VERSES UPON THE ROAD. FACIT INDIGNATIO.

Whilst all with sighs their way pursue
From Chatsworth's blest abode,
My mind still fires, my Lord, at you,
And thus bursts out in ode.

Forgive my phrenzy, good Lord John,
For passion's my Apollo:
Sweet Hebe says, when sense is gone,
That nonsense needs must follow.

Like Indian knife, or Highland sword,
Your words have hewn and hack'd me;
Whilst Quin, a rebel to his lord,
Like his own Falstaff back'd me.

In vain I bounce, and fume, and fret,
Swear Shakespeare is divine;
Fitzherbert [24] can a while forget
His pains to laugh at mine.

Lord Frederick, George, and eke his Grace,
My honest zeal deride;
Nay, Hubert's melancholy face
Smirks on your Lordship's side.

With passion, zeal, and punch misled,
Why goad me on to strife?
Why send me to a restless bed
And disappointed wife?

This my reward! and this from you!
Is't thus you Bowman [25] treat,
Who eats more toads than you know who
Each night did strawberries eat?

Did I not mount the dun-drawn chaise,
And sweat for many a mile?
And gave his Grace's skill much praise,
Grinning a ghastly smile!

Did I not elsewhere risk my bones,
My Lord-Duke's freaks took pride in?
Did I not trot down hills of Stones,
And call it pleasant riding?

Did I not all your feats proclaim,
Nor once from duty shrink?
In flattery I sunk my fame,
A Bowman e'en in drink.

Did I not oft my conscience force,
Against its dictates swear?
Have I not prais'd Lord Georg's horse?
Nay, e'en your Lordship's mare?

Did I not oft, in rain and wind,
O'er hills, thro' vallies roam,
When wiser folk would lag behind,
And Spaniels staid at home?

Have I not with your natives fed,
The worst of all my labours;
And ventur'd both my ears and head
Amongst your scalping neighbours?

Not Quin's more blest with Calipee,
Fitzherbert in his puns,
Lord John in contradicting me,
Lord Frederick with his nuns,

Than I am blest in Shakespear's muse!
Each drop within my standish,
Each drop of blood for him I'll lose,
As firm as any Ca'ndish.

As Whig you gain the world's applause,
For once a Tory shine,
A Tory once in Shakespeare's cause,
And feel his right divine!

Attack my wife, my patent tear,
Do deeds without a name!
Burn, kill, or ravish, Lord! but spare,
Oh, spare my Shakespeare's fame!

Did not Dean Barker [26] wisely preach,
Opinion may be sin?
Did not his sermon wisely teach
To cleanse ourselves within?

From infidelity awake!
Oh, melt your heart of stone;
Conceal your errors for my sake,
Or mend them for your own.

[Footnote 24: William Fitzherbert, Esq., of Tissington, M.P. for
Derby.]

[Footnote 25: The name of a character in "Lethe.">[

[Footnote 26: The Rev. William Barker, M.A., Dean of Raphoi He died about 1777.]