I WOULD, with all my heart and soul,
Send ev'ry friend a golden bowl,
And with each bowl a purse of gold,
To fill the bowl and make it smile,
And to secure the bowl awhile
From being either pawn'd or sold.
To every military friend,
Heroic tripods I would send,
Tripods fit only for brave fellows;
That is to say, crutches a pair,
And one stout leg of the same ware.
Made like the nosle of a bellows.
Pictures I'd send of every school,
With statues too, and busts for niches; These I would send to none but you,
The prince and mirror of virtú,
If I was master of such riches.
As to virtú, that point's decided,
You are sufficiently provided :
All that you want of me is metre ;
You may have plenty at my forge,
I need not steal, like thrifty George,
From Paul, in order to pay Peter.
I know the prince of lyric song,
Easy, yet elegantly strong;
And know that Beckford's head of marble;
I mean that head the sculptor made,
That marble head will sooner fade,
Than any songs the Muses warble.
Your fame must fly with wings of paper,
Be you a Wolfe, a Howe, a Draper,
Victor at Minden or at Canna;
Or legislator great as he,
That led the Jews through the Red Sea,
And pamper'd them with quails and manna.
Great bards great favours can bestow,
In heaven above or hell below;
They can convey you with a nod,
From Styx, whenever they think fit,
And call you up to heav'n by writ,
And make you an immortal god.
Lollius with Æacus may dwell,
Minos and he may judge in hell,
When future poets sing his worth;
Bute may, like Enoch, be translated,
Then made a star, and made related
To slow Bootes of the North.
And Sandwich, if the Muses please,
Shall outwit Mercury with ease,
And my Lord Duke outshine Apollo;
And each Olympic peer outvie
Castor, the Jockey of the sky,
And Rigby bold beat Bacchus hollow.
ANY MINISTER, OR GREAT MAN.
WHETHER you lead the patriot band,
Or in the class of courtiers stand,
Or prudently prefer
The middle course, with equal zeal
To serve both king and common-weal,
Your grace, my lord, or sir!
Know, minister! whate'er your plan,
Whate'er your politics, great man,
You must expect detraction;
Though of clean hand and honest heart,
Your greatness must expect to smart
Beneath the rod of faction.
Like blockheads, eager in dispute,
The mob, that many-headed brute,
All bark and bawl together;
For continental measures some,
And some cry, "Keep your troops at home,"
And some are pleas'd with neither.
Lo! a militia guards the land : Thousands applaud your saving hand, And hail you their protector;
While thousands censure and defame, And brand you with the hideous name of state-quack and projector.
Are active, vig'rous means prefer'd—
Lord! what harangues are hourly heard
Of wasted blood and treasure!
Then all for enterprize and plot,
And, pox o' this unmeaning Scot!
If cautious be your measure.
Corruption's influence you despise ;
These lift your glory to the skies,
Those pluck your glory down;
So strangely diff'rent is the note
Of scoundrels that have right to vote,
And scoundrels that have none.
Ye then who guide the car of state,
Scorning the rabble's idle prate,
Proceed as ye design'd;
In rugged ways, the reins and steeds
Alone the skilful driver heeds,
Nor stays to cut behind.
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