Part 33 (1/2)

Then from my pristine labours I'll relax: _Then will I lay the Tree unto the [3]Axe!_ Of all my former grief-- Resign the bus'ness of the anxious chace, And for past failures, and for past disgrace, Here find a snug relief!

The vain pursuit of female game give o'er, And, hound of _Fortune_, scour the town no more!

[1] When Lord Mountmorres went down into the country, some years ago; to pay his addresses to a lady of large fortune, whose name we forbear to mention, his Lords.h.i.+p took up his abode for several days in a small public-house in the neighbourhood of her residence, and employed his time in making all proper enquiries, and prudent observation upon the nature, extent, and value of her property:--he was seen measuring the trees with his eye, and was at last found in the act of boring for marle; when being roughly interrogated by one of the ladie's servants, to avoid chastis.e.m.e.nt he confessed his name, and delivered his amorous credentials. The amour terminated as ten thousand others of the n.o.ble Lord's have done!

[2] An allusion is here made to a speech published by the n.o.ble Lord, which, as the t.i.tle-page imports, was _intended_ to have been spoken; in which his Lords.h.i.+p, towards the conclusion, gravely remarks:--”Having, Sir, so long encroached upon the patience of the House, and observing by the clock that the hour has become so excessively late, nothing remains for me but to return my sincere thanks to you, Sir, and the other gentlemen of this House, for the particular civility; and extreme attention, with which I have been heard:-- the interesting nature of the occasion has betrayed me into a much greater length than I had any idea originally of running into; and if the casual warmth _of the moment_ has led me into the least personal indelicacy towards any man alive, I am very ready to beg pardon of him and this House, Sir, for having so done.”

[3] This line is literally transcribed from a speech of Lord _Mountmorre_'s, when Candidate some years ago for the Representation of the City of Westminster.

_NUMBER XX._

IRREGULAR ODE, FOR THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY, _By_ SIR GEORGE HOWARD, K. B.

CHORUS.

Re mi fa sol, Tol de rol lol.

I.

My Muse, for George prepare the splendid song, Oh may it float on Schwellenburgen's voice!

Let Maids of Honour sing it all day long, That Hoggaden's fair ears may hear it, and rejoice.

II.

What subject first shall claim thy courtly strains?

Wilt thou begin from Windsor's sacred brow, Where erst, with pride and pow'r elate, The Tudors sate in sullen state, While Rebel Freedom, forc'd at length to bow, Retir'd reluctant from her fav'rite plains?

Ah! while in each insulting tower you trace The features of that tyrant race, How wilt thou joy to view the alter'd scene!

The Giant Castle quits his threat'ning mien; The levell'd ditch no more its jaws discloses, } But o'er its mouth, to feast our eyes and noses, } Brunswick hath planted pinks and roses; } Hath spread smooth gravel walks, and a small bowling green!

III.

Mighty Sov'reign! Mighty Master!

George is content with lath and plaister!

At his own palace-gate, In a poor porter's lodge, by Chambers plann'd, See him with Jenky, hand in hand, In serious mood, Talking! talking! talking! talking!

Talking of affairs of state, All for his country's good!

Oh! Europe's pride! Britannia's hope!

To view his turnips and potatoes, Down his fair Kitchen-garden's slope The victor monarch walks like Cincinnatus.

See, heavenly Muse! I vow to G.o.d 'Twas thus the laurel'd hero trod-- Sweet rural joys! delights without compare!

Pleasure s.h.i.+nes in his eyes, } While George with surprize, } Sees his cabbages rise, } And his 'sparagus wave in the air!

IV.

But hark! I hear the sound of coaches, The Levee's hour approaches-- Haste, ye Postillions! o'er the turnpike road; Back to St. James's bear your royal load!

'Tis done--his smoaking wheels scarce touch'd the ground-- By the Old Magpye and the New, } By Colnbrook, Hounslow, Brentford, Kew, } Half choak'd with dust the monarch flew, } And now, behold, he's landed safe and sound.-- Hail to the blest who tread this hallow'd ground!

Ye firm, invincible beefeaters, } Warriors, who love their fellow-creatures, } I hail your military features! } Ye gentle, maids of honour, in stiff hoops, Buried alive up to your necks, Who chaste as Phnixes in coops, Know not the danger that await your s.e.x!

Ye Lords, empower'd by fortune or desert, Each in his turn to change your sovereign's s.h.i.+rt!

Ye Country Gentlemen, ye City May'rs, Ye Pages of the King's back-stairs, Who in these precincts joy to wait-- Ye courtly wands, so white and small, And you, great pillars of the State, Who at Stephen's slumber, or debate, Hail to you all!!!

CHORUS.

Hail to you all!!!