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His spacious sword, to a large wallet strung, Across his broad capacious shoulders hung: As from the hills the Land of Promise rose A secret transport in his bosom glows, A joy prophetic until then unknown Assur'd him all he view'd would be his own. New scenes of pleasure recreate his sight, He views the fertile meadows with delight, Still in soliloquy he prais'd the view, Nor more was pleas'd with future scenes at Kew. His wonder broke in murmurs from his tongue, No more the praise of Highland hills he sung, Till now a stranger to the cheerful green, Where springing flowers diversify the scene, The lofty elm, the oak of lordly look, The willow shadowing the bubbling brook, The hedges blooming with the sweets of May With double pleasure mark'd his gladsome way. Having thro' varying rural prospects past, He reach'd the great metropolis at last. Here Fate beheld him as he trudg'd the street, Bare was his buttocks and unshod his feet, A lengthening train of boys displayed him great, He seem'd already minister of state. The Carlton sybil saw his graceful mien, And straight forgot her hopes of being queen.
She sigh'd, she wish'd, swift virtuous Chudleigh flew
To bring the Caledonian swain to Kew,
Then introduced him to her secret cell;
What further can the modest numbers tell?
None rid the broomstaff with so good a grace,
Or pleas'd her with such majesty of face,
Enraptur'd with her incubus she sought
How to reward his merit as she ought,
Resolved to make him greatest of the great
She led him to her hidden cave of state,
spurs and coronets were placed around
And privy seals were scatter'd on the ground,
Here piles of honorary truncheons lay
And gleaming stars — -3 artificial day,
With mystic rods whose magic power is such
They metamorphose partics with a touch.
Here hung the princely of garter'd blue
With flags of all varieties of hue.
"These," said the sybil, "from this present hour
Are thine, with every dignity of power.
No statesman shall be titulary great,
None shall obtain an office in the state
But such whose principles and manners suit
The virtuous temper of the carl of Bute,
All shall pursue thy interest, none shall guide
But such as you repute are qualify'd.
No more on Scotland's melancholy plain
Your starving countrymen shall drink the rain,
But hither hasting on their naked feet
Procure a place, forget themselves, and eat.
No southern patriot shall oppose my will,
If not my look, my treasurer can kill,
His pistol never fails in time of need,
And who dares contradict my power shall bleed.
A future Barrington will also rise
With blood and death to entertain my eyes.
But this forestalls futurity and fate,
I'll chuse the present hour to make thee great."
He bow'd submission, and with eager view
Gazid on the wither'd oracle of Kew.
She seiz'd a pendant garter and began
To elevate the ruler of the clan,
Girt round his leg the honour'd trifle shone
And gather'd double lustre from the throne,
With native dignity he fill'd the stall,
The wonder, jest, and enmity of all.
Not yet content with honorary grace
The sybil, busy for the sweets of place,
Kick'd out a minister, the people's pride,
And lifted Sawney in his place to guide.
The leader of the treasury he rose,
Whilst Fate mark'd down the nation's future
Mad with ambition, his imperious hand
Scatter'd oppression thro' a groaning land,
Still taxes followed taxes, grants supplies,
With ev'ry ill resulting from excise.
Not satisfied with this unjust increase,
He struck a bolder stroke and sold the peace.
The Gallic millions so convinced his mind
On honourable terms the treaty's sign'd.
But who his private character can blame, Or brand his titles with a villain's name. Upon an estimation of the gains He stoop'd beneath himself to take the reins, A good economist, he serv'd the crown And made his master's interest his own, His starving friends and countrymen apply'd, To share the ministry, assist to guide, Nor ask'd in vain :-his charitable hand Made plenty smile in Scotland's barren land, Her wandering sons for poverty renown'd Places and pensions, bribes or titles found. Far from the south was humble merit fled And on the northern mountains rear'd her head, And genius having rang'd beyond the Tweed Sat brooding upon bards who could not read, Whilst courage boasting of his Highland might Mentions not Culloden's inglorious fight. But whilst his lordship fills the honour'd stall Ample provision satisfies them all.
The genius sings his praise, the soldier swears
To mutilate each murm'ring caitiff's ears,
The father of his country they adore,
And live in elegance unknown before.
Around this mystic Sun of liquid gold
A swarm of planetary statesmen roll'd,
Tho' some have since as ministers been known
They shone with borrow'd lustre, not their own.
