<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354711" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Conference</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,<br>When they are told that grace was said by me;<br>The servants gone to break the scurvy jest<br>On the proud landlord, and his threadbare guest;<br>'The King' gone round, my lady too withdrawn;<br>My lord, in usual taste, began to yawn,<br>And, lolling backward in his elbow-chair,<br>With an insipid kind of stupid stare,<br>Picking his teeth, twirling his seals about--<br>Churchill, you have a poem coming out: <br>You've my best wishes; but I really fear<br>Your Muse, in general, is too severe;<br>Her spirit seems her interest to oppose,<br>And where she makes one friend, makes twenty foes.<br>_C_. Your lordship's fears are just; I feel their force,<br>But only feel it as a thing of course.<br>The man whose hardy spirit shall engage<br>To lash, the vices of a guilty age,<br>At his first setting forward ought to know<br>That every rogue he meets must be his foe; <br>That the rude breath of satire will provoke<br>Many who feel, and more who fear the stroke.<br>But shall the partial rage of selfish men<br>From stubborn Justice wrench the righteous pen?<br>Or shall I not my settled course pursue,<br>Because my foes are foes to Virtue too?<br>_L_. What is this boasted Virtue, taught in schools,<br>And idly drawn from antiquated rules?<br>What is her use? Point out one wholesome end.<br>Will she hurt foes, or can she make a friend? <br>When from long fasts fierce appetites arise,<br>Can this same Virtue stifle Nature's cries?<br>Can she the pittance of a meal afford,<br>Or bid thee welcome to one great man's board?<br>When northern winds the rough December arm<br>With frost and snow, can Virtue keep thee warm?<br>Canst thou dismiss the hard unfeeling dun<br>Barely by saying, thou art Virtue's son?<br>Or by base blundering statesmen sent to jail,<br>Will Mansfield take this Virtue for thy bail? <br>Believe it not, the name is in disgrace;<br>Virtue and Temple now are out of place.<br>Quit then this meteor, whose delusive ray<br>Prom wealth and honour leads thee far astray.<br>True virtue means--let Reason use her eyes--<br>Nothing with fools, and interest with the wise.<br>Wouldst thou be great, her patronage disclaim,<br>Nor madly triumph in so mean a name:<br>Let nobler wreaths thy happy brows adorn,<br>And leave to Virtue poverty and scorn. <br>Let Prudence be thy guide; who doth not know<br>How seldom Prudence can with Virtue go?<br>To be successful try thy utmost force,<br>And Virtue follows as a thing of course.<br>Hirco--who knows not Hirco?--stains the bed<br>Of that kind master who first gave him bread;<br>Scatters the seeds of discord through the land,<br>Breaks every public, every private band;<br>Beholds with joy a trusting friend undone;<br>Betrays a brother, and would cheat a son: <br>What mortal in his senses can endure<br>The name of Hirco? for the wretch is poor!<br>Let him hang, drown, starve, on a dunghill rot,<br>By all detested live, and die forgot;<br>Let him--a poor return--in every breath<br>Feel all Death's pains, yet be whole years in death,<br>Is now the general cry we all pursue.<br>Let Fortune change, and Prudence changes too;<br>Supple and pliant, a new system feels,<br>Throws up her cap, and spaniels at his heels: <br>Long live great Hirco, cries, by interest taught,<br>And let his foes, though I prove one, be nought.<br>_C_. Peace to such men, if such men can have peace;<br>Let their possessions, let their state increase;<br>Let their base services in courts strike root,<br>And in the season bring forth golden fruit.<br>I envy not; let those who have the will,<br>And, with so little spirit, so much skill,<br>With such vile instruments their fortunes carve;<br>Rogues may grow fat, an honest man dares starve. <br>_L_. These stale conceits thrown off, let us advance<br>For once to real life, and quit romance.<br>Starve! pretty talking! but I fain would view<br>That man, that honest man, would do it too.<br>Hence to yon mountain which outbraves the sky,<br>And dart from pole to pole thy strengthen'd eye,<br>Through all that space you shall not view one man,<br>Not one, who dares to act on such a plan.<br>Cowards in calms will say, what in a storm<br>The brave will tremble at, and not perform. <br>Thine be the proof, and, spite of all you've said,<br>You'd give your honour for a crust of bread.