Classic Poem

Sir Joseph, favourite of great Queens and Kings;
Whose wisdom, Weed and Insect Hunter sings,
And Ladies fair applaud, with smile so dimpling;
Went forth one day, amidst the laughing fields,
Where Nature such exhaustless treasure yields,
A simpling. . . .
Now did a Thief-taker so sly
Peep o'er a hedge with cunning eye,
And quick espied the Knight with solemn air,
Deep in a ditch where water-cresses grow;
On which he to his Comrades cried, " See, ho!"
Then jump'd (unsportsman like) upon his hare.

Hare-like Sir Joseph did not squeak; but bawl'd,
With dread prodigiously appall'd.
The Thief-takers no ceremony used;
But, taking poor Sir Joseph by the neck,
They bade him speak:
But first with names their captive Knight abused.

" Sir, what d'ye take me for?" the Knight exclaim'd. —
" A thief," replied the Runners with a curse:
" And now, Sir, let us search you; and be damned!"
And then they search'd his pockets, fobs, and purse:

But 'stead of Pistol dire, and Crape,
A pocket-handkerchief they cast their eye on,
Containing Frogs and Toads of various shape,
Dock, Daisy, Nettletop, and Dandelion;
To entertain, with great propriety,
The Members of his sage Society.
Yet would not alter they their strong belief,
That this their Prisoner was a Thief.

" Sirs, I'm no highwayman," exclaim'd the Knight —
" No: there," rejoin'd the Runners, " you are right;
A Footpad only; yes, we know your trade;
Yes, you're a pretty Babe of Grace:
We want no proofs, old Codger, but your face;
So come along with us, old Blade."

'Twas useless to resist, or to complain.
In vain Sir Joseph pleaded; 'twas in vain
That he was highly titled, that he swore:
The instant that poor Banks his titles counted,
Which to an F.R.S. and Knight amounted,
His Guardians laugh'd, and clapp'd, and cried " Encore!"

Sir Joseph told them, that a neighbouring Squire
Should answer for it that he was no thief:
On which they plumply damn'd him for a liar,
And said such stories should not save his beef;
And, if they understood their trade,
His mittimus would soon be made;
And forty pounds be theirs, a pretty sum,
For sending such a Rogue to Kingdom-come.

Now to the Squire moved Prisoner-knight and Co.:
The Runners taking him in tow;
Like Privateers of Britain's war like nation,
Towing a French East Indiaman, their prize,
So black, and of enormous size,
Safe into port for condemnation.

Whether they tied his hands behind his back,
For fear the Knight might run away,
And made, indelicate, his breeches slack,
We've no authority to say.

And now the Country People gather'd round,
And stared upon the Knight in thought profound,
Not on the system of Linnaeus thinking;
Fancying they saw a rogue in every feature: —
Such is the Populace's horrid nature
Towards people through misfortune sinking.

At length, amidst much Mob and mire,
Indeed amidst innumerable ranks,
Fatigued they reach the mansion of the Squire,
To prove th'identity of Joseph Banks.

Now to the Squire familiar bowed the Knight,
Who knew Sir Joseph at first sight
(What's strongly mark'd, is quickly known again);
And, with a frown that awe and dread commanded,
The Thief-takers severely reprimanded
For thus mistaking Gentlemen: —

Then bade them ask a pardon on their knees,
Of him that was a Knight and F.R.S.;
Who, rather than the higher powers displease,
Imagined that they could not well do less.

Then on their knuckles raised they hands and eyes,
And craved Sir Joseph's pardon, for belief
That when they jump'd upon him by surprise,
They took so great a gemman for a thief;
Hoping to mind th'advice of godly books,
Viz not to judge of people by their looks.