The Confederates, or the First Happy Day of the Island Princess.
Ye vile traducers of the female kind,
Who think the fair to cruelty inclined,
Recant your error, and with shame confess
Their tender care of Skipwith[190] in distress:
For now to vindicate this monarch’s right,
The Scotch and English equal charms unite;
In solemn leagues contending nations join,
And Britain labours with the vast design.
An opera with loud applause is played,
Which famed Motteux in soft heroics made;
And all the sworn Confederates resort,
To view the triumph of their sovereign’s court.
In bright array the well-trained host appears;
Supreme command brave Derwentwater[191] bears;
And next in front George Howard’s bride[192] does shine,
The living honour of that ancient line.
The wings are led by chiefs of matchless worth;
Great Hamilton,[193] the glory of the North,
Commands the left; and England’s dear delight,
The bold Fitzwalter[194] charges on the right.
The Prince, to welcome his propitious friends,
A throne erected on the stage ascends.
He said:—Blest angels! for great ends designed,
The best, and sure the fairest, of your kind,
How shall I praise, or in what numbers sing
Your just compassion of an injured king?
Till you appeared, no prospect did remain,
My crown and falling sceptre to maintain;
No noisy beaus in all my realm were found;
No beauteous nymphs my empty boxes crowned:
But still I saw, O dire heart-breaking woe!
My own sad consort[195] in the foremost row.
But this auspicious day new empire gives;
And if by your support my nation lives,
For you my bards shall tune the sweetest lays,
Norton[196] and Henley[197] shall resound your praise;
And I, not last of the harmonious train,
Will give a loose to my poetic vein.
To him great Derwentwater thus replied:—
Thou mighty prince, in many dangers tried,
Born to dispute severe decrees of fate,
The nursing-father of a sickly state;
Behold the pillars of thy lawful reign!
Thy regal rights we promise to maintain:
Our brightest nymphs shall thy dominions grace,
With all the beauties of the Highland race;
The beaus shall make thee their peculiar care,
For beaus will always wait upon the fair:
For thee kind Beereton and bold Webbe shall fight,[198]
Lord Scott[199] shall ogle, and my spouse shall write:[200]
Thus shall thy court our English youth engross,
And all the Scotch, from Drummond down to Ross.
Now in his throne the king securely sat;
But O! this change alarmed the rival state;
Besides he lately bribed, in breach of laws,
The fair deserter of her uncle’s cause.
This roused the monarch of the neighbouring crown,
A drowsy prince, too careless of renown.[201]
Yet prompt to vengeance, and untaught to yield,
Great Scarsdale[202] challenged Skipwith to the field.
Whole shoals of poets for this chief declare,
And vassal players attend him to the war.
Skipwith with joy the dreadful summons took,
And brought an equal force; then Scarsdale spoke;—
Thou bane of empire, foe to human kind,
Whom neither leagues nor laws of nations bind;
For cares of high poetic sway unfit,
Thou shame of learning, and reproach of wit;
Restore bright Helen to my longing sight,
Or now my signal shall begin the fight.—
Hold, said the foe, thy warlike host remove,
Nor let our bards the chance of battle prove:
Should death deprive us of their shining parts,
What would become of all the liberal arts?
Should Dennis fall, whose high majestic wit,
And awful judgment, like two tallies, fit,
Adieu, strong odes, and every lofty strain,
The tragic rant, and proud Pindaric vein.
Should tuneful D’Urfey now resign his breath,
The lyric Muse would scarce survive his death;
But should divine Motteux untimely die,
The gasping Nine would in convulsions lie:
For these bold champions safer arms provide,
And let their pens the double strife decide.
The king consents; and urged by public good,
Wisely retreats to save his people’s blood:
The moving legions leave the dusty plain,
And safe at home poetic wars maintain.
[190] Sir Thomas Skipwith, joint patentee and manager with Charles Rich of the Drury-Lane theatre.
[191] Mary Tudor, natural daughter of Charles the Second, and lady of Lord Ratcliff, (now Earl of Derwentwater,) to whom Dryden dedicated his Third Miscellany. See Vol. XII. p. 47.
[192] Arabella, daughter of Sir Edward Allen, Bart. She first married Francis Thompson, Esq. and was at this time the wife of Lord George Howard, (eldest son of Henry, the sixth duke of Norfolk, by his second wife,) who died in March 1720-21. Malone.
[193] Elizabeth, daughter of Digby, Lord Gerard, and second wife of James, Duke of Hamilton, who was killed in a duel by Lord Mohun, in November 1712. Malone.
[194] Elizabeth, daughter of Charles Bertie of Uffington, in the county of Lincoln, Esq. a younger son of Montague, the second earl of Lindsey. She was at this time the wife of Charles Mildmay, the second Lord Fitzwalter of that family. Malone.
[195] Margaret, daughter of George, Lord Chandos, and relict of William Brownlow of Humby, in Lincolnshire.
[196] Richard Norton of Southwick, in Hampshire, Esq. Cibber’s comedy, entitled, “Love’s last Shift,” was dedicated to this gentleman, in February 1696-7. Mr Norton died December 10, 1732, in his sixty-ninth year.
[197] Anthony Henley, of the Grange, in Hampshire, Esq., a man of parts and learning, and a correspondent of Swift, who died in 1711.