POLITICAL ECLOGUES.

ROSE; OR, THE COMPLAINT.

ARGUMENT.

In this Eclogue our Author has imitated the Second of his favourite Virgil, with more than his usual Precision. The Subject of Mr. ROSE’s COMPLAINT is, that he is left to do the whole Business of the Treasury during the broiling Heats of Summer, while his Colleague, Mr. STEELE, enjoys the cool Breezes from the Sea, with Mr. PITT, at Brighthelmstone. In this the Scholar has improved on the Original of his great Master, as the Cause of the Distress which he relates is much more natural. This Eclogue, from some internal Evidence, we believe to have been written in the Summer of 1785, though there may be one or two Allusions that have been inserted at a later Period.

None more than ROSE, amid the courtly ring,
Lov’d BILLY, joy of JENKY and the KING.
But vain his hope to shine in BILLY’s eyes;
Vain all his votes, his speeches, and his lies.
STEELE’s happier claims the boy’s regard engage; 5
Alike their studies, nor unlike their age:
With STEELE, companion of his vacant hours,
Oft would he seek Brighthelmstone’s sea-girt tow’rs;
For STEELE, relinquish Beauty’s trifling talk,
With STEELE each morning ride, each evening walk; 10
Or in full tea-cups drowning cares of state,
On gentler topics urge the mock debate;
On coffee now the previous question move;
Now rise a surplusage of cream to prove;
Pass muffins in Committees of Supply, 15
And “butter’d toast” amend by adding “dry:”
Then gravely sage, as in St. Stephen’s scenes,
With grief more true, propose the Ways and Means;
Or wanting these, unanimous of will,
They negative the leave to bring a bill. 20
In one sad joy all ROSE’s comfort lay;
Pensive he sought the treasury day by day;
There, in his inmost chamber lock’d alone,
To boxes red and green he pour’d his moan
In rhymes uncouth; for Rose, to business bred 25
A purser’s clerk, in rhyme was little read;
Nor, since his learning with his fortunes grew,
Had such vain arts engaged his sober view;
For STOCKDALE’s shelves contented to compose
The humbler poetry of lying prose. 30
O barb’rous BILLY! (thus would he begin)
ROSE and his lies you value not a pin;
Yet to compassion callous as a Turk,
You kill me, cruel, with eternal work.
Now, after six long months of nothing done, 35
Each to his home, our youthful statesmen run;
The mongrel ’squires, whose votes our Treasury pays,
Now, with their hunters, till the winter graze;
Now e’en the reptiles of the Blue and Buff,
In rural leisure, scrawl their factious stuff; 40
Already pious HILL, with timely cares,
New songs, new hymns, for harvest-home prepares:
But with the love-lorne beauties, whom I mark
Thin and more thin, parading in the park,
I yet remain; and ply my busy feet 45
From Duke-street hither, hence to Downing-street,
In vain!—while far from this deserted scene,
With happier STEELE you saunter on the Steine.
And for a paltry salary, stript of fees,
Thus shall I toil, while others live at ease? 50
Better, another summer long, obey
Self-weening LANSDOWNE’s transitory sway:
Tho’ GRAFTON call’d him proud, I found him kind;
With me he puzzled, and with him I din’d.
Better with FOX in opposition share, 55
Black tho’ he be, and tho’ my BILLY fair.
Think, BILLY, think JOHN BULL a tasteless brute,
By black, or fair, decides not the dispute:
Ah! think, how politics resemble chess;
Tho’ now the white exult in short success, 60
One erring move a sad reverse may bring,
The black may triumph, and check-mate our king.
You slight me, BILLY; and but little heed,
What talents I possess, what merits plead;
How in white lies abounds my fertile brain; 65
And with what forgeries I those lies sustain.
A thousand fictions wander in my mind;
With me all seasons ready forgeries find.
I know the charm by ROBINSON employed,
How to the Treas’ry JACK his rats decoy’d. 70
Not wit, but malice, PRETTYMAN reveals,
When to my head he argues from my heels.
My skull is not so thick; but last recess