<br>_C_. What proof might do, what hunger might effect,<br>What famish'd Nature, looking with neglect<br>On all she once held dear; what fear, at strife<br>With fainting virtue for the means of life,<br>Might make this coward flesh, in love with breath,<br>Shuddering at pain, and shrinking back from death,<br>In treason to my soul, descend to boar,<br>Trusting to fate, I neither know nor care. <br>Once,--at this hour those wounds afresh I feel,<br>Which, nor prosperity, nor time, can heal;<br>Those wounds which Fate severely hath decreed,<br>Mention'd or thought of, must for ever bleed;<br>Those wounds which humbled all that pride of man,<br>Which brings such mighty aid to Virtue's plan--<br>Once, awed by Fortune's most oppressive frown,<br>By legal rapine to the earth bow'd clown,<br>My credit at last gasp, my state undone,<br>Trembling to meet the shock I could not shun, <br>Virtue gave ground, and blank despair prevail'd;<br>Sinking beneath the storm, my spirits fail'd<br>Like Peter's faith, till one, a friend indeed--<br>May all distress find such in time of need!--<br>One kind good man, in act, in word, in thought,<br>By Virtue guided, and by Wisdom taught,<br>Image of Him whom Christians should adore,<br>Stretch'd forth his hand, and brought me safe to shore.<br>Since, by good fortune into notice raised,<br>And for some little merit largely praised, <br>Indulged in swerving from prudential rules,<br>Hated by rogues, and not beloved by fools;<br>Placed above want, shall abject thirst of wealth,<br>So fiercely war 'gainst my soul's dearest health,<br>That, as a boon, I should base shackles crave,<br>And, born to freedom, make myself a slave?<br>That I should in the train of those appear,<br>Whom Honour cannot love, nor Manhood fear?<br>That I no longer skulk from street to street,<br>Afraid lest duns assail, and bailiffs meet; <br>That I from place to place this carcase bear;<br>Walk forth at large, and wander free as air;<br>That I no longer dread the awkward friend.<br>Whose very obligations must offend;<br>Nor, all too froward, with impatience burn<br>At suffering favours which I can't return;<br>That, from dependence and from pride secure,<br>I am not placed so high to scorn the poor,<br>Nor yet so low that I my lord should fear,<br>Or hesitate to give him sneer for sneer; <br>That, whilst sage Prudence my pursuits confirms,<br>I can enjoy the world on equal terms;<br>That, kind to others, to myself most true,<br>Feeling no want, I comfort those who do,<br>And, with the will, have power to aid distress:<br>These, and what other blessings I possess,<br>From the indulgence of the public rise,<br>All private patronage my soul defies.<br>By candour more inclined to save, than damn,<br>A generous Public made me what I am. <br>All that I have, they gave; just Memory bears<br>The grateful stamp, and what I am is theirs.<br>_L_. To feign a red-hot zeal for Freedom's cause,<br>To mouth aloud for liberties and laws,<br>For public good to bellow all abroad,<br>Serves well the purposes of private fraud.<br>Prudence, by public good intends her own;<br>If you mean otherwise, you stand alone.<br>What do we mean by country and by court?<br>What is it to oppose? what to support? <br>Mere words of course; and what is more absurd<br>Than to pay homage to an empty word?<br>Majors and minors differ but in name;<br>Patriots and ministers are much the same;<br>The only difference, after all their rout,<br>Is, that the one is in, the other out.<br>Explore the dark recesses of the mind,<br>In the soul's honest volume read mankind,<br>And own, in wise and simple, great and small,<br>The same grand leading principle in all. <br>Whate'er we talk of wisdom to the wise,<br>Of goodness to the good, of public ties<br>Which to our country link, of private bands<br>Which claim most dear attention at our hands;<br>For parent and for child, for wife and friend,<br>Our first great mover, and our last great end<br>Is one, and, by whatever name we call<br>The ruling tyrant, Self is all in all.<br>This, which unwilling Faction shall admit,<br>Guided in different ways a Bute and Pitt; <br>Made tyrants break, made kings observe the law;<br>And gave the world a Stuart and Nassau.<br>Hath Nature (strange and wild conceit of pride!)<br>Distinguished thee from all her sons beside?<br>Doth virtue in thy bosom brighter glow,<br>Or from a spring more pure doth action flow?<br>Is not thy soul bound with those very chains<br>Which shackle us? or is that Self, which reigns<br>O'er kings and beggars, which in all we see<br>Most strong and sovereign, only weak in thee? <br>Fond man, believe it not; experience tells<br>'Tis not thy virtue, but thy pride rebels.<br>Think, (and for once lay by thy lawless pen)<br>Think, and confess thyself like other men;<br>Think but one hour, and, to thy conscience led<br>By Reason's hand, bow down and hang thy head:<br>Think on thy private life, recall thy youth,<br>View thyself now, and own, with strictest truth,<br>That Self hath drawn thee from fair Virtue's way<br>Farther than Folly would have dared to stray; <br>And that the talents liberal Nature gave,<br>To make thee free, have made thee more a slave.<br>Quit then, in prudence quit, that idle train<br>Of toys, which have so long abused thy brain.