Drinks health, life, and joy from your heavenly smiles.
THE NEW BATH GUIDE. 125
To the Ghost.
For thee, who to visit these regions of spleen,
Deign'st to quit the sweet vales of perpetual green,
Forsake, happy Shade, this Boeotian air.
Fly hence, to Elysium's pure ether repair,
RowE, Dryden, and Otway â€” thy Shakspeare is there:
There Thomson, poor Thomson, ingenuous bard,
Shall equal thy friendship, thy kindness reward,
Thy praise in mellifluous numbers prolong,
Who cherish'd his Muse and gave life to his song.
And O may thy genius, blest spirit, impart
To me the same virtues that glow'd in thy heart,
To me, with thy talents convivial, give
The art to enjoy the short time I shall live;
Give manly, give rational mirth to my soul !
O'er the social sweet joys of the full-flowing bowl 1
So ne'er may vile scribblers thy memory stain.
Thy forcible wit may no blockheads profane,
Thy faults be forgotten, thy virtues remain.
126 THE NEW BATH GUIDE.
Farewell ! may the turf where thy cold reliques rest,
Bear herbs, odoriferous herbs o'er thy breast,
Their heads thyme^ and sage^ and pot-marjoram^ wave.
And fat be the gander that feeds on thy grave.
THE MUCH LAMENTED
MARQ^UIS OF TAVISTOCK
Sunt lacrymae rerum, et meniem mortalia tangunt. Virg.
[ 129 ]
THE MUCH LAMENTED
MARQ^UIS OF TAVISTOCK.*
Virtuous youth !
Thank Heav'n, I knew thee not â€” I ne'er shall feel
The keen regret thy drooping friends sustain ;
Yet will I drop the sympathizing tear,
And this due tribute to thy memory bring ;
Not that thy noble birth provokes my song,
Or claims such offering from the Muses shrine;
But that thy spotless undissembling heart,
Thy unaffected manners, all-unstain'd
* This accomplished young nohleman died March 22, 1767, in the twenty-
eighth year of his age, in consequence of a fall from his horse in hunting,
leaving his two sons (the late and the present Duke of Bedfobd), infants
130 ON THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF
With pride of powV, and insolence of wealth ;
Thy probity, benevolence, and truth,
(Best inmates of man's soul) for ever lost,
Cropt, like fi^r flow'rs, in life's meridian bloom.
Fade undistinguish'd in the silent grave.
O Bedford ! â€” pardon, if a Muse unknown,
Smit with thy heart-felt grief, directs her way
To sorrow's dark abode, where thee she views,
Thee, wretched sire, and pitying hears thee mourn
Thy RussEi/s fate â€” " Why was he thus belov'd?
" Why did he bless my life?" â€” Fond parent, cease;
Count not his virtues o'er â€” Hard task ! â€” Call forth
Thy firm hereditary strength of mind.
Lo ! where the shade of thy great ancestor,
Fam'd Russel, stands, and chides thy vain complaint ;
under two years of age^ and his amiable Marchioness far advanced in preg-
nancy of her third son (the present Lord William Russel). Her Ladyship
survived her husband about eighteen months.
The interest this melancholy event created in the public mind will be long
remembered ; these affecting lines, to which it gave occasion, were written
and published within a few hours after the fatal accident, and were as exten-
sively read and admired as the unhappy subject of them was universally and
justly lamented. Edit.
THE MARQUIS OF TAVISTOCK. 131
His philosophic soul, with patience arm'd,
And Christian virtue, brav'd the pangs of death ;
Admir'd, belov'd, he dy'd ; (if right I deem)
Not more lamented than thy virtuous son :
Yet calm thy mind ; so may the lenient hand
Of Time, all-soothing Time, thy pangs asswage,
Heal thy sad wound, and close thy days in peace.
See where the object of his filial love,
His mother, lost in tears, laments his doom :
Speak comfort to her soul :
O ! from the sacred fount, where flow the streams
Of heav'nly consolation, O ! one drop.