I finish’d a whole pamphlet for the press;
And if by some seditious scribbler maul’d, 75
The pen of CHALMERS to my aid I call’d,
With PRETTY would I write, tho’ judg’d by you;
If all that authors think themselves be true.
O! to the smoky town would BILLY come;
With me draw estimates, or cast a sum; 80
Pore on the papers which these trunks contain,
Then with red tape in bundles tie again;
Chaste tho’ he be, if BILLY cannot sing,
Yet should he play to captivate the KING.
Beneath two Monarchs of the Brunswick line, 85
In wealth to flourish, and in arms to shine,
Was Britain’s boast; ’till GEORGE THE THIRD arose,
In arts to gain his triumphs o’er our foes.
From RAMSAY’s pallet, and from WHITEHEAD’s lyre,
He sought renown that ages may admire: 90
And RAMSAY gone, the honours of a name
To REYNOLDS gives, but trusts to WEST for fame:
For he alone, with subtler judgment blest,
Shall teach the world how REYNOLDS yields to WEST.
He too, by merit measuring the meed, 95
Bids WARTON now to WHITEHEAD’s bays succeed;
But, to reward FAUQUIER’s illustrious toils,
Reserves the richer half of WHITEHEAD’s spoils.
For well the monarch saw with prescient eye,
That WARTON’s wants kind OXFORD would supply, 100
Who, justly liberal to the task uncouth,
Learns from St. JAMES’s hard historic truth.
Blest OXFORD! in whose bowers the Laureat sings!
O faithful to the worst, and best of Kings,
Firm to the Right Divine of regal sway, 105
Though Heav’n and Thou long differ’d where it lay!
Still of preferment be thy Sister Queen!
Thy nobler zeal disdains a thought so mean;
Still in thy German Cousin’s martial school,
Be each young hope of BRITAIN train’d to rule; 110
But thine are honours of distinguishd grace,
Thou once a year shall view thy sovereign’s face,
While round him croud thy loyal sons, amaz’d,
To see him stare at tow’rs, by WYATT rais’d.
Yet fear not, OXFORD, lest a monarch’s smiles 115
Lure fickle WYATT from the unfinish’d piles;
To thee shall WYATT still be left in peace,
’Till ENGLISH ATHENS rival ancient Greece.
For him see CHAMBERS, greatly pretty, draw
Far other plans than ever Grecian saw; 120
Where two trim dove-cotes rise on either hand,
O’er the proud roofs, whose front adorns the Strand;
While thro’ three gateways, like three key-holes spied,
A bowl inverted crowns the distant side.
But music most great GEORGE’s cares relieves, 125
Sage arbiter of minims, and of breves!
Yet not by him is living genius fed,
With taste more frugal he protects the dead;
Not all alike; for, though a Briton born,
He laughs all natal prejudice to scorn; 130
His nicer ear our barbarous masters pain,
Though PURCELL, our own Orpheus, swell the strain;
And mighty HANDEL, a gigantic name,
Owes to his country half his tuneful fame.
Nor of our souls neglectful, GEORGE provides, 135
To lead his flocks, his own Right Reverend guides;
Himself makes bishops, and himself promotes,
Nor seeks to influence, tho’ he gives, their votes.
Then for a Prince so pious, so refin’d,
An air of HANDEL, or a psalm to grind, 140
Disdain not, BILLY: for his sovereign’s sake
What pains did PAGET with his gamut take!
And to an Earl what rais’d the simple Peer?
What but that gamut, to his Sovereign dear?
O come, my BILLY, I have bought for you 145
The barrel-organ of a strolling Jew;
Dying, he sold it me at second-hand:
Sev’n stops it boasts, with barrels at command.
How at my prize did envious UXBRIDGE fume,
Just what he wish’d for his new music-room. 150
Come, BILLY, come. Two wantons late I dodg’d,
And mark’d the dangerous alley where they lodg’d.
Fair as pearl-powder are their opening charms,
In tender beauty; fit for BILLY’s arms;
And from the toilet blooming as they seem, 155
Two cows would scarce supply them with cold cream.
The house, the name to BILLY will I show,
Long has DUNDAS the secret wish’d to know,
And he shall know: since services like these
Have little pow’r our virtuous youth to please. 160
