Of sainted devils, where all round Vile relics of vile men were found,

A cub most dama'd, to show his face

Forbid by fear, but not by shame,
Turn'd to a Jew, like

came;

Corruption, Midas-like, behold
Turning whate'er she touch'd to gold;
Impotence led by Lust, and Pride
Strutting with Ponton by her side;
Hypocrisy, demure and sad,

In garments of the priesthood clad,
So well disguis'd, that you might swear,
Deceiv'd, a very priest was there;
Bankruptcy, full of ease and health,
And wallowing in well-sav'd wealth,
Came sneering through a ruin'd band,
And bringing B
in her hand;

Victory hanging down her head,
Was by a Highland stallion led;
Peace, cloth'd in sables, with a face
Which witness'd sense of huge disgrace,
Which spake a deep and rooted shame
Both of herself and of her name,
Mourning creeps on, and blushing feels
War, grim War treading on her heels;
Pale Credit, shaken by the arts

Of men with bad heads and worse hearts,
Taking no notice of a band

Which near her were ordain'd to stand,
Well nigh destroy'd by sickly fit,
Look'd wistful all around for Pitt;
Freedom-at that most hallow'd name
My spirits mount into a flame,

Each pulse beats high, and each nerve strains
E'en to the cracking; through my veins
The tides of life more rapid run,
And tell me I am Freedom's son-
Freedom came next, but scarce was seen,
When the sky, which appear'd serene
And gay before, was overcast ;
Horrour bestrode a foreign blast,
And from the prison of the North,
To Freedom deadly, storms burst forth.
A car like those, in which, we're told,
Our wild forefathers warr'd of old,
Loaded with death, six horses bear
Through the blank region of the air.
Too fierce for time or art to tame,
They pour'd forth mingled smoke and flame
From their wide nostrils; ev'ry steed
Was of that ancient savage breed
Which fell Geryon nurs'd; their food
The flesh of man, their drink his blood.

On the first horses, ill-matel'd pair,
This fat and sleek, that lean and bare,
Came ill-match'd riders side by side,
And Poverty was yok'd with Pride.
Union most strange it must appear,
Till other unious make it clear.

Next, in the gall of bitterness,
With rage, which words can ill express,
With unforgiving rage, which springs
From a false zeal for holy things,
Wearing such robes as prophets wear,
False prophets plac'd in Peter's chair ;
On which, in characters of fire,
Shapes antic, borrible and dire,
Inwoven tlam'd; where, to the view,
In groups appear'd a rabble crew

Who, worse than devils, from the birth
Perform'd the work of Hell on Earth,
Jugglers, inquisitors, and popes,
Pointing at axes, wheels, and ropes,
And engines, fram'd on horrid plan,
Which one but the destroyer man
Could, to promote his selfish views,
Have heads to make, or hearts to use;
Bearing, to consecrate her tricks,
In her left-hand a crucifix,
Remembrance of our dying Lord,
And in her right a two-edg'd sword;
Having her brows, in impious sport,
Adorn'd with words of high import,
On earth peace, amongst men, good-will,
Love bearing, and forbearing still,
All wrote in the heart's-blood of those
Who rather death than falsehood chose;
On her breast (where, in days of yore,
When God lov'd Jews, the high-priest wore
Those oracles, which were decreed
T'instruct and guide the chosen see 1)
Having with glory clad and strength,
The Virgin pictur'd at full length,
Whilst at her feet, in small portray'd,
As scarce worth notice, Christ was laid;
Came Superstition, fierce and fell,
An imp detested, e'en in Hell;

Her
сус inflam'd, her face all o'er
Foully besmear'd with human gore,
O'er heaps of mangled saints she role;
Fast at her heels Death proudly strode,
And grimly stnil'd, well-pleas'd to see
Such havoc of mortality.

Close by her side, on mischief bent,
And urging on each bad intent
To its full bearing, savage, wild,
The mother fit of such a child,

Striving the empire to advance

Of sin and death, came Ignorance.

With looks, where dread command was plar'd,
And sov'reign pow'r by pride disgrac'd,
Where loudly witnessing a mind
Of savage more than human kind,
Not choosing to be lov'd, but fear'd,
Mocking at right, Misrule appear'd.

