To it doth Heav'n such wond'rous vigour send,
The more it spends, the more it still can spend.
But hence these jokes on patriot god-like Pitt,
Jokes only meant to shew your poet's wit ;
Who like some fishermen, his wit once set,
Takes all for fish, that come into his net.
Trust me who thinks not Pitt all good and wise,
Knows not where virtue, where true honor lies;
Or did not bigot hate and party zeal
Lock his soul in adamantine steel,
Candid he'd own, Pitt's rich capacious mind
Proves him a Premier born, to save mankind :
Whilst Bonaparte, whom the devil take,
Shews that he's born for whom, his own dear sake; Old Nick's sweet babe, to whom some witch gave suck, And for his fortune gave, the devil's luck.
Gentle Jane Shore to-night with meagre looks, (Her face not much unlike the phiz of Brookes,) Implores your patronage, yet lanker still,
Will be Brooke's visage, if her house don't fill.
No cheeks more smooth than hers, nor any plumper, Should she behold this house to-night a bumper;
Should she behold, like Lady Faddle's rout,
Her friends unable to get in or out;
Pinion'd and squeez'd like fowls upon a spit,
All parts choak'd up, box, gallery, and pitt,
Six inches square to stand on, six to sit;
Then would your Brookes with gratitude run o'er,
As when the rains in sudden torrents pour,
And in a flood of joy raise up her head,
Dripping like Neptune's on his oozy bed.
Whilst rich Old Thames, who owes so much to Brooks,
Would thank you with his best, his gentlest looks,
Smooth his rough waves, and swelling high his tide,
Enable frigates at Southend to ride.
And Thames with Neptune in close friendship join'd,
A fig for all the Powers on earth combin'd.
At all events to Brookes this praise is due,
To please her friends has been her only view;
Her bill of fare perchance, a little odd,
For which don't lash her with the critic's rod.
Did you not think me now a horrid bore,
And trespass on your time one moment more.
Close to the sea too shall I plead in vain,
When Southend shore to you is no small gain;
And who so likely to support with spirit
Our native Shore, as those who feel its merit.
With Miss Brookes thanks to you, who kindly sit
To see her ben'fit and to hear my wit;
I'll take my leave, and like her thank you too,
Yes, thank sincerely you, and you, and you ;*
Trusting that when my motive's understood,
You'll say,
he acts not ill, whose cause is good.
Spoken at the closing of the Theatre at Southend,
in Essex, the Play having been chosen by
some of the Essex Volunteers.
OFERTILE isle, for wealth and beauty fam'd,
A second Paradise, or Eden nam'd,
Thou fairest spot of our terrestr❜al sphere,
Let only happiness inhabit here.
So said great Jove, when, plunging in the waves,
He rais'd this isle, whose sides old Ocean laves;
And smiling on the earth, display'd to sight,
Well pleas'd survey'd the pearl he'd brought to light.
No wonder then, New France has spread alarms,
And try'd to rouse the Continent to arms.
Envious of England's opulence and pow'r,
Her tyrant trembles for th' approaching hour,
When Britain's conquests, spread from shore to shore, True Freedom shall extend, and tyrants breathe no more:
How foolish this, t' avert domestic jar,
By madly braving England's youth to war.
Revenge, revenge, the sons of Albion cry,
And all to arms, in gath'ring tumults fly;
Each ardent singly to decide the cause,
And shew the justice of his country's laws;
Whilst Bonaparte, frighten'd at the sight
Of British valour, shuns th' unequal fight,
Wisely inclines his bullying wrath t'assuage,
And leave invasion for some future age.
How wise, vain Gauls, for, (driv'n from Africk's shore
By those brave heroes, Hutchinson, and Moore,
Led by Sir Ralph, who, for his country's good,
Seal'd Egypt's glorious vict❜ry with his blood,)
Ye, madly boasting to subdue the world,
Saw your proud standard for Britannia furl'd,
Heard gallant Sydney thund'ring from afar,
Sydney the fav'rite of the God of War i
Sydney a name to ev'ry Briton dear,
And sweetly sounding in Britannia's car ;
But to a Frenchman's, and faith no wonder,
Sounding terrific, like the awful thunder;
His name tremendous as the God of Battles,
That 'midst bombs, grape shot, shells,and mortais rattles.
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