ODE TO LORD MOIRA.
I.
If on your head[[62]] some vengeance fell,
Moira, for every tale you tell,
The listening Lords to cozen;[[63]]
If but one whisker lost its hue,
Changed (like Moll Coggin’s tail) to blue,
I’d hear them by the dozen.
II.
But still, howe’er you draw your bow,[[64]]
Your charms improve, your triumphs grow,
New grace adorns your figure;
More stiff your boots, more black your stock,
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Your hat assumes a prouder cock,
Like Pistol’s (if ’twere bigger).
III.
Tell then your stories, strange and new,[[65]]
Your Fathers fame[[66]] shall vouch them true;
So shall the Dublin Papers;
Swear by the stars[[67]] that saw the sight,
That infant thousands die each night,[[68]]
While troops blow out their tapers.
IV.
Shuckburgh[[69]][[70]] shall cheer you with a smile,
Macpherson[[71]][[71]] simpering all the while,
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With Bastard[[71]][[72]] and with Bruin:[[73]]
And fierce Nicholl,[[74]] who wields at will
Th’ emphatic stick, or powerful quill,
To prove his country’s ruin.
V.
Each day new followers[[75]] crowd your board,
And lean expectants hail my Lord
With adoration fervent:
Old Thurlow,[[76]] though he swore by G—
No more to own a master’s nod,
Is still your humble servant.
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VI.
Old Pulteney[[77]][[78]] too, your influence feels,
And asks from you th’ Exchequer Seals,
To tax and save the nation:
Tooke trembles,[[79]] lest your potent charms
Should lure Charles Fox from his fond arms,
To YOUR Administration.[[81]]
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[TRANSLATION OF HORACE, BOOK II., ODE VIII.
BY ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.
Avenger of insulted truth,
Had Heaven, Barine, dimm’d one tooth;
Or bade, in justice bade, thee wail
A speck upon a single nail—
I’d trust thee: but ere well the vow
Has passed those treacherous lips, there glow
New beauties mantling o’er thy cheek;
And thee the youth, thee only seek.
It profits thee to be forsworn
By thy dead mother’s hallowed urn;
By heaven, and each mute nightly sign,
And every deathless power divine.
Yes: Venus laughs well-pleased, and lo!
The gentle Nymphs are laughing too;
And Cupid, who his burning darts
Whets with fresh blood from lovers’ hearts.
Boyhood is rising to thy sway,
Thy train of slaves augments: e’en they,
Who swore thy threshold to forsake,
Hug the fond chain they cannot break.
Thee for their sons pale mothers fear,
The frugal father for his heir:
And plighted maidens, lest thy charms
Keep the false truants from their arms.—Ed.]
NOTES TO THE ODE TO LORD MOIRA.
[This Ode, written by George Ellis, refers to the wish of a “Third Party” in the House of Commons, who were dissatisfied with the conduct of the war, the embarrassed state of the finances, and the alarming situation of the country, to have an interview with Lord Moira, with a view to effect a change of Ministry. The following extracts from a letter from his Lordship to Col. M‘Mahon, dated June 15, 1797, will throw some light on this negotiation. “They requested that I would endeavour, on the assurance of their support, to form an administration, on the principle of excluding persons, who had on either side made themselves obnoxious to the public. I strenuously recommended them to form an alliance with Mr. Fox’s party, that might be satisfactory to themselves, and reduce to strict engagement the extent of the measures, which Mr. Fox, when brought into office by themselves, would propose. Hitherto nobody has been designated to any particular office but Sir William Pulteney. The gentleman had said that he was the person whom they should be most gratified in seeing Chancellor of the Exchequer, and I had professed to them and to him that there was not any person with whom I could act more confidently. I added, the introduction of Lord Thurlow, Sir W. Pulteney, and myself, into the Cabinet, would not assure the public of a change of system.”—Ed.]