With eyeballs glaring fiery red
Enough to strike beholders dead,
Gnashing h's teeth, and in a flood
Pouring corruption forth and blood
From his chaf'd jaws; without remorse
Whipping, and spurring on his horse,
Whose sides, in their own blood embay'd,
E'en to the bone were open laid,
Came Tyranny; disdaining Awe,
And trampling over Sen e and Law.
One thing and only one he knew,
One object oaly would pursue,
Though less (so low doth passion bring)
Than man, he would be more than king.

With ev'ry argument and art

Which might corrupt the head and heart,
Soothing the frenzy of his mind,
Companion meet, was Flattry join'd.
Winning his carriage, ev'ry look
Employ'd, whilst it conceal'd a hook;
When simple most, most to be fear'd;
Most crafty when no craft appear'd;

His tales no man like him could tell;
His words, which melted as they fell,
Might e'en a hypocrite deceive,
And make an infidel believe,
Wantonly cheating o'er and o'er

Those who had cheated been before:
Such Flatt'ry came in evil hour,
Pois'ning the royal ear of Pow'r,
And, grown by prostitution great,
Would be first minister of state.

Within the chariot, all alone,
High seated on a kind of throne,
With pebbles grac'd, a figure came,
Whom Justice would, but dare not, name.
Hard times when Justice, without fear,
Dire not bring forth to public car
The names of those, who dare offend
'Gainst Justice, and pervert her end:
But, if the Muse afford me grace,
Description shall supply the place.
In foreign garments he was clad:
Sage ermine o'er the glossy plaid
Cast rev'rend honour; on his heart,
Wrought by the curions hand of Art,
In silver wrought, and brighter far
Than heav'nly or than earthly star,
Shone a white rose, the emblem dear
Of him he ever must revere;
Of that dread lord, who with his host
Of faithful native rebels lost,

Like those black spirits doom'd to Hell,
At once from pow'r and virtue fell;
Around his clouded brows was plac'd
A bonnet, most superbly grac'd
With mighty thistles, nor forgot
The sacred motto, Touch me not.

In the right hand a sword he bore
Harder than adamant, and more
Fatal than winds, which from the mouth
Of the rough North invade the South:
The reeking blade to view presents
The blood of helpless innocents;
And on the hilt, as meck become
As lambs before the shearers dumb,
With downeast eye, and solemn show
Of deep unutterable woe,

Mourning the time when Freedom reign'd, Fast to a rock was Justice chain'd.

In his left hand, in wax imprest,
With bells and gewgaws idly drest,
An image, cast in baby mould,

He held, and seem'd o'erjoy'd to hold.
On this he fix'd his eyes, to this
Bowing he gave the loyal kiss,
And, for rebellion fully ripe,
Seem'd to desire the antitype.
What if to that Pretender's foes
His greatness, nay, his life he owes,
Shall common obligations bind,
And shake his constancy of mind?
Scorning such weak and petty chains,
Faithful to James he still re nains,
Though he the friend of George appear:
Dis imulation's virtue here.

Jealous and mean, he with a frown
Would awe, and keep all merit down,
Nor would to Truth and Justice bend,
Unless out-bullied by his friend:
Brave with the coward, with the brave
He is himself a coward slave;

Aw'd by his fears, he has no heart
To take a great and open part;
Mines in a subtle train he springs,
And, secret, saps the ears of kings;
But not e'en there continues firm
'Gainst the resistance of a worm:
Born in a country, where the will
Of one is law to all, he still
Retain'd th' infection, with full aim
To spread it wheresoe'er he came;
Freedom he hated, Law defied,
The prostitute of Pow'r and Pride:
Low he with ease explains away,
And leads bewilder'd Sense astray;
Much to the credit of his brain
Puzzles the cause he can't maintain,
Proceeds on most familiar grounds,
And, where he can't convince, confounds;
Talents of rarest stamp and size,
To Nature false, he misapplies,
And turns to poison what was sent
For purposes of nourishment.
Paleness, not such as on his wings
The messenger of sickness brings,
But such as takes its coward rise
From conscious baseness, conscious vice,
O'erspread his cheeks; Disdain and Fride,
To upstart fortunes ever tied,
Scowl'd on his brow; within his eye,
Insidious, lurking like a spy
To Caution principled by Fear,
Not daring open to appear,

Lodg'd covert Mischief; Passion hung
On his lip quiv'ring; on his tongue
Frand dwelt at large; within his breast
All that makes villain found a nest,
All that, on Hell's completest plan,
E'er join'd to damn the heart of man.

