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.]