Classic Poem

What demons moved thee, what malicious fiends,
To tempt the people from their surest friends?
Sooner thou might'st embracing floods disjoin,
And make the needle from its north decline:
Or teach the graceful heliotrope to run,
A diff'rent motion from th' enlivening sun.
Our peers have often for themselves rebelled;
When did they for the people take the field?
Led not by love, but interest and pride,
They would not let the prince their vassals ride.
That pow'r they to themselves reserved alone,
And so through thick and thin they spurred Old Roan.
To fact and long experience I appeal,
How fairly to themselves they justice deal:
For if my lord, o'erpowered by wine and whore,
The next he meets does through the entrails scow'r,
'Tis pity, his relenting brethren cry,
That for his first offense the youth should die:
Come, he'll grow grave; Virtue and he'll be friends,
And by his voting, make the crown amends.
'Tis true, a most magnificent parade
Of law, to please the gaping mob, is made.
Scaffolds are raised in the litigious hall,
The maces glitter, and the sergeants bawl.
So long they wrangle, and so oft they stop,
The wearied ladies do their moisture drop.
This is the court (say they) keeps all in awe,
Gives life to justice, vigor to the law.
True, they quote law, and much they prattle on her,
What's the result? Not guilty, upon honor.
Should I who have no coronet to show,
Flustered in drink, serve the next comer so,
My twelve blunt godfathers would soon agree,
To doom me, sober, to the fatal tree.
Besides how punctually their debts they pay,
There's scarce a cit in London but can say.
By peep of morn the trusting wretch does rise,
And to His Grace's gate, like lightning flies:
There in the hall this poor believing ass,
With gaping on bare walls seven hours does pass,
And so does forty more in the same class.
At last my lord, with looks erect and hardy:
“Troth, friends, my tenants have been somewhat tardy:
But for the future, this shall be redressed,
Delays and losses may befall the best.
This said, he presses with regardless pride,
Between the opening squadrons on each side:
Calls for his page, then slips into his chair,
And so good gentlemen, you're as you were.
Cease scribbler then our grandees to defame
With feigned encomiums, which they scorn to claim:
What they can challenge by the laws o' th' land,
We freely give, while they no more demand:
But let not in their praise the plot be brought,
Thou know'st the proverb: Nothing due for naught.