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Nor rest we here, but, at our magic call, Monkies shall climb our trees, and lizards crawl; Huge dogs of Tibet bark in yonder grove, Here parrots prate, there cats make cruel love : In some fair island will we turn to grass (With the Queen's leave) her elephant and ass. Giants from Africa shall guard the glades, Where hiss our snakes, where sport our Tartar
maids : Or, wanting these, from Charlotte Hayes we bring Damsels alike adroit to sport and sing,
Now to our lawns of dalliance and delight, Join we the groves of horror and affright; This achieve no foreign aids we try, Thy gibbets, Bagshot! shall our wants supply : Hounslow, whose heath sublimer terror fills, Shall with her gibbets lend her powder mills. Here too, O King of Vengeance, in thy fane, Tremendous Wilkes shall rattle his gold chain; And found that fane on many a Tyburn tree, Hang fragments dire of Newgate's history; On this shall Holland's dying speech be read, Here Bute's confession and his wooden head; While all the minor plunderers of the age (Too numerous far for this contracted page) The Rigbys, Calcrafts, Mungos, Bradshaws there, In straw-stuft effigy, shall kick the air. But say, ye Powers, who come when Fancy calls, Where shall our mimic London rear her walls?
That Eastern feature, Art must next produce,
Tho' not for present yet for future use,
Our sons some slave of greatness may behold,
Cast in the genuine Asiatic mould :
Who of three realms shall condescend to know ho
No more than he can spy from Windsor's brow;
For him that blessing of a better time,
The Muse shall deal awhile in brick and lime ;
Surpass the bold AAEAQI in design,
And o'er the Thames fling one stupendous line
Of marble arches, in a bridge, that cuts
From Richmond Ferry slant to Brentford Butts.
Brentford with London's charms will we adorn;
Brentford, the bishopric of Parson Horne.
There at one glance, the royal eye shall meet 418
Each varicd beauty of St. James's-street;
Stout Talbot there shall ply with hackney chair,
And Patriot Betty fix her fruit-shop there.
Like distant thunder now the coach of state
Rolls o’er the bridge, that groans beneath its weight,
The court hath crost the stream; the sports begin ;
Now Nowel preaches of rebellion's sin :
And as the powers of his strong pathos rise,
Lo, brazen tears fall from Sir Fletcher's eyes:
While skulking round the pews, that babe of grace, 120
Who ne'er before at sermon shew'd his face,
See Jemmy Twitcher shambles; stop! stop thief!
He's stoln'n the Earl of Denbigl's hankerchief.
Let Barrington arrest him in mock fury,
And Mansfield hang the knave without a jury.
But hark, the voice of battle shouts from far,
The Jews and Maccaronies' are at war:
The Jews prevail, and, thund'ring from the stocks,
They seize, they bind, and circumcise Charles Fox.
Fair Schwellenbergen smiles the sport to see,
30 And all the Maids of Honor cry Te! He!
Be these the rural pastimes that attend Great Brunswick's leisure: these shall best unbend His royal mind, whene'er from state withdrawn, He treads the velvet of his Richmond lawn; These shall prolong his Asiatic dream, Tho' Europe's balance trembles on its beam. And thou, Sir William ! while thy plastic hand Creates each wonder, which thy Bard has plann'd, While, as thy art commands, obsequious rise
140 Whate'er can please, or frighten, or surprize, D! let the Bard his Knight's protection claim, And share, like faithful Sancho, Quixote's fame.
Occasioned by their favorable Reception of a late Heroic Epistle to
I that of late, Sir William's Bard, and Squire,
March'd with his helm and buckler on my lyre,
(What time the Knight prick'd forth in ill-starr'd
Comptroller-General of the works of taste),
Now to the public tune my grateful lays,
Warm'd with the sun-shine of the Public praise :
Warm’d too with mem'ry of that golden time,
When Almon gave me reason for my rhyme;
glittering orbs, and, what endear'd them more, Each glittering orb the sacred features bore
Of George the good, the gracious, and the great,
Unfil'd, unsweated, all of sterling weight;
Or, were they not, they pass'd with current ease,
Good seemings then were good realities :
No Senate had convey'd, by smuggling art,
Pow'r to the mob to play Cadogan's part ;
Now, thro’ the land, that impious pow'r prevails,
All weigh their Sov'reign in their private scales,
And find him wanting, all save me alone,
For, sad to say ! my glittering orbs are gone.
But ill beseems a Poet to repent,
Lightly they came, and full as lightly went.
Peace to their manes! may they never feel
Some keen Scotch banker's unrelenting steel ;
While I again the Musc's sickle bring
To cut down Dunces, wheresoe'er they spring,
Bind in poetic sheaves the plenteous crop,
And stack my full ear'd load in Almon's shop.
For now, my Muse, thy fame is fixt as fate,
Tremble, ye Fools I scorn, ye Knaves I hate ; 30
I know the vigor of thy eagle wings,
I know thy strains can pierce the ear of Kings.
Did China's monarch here in Britain doze,
And was, like western Kings, a King of Prose,
Thy song could cure his Asiatic spleen,
And make him wish to see and to be seen;
That solemn vein of irony so fine,
Which, e'en Reviewers own, adorns thy line,
Would make him soon avainst his greatness sin,
Desert his sofa, mount his palanquin, 40
And post where'er the Goddess led the way,
Perchance to proud Spithead's imperial bay;
There should he see, as other folks have seen,
That ships have anchors, and that seas are green,