In ev'ry revolution day and night
From Bute they caught each particle of light,
He destin'd out the circles they fulfil,
Hung on the bulky nothing of his will.
How shall I brand with infamy a name
Which bids defiance to all sense of shame?
How shall I touch his iron soul with pain,
Who hears unmov'd a multitude complain?
A multitude made wretched by his hand,
The common curse and nuisance of the land.
Holland, of thee I sing: infernal wretch,
Say, can thy power of mischief further stretch?
Is there no other army to be sold,
No town to be destroy'd for bribes and gold?
Or wilt thou rather sit contented down,
And starve the subject to enrich the crown?
That when the treasury can boast supplies
Thy pilfering genius may have exercise,
Whilst unaccounted millions pay thy toil
Thou art secure if Bute divides the spoil.
Catching his influence from the best of kings,
Vice broods beneath the shadow of his wings,
The vengeance of a nation is defy'd
And liberty and justice set aside.
Distinguish'd robber of the public, say,
What urg'd thy timid spirit's hasty way?
She - in the protection of a king,
Did recollection paint the fate of Byng?
Did conscience hold that mirror to thy sight,
Or Aylyffe's ghost accompany thy flight?
Is Bute more powerful than the sceptred hand,
Or art thou safer in a foreign land?
In vain the scene relinquish'd now you grieve,
Cursing the moment you were forced to leave
Thy ruins on the isle of Thanet built,
The fruits of plunder, villany and guilt.
When you presume on English ground to tread,
Justice will lift her weapon at your head.
Contented with the author of your state,
Maintain the conversation of the great.
Be busy in confederacy and plot,
And settle what shall be on what is not,
Display the statesman in some wild design,
Foretell when North will tumble and resign,
How long the busy Sandwich, mad for rule,
Will lose his labour and remain a fool.
But your accounts, the subject of debate,
Are sunk beneath the notice of the great,
Let brib'd exchequer tellers find 'em just,
While on the penalty of place they must,
Before you're seen your honesty is clear,
And all will evidently right appear.
When as a minister you had your day,
And gather'd light from Bute's superior ray,
His striking representative you shone,
And seem'd to glimmer in yourself alone.
The lives of thousands barter'd for a bribe,
With villanies too shocking to describe,
Your system of oppression testify'd
None but the conscientious Fox could guide.
As Bute is fix'd eternal in his sphere
And ministers revolve around in air,
Your infamy with such a lasting ray
Glow'd thro' your orb in one continued day,
Still ablest politicians hold dispute,
Whether you gave, or borrow'd light from Bute.
Lost in the blaze of his superior parts,
We often have descry'd your little arts.
But at a proper distance from his sphere
We saw the little villain disappear,
When drest in titles, the burlesque of place
A more illustrious rascal show'd his face,
Your destin'd sphere of ministry now run,
You dropt like others in the parent Sun,
There as a spot you purpose to remain,
And seek protection in the sybil's swain.
Grafton his planetary life began,
Tho' foreign to the system of the clan,
Slowly he roll'd around the fount of light,
Long was his day, but longer was his night.
Irregular, unequal in his course,
Now languid he revolves, now rolls with force,
His scarce-collected light obliquely hurl'd
Was scatter'd ere it reach'd his frozen world.
Thro' all his under offices of place,
All had conspir'd to represent his grace,
Lifeless and dull the wheels of state were driv'n,
Slow as a courtier on his road to Heaven.
If expedition urg'd the dull machine
He knew so little of the golden mean,
Swift hurry and confusion wild began
To discompose the Thane's determin'd plan.
Errour, his secretary, lent his aid
To undermine each plot his cunning laid;
He wrote dispatches in his grace's name,
And ruin'd every project North could frame.
Yet as he blunder'd thro' the lengthen'd night
He seriously protested all was right.
Since dissipation is thy only joy,
Go, Grafton, join the dance and act the boy;
'Tis not for fops in cabinets to shine,
And justice must confess that title's thine.
Dress to excess and powder into fame,
In drums and hurricanes exalt your name.
There you may glitter, there your worth
Above the little reach of vulgar eyes.
But in the high departments of the state
Your talents are too trifling to be great.
There all your imperfections rise to view,
Not Sandwich so contemptible as you.
