Classic Poem

A Satire against Folly and Knavery
— Facit indignatio versus.

How long shall I endure, without reply,
To hear this Bayes, this hackney-railer, lie?
The fool, uncudgeled, for one libel swells,
Where not his wit, but sauciness excels;
Whilst with foul words and names which he lets fly,
He quite defiles the satire's dignity.
For libel and true satire different be;
This must have truth, and salt, with modesty.
Sparing the persons, this does tax the crimes,
Galls not great men, but vices of the times,
With witty and sharp, not blunt and bitter, rhymes.
Methinks the ghost of Horace there I see,
Lashing this cherry-cheeked dunce of fifty-three;
Who, at that age, so boldly durst profane,
With base hired libel, the free satire's vein.
Thou styl'st it satire to call names: rogue, whore,
Traitor, and rebel, and a thousand more.
An oyster-wench is sure thy Muse of late,
And all thy Helicon's at Billingsgate.
A libeler's vile name then may'st thou gain,
And moderately the writing part maintain;
None can so well the beating part sustain.
Though with thy sword, thou art the last of men,
Thou art a damned Boroski with thy pen.
As far from satire does thy talent lie
As from being cheerful, or good company.
For thou art saturnine, thou dost confess;
A civil word thy dullness to express.
An old gelt mastiff has more mirth than thou,
When thou a kind of paltry mirth would'st show.
Good humor thou so awkwardly put'st on,
It sits like modish clothes upon a clown;
While that of gentlemen is brisk and high,
When wine and wit about the room does fly.
Thou never mak'st, but art, a standing jest;
Thy mirth by foolish bawdry is expressed,
And so debauched, so fulsome, and so odd,
As —
" Let's bugger one another now, by God! "
(When asked how they should spend the afternoon)
This was the smart reply of the heroic clown.
He boasts of vice (which he did ne'er commit),
Calls himself whoremaster and sodomite;
Commends Reeves' arse and says she buggers well,
And silly lies of vicious pranks does tell.
This is a sample of his mirth and wit,
Which he for the best company thinks fit.
In a rich soil, the sprightly horse y' have seen,
Run, leap, and wanton o'er the flow'ry green,
Prance and curvet, with pleasure to the sight;
But it could never any eyes delight
To see the frisking frolics of a cow;
And such another merry thing art thou.
In verse, thou hast a knack with words to chime,
And had'st a kind of excellence in rhyme:
With rhymes like leading-strings, thou walk'dst; but those
Laid by, at every step thou brok'st thy nose.
How low thy farce! and thy blank verse how mean!
How poor, how naked did appear each scene!
Even thou didst blush at thy insipid stuff,
And laid thy dullness on poor harmless snuff.
No comic scene or humor hast thou wrought;
Thou'st quibbling bawdy and ill breeding taught;
But rhyme's sad downfall has thy ruin brought.
No piece did ever from thy self begin;
Thou can'st no web from thine own bowels spin.
Were from thy works culled out what thou'st purloined,
Even Durfey would excel what's left behind.
Should all thy borrowed plumes we from thee tear,
How truly Poet Squab would'st thou appear!
Thou call'st thy self, and fools call thee, in rhyme,
The goodly Prince of Poets of thy time;
And sov'reign power thou dost usurp, John Bayes,
And from all poets thou a tax dost raise.
Thou plunder'st all t'advance thy mighty name,
Look'st big, and triumph'st with thy borrowed fame.
But art (while swelling thus thou think'st th' art chief)
A servile imitator and a thief.
All written wit thou seizest on as prize;
But that will not thy ravenous mind suffice;
Though men from thee their inward thoughts conceal,
Yet thou the words out of their mouths wilt steal.
How little owe we to your native store,
Who all you write have heard or read before?
— Except your libels; and there's something new,
For none were e'er so impudent as you.
Some scoundrel poetasters yet there be,
Fools that burlesque the name of loyalty,
Who, by reviling patriots, think to be
From lousiness and hunger ever free,
But will (for all their hopes of swelling bags)
Return to primitive nastiness and rags.