To sooth his hapless wife ; sharp sorrow preys
Upon her tender frame â€” Alas, she faints, â€”
She falls ! still grasping in her hand
The picture of her Lordâ€” All-gracious Heav'n '
Just are thy ways, and righteous thy decrees,
But dark and intricate ; else why this meed
For tender faithful love ; this sad return
For innocence and truth ? Was it for this
By Virtue and the smiling Graces led,
132 ON THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF
(Fair types of long succeeding years of joy),
She twin'd the votive wreath at Hymen's shrine,
So soon to fade and die? â€” Yet O ! reflect,
Chaste partner of his Ufc ! you ne'er deplor'd
His alienated heart : (disasterous state !
Condition worse than death ! ) the sacred torch
Burnt to the last its unremitted fires !
No painful self-reproach hast thou to feel ;
The conscious thought of every duty paid,
This sweet reflection shall support thy mind,
Be this thy comfort : â€” Turn thine eyes a- while.
Nor with that lifeless picture feed thy woe ;
Turn yet thine eyes, see how they court thy smiles,
Those infant pledges of connubial joy !
Dwell on their looks, â€” and trace his image there :
And O I since Heav'n, in pity to thy loss,
For thee one future blessing has in store.
Cherish that tender hope â€” Hear Reason's voice ;
Hush'd be the storais that vex thy troubled breast,
And angels guard thee in the hour of pain.
Accept this ardent pray'r ; a Muse forgive,
Who for thy sorrow draws the pensive sigh,
THE MARQUIS OF TAVISTOCK. 133
Who feels thy grief, tho' erst in frolic hour
She tun'd her comic rhymes to mirth and joy,
Unskill'd (I ween) in lofty verse, unus'd
To plaintive strains, yet by soft pity led,
Trembling revisits the Pierian vale ;
There culls each fragrant flow'r, to deck the tomb
Where generous Russel lies.
^c. ^-c. ^c.
â– =* "A7^ViiiB*J>Â«Â»" '"'"'^
**" W H I L E you, my Lord, great Drurys weal sustain,
Light ev'ry walk, and open all the lane,
With strength of arm plead Black-boy Alleys cause.
Adorn with manners, and improve with laws ;
â™¦ This burlesque Poem was written at the close of the Duke of New-
castle's Administration, and first published in the year I767.
f Vide HoR. Epist, I. Lib. 2. Cum tot sustmeas, S^c.
138 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
Much would the public suffer from the song
That dar'd, Buckhorse, to detain thee long.
When Albas warlike sons of yore,
Held sage debate on Tybers shore,
A patriot captain of banditti
Was made their chairman of committee,
And plann'd great Romes imperial city :
Where now, inshrin'd among the gods.
With joy he views, from Heav'n's abodes,
Meek cardinals and holy friars,
For learning fam'd, and chaste desires,
Season the tender minds of youth
With virtue, liberty, and truth :
Like him consign'd to glorious rest
Amid the regions of the blest,
No less, in these degen'rate days,
A pious knight demands our praise.
Who, from an ardent love of knowledge,
Bequeath'd his wealth to found a college.
And much we wish, my Lord, that you
Such bright examples would pursue,
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 139
Build here some noble rich foundation,
And form a plan of education
To mend the morals of the nation ;
Visit yourself your own asylum,
Statutes and wholsome laws, compile 'em,
Nor suffer bishops to embroil 'em ;
Correct their manners, not so gently
As Fame reports of Doctor B-ntl-y,
But at th' election of their stewards,
Accept, my Lord, my thoughts in few words :
If some important dull logician,
Smit by the daemon of ambition,
In pedant politics officious
For Machiavel quits Burgersdicius;
Or like the great men's nomenclator,
Tom Turbulent, that meddling prater.
With pertness, pride, and meanness join'd
To vacant head, and restless mind,
O'er these calm realms, whence science springs,
Bids Discord wave her baleful wings.