Bute from the summit of his power descry'd
Your glaring inability to guide,
And mustering every rascal in his gang,
Who might for merit all together hang,
From the black catalogue and worthy crew,
The jesuitical and scheming few,
Selected by the leader of the clan,
Received instructions for their future plan,
And after proper adoration paid
Were to their destin'd sphere of state convey'd,
To shine the minister's satellites,
Collect his light, and give his lordship ease,
Reform his crooked politics and draw
A more severe attack upon the law,
Settle his erring revolutions right,
And give in just proportion day and night.
Alas! the force of Scottish pride is such,
These mushrooms of a day presum'd too much.
Conscious of cunning and superior arts
They scorn'd the minister's too trifling parts,
Grafton resents a treatment so unjust,
And damns the Carlton sybil's fiery lust,
By which a scoundrel Scot opprest the realm,
And rogues below contempt disgrac'd the helm.
Swift scandal caught the accents as they fell,
And bore them to the sybil's secret cell.
Enrag'd she wing'd a messenger to Bute,
Some minister more able to depute;
Her character and virtue was a jest,
Whilst Grafton was of useless power possest.
This done, her just desire of vengeance warın,
She gave him notice of the bursting storm;
Timid and dubious Grafton faced about,
And trembled at the thoughts of being out.
But as no laws the sybil's power confin'd,
He drop'd his blushing honours and resign'd.
Step forward, North! and let the doubtful see Wonders and miracles reviv'd in thee. Did not the living witness haunt the court, What ear had given faith to my report? Amidst the rout of ministerial slaves Rogues who want genius to refine to knaves, Who could imagine that the wretch more base Should fill the highest infamy of place? That North the vile domestic of a peer, Whose name an Englishman detests to hear, Should leave his trivial share of Bedford's gains, Become a minister and take the reins, And from the meanest of the gang ascend Above his worthy governor and friend?
This wond'rous metamorphose of an hour,
Sufficiently evinced the sybil's power,
To ruin nations, little rogues to raise,
A virtue supernatural displays,
What but a power infernal or divine
Could honour North, or make his grace resign.
Some superficial politicians tell
When Grafton from his gilded turret fell,
The sybil substituted North a blank,
A mustered faggot to complete the rank,
Without the distant thought that such a tool
Would change its being and aspire to rule:
But such the humble North's indulgent fate,
When striding in the saddle of the state
He caught by inspiration statesmanship,
And drove the slow machine and smack'd his whip;
Whilst Bedford wondering at his sudden skill
With reverence view'd the packhorse of his will.
His majesty (the buttons thrown aside)
Declar'd his fix'd intention to preside.
No longer sacrificed to every knave
He'd show himself discreet as well as brave;
In every cabinet and council cause
He'd be dictator and enforce the laws.
Whilst North should in his present office stand
As understrapper to direct his hand.
Now Expectation, now extend thy wing!
Happy the land whose minister's a king,
Happy the king who ruling each debate
Can peep through every roguery of state.
See Hope arrayed in robes of virgin white,
Trailing an arch'd variety of light,
Comes showering blessings on a ruin'd realm,
And shows the crown'd director of the helm.
Return, fair goddess, till some future day;
The king has seen the errour of his way;
And by his smarting shoulders seems to feel
The wheel of state is not a Catharine wheel.
Wise by experience, general nurse of fools,
He leaves the ministry to venal tools,
And finds his happy talents better suit
The making buttons for his favourite Bute,
In countenancing the unlawful views
Which North, the delegate of Bute, pursues,
In glossing with authority a train
Whose names are infamy, and objects gain.
Hail, filial duty! great if rightly us'd,
How little, when mistaken and abus'd;
View'd from one point, how glorious art thou seen,
From others, how degenerate and mean.
A seraph or an idiot's head we see:
Oft on the latter stands the type of thee,
And bowing at his parent's knee is drest
In a long hood of many-colour'd vest.
The sceptred king who dignifies a throne,
Should be in private life himself alone.
No friend or mother should his conscience scan,
Or with the nation's head confound the man.
Like juggling Melchi Zadok's priestish plea,
Collected in himself a king should be.
But truths may be unwelcome, and the lay
Which shall to royal ears such truths convey,
The conflagrations of the hangman's ire
May roast and execute with foreign fire.
The Muse who values safety shall return,
And sing of subjects where she cannot burn.
Continue North thy vile burlesque of power,
And reap the harvest of the present hour,
Collect and fill thy coffers with the spoil
And let thy gatherings recompense thy toil.
