Patriotism, a Mock-heroic

Of perfect Diamond a solid Rock, Far from the Tempest's Beat and Earthquake's Shock, Its massive Spurs down to the Center shoots, Where endless Permanency binds the Roots; Upon its Summit awefully elate Immoveably is fix'd the Throne of FATE: The wond'rous Pile no Mark of Structure shews, Unhewn, unbuilt, the living Quarry grows. Up the steep Height an Iron Causeway tends, And at the Footstool of the Monarch ends; Here FOLLY pass'd, and as she climb'd the Mound, Hollow and loud her shuffling Steps resound.

Rais'd on his Seat the hoary Sire appear'd, And spread profuse his ample Flow of Beard; No Condescension his firm Looks avow, Inexorable Sternness knits his Brow. Around him bawl, but clam'rous to no End, The fond Addresses which we Mortals send; He to their Purport turns a deafen'd Ear, Or answers traversly the wasted Pray'r; To Spenthrift Sons eternal Fathers gives, And Health untaintable to modern Wives; The Maiden's pious Vows are still repaid With Husbands bad at Board, and worse abed; To Britain (every Plume of Glory won) Sends News-papers, and all the Work's undone: Or, just as Party thinks to crown her Pains, Gives Resolution, and the Prince still reigns.

Before his Feet was plac'd, Slave of his Sway, NECESSITY whom Men and Gods obey, Her strong Right-hand a pond'rous Hammer held, Her left with Adamantine Nails was fill'd, Close to her Side, of Steel an Anvil rose, (The sounding Anvil never feels Repose) With these on this, as fast as FATE assents, She rivets Actions down to their Events. Millions of Second-causes claim in vain Their Seat usurp'd, and urge their Right to reign; She holds Possession still; while they pursue, For ever, their rejected Suit anew.

On ev'ry Side, and scatter'd ev'ry Way, Her finish'd Labours in wild Parcels lay Unrang'd by their Importance, equal here The Loss of Battles, or at Whist appear; A Statesman chang'd, or Lodging newly lett, Empires transferr'd, or Fashions out of Date. The Joys, the Woes, th' Extinction of Man's Race Serve but to make the Litter of the Place.

Here, trebly clench'd the dire Injunction lay For War t' extend his yet too narrow Sway; Hunger or Lust the Contest first began, Ambition soon improv'd upon the Plan; Religion next inflam'd the fell Debate, And steel'd our Hearts, and edg'd our Swords with Hate; Last, Commerce for an endless Quarrel stood, And all before seem'd Penury of Blood.

There, was ordain'd, Law should untie her Noose, And slip the Dogs of Licence and Abuse; To their own Kennels' Stench familiar grown, But pois'ning ev'ry Nose except their own; They with full Cry the dubious Scent explore, And trail wherever Scandal touch'd before: Still, oh the Shame! still the loud Yelp proceeds, And the first Head of all the Forest bleeds.

Here, in like Volume, the Decree of FATE Forbids that Madmen should divide the State; They with absurd, illib'ral, desp'rate Push, To shame ev'n Party, and make Faction blush, Strive, but in vain, to alienate the Hearts Of a whole People great in Arms and Arts; To us, by Nature, Reason, Int'rest, Blood, Conjoin'd, and union'd by the circling Flood. Thro' these as FOLLY pass'd with tott'ring Gait, From thinking Hurry gave an Air of State, And tripping at the last unlucky Law, (As Witches stumble o'er a Cross of Straw) She chanc'd to kick one Bundle, light it roll'd Into Existence; in it was foretold A Mock-heroic should employ the Pains Of venal Quills, and Party-heated Brains.

She, on her Knees, with Hands devoutly clos'd, At once her Message and herself, expos'd; To whom in answer FATE: "Thus far to come, "Swell all its Rage, and lash itself to foam, "O'er ev'ry Mound of Decency to ride, "Has been allow'd to Riot's Moon-drawn Tide; "Here its proud Waves shall stop, the boist'rous Flood "On which ye hull'd desert you in the Mud. "The Mists that veil the Morning of this Reign, "The Breath of Order shall disperse again, "Broke they shall scud before the piercing Ray, "And add new Glories to its Burst of Day.

"See the glad Prospect shine! a Briton born, "Whom Virtues, more than you could wish, adorn, "Gives Lustre to the Throne; whose Deeds confess "No Thirst of Pow'r, except the Pow'r to bless; "Who from the Sceptre no Exemption draws, "And is but the first Subject of the Laws; "Ev'n Monarch reckons in his moral Plan, "But second Title to the HONEST MAN.

"Him, did the World deserve, Heav'n had design'd "The Sov'reign, as the Friend of all Mankind, "Plac'd as it's gentle Delegate he'd stood, "And won them by Example to be good; "Taught them the social Duties how to blend, "The Son, the Brother, Husband, Father, Friend.—

"Rouz'd from their Dream, the Honest and the Wise "Shall view Confusion with abhorrent Eyes; "Nay, the misled shall say, while drops the Tear, "How could our Love be scribbled into Fear?" "Go, tell your Senders to revere their K—g.— "And in your private Ear, this only thing "Of which it can be capable, receive; "Folks of your Age have never long to live." Nor more:—And FOLLY backward on her Way Sullen and silent turn'd her Steps, tow'rds Day.

And, oh fair Decency! to whom we owe That Peace and Order are Things known below, That Man was taught, with better Aim, to push Beyond his Acorn Feast and Bed of Rush, The rugged Cavern's Shelter to disown, And seek Convenience in the peopled Town, There to distinguish, in Subjection mild, 'Tween reasonably free and staring wild; Do thou forgive, if stung with honest Pain, Too far o'er Satire's far too open Plain I urge the sportive Steed, while I pursue Through his own Paths, the blatant Beast in view.— Do thou forgive, if e'er I, unexact, Of his own Dirt some little Specks contract; Hard were the Task to thrid so foul a Way, And yet no plashing of the Soil betray.

But if provok'd to vindicate thy Laws, I dip my Pen in Truth and Virtue's Cause, If I, when Scandal shoots her Load of Shame, Restore it honestly to whence it came; If my sole Aim is Licence to restrain, And laugh thy Rebels home to thee again; If, undesirous of the Wreath of Bays, Nor over ticklish to the Straw of Praise,— Unask'd, unpromis'd, if these Lines I pour, Conviction-drawn, but from my Soul abhor The Name of Satirist, who to his Share Needs but an Ear to rhime, and Front to dare, To hide his splendid Bile in moral Mask, And set himself at once about his Task;— As a rough Water-Dog, New-England's Breed, Fresh plaister'd from some Pond with Mud and Weed, Round from his Fleece the dirty Puddle shakes Rejoicing in the Spatter that he makes:—

If These my Motives, not alone forgive, But bid this JUST RETALIATION, live; While Libels, when they've flourish'd for a spirt, Fall like their Brother Leaves, and rot to Dirt.