These blest abodes in ferment puts
Give him a driver in the guts,
140 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
And make such factious, ill-bred chuckles,
Revere the inlluencc of your knuckles ;
Thus all their feuds and tumults quell,
And peace restore to Israel:
So jnay the swans of Camus raise
Their tuneful throats to chaunt thy praise,
*Granta her list of worthies crowning
With names of Buckhorse and of Downing.
f Bacchus, when India was o'ercome,
And war compos'd by wine and rum,
(Which, you'll confess yourself, my Lord,
Is better far than fire and sword)
* Vide Commem. Benefact.
t Tlie passage from which this allegory is taken is in Dyonysius De situ
orbis, line 1155. The character contemplated under the name of Bacchus
is not remembered at this day; and perhaps the Editor will be excused, consi-
dering this Poem has been written above forty years, if he should not now for
the first time introduce to public notice, in the form of a note, the real persons
who, he has either heard, or imagined, were intended to be pourtrayed under
the fictitious names and ihe many classical allusions and anecdotes interwoven
with the subject; to do this with sufficient interest and effect, and at the same
time with that precision and accuracy which the subject demands, would be a
matter of considerable difficulty ; it would be liable also to many objections of
smother kind. This observation applies with equal propriety to the subject of
the New Bath Guide. Edit.
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 141
To Egypt went, as rich as those
Who've seiz'd a Nabob by the nose ;
And there, as ancient bards relate,
Purchas'd a ruin'd 'Squire's estate ;
Rubb'd up the family chateau,
Whose front three window-lights could shew
â€” The rest were dark'ned long ago :
There soon, by jollity and bounty,
Gain'd int'rest both in town and county ;
Cur'd an old May V of drinking water.
Sung catches with his wife and daughter,
Sent ven'son, which was kindly taken,
*And woodcocks, which they boil'd with bacon;
Created honorary freemen,
Gave toasts, and swallow'd more than three men,
Granted, from fatherly affection.
To ev'ry voter his protection,
Got dnmk, and carry'd his election ;
A work, my Lord, which all the world, next year,
Expect from you, and many a patriot peer.
* Quaq; ipse miserrima vidi. Virg.
142 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
Pollux, my Lord, and Castor too.
Were bruisers both renown'd like you.
Were known at cockpits, fairs, and races,
And bore their links at public places ;
Now turn'd to heav'nly constellations,
Pursue their ancient occupations :
Yet all these heroes grew dejected,
When favours they in life expected.
Due to their merits, were neglected.
For as our eyes from far survey,
Well-pleas'd the glorious lamp of day,
Whose near approaching lines of light
O'erpower and wound our aching sight ;
So virtue, which offends when near,
Plat'd at a distance we revere,
And patriots never, 'till remov'd,
Or quite extinct, are prais'd and lov'd.
E'en he who cover'd with the hide is
Of lion slain, the great Alcides,
Who crush'd the hydra, and, what's more, ^
Subdu'd a dragon and a boar^
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 143
(Worse than the beast who ravag'd long
The peaceful vales oi Gevaudan)
Who clear'd the mews of King Augeas,
Stupendous work ! and made so free as
*To kick such jockeys from his stable,
As now, by gambling tricks, are able
To treat whole boroughs at their table ;
Who, when a child in cradle laid,
On necks of snakes his strength display 'd,
t Roast beef, instead of pap, would cram,
I Like giant boy of Willingham ;
From which such vigour was created,
Â§ He cuflP'd the maid that on him waited ;
And after that, to prove his might,
Got fifty children in a night ;
E'en he, for all his virtuous labours,
Was damn'd and hated by his neighbours,
* Vid. Pausan. in Eliacis, Plin. Lucian, &c.
t Vid. Theocrit. Idyll. 23. % Vid. Philos. Transact.
Â§ Ex ^ oif arXarov Blx^
irXok^i rvvoiixoti,^-~-^intolerabile verojaculum peraissit Mulieres.
PiND. Od. Nem. I. lin. 71. Oxon. Edit.
144 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
And every monster overthrown,
Found Envy tam'd by Death alone.
On thee, while yet alive, great Sir,
Maturer honours we confer :
*My Muse is ready to make oath,
And swear by gods and altars both.
We ne'er have seen, or e'er shall see,
A patriot so renown'd as thee.