These are blind fools: thou hadst some kind of sight;
Thou sinn'st against thy conscience and the light.
After the drubs, thou didst of late compound,
And sold for th' weight in gold each bruise and wound;
Clear was thy sight, and none declaimed then more
'Gainst Popish Plots and arbitrary pow'r.
The ministers thou bluntly wouldst assail,
And it was dangerous to hear thee rail.
(Oh, may not England stupid be like thee!
Heaven grant it may not feel before it see.)
Now he recants, and on that beating thrives:
Thus poet laureates, and Russian wives,
Do strangely upon beating mend their lives.
But how comes Bayes to flag and grovel so?
Sure, your new lords are in their payments slow.
Thou deserv'st whipping thou'rt so dull this time;
Thou'st turned the Observator into rhyme.
But thou suppliest the want of wit and sense
With most malicious lies, and impudence.
At Cambridge first your scurrilous vein began,
When saucily you traduced a nobleman,
Who for that crime rebuked you on the head,
And you had been expelled had you not fled.
The next step of advancement you began
Was being clerk to Noll's lord chamberlain,
A sequestrator and committee-man.
There all your wholesome morals you sucked in
And got your genteel gaiety and mien.
Your loyalty you learned in Cromwell's court,
Where first your Muse did make her great effort.
On him you first showed your poetic strain,
And praised his opening the basilic vein.
And were that possible to come again,
Thou on that side wouldst draw thy slavish pen.
But he being dead who should the slave prefer,
He turned a journeyman t'a bookseller,
Writ prefaces to books for meat and drink,
And as he paid, he would both write and think.
Then by th' assistance of a noble knight,
Th' hadst plenty, ease, and liberty to write.
First like a gentleman he made thee live,
And on his bounty thou didst amply thrive;
But soon thy native swelling venom rose,
And thou didst him, who gave thee bread, expose.
'Gainst him a scandalous preface didst thou write,
Which thou didst soon expunge rather than fight.
When turned away by him in some small time,
You in the people's ears began to chime,
And please the town with your successful rhyme.

When the best patroness of wit and stage,
The joy, the pride, the wonder of the age,
Sweet Annabel the good, great, witty, fair
(Of all this northern court, the brightest star)
Did on thee, Bayes, her sacred beams dispense,
Who could do ill under such influence?
She the whole court brought over to thy side,
And favor flowed upon thee like a tide.
To her thou soon prov'dst an ungrateful knave;
So good was she, not only she forgave,
But did oblige anew, the faithless slave.
And all the gratitude he can afford
Is basely to traduce her princely lord:
A hero worthy of a godlike race,
Great in his mind and charming in his face.
Who conquers hearts and unaffected grace.
His mighty virtues are too large for verse,
Gentle as billing doves, as angry lions fierce:
His strength and beauty so united are,
Nature designed him chief, in love and war.
All lovers' victories he did excel,
Succeeding with the beauteous Annabel.
Early in arms his glorious course began,
Which never hero yet so swiftly ran.
Wherever danger showed its dreadful face,
By never-dying acts h' adorned his royal race.
Sure the three Edwards' soul beheld with joy
How much thou outdidst man when little more than boy,
And all the princely heroes of thy line
Rejoiced to see so much of their great blood in thine.
So good and so diffusive is his mind,
So loving too, and loved by human kind,
He was for vast and general good designed.
In's height of greatness, he all eyes did glad,
And never man departed from him sad.
Sweet and obliging, easy of access,
Wise in his judging, courteous in address.
O'er all the passions he bears so much sway,
No Stoic taught 'em better to obey.
And, in his suffering part, he shines more bright
Than he appeared in all that gaudy light;
Now, now, methinks he makes the bravest show,
And ne'er was greater hero than he's now.
For public good, who wealth and power forsakes,
Over himself a glorious conquest makes.
Religion, prince, and laws to him are dear;
And in defense of all, he dares appear.
