POLITICAL POETRY
PARODY ON THE RECORDER OF BLESSINGTON'S ADDRESS TO QUEEN ANNE
Mr. William Crowe, Recorder of Blessington's Address to her Majesty, as
copied from the London Gazette.
To the Queen's most Excellent Majesty,
The humble Address of the Sovereign, Recorder, Burgesses, and Freemen, of
the Borough of Blessington.
May it please your Majesty,
Though we stand almost last on the roll of boroughs of this your
majesty's kingdom of Ireland, and therefore, in good manners to our elder
brothers, press but late among the joyful crowd about your royal throne:
yet we beg leave to assure your majesty, that we come behind none in our
good affection to your sacred person and government; insomuch, that the
late surprising accounts from Germany have filled us with a joy not
inferior to any of our fellow-subjects.
We heard with transport that the English warmed the field to that degree,
that thirty squadrons, part of the vanquished enemy, were forced to fly
to water, not able to stand their fire, and drank their last draught in
the Danube, for the waste they had before committed on its injured banks,
thereby putting an end to their master's long-boasted victories: a
glorious push indeed, and worthy a general of the Queen of England. And
we are not a little pleased, to find several gentlemen in considerable
posts of your majesty's army, who drew their first breath in this
country, sharing in the good fortune of those who so effectually put in
execution the command of your gallant, enterprizing general, whose
twin-battles have, with his own title of Marlborough, given immortality
to the otherwise perishing names of Schellenberg and Hogstete: actions
that speak him born under stars as propitious to England as that he now
wears, on both which he has so often reflected lustre, as to have now
abundantly repaid the glory they once lent him. Nor can we but
congratulate with a joy proportioned to the success of your majesty's
fleet, our last campaign at sea, since by it we observe the French
obliged to steer their wonted course for security, to their ports; and
Gibraltar, the Spaniards' ancient defence, bravely stormed, possessed,
and maintained by your majesty's subjects.
May the supplies for reducing the exorbitant power of France be such, as
may soon turn your wreaths of laurel into branches of olive: that, after
the toils of a just and honourable war, carried on by a confederacy of
which your majesty is most truly, as of the faith, styled Defender, we
may live to enjoy, under your majesty's auspicious government, the
blessings of a profound and lasting peace; a peace beyond the power of
him to violate, who, but for his own unreasonable conveniency,
destructive always of his neighbours, never yet kept any. And, to
complete our happiness, may your majesty again prove to your own
family, what you have been so eminently to the true church, a nursing
mother. So wish, and so pray, may it please your majesty, your majesty's
most dutiful and loyal subjects, and devoted humble servants.
This Address was presented January 17, 1704-5.
MR. WILLIAM CROWE'S ADDRESS TO HER MAJESTY, TURNED INTO METRE
From a town that consists of a church and a steeple,
With three or four houses, and as many people,
There went an Address in great form and good order,
Composed, as 'tis said, by Will Crowe, their Recorder.[1]
And thus it began to an excellent tune:
Forgive us, good madam, that we did not as soon
As the rest of the cities and towns of this nation
Wish your majesty joy on this glorious occasion.
Not that we're less hearty or loyal than others,
But having a great many sisters and brothers,
Our borough in riches and years far exceeding,
We let them speak first, to show our good breeding.
We have heard with much transport and great satisfaction
Of the victory obtain'd in the late famous action,
When the field was so warm'd, that it soon grew too hot
For the French and Bavarians, who had all gone to pot,
But that they thought best in great haste to retire,
And leap into the water for fear of the fire.
But says the good river, Ye fools, plague confound ye,
Do ye think to swim through me, and that I'll not drown ye?
Who have ravish'd, and murder'd, and play'd such damn'd pranks,
And trod down the grass on my much-injured banks?
Then, swelling with anger and rage to the brink,
He gave the poor Monsieur his last draught of drink.
So it plainly appears they were very well bang'd,
And that some may be drown'd, who deserved to be hang'd.
Great Marlbro' well push'd: 'twas well push'd indeed:
Oh, how we adore you, because you succeed!
And now I may say it, I hope without blushing,
That you have got twins, by your violent pushing;
Twin battles I mean, that will ne'er be forgotten,
But live and be talk'd of, when we're dead and rotten.
Let other nice lords sculk at home from the wars,
Prank'd up and adorn'd with garters and stars,
Which but twinkle like those in a cold frosty night;
While to yours you are adding such lustre and light,
That if you proceed, I'm sure very soon
'Twill be brighter and larger than the sun or the moon:
A blazing star, I foretell, 'twill prove to the Gaul,
That portends of his empire the ruin and fall.
Now God bless your majesty, and our Lord Murrough,[2]
And send him in safety and health to his borough.
[Footnote 1: Subsequently M.P. for Blessington, in the Irish Parliament;
he suffered some injustice from Wharton, when Lord-Lieutenant: he lost
his senses, and died in 1710. See Journal to Stella, "Prose Works," ii,
pp. 39, 54; and Character of the Earl of Wharton, "Prose Works," v, p.
27.—W. E. B.]
[Footnote 2: Murragh Boyle, first Viscount Blessington, author of a
tragedy, "The Lost Princess." He died in 1712.—W. E. B.]