Whilst the rogues out revile the rascals in,
Repeat the proverb, "let those laugh that win:"
Fleeting and transitory is the date
Of sublunary ministers of state,
Then whilst thy summer lasts, prepare the hay,
Nor trust to autumn and a future day.
I leave thee now, but with intent to trace
The villains and the honest men of place.
The first are still assisting in thy train
To aid the pillage and divide the gain.
The last of known integrity of mind
Forsook a venal party and resign'd.
Come Satire! aid me to display the first,
Of every honest Englishman accurst,
Come Truth, assist me to prepare the lays,
Where worth demands, and give the latter praise,
Ingenious Sandwich, whither dost thou fly
To shun the censure of the public eye?
Dost thou want matter for another speech,
Or other works of genius to impeach?
Or would thy insignificance and pride
Presume above thyself and seek to guide?
Pursue thy ignis-fatuus of power,
And call to thy assistance virtuous Gower,
Set Rigby's happy countenance in play,
To vindicate whatever you can say.
Then when you totter into place and fame,
With double infamy you brand your name.
Say, Sandwich, in the winter of your date,
Can you ascend the hobby-horse of state,
Do titles echo grateful in your ear,
Or is it mockery to call you peer?
silver'd age to play the fool,
with rascals infamous a tool;
Plainly denote your judgment is no more,
Your honour was extinguish'd long before.
Say, if reflection ever blest thy mind,
Hast thou one real friend among mankind?
Thou hadst one once, free, generous and sincere,
Too good a senator for such a peer,
Him thou hast offer'd as a sacrifice
To lewdness, immorality and vice,
Your * *5 scoundrel set the gin,
And friendship was the bait to draw him in.
What honourable villain could they find
Of Sandwich's latudinary mind?
Tho' intimacy seem'd to stop the way,
You they employ'd to tempt him and betray
Full well you executed their commands,
Well you deserv'd the pension at their hands.
For you in hours of trifling he compiled
A dissertation blasphemous and wild.
Be it recorded too, at your desire,
He called for demons to assist his lyre,
Relying on your friendship soon he found
How dangerous the support of rotten ground.
In your infernal attributes array'd,
You seiz'd the wish'd-for poem and betray'd.
Hail mighty Twitcher! can my feeble line
Give due reward to merit such as thine?
Not Churchill's keenest satire ever reach'd
The conscience of the rascal who impeach'd,
My feeble numbers and untutor'd lay
On such an harden'd wretch is thrown away
I leave thee to the impotent delight
Of visiting the harlots of the night,
Go hear thy nightingale's enchanting straia,
My satire shall not dart a sting in vain.
5 Patronizing, 1 believe,
There you may boast one sense is entertain'd,
Tho' age present your other senses pain'd,
Go, Sandwich, if thy fire of lust compel,
Regale at Harrington's religious cell,
Exert your poor endeavours as you please,
The jest and bubble of the harlot crew,
What entertain'd your youth, in age pursue.
When Grafton shook oppression's iron rod,
Like Egypt's lice, the instrument of God,
When Camden, driven from his office, saw
The last weak efforts of expiring law,
When Bute, the regulator of the state
Preferr'd the vicious, to transplant the great,
When rank corruption thro' all orders ran
And infamy united Sawney's clan,
When every office was with rogues disgrac'd,
And the Scotch dialect became the taste-
Could Beanfort with such creatures stay behind?
No, Beaufort was a Briton, and resign'd.
Thy resignation, Somerset, shall shine
When time hath buryed the recording line,
And proudly glaring in the rolls of fame,
With more than titles decorate thy name.
Amidst the gather'd rascals of the age,
Who murder noble parts, the court their stage,
One nobleman of honesty remains,
Who scorns to draw in ministerial chains,
Who honours virtue and his country's peace,
And sees with pity grievances increase.
Who bravely left all sordid views of place,
And lives the honour of the Beaufort race.
Deep in the secret, Barrington and Gower,
Rais'd upon villany, aspire to power,
Big with importance they presume to rise
Above a minister they must despise,
Whilst Barrington as secretary shows
How many pensions paid his blood and blows.
And Gower, the humbler creature of the two,
Has only future prospects in his view.
But North requires assistance from the great
To work another button in the state,
That Weymouth may complete the birthday suit,
Full trimm'd by Twitcher and cut out by Bute.