'Tis he must stand like Scaeva in the breach,
'Gainst what ill ministers do, and furious parsons preach.
Were't not for him, how soon some popish knife
Might rob us of his royal father's life!
We to their fear of thee that blessing owe:
In such a son, happy, great king, art thou,
Who can defend, or can revenge thee so.

Next, for thy Medal , Bayes, which does revile
The wisest patriot of our drooping isle,
Who loyally did serve his exiled prince,
And with the ablest counsel blessed him since.
None more than he did stop tyrannic power,
Or, in that crisis, did contribute more
To his just rights our monarch to restore;
And still by wise advice and loyal arts
Would have secured him in his subjects' hearts.
You own the mischiefs, sprung from that intrigue,
Which fatally dissolved the Triple League.
Each of your idol mock-triumv'rate knows
Our patriot strongly did that breach oppose;
Nor did this lord a Dover-journey go,
" From thence our tears, the Ilium of our woe. "
Had he that interest followed, how could he
By those that served it then discarded be?
The French and Papists well his merits know;
Were he a friend, they'd not pursued him so.
From both he would our beset king preserve,
For which he does eternal wreaths deserve.
His life they first, and now his fame, would take,
For crimes they forge, and secret plots they make.
They by hired witnesses the first pursue,
The latter by vile scribblers hired like you.
Thy infamy will blush at no disgrace,
(With such a hardened conscience, and a face)
Thou only want'st an evidence's place.
When th'isle was drowned in a lethargic sleep,
Our vigilant hero still a watch did keep.
When all our strength should have been made a prey
To the lewd Babylonish Dalilah,
Methinks I see our watchful hero stand,
Jogging the nodding genius of our land;
Which sometime struggling with sleep's heavy yoke,
Awaked, stared, and looked grim, and dreadfully he spoke.
The voice filled all the land, and then did fright
The Scarlet Whore from all her works of night.
But —
With unseen strengths at home and foreign aid,
Too soon she rallied and began t'invade,
And many nets she spread, and many toils she laid.
To lull us yet asleep, what pains she takes!
But all in vain, for still our genius wakes,
And now remembers well the dangerous Test
Which might have all our liberty oppressed,
Had not the covered snare our hero found
And for some time bravely maintained the ground
Till others saw the bondage was designed
And late with them their straggling forces joined.
A bill then drawn by Buckingham did we see,
A zealous bill against York for popery.
Then murdered Godfrey, a loved prince's blood,
Ready with precious drops to make a purple flood.
When popish tyranny shall give command
And spread again its darkness o'er the land,
Then bloody plots we find laid at their door,
Than whom none e'er has done or suffered more,
Or would, to save the prince they did restore.
Amidst these hellish snares, 'tis time to wake;
May never more a sleep our genius take.
These things did soon our glorious city warm,
And for their own and prince's safety arm.

Thou joy of ours, terror of other lands,
With moderate head, with unpolluted hands,
To which the prince and people safety owe,
From which the uncorrupted streams of justice flow,
Through thickest clouds of perjury you see,
And, ne'er by hackney oaths deceived, will be
Resolved to value credibility.
Thou vindicat'st the justice of thy prince,
Which shines most bright by clearing innocence.
While some would subjects of their lives bereave,
By witnesses themselves could ne'er believe,
Though wrongly accused, yet at their blood they aim,
And, as they were their quarry, think it shame
Not to run down and seize the trembling game.
Thy justice will hereafter be renowned.
Thy lasting name for loyalty be crowned,
When 'twill be told who did our prince restore,
Whom thou with zeal didst ever since adore.
How oft hast thou his princely wants supplied?
And never was thy needful aid denied.
How long his kindness with thy duty strove!
Great thy obedience, and as great his love;
And cursed be they who would his heart remove
Thou (still the same) with equal zeal will serve;
Maintain his laws, his person wilt preserve,
But some foul monsters thy rich womb does bear,
That, like base vipers, would thy bowels tear;
Who would thy ancient charters give away,
And all thy stronger liberties betray:
Those elder customs our great ancestors
Have from the Saxon times conveyed to ours,
Of which no pers'nal crimes a loss can cause,
By Magna Charta backed, and by succeeding laws.
