then, sad reverses at his elbow wait, The gloomy ministers of envious Fate’, “ei Which, at her bidding, the vain wretch surround, Drag him with sudden ruin to the ground, And, eer he can “Jack Robinson” repeat, Trample his greatness underneath their feet; Clap an extinguisher on all his hopes, And fill his soul with everlasting mopes. As sings the bard, in allegoric strain, How joys by grief, how pleasures are by pain Quickly pursued, (and, what is strange to say, For once Truth garnishes the poet’s lay) “To-day, though gales propitious blow, And Peace soft-gliding down the sky Lead Love along, and Harmony, To-morrow the gay scene deforms: * Ah! see how all around them wait The ministers of human fate ! Gray. Cc 10 Then, all around, The thunder’s sound Rolls rattling on through Heavy’n’s profound. And down rush all the storms9;” So, Ramrovp glorying in his crowded ball, Nor dreading Fortune's tricks aé all at all’. Shall, instant, suffer revolution’s pains’, (That cure so radical for tyrant reigns) And, the sad subject of rebellious strife, Mourn all, but loss entire of throne and life. * Beattie. " Bovos de o1 ax evs bun Mey.Brero. Hom. 2 The term revolution may be considered as a generic one. My uncle (who was a staunch whig of the old school) had a reference in this couplet to that genuine species of it, which England exhibited to the world in the glorious 1688; when the vor populi proved itself to be the vor Dei, by asserting “the rights of man” in a tone that shook the sceptre from the hand of despotism, and scared tyranny from the shores of Britain : When Albion her giant form uprear’d, And with an oath that shook heav’n, earth, and sea, Stamp’d her strong foot, and said, she would be free. CoLERIDGE. 11 For now, the tuneful orchestra on high, Resounds the strains of varied minstrelsy ; And, like young robins singing in a nest, The group d musicians play their very best, And waken tones to calm een Pluto's breast. Foremost in th’ exalted throng Owen stout, and Owen strong, Calls from out his gilded harp, Sounds inspiring, loud, and sharp: The double-bass in angry murmurs growls: A softer tone from Herscuet’s viol rolls, Who ravishes the crowd’s attentive ears, (Taught by the sage*) with “ music of the spheres*:” Whilst the tabor and fife Give to harmony life, 3 This respectable performer is brother to the celebrated astronomer of the same name. * ———_——Then listen I To the celestial syrens’ harmony That sit upon the nine infolded spheres, And sing. MiLTon. Ex racwy Oe oxrw swy miay apmoviay ovugwyely. PLATO. 12 And set female hearts all a-prancing, Who, round Ramrop pouring, In posture adoring, Intreat him to let them be dancing. Whilst thus propitious seems the state of things, (Ah! on what trifles hangs the doom of kings) Dark Destiny, intent on Ramron’s ruin, Sudden pours out the woes she had been brewing; Sets every instrument and tongue ajar, And raises one wide scene of civil war. For, scarcely had his skill, in order due, Marshall’d the phalanx of the skipping crew; When, at the door, a female form was seen, Large as a mountain, splendid as a queen; A wig, as ebon black, involv’d her skull, Beneath whose curls, a visage, fat and full, With rouge inflam’d, with fiery pimples proud, Shone out, ike Phoebus from a thunder-cloud. Her naked bosom, ample, high, and red, Seem'd like old Ocean, heaving on his bed, 13 Incarnardin’d by Sol’s departing ray, When from the world he leads reluctant day. Her purple arms, as sign-posts, huge and bare, Defied the rigours of the piercing air; Whilst no superfluous drapery conceal’d The parts that Fashion bids to be reveal'd. The sparkling gems which on her forehead flam‘d A dame of royal affluence proclaim d; And the bold glance that shot from either eye Spoke all the pride of new nobility. Slowly the stately female glided on, Whilst Ramrop kenn‘d the vast phanomenon, His mind in doubt, a frgure so uncommon, To hail as goddess, or to greet as woman’. But Rumour’, pitying the awkward case, And strange confusion of the man of place, In form of general Whisper drawing near, Dropp d secretly into his list‘ning ear, * O quam te memorem? Virgo? namque haud tibi vultus Mortalis, nec vox hominem sonat. O Dea! certe. Vire. ° For the boldness of this prosopopeia I appeal, as my authority, to the 14. That the fine vision was a mortal dame, And lady Wituenmina Purr her name. Oh ttle! infinite in influence O’er great and small, o'er fools and men of sense , Say whence thou draw’st such fascinating pow r, That all, thy charms or covet, or adore? Has nature, partially, to thee confin’d The brilliant genius and the mighty mind? No! for experience certifies each age, Not every /ord’s a wit, nor sir a sage. Has she, or strength, or beauty made ¢hzne pas ? No! lovelier graces deck the russet gown; And straiter, stouter limbs support the clown. No! wayward man to idol-worship prone, Who bent, in ancient days, to stock or stone, common practice amongst the ancient poets of personifying Fame. For what is this gigantic goddess, who brushes heaven with her head, whilst she shakes the earth with her feet : Ingrediturque solo et caput inter nubila condit. Vira. but, <“ The idle rumour of the idle world 2” 15 By modern lights improv d, discarding these, Has rais’d mere names to rank of deities. Ramrop the inspiration instant feels, And with due courtesies of head and. heels The fair approach’d; then proflering with grace That hand which leads each lady to her place, Conducts the Lit of ttle to the spot Mark’d out, of old, as rank’s exclusive lot°. His countenance, relax’d into a smile, Of more than usual complaisance the while, Betray'd the secret triumph of his breast As thus the palm of dignity he prest. The lady too, with conscious worth elate, Assumes each air of new-created state; And, as the belles retire on either side To give free passage ta her moving pride, The scornful fire that issues from her eye Betrays the sense of superiority. * The lower bench at the top of the room is appropriated to people of rank. 16 With equal pomp the swan is seen to glide, Borne on its surface, down the river's tide; And, as the smooth expanse her form reflects, She curves her crest, her snowy wings erects; Thinks that the graces her alone adorn, And looks on every object round with scorn*. But, as poor Paris (so the story goes) By flatt’ring Venus, made two goddess-foes; So Ramrop’s preference of lady Pure Produc’d, amongst the fair, one general huff; And sneers, and flirted fans, and murmurs loud, Soon mark the wounded feelings of the crowd. “« Bless me,” cries one, “ the fellow’s sure derang'd: So rude, so inattentive, and so chang’d!” « What,” says another, “can the blockhead see Superior in such dowdy forms to me? * My uncle, probably, had Milton’s beautiful description of this proud and magnificent bird in his mind.—Editor. The swan, with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet. 17 Did ever man behold so vile a face? Deck’d too with Bristol stones and English lace! Do tell me, madam, who this figure 1s, With shape so vulgar, and so strange a phiz?”’ “ Upon my honour, maam,’ a third replies, Till now, the creature never cross d my eyes: I take her for some pawnbroker's fat wife, Affecting airs of fashionable life; And decorated by her Cheapside spouse With all the gold and jewels of his house. Though more than this, [ would not wish to know Of wretches so contemptible and low. But Ramron’s partial smiles, | must observe, The gen'ral censure of the room deserve.” Malignant Fate, whose viewless form was near, Perch’d on the summit of a chandelier; Wrapp d in a garment stained with human gore, And squinting down® on Ramrop and the floor, 9 Eima 0” en aud’ wuorot dagowveoy amare gwrwy Azivoy deouowevy. HEsI1op. D [8 Beheld, with secret joy, th’ auspicious hour, When the vain king was doom’d to feel her power. Eager to rouze the sanguinary strife, To put out candles, and extinguish life, She beckons Eris' (daughter dire of Night’), Who, in a cobweb crouch’d, (conceal’d from sight), But (like its nat’ral tenant) ready lay To waken mischief, and to seize her prey. The fury, hated by the gods and men, Quitting her villain-brother’s dirty den, Obedient to the awful sign of Fate, Instant skipp’d forth, array’d in spleen and hate, And arm’d with jaw polite, and language Billings- gate. * Strife or Contention is often personified by the Greek poets. She is finely represented on the shield of Hercules. Emi de Brocupoio werwrre Asivy Egss wamoryro xogucceaa xAroyoy aydowy. HEsIop. * The same poet (if indeed he be the author of the AZMI£) in his The- ogonia, makes Eris or Strife the daughter of Night: Nu odoy—Eguy rene naprepodouoy. 19 « Hasten,” said Fate, ‘‘ rush quickly to the floor; Awake.-the tumult; bid the battle roar; ’Gainst Ramron’s empire discontent excite : Mingle his friends and foes in bloody fight: Bid Faction tear the medal from his breast, And dissipate the powder of his crest: Rumple his chitterling; his kid-gloves soil; The evening labours of his toilette spoil: The melted taper on his small-clothes pour; And lay him, foul and prostrate, on the floor. «Then, let the tumult thicken: rouze each fair To calling odious names, and pulling hair; Let curses thunder, and let blows resound; Torn lace and broken fans bestrew the ground; And gray-hair'd scalps and wrinkled skulls deplore The loss of wigs, wide-scatter d oer the floor. Haste, therefore, and to wake the louder clatter, Assume the form and face of Mrs. Cuarrer.” Soon as she heard vindictive Fate’s decree, Down dropp d the pest amongst the company; 20 And took the likeness of the shrivell’d dame, Her wig, her fan, her cap, her gown the same’. Thus chang’d, she scatters through th’ indignant crowd Inflammatory speech, and murmurs loud; Complaining sorely to each soul she met Of laws abus'd, and breach of etiquette. But soon the lady Lorry* she selects From out the number; and to her directs Her chief discourse; filling her breast, the while, With rich quintessence of infernal bile. ‘‘ Heav'ns! can your ladyship in silence see Such unexampled ineivility?! Ramrop, forgetful of the friends who plac’d The crown upon his shallow pate, and grac’d His bosom with the medal of these rooms, The region rich of jewels and perfumes ; 5 Qs ga ro" By o ag overcos, emt roy mudoy axouee, Kaprarimws dimave Sous ems vyas Anaiwy.— Zry Dap uwEeg xegarys NyAciw uss eoimws. HoMER. + B.C. page 43. 21 Can you behold, I say, the ingrate vile Bestowing every bow and every smile On base-born,frumps, the dregs of vulgar life, A mean tobacconist’s disgusting wife: And not attempt the rights to vindicate Of long descent, high blood, and ancient state? Ah! where is now that amzable sense Of differing kind, and in-born excellence, Which swells the bosom, sparkles in the eye, And smooths the brow of dread nobility ; And (like Mimosa’) almost shrinks to death, Approach’d by aught but fashionable breath? For Heaven's sake! your dignity assert, And, instant, punish this intruder pert. > The sensitive plant; whose delicacy and sensibility Dr. Darwin thus elegantly describes : Shield, when cold Hesper sheds his dewy light, Mimosa’s soft sensations from the night : Fold her thin foliage, close her timid flowers, And with ambrosial slumbers guard her bowers. Cicon. or VEe. Q2 Think on the proud pre-eminence you claim At balls and routs o'er ev ry city dame! Think on the honourable stand you take At royal levees, till your ankles ache! Think on the hundred quart’rings of your arms: The herald’s college; and the red-book’s charms! Think on the house to which you are allied ; And summon its hereditary pride ; Nor, patient, witness such a monstrous thing; A commoner the fav rite of a Kine! “ Full forty years, or OTe Cts truth I tell), The vulgar hussy I remember well; And, at her husband's shop, in Fetter-lane, Have purchas‘d snuff, full oft, perfum’d and plain: Her present bloated ladyship, the while, Serving the customers with humble smile. Mean time, her better half, a plodding elf, Intent on nought but aggrandizing self, Unmindful of the gambols of his spouse, And careless of the horns that grac’d his brows; 93 Became a city liveryman, so great, And then was rais’d to aldermanic state. «Scarce had he gain‘d this envied situation, When glorious news intoxicates the nation— The papers tell, how ‘ England's vet’ran bands Had landed gallantly on Helder’s sands, But, coarsely treated when they went a-shore, To wives and children were return'd once more; (Led by that ske// and bravery united, Which, a few years before, the French had frighted Near Dunkirk’s walls; when leaders bold of heart Wisely adopted valour’s better part®, * The better part of valour is discretion. Old saying, which the poet thus explains : , ‘‘ For he that fights, and runs away, May live to fight another day ; But he that is in battle slain, Can never live to fight again ;” an idea for which he was indebted to Homer’s —e’ yae tws BeBrAnuevoy warner iaiem or perhaps to the well-known Greek adage— AVEQ 0 DEVYWY KOb TAM [LAX NTET CL 24, And, pell-mell, helter-skelter, ran away, That they might live to fight another day ; Leaving the foe to judge how dire a thing It was t oppose the offspring of a king.) No sooner did the joyful news arrive, That prince and army were come back ale, Than Englishmen, their ¢rizmph to express, Crowd round the throne, with many a long address ; And jingling bells, and wide illumination, Proclaim the victory throughout the nation. Then, Mr. Purr, by common vote appointed, Presents his parchment to the Lord’s anointed ; First kisses hands; drops down upon his knee, And rises up the great sir Trmoruy. Fer since, the lady of our paltry knight The shop forgets: affects to be polite; And, her low breed the better to conceal, Intrudes herself ‘“mongst company genteel. But, will you sanction such impertinence!— Forbid it, all the laws of consequence !— 25 No! instantly avenge her bold intrusion, By throwing Ramrop’s ball into confusion.” So spake the fiend; and saying thus, inspires The titled dame with her own hellish fires: Then turning, mingles with the circle gay To spit fresh venom, and promote a fray. As a gay courser of the racing brood, Noble in pedigree, and high with food, If tortur'd by provoking gadflies’ stings, Madden’d with rage, o'er hedge and ditches springs, And foams, and kicks, and neighs, and snorts the while, Indignant at th’ assault of foe so vile: So, the strange story of the fury dire Sets lady Lorry’s bosom all on fire; She bites her lips; with rage her pulse beats high; Insulted dignity inflames her eye; And scarce the lace restrains her swelling breast, _ As thus the fair Raétana’ she address’d; 7 B. C. page 26. 5 26 “Gods! do we live the day to see, Of such disast’rous prodigy, When Ramrop thus forgets his duty To blood, to pedigree, and beauty, And places on the ttle-bench A city-tradesman’s ugly wench; The wife of a tobaeconist, Dealer in pig-tazl, shag, and twist ; Who long attended in the shop, The dinner cook’d, and turn’d the mop; But, late, by derty knighthood fir d, Has to good company aspir d; And now asserts a dignity, Confin'd to rank and family? Say, shall we sanction such abuse? — Tis true, our monarch has hes use; But this departure from all rule Proclaims him either knave or fool; And justifies each dame of spirit The blockhead straight to disinherit: 27 To strip the medal from his breast; And one, more worthy, to invest With all the honours he assumes, As monarch of the Upper-rooms.” “ Your ladyship is right;” the fair returns, Whilst indignation in her bosom burns— “ Not less than hurling Ramrop from his throne For such atrocious conduct can atone. My bosom lab’ring with insulted pride Leaves vacancy within for nought beside’; And thoughts of vengeance rising in my soul, All other wishes, hopes, and thoughts controul. Shall I, who now for thirty years and more Have (constant) honour’d, grac’d, and trode this stile Except the season when my lap-dog fell, And fix'd me to my room to weep Fidel; I, who've so long been sooth’d with ‘ pretty things,’ And claim’d the homage of two prior kings ; 5 Tenw nonwy os xener’ ecS’ omy reby, EURIP. > B.C. page 30. 28 The gallant D Who always sought my hand to grace his nighé, , handsome and polite, Till, tired of ceremony, state, and wife, He chose a younger queen and rural life':— And solemn T By nature form’d director of the ball; too, the stiff and tall, Who, skill’d in rank, deep vers'd in etiquette, Ever named me for the final minuet*: I, who have triumph'd here so many years, Adimir’d, ador’d, by baronets, and peers; Caress'd, but envied by the female throng: | Now led the dance; now patronizd the song”: Shall I, in silence, brook the foul disgrace To mushroom citizens of giving place? — Believe it not: your ladyship shall see The dire revenge of injurd dignity: * They who are conversant with the annals of the monarchy of the Upper-rooms need not be reminded of the elopement which occasioned a change in the dynasty about seventeen or eighteen years ago. * Note, page 8. > B.C. page 26, note. 2g For, sooner shall her hand forget the art Of laying paent on every proper part, Than scorn’d Ratrana the offence forgive, Or longer let the mad. offender live.” So spake the fair one, big with bitter anguish, Whose eyes, till now, were only known ¢o languish, Save when, the offer of untitled swain Had caus'd her wounded pride a moment’s pain. With equal fury lady Lorry flames, And, “ Vengeance, instant vengeance,” each exclaims; Should’ring and pushing through the crowd the while To reach poor Ramrop, and discharge their bile. As tigresses with rage and anguish stung When robb'd by daring hunters of their young, The pathless sands in each direction cross, Their whelps to rescue, or revenge their loss; And, roaring as they roam, the monsters fell, To the wild wastes their grief and madness tell*: 4 WEMEO Abs NUYEVEOIE O1 oa Q ure oxvnvous EAaPYBOAIS aemaAon avye 350 So, rush’d the furious pair, and as they went Pour'd forth reproachful names and “ loud lament;” Now ‘gainst the monarch venting all their spleen, Now railing loudly at his fav rite queen; Calling “to arms,” and bidding all arise To seize Ais diadem, and put out her eyes. A gen'ral tumult instant shook the place, And indignation fir'd each female face: *‘ Old friends forsaken ;’—< Pedigree despis d;’— ‘«‘ Statutes neglected; —and, “ Strange rules devis d;’ Such are the charges which, in thunder tost From mouth to mouth, infuriate the host’, And, suddenly, the paradise of joys ‘Transform into a scene of rage, abuse, and noise. So, in the summer-tide, may oft be seen, When all around is lovely and serene, Trays en munivyst 0 be r'ayvuras verecos eAbwy Iloaaa de 7” aye’ emynrde wer’ avecns ingvi egeuywy, Eimobey efeupos Meru yap dpiuus 0A05 aupel. Hom. * Jamque magis atque magis, serpitque peragmina murmur. V1re6. ol The unexpected storm malignant rise, And quickly spread its burthen o'er the skies. Sudden darts out the light’ning’s vivid flash, Succeeded by the thunder’s awful crash; Then rushes prone the deluge from above, Floods the enamell’d mead, and shakes the grove; Whilst ruffian winds from evry quarter pour To aid the mischief, and increase the roar. Now had Rarrana and the peeress proud Elbow’d and squeez’d through the tumultuous crowd, And reach'd with labour huge, the bench of state Where, plac'd by Ramrop, WiLHELMINa sate. Still the weak monarch linger’d at the spot, (His duties all neglected or forgot) And thinking he had yeé# not done enough To shew his high respect for lady Purr; He still bows, simpers, and with due grimace | Repeats the tricks of his exalted place. Impatient at the sight, Rarrawa flies, Swift as a vulture, on her destin’d prize: 32 And seizing, fast, the Krne’s dependent tail With one soft hand, the other ’gan assail His smiling face, (averted fromthe crowd) With slaps reiterated hard and loud. “ Take that,” cried the virago, “ that, and that;” (Whilst the roof echoed back each sounding pat) « And think not, puppy, we will patient see Such mark’d contempt of all propriety ; Or, let a fellow, whom we raisd so late From vile society to rank and state, Longer abuse the kindness of his friends, On whose sole will his royal sway depends.” Thus saying, from his breast she strives to tear The bright medallion given him to wear; The sacred emblem of his sov reign rule O’er coxcomb, male and female, flirt and fool; Whilst lady Lorry, on the other side, In all the strength of irritated pride, Her eyes on fire, her neck with fury red, Darts at the powder'd honours of his head. 33 To aid the treason other foes advance, Who, disappointed of the expected dance, Shout, “deadly vengeance” on the hapless wight, For all the blasted pleasures of the night. In vain the astonish’d monarch “ Order’ cries; Entreats their pity; bids them spare his eyes; Attempts the medal in his breast to hide, In happier times his safety and his pride’; In vain; with louder shouts the walls resound ; The bold, rebellious crew, their Kine surround; And quickly lay him prostrate on the ground’. Well sings the moral bard* in pensive strain, The many drawbacks on the brightest reign; « The glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things, There is no armour against fate;” Misfortune reaches een the best of K1nes; ° Decus et tutamen. VIRG. 7 Pube Je pay Ou avarorr’ 5 Taprapoy Evpoy. HESIOD. + See a fine moral poem of James Shirley’s (Death’s final Conquest). Percy’s Relicks of Ancient English Poetry, vol. i. page 270. F J4 “ Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And zn the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.” Now had the splendour of his reign been o’er, And Ramrop, crush’'d to death, arose no more, Had not a gen’rous friend tn time of need, (At such a crisis ‘twas a friend indeed ) Stept forward to assist his desperate state, And save him from the final blow of fate. Oh, loyal Muse! in strains triumphant sing Her name, who from destruction shields the Kine; His rumpled clothes from fresh attacks protects ; Asserts his cause, and brave allies collects. "Twas lady Purr herself; the Amazon, Of muscle strong, vast size, and giant bone; Whose late monopoly of Ramropn's smile Had vex'd the ladies, and provok'd their bile. Indignant at the treatment of her beau, So elevated once, and now so low: 35 She bursts the circle with impetuous strength, Which, dense, surrounds the ruler’s prostrate length, And, like the fam’d colossus of the Sun, Bestriding her fall’n friend, she thus begun. «Why, what the devil are the fools about, Filling the room with such a black-guard rout: Raising an insurrection one and all; And knocking down the master of the ball? ‘«« Are your proud ladyships displeas'd to see A stranger treated with civility; Because her arms and family alone Are not so old and ragged as your own? Marry come up! I hke such insolence In trollops who have neither wit nor pence; Who, like the saucy pedlar with his packs, Carry their whole possessions on their backs. “ Let any twenty of your troop come forth, And lay down all the little they are worth, The sum shall doubled be by Timmy Purr, Whose heavy purse will still contain enough 36 To dress his lady in a better style Than any one amongst your rank and file. “ But, bating this, I will not live to see On English ground such inequality, As all united against one poor devil, Because, forsooth, he’s been a little civil. No, vixens! lady Wriyetmina Purr, Though mild and gentle, can be fierce and rough; Can exercise her tongue, and fist, and nails, ’Gainst any one who Ramrop next assails.” She more had said, but lady Lorry’s ire Prevents; for, flying at the costly tire Of precious lace, and gauze, and jewels rare, And wig volummous of ebon hair, That cover'd lady WitHeiminas skull, She twitch’d it off by one successful pull, And left her scalp an object dire to see, At pace the jest and terror of the company. Yet, not without disaster was the deed; For, with the trophy as she ‘gan recede, 37 A weighty blow from WiLHELMIN« came Full on the cheek of the illustrious dame. Marks of the mighty fingers instant rise°; The scalding tears suffuse her lovely eyes; Like flea she backward jumps; then shrieks aloud, And cowardly runs shrieking through the crowd. Now universal rage began to reign, And noise,. confusion, hubbub stalk’d amain. Many in: lady Lorry’s cause combine ; As many lady WriHEeLMINa join. Slut,” « Hussy,.’ “ Minx,” and such unseemly names Are bandied to and fro amongst the dames; Whilst kicking shins, or pulling noses, marks The ruder efforts of contending sparks; And caps, wigs, neckcloths, and long locks of hair, Spread oer. the floor, the furious war declare. oxymrpw de weradpevoy Os Kal wuw TlAygev" 0 Vidvwby Gaarcpoy de o: exmere daxpu’ Twos 0 amarceron werappovon ekumavecry LATICO VTA KpuTEoU. Hom. 38 Mean time, the demon who had rais'd the strife By Destiny's command, now gives it life; And mask’d in Cuarrer’s form, where’er she turns, The tumult thickens, and the battle burns. But chief ’mongst those who Ramrop’s corse surround, The tug of war, and hottest fight are found': Here (for and ‘gainst the monarch) shine display d The boldest actions of each youth and maid. Say, Muse! for thou art conversant in things "Bout warfare, military men, and kings: Say who, upon this memorable night, Rush’d boldly forward to the bloody fight; And join'd the combatants on either side, As warm d by loyalty, or urg'd by pride. In the first rank appears ma'am Pannixin, The dumplin helpmate of the Man of Tin: Who, fierce, at lady WitHEetmina’s hand (No mean assistant) takes her steady stand. " O1 D aes megs vengoy avanpevar dovear’ evovres, Nwaees EY HLMAMTOYTO, KAI GAAHAUS avagrtoy. Hom. 39 «Why, surely,” she exclaims, “he’s not to blame For his attentions to a cety-dame. Who more deserve a fiang’s cwility, Or better claim the royal smile than we? How would the nation thrive in peace or war But for the money wrthzn Temple-bar? Who the demands of mznzsters could meet Save the inhabitants of Lombard-street? Or, how would proud nobility support Its pomp at home, its gaudy dress at court; Its furniture, its luxury, and parade, Could it not #ck conveniently with trade? For Ramrop then [Il fight, and promise too, My “ttle Man of Metal so shall do.” Next her comes on a figure thin and tall, Whose lantern visage towers above them all’: Great Pompro Goreon, with his leering eye, A Caledonian wight of seven feet high: 2 He above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent Stood like a tower. MiLTon. 40 Who half an age his gallant course had ran, Kept twenty mistresses, and A7ll'd his man; But having spent in sz of years his best, To milder folly consecrates the rest. He too, in pity of his ancient friend, Lifts his dong arm, poor Ramrop to defend. His equal match on Ut other side is seen, Of more than mortal impudence of mien, Fat, fair, and fifty, Mrs. Ventcte, (In former days a celebrated belle, Envied by women, and ador'd by men; The lovely theme of every poet's pen; But now the comptiment she disregards, For all her serious thoughts ‘are bent on cards*:) Flaming with rage, she presses on to cuff The face of lady WitHetmina Purr; And, with a ‘fist as huge as lion's paw, ‘To give the fallen Kine his coup de grace. > But all his serious thoughts are bent on Heaven. GOLDSMITH. Al Beneath the heroine's uplifted arm, With seeming courage, but secure from harm, Fapovue appears; who, at Ratrana’s call, Had join'd that night her party to the ball; In case, through heat, she might be taken ill, And find occasion for his oft-tried skill. He now, though careless of the cause of fight, To side with far Rarrana deems it right. His brother Sourcrovr* too, sarcastic rogue, (Mark’d native of Milesia by his brogue; Quizzing his patient when he takes his leave; Or while prescribing, laughing in his sleeve: Too pheelosophic common sense to hear; Too proud a Saviour to seek, love, or fear:) He too, at once, with single glance of eye Discerning on which side the odds would tie, Resolves the opportunity to seize Of making business, and increasing fees; * B.C. page 55. G 42 And, reckless of his countryman’s disgrace, Declares himself for ttle, rank, and place. Not unsupported are the doctors twain; More heroes follow in Rarrawna’s train; Dick Sasce’ eager bustles through the crowd, Fam‘d for his wise discourses fong and loud, His democratic fists prepared to try Their mighty force on prostrate majesty. Him follow'd Perutanr®, a warlike knight, At home a tiger, but a hare in fight’. Accustom d women to kick, curse, and scold, Now in the ball-room fray he waxes bold, And hopes to bind fresh laurels on his brow By laying lady Wiinetmrina low. But, on the other side, large succours came To vindicate the Kine, and aid the city dame. Sir Crery Orance’®, (who had just stol’n out Unseen from his dear wife's perennial rout, > B. Ciepe 100: ° B.C. the captain mentioned in note, p. 100. 7 Oyres o1nos Ev Acovres Ey wanyy 0 aAwnrenes. ARISTOPH, * B.C. page 59. 43 And to the Upper-rooms, impatient, ran, For momentary respite, from the clan _ Of old grimalkins, who, each night, givend The ttle parties of their ancient friend) He, all politeness, feeling, and regard For ladies when their purse is long and hard, Declares for lady Purr; and vengeance vows Qn any who shall hurt the Man of Bows. Summon'd by him the classic BorEcaT?® goes To aid the warfare against Ramrop’s foes.— Right glad, im truth, would he have wav d the call, And leagu’d himself with men professional, But fear, lest such a step offence might give, Left the poor doctor no alternative. A pair of parsons too, his ranks among, (The Man of Sentiment and Man of Song ; BiLLy a poet rare, and Bow-wow hight’) ~ Are mad to mingie in the dreadful fight.— * B.C. page 54. * B. C. page 84, 103. 4A “ Unthinking clerics! and absurd in talk! How shall ye combat, who can scarcely walk? What though the glass too much with rage inspire Your swelling hearts, and set your thoughts on fire’? » « The glass too much.” This phrase, applied to gentlemen who have passed the bounds of sobriety, seems to have originated in a passage to be found in Atheneus, from Eubulus, a writer of the middle Greek comedy. He allows three glasses to the prudent man; one for health; one for plea- sure; and one for sleep: all beyond, says he, have evil consequences. The fourth is the glass of abuse: the fifth of noise: the sixth of debauch: the seventh of fighting: the eighth brings in the constable: the ninth produces malignity ; and the tenth ends in madness. Tels yap pmovous xparyoas eynegavyuw Tors euggovecs Toy mey vyelas sve, Oy mewroy exmivaciv’ Tov de deuregoy Eguros yoovys re" roy reiroy durve Oy siomlovTes 01 TOPOL HEMANWEVOL Omade Badites. O de reragros exert Hyersgos esiv, AA’ vBoeos. Teumros Boys, Exros de xwuwy? EBdon05 urwiriwy. O 9 oydo0s xAnropos’ 0 0° evvaros y0Ays" Acnaros Js mavias, wre Barri Totes. Aristotle’s progress of intoxication is somewhat similar to the above descrip- tion. The learned Dr. Falconer of Bath, in his admirable work on Climates, at once erudite, philosophical, and entertaining, has given us the following translation of it. When a sober, moderate, and silent man drinks wine in a quantity rather more liberal than ordinary, it has the effect of cherishing and rousing his spirits and genius; and rendering him more commu- nicative ; if taken still more freely, it renders him mote talkative, eloquent, 45 — Tis not enough—who join the warlike band Must clearly see, speak plain, and steady stand!” Beside these worthies (of more noble name) Troops of znferiors to the battle came: Who mix in tumult with volcanic heat, Their horrid arms,—fans, wigs, nails, teeth, and feet. But ill would it befit heroic verse The deeds of va/gar warriors to rehearse: No! let the Muse to gentlefolk confine Each pompous period and each nervous line. As yet had WitHetmina’s mighty arm Guarded the monarch from surrounding harm; Her petticoats depending o'er his face, Secured his tumbled head from more disgrace ; Whilst her vast /egs his shoulders twain comprest, And saved the. costly medal on his breast. and confident of his powers and abilities; if taken in still larger quantities, it makes him bold and daring, and desirous to exert himself in action; if taken still more largely, it renders him petulant and contumelious; the next step renders him mad and outrageous ; and if he proceed still further, he becomes stupid and senseless. 46 But, as her tongue, eyes, hands, incessant move ‘l’o meet the desp'rate war that flames above, Below Rarrana makes a base attack On silent Ramrop, flound ring on his back, And tweaks his nose with so malign a pull, The monarch bellows like a madden’d bull. Astonished at the unexpected note That issued from beneath her petticoat, Purr's eye is backward, instantly, inclin’d To see if all be safe and sound behind. Rarrana’s fraud immediate she detects, And, eer the stooping maid again erects Her form majestic, an impetuous blow From lady Winaetmina lays her low. Falling, she shrieks aloud; ‘‘ Ah me! [ die!” Then silence seals her tongue, and night her eye’. So, when the tulip of majestic air, (The painted beauty of the bright parterre) > Hec effata silet ; pallor simul occupat ora. Ovip. 47 Yields to the fury of the stormy wind, Or the rude finger of unthinking hind, Low on the earth its haughty crown is laid, Its leaves collapse, and all its colours fade. But, oh! another heart was doom'd to wail The heavy blow that turn’d Rarrana pale, Resin‘, in passing by, had heard the din, And (though by law forbad) just ventur'd in: (For only on the stated concert night, Apollo's sons, to entrance have a right.) Scarce had he thrust himself wrtthin the door, When, ‘mid the noises strange and mingled roar Of war, he heard the pitiable sound Rarrana utter d as she met the ground. Friendship and Love Platonic lend him wings; To aid his patroness he forward springs; _ And, in a moment, reached the fatal place, Where lay the paragon of form and grace. * B. C. page 84. 48 But who can tell the sorrows of his breast When the mute fair he eyed, and thus addrest; “Speak, dear Rarrana, vaken from dy swoon! Oh! dat my instrument ver but in tune! Den vould I quick restore dee to dy tongue; And make dee tell me who had done dee wrong. Ah, Dio! vat shall Restw do.—T 11 die— No! dat vil never do—TPll sit by dee and cry r Thick as the leaves bestrew the joyless fields, When gentle autumn to the winter yields’: Or, fast as drops refresh the dusty road, When summer clouds dispense their wat ry load ; So thick, so fast, descends the scalding tear From Restn weeping oer the out-stretch d fair. Whilst thus the lover passionately grieves, His sorrows deep dame Venice perceives; s Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, High over-arch’d, imbower: or scatter’d sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion arm’d Hath vex’d the Red-Sea coast. MILTON. 49 And, fearful, lest the melancholy sight Her party should dishearten in the fight, With rapid strides she seeks the mournful man, And slapping hard his shoulder, thus began. «Why, Restn! what a sight is this! A hero weeping for a miss! Adzooks, here’s ‘ other fish to fry, Than, baby-like, to sit and cry. Dost think that tears can aught avail? Ifso, Pd quickly fill a pail. Believe it not, my honest fellow; They ll only make thee thin and yellow: Sib eacs 20 Se Gee your face, Another will supply its place; Nor should their tide for ever flow, Would they remove the cause of woe®. O Shai pan PRR cen Aes i 0 xAcdiooe 74 novel etavero, Haare se? ay Dekcuia Boyrcetacevateys Nuy 2 a goose: ra woaryuar’ wl ano Grent: Eig raura, decor’, wAAw ryy auryy odoy, Eay TE xAGIYS, AY TE [oy WOREVET HS. H 50 Then up, my lad, and lend a hand To conquer this presumptuous band; Or, should your stomach not delight in A hasty meal of hearty fighting, Then hurry to the card-room’, man, And get us all the friends you can. Bring VeceraBxe in, and Rarrie; And Draweansrr® to join the battle; His front of brass, and tongue of fire, Will soon make Ramrovp’s friends retire: Ts de wosess 5 mWAcov adev" y Autry O Exes Qoreg ro devdoov, rere xapmoy, To danouoy. PHILEMON. Si que flent mala, lugubres Auferrent oculi, Sidoniis ego Mercarer bene lacrimas Gemmis, aut terete merce monilium. At ceu Rore seges viret, Sic crescunt riguis tristia fletibus. Urget lacrima lacrimam, Fecundusque sui se numerat dolor. CaAsIMIR. 7 This apartment adjoins the ball-room.—Editor. * These illustrious heroes, who make such conspicuous figures in the B. C. will have due respect paid them in the Second Canto. 51 For he, they know, to friends or foes, Nor modesty, nor mercy shews. And don’t forget to call Morose’®: He'll give our enemies a dose Of execrations that shall fright ‘em, And make it easy work to fight ‘em. D—n it, the battle will be lost Unless we can increase our host.” Awaken'd from his stupor, Rus1n rose, And (wisely choosing) to the card-room goes, Whilst Mrs. Veureie again returns Where the tumultuous conflict hottest burns. But, eer she reach'd the scene of mortal fray, Unhappy Pompo Goreon cross'd her way :— “ Stop, fury!” he exclaims, “ and feel my power, Know fate has destin’d this thy final hour!” He could no more—for, clasping him around, His adversary hurl’d him to the ground. * B.C. page 33. 52 Gasping, the giant lay upon the floor, Stretch'd out two honest taylors’ ells', or more. Bow-wow beheld the mortifying fall Of Goreon, erst so gallant and so tall; And, stagg ring onward to the victor proud, After three hiccups, thus exclaim’d aloud. “Turn this way, slut, h-e-e-re’s one that, in a crack, Will lay you (for he-e-s us'd to’t) on your back!” How vain the threat!—the lady’s iv’ry fan, With gentle tap, knock’d down the stagg’ ring man‘; Falling to earth, to damn the foe he tries; The potent wine all utterance denies’; Nought issues from his mouth, as prone he sunk, But the three bottles he had lately drunk. Soon as the Amazon had left the place, The scene of Bow-wow’s sickness and disgrace, 1 Enra 0 emeone mercion merwy, exovioce de xaiTas. Hom. ® Kai @” emerraperyn, 1e0s orn Oem eros rarely HAage, rns 0 aure Avro youvara nas Pidrovy yTOg. Hom. Dat sine mente sonum. VIRG. 53 Sonnet approach’d (to mourn his dismal fate) Who still could walk and speak, for he'd a harder pate. Down on the speechless man his eye he cast, Compar'd his present state with glory past, _ And (hiccupping,) in interrupted strains, Thus of his loss unspeakable complains: “ Oh! son of jollity, how art thou sunk! On the flat floor, mute, motionless, and drunk! Ah! what avail thy gay, convivial powers, (Thou boon companion of my social hours!) Thy fun, thy stories, thy high-season’d song*, And all the jokes of a free-speaking tongue’? Cursd be the hand, which (aided by thy wine) Has laid ‘ so low that sacred head of thine®.’ — But, oreo shall not ‘ welter on his bier, Without the meed of some melodious tear7!’ _ No! soon as sober, Pm resolv d upon it, Tl wail thy fate in a Paruetic Sonnet.” * B. C. page 106. > B.C. note, page 95. * Milton: Lycidas. 7 Id. 54 Still had he wept and sigh’d, but, through the door, Restn’s fresh levies from the card-room pour; He sees Draweanstr, dark as midnight storm’, And crown d with hat of fire-shovel form: The flame polemic from its summit wreathes, And everlasting burnings on dissenters breathes’. On either side ¢hezr oracle attend The Gemini’, and Gaffer Smut his friend. Next VEGETABLE comes, trim, smooth, and sleek, ‘Fore tetled ladies so polite and meek! Who Fashion’s shoes will &ck with ready tongue; But turns with horror from the vulgar throng: Who clears the altar for the great and gay, By shoving worthy-bidden guests away’. 8 Nouxri eoinws. Hom. ° Cui triplici crinita juba galea alta chimaram Sustinet, /Ztnzos eftlantem faucibus ignes. Vire: * B. C. page 124. * The reader will naturally advert to the line in Lycidas, from whence my uncle borrowed the above; and be reminded at the same time of the species of church pastors which Milton there describes ; Such, as for their bellies sake Creep,.and intrude, and climb into the fold. 55 Him follows Skipper’, petulant and bold, Well vers'd, in language fierce, to write or scold; Not that he issued from the wicked den, Detested (in his mind) by gods and men‘, Where Gentiles shuffle the enfernal pack, And, greedily, each other's money sach’;— No! from the street he’d heard the uproar loud, And, rushing in, had join’d the card-room crowd.— Last of the levy comes the gruff Morose— To him, his aid to ask, Bruni Sonner goes, Tells, clearly as he's able, all the matter Which first excited such infernal clatter: Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearer’s feast, And shove away the worthy-bidden guest : Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn’d aught else the least That to the faithful herdsman’s art belongs ! > B. C. page 107. * Osnia de Ovyroros nar adavaroros Cavern Twepdare, evpwevra, Ta de cruryeact Jos weo. Hom. > A term understood by the lower ranks of “ Gentlemen of play,” to mean the depositing of the contents of one friend’s pockets in the pockets of another. 56 Adds Bow-wow’s fall, and Ramrop’s desp’rate state; Entreats his kind assistance ere too late: And, the petition sooner to obtain, Presents his snuff-boxw with submissive mien: Morose upon the poet turns his eyes, O’ersets the tortotse-shell, and savagely replies: ‘« Bl-st your snuff-box! d—n your mull”! Fill my waistcoat pockets full. Give me, give me but enough Of genuine Caledonian snuff’; And I, familiar with the laws, Will advocate the monarch’s cause ; And, by the magic of my tongue, (Which still can prove that right is wrong; Or, make it clear, as solar light, That, vice versa, wrong is right’:) Will once again restore your Kine, And back to duty all his subjects bring.” ° The Scotch call their little horn snuff-boxes, mulls. % Qui facere asstlerat— Candida de nigris, et de candentibus atra. Ovip. 57 As bold Mezentius the gods defied ’®, And, in the midst of impious boastings, died; So, while Morose’s mouth with oaths is fall, Dicx Sasuet’s arm descended on his skull; Cursing he fell, and press'd the groaning floor: Walls, roof, and orchestra, rebellow to his roar. So falls the ox’, and yells with dreadful sound, When smitten by the butcher to the ground. And (suddenly bereav'd of sense and strength) The slaughter-house half covers with his hairy length’. Whilst some with triumph, some with horror, saw Th’ unlook’d-for downfall of the Man of Law, Shouts, curses, groans, and agonizing cries, From every quarter of the room arise ; The fiddlers frighten, and astound the skies. * Contemptor Divim Mezentius. VIRG. ° Sternitur, exanimisque tremens, procumbit humi bos. ViRG. * There lies him down the lubbar-fiend, And stretch’d out all the chimney’s length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength: MILToN. I 58 The fearful uproar e’en the flooring rends, And to the dark depot of wine descends’, Where Stroud (the tenant of the Upper-rooms) Deep in a binn’s impenetrable glooms Was busied, bottling for emmediate use The goodly grape’s intoxicating juice. Astonish'd at the clatter over head, He panic-struck jump'd quickly up, and said’: «¢ What are the sons of B s doing? By all that’s good! they ll be my ruin. There's all my newly-bottled wine, Which, a week hence, would be so fine; They Il make it soon as thick as mud; And spoil the whole that’s left in wood.— - Under the whole range of the Upper-rooms are stretched the commo- dious wine-vaults, filled with the excellent liquors of Mr. Stroud, wine- merchant, and tenant of the premises. 9 Augie d ecadmykey meyas oupavos, Ovruumos Tey Edseow 0 umevepbey avak eveowy Ardwyeus: Agizas ex Jeove arr0, xa sane, [ay Ob ETelTe Taiay avaeongceis Tloceidawy evooiy buy. Hom. ‘RY 1G 59 Zounds! what acrash! they've burst the floor!