So many worthy schemers must produce
A statesman's coat of universal use;
Some system of economy to save
Another million for another knave.
Some plan to make a duty, large before,
Additionally great, to grind the poor.
For 'tis a maxim with the guiding wise,
Just as the commons sink the rich arise.
If ministers and privy council knaves Would rest contented with their being slaves, And not with anxious infamy pursue Those measures which will fetter others too, The swelling cry of liberty would rest, Nor Englishmen complain, nor knaves protest. But courtiers have a littleness of mind, And once enslaved would fetter all mankind. Tis to this narrowness of soul we owe What further ills our liberties shall know, 'Tis from this principle our feuds began, Foiented by the Scots, ignoble clan, Strange that such little creatures of a tool, By lust and not by merit rais'd to rule, Should sow contention in a noble land, And scatter thunders from a venal hand.
Gods! that these fly-blows of a stallion's day,
Warm'd into being by the sybil's ray,
Should shake the constitution, rights and laws,
And prosecute the man of freedom's cause!
Whilst Wilkes to every Briton's right appeal'd
With loss of liberty that right he seal'd.
Imprison'd and oppress'd he persever'd,
Nor Sawney or his powerful sybil fear'd.
The hag replete with malice from above,
Shot poison on the screech owl of her love,
Unfortunately to his pen it fell,
And flow'd in double rancour to her cell.
Madly she rav'd to ease her tortur'd mind,
The object of her hatred is confin'd:
But he, supported by his country's laws,
Bid her defiance, for 'twas freedom's cause.
Her treasurer and Talbot fought in vain,
Tho' each attain'd his favourite object, gain.
She sat as usual when a project fails,
Damn'd Chudleigh's phyz, and din'd upon her nails,
Unhappy land! whose govern'd monarch sees
Thro' glasses and perspective such as these,
When juggling to deceive his untry'd sight,
He views the ministry all trammell'd right,
Whilst to his eye the other glass apply'd,
His subjects' failings are all magnified.
Unheeded the petitions are receiv'd,
Nor one report of grievances believ'd;
'Tis but the voice of faction in disguise
That blinds with liberty the people's eyes;
'Tis riot and licentiousness pursues
Some disappointed placeman's private views.
And shall such venal creatures steer the helm,
Waving oppression's banners round the realin?
Shall Britons to the vile detested troop,
Forgetting ancient honour, meanly stoop?
Shall we our rights and liberties resign,
To lay those jewels at a woman's shrine?
No: let us still be Britons: be it known,
The favours we solicit are our own.
Engage, ye Britons, in the glorious task,
And stronger still enforce the things you ask.
Assert your rights, remonstrate with the throne,
Insist on liberty, and that alone.
Alas! America, thy
Displays the ministry's contempt of laws.
Unrepresented thou art tax'd, excis'd,
By creatures much too vile to be despis'd,
The outcast of an outed gang are sent,
To bless thy commerce, with
Whilst pity rises to behold thy fate,
We see thee in this worst of troubles great,
Whilst anxious for thy wavering dubious cause,
We give thy proper spirit due applause.
If virtuous Grafton's sentimental taste,
Is in his measures or his mistress plac'd;
In either 'tis originally rare,
One shows the midnight cully, one the peer.
Review him, Britons, with a proper pride,
Was this a statesman qualified to guide?
Was this the minister whose mighty hand
Has scatter'd cvil discord thro' the laud?
Since smallest trifles, when ordain'd by fate,
Rise into power and counteract the great,
What shall we call thee, Grafton? Fortune's whip?
Or rather the burlesque of statesmanship,
When daring in thy insolence of place,
Bold in an empty majesty of face,
7 Doubtful. 8 Left out, but right, by rhyme.
We saw thee exercise thy magic rod
And form a titled villain with a nod,
Turn out the virtuous, airily advance
The members of the council in a dance,
And honouring Sandwich with a serious air 9,
Commend the fancy of his solitaire.
These were thy actions worthy of record,
Worthy the bubbled wretch and venal lord.
Since villany is meritorious grown,
Step forward, for thy merit's not unknown.
What Mansfield's conscience shudder'd to receive
Thy mercenary temper cannot leave.
Reversions, pensions, bribes and
What mortal scoundrel can such things refuse?