This is the factious brood we should pursue:
For as in schism, so in sedition too,
The many are deserted by the few.
These factious few, for bitter scourges fit,
(To show addressing and abhorring wit)
Set up a Jack of Lent and throw at it.
But those, alas, false silly measures take,
Who of the few an association make.
Thou need'st not doubt to triumph o'er these fools,
These blindly led, these Jesuited tools,
Whilst bravely thou continu'st to oppose
All would-be Papists, as all Romish foes.
In spite of lawless men and popish flames,
(Enriched by thy much loved and bounteous Thames)
May into the wealth of nations flow,
And to thy height all Europe's cities bow.
Thou great support of princely dignity!
And bulwark to the people's liberty!
If a good mayor with such good shrieves appear,
Nor prince nor people need a danger fear:
And such we hope for each succeeding year.
Thus thou a glorious city may'st remain,
And all thy ancient liberties retain,
While Albion is surrounded with the main.
Go, abject Bayes! and act thy slavish part;
Fawn on those popish knaves, whose knave thou art:
'Tis not ill writing or worse policy
That can enslave a nation so long free.
Our king's too good to take that rugged course;
He'll win by kindness, not subdue by force.
If king of slaves and beasts, not men, he'd be,
A lion were a greater prince than he.
Approach him then let no malicious chit,
No insolent prater, nor a flashy wit;
Impeachments make not men for statesmen fit.
But —
Truth, judgment, firmness, and integrity,
With long experience, quick sagacity,
Swift to prevent, as ready to foresee;
Knowing the depths from which all action springs,
And by a chain of causes judging things:
That does all weights into the balance cast,
And wisely can foretell the future by the past.
Where'er such virtuous qualities appear,
They're patriots worthy of a prince's ear;
To him and subjects they'll alike be dear.
The king's and people's interest they'll make one.
What personal greatness can our monarch own,
When hearts of subjects must support the throne!
And ministers should strive those hearts t'unite,
Unless they had a mind to make us fight.
Who by Addresses thus the realm divide
(All bonds of kindred and of friends untied)
Have, in effect, in battle ranged each side.
But Heaven avert those plagues which we deserve:
Intestine jars but popish ends can serve.
How false and dangerous methods do they take
Who would a king but of Addressers make!
They from protection would throw all the rest
And poorly narrow the king's interest.
To make their little party, too, seem great,
They with false musters, like the Spaniards, cheat.
He's king of all, and would have all their hearts,
Were't not for these dividing popish arts.
Statesmen, who his true interest would improve,
Compute his greatness by his people's love:
That may assist our friends, and foes o'ercome;
So much he will be feared abroad as loved at home.
He at the people's head may great appear,
As th' Edwards, Henrys, and Eliza were.
And cursed be they who would that power divide,
Who would dissolve that sacred knot by which they're tied.
Those miscreants who hate a parliament
Would soon destroy our ancient government.
Those slaves would make us fit to be o'ercome,
And gladly sell the land to France or Rome.
But Heaven preserve our legal monarchy
And all those laws that keep the people free.
Of all mankind, forever cursed be they
Who would or king's or people's rights betray,
Or aught would change but by a legislative way.
Be damned the most abhorred and traitorous race
Who would the best of governments deface.

Now farewell, wretched mercenary Bayes,
Who the king libeled and did Cromwell praise.
Farewell, abandoned rascal! only fit
To be abused by thy own scurrilous wit,
Which thou wouldst do and, for a moderate sum,
Answer thy Medal and thy Absalom .
Thy piteous hackney pen shall never fright us;
Thou'rt dwindled down to Hodge and Heraclitus .
Go, " Ignoramus " cry, and " Forty-one, "
And by Sam's parsons be thou praised alone.
Pied thing! half wit! half fool! and for a knave,
Few men, than this, a better mixture have:
But thou canst add to that, coward and slave.