Soon as the car reach'd land, he rose,
And with a look which might have froze
The heart's best blood, which was enough,
Had hearts been made of sterner stuff
In cities than elsewhere, to make
The very stoutest quail and quake,
He cast his baleful eyes around.
Fix'd without motion to the ground,
Fear waiting on surprise, all stood,
And horrour chill'd their curdled blood:
No more they thought of pomp, no more
(For they had seen his face before)
Of Late they thought; the cause forgot,
Whether it was or ghost, or plot,
Which drew them there. They all stood more
Like statues than they were before.

What could be done? Could art, could force, Or both, direct a proper course

To make this savage monster tame,
Or send him back the way he came?
What neither ait, nor force, nor both
Could do, a lord of foreign growth,
A lord to that base wretch allied
In country, not in vice and pride,
Effected: from the self-same land,
(Bad news for our blaspheining band
Of scribblers, but deserving note)
The poison came, and antidote.
Abashed the monster hung his head;
Andke an empty vision fled;
Is train, like virgin snows which run,
Kiss'd by the burning bawdy Sun,

To lovesick streams, dissolv'd in air;
Joy, who from absence seem'd more fair,
Came smiling, freed from slavish Awe;
Loyalty, Liberty, and Law,
Impatient of the galling chain,

And yoke of Pow'r, resum'd their reign;
And burning with the glorious flame
Of public virtue, Mansfield came.

THE CONFERENCE.

GRACE said in form, which sceptics must agree,
When they are told that grace was said by me;
The servants gone, to break the scurvy jest
On the proud landlord, and his thread-bare guest;
The "king" gone round, my lady too withdrawn,
My lord, in usual taste, began to yawn,
And lolling backward in his elbow-chair,
With an insipid kind of stupid stare,
Picking his teeth, twirling his seals about-
"Churchill, you have a poem coming out.
You've my best wishes; but I really fear
Your Muse in general is too severe;
Her spirit seems her int'rest to oppose,
And where she makes one friend, makes twenty foes."
C. Your lordship's fears are just, I feel their force,
But only feel it as a thing of course.
The man whose hardy spirit shall engage
To lash the vices of a guilty age,

At his first setting forward ought to know,
That ev'ry rogue he meets must be his foe;
That the rude breath of Satire will provoke
Many who feel, and more who fear the stroke.
But shall the partial rage of selfish men
From stubborn Justice wrench the righteous pen,
Or shall I not my settled course pursue,
Because my foes are foes to Virtue too?

L. What is this boasted Virtue, taught in schools,
And idly drawn from antiquated rules?
What is her use? Point out one wholesome end:
Will she hurt foes, or can she make a friend?
When from long fasts fierce appetites arise,
Can this same Virtue stifle Nature's cries?
Can she the pittance of a meal afford,
Or bid thee welcome to one great man's board?
When northern winds the rough December arm
With frost and snow, can Virtue keep thee warın?
Can'st thou dismiss the hard unfeeling dun
Barely by saying, thou art Virtue's son?
Or by base blund'ring statesmen sent to jail,
Will Mansfield take this Virtue for thy bail?
Believe it not, the name is in disgrace,
Virtue and Temple now are out of place.

Quit then this meteor, whose delusive ray From wealth and honour leads thee far astray. True Virtue means, let Reason use her eyes, Nothing with fools, and int'rest with the wise. Would'st thou be great, her patronage disclaim, Nor madly triumph in so mean a name: Let nobler wreaths thy happy brows adorn, An i leave to Virtue poverty and scorn. Let Prudence be thy guide; who doth not know How seldom Prudence can with Virtue go? To be successful try thy utmost force, And Virtue follows as a thing of course.

Hireo, who knows not Hireo? stains the bed Of that kind master who first gave him bread,

Scatters the seeds of discord through the land, Breaks ev'ry public, ev'ry private band, Beholds with joy a trusting friend undone, Betrays a brother, and would cheat a son: What mortal n his senses can en loge

The name of Hareo, for the wretch 's poor!
"Let him hang, down, starre, on a dunghill rot,
By all detested live, and die forgot;

Let him, a poor return, in ev'ry breath
Feel all Death's pains, yet be whole years in death,"
Is now the gen'ral cry we all pursue:

Let Fortune change, and Prudence changes too;
Supple and pliant a new system feels,

Throws up her cap, and spaniels at his heels; "Long live great. Hirco," cries, by int'rest taught, "And let his foes, though I prove one, be nought.'