— Here, Jacx! do you secure the door, Whilst I step up amongst the boys, And try to stop their cursed noise.” No sooner said, no sooner done; Up stairs the vintner nimbly run, And, through the warriors as he prest, Each, who would hear, he thus addrest’*. ‘“‘ Do, worthy sir, or ma'am, be quiet, And cease from this disgraceful riot. The magistrates will send, no doubt, To know what all the row’s about; And make me for the hubbub pay, Or else my licence take away. But if you won't attend to reason, Do fear the punishment of treason. Remember what a monstrous thing It is, to rise against your Kine! * Luv tw By nara yynas Ayaiwy KN AAKOMITWY CY Ovriva wer Bacrrya nas ekoroy avdon xinern, Toy ayavors emecoosy EQYTUTATKE TALKOTAS. Hom. 60 And tremble at the dreadful paw Of the inexorable Law. Then do be quiet, I beseech ye, Or else its dire revenge shall reach ye; For, if you longer turn the ball Into a bear-garden, PUI call Their worship’s constables about you; And they, I warrant, soon will rout you. Adzooks! [Il not such usage take, When all my property's at stake: Nor, like a blockhead, patient see The ruin of my family.” As the poor waggoner, who (broil'd with heat, And choak’d with dust) had sought the cool retreat Of tempting pot-house, bord’ring on the road, To slake his thirst with nut-brown ale so good, Told sudden, that “ his team has run away, Leaves jug unfinish’d, and without delay Pursues the fugitives to stop their course, And swears, and whoops, and halloos til! he’s hoarse: ; ps, ; 61 But they, regardless of his threats, or pray, With fiercer fury oer the turnpike tear: Meanwhile, the crashing wheel and jingling bell Their want of all subordination tell; And clattering hoofs, dragg’d trace, and splitting shaft, A louder thunder to the welkin waft: So, inattentive to the speech of Stroup, A wilder fury seemd to seize the crowd, Louder and louder still the din arose; Fiercer and fiercer warr'd the madden‘d foes; Whilst eash exertion in the lab’ring fight Inspir'd fresh spirit, and produced new spight’. The missile weapons smite the chandeliers, And bring a shower of glass about their ears; Wigs, by the tapers fired as they fly, Seem like dread comets streaming through the sky: “! Pains x AHILYTAS KA TELLERS AAAHAOLT LY Ayvrec®? ev morguw* ws exoujmevws, EUaYOvTO. Hom. Ot ea ror arAnAoion Many Gu’ aAye EXovTEs DUVENMEWS EMM KOYTO. Hesiop. 62 Fists wildly lifted up the mirrors smash: Bottoms brought down, the solid benches crash. The scar’'d musicians sit in silent dread: Bristles the hair upon each fiddler’s head: Their music-books, neglected, fall to ground, And all their instruments harsh discord sound. Mean while the ¢apers, frighten’d at the sight, Shed on the combatants disastrous light’: Who, blind with dust, and deaf with ceaseless bo- ther, Now smite their foes; now buffet one another. Oppress d with heroes fall’n, the flooring groans ; The arch’d roof echoes back incessant moans: Accumulated horrors shock the eye; For all the business seems to murder or to die’. 6 Laditur adversum Pheebi Jubar, ipsaque sedem Lux timet, et dirus contristat sidera fulgor. STATIUS. 7 This battle piece seems to possess all the constituents of the sublime, and well to deserve the underwritten eulogy of Longinus on Homer’s cele- brated Battle of the Gods. It was probably produced after my uncle’s 63 return from the cider-cellar, where he was occasionally wout to inflame his genius with a pipe of short-cut, and a nipiperkin of Burton ale Editor. EmiPaeress, eraive, ws, avagenyvuuyyys ev ex Babowy yys, aure de yuurvemeve TACTHOB, AVA- Toomny Oc OAs Kab Diaracly Te Xoo! AawPavovros, Tavt’ aum, ecavos, adys, Ta dyyra, Ta abavara, HL Th MOTE TUIMMOAEWEL KO ouryusy OUYEVEL aN» LONGIN. [legs up. END OF CANTO If. Se ARH Pe i i lee a "1 rat , ™ “et | Aes sea om a ales ‘Welt om, AY ne Suds ae ae Se ott ; | : tae oe Ruy’ At: is . ego 8 a 120 We Ger tye Bg ey tu ; oe athe { bial ey Le shi waren; vine ioe ‘Eng, Re as oa ni wer Aya Hoan! chisel label eae oY rt pint “gait heat svar eal Lis t OF Aaa 40 aR | aoe ok : i ae et a mie sane i? ris sew nig: ae ase Se re ont re or ee cet ri; side: plist wes re Liat t an - ri ins i panto’ pelociings i: Meee Ce ee ree) Ais %, (i ee wiadideit Du, aon seme amin ie aa pe Ae 5 hei ae 1 id ’ . ae * ee py eas : vi gua nha Mie oe : mihi ge ire Nae ee aides ey hy a Bae ee . hee = a ate ee te) jae ee 65 A VINDICATION OF THE GLORIOUS REVOLUTION or 1688 From the Aspersions cast upon it in a Sermon preached by the Rev. Henry Phillpotts, Vicar of Kilmersdon, Somerset, before the University of Oxford. Act ofwy KAEO® eoceras nar’ aay. ALCAKUS. Note, on line 127. Shall, instant, suffer revolution’s pains. As I was one morning unrolling my weekly pound of rush-lights dur- ing the printing of the foregoing poem, I discovered its envelope to be the half sheet of a quarto publication, which, from the amplitude of its margin, the sharpness of its letter, and the fine woven texture of its paper, I imme- diately conceived must be a modern production of the press. Curiosity led me to peruse it; when the following passages presented themselves to my eye. ‘Let me now be permitted to remark, that this event is not in strict- ness to be called by that name, which the common usage of the country» however it originated, seems to have affixed to it. A revolution, properly so called, must be some important change in the constitution; some sub- version of the established authority, not of magistrates, but of the magis- tracies themselves; at least some grave and momentous alteration in the balance of the commonwealth, by which one division of this state is so much increased in weight and power, that the former character and ten- dency of the government is thereby materially changed. Now of the event which we are this day commemorating, can either of these proposi- tions be asserted? Did our constitution suffer at that time any important change? Were any of its constituent members torn off, mutilated, or even considerably impaired? Did the regal authority, on the one hand, lose so much of its majesty and greatness, or did the people, on the other, gain so K : 66 large an accession of weight and influence, that the government ceased to be, what for ages it had been in form, and what after the concessions of the two preceding reigns it was acknowledged and professed to be, a limited but powerful monarchy ; a monarchy, in which the sovereign is invested with every high, honourable, and even sacred dignity? ‘To him the laws look as their guardian and administrator, and to the maintenance of his state are they formally referred. It is the king’s peace which is broken by violating the laws of England: they are the king’s subjects whose lives and properties the laws of England protect, and, as the king’s subjects, must they sue for that protection. If such was the character of our government before the era of which we speak, and if such it has ever since contimued, how can we call that event by the name of a revolution? Rather let us humbly hope, that, in the principles which were then established, it will prove a lasting barrier against all revolutions. It was, at the very time, devised, and happily accomplished, to prevent a revolution of the very worst kind; one, in which all the liberties of the subject, and, by consequence, the security of the monarch, would have been lost in a gloomy and fanatical tyranny ; a tyranny wholly discordant to the genius of that government to which it was to succeed, and abhorrent from every principle and every feel- ing of the people over whom it was to be exercised. ‘¢ But we hear this deliverance called not only a revolution, but a glo- rious revolution. Far be it from us to deny, that in the history of this event there is much cause for glorying. In the steady, the disinterested, and, above all, the temperate patriotism of many of the great characters of that age, the friend of his country will always glory :—he will indeed glery, and still more will he be thankful to God, that in dangers so vast and so imminent, as then threatened to overwhelm for ever the happiness of this nation, God was pleased to raise up instruments of his Providence equal to the arduous occasion ;—he wiil glory teo in the virtue and wisdom of his ancestors, who, at such a time, and under so grievous provocations, heard and obeyed the dictates of Christian duty, which forbade the destruction of the monarchy, how ruinously soever it had been abused. But in the event itself he will not glory: widely different are the feelings which it will excite in his mind :—he will regard it as an awful crisis, when the ordinary 67 line of duty was for once to be relinquished; when a necessity, superior to all law, or, rather, imposed to secure the objects of all law, made the sacred duty of obedience to government yield to the still more sacred duty of preserving that society, of which government itselfis the first-born offspring, and the most steady and powerful support: he will think with religious awe on the fearful responsibility imposed on his ancestors, and he will tremble at the idea, that such a responsibility should ever be imposed upon himself. « Let not these reflections seem incompatible with a due sense of those invaluable blessings which resulted from our great deliverance. They are directed only to the nature of the event itself; nor is there any incon- sistency in affirming, that the character of the event is totally distinct from the character of its consequences, and may require to be regarded by us with very different feelings. It is the same in many other instances. Who can ever reflect without horror on the destruction of a great and flourishing city by fire and sword; on its palaces rased to their foundations, its vene- rable seats of philosophy and learning, the asylums of charity, the temples of religion, and even the abodes of humble happiness and domestic comfort, all abandoned as a prey to the destroyer, and mingled in one common ruin? Even if the greatest and most virtuous objects should demand so dreadful a sacrifice, and if the deed, by becoming necessary and unavoidable, should lose, for once, its natural guiltiness, who would dare to make a boast of this miserable necessity? In the blessings resulting from it he might indeed triumph; but who could so far outrage humanity, as to call that scene of desolation and havoc a glorious desolation ? “‘The words, our glorious revolution, were they merely employed to swell the periods of declamation, would meet no graver censure than the rest of such language merits. As, however, they are employed, they are not mere empty sounds; they are too often used on occasions when the inconsiderate, whether from age, from station, or from habits, may be widely and fatally misled by them.—True loyalty, like every other virtue, is not merely a cold deduction of our reason, but the combined result of reason and of feeling. To lessen therefore the delicacy of this feeling, to hurt the chastity of loyal principle, by habituating men’s minds to hear the greatest violations of it treated with indifference, is in itself no trifling mis- 68 chief; and is contrary to the wise policy of mankind in relation to all the finer virtues. This consideration alone would prevent the good citizen from speaking of a revolution, even if it were real, and justified by being neces- sary, without some palliative caution ; much more from eagerly represent- ing it as a subject of glory and exultation. But the remark applies with tenfold force to the miscalling by the name of a revolution, and glorying in it as such, an event of a very different nature. That event was neither accompanied, nor followed, by those dreadful evils which a real revolution can hardly fail to produce. Hence, to call it such is to mislead us in our estimate of the greatest calamity, which any country, tolerably well govern- ed, can experience:—it is one step towards really drawing down upon ourselves that evil, of which we have hitherto so much misused the name.” ‘‘The great actors in this event talked nor of the Rights of Men, but of the rights of Hnglishmen; and after their necessary and therefore just resistance, did not weaken the title of allegiance to government by any claim of the right to future resistance, &c.” The reader will conceive my astonishment and concern on reading the above; my astonishment to find that the world had been mistaken for one hundred and twenty years, in considering and calling that event a revolu- tion, which, in fact, was no revolution at all; and my concern to perceive that I had handed myself down to all succeeding generations, as an ass, by joining in the universal cry, and celebrating (ina note) that, as a great political blessing, which, in truth and propriety, was an event wherein the friend of his country ought not to glory; but which he ought rather to con- template with ‘‘a religious awe, on the fearful responsibility imposed on his ancestors,” for having had any thing to do with such an abominable busi- ness, ‘trembling, at the same time, at the idea, that such a responsibility should ever be imposed upon himself.” Anxious to know who this redoubted champion of toryism might be, to whom the world was indebted for such a grand political discovery, and who had thus obliged myself with an entirely new view of the nature of an event, on which I had been accustomed to doat with foolish fondness; I hurried immediately to my chandler, to see if I could haply rescue the re- mainder of the publication from destruction, and preserve such a treasure 69 amongst my papers. But, with all my diligence, I was unfortunately too late. Nothing remained but the di¢/e and a small torn fragment of the con- cluding page, the rest having been used by the Gothic shopkeeper, in wrap- ping up pennyworths of decayed cheese, salt butter, and rancid lard. With these poor remains, therefore, I returned to my garret: feeling some solace under my disappointment, however, in the idea of, at least, being in posses- sion of the name of the literary Goliah, who, by one magic waving of his goosequill, had thus dissipated the thick cloud of delusion which had obum- brated the minds of mankind for above a century, on a subject of equal interest and importance. The title-page was as follows. ‘‘ A Sermon preached before the University of Oxford, at St. Mary’s, on Monday, No- vember 5, 1804. By the Rev. Henry Phillpotts, M. A. of St. Mary Magda- lene College, and Vicar of Kilmersdon, in the County of Somerset. Oxford. At the University Press, for J. Cooke; and sold by Messrs. Rivington, St. Paul’s Church Yard, London. 1804.” Whilst I was musing over this rare specimen of political divinity, which had thus put me and all my brother whigs to open shame; my old friend and fellow journeyman, Tom Type, entered; and, seeing me in a brown study, immediately enquired the subject of my cogitation. I handed him the paper, and desired his opinion of its contents. “Tom is a shrewd man; a decent scholar ; a spirited fellow ; and an ardent whig, with no mean por- tion of political and constitutional information. He read the fragment repeatedly over, and with profound attention. ‘‘ Well, Tom,” said I at ‘length, “don’t you think parson Phillpotts has dished the revolution 2”— “‘ He dish the revolution, indeed !” replied Tom—‘‘ He be ! why, you blockhead, he might as well attempt to dry the ocean with a sponge as change the opinions of mankind on the GLORIOUS REVOLUTION, by any efforts of such a pen as fis. No! no! such reasoning as this may, perhaps, convince the heads of houses; but, take my word for it, common heads will continue to think as before on the subject. But,” continued he, drawing a chair close to me, ‘‘let’s evamine his composition a little. He says, you see, that this event is not to be called a Revoxturroy. Now, according to my notions (and I have some knowledge of definitions, as I helped to compose part of Johnson’s Dictionary), a revolution means, the 70 bringing of a thing back to a state in which it had been before; or, the reducing of it to its original principles ; or, to come nearer to the point, the changing of the existing state of the government of a country. And will he pretend to say,” proceeded Tom, raising his voice, and becoming more warm, ‘‘ will he pretend to say, that all these characters are not to be found in our GLORIOUS REVOLUTION? Was not our constitution brought back by it, in many important points, to that popular form which it had gradually been deprived of by the progressive growth of the power of the crown? Were not many constitutional principles then re-established, which had been lost, and almost forgotten, from the infatuation of the people at the Restoration on the one hand, and the base advantage taken of this popular folly by the scoundrel Charles and his rascally brother on the other? and, was not the eviséing state of the government completely changed by it; the overgrown prerogative of the crown curtailed ; and the plundered liberties of the people recognised and restored ?—But it seems,” continued Tom, ‘‘ that our ancestors are fearful/y responsible for the glorious act. Oh! rare logician!—What, I should be glad to be informed, can be the responsi- bihty of a lawful action, performed in a lawful manner? None, that I am acquainted with! and if the Rev. M. A. had known any thing of the nature of our constitution, and the history of the event he was decrying, he would have known, also, that the business in which our ancestors were then engaged had every sanction that the law and the constitution could invest it with. He should have gone to his Magna Charta, and consulted that before he denounced the legality and propriety of this great effort in favour of liberty. He would there have found, not only the principle of revolution (under certain circumstances) recognized ; but the very process and manner of it prescribed. ¢ Articuli Carte Regis Johannis. Quodsi rex, vel justiciarius, vel ballivi regis, vel aliquis de ministris suis, in aliquo ergo aliquem, deliquerit, vel aliquem articulorum pacis, aut securitatis transeres- sus fuerit, et delictum ostensum fuerit, iii’ baronibus de predictis xxv ba- ronibus, ille 1” barones, accedent ad dominum Regem, vel justiciarium suum, Si rex fuerit extra regnum, proponentes ei, excessum, petent ut exces- sum illum sine dilatione faciat, emendari, et si rex vel justiciarius ejus, illud non emendayverit, si rex fuerit extra regnum, infra rationabile tempus, 71 illis xxv baronibus, et illi xxv, cum communa totius terre, distringent et gra- wabunt regem modis omnibus quibus poterunt, scilicet per captionem castrorum terrarum possessionum et ALIIS MODIS QUIBUS POTERUNT donec fuerit emendatum, secundum arbitrium eorum salod persona domini regis, et regine, et liberorum suerum.’ Or, if he had rather read it in English, let him turn to the account which the Tory, Hume, has given of this part of the first English Bill of Rights. ‘The better to ensure the execution of the several articles of the great Charter, the king allowed the barons to chuse five-and- twenty members from their own body, as conservators of the public liber- ties; and no bounds were set to the authority of these men, either in extent or duration. If any complaint were made of a violation of the charter, whether attempted by the king, justiciaries, sheriffs, or foresters, any four of these barons might admonish the king to redress the grievance. If satis- faction were not obtained, they would assemble the whole council of twen- ty-five: who, in conjunction with the great council, were empowered to compel him to observe the charter; and, in case of resistance, might levy war agaist him, attack his castles, and employ every kind of violence, except against his royal person, and that of his queen and children.’ “Yes! yes!” proceeded Tom, his eye sparkling, and his cheek flush- ing, “the constitution has taken better care of the people than this com- plaisant divine would wish it to be thought to have done. It solemnly recognizes the Majesty of the People in spirit and in letter. Lifting its awful voice high above the cant of priests; the gabble of courtiers; and the whispers of sycophants; it bids an oppressed people assert its rights; and authorizes them (with a tenderness indeed that always accompanies true magnanimity) salva persona Regis, to seek in a legai revolution that redress which this mighty engine is alone capable of affording. Has not Blackstone himself, that great oracle of your law, whom nobody will suspect of too liberal politics, has not he acknowledged, that, ‘ when king Charles’s deluded bro- ther attempted to enslave the nation, he found it was beyond his power? the people both cou/d, and did resist him; and in consequence of such resistance, obliged him to quit his enterprize and his throne together.’ Black. Com. vol. iv. c. 33, p. 440; and again—‘In a full assembly of the Lords, &c.’ 17? 72 (See Black. Com. com. 8vo. edit. Oxon. vol. i. ¢. 3. p. 211, from the words ‘In a full, &c.’ to the words ‘religious as well as civil to maintain it.» Page 212. “ But, it seems, this acute reasoner would make a distinction between the nature of the event itself, and the consequences which have resulted from it; allowing us to rejoice in the latter, whilst we are to blush at the recollection of the former. Without attempting to help him out of the dilemma into which he has here plunged himself; I leave his own sagacity to explain, how we can reasonably withhold cur approbation from an act, whose consequences we are compelled to praise, provided that act was in itself legal, and had the further merit of being positively intended and exactly calculated to produce these applauded consequences. I would further ask, in what manner does his illustration of ‘ rased palaces ; desecrated churches ; and plundered asylums,’ apply to the present case? None of these fine imaginary evils were realized that I know of, in the determined but temperate measure of 1688. All was manly, solemn, and quiet. But even had such parécal evils actually attended an event which was intended to produce, and really did produce, such vast political good, there would still be no reason to look with horror on the event itself, or to snivel over the comparatively trifling degree of temporary inconvenience which had arisen from it. It might have been said, that the disease was desperate, and that the applications must necessa- rily, therefore, be severe, and the medicine impalatable. The same sensi- bility which the preacher evinces on this occasion, would have led him to ament the destruction of Sodom aud Gomorrah, when their abominations drew down the vengeance of Heaven upon them, and involved these great and flourishing cities, with their venerable seats of learning ; their asylums of charity ; their temples of religion; and abodes of humble happiness ; in gene- ral but deserved ruin. ‘There is, however, another of his distinctions which we meet with in this little torn scrap, that seems to me to be still more opposite to truth and reason than the one I before mentioned. He says, ‘the great actors in this event, talked not of the rights of men, but of the rights of Englishmen ;’ but,” continued Tom, with still more animation, ‘I would tell him to his beard, if he were here, that this is false. I would tell him, that the rights of Englishmen are nothing more nor less than the rights 73 of man—the rights of man in his social and political capacity. Those ina- lienable rights which man reserved to himself, when he surrendered the uncontrolled liberty of his natural state for the blessings and benefits that flow from social intercourse; rights, of. which no human power has authority to deprive him; rights, which, whensoever or wheresoever, or by whomso- ever they are attacked, he is justified in asserting, maintaining, and defend- ing, by reason, by nature, and by God. No! Jack,” cried Tom, throwing the fragments to the ground, and starting from his chair, “‘ never will I give up the glory of the revolution, nor cease to venerate the noble pa- triots who atchieved the blessing. Iam a true Englishman, Jack; and, trust, shall to my last breath both feel and declare those principles of liberty, which a fine scholar, a profound constitutionalist, and an upright judge has so beautifully and nobly expressed *.” What constitutes a state ? Not high-rais’d battlement or labour’d mound, Thick wall or moated gate ; Not cities proud with spires and turrets crown’d ; Not bays and broad-arm’d ports, Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride, Not starr’d and spangled courts, Where, low-brow’d baseness wafts perfume to pride. No:—Men, high-minded men, With powers as far above dull brutes endued In forest, brake, or den, As beasts excel eold rocks and brambles rude ; MEN, WHO THEIR DUTIES KNow, BuT KNOW THEIR RIGHTS, AND KNOWING, DARE MAINTAIN, Prevent the long-aim’d blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain: * For a more dignified, serious, and complete refutation of the principles asserted in the rev. Mr. P’s sermon, I beg leave to refer my readers to a discourse preached at St. Mary’s church, Oxford, before the University, on Saturday, Noy. 5, 1808, by the rev, Thomas F—lc==n—r of Bath. Cooke: Oxford. L 74 These constitute a state: And sovereign law, that state’s collected will, O’er thrones and globes elate Sits empress, crowning good, repressing: ill ; Smit by her sacred frown The fiend, Discretion, like a vapour sinks, And e’en the all-dazzling crown Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks ; Such was this heaven-lovd isle, Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! No more shall Freedom smile ? Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? Since all must life resign, Those sweet rewards, which decorate the brave, "Tis folly to decline, And steal inglorious to the silent grave. Srr W, Jones, Ey pvere xrAads ro Eigos Popnow Qs ree Apwodios nou Agisoyerrwy, Ove roy rupayyoy uraverny Ioovowes 7 Miyvas eromnoaryy. Siaral? Aguody’ ovmw rebyynas. Nyco1s 0 ev wanaowy we Qaow Elva. EL oQwy KASOS EToETaL KAT aay, Birra’ Aguodie xa Agisroyerrwy! Ort Tov Tupavvoy xravEerov Ioovomes 7 Abyvas enoryouroy. ALCEUS. FINIS. ne eg ee ee Ae Printed by T Davison, Whitefriars. The Restoration: BEING THE SECOND AND LAST CANTO OF fee, Boe ren GIN TEN od AT H; BY THE LATE PETER PAUL PALLET, pEcgasep: WITH AN APOLOGY FOR THE POEM, AND NUMEROUS NOTES, ANECDOTES, &c BY TIMOTAY GOOSEQUILL. « And all the Lapies and GENTLEMEN shouted, and said, God save our K1nc ! Long live our Kine ! May our Kine live forever! Huzza!” Coron. ANTH. LONDON: PRINTED FOR G. WILKIE AND J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1809. ot an - ey : 7 Soria ted Pam Me " i - et —_ ate y *e iu ” ka a : BT ne vee ee va Se Wi ee herent dea ie adi : a F - wee 18 ae) SrA ars iver vay) % me : a we Liou Asi , ay ee rv mont - daaadona, EHTS Hw AA nasa i oe a hae Hae sen a if Hae, HOTS * ow erred. aitrow suddenly Gta SIO Lone - a TeSee WN a np hes Ass Dek as ¥E Ca ha ae - ab qt ruery 23) it S08 ORE» LAVOE GOOD TRY OVRYT- ‘ n yi - mn ’ Soa f Disa bal hie Pil he inad adi te bah» 7 ole: big a iwi sheaves aT : : ia 7 ' 7 Low ipl me svil yn wih Hadayll ae ‘yh lh 2 dA aa uM ' , aor THe Moses, * Te, By ; Aye BS of LATELY WERE PUBLISHED, Price 6s. Octavo, in Boards, with a Frontispiece, THE THIRD EDITION OF THE Bath Characters: SKETCHES FROM REAL LIFE. WITH SOME OMISSIONS, AND MANY ADDITIONS 5 Amongst which are, The CODICIL to the Will of the late Peter Paul Pallet, alias Zachary Goosequill, A PREFACE to the Third Edition, A POETICAL INVOCATION to the two Masters of the Cere- monies of Bath, VARIOUS ADDITIONAL ANECDOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS, AND A POETICAL ADDRESS (or rather Dressing) lnscribed to the Rev. A—chd—n N-—— and Co. the Reviewers of the British Critic. Also, Price 5s. in Boards, Rebellion tn Bath: OR, THE BATTLE OF THE UPPER-ROOMS: AN HEROICO-ODICO-TRAGICO-COMICO POEM, IN TWO CANTOS: By the late PETER PAUL PALLET. Myyiy, acide, bex Ovaowevyy. Hom. CANTO THE FIRST: Edited by his Nephew, TIMOTHY GOOSEQUILL : TO WHICH IS ADDED A VINDICATION or tuz GLORIOUS REVOLUTION wn 1688 From Aspersions cast on it in a Sermon preached ly the Rev. Henry Phillpotts, Vicar of Kilmersden, Somerset, before the University of Oxford: By TOM TYPE. Agi ogwy KAEOZ eoceras nar’ aay. ALCEUS.. oe “— a o iv ‘ " ¥ av iy! yoke a ¥ tal 3 . o € % ¥ ; : i seals . ave? ce ha ine Oy a “ieee Tea Cauey a wae Ts) sere IHD a Leg hob %e amis ay Miahaithestat vs’ VHA THA “AMG LARA fats, aw” y a Hage v4 Tae, ce ne ‘Wow wiry 2) aay epabhy ‘elite aah, reobah Aah, oie vo te ey age 1 ttt Rit” ot eke TAT . Re ng weet Lo. wrateg hh aay iad MOWVAON gh 4 Balin cleat. Ayetysiwonw: Ch a Suc iad betta: avi a MAmOU IgG ane A wey $ . "Collagen ‘ihe 1p) Bar eta IATA Ae ee oe ASN) Aes eh AONE Fi ON) an =a Warr ot cy a} on ea rt, Wee “atrepi Gi may aie ake fo B a ae tsi wi soillds ie se SA OO HERS SRI Br Opa ava tii et bpsicteiassents ites 3 ‘ Bas POURED GORE «yr | it isd we Sia at. cae sles nf. sali Raat (ghey) i i Wauie a, nth as YS2005 Se og eitieo! xr. AOV EU aE Brae a4 ee mrs anor y, gern ni At fos ‘ ; it i i te a a rat are 5+, 3 : 7 pee | se ae AOC nih deat > a ane 1 7 me mie Mp sa, eae saad Ns my AN APOLOGY! FOR THE POEM. Lw'an age like the present, characterized by childish- ness and bad taste, when the muse, infected with the epidemic imbecility of the country, has divested herself of all the trappings of dignity, and put on the long coats of the nursery in their stead, I am not sur- prised to find that my uncle’s poem (of which I have the honour to be the Editor) should have missed that universal approbation to which its real merits give it so ‘The intelligent reader will perceive that the word apology is not here used in its vulgar sense, as a mean palliation of acknowledged error; or, as an excuse for a work which, in fact, deserves the most unqualified praise ; but in its original, classical, acceptation, as an answer for, or a defence of, it, against captious hypercritics, and superficial objectors. It was in this sense that an excellent prelate adopted the word, in behalf of a cause, which, of all others, best deserved the exertion of his high talents: though I confess, I cannot help thinking, that as his book was ayowedly written ad plebem, the choice of a title which would probably be misunderstood by most of his readers might be deemed unfortunate. It is scarcely necessary to add, that I allude to Bishop Watson’s “ Apology for the Bible.” B g fair a claim. The simplicity of its plan; the ingenuity of its machinery ; the dignity of its sentiments; the truth of its characters ; and the harmony of its versifi- cation ; to say nothing of its learning’, point, and wit, * From all the information I have been able to collect respecting the causes which have checked the circulation of the first Canto of my uncle’s poem at Bath, I am inclined to conclude that his Greek quotations constituted the prominent one. My worthy relative, indeed, seems to have estimated very imperfectly the talents, learning, and acquirements of that city of butter-flies and silk-worms, when he supposed many would be found there capable of con- struing and enjoying these long shreds of an old exploded lingo. In truth, they threw the town into a complete uproar. The ladies boldly pronounced, there could be no good meaning in such queer letters: and the gentlemen to whom they applied for translations, being equally capable of reading them, confirmed their opinion, and swore they were too indecent to be put imto English ! This did not, indeed, satisfy the curiosity of the females: but as they could not, with any delicacy, press for an explanation of what it was not proper for them to know, they grew out of humour with the poem, and joined the beaux in decrying a work, a part of which was as unintelligible to both as if it had been written in the imaginary language of George Psalma- nazar’s Formosa. These ingenious personages seem to have imbibed much of the taste, and inherited much of the learning, of the old songster; who, in the following admirable distich, has expressed his attachment to Strabo, Plutarch, and the other Grecian worthies : “ Your straw-boys and blue-turks and such sort of stuff, Egad ! I don’t value them one pinch of snuff.” The immortal Newton has declared, that if it were possible to condense the matter of which the universe is composed into a mass perfectly solid, without 3 furnish sufficient reasons for its being unpopular, with- out going deeper into the doctrine of causes and effects. Where the viscon is dim, it is in vain to expect a fair appreciation of sensible beauty; nor can we look for delicacy of taste in a palate which has long been accus- tomed to feed only upon garbage. An anecdote that now occurs to my recollection will illustrate my meaning in a moment. The late Lord Orford one day invited two French noblemen to dine with him at his enchanting retreat, called Strawberry Hill. those interstices which occur in all material composition, the lump would not exceed a walnut in magnitude. My uncle used to refine upon this pro- position of the philosopher, and say; that if the vous, mind, understanding, or intellect of the gay and fashionable circles of Bath could be collected and consolidated, the aggregate might be inserted into the eye of a gnat, with- out in the least affecting the vision of that diminutive insect. It was upon this principle he accounted for the ill success of all professional knowledge which tried its fortune in a place so ill calculated for its encouragement. « Ah!” he would say, when he saw such an attempt made, “ it is all in vain: it is only ‘ casting pearls before swine.’ Bath, Timothy, may be com- pared to a pot, with a piece of beef boiling in it; all the scum, and froth, and nastiness float to the surface, whilst the substantial joint struggles at the bottom to the end of the chapter. Little Mixum knew the pulse of the city too well not to perceive the causes of Dr. Vellum’s in- different success there. The doctor should have carried his talents to some place that had sagacity enough to perceive and value them; where his sound learning would have been understood; his strong sense ad- mired; and his sturdy honesty esteemed.” 4, After dinner his guests rose from the table, and walk- ed to the window, to contemplate the landscape which the house commands. ‘They acknowledged the scene was pretty ; but one of them turning to the other re- marked, that “ it could not be compared in point of beauty with the gardens of the Grand Monarque, or the Prince de Conde.” ‘ Gentlemen,” cried the indig- nant host, starting up and addressing them, “ I am not astonished at your observations: when the Amer- can savages were in England, they preferred trazn-o2l and whale’ s-blubber to all the delicacies that could be set before them.” Precisely such is the case with respect to my uncle’s poem: the fault is not in the dsh, but in the palates to which it is offered. Diseased and perverted by that stuff called poetry, with which it has long been crammed—such as the luscious nonsense of M—re ; the vapid translations of L—d S—gf—d; and the water-gruel sentement of 500 sonneteers*; the sto- mach of public taste is rendered incapable of digesting * It has been generally remarked, that “ poetry, like virtue, is its own reward.” However true this axiom may be with respect to the genuine pro- ductions of the art, yet modern times convince us its spurious ware meets with better success ; and the manufacturers of it witha more valuable re- muneration. The balderdash of T—y M—tre sells with the rapidity of a quack medicine ; and the murder of Camoens finds its reward in an embassy. 5 any substantial or nutritious food; petty conceit is pre- ferred to genuine wit; childish affectation to manly simplicity ; and tinkling sound to solid sense ! So much, as a general answer to general objections. In respect, however, to my departed kinsman’s literary fame (for, with regard to that zrritabile genus the race of writers, it may be said, « F’en from the grave, the voice of ‘ author’ cries; F’en in ‘ his’ ashes live their wonted fires ;”) I shall enter into a more particular defence of his work, and give a slight developement of its various excellencies. The specific charges against it which have been instituted, by the crztics of Bath (to wit, the masters of the ceremonies; the subscribers to the rooms; the members of the York-house club; the male and female practisers of the morning cotillions, and such like respectable judges) are, as I am inform- ed, three in number; first, that its action has no foun- dation in fruth ; secondly, that it has none of the fea- tures of a regular epic*; and, thirdly, that it is totally deficient in wot. + Let me not impress the reader with the idea, that I for a moment sup- posed the objection to my uncle’s poem, arising from its deficiency in the constituents of an epic originated with the masters of the ceremonies, &c. * 6 Now, even supposing that the first accusation were a just one, I could shelter my uncle’s poem under au- thorities to which no critic would be so hardy as not to pay the most implicit deference: I could adduce the venerable names of Homer and Virgil, and say, that literary sceptics consider it as problematical, whe- ther such a siege as that of Troy ever occurred, or such an hero as Achilles ever existed; and add, that no man of undisturbed reason now gives credit to the jilting of Dido by the prous Aineas ; or believes, that the same groaning hero robbed poor Turnus of his girl, and completed the favour by murdering the lover. But I scorn authorities, however respected or respect- able, where simple truth will serve my turn. Here I am of the poet’s mind, Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri ; and would rather place myself on my own broad-bot- &c. &c. By no means; I am well aware that the minds of these truly valu- able members of (Bath) society, never stray into the thorny paths of literary or intellectual speculation. The fact seems to be, that the charge was con- ceived, brooded upon, and hatched by the joint efforts of a learned fellow of a college, and the scholastic chaplain of a late controversial bishop. The notion thus begotten, and thus produced, was then introduced into the pump-room by its parents, Drawcansir and Gafier Smut, and immediately adopted as the child of the republic by the sagacious herds who ambulate this forum of folly, dulness, and impertinence. of tom, than be propped up by any examples whatso- ever. The real fact is, my uncle had sufficient foun- dation for the ‘ confusion worse confounded” which he has described as occurring at the focus of etiquette and good-breeding, the rooms of Bath; in a scene which was actually exhibited there about forty years ago. ‘The story is as follows: On the decease of Mr. Derrick, the master of the ceremonies, two candidates presented themselves for the appointment; the present Major Cyclops, and a person since dead by the name of Plomer. ‘The interest of each was strong. The Major was an Irishman; a man of play, a man of in- trigue, and a soldier, “ Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,” and, of course, named amongst his supporters most of the gentlemen, and a very large proportion of the ladies. Plomer, too, had a numerous body of Bath friends, and was besides backed by the tag-rag and bobtail of Bristol, with whom, it seems then to have been the custom, to subscribe to the Bath balls. After a long paper dispute, in which the mob of gentlemen who ‘ write with ease,’ and write equally well on all 8 subjects, exercised their great and varied talents ;° it was determined that a ball should be held, at which both the candidates should officiate, and an estimate being then formed of their respective talents, the ap- pointment should be disposed of accordingly. ‘The room was filled early in the evening, and the solemni- lies commenced ;_ but (as is natural to suppose would be the case) the partizans soon began to differ about the comparative merits of their respective favourites ; from gentle murmurs they speedily rose into loud re- proach; blows quickly succeeded to foul language ; and before nine o'clock, the rooms exhibited every grada- tion of horror, from bloody noses to speechless pros- tration®. ‘The mayor and peace-oflicers were called in, ° A wish to establish the fact of my uncle’s having had some foundation for the main action of his work, has induced me to be at the trouble of ascer- taining all the particulars of this genteel row; which may be found in the following work; ‘“ the Life and Adventures of Timothy Ginnadrake”— Bath, Cruttwell; and Dodsley, Pall Mall; 1775. °So appalling were the terrors of this fight, that the nerves of the late Mr. W—eht—n, an active partizan, shrunk under them, and he was carried, more dead than alive with terror, from the rooms. On his way home he met with his friend, the late Alderman W—ts—e. ‘“ What the plague ’s the matter at the ball?” said the alderman. ‘“ Murder, fire, and assassination,” returned the other; “the company are fighting like devils, and up to their knees in blood !” 9 and with much difficulty put a stop to the effusion of blood, and reduced chaos to order, for the night; but such was the mutual exasperation of the parties, that it is probable hostilities would have recommenced at the next ball with redoubled violence, had not a few gen- tlemen, more rational than the rest, proposed that the dispute should be settled by setting aside both the then candidates, and appointing Mr. Wade to the of- fice in their room. ‘The conflict, however, was serious enough to become a matter of public record, and in the Bath and Bristol Chronicle for April 13, 1769, we find the following account of the fray ; an account which my uncle adopted as the basis of his poem. « Never was such a scene of anarchy, riot, and confusion in this city, or exhibited in any assembly that has pretensions to politeness, as happened on Tuesday night last at Mr. Simpson’s rooms; when the friends of Mr. B. and Mr. Plomer met mutually to support their choice of each of the above gentlemen as master of the ceremonies. ‘“‘ Before the minuets began, a written paper was produced by a gentleman in the interest of Mr. ‘Plomer, which he requested to be permitted to read; but hisses, groans, and other indecent marks of disap- C 10 probation from the other party prevented it, and a general confusion was the consequence. Among the gentlemen, scandalous epithets soon produced blows; and among the ladies (who began the fray), the spirit of opposition afforded work for the milliners, hair- dressers, and mantua-makers. At last the mayor ap- peared with his proper oflicers, and the deputy town- clerk ; to appease the tumult, which was at length effected, after the riot act had been three tames read.” Nota season, indeed, elapses without similar ad- ventures occurring in these temples of gentility, and had it pleased Providence to have spared my uncle’s life one more year, he might have found another sub- ject for his Muse, of a like kind with that of his present poem, in the banishment of the brewers from the rooms, who were cut, quizzed, and driven away with tumult, on the absurd pretence of their being of the canaille, and consequently unfit for the society of fashion’. 