ON THE CONTARIETIES OF PUBLIC VIRTUE .

Society , like thong of leather,
Fast binds in clusters men together;
And though it cannot be forgotten,
That some are ripe, and some are rotten,
Yet, — let it still be understood,
They all promote the general good.
For this the Patriot's fire arises,
That glows at every trying crisis,
With each inferior strife, and stir too,
Whence spring they? but from public virtue,
Though different plans, like streams, 'tis true,
By different rills their course pursue;
Though oft they seem, to mortals blind,
Repugnant to the end design'd,
Appearing, as by error led,
To flow through many a mazy bed;
Yet still at length we see them glide,
Meandering to the common tide.
Smile on, ye grave, in deep derision,
I shrink not from my proposition,
But still aver all Britons merit
The praise of Patriotic Spirit;
As far as e'er their power can stretch,
From N — descending down to Ketch.
That statesmen guard the public weal,
We all must own, for all must feel:
'Tis their's to watch with ardour keen,
And careful drive the grand machine;
To charm the passengers from fretting,
And keep the whole from oversetting.
But still inferior hands may bring
Some little help, — may oil a spring, —
May point, — " There, round that corner turn ye,"
And wish the folks a pleasant journey.
All have their use, — there's nothing plainer,
From this each traveller's a gainer;
And, though the merits be but few,
Let's give to every imp his due.
This social fire though all possess,
In some there's nothing blazes less;
So many a close attempt is made,
O'er the bright flame to hold a shade,
To keep their worth from being known,
While conscience hugs itself alone:
As some of alms will never boast,
And look least pleas'd when giving most.
But, Cynics, spare the odd behaviour,
If well you walk, ne'er blame the pavier.
Should you, when wandering in the night,
Some scoundrel urge to set you right,
Now, though he blasts you with a curse,
You'll take the better from the worse,
Nor think the greeting ill-bestow'd,
If while he damns, he shows the road;
But straight jog home, no more affrighted,
Than if an honest watchman lighted.
Learn then the best to cull from evil,
As Saints take warning by the Devil.
And, — if the Muse, whose judgment nice is,
Shows public good in private vices,
The holiest tongue must cease to stir,
But instaut own without demur,
While modest matrons start at Drury,
The thief's as useful as the jury,
Since both the mind strong truths impress on,
And teach the world an awful lesson.
Our various Patriots then revere,
Their hearts are sound, though manners queer:
Though some to outward vision seem
To sport in phrensy's antic dream,
The aims of each laborious self are
Intended for the public welfare.
This glorious end alone pursuing,
They, bold like Curtius, laugh at rain;
For this, if we their schemes unravel,
They drink, whore, mortgage, game, and travel.
Enthusiast in the paths of Science,
Banks bade the stormy waves defiance;
Fair Nature's volume to explore,
He fought with seas unsail'd before,
And earn'd, by Argonautic toil,
Fresh honours for his native soil:
Him Wisdom lov'd, thus worthy found,
And Britain hail'd him as she crown'd.
But say — " Can one Adventurer's claim
Exhaust the trumpet voice of fame?
No garland has my country now,
To bind another pilgrim's brow?
Be mine the merit," — Florio cries,
And cross the Channel gaily flies;
Through thick and thin, drives mad and giddy on,
Now here, now there, now in meridian,
(Unless perchance when Louis fail)
A meteor — with a fiery tail.
Think you his aim in each manaeuvre,
Is but to scare the' astonish'd Louvre?
Ah no! — in all the dissipation
He loves the interest of his nation,
And, mindful of the Patriot rule,
For our instruction — plays the fool.
Connubial faith, — the' unbroken vow, —
How bless'd! Who dares to disallow?
Lothario strong in this agrees,
And — urges every wife he sees;
Sure — if the' attack should fail upon her,
The sex is happy in her honour:
And, — if his stratagems surprise her,
Her fall may make the' unsteady wiser.
The husband from his doze may start,
And, though he long disdain'd her heart,
May look the thief with visage fierce on,
Who dar'd defile the slighted person.
" Draw — draw to set the matter right," —
But is Lothario wrong to fight?
No, — Public Virtue swells his veins,
Whoever falls, — his country gains:
This none can doubt; your feelings ask, all;
For 'tis a gain to lose a rascal.
When trade unclogg'd can turn its wheels,
The influence kind the kingdom feels;
Each hand, in fit degree and measure,
Contributes to the public treasure.
