ON HIS BEING APPOINTED SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE COLONIES, IN THE ROOM OF LORD DARTMOUTH.
My Lord, I hail your spotless fame;
A civil post, and change of name,
Have wash'd away all sin :
The German slough no more prevails,
For serpent-like you've cast your scales,
And shine in a new-skin.
Degraded from your martial station,
You still surprise and please the nation,
Your zeal they yet applaud :
Sentenc'd no more to blaze in arms,
Like an old trull with tarnish'd charms
You turn a useful bawd.
Bred in a priest's Socratic school,
Youth's fervid passions train'd to cool,
And virtue's lore endear;
He bade you ne'er fight face to face,
But mark the foe with more disgrace,
By charging in the rear.
GERMAIN, in combats often try'd,
Britannia's troops in triumph guide,
War's glorious art improving!
Bend rebel Yankies to our will,
Display again a General's skill,
And conquer without moving!
Your Scors and CATHOLICS review,
All honoarble men, and true;
Staunch as intrepid Barré !
Your great exploits brisk Ned will boast; Make him official Penny-Post,
He'll tattle, fetch, and carry.
Your levee's grac'd by heroes now;
There sturdy Harvey strives to bow,
Your splendor Philip sees;
The Scotch all puff you to a man,
And Colonel Roy presents a Plan,
With under-wood, and trees.
Throw out a lure for Ferdinand!
Invest him with supreme command,
At Boston fix his station!
Then Zanga-like (right well I ween)
You'll gratify revenge aud spleen,
And end him by starvation!
Or claim your rank-degrade Tom Gage,
A windmill now can't check your rage,
Or freeze your generous blood;
Lead forth the horse to Roxburg town,
And drive full gallop to renown,
Except you meet a wood.
Could you keen Junius' thoughts refine,
Whose dangerous shafts like lightning shine,
And pierce whome'er they hit?
We all may think you-just as stout,
Your treachery too we never doubt-
We only doubt your wit.
The smart of Minden's wound is o'er,
You've got court-plaister for that sore,
And yet, my Lord, I'm thinking,
Bold JOHNSTONE some reward may claim,
His powder sav'd your tainted fame,
Just on the point of sinking.
COURAGE, my Lord! though Howe be fled,
Look not so pale, or hang your head,
Like Nunc'mar at Hindostan :
The Atlantic sea is no bad screen,
And that (you know) still flows between
Pall-Mall and rebel Boston.
For want of Rhode-isle hogs and beeves,
The troops stole off, like valiant thieves,
To look for better quarters;
And spite of what Court-papers tell,
The Yankies fish in pond and well,
For cannon ball and mortars.
Our horses too are left behind,
Starv'd and unsound in limb and wind,
'Tis no great loss they're taken :
Such steeds at Minden had you got,
Though GRANBY spurr'd, they cou'dn't trot,
This would have sav'd your bacon.
Chaunting of psalms the victors come,
Beating Te Deum on the drum,
And dancing to the fife:
The Yankey now no more afraid,
May bundle with the timid maid,
Or kiss his faithful wife.
I hope your army found some means
To save our fine theatric scenes
From being maul'd and pepper'd;
Then Nova Scotia, with some grace,
May see BURGOYNE resume his place,
And act the Gentle Shepherd!
There let the trusty Hessians steer,
The rifle men will quake through fear,
And Yaugars shoot them dead.
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