Classic Poem

POET. FRIEND.

P . Howe'er I turn, or whereso'er I tread,
This giddy world still rattles round my head!
I pant for silence ev'n in this retreat —
Good heav'n! what Daemon thunders at the gate?

Fr . In vain you strive, in this sequester'd nook,
To shroud you from an injur'd friend's rebuke.

P . An injur'd friend! — who challenges the name?
If you, what title justifies the claim?
Did e'er your heart o'er my affliction grieve,
Your int'rest prop me, or your purse relieve?
Or could my wants my soul so far subdue,
That in distress she crawl'd for aid to you?
But let us grant th' indulgence e'er so strong;
Display without reserve th' imagin'd wrong:
Among your kindred have I kindled strife,
Deflowr'd your daughter, or debauch'd your wife;
Traduc'd your credit, bubbled you at game;
Or soil'd with infamous reproach your name?

Fr . No; but your cynic vanity (you'll own)
Expos'd my private counsel to the town.

P . Such fair advice 'twere pity sure to lose;
I grant I printed it for public use.

Fr . Yes, season'd with your own remarks between,
Inflam'd with so much virulence of spleen,
That the mild town (to give the dev'l his due)
Ascrib'd the whole performance to a Jew.

P. Jew 's, Turk 's, or Pagan 's, hallowed be the mouth
That teems with moral zeal and dauntless truth!
Prove that my partial strain adopts one lye,
No penitent more mortify'd than I;
Not ev'n the wretch in shackles, doom'd to groan
Beneath th' inhuman scoffs of W — ms — n .

Fr . Hold — let us see this boasted self-denial —
The vanquish'd knight has triumph'd in his trial.

P. What then?
Fr. Your own sarcastic verse unsay,
That brands him as a trembling runaway.

P . With all my soul! — th' imputed charge rehearse;
I'll own my error and expunge the verse.
Come, come, — howe'er the day was lost or won,
The world allows the race was fairly run.
But lest the Truth too naked should appear,
A robe of fable shall the goddess wear:
When sheep were subject to the lion's reign,
Ere man acquir'd dominion o'er the plain;
Voracious wolves fierce rushing from the rocks,
Devour'd without controul th' unguarded flocks:
The suff'rers crouding round the royal cave,
Their monarch's pity and protection crave:
Not that they wanted valour, force or arms,
To shield their lambs from danger and alarms;
A thousand rams the champions of the fold,
In strength of horn, and patriot virtue bold,
Engag'd in firm association, stood,
Their lives devoted to the public good:
A warlike chieftain was their sole request,
To marshal, guide, instruct and rule the rest:
Their pray'r was heard, and by consent of all,
A courtier ape appointed general. —
He went, he led, arrang'd the battle stood,
The savage foe came pouring like a flood;
Then pug aghast, fled swifter than the wind,
Nor deign'd in threescore miles to look behind
While ev'ry band for orders bleat in vain,
And fall in slaughter'd heaps upon the plain:
The scar'd baboon (to cut the matter short)
With all his speed could not out-run report;
And to appease the clamours of the nation,
'Twas fir his case should stand examination.
The board was nam'd — each worthy took his place;
All senior members of the horned race. —
The wether, goat, ram, elk and ox were there,
And a grave, hoary stag possess'd the chair. —
Th' inquiry past, each in his turn began
The culprit's conduct variously to scan.
At length, the sage uprear'd his awful crest,
And pausing, thus his fellow chiefs address'd. —
If age, that from this head its honours stole,
Hath not impair'd the functions of my soul,
But sacred wisdom with experience bought,
While this weak frame decays, matures my thought;
Th' important issue of this grand debate
May furnish precedent for your own fate;
Should ever fortune call you to repel
The shaggy foe, so desperate and fell. —
'Tis plain (you say) his excellence Sir Ape
From the dire field accomplish'd an escape;
Alas! our fellow-subjects ne'er had bled,
If every ram that fell, like him had fled;
Certes , those sheep were rather mad than brave,
Which scorn'd th' example their wise leader gave.
Let us, then, ev'ry vulgar hint disdain,
And from our brother's laurel wash the stain. —
Th' admiring court applauds the president,
And pug was clear'd by general consent.