7It seems rather hard upon this opulent description of tradesmen, who so greatly assist the revenue of the country, and benefit, so manifestly, the morality and health of the public, that the rigid regulations of the Bath balls should not allow them to mingle in these genteel assemblies. It was only last December that the young Mr. Kilderkins, who really (in their own opinion at least) are very pretty gentlemen, had their subscriptions to the 11 I have no doubt, however, it will still be said, (for the persecution of literary merit by the owls and. bats upper-rooms returned, because their presence there was offensive to the subscribers ; and not many weeks afterwards, another “son of the vat” was solemnly excluded from the curd-room, because he had, very good naturedly, in early life taken the trouble of acting in the capacity of a porter. For my own part I can see no reason why an honest brewer, who has raised himself rapidly from dregs, by his native shrewdness, knowledge of chemistry, and ingenious evasion of the excise, to the possession of a plumb, should not be considered as a gentleman. Solomon, indeed, who seems to have viewed things on their darker side, would not, perhaps, have given these worthy men such credit for integrity: for he has said, “ he that maketh haste to. be rich shall not be innocent ;” but I do not think he would have carried his spleen so far as to have excluded them from the upper-rooms, had he been master of the ceremonies, under the pretence of their being too ungenteel for polished society. As it is connected with the subject of this ’ note, I cannot omit mentioning another intrusion within the precincts of these thrice-hallowed walls, which lately occurred, even more alarming than that of the “ men of grains,” just mentioned. A quaternion of impures, anxious to gratify their curiosity with so fine a sight as a Master of the Ceremonies’ Ball, bought four tickets (for their money was as good as that of a prime minister’s wife, though earned, perhaps, in a different way), and bravely mingled with the crowd. They would probably have remained un- detected through the evening, for their dress was at least as decent, and their behaviour, to the full, as correct as those of the other females in the room. ' Unfortunately, however, some of their particular male friends happened to be present, who, knowing them, imprudently whispered to a sour old maid that characters of such a description were at the ball. The envious and malignant Grimalkin instantly spread the intelligence ; and a scene still more terrible than the one described by my uncle would soon have taken 12 of the present age assumes every form) that even al- lowing the man fact of my uncle’s work (a bloody: fray) to have literally happened, yet its subordinate parts want the corner-stone of truth for their support. But, in answer to this, I would observe, that such an objection evinces a total ignorance of the laws which regulate the higher species of versification; of that permissible lcentia poetarum by which genius is fos- tered, and invention, the soul of poetry, invigorated. Who, but a ninny, ever imagined, that in the construc- tion of an epic, it was essential for the poet to have historical authority for all the circumstances with which he embellished or diversified his subject? that he was servilely to confine himself to the limited circle of real occurrences, or enchain his energies by a sordid at- place, had not the girls been prevailed upon quietly to decamp ; which they good-naturedly enough did, after snapping their fingers in contempt of the company ; declaring with exultation, that they had had their five shillings worth of dancing ; and expressing their sawrprise (in coarse terms, but with a good deal of point), “ how women of character, so dressed, and so con- ducting themselves, could allure men to become husbands, when women of no character, could not be able, under the same circumstances, to attract the attention of the casual lover.” What a charming school of manners must this place be for young women just entering into life; and how admirably calculated to foster their simplicity, to refine their delicacy, and to improve their virtue / 13 tention to the tame routine of common life? These rigid laws are not imposed even on the writers of the prose epic, as inay be evidenced (to put Herodotus out of the question) in the affecting instances of Jack the Giant Killer; Tom Hickerthrift; Goody Two Shoes; and Thomas Thumb. Of the redoubted he roes of these lofty efforts of the human intellect, no one will be so sceptical as to deny their real existence; or that they actually distinguished themselves by re- markable achievements; though none can be credu- lous enough to imagine that all the personages in- troduced into their histories were as much entities as themselves; or, that every adventure recorded of them was the legitimate offspring of fact. If, then, such be the privileges of the writer of epic prose, they may surely be asserted in a still higher degree by the epic poet, to whom a wider range is given, and a _ bolder flight allowed. ‘To him all the creations of fancy are submitted for use and selection; he has a right to ex- haust real worlds, and then imagine new ones; to spurn the limits of sensible existence; to outwing the flight of time; and, borne high above the horizon of visible nature, to soar into spheres discoverable by the pierc- 14 ing eye, and attainable by the daring pinion of crNntus alone. | But, that my uncle’s work may avail itself of the benefit of this reasoning, it is necessary, in the second place, that I should establish its claim to the character of an epic poem. Here again I wave the authority and advantage of example, and, instead of comparing it with other great works of a similar nature, which the united voice of mankind has pronounced to be epic compositions, shall try its title to the name by the in- stitutions of Aristotle; the prince of criticism, and founder of those laws which regulate its decisions. « The epic poem,” according to the Stagyrite, “ must teach morality, not by merely relating in the manner of an historian what, for instance, Alcibiades did or suffered, but by proposing, what some person or per- sons, named as the poet thinks fit, would probably, or necessarily, have done on the like occasion; and thus it is, that he shews either the unhappy consequences usually attending imprudent schemes or evil actions; or, the reward of good actions, and the satisfaction re- sulting from a design laid in virtue and conducted with prudence. From other parts of the same author's 15 works we find also, that the epic must be at once im- portant, instructive, and entertaining ; filled with suit- able incidents ; enlivened with a variety of character; and diversified by striking descriptions ; dignified, at the same time, in sentiment, and elevated in style. Now, if we admit, that a combination of the above par- ticulars constitutes the genuine epic, I think I may boldly maintain, in opposition to the cramped defini- tions of the French critics, with Bossu at their head, and of the Bath critics, sheltering themselves under the sage authority of the two masters of the ceremonies, that the claim of my uncle’s poem to this character, is as legitimate as the Iliad of Homer—the Aineid of Vir- gil—the Paradise Lost of Milton—the Pharsalia of Lucan—the Lusiad of Camoens—the Henriade of Vol- taire—the Leonidas of Glover—the Epigoniad of Wilkie—and the Arthur of Hole. In order, however, to be striking, we must be particular: let us therefore descend from general observations, and consider ana- lytically the composition in question, remarking, as we proceed, on its action; its machinery; its characters; its narration; its speeches; its sentiments ; its descrip- tions, and its versefication. In the first place, then, with respect to the action 16 or subject of my uncles poem, candor obliges me to confess, that the judgment pronounced by the critics of Bath has something like a reasonable foundation to rest upon: for, as only a mozety of the work hath, till now, been published, they were fully justified in declar- ing what they had, to be zncomplete. ‘That a part could not constitute a whole, is a proposition, which, not even my strong partiality for my uncle, and his productions, would induce me to deny; and therefere I willingly acquit these sagacious people of malevolence in condemning the poem that was before them, as far as wuty of subject was concerned, though I must con- fess, the sentence would have savoured less of preju- dice, had they waited tll’ the other moiety were pub- lished before they delivered their verdict. The peru- sal of what is now presented to them will, | make no question, alter their opinion on this head, and force the unwilling confession, that the unity and connection of the story; the mice dependance of the incidents upon each other, and the general conspiration to the accomplishment of one end, are such, as would have satisfied the most rigid laws of the Aristotelian school. The Stagyrite himself, demands only a begenning, a med- dle, and an end, as the constituents of this wazty, and I 17 leave it to the candor of the masters of the ceremonies, and the male and female subscribers to the rooms, to determine, whether the “ Rebellion in Bath” be defi- cient in either of these three essentials. Let us, secondly, attend to the machinery. How profound does my uncle’s knowledge of the rules of epic writing appear to be in this respect: and how judicious is his application of them! What simplicity in the texture of his marvellous fable: and what con- gruity in the conduct of his supernatural personages ! Here, indeed, he seems to have excelled even the prince of poets. The attention is not distracted by a motley crowd of deities; nor the taste disgusted, by Tower-hill boxing matches, or Billingsgate abuse, amongst the celestials, introduced to assist the action of his poem. The whole business is effected by a snug dorectory of five supernaturals, and carried on with all the decorum becoming the character of such exalted personages. Nor must it be forgotten, that my uncle has strictly attended to the critical axiom _laid down by Horace; Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus Inciderit ; 18 for, surely, the punishment of royal pride in the tempo- rary degradation of Ramrod, is an incident sufliciently lofty in its nature to justify the introduction of Fate, with her subordinate agent, the Damon of Contention ; whilst the recalling of order out of chaos, and the re- placing Ramrod upon his throne (or rather upon his legs), could not, with propriety, be committed to less dignified personages, than the tutelary deities of Bath, Folly, Humbug, and Vanity. We will next proceed to the characters. Here we find an inflexible attention to the rules of epic compo- sition, one prominent law of which species of writing is, that there should be some szngle personage selected for the hero of the story; distinguished throughout the whole, from the rest of the characters; and kept continually before the reader's eye, as the main hinge on which the subject of the poem turns. Now, who will deny that the 7nteresting Ramrod answers to this description with the nicest accuracy? He is here; and there; and every where—now fulfillmg the duties of his office: now exciting indignation by his partiality: now prostrate on the ground, the object of attack or defence: and, finally, upon his legs again, and execut- ing the functions of his dignity. Nay, so judicious 19 has been my uncle’s management of his hero, and so carefully has he endeavoured to prevent the reader from losing sight of him, that, even when the conduct of the action obliged him to conceal the face of Ram- rod by the petticoats of Lady Puff, he has, notwith- standing, left all his nether parts uncovered, that he might still continue to be an object of observation. The same skill may be detected: in the composition of the subordinate characters. Mr. Pope has remarked of Homer, “that we shall find no author who has ever drawn so many as the Grecian bard, with so visi- ble and surprising a variety, or given us such lively and affecting impressions of them. Every one has something so singularly his own, that no painter could have distinguished them more by their. features, than the poet. has by their manners.” . Comparisons are always odious: I shall not therefore attempt one between Homer and my uncle, but merely request the reader's attention to a few fine moral discriminations to be found in the “ Rebellion in Bath.” What wonder- ful varieties, what nice shades of difference, are there, in the emotion of anger, as developed in the characters of Lady Lofty, and Lady Puff: Signora Rattana, and Mrs. Vehicle, amongst the females ; and Pompo Gor- 20 gon, and Dick Sable; Captain Petulant, and Vintner Stroud, amongst the men! How characteristically, in Sourcrout, Faddle, and Borecat, are the ¢ngenious httle arts unfolded, by the aid of which the medical adventurers of Bath rise gradually, from an wmbrella to a gig; and from a gig to a chariot and pair! How finely is clerical joviality sketched in the pair of in- toxicated parsons! with what delicacy and truth is the supple servility of Vegetable; the humbug zeal of Draweansir; and the savage ferocity of old Morose delineated! and, not to enumerate more instances of this particular excellence, how much to the life is the pride of purse displayed in the spherical wife of the little Man of Tin’. But, let us proceed to the narration. Of this, in the epic, the chief requisites are, perspicuity, anima- tion, and poetical beauty. —It will be immediately ob- served by all conversant with the ancient poets, that my uncle has here taken the Atneid, rather than the Thad, as his model, and related the whole of the story * Let the learned reader compare the execution of this department of my uncle’s poem with the directions in Arist. Rhetor. Lib. ii. c. 12: and in Hor. Art. Poet. vy. 105. 112. 119. 126. 156, &c. and he will at least give him credit for a strict attention in this respect to the laws of the best rhetoricians. 21 in his own person, instead of putting any part of the action, that had occurred before the poem opens, into the mouth of one, or more, of his characters. Critics will of course differ as to the propriety of his choice, though to me I confess it appears to’ have been a ju- dicious one; particularly as his subject was of small compass, and short duration. ‘Thus constructed, an epic may indeed lose somewhat in spirit, but it will gain much in compactness. It will assume more of what Horace calls, the teres atque rotundus, and pre- sent to the mind, if not a prospect of endless diversity, the still more agreeable impression of an unbroken whole. In short, it will not perhaps have the terrible and varied grandeur of the impetuous torrent, but it will exhibit, what is generally contemplated with greater pleasure, the dignified character of the copi- ous river, which flows on in one equable and uninter- rupted current, of easy grace, and silent majesty. I have no doubt that my uncle had the celebrated Batra- chomuomachia of Parnell in his mind, when he adopt- ed this structure of his own poem: and I think no un- prejudiced person can deny, that he has executed his plan with a skill at least equal to that of his illustri- ous prototype. If we advert to the particulars of his 22 narration, how perfect must we pronounce them to be in their different kinds! What, I would ask, can be more happy, than his Jnvocation “ to the daughters of the sacred well ;” or more delicate, than his allusion to the hot springs, in this poetical summons? How admi- rable also is his ¢ntroduction of his subject: so modest, as not to excite expectations that were not to be rea- lized; and yet sufficiently interesting, both to awaken and enchain attention! With what perspicuty has he arranged and presented every circumstance on which the main action of the poem is to be founded ! How do the various incidents augment in interest, and m- crease in animation as the subject proceeds! What spirit is there in his quarrels; what fire in his battles, and (if I be allowed the solecism) what elevation im his falls ! With respect to the catastrophes in particu- lar, it appears to me, that, if we except the heroes of the “ Rehearsal,’ and the “ Critic,’ there cannot be selected, from the whole range of British literature, more dignified prostrations than those of the several ladies and gentlemen’ who are overthrown in “ The Battle of the Upper Rooms.” The speeches of the epic, Mr. Pope observes, are to be considered, as they flow from the characters, being awl 23 « perfect or defective, as they agree or disagree, with the manners of those who utter them.” Let critics try these ornaments of my uncle's poem by this rule, and I have no doubt of a favourable verdict. How does the pride of old nobility flame out in the address of Lady Lofty, and the concert of recent title in that of Lady Puff? Can any thing be more expressive of the vanity and petulance of a faded beauty than the speech of Signora Rattana—of tender Platonic affection, than that of Rezin—of the confidence which money inspires, than that of Mrs. Pannikin—of se/f-complacency, than that of Ramrod—of savage ferocity, than that of Morose? To say nothing of the wailings of Billy Son- net; of the short ejaculation of Pompo Gorgon ; or the convulsive, but unavailing efforts to articulate, of the drunken Bow-wow. In the sentiments of his work, too, my uncle is great, noble, and exemplary throughout: witness his reflections on the wncertainty of human happiness; on the danger of royalty; and on the mfluence of title on the mind of man. It forms indeed no inconsider- able feature of the general excellence of the work, however it may lessen its popularity amongst the la- dies and gentlemen of Bath, that its morahty is unim- QA, peachable; that, whilst it is enriched with all the beauties which can charm the imagination, it breathes nothing but truths, that have a tendency to inform the understanding, and correct and amend the heart. Nor do his descriptions merit a less unqualified eulogium than the other constituent parts of the work. Let these, together with his images and similes, his comparisons and metaphors, be examined by the most fastidious critic with the attention they deserve, and I have no doubt their truth, exactness, and congruity will be immediately allowed. To enumerate or par- ticularize them would be an endless labour; it is sufhi- cient to assert in general, that they are all characte- rized by beauty, majesty, or tenderness; by a propriety that satisfies the judgment, and a loveliness that en- chants the fancy. “ Though last, not least,’ the merit of the ver- sification remains to be considered. ‘The character of my uncle was marked by an amiable semplicity, which pervaded all his conduct, and infused itself into every thing he wrote. ‘This shines conspicuously in the present poem, where all is chaste, simple, and intelli- gible. Equally distant from the prosaic baldness of some modern productions of the Muse, and the involv- 25 ed, and perplexed tissue of others, his versification flows on smoothly, harmoniously, and clearly ; its transparency undiminished, though its whole surface be covered by the sparkles of genzus, and the corrus- cations of wit. | | I must not forget, however,. that the therd ob- jection to my uncle’s poem involves the accusation of its being’ totally deficient in. the last-mentioned excel- lence. Here, I confess myself to be in a straight-; for I know not what sort of reasoning to oppose to the charge. To discourse of colours to those who were born blind, is an useless task; and to attempt con- viction where nature has denied the capacity of compre- hending the argument, is a labour unprofitable, if not absurd. Wit is a gas of too subtle a nature to be de- tected by the eye “ impurged with euphrasy ;’ the critics of Bath, therefore, may be pardoned, if their dim organs of mental vision have proved to be incapa- ble of discerning it. The blaze of the mid-day sun to the weak and imperfect optics of the ow/, has the appearance of utter darkness: it is the eagle only that can properly pronounce upon its glory, by being alone able to contemplate its radiance. E 26 Having thus attempted to furnish the wise literary judges of Bath, with that proper idea of the merit of my uncle’s poem, which, even did they possess the faculty of thinking, they would not have been capable of ac- quiring by any efforts of their own excogitation, I now take my leave, requesting them before they pro- ceed to further animadversions, to ponder well the poet's hints and cautions’, and protesting, at the same time, with all due gravity, that in my opinion, “ The Battle of the Upper Rooms” stands unrivalled in ex- cellence amongst all modern productions of a similar nature, and is the only epic of these degenerate days to which the complimentary lines of Sam. Barrow, ad- * *Tis with our judgments as our watches, none Go just alike, but each believes his own. In poets, as true genius is but rare, True taste, as seldom, is the critic’s share ; Both must alike from Heav’n derive their light, These born to judge, as well as those to write. Let such teach others who themselves excel, . And censure freely, who have written well. Authors are partial to their wit ’tis true, But are not critics to their judgment too? Pope. 27 dressed originally to the immortal Milton, can with any propriety be applied. Cedite Romani scriptores ; cedite Graii ; Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus, Hee quicunque leget tantum cecinesse putabit Meonidem ranas, Virgilium culices. Tue slow sale of my uncle's poem at Bath may be attributed in some degree to positive as well as ne- gative obstructions; to the malce, as well as want of taste, amongst its ladies and gentlemen. As a proof of this, I beg to relate the following conversation, which took place at a rout in the Upper town about three months since, communicated to me by my friend Jack Job, who was one of the occasional waiters for the evening, and overheard the dialogue. . “ Pray, madam, said an elderly lady to a younger one stand- ing near her, “ have you read the Bath Characters, and The Battle of the Upper Rooms?”—*< Yes, ma- dam.”—** And what do you think of them?’—«< Why, I must confess I have been much amused: there is a good deal of wit in the works; and though they are somewhat severe, yet the satire appears to me to be 28 well pointed and deservedly applied.”—<< ] am asto- nished to hear you say so, madam: J consider them as the most atrocious publications of the age; they are full of infamous slander from beginning to end, and have ruined the peace of half the families in Bath ; 93 they absolutely Aedled poor Mrs. ——.” “ Indeed, ma- dam!" “ Yes: they accused her of an intrigue with El—t—n, a vagabond player; and the poor woman never held up her head afterwards.”—‘* Why, madam, I have read both the books more than once; but must confess I do not remember the most distant allusion in them to either of the parties."-—“ If that be the case, madam, you must allow me to say, either that you have never perused the works I mean, or that your memory is exceedingly treacherous.” —“ Undoubtedly, madam, I cannot oppose my recollection to yours, and must be content to believe I did not notice the passages to which you allude. But waving this, I always under- stood the lady in question owed her death to the too liberal use of brandy, and that a bottle of this spirit was actually found by her bed-side on the morning of her decease.” —“ Why, madam, it is true, she was always accustomed to indulge a little too much in this cordial; but it is a fact equally notecrious, that since the publi- 29 cation of these vile books, her usual draughts have been redoubled, and consequently her term of life has been proportionably curtailed; so, madam, I leave it to you to judge, if her death may not fairly be laid to the account of the detestable P. P. Pallet.” I pledge the reputation of a man of letters upon the authenticity of this conversation; and appeal to any person who has read my uncle’s performances, to determine, whether the charge of s/ander rest with my honoured relative, or, with his candid and impartial accuser! . oli: ah aca fantvan’ qed | dood st My del atl weineins rod colleen pe “ll ih avant 1 etebesen a ++ boliemeto ybelge Hod of pil: oF vise low yun seb tek: Hag huge iyrtrrter ki Ba! la | | alt fade ily ‘iru 1 opinital ad ints ad “evoey ti aeaanel WS sores To aint ‘ded ody doer WAS 4st of fie wy gps bus jnoisgerd sonkront w“ cntieestabe oF peavey 7 aE ee ea “siw. ior Showin to gy aha . sn om +78 gies 0 hoarse hanya c oe “| yey faa a “re, Oe bated Hie ) ie " i? i i ap hyde sith Mer ae umproy Liye yi t y TS ‘ete wi hep. ieee ee : eRe By ae “wee aie pene a hie Rewehi seit’ iWin “a nia r a a ae oh ; + “ puis sottene Ay tf yi Tenis te : se a a nk nav se hi. aie SES esas Sane ovcvan..! te s ee is ; aby ey bee. deggtietiys of re Pe by Oo eee a lipet eae ‘hae’ ai Bas ey ee a ied te heel sawn cone f naa ne ‘A 7. Me we %y bited fe vie Re |), bees aes eal ve wey: Webi rae “4 ote ra Aigo oe” Ranond, ih allalletl e ve CONTENTS OF CANTO II. Morat reflection. Probable consequences of the Rebellion, Empire of Destruction. Interference of Fate. Return of Contention to her corner. Tempest ; thunder, and lightning ; hail and rain. Terror and astonishment of company. Simile. ‘Tempest ceases. Ap- pearance of three supernatural beings in orchestra. Humbug ; description of his person, dress and emblems. Vanity, ditto. Folly, ditto. The speech of Humbug. Commands peace and reconciliation. Explains who himself and companions are. Describes the extent of his own influence; in folitics—in council—in m-l-t-ry i-q--r--s—in a late in- vestigation—in French invasion of Spain—in the Copenhagen expedition. Modern states- men his chief friends. Mr. P-tt, one of his protegées.