Oh ! on the swan's broad pennons could I soar,
As erst the Latian bard, new tracks explore
O'er Africs plains, o'er Hyperborean shore,
And Asias wide domain ! Ye sacred Nine,
Daughters of Jove, forsake the throne divine,
Bear me, O bear me on your airy wings
To TwWnams laurel groves, and silver springs,
Where erst the sage, 'mid Thames's list'ning swains,
Attun'd th' Horatian lyre to British strains ;
Give me, like him, to sound my patron's praise,
And pluck one garland of unfading bays,
* *AuÂ«lÂ»(rojtAÂ«i ivof%^ov
Koyov. PiND. Olymp. 2. 1. 166.
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 145
So to the world great Buckhorse I'll proclaim,
Enroll with heroes and with kings his name,
And twine the wreath immortal as his fame.
I'll sing, my Lord, thy trophies won
On bloody plains of Kennington ;
Sing how thy early worth was prov'd,
'Mid scenes of death thy soul unmov'd,
What time the hangman's murd'rous crew
The rebels' mangled entrails drew;
Confusion reign'd, and dire dismay
Struck with remorse, the god of day
Turn'd his affrighted beams away.
But you, my Lord, well skill 'd to cater,
Resolv'd in mind, compos 'd in feature,
Seiz'd on the bowels of the traitor ;
*And, vulture-like, eat piping hot
The liver of rebellious Scot.
* The fact above alluded to, is told and well authenticated, of an Irish chairman,
who, in the excess of his loyalty, or more probably in a fit of ebriety, actually
swallowed part of the liver of one of the rebels who were executed on Ken-
nington Common, during the rebellion of 1745. The Author has been fre-
quently heard to declare, that he saw the man about an hour and a half after-
wards, in Covent Garden, surrounded by a mob, and complaining of great
sickness at his stomach. Edit.
146 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
Tell me no more of turtle-eaters,
Hogs barbecu'd, and monstrous creatures,
Devour'd by aldermen and praetors :
What member of a calves-head party
E'er din'd so loyal and so hearty?
'Tis true, some men of taste and breeding
Copy your Lordship's mode of feeding,
And comme ilfaut their fingers grease
With rotten cabbage, Limburgh cheese,
Italian paste, and dainties more
Than grac'd th' Apician board of yore ;
Transported when they meet with dishes,
That answer to their ardent wishes ;
In raptures they'll the cook embrace,
Saluting him with French grimace.
On both sides of his greasy face ;
So have they learnt, in foreign parts,
T' adore the culinary arts,
And soon, in eating's noble science,
May hope to bid the world defiance.
A roasted bear did no small credit
To those who ate and those who fed it ;
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 147
But in these dreadful days of famine,
While one half of the world is cramming,
And t'other rioting and damning,
K â€” g, Lords, and Commons, all must own,
A nation's thanks are your's alone ;
Your men of art, and science too,
Their premium shall assign to you,
To you the palm, who first^such food
Invented for the public good,
And shew'd at once to all mankind
Your country's love, your taste refin'd.
*Thus, when from Heav'n the pow'rs divine
Came down with Tantalus to dine,
The Lydian king, his banquet to improve,
On human flesh regal'd, and taught great Jove
To add one dainty to his feasts above.
Sweet patron of the Muse's lyre,
Phcebus, if e'er thou didst inspire
One modern bard with Theban lire,
* PiND. Olymp. 1. lin, 56.
148 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
Taught him aloft, from garret winder^
To sound the deep-ton'd shell of Pindar, >
And catch his heav'nly flame like tinder,
Fly through the liquid air,
Be Broughton's games thy care,
And all thy golden shafts be there.
Bid Clio quit her blest abode.
And speed her flight to Oxford- Road,
Adore the theatre of Broughton,
And kiss the stage his Lordship fought on ;
Let all his battles be recounted,
By-battles, till the masters mounted,
Ere yet the tender down began
To shade his chin, and promise man :
Tell, to what deeds of bold emprize
We saw his manly strength arise ;
Superior to the mean events
Of little warlike accidents,
Which still might greatly discompose
The features of our modern beaux.
And from their macaroni faces
Send packing all the loves and graces ;
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 149
Two batter'd jaws, a flatten'd snout,
Depending like a broken spout,
And wisdom at one eye shut out.
Nathless the hero, undismay'd,
Pursues the bold Olympic trade.
