“THE LORDS’ LAMENTATION; OR, THE WHITTINGTON DEFEAT.
“God prosper long our noble King,
Our lives and safeties all,
A woeful Horse race late there did
At Whittington befall.
Great Bedford’s duke, a mighty prince
A solemn vow did make;
His pleasure in fair Staffordshire
Three summer days to take,
At once to grace his father’s race,
And to confound his foes;
But ah! (with grief my muse does speak)
A luckless time he chose.
For some rude clowns who long had felt
The weight of tax and levy,
Explain’d their case unto his Grace,
By arguments full heavy.
‘No Gow’r,’ they cried, ‘no tool of pow’r!’
At that the Earl turned pale.
‘No Gow’r, no Gow’r, no tool of pow’r!’
Re-echo’d from each dale.
Then Bedford’s mighty breast took fire;
Who thus enrag’d did cry,
‘To horse, my Lords, my knights and squires;
We’ll be reveng’d or die.’
They mounted straight, all men of birth,
Captains of land and sea;
No prince or potentate on earth
Had such a troop as he.
Great Lords and Lordlings, close conjoin’d,
A shining squadron stood;
But to their cost, the Yeomen Host
Did prove the better blood.
‘A Gow’r, a Gow’r! ye son o’ th’ w—e,
Vile spawn of Babylon!’
This said, his Grace did mend his pace,
And came full fiercely on.
Three times he smote a sturdy foe;
Who undismay’d replied,
‘Or be thou devil, or be thou Duke,
Thy courage shall be tried.’
The charge began; but, on one side,
Some slackness there was found;
The smart cockade in dust was laid,
And trampled on the ground.
Some felt sore thwacks upon their backs.
Some, pains within their bowels;
And who did joke the royal oak,
Were well rubbed with its towels.
Then terror seized the plumed troop,
Who turned themselves to flight.
Foul rout and fear brought up the rear,
Oh! ’twas a piteous sight!
Each warrior urg’d his nimble steed,
But none durst look behind;
Th’ insulting foe, they well did know,
Had got them in the wind.
Who ne’er lost scent, until they came
Unto the gallows tree:
‘Now,’ said their foes, ‘we’ll not oppose,
Your certain destiny.
No further help of ours ye lack,
Grant mercy with your doom!
Trust to the care o’ the three-legg’d mare,
She’ll bring ye all safe home.’
Then wheel’d about with this fierce shout,
‘Confusion to the Rump!’
Leaving each knight to moan his plight
Beneath the triple stump.
Now Heaven preserve such hearts as these
From secret Treachery!
Who hate a knave, and scorn a slave,
May such be ever Free!”
In 1749, Lord Trentham, having been appointed one of the lords of the admiralty, had to vacate his seat, and every exertion was made by the Opposition to hinder his re-election.
“With this view they held consultations, agreed to resolutions, and set up a private gentleman named Sir George Vandeput as the competitor of Lord Trentham, declaring that they would support his pretensions at their own expense; being the more encouraged to this enterprise by the countenance and assistance of the Prince of Wales and his adherents. They accordingly opened houses of entertainment for their partisans, solicited votes, circulated remonstrances, and propagated abuse; in a word, they canvassed with surprising spirit and perseverance against the whole interest of St. James’s. Mobs were hired, and processions made on both sides, and the city of Westminster was filled with tumult and uproar.”
“Ye Electors who hate all the French strolling Clan,
If you love yourselves, chase not the Minister’s Man,
But give all your Votes to the Man of the King,
Sir George Vandeput’s he—and George we will sing.”
This election occurred in the midst of a violent popular anti-Gallican feeling, which had been shown particularly against a company of French players who were performing at the Haymarket, and who were spoken of by the mob as the “French vagrants.” An attempt had been made to hinder them from acting, and they had been protected only by a mob hired by Lord Trentham, who appears to have affected Gallic manners, and to have been vain of his proficiency in the French language. The night after his ministerial appointment there was a great riot at the French theatre, in which Lord Trentham was accused of being personally active, although he denied it to the electors. This was made the most of by his opponents, who stigmatized him in ballads and squibs as “the champion of the French strollers;” and common people said that learning to talk French was only a step towards the introduction of French tyranny.
An “Elector” writes, by way of warning to others:—
“Being the other evening at the French Theatre, who should I see at the head of a mob of foreign varlets, cooks, etc., signalizing himself in a laudable attack upon his fellow-citizens, but this very young man, whom they had so lately made choice of as the defender of their rights and privileges. I was indeed amazed to see, at so critical a juncture, that sword, which had hitherto kept peaceful possession of its scabbard, brandished over the heads and planted at the hearts of several of his own electors, and that in support of a parcel of foreign vagabonds, who, from being a nuisance in their own nation, are now come to be the disgrace of ours. Certain I am this fit of Gallic valour could never be communicated by the touch of that Royal British hand he had but that very morning kissed for his employment. Perhaps an impatient desire to prove himself qualified for the warlike Board to which he was appointed might induce him to seize the first opportunity of displaying his prowess; being willing to convince the public, that how deficient soever the sea may have been, the land is, at least, able to produce a fighting Admiral. However, I cannot help concluding him a very unfit person to defend me against the French in one House, who is ready to cut my throat for them in another.”
A flight of satirical ballads appeared upon these events. The best of these compositions, which were remarkable for point and spirit, was entitled:—