—old R—. G. C .H . P—, M—lv—e. B—wl-s. R—s. Humbug’s influence in the church. D- re > Crack. Sermons. His influence in the Jaw. Country attorney. ‘Town solicitor. Barristers. Exception of judges. His influence in physic. M—x—m. S-rcr-t. Vellum exception to general rule. Vanity, her influence; females feel it most powerfully. Female authors. Mrs. P--zz-i. Female writers on Education. Ditto Editor of an expurgated Shakspeare. Ditto Writer of Sermons. Gibbon. Hume. G . Therule of Folly; at routs; at c—rt. Humbug’s per-oration. Final decree. General satisfaction of the company, ex- cept V-g-t--le. His speech. Humbug’s answer. Departure of the deities. Joy of the company. Ramrod resumes his functions. Dancing begins. ' a i } « re I ue? J 4 ' -~ F ) : * is, or wy * ‘ j ‘ : ’ 4 * cn. \y = va ie ‘ 7 Saal igh 3 rE % ” 7 rs ; ay, 4 F i e ‘a Nee . = =f i % cs ar ‘eis = ‘ rs rf en f, ‘ : 7 e e ae : ' i ~ a ‘. s j Joie , “ ; ry * ’ ye oy * bs ‘ - 1 : " hy Fy 4 OP iene = i eaten ea ’ ‘ ta Be: i a 3 5 ae cr as, fe THE RESTORATION; OR, SECOND AND LAST CANTO OF REBELLION IN BATH. Waar great effects from little causes spring'!— —The dire annihilation of a King In plenitude of pow’r:th untimely fate Of many wseful members of his state: The demolition of his palace high (Proud theatre of acting majesty ) The total ruin of his first dress-ball ; The loss of wigs and hats, had, well nigh, all What dire offence from am’rous causes springs: What mighty contests rise from trivial things ; I sing— Pore. 34 (Fit subject for the epic Muse) arose, From ill-tim'd complhments, and misplac’d hows ! For now Destruction, with uplifted hand, Seem'd destin’d to obtain supreme command ; To mingle in one wide chaotic mass, King, lords, and commons, fiddlesticks and glass: To lay each haughty female on the floor, And strip her of the scanty clothes she wore : Deprive the beaux too of that little brain, Which their wise noddles usually contain ; And, (as the climax of her dreadful task) To spoil Stroud’s port, both bottled, and in cask. But Fate, great arbitress of human things, Who weighs the doom of coblers and of kings; Gaz'd down upon the tumult, half afraid E’en at the havock she herself had made: And, wisely judging, it was time to look Into the secrets of her mystic book ;: (For ladies ne’er were fam’d for memory, And Fate had long forgot her own decree) 35 Turns oer the folio fortune-telling leaves, Where, pennd in hieroglyphics, she perceives, That, ‘“‘ Ramrod’s woes were now to terminate : His realms no longer plung’d in strife and hate, To peace and harmony to be restor’d; And he again declar'd their mighty lord.” No sooner had the Fiat met her eye, Than (strange to tell!) determin’d to comply With her own will, she call’d without delay, Her hateful engine from the mortal fray. Eris, obedient to the dread command, Leaves incomplete the ruin she had plan 4d ; And, quick as thought, skips agile from the floor, To the dark corner where she dwelt before Fell Discord to her habitation packt, Fate makes arrangements for her second act. She bids the tempest, fierce and foul, arise: The tempest quickly overspreads the skies. Now rages terribly the ruffian wind, And shakes the fabrick ;—following hard behind, 56 Down rattle the twin-brothers rain and hail,’ Height ning the horrors of the furious gale. Uninterrupted peals the thunder rolls, Destruction threat'ning to the solid poles ; Whilst the dire light’ning’s coruscations play, And lend to night a transient gleam of day.? Confounded by the elemental war, Immediate ceases all intestine jar ; The combatants, o’erwhelm’d with equal dread, Stand speechless at the pother over head ;° And e’en the fall’n, and bruis'd, amongst the rest, Less hurt than terrified, their groans supprest. Meantime, the taper’s light begins to fail, And sheds around a glimmer blue and pale: * Eripiunt subito nubes coelumque, diemque, Teucrorum ex oculis: ponto nox incubat atra. Intonuere poli, et crebris micat ignibus zether: Praesentemque viris intentant omnia mortem. Vire. 3 “ Let the great gods That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads, Find out their enemies now. SHAK. 37 Omen of ghost or goblin drawing near, The nurse’s engine, and the nurs ry’s fear: A “ darkness visible’ invades the room, The crowd involving in nocturnal gloom ; Destroying the slight difference between The painted girls of sixty and sixteen ; For every virgin fair, and wrinkled dame, Are now alas! to human eye the same. Unutterable terror seals the tongue Of her, who erst could talk so loud and long ; Whilst dashing beaux so noisy just before, Could now, or fight, or compliment no more. So, when the gallant Perseus (as ‘tis said) Display'd to squabbling fools, Medusa’s head, Instant the sanguinary fray was done, And evry warrior stiffen'd into stone*. 4 << Vultus avertite vestros bat ; i. Si quis amicus adest :” et Gorgonis extulit ora. “ Queere alium, tua quem moveant miracula,” dixit Tlesculus, atque manu jaculum fatale parabat Mittere; in hoc hesit ignum de marmore gestu. Ovin. 38 But, ere the crew had lost their senses quite, Fate gives the blessing of returning light. The flaming wax again illumes their pates, And gradually, the darkness dissipates. The tempest from the black horizon flies ; And hush’d are all the terrors of the skies. Yet, other wonders to the past succeed, And other sights occur, more strange to read. For, as the dismal cloud that overcast The warriors, slowly thro’ the ceiling past, And left the orchestra expos’d to view ; Behold a scene as singular as new! —Where sat so lately the inspiring band, Expecting evry moment that command Which wakes the magic notes of harmony, And, each ampatient leg sets instant free ; Instead of these, three figures meet the eyes, Of mortal shape, but more than mortal size. First to the right, before the rail appears A manly form, advane'd to middle years. 39 A hat, of sober fashion, crowns his head: Beneath, a snug, and crisped wig is spread. - His coat, his waistcoat, and his small clothes too, Exhibit, one and all, the self-same hue ; But, chang’d at will, to black, or brown, or blue. j In his right-hand, a vizor he extends, (Constructed cunningly for wisest ends) Of aspect grave, and saturnine, and sage, And looking all the steadiness of age ; Which ever and anon, he’s seen to place — Before the rogwish features of his face, Where the hook’d nose, curl’d mouth and wicked eye, The hum declare, and give his mask the lye : Whilst, scatter'd at his feet, the Azgh-church hat, The pestle, mortar, syringe, and “ all that’,” Without the aid of comment, make it clear, What callings and employs he holds most dear. 5 My uncle’s authority for this familiar expression will be found in Pope: “« Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.” Rare or Lock. 40 Next him is seen a blaze of female charms, With tucker to the wazst, and naked arms: Clad in a vest so fashionably thin, That every member thro’ its folds is seen. Her downy cheek flames high with patent red; And o'er her neck the patent white is spread. Each ornament that decorates the fair ; Design’d with art, put on with studious care, Graces her form—the comb of burnish’d gold, (Skilful contriv’d the gadding hair® to hold) | Which, durable, implies that beauties ne'er grow old: $3 Bright gems in crescent form, her forehead crown, Noting Dieana’s virtues all her own. O’er these, light feathers, waving with each wind, Rise graceful, emblems of her wayward mind, Which, from eaclustve prepossessions free, Explains the secret of her chastity’. 6 Gadding vine. Mrurton. 7 The poet Gay considgred vanity and coquetry as the best securities of female virtue ; a circumstance which explains the cause why instances of female faux pas should be so (comparatively) unfrequent in a place like Al Her staring, wand’ ring eye is fix’d on nought ; But thrown, now here, now ‘there, as it it sought | Continual incense from admirers round : Save, when its glance, directed to the eround ne Beholds her image, with complacence sweet, In the bright glass that glitters at her feet. Aloft she bears her ornamented Feta The better to display their polish’d charms ; Bath, where the sexes mix in such constant and familiar intercourse. Gay says, *« She who ¢rifles with all Is less likely to fall Than she who but trifles with one.” Lucian, ina Dialogue between Cupid and Venus, makes the former explain the impenetrability of Diana’s heart to proceed from her uninterrupted pursuit of the pleasures of the chace. Had he substituted beaux and ad- mirers, for stags and hinds, his explication would have applied exactly to’a modern coquet. A. tv OF Aeremsy TIVOS EVEKH B TITOWSXELS 5 E. To Mev odov, xde HatTarAa@ Bew curny ooyre, Pevyuoay mes dim sw opwy, ara ua bolov Tie EoWwT a nN Epa. &e. Aiaa. y’. ® See Vignette, to Canto I. for a representation of these characters. It is no mean proof of my uncle’s genius, that he may be said to have written at, rather than from the frontispiece, to the Bath Characters, since that had been engraven long before he thought of the machinery of his poem. G 42 And draws from tambourine its loudest tone, That all may hear, and gaze at her alone. Another form (where Owen sat of late) Completes the marvellous triumvirate. A male he seem’d; but whether young or old By any mortal wight could ne’er be told : For, quick as changes in an April day, So quickly varied he from youth to gray : And now the buck of twenty-five appears, Now, bends beneath the load of fourscore years. Yet, ever as he chang’d, one still might trace The self-same grinning, stupid, staring face ; | The same dull, goggling, and unmeaning eye, That always “ bent its gaze on vacancy®.” A head of hideous structure ; shoulders high; And other symptoms of deformity ; * « Alas! how is’t with you; That thus you bend your eye on vacancy, And with th’ incorporal air do hold discourse ?” Suak. Hamlet. AS Proclaim him one of gamesome Nature's sports, When, just proportion, she, for fun, distorts. In his right hand a stick of jingling bells, A native taste for nozse unmeaning tells : Whilst his fine clothes, compos d of all the dies With which refulgent [ris paints the skies, His dove and patronage, at once express, Of fashion, splendor, gaiety and dress. While awe and wonder fill the ball-room band, And some admiring /ye, some gaping stand: Sudden, the manly figure silence breaks, And thus, in louder voice than Ser speaks. ‘¢ Ye senseless mortals, bid rude warfare cease! Let beaux be dumb ;. and ladies hush'd to peace! No longer rend each others’ ball-night clothes; Be still each fist ; and sacred every nose ! Let the mad fools who court vain glory’s charms, The battle wage, and dwell amidst alarms ; Or lead still greater fools to bloody plains, Where nought but knecks and wounds reward their pals ; 4A, Be this high-favour’d spot from wrangles free, And consecrated to festivity. In vs, behold the powerful deities To whom belongs the rule of scenes like these ; Who, tho’ our patronage to all extends, Still call the great and gay our dearest friends. An idol J of universal fame The Triad head, and Humsue is my name— € The deity who giggles on my right, My brother best-belovd, is Fouty hight— Whilst the fair form, adorn’d with every grace, Who, dear to either, holds the middle place, Joint spouse, and sister too, of him and me, The sacred title claims of Vanity. Rous'd by the cries that issu'd from the ball, Alarm’d for worshippers so lov'd by all, Behold! our godships from the clouds descend, To quell your rage, and bid the battle end. But, that obedience prompt my words may gain, Your list’ning ears erect*, whilst I explain ' Arrectis auribus. Virg. From these words of the poet, it has been 45 The uncontrouled dominion. .we assume, O’er ages past, and present, and to come; The secret inspiration which we shed, ‘Or more, or less, on every mortal head. «© Law, Physick, and Divinity, By joint agreement are consign'd to me : Beside those harvests, which th’ extensive field Of modern politics may richly yield— In snug divan, when counsellors are met, T’ increase a nation’s happiness—or debt ; My magic influence pervades the board, Suggests its plans, and dictates every word. The multitude rejoicing, praise each scheme, And plung’d in flattering hope’s delusive dream, The added burthens, Wisdom’s budget call, Nor know that Humsve has arrang’d it all. sagaciously conjectured that the ancients possessed a faculty now lost, of moving their ears in every direction, somewhat in the manner of a swivel, turning upon its pivot. It is not to be doubted, however, that if this asinine power had at any period been granted to mankind, it would have been en- joyed to the greatest extent in modern times. 46 E-q--r--’s M-l-t-ry prove my sway’; Which grave, debate thro’ many a tedious day, * T have already stated in my preface to the first Canto of this poem, that the second had been left im an imperfect state by my uncle, and that it would be necessary for me to fill up many chasms, and amplify many hints. This I have done to the best of my ability, but haud passibus aquis Amongst many other examples of my inadequate additions, are all those parts of Humbug’s speech which relate to circumstances that have occurred since my uncle’s death. I have thought it right to say thus much, in order to prevent the Bath critics from levelling the charge of Anachronisms against the present moiety of my respected kinsman’s poem. Had he lived to have witnessed the appointment, and read the proceedings of a late B——d of E and his pen laboured, in the praise of that event itself, and of the impartial y on the Convention of C——a; how would his genius have kindled, tribunal which investigated its merits ! How would he have castigated those impertinent addressers, who dared to call in question the glory of the one, or the competency ofthe other! In the transaction, he would have seen no- thing but immortal honor; and nothing but justice in the result of the E-q--ry. The public, it is true, who only view, and form their estimates from, the surface of things, (envious at a party of ragged Frenchmen being conveyed home like gentlemen (carriage paid) with their pockets full of Portuguese gold,) thought (or pretended) they perceived, some awkwardness in the business; but could they have divested themselves of that prejudice which always clouds the judgment of the multitude, they would have pene- trated to the final cause of the Convention, which was evidently the conquest of the minds of our enemies, by affording them an example of generosity, un- paralleled in the military history of the world! , 47 On opportunities so sadly lost, And foes transported, gratis, to their coast ; Then bid the crowd ¢riumphant peans sing, And hail a leader who deserves to s—g. «When peccant heroes, by the charms o'ercome Of others’ wives, forget their own at home ; And, list’ning less to Parson, than to Clarke, Engage in traffic base, mysterious, dark ; What tho’ some honest fools for justice call ! My necromantic pow’r can mar them all: Can puzzle and confound the evidence ; Pervert the plainest rules of common sense ; Withhold the sfteng sanction of an oath : Make honourable men forego their troth ; And, by the vote of a m-j-r-ty, The vice oblit'rate, and the culprit free’. s The numerous adulteries in high life now before the public convince me, that the same liberal principle actuates the present fashionable circle, as that by which the facetious wife of Bath justified, formerly, all her little deviations from conjugal fidelity : “ *Tis but a just, and rational desire, . “To light a taper at a neighbour’s fire.” Pope. 48 ‘From me originates each shrewd pretence To quash their friends, when nations take offence. I led the crazy soldiery a dance To Spain’s green pastures, from the heart of France. T’o seize its sceptre rich, the reasons plann‘d, And place it in King Joseph’s pious hand. By me, were furnish’d the excuses vain, | When Britain, frighten’d at the harmless Dane, Her expedition sent across the main; j To fire and slaughter doom’d her old ally ! And confidence repay d with perfidy *. * This humorous receipt for converting friends into enemies will, doubt- less, be regarded by posterity as one of the most useful and honourable in- ventions of modern times. Never, however, was a truer observation than this old-fashioned one, that “it is impossible to please every body ;” for, amidst all the self-satisfaction of ministers at having planned this judicious and generous expedition, and the general exultation of the nation on its most successful and bloodless termination, there were still some peevish cha- racters who would not allow that it was either politic or creditable. I re- member, Lord E—b—gh, amongst the rest, spoke rather harshly of it ; pro- nouncing, in the house of lords, that the Copenhagen expedition, was “ one of the most unprincipled violations of every sacred duty, and of every re- spected right, that he had either. heard or read of, since he was enabled to ey 49 Nor less, o’er individuals my pow r extends— Know! modern statesmen, are my choicest friends. When angry Fate, with the severe intent To scourge your land, an heav'n-born Premier sent : To my sole tutelage the boy she gave, And bade me teach him dig his country's grave. Delighted I received the precious gift, Inspir'd each cunning art, each well-tim’d shift, To keep in place ; to terrify; debate ; Blindfold, perplex, confound, and damn the state. Oh! how the glorious work of ruin sped ! For all my spat rested on his head®! form any rational opinions of human motives and events; a transaction com- mencing in provoked injustice, and terminating in successful robbery !” > The above lines have a reference to a curious anecdote very little known. The present general——(a captain in the army at the time) was sit- ting one afternoon with the late Lord C—th—m, with whom he had eaten a family dinner. His lordship’s second son, the late Right Hon. William P-tt, a boy, then about nine years old, was in the apartment, amusing himself with personating some ideal character, and making extemporaneous declamations. The captain, struck with the vivacity, genius, and fire of the boy, could not forbear, after he had left the apartment, speaking ofhis talents in terms of the highest praise; and congratulating his lordship, on the fair promise of future eminence which his son held out. ‘The father, to his surprise, instead of A 50 To Humbug’s fost’ring care Great Britain owes The vast abilities, and worth of — With him entrusted by the fav’ring skies, I cloth’d his face with bronze, his tongue with Les ; ‘Till soon beceme a pupil shrewd and wary, I rous’d him to the desk of S-c--t-ry ; A purser first, and then a minister, With 15,000 English pounds a year: Such precious pickings Humbug’s smiles afford, To Scotch adventurers, or bastards of a lord®. listening to the encomiums of his son with pleasure, received them with evi- dent chagrin, and after a pause of some moments, returned the following answer. ‘“ Yes, captain, I am well aware of the talents of my son: but, I confess, I contemplate them with pain; for I foresee that they will produce the most fatal consequences to the public welfare. His powers will render him popular; and his ambition will make him dangerous. If he live, he will be prime minister ; and if he be prime minister, he will ruin the country.” Let the national annals of the last twenty years declare, whether or not these words were spoken in the very spirit of prophecy. Heroum filii nove; and Euripides has said, Hon yap sidov avdow ynv xtov mareos To madev ovra. ° The late Lord M. was a great florist. It is an old observation, One plant, however, he infi- nitely preferred to all the other glories of the garden; and even made an ample provision in his well for its cultivation, after his own care and attention should be withdrawn. 51 G— C Bright burnt his breast with democratic flame, Which, urg’d by youthful honesty, burst forth , too, a later charge I claim— In wishes dire’, and jacobenec wrath. To cure his folly, and improve his wz, I led him to the necromancer Pitt ; Bade him the secret charms of place unfold, And purge the stripling’s politics with gold; Divest him of the love of patriot fame, Teach him to laugh at friendship’s sacred name, PD aadiee his principles, and banish shame. Soon, fitted as a statesman to produce, I tipp'd his tongue with pungent radish juice*: 7 Many of these will not be forgotten by his early friends; amongst the rest, that of wishing an earthquake might happen on a Saturday night, to destroy the opera-house, and all the aristocracy of the country in it ! * Nothing can be more indecent in a debate, in general, than any al- Jusion (by the speaker) to the sins of the forefathers of his opponent; and nothing can be more imprudent, in particular, than this impertinence, where the conduct of the declaimer’s immediate ancestors will not bear a scrutiny. He who has much g/ass in his house should never throw stones. 