Thus bent to be a sordid whore,
She knock'd at Prostitution's door:
*** arose and let her in,
And stroak'd her cheek and chuck'd her chin;
While far from whimpers, sobs or weeping,
Doll curt'sied, and was soon in keeping:
Now in Hyde-Park she flaunts by day,
At night she flutters at the play.
This keeper, and a second dy'd ;
Now Doll is humbled in her pride.
At length she comes upon the town;
First palms a guinea; then a crown;
Nay, slander says, that underhand,
The forlorn wretch did walk the Strand;
'Till grown the scorn of man and woman,
A pot of beer would buy Doll Common.
Mean time, deep smit with honest flame,
Cælia espous❜d a youth of fame.
From the chaste bed fair issue
With peals of joy the country rung.
Again the matron pregnant grown,
Now hastens to lye-in in town.
There, near the Park, Doll Common found her,,
(Her little family around her.)
Then Doll began
"Is all your prudery come to this?
"Why, but your apron's round, I see;
"You're e'en a strumpet rank, like me:
"Quite cur'd of all your rustic fears,
"And fairly sous'd o'er head and ears.
"Coy simpering maids I find can sin :
"For shame, your belly's at your chin :
"In spite of all your virtuous lore,
"You're now become an arrant whore."
Fair Cælia's cheek a blush o'erspread;
And thus, with calm disdain, she said:
"That love possesses me, 'tis true;
"Yet, heav'n be prais'd! I am not you:
"My head's with country notions fraught,
"Notions (to you) not worth a groat.
"Aided by ev'ry virtuous art,
"A generous youth has won my heart.
"Yet never did I yield my charms,
"Till honour led me to his arms.
My charms I never basely sold; "I am no prostitute for gold; "On my own rents I liv'd before, "Nor has my William added more.
"Wealth is our scorn; our humble labours
"Aim but to serve or save our neighbours,
"See heav'n has blest our chaste embrace:
"Behold this little smiling race,
"The offspring of an honest bed;
"Here, Senegal, hold up your head:
"This tawny boy, his parents' boast,
"Shall bring us gold from Afric's coast.
"And mark these twins, of Indian mien ;
"This Louisbourg, and that Du Quesne :
"Their bold and honest looks presage,
They'll be our comfort in old age.
"And if the child that swells my womb
"To a propitious birth shall come,
"O'erjoy'd I'll bless the happy day,
"And call our child America."
Thus Cælia spake with modest grace;
But rage deform'd the harlot's face
Her fiery eyes began to roll,
A hag in look, a fiend in soul:
And now she vomits forth the din
Of Oyster wenches drunk with gin.
Nay, rumour scruples not to tell ye,
The strumpet kick'd the matron's belly;
Of the fair coming birth afraid;
For black abortion was her trade.
Britannia lost her virgin pride,
Her faith and former plight,
By Hogan-Mogan wiles debauch'd,
And plunder'd of her right.
He stript her first, and every ill
Of dire Pandora's box,
Transfus'd throughout her tender frame,
And left her in a pox.
High German Doctors now were call'd,
To prop her constitution :
But what the foreign quacks prescrib'd,
Increas'd the first pollution.
A group of home-bred coblers next,
(The vilest scum on earth)
Bled, purg'd and grip'd the wretched dame,
And tokens brought of death.
At length a Patriot Doctor came,
Scorning reward or fee;
Who, aided by Britannia's friends,
From ruin set her free.
He eas'd her pains, restor❜d her health,
No more her spirits fret;
No running evil now she feels,
But running more in debt.
This symptom too in proper time
He will subdue, no doubt,
For skilful doctors ne'er astringe,
Till all the venom's out.
Some STANZAS addressed to no Minister nor Great Man.
ITH all thy titles, all thy large estate,
And all the favours which a king can grant,
Something is wanting still to make thee great,
And still that something thou wilt ever want.
For is it greatness at a sumptuous board
To feast a country, and to hear thy name 'Mid noisy revels riotously roar'd,
When longer than the banquet lasts not fame?
Or, is it greatness, in the pomp of pow'r,
Each morn a crowd obsequious to collect,
Pleas'd to accept th' obeisance of an hour,
When with the levee endeth all respect?
He who is great some nobler purpose shews,
Nor feasts, nor levees his attention claim:
That which is fit and right he first pursues,
And after finds it justify'd by fame,
What tho' a fawning academic train,
(O shame to learning!) on thy footsteps wait,
Tho' flatt'ring muses, in a courtly strain,
Salute thee pillar of the British state;
Yet in fair history's impartial page,
Penn'd not in flatt'ring nor invective strain,
Truth will report thee to the future age
No statesman, but a courtier light and vain,
For, hath thy civil prudence well upheld
The state 'gainst foreign and domestic foe?
Was fierce rebellion by thy counsel quell'd?
By thee averted Gallia's threaten'd blow?
Where was thy foresight when the Gaul prepar'd
To seize the provinces of Albion's realm ?
That foul disgrace with thee tho' others shar'd,
Yet seiz'd they were when thou wert at the helm.
And tho' once more Britannia lifts her head,
By pow'rful nations sees herself rever'd,
And hails her valiant sons, by glory led,
T'assault that realm whence late assault she fear'd:
Yet from their deeds no honour thou can'st gain,
Tho' victory's laurels should their brows intwine:
For when dids't thou these arduous toils maintain?
Or, of their bold exploits, which plan was thine ?
Didst thou secure the harvest of the land
Amid invasion's threat and war's alarm?
When martial weapons fill'd the reaper's hand,
Was it thy voice exhorted him to arm?
Have fleets and armies by thy orders mov'd
To distant lands, and oceans far remote?
And, when success those orders hath approv❜d,
Do crowds thy wisdom and thy spirit note?
Yet in the triumph thou assum'st a share,
Bustling, important, full of giddy zeal;
And vainly sitt'st, with ministerial air,
A fly of state on glory's chariot-wheel,
STANZAS addressed to a Great Minister and Great Man.
7ITH titles, honours, and a large estate,
And all a favour'd subject can possess,
Can aught be wanting still to make thee great,
Or can envenom'd slander make thee less?
For sure 'tis greatness, nobly to disdain
The high rewards that wait the statesman's toils,
And rather, with unsparing hand, to drain
The private wealth, than share the public spoils.
And sure 'tis greatness, to the muse's choir
Thy fost'ring care and bounty to extend,
With royal smiles her grateful train to fire,
And Attic grace with Spartan morals blend.
Who, such a length of years, 'midst party rage
And veering patriots, with deserv'd applause,
In place, in pow'r, has shone, from youth to age,
True to his King and to his country's cause?
On whose firm credit, ere the terms were known,
Have Britain's wealthy sons so oft rely'd,
In whom such boundless confidence been shewn,
Or on whose word such millions been supply'd ?
Hence to thy toils each distant nation pays
That just reward which envy here denies;
Hence, future annals shall record thy praise,
And lasting trophies to thy honour rise.
Who, when of old the public torrent ran
With boist'rous rage, polluted from its source,
In early life, with care and cost began
To check, to turn, and regulate its course?
Who, unreproach'd, has since for half an age,
In Freedom's cause such stedfast zeal approv'd?
Who cou'd the esteem of Sire and Son engage,
By each entrusted, and by each belov'd?
And tho' Detraction now those wreaths would tear,
And break those bands whence all our triumphs flow,
Who plac'd our Tully in the consul's chair?
To whose advice this statesman do we owe?
Say, when Hortensius in the senate rose,
Who on his rival fix'd his sov'reign's choice?
That well-weigh'd choice, deplor'd by Britain's foes,
And prais'd with transport by the public voice!
|