C. Peace to such men, if such men can have peace, Let their possessions, let their state increase; Let their base services in courts strike root, And in the season bring forth golden fruit; I envy not: let those who have the will, And, with so little spirit, so much skill, With such vile instruments their fortunes carve; Rogues may grow fat, an honest man dares starve. 1. These stale conceits thrown off, let us advance For once to real life, and quit romance. Starve! pretty talking! but I fain would view That man, that honest man, would do it too. Hence to yon mountain which ou braves the sky, And dart from pole to pole thy strengthen'd eye, Through all that space you shall not view one man, Not one, who dares to act on such a plan. Cowards in calms will say, what in a storm The brave will tremble at, and not perform. Thine be the proof, and, spite of all you've said, You'd give your honour for a crust of bread.

C. What proof might do, what hunger might effect, What famish'd Nature, looking with neglect On all she once held dear, what fear, at strife With fainting Virtue for the means of life, Might make this coward flesh, in love with breath, Shudd'ring at pain, and shrinking back from death, In treason to my soul, descend to bear, Trusting to Fate, I neither know nor care.

Once, at this hour those wounds afresh I feel, Which nor prosperity nor time can heal, Those wounds, which Fate severely hath decreed, Mention'd or thought of, must for ever bleed, Those wounds, which humbled all that pride of man, Which brings such mighty aid to Virtue's plan; Once, aw'd by Fortune's most oppressive frown, By legal rapine to the earth bow'd down, My credit at last gasp, my state undone, Trembling to meet the shock I could not shun, Virtue gave ground, and black despair prevail'd; Sinking beneath the storm, my spirits fail'd, Like Peter's faith; till one, a friend indeed, May all distress find such in time of need! One kind good man, in act, in word, in thought, By Virtue guided, and by Wisdom taught, Image of him whom Christians should adore, Stretch'd forth his hand, and brought me safe to shore. Since, by good fortune into notice rais'd, And for some little merit largely prais'd, Indulg'd in swerving from prudential rules, Hated by rogues, and not belov'd by fools, Plac'd above want, shall abject thirst of wealth So fiercely war 'gainst my soul's dearest health, That, as a boon, I should base shackles crave, And, born to freedom, make myself a slave;

That I should in the train of those appear,
Whom Honour cannot love, nor Manhood fear?
That I no longer skulk from street to street,
Afraid lest duns assail, and bailiffs meet;
That I from place to place this carcass bear,
Walk forth at large, and wander free as air;
That I no longer dread the awkward friend,
Whose very obligations must offend,

Nor, all too forward, with inpatience burn,
At suff'ring favours which I can't return;
That, from dependence and from pride secure,
I am not plac'd so high to scorn the poor,
Nor yet so low, that I my lord should fear,
Or hesitate to give him sneer for sneer;
That, whilst sage Prudence my pursuits confirms,
I can enjoy the world on equal terms;
That, kind to others, to myscif most true,
Feeling no want, I comfort those who do,
And with the will have power to aid distress:
These, and what other blessings I possess,
From the indulgence of the public rise;
All private patronage my soul defies.
By candour more inclin'd to save, than damn,
A gen'rous PUBLIC made me what I am.
All that I have, they gave; just Mem'ry bears
The grateful stamp, and what I am is theirs.

L. To feign a red-hot zeal for Freedom's cause,
To mouth aloud for liberties and laws,
For public good to bellow all abroad,
Serves well the purposes of private fraud.
Prudence by public good intends her own;
If you mean otherwise, you stand alone.
What do we mean by country and by court?
What is it to oppose, what to support?
Mere words of course, and what is more absurd
Than to pay homage to an empty word?
Majors and minors differ but in name,
Patriots and ministers are much the same;
The only diff'rence, after all their rout,
Is, that the one is in, the other out.