These truths Northumberland convince,
Who lives in just magnificence,
And, — while his bounty wide distils
For England's welfare — pays his bills.
But different notions Cotta strike,
For why should Patriots judge alike?
It shocks his greatness to describe
How " Peasants gall the Courtier's kibe,"
An upstart race, that no one knows,
Who yet have folly to suppose,
That honest wealth is better far
Than guilt and want beneath a star.
" Let every man preserve his station;
What's rule — without subordination?"
Till wiser heads confess the flaw,
And plan a sumptuary law,
Impatient some redress to get,
See Cotta plunges into debt,
(From bailiffs safe) — and much commends
This practice to his hungry friends:
So war is wag'd with every trader,
Dear Honour! lest the rogues degrade her:
And what contrivance is more sure
To humble, — than to keep them poor?
When in contention sharp of old,
As legendary tales unfold,
Two rival deities design'd
Their choicest presents to mankind,
With envy kindling, — warm enforcer!
This gave an olive, that a courser.
Thus some, — as other plans have miss'd them,
Revere the vegetable system,
And think their virtue grounded sure
In growth of timber, and — manure.
Hence, up the slope plantations spread,
And crown the hill's once dreary head;
Hence, downward as the vale descends,
The harvest ocean wide extends;
Glad Britain — how these prospects charm her!
Her Medal decks the Patriot Farmer,
Who counts his stock, — and hopes he's shown
His country's riches in his own.
Not so the 'Squire of boistrous spirit,
Who, studious of equestrian merit,
To thrifty care makes no pretences,
But scours the fields, and breaks the fences.
Vain may the tenant urge his speeches,
New till the soil, and mend the breaches,
Yet no restraint his landlord clogs; —
Devoted as a prey to dogs,
He hates ignoble frugal ways,
And — wild in the career of praise,
Cries, as he spurs his foaming steed,
" To me Old England owes the breed."
Do various loads the nation press?
'Tis noble sure to make them less:
This Vigil does, and labours hard
To cog the die, or palm the card:
Profuse in packs, as round they lie,
He often turns the' applauding eye; —
And, — though he cheats, thinks nothing of it,
Since his dear country shares the profit.
Keen Censure then her frown relaxes,
Without consumption what are taxes?
Taxes! But, " why" Thersites growls,
Must every bird be stripp'd by owls?
Shall two or three, in pamper'd ease,
Lay contributions as they please,
While all the rest, in station humble,
Tame bear the loss, — nor dare to grumble!"
Peace, Snarler, — know, with steady soul
The Patriot can applaud the whole;
And justly crowns with equal praise
The man who levies, and who pays.
'Tis true, the Doctor of finances
By nostrums oft his fund enhances:
But then his skill in physic's great,
He knows the ailments of the state,
Intent, as suits the sad disaster,
To cup, prick, purge, or spread a plaister.
A plethora's now the case, there's needing
Strict regimen, and copious bleeding.
He therefore acts the subject best
Who scorns the order to contest;
But claps a calm contented face on,
And yields the most to fill the bason.
To give his part, through various stages
The Manufacturer engages;
And thinks there's merit at his door,
Whose business feeds the labouring poor,
While to the keen Exciseman's eyes
Accumulating duties rise.
" Curse on the drudge's dirty toil,"
Exclaims my haughty lord of soil,
(Though oft his title-deeds may rest
Safe in the usurer's iron chest;)
" Unpaid let other calls remain,
I'll still uphold my menial train;
Economy! — 'tis base to court her,
Each Footman is a state-supporter;
To balk the cause a coward's sin is,
I'll bravely pay the hundred guineas."
Deep Bibo soaks, and boasts the reason,
" Wine's the best antidote to treason,
Our bumpers large revenues bring,
I drink my claret for my King."
Yet still his zeal by far surpasses,
Who empties first, then breaks the glasses
How Fungus glows with patriot pride;
While credit pours an even tide!
Thus buoy'd along, through fairy scenes,
He clubs his share to ways and means;
At length the dun's incessant clamour
Dooms every chattle to the hammer;
Still there's decorum in his fall,
Since now the Auction closes all.
Smile, Walpole's ghost, untaught to feign,
For private folly's public gain:
And bid old Cecil smooth his brow, —
If England thrives, — no matter how.
Vespatian thus, the bee of money,
From every weed could gather honey:
Though squeamish Titus leer'd and laugh'd,
The wiser father bless'd the craft;
And, when his bags the cash was sure in,
Ne'er thought the tribute smelt of urine.