Here Sparta's sons in mute attention hang,
While just Lycurgus pours the mild harangue ;
There Xerxes' hosts, all pale with deadly fear,
Shrink at her fated Hero's1 flashing spear.
Here hung with many a lyre of silver string,
The laureate alleys of Ilissus spring ;
And lo, where rapt in beauty's heavenly dream
Hoar Plato walks his olived Academe. -
Yet, ah no more the land of arts and arms
Delights with wisdom, or with virtue warms.
Lo the stern Turk, with more than Vandal rage,
Has blasted all the wreaths of ancient age:
No more her groves by Fancy's feet are trod,
Each Attic grace has left the loved abode.
Fallen is fair Greece! by Luxury's pleasing bane
Seduced, she drags a barbarous foreign chain.
Britannia, watch! O trim thy withering bays,
Remember thou hast rivall'd Græcia's praise,
Great Nurse of works divine! Yet oh! beware
Lest thou the fate of Greece, my country, share.
Recall thy wonted worth with conscious pride,
Thou too hast seen a Solon in a Hyde ;
Hast bade thine Edwards and thine Henrys rear
With Spartan fortitude the British spear;
Alike hast seen thy sons deserve the meed
Or of the moral or the martial deed.
1 Fated Hero: ' Leonidas.
PROLOGUE ON THE OLD WINCHESTER
OVER THE BUTCHER'S SHAMBLES.
WHOE'ER our stage examines, must excuse
The wondrous shifts of the dramatic Muse;
Then kindly listen, while the Prologue rambles
From wit to beef, from Shakspeare to the shambles!
Divided only by one flight of stairs,
The Monarch swaggers, and the Butcher swears!
Quick the transition when the curtain drops,
From meek Monimia's moans to mutton chops!
While for Lothario's loss Lavinia cries,
Old Women scold, and Dealers d-n your eyes!
Here Juliet listens to the gentle lark,
There in harsh chorus hungry bull-dogs bark.
Cleavers and scymitars give blow for blow,
And Heroes bleed above, and Sheep below!
While tragic thunders shake the pit and box,
Rebellows to the roar the staggering ox.
Cow-horns and trumpets mix their martial tones,
Kidneys and kings, mouthing and marrow-bones.
Suet and sighs, blank verse and blood abound,
And form a tragi-comedy around.
With weeping lovers, dying calves complain,
Confusion reigns-chaos is come again!
Hither your steelyards, Butchers, bring, to weigh
The pound of flesh Antonio's bond must pay!
Hither your knives, ye Christians, clad in blue,
Bring to be whetted by the ruthless Jew!
Hard is our lot, who, seldom doom'd to eat,
Cast a sheep's eye on this forbidden meat-
Gaze on sirloins, which, ah! we cannot carve,
And in the midst of legs of mutton-starve !
But would you to our house in crowds repair,
Ye generous Captains, and ye blooming Fair,
The fate of Tantalus we should not fear,
Nor pine for a repast that is so near.
Monarchs no more would supperless remain,
Nor pregnant Queens for cutlets long in vain.
A PANEGYRIC ON OXFORD ALE.
BALM of my cares, sweet solace of my toils,
Hail, Juice benignant! O'er the costly cups
Of riot-stirring wine, unwholesome draught,
Let Pride's loose sons prolong the wasteful night;
My sober evening let the tankard bless,
With toast embrown'd, and fragrant nutmeg fraught,
While the rich draught with oft-repeated whiffs
Tobacco mild improves. Divine repast!
Where no crude surfeit, or intemperate joys
Of lawless Bacchus reign; but o'er my soul
A calm Lethean creeps; in drowsy trance
Each thought subsides, and sweet oblivion wraps
My peaceful brain, as if the leaden rod
Of magic Morpheus o'er mine eyes had shed
Its opiate influence. What though sore ills
Oppress, dire want of chill-dispelling coals
Or cheerful candle (save the make-weight's gleam
Haply remaining), heart-rejoicing Ale
Cheers the sad scene, and every want supplies.
Meantime, not mindless of the daily task
Of Tutor sage, upon the learned leaves
Of deep Smiglecius1 much I meditate;
While Ale inspires, and lends its kindred aid,
The thought-perplexing labour to pursue,
Sweet Helicon of Logic! But if friends
Congenial call me from the toilsome page,
To Pot-house I repair, the sacred haunt,
Where, Ale, thy votaries in full resort
Hold rites nocturnal. In capacious chair
Of monumental oak and antique mould,
That long has stood the rage of conquering years
Inviolate (nor in more ample chair
Smokes rosy Justice, when th' important cause,
Whether of hen-roost, or of mirthful rape,
In all the majesty of paunch he tries),
Studious of ease, and provident, I place
My gladsome limbs; while in repeated round
Returns replenish'd the successive cup,
And the brisk fire conspires to genial joy:
While haply, to relieve the lingering hours
In innocent delight, amusive Putt
On smooth joint-stool in emblematic play
The vain vicissitudes of fortune shows.
Nor reckoning, name tremendous, me disturbs,
Nor, call'd for, chills my breast with sudden fear;
While on the wonted door, expressive mark,
The frequent penny stands described to view,
In snowy characters and graceful row.-
'Smiglecius' a celebrated Logician, who lived at the latter end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth century.
Hail, Ticking! surest guardian of distress! Beneath thy shelter, penniless I quaff
The cheerful cup, nor hear with hopeless heart
New oysters cried ;—though much the Poet's friend,
Ne'er yet attempted in poetic strain,
Accept this tribute of poetic praise!
Nor Proctor thrice with vocal heel alarms
Our joys secure, nor deigns the lowly roof
Of Pot-house snug to visit: wiser he
The splendid tavern haunts, or coffee-house
Of James or Juggins, where the grateful breath
Of loathed tobacco ne'er diffused its balm ;
But the lewd spendthrift, falsely deem'd polite,
While steams around the fragrant Indian bowl,
Oft damns the vulgar sons of humbler Ale:
In vain the Proctor's voice arrests their joys;
Just fate of wanton pride and loose excess !
Nor less by day delightful is thy draught,
All-powerful Ale! whose sorrow-soothing sweets
Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon,
When tatter'd stockings ask my mending hand
Not unexperienced; while the tedious toil
Let the tender swain
Each morn regale on nerve-relaxing tea,
Companion meet of languor-loving nymph:
Be mine each morn with eager appetite
And hunger undissembled, to repair
To friendly buttery; there on smoking crust
And foaming Ale to banquet unrestrain❜d,
Material breakfast! Thus in ancient days
Our ancestors robust with liberal cups
Usher'd the morn, unlike the squeamish sons
Of modern times: nor ever had the might
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