And fustigate him round his orbit.
But Jove resolv'd the braggadocio
Should ne'er from this time forth his nose shew;
So gave him salt eel for his supper,
And pil'd Mount Etna on his crupper.
+ Pent underneath his mountain tomb
A living death's tremendous doom
The prostrate swagg'rer undergoes;
Yet still with wonted rage he glows.
Oppress'd with more than mortal pain
He writhes and strives to rise in vain,
And, bellowing in despair and ire,
Black bile commix'd with sulph'rous fire
Disgorges through th' incumbent load
Bursting, th' imprison'd flames explode,
The Man i' the moon drinks claret,
Eats powder'd beef, cabbage, and carot;
But a cup of good Malaga sack
Will fire the bush at his back.
+ Fama est, Enceladi semustum fulmine corpus
Urgeri mole hac, ingentemque insuper Ætnam
Impositam, ruptis flammam exspirare caminis:
Et, fessum quoties mutat latus, intremere omnem
Murmure Trinacriam, et cœlum subtexere fumo.
To Heav'n renew'd defiance bear,
And tell the Gods who sent 'em there.
Fam'd Orator of Palace yard,
Thy melting eyes O lend the Bard!
Lend him thy bowels of compassion,
And pathos of the newest fashion,
To wail, with sympathizing grief,
The fall of each Insurgent Chief;
For when a rank arch-rebel dies,
In F*x's civic eulogies,
(Like homely jade by beauty-washes,
Or sugar-candy from molasses),
Regen'rated, transform'd, refin'd,
He soars, the noblest of his kind,
Heroes and demigods among;
A gilded fly from ordure sprung."
+Hung be the SHAKSPEARE's bar with black Stript off an undertaker's back!
* See Mr. Fox's Speech at the Whig Club, June 6, 1798.
+ Hung be the heav'ns with black,-yield day to night!
Henry VI. Part 1. Act. i.
The club's conven'd.-Yield day to night!
Waiter!—but half the candles light;
And half of that same half snuff out!
Enlighten'd Whigs can dine without.
Cold be the cod-fish, cold the sirloin!
The claret not worth two-pence sterling,
The punch of brandy void and lemon,
The soup black broth of Lacedemon,
The beef steaks scorch'd, the oysters stinking,
The port fit for the Devil's drinking!
Half boil'd too let the pudding come
A mealy waste without a plumb!
And let Dutch herrings shed their pickle
In sympathy with tears that trickle
Down Opposition cheeks and noses,
While F*x, his friend's apotheosis
Proclaims, the solitary herald
Of all thy virtues, fell F***g****d ! *
To kind oblivion loth to trust
Defunct Rebellion's sacred dust!
Nusquam est ? unde mihi tam fortem, tamque fidelem
Sparge subinde: et si paulum potes illacrymare.
Hor. Sat. Lib. 11. Sat. v.
So hails the Democratic strain,
Philosophy, thy patriot reign!
So sound the lore, so pure the theme
Of thine inebriate académe!
Philosophy!-Not Thou of old
Heav'n-born to bless an age of gold;
Whose penetrating glance descried
The bounds which right from wrong divide,
And on the wretch indignant frown'd
Who dar'd those contraries confound;
Philosophy, at whose command
Fled Anarchy and Strife the land,
Peace rais'd her olive-circled brow,
And Plenty bloom'd on ev'ry bough;
Benignant at whose side enthron'd,
Religion her fair Sister own'd:
While both their institutes combin'd
To humanize and bless mankind.
Far other characters arise!
Far other prospects court our eyes!
PHILOSOPHY revers'd we view,
Not of the Old School but the New.
Philosophy, which sets at nought
All that was dear and sacred thought,
And leaves for probity no room
In this world or the world to come:
Here decollates as useless lumber,
There dooms it to Eternal Slumber.*
Philosophy, of curst extraction,
Whom Infidelity and Faction
Evok'd from midnight darkness Stygian
To plunder, and proscribe Religion,
And half th' insensate globe ensnare
With hollow smile and tinsel's glare:
As Paphos' Sov'reign meretricious
Rose from the sea so fair and specious,
Yet, spite of all that lovers swore,
And poets lied, was but a wh—.
Philosophy, inveterate foe
Of order, truth, and peace below,
Whose rancour never can be spent
"Till each rever'd establishment,
"LA MORT EST UN SOMMEIL ETERNELLE."
Inscription for a public Burial Place, decreed by the French Convention, 1793.
|