Explore the dark recesses of the mind, In the soul's honest volume read mankind, And own, in wise and simple, great and small, The same grand leading principle in all. Whate'er we talk of wisdom to the wise, Of goodness to the good, of public ties Which to our country link, of private bands Which claim most dear attention at our hands,. For parent and for child, for wife and friend, Our first great mover, and our last great end, Is one, and, by whatever name we call The ruling tyrant, Self, is all in all. This, which unwilling Faction shall admit, Guided in diff'rent ways a Bute and Pitt, Made tyrants break, made kings observe the law, And gave the world a Stuart and Nassau.

Hath Nature (strange and wild conceit of pride) Distinguish'd thee from all her sons beside? Doth virtue in thy bosom brighter glow, Or from a spring more pure doth action flow? Is not thy soul bound with those very chains Which shackle us; or is that Self, which reigns O'er kings and beggars, which in all we see Most strong and sov'reign, only weak in thee? Fond man, believe it not; experience tells 'Tis not thy virtue, but thy pride rebels. Think (and for once lay by thy lawless pen) Think, and confess thyself like other men; Think but one hour, and, to thy conscience led By Reason's hand, bow down and hang thy head;

Think on thy private life, recal thy youth,
View thyself now, and own with strictest truth,
That Self hath drawn thee from fair Virtue's way
Further than Folly would have dar'd to stray,
And that the talents lib'ral Nature gave

To make thee free, have made thee more a slave.
Quit then, in prudence quit, that idle, train
Of toys, which have so long abus'd thy brain,
And captive led thy pow'rs; with boundless will
Let Self maintain her state and empire still,
But let her, with more worthy objects caught,
Strain all the faculties and force of thought
To things of higher daring; let her range
Through better pastures, and learn how to change;
Let her, no longer to weak Faction tied,
Wisely revolt, and join our stronger side.

C. Ah! what, my lord, hath private life to do
With things of public nature? Why to view
Would you thus cruelly those scenes unfold,
Which, without pain and horrour to behold,
Must speak me something more or less than man;
Which friends may pardon, but I never can?
Look back! a thought which borders on despair,
Which human nature must, yet cannot bear.
'Tis not the babbling of a busy world,
Where praise and censure are at random hurl'd,
Which can the meanest of my thoughts control,
Or shake one settled purpose of my soul.
Free and at large might their wild curses roam,
If all, if all, alas! were well at home,
No-'tis the tale which angry Conscience tells,
When she with more than tragic horrour swells
Each circumstance of guilt; when stern, but
true,

She brings bad actions forth into review;
And, like the dread hand-writing on the wall,
Bids late Remorse awake at Reason's call;
Arm'd at all points bids scorpion Vengeance pass,
And to the mind holds up Reflection's glass;
The mind, which, starting, heaves the heartfelt

groan,

Paul Whitehead.

2 James Ralph. See lord Melcombe's Diary,

I mock the zeal, and deem the men in sport,
Who rail at ministers, and curse a court.
Thee, haughty as thou art, and proud in rhyme,
Shall some preferment, offer'd at a time
When Virtue sleeps, some sacrifice to pride,
Or some fair victim, move to change thy side.
Thee shall these eyes behold, to health restor'd,
Using, as Prudence bids, bold Satire's sword,
Galling thy present friends, and praising those,
Whom now thy frenzy holds thy greatest foes.
C. May I (can worse disgrace on manhood fall?)
Be born a Whitehead, and baptiz'd a Paul;
May I (though to his service deeply tied
By sacred oaths, and now by will allied)
With false feign'd zeal an injur'd God defend,
And use his name for some base private end;
May I (that thought bids double horrours roll
O'er my sick spirits, and unmans my soul)
Ruin the virtue which I held most dear,
And still must hold; may I, through abject fear,
Betray my friend; may to succeeding times,
Engrav'd on plates of adamant, my crimes
Stand blazing forth, whilst mark'd with envious blot,
Each little act of virtue is forgot;

Of all those evils which, to stamp men curs'd,
Hell keeps in store for vengeance, may the worst
Light on my head, and in my day of woe,
To make the cup of bitterness o'erflow,
May I be scorn'd by ev'ry man of worth,
Wander, like Cain, a vagabond on Earth,
Bearing about a Hell in my own mind,
Or be to Scotland for my life confin'd,
If I am one among the many known,
Whom Shelburne fled, and Calcraft blush'd to own.
L. Do you reflect what men you make your foes?
C. I do, and that's the reason I oppose.
Friends I have made, whom Envy must commend,
But not one foe, whom I would wish a friend.
What if ten thousand Butes and Hollands bawl,
One Wilkes hath made a large amends for all.
'Tis not the title, whether handed down
From age to age, or flowing from the crown
In copious streams on recent men, who came
From stems unknown, and sires without a name;
'Tis not the star, which our great Edward gave
To mark the virtuous, and reward the brave,
Blazing without, whilst a base heart within
Is rotten to the core with filth and sin;
'Tis not the tinsel grandeur, taught to wait,
At Custom's call, to mark a fool of state
From focis of lesser note, that soul can awe
Whose pride is reason, whose defence

law.

L. Suppose (a thing scarce possible in art, Were it thy cue to play a common part ;) Suppose thy writings so well fene'd in law, That Norton 3 cannot find, nor make a flaw, Hast thou not heard, that 'mongst our ancient tribes, By party warpt, or lull'd asleep by bribes, Or trembling at the ruffian hand of Force, Law hath suspended stood, or chang'd its course? Art thou assur'd, that, for destruction ripe, Thou may'st not smart beneath the self-same gripe? What sanction hast thou, frantic in thy rhymes, Thy life, thy freedom to secure?..

....... The times. 'Tis not on law, a system great and good, By wisdom penn'd, and bought by noblest blool,

3 Sir Fletcher Norton, attorney-general.

My faith relies: by wicked men and vain,
Law, once abus'd, may be abus'd again.
No, on our great Law-giver I depend,
Who knows and guides her to her proper end;
Whose royalty of nature blazes out

So fierce, 'twere sin to entertain a doubtDid tyrant Stuarts now the laws dispense, (Blest be the hour and hand which sent them

hence)

For something, or for nothing, for a word,
Or thought, I might be doom'd to death, unheard.
Life we might all resign to lawless pow'r,
Nor think it worth the purchase of an hour;
But Envy ne'er shall fix so foul a stain
On the fair annals of a Brunswick's reign.
If, slave to party, to revenge, or pride,
If, by frail human errour drawn aside,
I break the law, strict rigour let her wear;
'Tis her's to punish, and 'tis mine to bear;
Nor by the voice of Justice doom'd to death,
Would I ask mercy with my latest breath.
But, anxious only for my country's good,
In which my king's, of course, is understood;
Form'd on a plan with some few patriot friends,
Whilst by just means I aim at noblest ends,
My spirits cannot sink; though from the tomb
Stern Jeffries should be plac'd in Mansfeld's room;
Though he should bring, his base designs to aid,
Some black attorney, for his purpose made,
And shove, whilst Decency and Law retreat,
The modest Norton from his maiden seat;
Though both, in all confed'rates, should agree,
In damned league, to torture law and me,
Whilst George king, I cannot fear endure;
Not to be guilty, is to be secure.

But when, in after-times, (be far remov'd
That day) our monarch, glorious and belov'd,
Sleeps with his fathers, should imperious Fate,
In vengeance, with fresh Stuarts curse our state;
Should they, o'erleaping ev'ry fence of law,
Butcher the brave to keep tame fools in awe;
Should they, by brutal and oppressive force,
Divert sweet Justice from her even course;
Should they, of ev'ry other means bereft,
Make my right-hand a witness 'gainst my left;
Should they, abroad by Inquisitions taught,
Search out my soul, and damn me for a thought;
Still would I keep my course, still speak, still
write,

Till Death had plung'd me in the shades of night.
Thou God of Truth, thou great, all-searching eye,
To whom our thoughts, our spirits open lie,
Grant me thy strength, and in that needful hour,
(Should it e'er come) when Law submits to Pow`r,
With firm resolve my steady bosom steel,
Bravely to suffer, though I deeply feel.

Let ine, as hitherto, still draw my breath,
In love with life, but not in fear of death;
And, if Oppression brings me to the grave,
And marks me dead, she ne'er shall mark a slave.
Let no unworthy marks of grief be heard,
No wild laments, not one unseemly word;
Let sober triumphs wait upon my bier,

I won't forgive that friend who drops one tear.
Whether he's ravish'd in life's early morn,
Or, in old age, drops like an ear of corn,
Full ripe he fails, on Nature's noblest plan,
Who lives to Reason, and who dies a Man.