Snuffs up a battle from afar,
And trains the hardy youth to war ;
Ne'er mourns one minister of light,
Condemn'd in ever-during night
To roll and find no dawn, while t'other
Does double duty for its brother ;
And when two chiefs of like renown
Grappling contest the Pythian crown.
The gods, delighted, oft survey
His single orb, with piercing ray.
Twinkling direct the doubtful fray.
Such, though from heaven it so far be,
Well-pleas'd, of late they view'd at Derby,
When discord rag'd and wrath grew higher.
Betwixt the Nailor and the Dyer :
Stern was the fight ; one Pallas fir'd,
And t'other Mars himself inspir'd,
150 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
**TiIl Jove, who knew their stubborn spirits,
Caird for his scales, to weigh their merits ;
And all the deities allow,
Such sport was ne'er beheld till now
O ! may some bard resound the theme,
From Derwent's banks to Thames' s stream !
Immortalize such deeds divine
In far sublimer strains than mine !
Nor let their praises be omitted,
Who two such gallant heroes pitted,
Forsook their cards, dice, cocks, and stud,
For deeper bets on human blood:
Yet not the Dyer, or the Nailor,
Can equal half his passive valour ;
No bruiser fam'd in ancient story,
Transcend his persevering glory.
E'en the stern master of the sev'n-fold shield,
Who forc'd the doughty Trojan from the field ;
E'en the Dictator, who by yielding won
His tardy triumphs o'er Amilcars son,
* Kai TOTÂ£ Sri yi^icua, Trxrnp Irirxivi rxXocvrx^ &c. HoM. II. 22. lin. 209.
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 151
The Lijbian chiefs from fair Tarentum drove,
And bore their spoils to Gapitolian Jove,
Submit to BucKHORSE in the same degree
As water yields to gin, or Scotch baubee
To Cesar's golden face. â€” Permit, my Lord,
The Muse who tunes her throat
To Victory's gladsome note.
The black-ey'd nymph Thalia to record
What erst these eyes beheld.
'Twas at the Westminster election,
When factious chiefs brew'd insurrection,
A boist'rous independaut wight,
Confiding in his giant might,
Provok'd thee to th' athletic fight ;
Arraign'd thy free, thy British spirit.
And set at nought thy patriot merit ;
With look malign, and taunt severe.
Swore that your Lordship's fate was near.
And whisper'd Tyburn in thine ear.
I heard the wretch thy mother curse,
With language vile, invective worse
152 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
Than reigns at BilUnsgate^ or even
At the fam'd chapel of St. St â€” ph â€” n ;
While you serene, with conscious virtue,
Pull'd oflPyour waistcoat, and your shirt too,
And many a bang, and many a cufF,
Undauntedly sustain'd in buff.
But what I deem your Lordship's fort, is,
You lay collected like a tortoise,
Suffer'd the caitiff to bestride
And bruise thy unrelenting hide,
'Till, prodigal of strength, the foe
Such toil no more could undergo.
And, quite exhausted, sat him down,
Thinking the laurels all his own :
But you, who found you'd got no harm yet,
First peep'd from underneath your armpit,
Then, to the joy of all beholders,
Rais'd up your head above your shoulders,
Pull'd up your breeches, scratch'd your head,
Spit in your hands, and roll'd your quid ;
And then, like some great rhetorician,
Of Greek and Roman erudition.
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 153
In senates us'd to wield with case
The thunder of Demosthenes,
Open'd your budget to harangue him,
Before you undertook to bang him.
Thinking the hero well might bear
One short philippic in his ear.
" Dost thou traduce the Buokhorse name,
" And taint my virtuous mother's fame;
** Thou miscreant base ! dost thou presume
" At Tyburn to announce my doom ?
" Think'st thou, by devils hatch'd, to quell
*' My patriotic principle?
" Famine, dismay, and foul disgrace,
" And pillory seize thy ruthless face,
" Ugly as JSTtwgate steps.
" Witness ye pure, ye virtuous tribes,
" Unmov'd by pensions and hy bribes,
" If e'er I pouch'd one single farthing,
*' Since by G â€” d's grace I've known the Garden ;
*' E'er taken one unbritish measure,
*' To stain my hands with public treasure :
154 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
*' Say, have I tamper'd with the stocks ?