Come, BILLY, come. For you each rising day
My maids, tho’ tax’d, shall twine a huge bouquet:
That you, next winter, at the birth-night ball
In loyal splendor may out-dazzle all;
Dear Mrs. ROSE her needle shall employ, 165
To ’broider a fine waistcoat for my boy;
In gay design shall blend with skilful toil,
Gold, silver, spangles, crystals, beads, and foil,
’Till the rich work in bright confusion show
Flow’rs of all hues—and many more than blow. 170
I too, for something to present—some book
Which BILLY wants, and I can spare—will look:
EDEN’s five letters, with an half-bound set
Of pamphlet schemes to pay the public debt;
And pasted there, too thin to bind alone, 175
My SHELBURNE’s speech so gracious from the throne.
COCKER’s arithmetic my gift shall swell;
By JOHNSON how esteem’d, let BOSWELL tell.
Take too these Treaties by DEBRETT; and here
Take to explain them, SALMON’s Gazetteer. 180
And you, Committee labours of DUNDAS,
And you, his late dispatches to Madras,
Bound up with BILLY’s fav’rite act I’ll send;
Together bound—for sweetly thus you blend.
ROSE, you’re a blockhead! Let no factious scribe 185
Hear such a thought, that BILLY heeds a bribe:
Or grant th’ Immaculate, not proof to pelf,
Has STEELE a soul less liberal than yourself?
—Zounds! what a blunder! worse than when I made
A FRENCH arrêt, the guard of BRITISH trade. 190
Ah! foolish boy, whom fly you?—Once a week
The KING from Windsor deigns these scenes to seek.
Young GALLOWAY too is here, in waiting still.
Our coasts let RICHMOND visit, if he will;
There let him build, and garrison his forts, 195
If such his whim:—Be our delight in courts.
What various tastes divide the fickle town!
One likes the fair, and one admires the brown;
The stately, QUEENSB’RY; HINCHINBROOK, the small;
THURLOW loves servant-maids; DUNDAS loves all. 200
O’er MORNINGTON French prattle holds command;
HASTINGS buys German phlegm at second-hand;
The dancer’s agile limbs win DORSET’s choice;
Whilst BRUDENELL dies enamour’d of a voice:
’Tis PEMBROKE’s dearest pleasure to elope, 205
And BILLY, best of all things, loves—a trope;
My BILLY I: to each his taste allow:
Well said the dame, I ween, who kiss’d her cow.
Lo! in the West the sun’s broad orb disp lay’d
O’er the Queen’s palace, lengthens every shade: 210
See the last loiterers now the Mall resign;
E’en Poets go, that they may seem to dine:
Yet, fasting, here I linger to complain.
Ah! ROSE, GEORGE ROSE! what phrenzy fires your brain!
With pointless paragraphs the POST runs wild; 215
And FOX, a whole week long, is unrevil’d:
Our vouchers lie half-vamp’d, and without end
Tax-bills on tax-bills rise to mend and mend.
These, or what more we need, some new deceit
Prepare to gull the Commons, when they meet. 220
Tho’ scorn’d by BILLY, you ere long may find
Some other Minister, like LANSDOWNE kind.
He ceas’d, went home, ate, drank his fill, and then
Snor’d in his chair, ’till supper came at ten. 224

IMITATONS.

VIRGIL. ECLOGUE II.

Formosum pastor Corydon, ardebat Alexin,
Delicias domini; nec, quid speraret habebat,
Tantum inter dènsas, umbrosa cacumina, fagos
Assiduè veniebat; ibi hæc incondita solus
Montibus et sylvis studio jactabat inani.

O crudelis Alexi! nihil mea carmina curas;
Nil nostri miserere: mori me denique coges.
Nunc etiam pecudes umbras et frigora captant;
Nunc virides etiam occultant spineta lacertos;
Thestylis et rapido fessis messoribus æstu
Allia serpyllumque herbas contundit olentis.

At mecum raucis, tua dum vestigia lustro,
Sole sub ardenti resonant arbusta cicadis.
Nonnè fuit melius tristes Amyrillidis iras
Atque superba pata fastidia? Nonnè Menalcan
Quamvis ille niger, quamvis tu candidus esses,
O formose puer, nimiùm ne crede colori.
Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinia nigra leguntur.
Sum tibi despectus; nec qui sim quæris, Alexi:
Quam dives pecoris nivei, quam lactis abundans.
Mille meæ Siculis errant in montibus agnæ: