Classic Poem

Poor, once fam'd Lee , when he compos'd this Play,
Brainsick, and touch'd , on Bedlam's borders lay,
And 'twas no wonder — for, in sober sadness ,
Church Massacres wou'd scare even saints to madness.

O, Ladies! heaven forbid such serious frights!
Such strange dead doings — on your wedding nights!
Kill us, with kindness , let 'em — if they dare:
But downright dying — ah! — what bride could bear?

These are thy trophies, France! — no Briton dares,
With tame, cold murder , stain the cross he bears.
In day's broad face, o'er seven French mounds he clambers ,
But stabs not, in the dark , in sleep's still chambers:
No base assassin plots defame these nations,
Ours are more open, honest, associations .
Generous , in anger, with reluctant glow,
Our brave, blunt soldier beats , yet spares , his foe:
Weeps , while he wounds , with conscious pain , to see
Kings, call'd Most Christian , more like Turks than HE !
Well! 'tis no matter — still let France deceive us —
Sound strength, and English knocks , can soon relieve us.

Yet, while this faithless Prince , on all sides, plies us,
Let us not teach his tradesmen to despise us:
Cover'd with guile , let art's low tricks be theirs,
Ours to repel their arms , and spurn their airs ,
May that mistaken taste be starv'd to reason ,
That does not think French fashions — English treason .
Souse their cook's talent — and cut short their taylors ,
Wear your own lace — eat beef ; like V ERNON'S sailors ,
Or good found Mutton's manly juice delight in,
Your Chicken's a la daub's no food for fighting .
Seem we not slaves , while to their language leaning ,
We teach our son's first words to lisp French meaning?
War, on their modes , — or bow , beneath their feather ;
Sweep out French tongues, tails, fops, and faith, together.
Laugh at their Jargon , bid disdainful Satire
Blot from your stile, tapis and recognoitre:
Goat ; and escort — to taste and guard , — restore,
And act , and talk , plain English , evermore.
Nor let the youth , who means for spoil to scramble,
Trip , like patch'd, petite maitre's puny amble!
Step out , bluff Britons — not disgrace good eating :
Light pumps , and short, minc'd steps , half bode retreating .
Man , on his mien , should carry firm defiance :
Yet — let his modest heart sigh soft compliance .
So, shall his mistress grasp her fame's defender ,
And waste no wishes , on a false pretender .
Fix'd, as her oaks , shall Britain's freedom flourish;
And France and Spain , CHIMERIC TEMPESTS nourish.

Fir'd, with this foretaste of my country's zeal ,
Verse is ( alone ) too faint, for what I feel!
Help me, ye souls of M USICK — come — and SING ,
Tune my touch'd heart's plain prayer — God save the King .