*' (Behold this brass tobacco-box,
" Fair Freedom's boon) have I play'd booty ? â€”
" At ToWnham-Court I've done my duty.â€” â€”
*' Ask of yon stage, where late I fought,
" Ask Broughton's self, if e'er I sought
*' One dirty job â€” ambition'd aught
" But Giles's welfare !
" Yet still if gentlemen concur
*' My post of honour to transfer,
" In abler hands my office fix,
" I'm ready to resign my sticks.
*' Still shall I live to hear you peach,
" And chaunt your own last dying speech ;
" But come, thou sneaking varlet, now is
" The time to shew thy strength and prowess :
*' Gird well thy loins, for I this day
" With interest thy blows will pay."
You spoke â€” and put a look sedate on,
Bold as when Michael frown'd on Satan.
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 155
Then, with the rapid lightning's speed,
Drove, like a batt'ring ram, thine head,
Plump in his paunch ; the chief astounded,
Back like a culverin rebounded.
* As when some man of taste thinks proper
To cover o'er his house with copper,
If chance descends nocturnal Jove
In storms of hailstones from above,
The garreteer, with wild affright.
Starts from the balmy blessings of the night.
Through all the live-long hours condemn'd to hear
The echoing dome re-bellow to his ear ;
Thus was the valiant wight confounded,
His clatt'ring cheeks and temples sounded ;
While you with frequent fist assail'd him,
With chuckers in the mazzard nail'd him,
And clicks upon the rtiuns regal'd him ;
Nor didst thou not amuse with leggers,
Cross buttocks, flying mares, and peggers,
* Quam multd grandine nimbi
Culmiyiibus crepitant., 8cc.
ViRo. ^neid, 5. lin. 458.
156 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
Fall with your elbows in the bellows,
Scatter the grinders, close the smellers,
Darken the day -lights ! â€” Muse, be brief
You saw the store-room of the chief
Surrender its election beef.
Reluctant dumpling, beer, and gravy.
And heard each groaning bowel cry â€” peccavi.
Think not, my Lord, I join the crew
Who flattery's courtly arts pursue,
Unenvy'd let the servile throng
Their patrons lull with venal song,
Ne'er was I vers'd in dedication,
Or trod the paths of adulation :
May I be doom'd all day to wait
The issue of some dull debate.
In Robin Hood's well crowded senate,
(Which, thanks to heav'n, but once I've been at,
And then the baker s man made free
To take me into custody.)
But what is worse, may you refuse
The labours of my faithful Muse,
TO LORD BUCKHORSE. 157
If aught in flattery I mention,
In hopes of bishoprick or pension ;
I know your modesty is such,
You hate to be admir'd too much ;
But if your Lordship had commanded
The troops that day Prince Ferdinand did,
On Mindens plains the Gallic foe
Had met their final overthrow ;
To you the senate had decreed
A statue, for thy glorious meed.
Returning, like Germanic C^sar,
Triumphant from the banks of Wezer.
Perhaps your Lordship may declare,
You hate a continental war,
That you from childhood was afraid
Of powder, balls, and cannonade ;
Why didst thou then, with patriot zeal,
Illume the rocket-loaded wheel.
Big with combustion, when such praise
Redounded from the peace of Aix .^
And this triumphant frugal nation,
To list'ning Europe's admiration,
158 A PINDARIC EPISTLE,
Made all her cannon echo louder
Than thund'ring Jove ; and spent her powder,
As freely as our warlike swains
Assembled on their peaceful plains,
To scorch their fingers, wigs, and noses,
Firing â€” pro aris et pro focis.
Say why, my Lord ? but lo ! the Muse
No more these arduous themes pursues ;
Unable thy exploits to sing.
Trembling she checks her tow'ring wing,
Speeds to domestic scenes of life.
Sighs to salute thy virtuous wife.
O ! may ye long unparted prove
The blessings of connubial love,
Live to exhibit in this queer age,
A bright example to the peerage ;
Grace Marybone^ your ancient seat.