The worth of freedom strongly she explains, [chains:
Whilst she bows down and loads their necks with
Faith, too, she plants, for her own ends imprest,
To make them bear the worst and hope the best;
And whilst she teaches, on vile int'rest's plan, 85
As laws of God the wild decrees of man,
Like Pharisees, of whom the Scriptures tell,
She makes them ten times more the sons of Hell.
But whither do these grave reflections tend ?
Are they design'd for any or no end?
Briefly but this to prove that by no act
Which Nature made, that by no equal pact
Twixt man and man, which might, if Justice heard,
Stand good; that by no benefits conferr'd,
Or purchase made, Europe in chains can hold
The sons of India and her mines of gold.
Chance led her there in an accursed hour;
She saw and made the country hers by pow'r;
Nor, drawn by virtue's love from love of fame,
Shail my rash folly controvert the claim,
Or wish in thought that title overthrown
Which coincides with and involves my own.
Europe discover'd India first; I found
My right to Gotham on the selfsame ground;
I first discover'd it, nor shall that plea
To her be granted and deny'd to me.
I plead possession, and, till one more bold
Shall drive me out, will that possession hold.
With Europe's rights my kindred rights I twine;
Hers be the Western world, be Gotham mine.
Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladness; and on ev'ry tongue,
In strains of gratitude, be praises hung,
The praises of so great and good a king;
Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham sing? As on a day, a high and holy day,
Let ev'ry instrument of musick play, Ancient and modern; those which drew their birth (Punctilios laid aside) from Pagan earth,
As well as those by Christian made and Jew,
Those known to many, and those known to few;
Those which in whim and frolick lightly flote,
And those which swell the slow and solemn note;
Those which (whilst Reason stands in wonder by)
Make some complexions laugh and others cry; 126
Those which, by some strange faculty of sound,
Can build walls up and raze them to the ground;
Those which can tear up forests by the roots,
And make brutes dance like men, and men like brutes;
Those which, whilst Ridicule leads up the dance,
Make clowns of Monmouth, ape the fops of France;
Those which,where Lady Dulness with LordMay`rs
Presides, disdaining light and trifling airs,
Hallow the feast with psalmody, and those
Which, planted in our churches to dispose
And lift the mind to Heaven, are disgrac'd
With what a foppish organist calls Taste:
All, from the fiddle (on which ev'ry fool,
The pert son of dull sire, discharg'd from school,
Serves an apprenticeship in college ease,
And rises thro' the gamut to degrees)
To those which (tho' less common, not less sweet) From fam'd St. Giles's, and more fam'd Vine-street, (Where Heav'n, the utmost wish of man to grant, Gave me an old house, and an older aunt) 146 Thornton, whilst Humour pointed out the road To her arch cub, hath hitch'd into an ode; All instruments, (attend, ye list'ning Spheres! Attend, ye sons of men, and hear with ears) 150 All instruments, (nor shall they seek one hand Impress'd from modern Musick's coxcomb band) All instruments, self-acted, at my name Shall pour forth harmony, and loud proclaim, Loud but yet sweet, to the according globe, My praises, whilst gay Nature, in a robe, A coxcomb doctor's robe, to the full sound Keeps time, like Boyce, and the world dances round. Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladness; and on ev'ry tongue,
In strains of gratitude, be praises hung,
The praises of so great and good a king;
Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham sing?
Infancy, straining backward from the breast, 165 Tetchy and wayward, what he loveth best Refusing in his fits, whilst all the while The mother eyes the wrangler with a smile, And the fond father sits on t' other side,
Laughs at his moods,and views his spleen with pride, Shall murmur forth my name, while at his hand 171 Nurse stands interpreter thro' Gotharn's land. Childhood, who, like an April morn, appears Sunshine and rain, hopes clouded o'er with fears, Pleas'd and displeas'd by starts, in passion warm, In reason weak; who, wrought into a storm, 176 Like to the fretful billows of the deep,
Soon spends his rage, and cries himself asleep;
Who, with a fev'rish appetite oppress'd,
For trifles sighs, but hates them when possess'd,
His trembling lash suspended in the air,
Half-bent, and stroking back his long lank hair,
Shall to his mates look up with eager glee,
And let his top go down to prate of me.
Youth, who, fierce, fickle, insolent and vain,
Impatient urges on to Manhood's reign,
Impatient urges on, yet with a cast
Of dear regard looks back on Childhood past,
In the mid chase, when the hot blood runs high,
And the quick spirits mount into his eye;
When pleasure, which he deems his greatest wealth,
Beats in his heart, and paints his cheeks with health
Volume III.
And lift the mind to Heaven, are disgrac'd
With what a foppish organist calls Taste:
All, from the fiddle (on which ev'ry fool,
The pert son of dull sire, discharg'd from school,
Serves an apprenticeship in college ease,
And rises thro' the gamut to degrees)
To those which (tho' less common, not less sweet)
From fam'd St. Giles's, and more fam'd Vine-street,
(Where Heav'n, the utmost wish of man to grant,
Gave me an old house, and an older aunt) 146
Thornton, whilst Humour pointed out the road
To her arch cub, hath hitch'd into an ode;
All instruments, (attend, ye list'ning Spheres!
Attend, ye sons of men, and hear with ears) 150
All instruments, (nor shall they seek one hand
Impress'd from modern Musick's coxcomb band)
All instruments, self-acted, at my name
Shall pour forth harmony, and loud proclaim,
oud but yet sweet, to the according globe,
Ty praises, whilst gay Nature, in a robe,
coxcomb doctor's robe, to the full sound seeps time, like Boyce, and the world dances round. Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! rejoice; ift up your voice on high, a mighty voice, The voice of gladness; and on ev'ry tongue, In strains of gratitude, be praises hung, The praises of so great and good a king; Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham sing?
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