Fr . There needs no magic to divine your scope,
Mark'd as you are a flagrant misanthrope:
Sworn foe to good and bad, to great and small,
Thy rankling pen produces nought but gall:
Let virtue struggle, or let glory shine,
Thy verse affords not one approving line. —

P . Hail sacred themes! the muse's chief delight!
O bring the darling objects to my sight!
My breast with elevated thought shall glow,
My fancy brighten, and my numbers flow!
Th' Aonian grove with rapture would I tread,
To crop unfading wreaths for W ILLIAM'S head;
But that my strain, unheard amidst the throng,
Must yield to L — ck — n 's ode and H — b — y 's song.
Nor would th' enamour'd muse neglect to pay
To Stanhope 's worth the tributary lay;
The soul unstain'd, the sense sublime to paint,
A people's patron, pride and ornament!
Did not his virtues eterniz'd remain
The boasted theme of Pope 's immortal strain.
Not ev'n the pleasing task is left, to raise
A grateful monument to Barnard 's praise;
Else should the venerable patriot stand
Th' unshaken pillar of a sinking land.
The gladd'ning prospect let me still pursue,
And bring fair virtue's triumphs to the view!
Alike to me, by fortune blest or not,
From soaring Cobham to the melting Scot .
But lo! a swarm of harpies intervene,
To ravage, mangle and pollute the scene!
Gorg'd with our plunder, yet still gaunt for spoil,
Rapacious G — d — n fastens on our isle,
Insatiate L — sc — s , and the fiend V — n — k ,
Rise on our ruins, and enjoy the wreck;
While griping F — p — r glories in his prize,
Wrung from the widow's tears and orphan's cries.

Fr . Relaps'd again! strange tendency to rail!
I fear'd this meekness would not long prevail.

P . You deem it Rancour then? — Look round and see
What vices flourish still, unprun'd by me:
Corruption roll'd in a triumphant car,
Displays his burnish'd front and glitt'ring star;
Nor heeds the public scorn, or transient curse,
Unknown alike to honour and remorse.
Behold the leering belle, caress'd by all,
Adorn each private feast and public ball;
Where Peers attentive listen and adore,
And not one matron shuns the titled whore.
At Peter 's obsequies I sung no dirge;
Nor has my Satire yet supply'd a scourge
For the vile tribes of usurers and bites,
Who sneak at Jonathan 's and swear at White 's.
Each low pursuit, and slighter folly bred
Within the selfish heart and hollow head,
Thrives uncontroul'd, and blossoms o'er the land,
Nor feels the rigour of my chast'ning hand:
While Codrus shivers o'er his bags of gold,
By famine wither'd, and benumb'd by cold;
I mark his haggard eyes with frenzy roll,
And feast upon the terrors of his soul;
The wrecks of war, the perils of the deep,
That curse with hideous dreams the caitiff's sleep;
Insolvent debtors, thieves and civil strife,
Which daily persecute his wretched life;
With all the horrors of prophetic dread,
That rack his bosom while the mail is read.
Safe from the rod, untainted by the school,
A judge by birth, by destiny a fool,
While the young Lordling struts in native pride,
His party-coloured tutor by his side,
Pleas'd, let me own the pious mother's care,
Who to the brawny sire commits her heir.
Fraught with the spirit of a Gothic monk,
Let R — ch , with dulness and devotion drunk,
Enjoy the peal so barbarous and loud,
While his brain spues new monsters to the croud;
I see with joy, the vaticide deplore
An hell-denouncing priest and sov'reign whore.
Let ev'ry polish'd dame, and genial lord
Employ the social chair, and venal board;
Debauch'd from sense, let doubtful meanings run,
The vague conundrum and the prurient pun;
While the vain fop, with apish grin, regards
The gig'ling minx half choak'd behind her cards:
These and a thousand idle pranks, I deem
The motley spawn of ignorance and whim.
Let pride conceive and folly propagate,
The fashion still adopts the spurious brat:
Nothing so strange that fashion cannot tame;
By this dishonour ceases to be shame:
This weans from blushes lewd T — w — y 's face,
Gives H — ly praise and In — d — by disgrace,
From Mead to Th — p — n shifts the palm at once,
A medling, prating, blund'ring, busy dunce!
And may (should taste a little more decline)
Transform the nation to an herd of swine.

Fr . The fatal period hastens on apace!
Nor will thy verse th' obscene event disgrace;
Thy flow'rs of poetry, that smell so strong,
The keenest appetites have loath'd the song;
Condemn'd by C — k , B — ks , B — why , and C — ty ,
And all the crop-ear'd critics of the city:
While sagely neutral sits thy silent friend,
Alike averse to censure or commend.

P . Peace to the gentle soul, that could deny
His invocated voice to fill the cry!
And let me still the sentiment disdain
Of him, who never speaks but to arraign;
The sneering son of calumny and scorn,
Whom neither arts, nor sense, nor soul adorn:
Or his, who to maintain a critic's rank,
Tho' conscious of his own internal blank,
His want of taste unwilling to betray,
'Twixt sense and nonsense hesitates all day;
With brow contracted hears each passage read,
And oftens hums and shakes his empty head;
Until some oracle ador'd, pronounce
The passive bard a poet or a dunce;
Then, in loud clamour echoes back the word,
'Tis bold! insipid — soaring or absurd.
These, and th' unnumber'd shoals of smaller fry,
That nibble round, I pity and defy.