If Dunning's nice integrity of mind
Will not in pales of interest be confin'd;
Let his uncommon honesty resign,
And boast the empty pension of the Nine;
A Thurloe grasping every offer'd straw,
Shines his successor, and degrades the law.
How like the ministry who link'd his chains,
His measures tend incessantly to gains.
If Weymouth dresses to the height of taste,
At once with
· places lac'd,
Can such a summer insect of the state
Be otherwise than in externals great?
Thou bustling marplot of each hidden plan,
How wilt thou answer to the sybil's man?
Did thy own shallow politics direct,
To treat the mayor with purpos'd disrespect,
Or did it come in orders from above,
From her who sacrificed her soul to love?
Rigby whose conscience is a perfect dice,
A just epitome of every vice,
Replete with what accomplishments support
The empty admiration of a court,
Yet wants a barony to grace record,
And hopes to lose the rascal in the lord.
His wish is granted, and the king prepares
A title of renown to brand his heirs.
When vice creates the patent for a peer,
What lord so nominally great as Clare?
Whilst Chatham from his coroneted oak
Unheeded shook the senate with his croak;
The minister too powerful to be right,
Laugh'd at his prophecy and second sight,
Since mother Shipton's oracle of state
Forestall'd the future incidents of fate.
Grafton might shake his elbows, dance and dream,
Twere labour lost to strive against the stream.
If Grafton in his juggling statesman's game
Bubbled for interest, betted but for fame,
The leader of the treasury could pay
For every loss in politics and play.
Sir Fletcher's noisy eloquence of tongue
Is on such pliant oily hinges hung,
Turn'd to all points of politics and doubt,
But tho' for ever worsted, never out.
Can such a wretched creature take the chair
And exercise his new made power with air?
This worthy speaker of a worthy crew
Can write long speeches and repeat them too,
A practis'd lawyer in the venal court,
From higher powers he borrows his report;
Above the scandalous aspersion tool,
He only squares his conscience by a rule.
Granby too great to join the heated cause,
Throws down his useless truncheon and withdraws,
Whilst unrenowned for military deeds,
A youthful branch of royalty succeeds.
Let Coventry, Youge, Palmerston and Brett
With resignation pay the crown a debt; .
If in return for offices of trust,
The ministry expect you'll prove unjust,
What soul that values freedom could with ease
Stoop under obligations such as these.
If you a Briton, every virtue dead,
That would upon your dying freedom tread,
List in the gang and piously procure,
To make your calling and election sure;
Go flatter Sawney for his jockeyship,
Assist in each long shuffle, hedge and slip,
Thus rising on the stilts of favour see
What Grafton was, and future dukes will be.
How Rigby, Weymouth, Barrington began
To juggle into fame and play the man.
Amidst this general rage of turning out,
What officer will stand, remains a doubt,
If virtue's an objection at the board,
With what propriety the council's stor'd;
Where could the Caledonian minion find
Such striking copies of his venal mind?
Search thro' the winding labyrinths of place,
See all alike politically base.
If virtues, foreign to the office, shine,
How fast the prodigies of state resign!
Still as they drop, the rising race begin
To boast the infamy of being in.
And generous Bristol, constant to his friend,
Employs his lifted crutches to ascend.
Look round thee, North! see what a glorious scene-
O let no thought of vengeance intervene:
Throw thy own insignificance aside,
And swell in self-importance, power and pride.
See Holland easy with his pilfer'd store,
See Bute intriguing how to pilfer more,
See Grafton's coffers boast the wealth of place,
A provident reserve to hedge a race.
New to oppression and the servile chain,
Hark how the wrong'd Americans complain.
Whilst unregarded the petitions lie,
And Liberty unnoticed swells her cry;
Yet, yet reflect, thou despicable thing,
How wavering is the favour of a king;
Think, since that feeble fence and Bute is all,
How soon thy humbug farce of state may fall,
Then catch the present moment while 'tis thing
Implore a noble pension and resign.
JOURNAL 6th, Saturday, Sept. 30, 1769. [Copied from a poem in Chatterton's hand-writing in the British Museum.]
'Tis myst'ry all, in every sect
You find this palpable defect,
The axis of the dark machine
Is enigmatic and unseen.
Opinion is the only guide
By which our senses are supply'd,
Mere grief's conjecture, fancy's whim,
Can make our reason side with him.
But this discourse perhaps will be
As little lik'd by you as me;
I'll change the subject for a better,
And leave the doctor, and his letter.