52 Instructed, now to joke, and now to pun, On slaughter'd thousands, and a state undone: Or, solemn wounded feelings to confess, At slander's strides, and a lcentious press? ; Till vers’d, each form political to ape, He stands confest, myself in mortal shape. ° In the debate on the original motion, respecting a late investigation, the gentleman in question feelingly observed, that “ certain publications which had lately appeared, made him doubtful whether the liberty of the press was not retained at too dear a rate—the expence of private and public reputa- tion.” —Surely this honourable speaker has no sore places, which he fears may be irritated by the probe of truth, or the lash of satire? Surely he cannot feel any misgivings, that if some secrets were disclosed, he might appear still more diminutive in the public eye than he already does? There was a time when he would have held far different language ; and thundered in the ears of the people the words of Junius. ‘“* Let it be impressed upon your minds, let it be instilled into your children, that the liberty of the press is the paliadium of all the civil, political, and religious rights of an Englishman’—*« The /- berty of the press is our only resource. It will command an audience, when every honest man in the kingdom is excluded. This glorious principle may be a security to the king, as well as a resource to the people. Had there been no star-chamber, there would have been no rebellion against Charles the First. The constant censure and admonition of the press would have corrected his conduct, prevented a civil war, and sayed him from an igno- minious death.” 53 Dear to my bosom, as an only child, Is H-sk-s-n ; in early youth beguil’d By Gallic politics, and led astray With meteors false, from solid int'rest’s way’. Reclaim’d by me, his party he disdains, And finds stock-jobbing better bless his pains : State-trials too his reformation prove, Appearing against those he once could Jove. ' This gentleman’s career began in an ardent admiration of revolution~ ary politics ; from the pursuit of which, however, he was soon seduced by the courtship of old G— R—, who was commissioned by Mr. P—t to make love to him, and enlist him under the banners of the treasury. His democracy till this reformation took place was so notorious, and so much the feeling of his heart, that, when he was at Paris with the late Dr. Warner, during the ambassadorship of Lord G——r, being anxious to be introduced at his lordship’s table, the Doctor would not undertake to carry him there, till he had solemnly promised to change the usual tenor of his conversation, and smother. for a time his democratical sentiments. His transformation was succeeded, or accompanied, by a desertion of his party ; some noble hits at stock-jobbing, the happy consequence of being in the secret ; a cool evidence against his old friends at the state trials; a ductility of principle that accom- modated itself to every change in administration ; and divers other acts and qualities, the natural results of such a metamorphosis. One would scarcely have expected such acuteness, activity, and good sense, in the clodpole son of a farmer, 54 [ hail’d the change, and crown’d my minion dear With penston of TWO THOUSAND POUNDS a year. What tho’ from dunghill sprung! a farmer's heir Is still an. object worthy Humbug’s care. But time would fail me to enumerate The fathful servants I have given the state. The flippant P - - -, that courtly tool, Now in finance, as late in law,—a fool’; But still of art political possest, To fleece the state, and, feather well his nest? — * In arranging a tax upon local notes, it was necessary for a certain great man to hold some conferences with the principal London bankers on the subject. An intelligent and respectable gentleman of this description waited upon him, in order to point out some defects in the plan, as it then stood, and to suggest certain improvements. As he was quitting the states- man’s door he met Mr, K (the banker and member of Parliament) at it, who had come thither with the same design as himself. ‘ Weel,” said Mr. K even make him comprehend my figures.”—“ Hoot, Mon,” returned K " 3)) , ‘*have ye convine’d him, Mon ?”’—< No, my good friend, I can’t ** Pll do’t in a crock ;” and passed into the house. In the course of a few days, the two friends again encountered each other. ‘“ Well, K » said the other, “ were you more successful than myself on Tuesday ?”—* The deel a bit, Mon,” replied K: domndest feul I ever saw with my two eyn.” ; “his heed is not worth a bawbee: he’s the > This gentleman has wriggled himself into a present pay of 8,6001. per annum ; besides a reversion of 13,0001. a year. - 55 The man of brazen face, and wooden head, Who “ beds of roses” for-the people spread:: And all that goodly troop of jolly thieves, M-lv--e, and B-I-s, and Crown and Anchor R--s; The worthy wights, whom frowning heav'n commands, To curse, afflict, and ruin guilty lands. My realms extensive, holy church include, Of bishops, deans, and priests I swell the brood ; Bid D Build temples to accommodate the poor, Then Jet the seats, and take the offerings, r of othodoay roar ; To decorate the fane with pretty things ; 4 When a certain Peruvian prince, and one of his courtiers, were suffer- ing the most exquisite tortures, inflicted on them by the Spaniards in order to extort a discovery of the royal treasures, the nobleman, overcome by pain, burst out into a bitter lamentation. The prince, turning his head toward him, at once checked his complaints, and shamed his weakness, by exclaim- ing, “ Am J on a bed of roses?” The minister adverted to in my uncle’s poem seems to have adopted his celebrated expression from this speech of the tortured monarch, but applied it somewhat differently; his wish being to persuade the people that they were really enjoying all the comforts of life when actually struggling under every privation. Add to this too, he did not, like the Peruvian king, enforce his observation, by pointing to himself, as reposing upon the same comfortable bed with them. 56 To ornament himself and fabrick too; And be the finest of the preaching crew. Teach him, beneath the spreading cloak of zeal, True Odium Theologicum conceal : "Gainst foes of the establishment to rail, And damn the miscreants without the pale. Crach-sermons issue from my ready pen, Which doctors popular, preach now and then, To make the witless congregations stare, And gape at eloquence beyond compare! From others’ labours, | compose the rant ; Weave it of shreds, and set it off with cant’: > Crack sermons are peculiar to Bath, and other cities, which afford large and fine congregations, before whom these popular preachers may be prevailed on, occasionally, to exhibit themselves. ‘They are generally, how- ever, rather cos¢ive, and Ihave seldom heard of more than two discourses being extracted from them; the travelling stock most likely not exceeding that number. Neither has it ever come to my knowledge, that any of these elo- quent compositions have been published after preaching ; whether, because they might not be too common, or because they belonged to other persons than the preachers, I cannot determine. The latter reason may possibly be the true one, if we form our conclusions from what happened at Bath this ‘BY Oh! who can speak the homage that 1 draw From the innumerable sons of law? Thick, as the maggots in a rotten cheese, And active, hungry, and corrupt as these. winter. A popular preacher from the west end of the town, who was drink- ing the waters of this city, had’ been applied to, by several of the pastors there, to favour their respective congregations with a display of his pulpit eloquence; but all in vain: “ he had no sermons with him; he was too un- well for exertion, and had come to Bath for repose.” At length, however, his H---ness the D— of G——, who was at Bath also, intimated his wish to hear him. The case was now altered; there was no resisting such com- mands; and the preacher prepared to obey. ‘The abbey and Laura chapel were to be the favoured scenes of this oratorical exhibition ; in the vestries of both which places of worship, the doctor took care to anticipate any ob- jections that might be made to his discourse, by saying, he had been taken by surprise, been obliged fo compose his sermon upon the spur of the occasion, and that probably, therefore, it might not be so finished and connected, as a longer time allowed for its elaboration, would have rendered it. Well, the discourse was preached; the congregations were enraptured at it, and the Doctor would have passed at Bath for the best hand at sudden composition extant, had not a shrewd fellow, and a man of reading, who was present at the second delivery, recollected that it was the identical sermon of old Bishop Laws, on death and judgment, concluded with the celebrated extract from Masiilon, contained in a note in Blair’s Lectures, Vol. II. p. 300. He il-naturedly betrayed the secret; and the Doctor’s preaching fame was as rapidly extinguished as it had been suddenly kindled—and so much for crack sermons! / 58 The hedge-attorney at my altar bends, His vows [ hear, and rank him ‘mongst my /reends: Grant him to exercise my influence, Persuade the suiée, construct the dame defence ; The triaf lose, and pocket all the pence. =< Nor less the legal wights of ¢own confess The kind assistance of my mightiness, When, to the courts, they lead their ductile bands, To swear as each sohcitor commands. y Then, teo, I furnish every counse/’s head, With Quiddities the jury to mislead. Ah! would but judges favour his intent, Humbug, o'er law, might be pre-eminent®. What million proofs of Humbug’s sovereign sway Do physic’s venerable walks display ! Here, with unrivall’d pow’r I rule alone; For Fate has long decreed this art my Own. ° The purity of civil judicial proceedings and adjudications in this country, fully justifies this compliment to the Bench. 59 Each sage prescription (follow'd by the fee) Sure harbinger of death, is penn'd by me’. The pill; the draught; the plaster, and the drop, Are all roll’d, spread, or made, at Humbug's shop; And whether little M-x-m’s practice Ad//, Or 8-rer-t make, or keep his patients ill; The glorious triumphs still to me belong ; Who stop disease by death, or pains prolong. What, tho’ a Vellum scorn to be my tool, And boast exception to the general rule; With slacken’d fees, I punish the offence; And bknd the public to his skill and sense. Wide as the welkin spreads o’er earth and sea, So boundless is the rule of Vanity: A goddess known thro’ every varying clime, And ancient as the earliest birth of time. 7 No profession brings so much grist to the mill as thet of physic: a suf- ficient reason for its being so unmercifully thronged. Erasmus pointed out this inducement to the practice of it 300 years ago. Adversus inopiam cer- tissimum preesidium est, ars medicandi, quee longissime abest a necessitate mendicand. T.V.C. 661. | ee 60 But, tho’ by all, in every place, caress’d, Her fav rite seat is still the female breast ; Flere, chiefly, she evinces her controul ; Absorbs the thoughts, and governs all the soul. Soon as young virgins, from the nurs’ry free, Rush to the joys of dear society ; She, kindly, the untutor’d brood protects, Each look, each motion, and each word directs ; They feel the mighty change, by her inspir’d, And pant, to captivate, and be admir‘d. She, too, the serious thought will oft infuse, That fills the female breast with nobler views ; Suggest the wish, to grasp at higher fame, And raise a deathless (eterary name. Hence emanates each edifying page, Conferr'd by ladies on the thankless age: The tale extravagant, and essay trite ; The poem vapid, and the noved/ light ; Which, floods of sdipslop sentiment dispense ; Sans wit, sans taste, sans genius, and sans sense. 61 See Vanity direct P-zz-'s quill, The well-earn’d fame of buried worth to kill ; Such “ Retrospections” lead her to indite, As few will read, and fewer still would write. What, tho’ deserv'd contempt ner labours crown, My sister still retains the dame her own: Who strives for fame, not granted by the Press By sacrifice to Vanity in dress®. E’en spinsters, too, as well as married dames, With rage of wrtting Vanity inflames : Suggests each flimsy educating plan, To rear the znfant up to full-grown man : And she, whose breast a mother’s joys ne’er fill’d, From whom the balm maternal ne er distill d, * I know not whether my uncle was right in dragging this long-for- gotten female writer again into notice. Her budget of trash seems to have been exhausted for some years ; and herself and Retrospections, the last feeble effort of her senility, are now sunk into equal oblivion. The poor attempt to prolong notoriety by a ridiculous affectation in dress, can excite only the laugh of the thoughtless, and the pity of the wise. Let not the reader think this too severe: the invidious assassin of the posthumous fame of one of the best and greatest men that ever lived, deserves the most pointed reprehen- sion, whether it be a vedlain in breeches, or a fool in petticoats. 62 Full of the goddess, boasts herself design’d To rule the nursery, and form the mind?. ° It is a fact strikingly illustrative of the imbecility and wrong-headed- ness of the age, that most of our modern systems of early education are written by spinsters. In all other arts it seems to be allowed, that some experience is necessary, in order to ensure proficiency and success; and that no materials can be advantageously used by the workman, whose nature and qualities are not previously known to him. But how the pedagogues in ques- tion can have obtained these requisites ; that accurate knowledge of the in- fantine capacity, of those innumerable delicate circumstances, both physical and metaphysical, which are peculiar to the earliest age of childhood, and which have such vast influence in the formation of the future character, I am at a loss to apprehend, unless they have served the office of dry nurse. My wife, who is a good common sense woman, and has brought up a family of eleven children, in the fear of God, and with honest principles, assures me, that after a painful perusal of all the systems of education penned by these literary virgins, she has not discovered a single good practical hint (amongst the heaps of nonsense they are loaded with) which the world was not in possession of, before these sage performances issued from the press. It must be confessed, that Miss E—g—th’s plan is the least encumbered of any of them; she having entirely (and I doubt not with the best motives) omitted every allusion to the religious principle throughout her tracts, nor troubled her pupil with one sentiment that can lead its mind to the contem- plation of its Maker, or inspire the notion of its having a responsible soul. Oh! that no female had touched the important subject but Mrs. Barbauld, and that her productions upon it had been ten times as voluminous as they are | 63 Others again, with true grimalkin fury, Castrate dead authors, seme judge or jury. Purge Shakespeare's page, for “ use of families,” Of all that gives offence to spinster's eyes’ ; What, if the surly critic deem it hard, Thus to emasculate a sleeping bard ; A tasteless age will hail the deed as brave, And sanction all this havock on the grave’. 1 Mr. Pope has given an useful and judicious hint to these disturbers of the dead; these hardy editors of erpurgated authors ; Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice, Will needs mistake an author into vice: All seems infected that th’ infected spy ; As all looks yellow, to the jaundic’d eye. * There is no modern literary atrocity that more demands the reprehen- sion of those to whom letters are dear, than that alluded to above. If sucha fact be permitted to pass unchastised, whose bones will be safe after they are quietly committed to their parent earth? The repose of the sepulchre will be a phrase without a meaning ; and authors, after having buffeted through a life of poverty and abuse, disappointed in their hope of at length finding a place where “ the wicked cease from troubling,” will, like traitors after execution, have to undergo all the disgrace of posthumous amputation, mutilation, and dispersion of members. If once this expurgating system become generally allowed, there is no knowing to what lengths it may be carried. The false delicacy of prudes, and the stupidity of blockheads, will 64, But see! my sister points the spinster’s aim, To more advent'rous flights, and higher game ; Beyond the bounds of common arts to soar, And wing the realms of theologie lore; J) The lazy gown with sermons to su pply, And furnish blockheads in Divinity. Let learned fools her daring pen abuse ; Liditions twenty and the kind Reviews, Confirm its merit, and the act excuse*. j be the scales to mete out to the public, that quantity which it is proper for it to receive of the works of every departed author. Wit; point ; the finest touches of character ; and the best illustrations of extinguished manners ; will be at the mercy of fastidious ignorance, and perverted sentiment. We may expect, in short, that the Bzdle itself, will at length become the subject of the erpurgatory process; and, under the operation of this literary scalping knife, be shorn of half its honours, and reduced from its present venerable bulk, to the size of “ Sermons on the Doctrines and Duties of Christianity.” ° There cannot be a clearer proof of the lofty height to which theology has attained in these enlightened days, than the fact, that “ Sermons on the doctrines and duties of Christianity” have reached a twentieth edition. One should feel some wonder at the circumstance of females setting themselves up as the standard of orthodoxy im doctrinal points, did we not recollect, «¢ That fools rush in, where angels fear to tread,’”— our admiration too at the success of the volume abovementioned would be 4 | ‘FF, 65 Yet, think not, to the Jetter'd lady’s mind That Vanity’s infusions are confin‘d. The rougher sex who dally with the press Her stimulating influence confess. _ To her you owe those gentlemen of tears, The whining, baby, tribe of sonnetteers ; The critec dull, the poet pert, and all That crudely think, or impotently scrawl. equal, were we not aware of the rational principles which actuate modern Christians on the subject of their faith, and the profound learning of modern divines, who, to their honour be it spoken, have made so universal an use of the lady’s discourses. Let it not be forgotten, however, that some of their popularity may be attributed to the sanction of the applause bestowed on them by some of the Reviews. Nothing indeed can more evince the taste, discrimination, and impartiality with which these periodical adjudications of literary merit are conducted, than the praise they have conferred upon the feeble trash of Vegetable, the volcanic effusions of Drawcansir, and the rare orthodoxy of Miss B—. An ill-natured man might be inclined to attribute it to these authors having had some feeling in the reviews themselves. I re- member it was the advice of my uncle to every one who had the zach of writing upon him, and was anxious to puff himself into literary respectability, or get a good sale for his book, to purchase (if he had the means) for himself, or his relations, a share in a Review; by which means he might always be enabled to criticize his own works, or at least get the job performed for him by some gentlemen of the concern. K 66 Whilst politicians, and historians grave; The sober atheist, and freethinker brave : Who plunge, and erope, in “ metaphysic stye,” Unite to prove the power of vanity. When Gibbon first conceiv’d the arch-design, Faith, Hope, and Charity to undermine‘; 4 The novelty of this gentleman’s plan for getting rid of all religious prejudices, the insidious manner of his attack, and the glittering arms with which he carried it on, dazzled the world for a time, and made mankind believe that his book was more formidable than it really is. But truth and taste will at last find their level; the weakness of his objections are now satisfactorily exposed, and the viciousness of his style universally admitted. One of his most able answerers was Sir Hugh Dalrymple, who concludes his « Inquiry into the secondary Causes which Mr. G. has assigned for the rapid growth of Christianity,” with the following erpose of the inconsistency and contradiction of the arguments of this once celebrated writer. « His first proposition, as we have seen, is, that Christianity became victorious over the established religions of the earth, by its doctrine, and by the ruling providence of its great author ; and his last, of like import, is, that Christianity is the truth, “ Between his first and his last propositions, there are, no doubt, many dissertations, digressions, inferences, and hints, not altogether consistent with his avowed principles. But much allowance ought to be made for that love of novelty, which seduces men of genius to think and speak rashly ; and for that easiness of belief, which inclines us to rely on the quotations and commentaries of confident persons, without examining the authors of whom they speak. 67 By bold attack, or muendo sly, False argument, or gross obscenity, Jo rid mankind of that pernicious leaven, The doating fear of hell, or wish of heaven ; The vain conviction of eternal praise, For deeds so popular in modern days, Encourag’d him in letter'd dirt to delve, And sooth’d the labour of his volumes twelve’. “* Thus it appears, that the things which Mr. Gibbon considered as _ se- condary or human causes, efficaciously promoting the Christian religion, either tended to retard its progress, or were the manifest operations of the wisdom and power of God.” > Nobody was better qualified to estimate Mr. Gibbon’s literary cha- racter, to appreciate his learning, to weigh his reasoning, and pronounce upon his general powers, than the late Mr. Porson. His own candor cannot be doubted. The following are extracts from this writer’s masterly sketch of the historian, in his preface to that volume, which laid Master Travis in the dust. <“ Mr. Gibbon shews so strong a dislike to Christianity, as visibly disqualifies him for that society of which he has created Ammianus Marcel- linus president. He often makes, when he cannot find, an occasion to insult our religion, which he hates so cordially, that he might seem to revenge some personal injury. Such is his eagerness in the cause, that he stoops to the most despicable pun, or to the most awkward perversion of language, for the pleasure of turning thescripture into ribaldry, or of calling Jesus an impostor.”’ Though his style is in general correct and elegant, he sometimes “ draws 68 When Hume, so amiable, good, and mild’, * Tn wit a man, simplicity a child,” out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.” In short we are too often reminded of “ that great man, Mr. Prigg, the auc- tioneer, whose manner was so inimitably fine, that he had as much to say upon a “ ribbon as a Raphael.” Sometimes in his attempts at elegance, he loses sight of English, and sometimes of sense. A less pardonable fault is that rage for indecency which pervades the whole work, but especially the last volumes. And to the honor of his con- sistency, this is the same man who is so prudish that he dares not call Beli- sarius a cuckold, because it is too bad a word for a decent historian to use. If the history were anonymous, I should guess that these disgraceful obsceni- ties were written by some debauchee, who having, from age or accident, or excess, survived the practice of lust, still indulged himself in the luxury of speculation ; ‘and exposed the impotent imbecility, after he had lost the vigor of the passions.” A candid acknowledgement of error does not seem to be Mr. Gibbon’s shining virtue. This error has been now so long published, that it is scarcely possible to suppose him ignorant of the charge. He has had an opportunity of confessing and correcting the mistake, yet it still keeps its place in the octavo edition. ° See Hume’s life written by himself, prefixed to his History ; and Dr. Adam Smith’s account of the life, death, &c. of David Hume, Esq. which the Doctor concludes with these words: «‘ T have always considered Mr. Hume, both in his life-time, and since his death, as approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtu- ous man, as perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit.” 69 With braver hand, determin’d by a blow, Morals and faith at once to overthrow; My sister her benignest influence shed, O’er all the mighty sceptic’s heart and head: Sat by, and whisper’d, that his fame should rise Triumphant on the ruins of the skies: Should peace and virtue from the world affright, And introduce again the reign of “ ancient night’.” 7 That Hume was a vain man may, I think, be collected, from the sedf- complacency of his own account of his own life; from the letters of Dr. Smith, his panegyrist; and from the narrative of Mr. Ritchie, his biographer. This feature of his character, was an inference of Dr. Johnson’s, from the nature of his writing.—** Hume,” says he, “ and other sceptical writers are - vain men, and will gratify themselves at any expence. Truth will not afford sufficient food for their vanity ; so they have betaken themselves .to error. Truth, Sir, is a cow, which will yield such people no more milk, and so they are gone to milk the bull.” Bos. Life of Johnson, v. i. p. 408. That his candor and integrity were not of the first water may be inferred from another observation of the same writer. “‘ Hume,” says he, “ owned to aclergyman, in the bishopric of Durham, that he had never read the New Testament with attention.” Ib.470. It must not be forgotten, to the honour of Scotland, that, if she produced the bane, she also furnished a sufficient antidote for it, in Beattie’s “ Immutability of Truth,” and Campbell’s “ Dissertation on Miracles.” 70 Gloomy alike in countenance and soul, Sage G Instinctively he paints the w/lain’s art: bows to Vanity’s controul. And well developes turpitude of heart, By looking at the mirror in his breast, Where the bright prototype’s itself confest’. Does he the Saviour’s character defame? "Tis vanity directs the ruflian’s aim ; And tells him, that the novel calumny, Shall raise a reputation that can never die’. * See the best-drawn character in the best-written novel of this author. ° They who are acquainted with Mr. G ’s metaphysical writings, will know where to enquire for the passage to which these lines allude. The learned reader will agree with me, that the aspersion on which my uncle had his eye, when he wrote them, is perfectly mew, since of all the haters, perse- cutors, and opponents of Christianity, ancient and modern, no one before Mr. G has attributed to the character of its founder the least defect in morals. Had any blot been perceptible, it would have unquestionably been detected, and displayed, by the early adversaries of Christianity, but it was the uncontradicted assertion of Origen against Celsus, that, “ of the thou- sands who opposed themselves to Christ and his religion, not one had dared to traduce his moral character.” Mr. G. however, is excusable in not having paid any respect to the conduct of the early enemies of religion in this be- half, as it is exceedingly probable he had never heard of this noble boast of one of its advocates. Indeed, if we may judge by this gentleman’s metaphy- 71 Vast are the realms my brother Folly rules, For who'll deny that half the world are fools? No sceptre, which the proudest monarch sways, (Be he a king of past or present days) Such universal homage can command, As the gilt stick and bells in Folly’s hand. Charm’d by its jingle, see what crowds advance, To fill the concert, theatre, and dance? : sical writings, his acquirements seem to be as insufficient fairly to estimate the evidences of Christianity, as his ¢aste is incompetent to relish the beauty of its founder’s character. I would not be supposed, however, to object to him deficiency of learning asa fault. No! ’tis rather his misfortune. I mean merely to assert, that the wild reveries of an over-heated imagination; the fanciful creations of a strong but confused mind; and the gloomy conceits of an atrabilious temperament, will never qualify a man to pronounce dog- matically on a subject whose discussion involves some little knowledge of the dead languages ; some little skill in the art of criticism; and some little ac- quaintance with the learning of antiquity. They may serve all the purposes of novel-writing, or metaphysical system-building ; but when applied to the determination of the truth of Christianity are utterly inadequate. For, as Jeremy Taylor beautifully says, “no man can span Heaven with an infant’s palm, or govern wise and mighty empires with diagrams.” * Nothing can more clearly exemplify the despotic rule of folly in the city of Bath, than the fact, that, in defiance of the portentous aspect of the present times; the disasters and convulsions, public and private, political 72 Or hold his orgies at the Lower Rooms, Deck’d by himself with his becoming plumes*. He shakes his cap—a wild delirium spreads, .. Thro’ the thin brain of fashionable heads ; and elemental, by which this memorable winter has been characterized ; the concerts were never better attended; the theatre more crowded ; nor the private dances more numerous, than within the last three months. No less than thirty-six private dances took place in the course of three weeks during the month of January. , This alludes to the appropriate ornament worn by the ladies and gen- tlemen who celebrate the ladies’ night ; a féte given by the members of the catch-club, three times during the winter, at the Lower Rooms. ‘The insti- tution has the P— of W for its president, and under the pretence of paying a compliment to his Royal Highness, the company borrow, for the evening, this decoration from the wardrobe of Folly. How happy is the motto Ich Dien, to express the purpose of a grand festival in honor of this goddess. Bow-wow it seems, in order to get rid of the charge of obscenity at the expence of being condemned upon that of absurdity, elaborated for the last meeting a few lines of loyalty and nonsense, in the first of which he alludes to this characteristical ornament for the evening ; «« Wave the plume, and strike the lyre.” A friend of mine, who made use of the orchestra, assured me, that the com- pany on hearing this sublime commencement of the composition, were, one and all, in expectation of being regaled with an ode, in honor of the unDER- TAKERS Of Bath. Well done, parson! goon befooling and befooled to the end of the chapter ! 73 Visions of evening fetes, their fancies fill ; With eager hope of cards their bosoms thrill ; They languish for the hour of going out And meeting Folly at the darling vout*.— Oh! for a muse of fire, to paint the joys, Of these sage scenes of squeezing, heat, and noise, * The influence of Folly over routs is nervously described by Cowper, though he has mistaken the sex of the deity. ‘‘ The rout is Folly’s circle, which she draws With magic wand. So potent is the spell That none decoy’d into that fatal ring, Unless by Heav’n’s peculiar grace, escape. There we grow early grey, but never wise ; There form connections, but acquire no friend ; Solicit pleasure, hopeless of success ; Waste youth in occupations only fit _ For second childhood, and devote old age To sports which only childhood could excuse.— So fare we in this prison-house, the world. And ’tis a fearful sight to see So many maniacs dancing in their chains ; They gaze upon the links that hold them fast, With eyes of anguish, execute their lot, Then shake them in despair, and dance again.” L 74 Where scandal, lies, and nonsense, all combine To mend the heart, and intellect refine ! Where coxcombs, kept in countenance by fools, Deriding Reason’s law, and Virtue’s rules, Perform, with zeal, the nightly sacrifice, To impudence, absurdity, and vice. Nor, is my brother less ador’d at court, Where all his most exalted friends resort. The patient lst ner, and tale-bearmg peer, So entertaining to a r—l ear: The wily sycophant, and parasite, Prepar'd to swear, ‘ whatever is, is right :” The pert buffoon, whose anties will amuse, When princely spirits droop thro’ dearth of news : And all the canting, cringing, trifling brood, Whom m-n-rchs love; or, whe love servitude‘. 4 « Folly, my son, has still a friend at court.” Pope. My uncle probably adopted the hint of the influence of Folly at courts from the above line: he seems, however, to have been indebted to Mr. Burke for an amplification of it. “ Monarchs,” says this writer, “ are naturally 75 Such, children, worshippers, and votaries ! Such is the sway we claim beneath the skies ! Yet, though our influence reach from pole to pole, Direct the heads, and occupy the soul Of more than half mankind’s fantastic race, "Tis chiefly felt in this sagaczous place : lovers of low company. ‘They are so elevated above all the rest of mankind, that they must look upon all their subjects as on a level. They are rather apt to hate than to love their nobility, on account of the occasional resist- ance to their will, which will be made by their virtue, their prudence, or their pride. It must, indeed, be admitted, that many of the nobility are as perfectly willing to act the part of flatterers, talebearers, parasites, pimps, and buffoons, as any of the lowest and vilest of mankind can possibly be. But they are not properly qualified for this object of their ambition. The want of a regular education and early habits, and some lurking remains of their dignity, will never permit them to become a match for an Italian eunuch, a mountebank, a fiddler, a player, or any regular practitioner of that tribe,” &c. Speech on the GEconom. Reform. It is not unlikely, also, that the following passages from Hurd’s Dialogues afforded my uncle some hints for his subject. Sprat. Your idea of a court is that of a den of thieves, only better dressed, and more civilized. That, said he, (Cowley) is the idea under which truth obliges me to represent it. Believe me I have been long enough acquainted with that country to give you a pretty exact account of its inhabitants. Their sole business is to follow the humour of the prince, or of his favourite, to speak the current language, to serve the present turn, and to cozen one another. Inshort, their virtue is dissimulation, and their sense cunning. P, 58. 76 For Fate has long decreed, that Bara alone, Should boast the glories of our triple throne. Here, tho’ invisible, we hold our court, Fill each profession, and inspire each sport— Then, listen to the mandate of your gods, Confirm’d and sanction’d by their awfal nods’ ; “The feud compose, allay this shameful heat ; First shake each others’ hands, then shake your feet ; Your proper bus’ness mind—to play the fool ; And quietly again submit to Ramrod’s rule.” His words the company with rev rence hear ; And to obey, immediately prepare— ¥ Some, lift the fallen monarch from the floor, And smooth those curls they had attack’d before; Whilst others, quickly, at the glass compose’, The rude derangements of their tatter'd clothes. > He spake, and awful bends his sable brows; Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod ; The stamp of fate, and sanction of the god. = Pope’s I. i. 683. é The Upper Rooms are furnished with several mirrors, to assist the ladies in the adjustment of any accidental derangement of dress or orna- ment. $7 All seem'd content to drop the dire design Of crushing, root and branch, the royal line ; Save V-g-t-b-e, who, with envy fir'd, To seize the palace of the Kine desir'd; And metamorphose its convenient space Into a fashionable preaching place. Big with the desp’rate, and ambitious plan, 7} Stepp d forth the powder d, silken, smirking man, Bow'd to the gods; hemm/d thrice ; and thus began. } Ye universal idols three, To whom | bend the willing knee, A votry firm and true; Hear, graciously, your own high priest, And nod assent to his request ; Sing, cock-a-doodle-do. 78 "Tis now full seven years, or more, Since, thinking country-church a bore, To Bath T gladly flew : Resolv’d to let my talents shine, Before a congregatton fine, Sing cock-a-doodle-do. For well I knew my eloquence Would draw large store of Peter-pence, From such a goodly crew ; Who ve taste to feel, and wet to judge; And no reward to merit grudge ; Sing, cock-a-doodle-do. Arriv d, I soon in — — street Securd a chapel’s snug retreat With pulpit, desk, and pew; My cards I printed ; prices rais‘d ; Preach’d loyalty ; was heard, and prais‘d: Sing, cock-a-doodle-do. 79 ’Gainst low-bred vices loud I rail’d ; For high-born sinners never fail'd To make th’ allowance due : Spoke tenderly of gay pursuits ; And only damn'd the vulgar brutes: Sing cock-a-doodle-do. The more to spread my chapel’s fame, And fill its seats, when summer came I went to Weymouth too ; Perchance, before the Kine to preach, And! haply, thus a mitre reach’, Sing cock-a-doodle-do. 7 What a dreadful stroke has the cessation of r—l visits to Weymouth been on popular preachers, and ecclesiastical preferment hunters! Not, how- ever, that every candidate for the prize could congratulate himself on his success ; as was painfully proved in the case of Dr. O’Horsa, where, though he had climbed into the wished-for pulpit through the recommendation of a kept mistress, and the ewertions of her exalted lover, yet the confounded O, pre- fered to his name, unhappily prejudiced his powerful hearers so much against him, as to disincline them from promoting him to that station in the church which his merits so justly entitled him to. I cannot but think, however, 80 But ere began the winter's frost To drive the gentry from the coast, To Bath again I flew: My shop to paint, adorn, prepare, For customers so fine and fair; Sing cock-a-doodle do. In — — — where I live, I, annually, three concerts give, Routs twelve, and dmmners two? : that they should have regarded his clerical labours with more complacency ; since it is well known, that he has been at the zmmense pains of committing three sermons to memory, and has rung changes upon them in all the churches of Bath, and those of the principal watering-places in England! Is nothing due to such unexampled zeal? ® So small a part of this gentleman’s address to his three friends had been finished by my uncle, that I was for some time in doubt whether or not I should make him a speaker in the second Canto. Had I been an ill- natured man I might have taken this method of mortifying his vanity by imposing si/ence upon him, and keeping him in the back-ground. But my benevolence has always been such, as “ to give even the devil his due.” I thought it but right, too, to execute the whole of my uncle’s plan to the best of my ability, and specify as many traits of the amiable characters he has so honorably distinguished in his work, as my limited means of information 8] Besides, un peu recitative In party snug, on sabbath eve ; Sing cock-a-doodle-do. should furnish me with. In the line to which this note refers, I have allud- ed to the hospitality of the divine in question, exemplified in his quickly- succeeding routes, and two substantial dinners. The number of the former may, perhaps, appear to be rather large; particularly in times so pinching as the present ; and we might be inclined to think, at the first glance, that the preacher sacrificed prudence at the shrine of generosity, or rather popularity ; but some people’s virtues are too nicely balanced to permit one to preponde- rate against its opposite; for it must be recollected, that these parties are but meagre entertainments at best; and that their trifling expence is amply compensated by the card-money received on the occasions. Of the two dinners, indeed, which occurred a few weeks since, it is impossible, as I am informed by one of the waiters, to speak in terms of sufficient praise; whe- ther we consider the ¢as/e in the arrangement ; the profusion im the quantity ; or the costliness in the quality, of the viands served up at them. They seem, in truth, to have vied in almost all respects with a late celebrated feast, given in the plains of Constantinople by the Vizier Bairactar; and, like his, took place in an interval most happy for giving them the utmost notoriety and eclat—the space between the Bath-ffood, which deprived hundreds of bread, and the /fast-day, when all were prohibited by Jaw, from eating! With what irresistible persuasion must dehortations from lurury, excess, and high-living, flow from those mouths, which the select guests among the congregations of their owners see privately opened, for the devoration of that fare which they publicly prohibit ! 82 By thousand little arts like these, So well contrived to blind and please, I've let out ev'ry pew : Of cash advane'd, made cent per cent, Grown rich, bought houses, money lent; Sing cock-a-doodle-do. The better still my pence to turn, And make the most of the concern, I've got a partner too ; Who's paid me for the wish’d-for post, More than at first the chapel cost : Sing cock-a-doodle-do. But now alas! for room we're cramp d! And all our prospects must be damp d, Unless reliev'd by you: Then, let us have this goodly place, To turn into a house of grace: Sing cock-a-doodle-do. 83 And if you listen to my pray’r, I here most solemnly declare, You ll find no cause to rue; For — and I will dedicate Ourselves to your triumvirate ; Sing cock-a-doodle-do. He spoke: the deities his zeal approve, And each affords some token of their love ; A glance complacent darted from the eye Of Humbug, and his sister Vanity ; Whilst Folly shook his bells, and laugh'd aloud; And nam‘d the priest, his fav rite of the crowd. But, tho they kindly smile, and gladly hear, ‘They grant but parteally the parson’s pray ¥ ; o4 Vor, as the sage Mzeonian poet sings, Dear to celestials is the cause of kings— All they Il allow is a divided sway : That one should rule by night, and one by day? ; And thus, the irreversible behest Humbug, in thunder, solemnly exprest. ‘My son! your zeal exemplary we own, And deem it worthy of a foreign crown: But these bright realms are doom’d by Fate’s decree Still to submit to Ramrod’s dynasty. Let — — street be V-g-t-b-e’s sphere ; Ramrod alone must sway triumphant here. Know then, by us restored, again he rules ; And re-asserts his tithe—Prince of Fools’.” ° Nocte pluit tota, redeunt spectacula mane : Divisum imperium cum Jove Cesar habet. Virg. 7 The great Doctor Samuel Clarke, a man of uncommon cheerfulness of temper and sportiveness of manners, as he was one day walking with a party, and amusing them with his hilarity, saw Nash approaching towards them. “Stop,” said he, “ let us be grave, for here comes the master of the ceremonies at Bath, the very “ prince of fools.” 85 Thus said, the gods enveloped in a cloud, Fled thro’ the window from the gaping crowd ; Whilst, in their stead, brought back by their command, As suddenly appeared the sprightly Bano. Joy and good-humour, mix d with /oyalty, Now fill’d each heart, and brighten’d every eye: With loud huzzas the vaulted ceiling rung, “< God save our king!” repeated ev'ry tongue ; The beaux and ladies to their places ran, The monarch clapped his hands’, and. dancing straight began. ® This is the signal for directing the dancers’ attention to their business, and for the fiddlers to commence their operations also. 86 A FAREWELL COMPLIMENT 'TO FASHIONABLE CHAPELS. Jack Worruy as he went one sabbath day, To do his duty in a common way, And teach his hearers how to tread the road Of prety and virtue, to their God ; Passing, for sake of time, down — — street, Large crowds of fashionables chane’d to meet, Who hurried on, a doctor sweet to hear, And pray and. giggle at a chapel near. Compassion on their dotage fill’d his breast, And the consummate fools he thus addrest ; ‘« How now, my friends! why thus desert your church, And leave your parish teacher in the lurch? Go back with me; return again to grace, § And pay your worship at a proper place.” 87 “Good Heaven forbid !” exclaimed a spinster fair, That I should seek a vulgar house of pray’r ; Where vile associates wound all decent pride, And nauseous vermin swarm on every side?. No, Sir! since pray we must for fashion’s sake, Of place we certainly our choice may make ; And, tho’ compell’d to an ungrateful task, Have yet a right good company to ask.” —‘ Well, but fine folks,” cried honest Jack again, ‘¢ At chapels surely you can nothing gain To cure your souls of sin and folly’s leaven, Or help your shuffling footsteps up to heaven! There you will only learn the downward road, That leads to final punishment's abode; And, with soft speeches, and wrong notions cramm’d, Be gull’d whilst living, and when dead be d—mn’d.”’ 9 It is a serious fact, that a certain family of spinsters, not 100 miles from Pultney-street, being asked the reason of their deserting the parish church, and taking seats at a fashionable chapel, one of them replied, “¢ because the bugs were so intolerable at the former, that it was impossible to continue to frequent it.” 88 —He could no more, for every beau and belle, United in the loud determin’d yell ; ‘We'll go to chapel, tho’ we go to h-U/.” FINIS CORONAT OPUS. T. DAVISON, Whitefriars, London. bad ST YY. © Se. Sta Ns Anes oF ke