<br>And captive led thy powers; with boundless will<br>Let Self maintain her state and empire still;<br>But let her, with more worthy objects caught,<br>Strain all the faculties and force of thought<br>To things of higher daring; let her range<br>Through better pastures, and learn how to change; <br>Let her, no longer to weak Faction tied,<br>Wisely revolt, and join our stronger side.<br>_C_. Ah! what, my lord, hath private life to do<br>With things of public nature? Why to view<br>Would you thus cruelly those scenes unfold<br>Which, without pain and horror to behold,<br>Must speak me something more or less than man,<br>Which friends may pardon, but I never can?<br>Look back! a thought which borders on despair,<br>Which human nature must, yet cannot bear. <br>'Tis not the babbling of a busy world,<br>Where praise and censure are at random hurl'd,<br>Which can the meanest of my thoughts control,<br>Or shake one settled purpose of my soul;<br>Free and at large might their wild curses roam,<br>If all, if all, alas! were well at home.<br>No--'tis the tale which angry Conscience tells,<br>When she with more than tragic horror swells<br>Each circumstance of guilt; when, stern but true,<br>She brings bad actions forth into review; <br>And like the dread handwriting on the wall,<br>Bids late Remorse awake at Reason's call;<br>Arm'd at all points, bids scorpion Vengeance pass,<br>And to the mind holds up Reflection's glass,--<br>The mind which, starting, heaves the heartfelt groan,<br>And hates that form she knows to be her own.<br>Enough of this,--let private sorrows rest,--<br>As to the public, I dare stand the test;<br>Dare proudly boast, I feel no wish above<br>The good of England, and my country's love. <br>Stranger to party-rage, by Reason's voice,<br>Unerring guide! directed in my choice,<br>Not all the tyrant powers of earth combined,<br>No, nor of hell, shall make me change my mind.<br>What! herd with men my honest soul disdains,<br>Men who, with servile zeal, are forging chains<br>For Freedom's neck, and lend a helping hand<br>To spread destruction o'er my native land?<br>What! shall I not, e'en to my latest breath,<br>In the full face of danger and of death, <br>Exert that little strength which Nature gave,<br>And boldly stem, or perish in the wave?<br>_L_. When I look backward for some fifty years,<br>And see protesting patriots turn'd to peers;<br>Hear men, most loose, for decency declaim,<br>And talk of character, without a name;<br>See infidels assert the cause of God,<br>And meek divines wield Persecution's rod;<br>See men transferred to brutes, and brutes to men;<br>See Whitehead take a place, Ralph change his pen; <br>I mock the zeal, and deem the men in sport,<br>Who rail at ministers, and curse a court.<br>Thee, haughty as thou art, and proud in rhyme,<br>Shall some preferment, offer'd at a time<br>When Virtue sleeps, some sacrifice to Pride,<br>Or some fair victim, move to change thy side.<br>Thee shall these eyes behold, to health restored,<br>Using, as Prudence bids, bold Satire's sword,<br>Galling thy present friends, and praising those<br>Whom now thy frenzy holds thy greatest foes. <br>_C_. May I (can worse disgrace on manhood fall?)<br>Be born a Whitehead, and baptized a Paul;<br>May I (though to his service deeply tied<br>By sacred oaths, and now by will allied),<br>With false, feign'd zeal an injured God defend,<br>And use his name for some base private end;<br>May I (that thought bids double horrors roll<br>O'er my sick spirits, and unmans my soul)<br>Ruin the virtue which I held most dear,<br>And still must hold; may I, through abject fear, <br>Betray my friend; may to succeeding times,<br>Engraved on plates of adamant, my crimes<br>Stand blazing forth, whilst, mark'd with envious blot,<br>Each little act of virtue is forgot;<br>Of all those evils which, to stamp men cursed,<br>Hell keeps in store for vengeance, may the worst<br>Light on my head; and in my day of woe,<br>To make the cup of bitterness o'erflow,<br>May I be scorn'd by every man of worth,<br>Wander, like Cain, a vagabond on earth; <br>Bearing about a hell in my own mind,<br>Or be to Scotland for my life confined;<br>If I am one among the many known<br>Whom Shelburne fled, and Calcraft blush'd to own.<br>_L_. Do you reflect what men you make your foes?<br>_C_. I do, and that's the reason I oppose.<br>Friends I have made, whom Envy must commend,<br>But not one foe whom I would wish a friend.<br>What if ten thousand Butes and Hollands bawl?<br>One Wilkes had made a large amends for all. <br>'Tis not the title, whether handed down<br>From age to age, or flowing from the crown<br>In copious streams, on recent men, who came<br>From stems unknown, and sires without a name:<br>Tis not the star which our great Edward gave<br>To mark the virtuous, and reward the brave,<br>Blazing without, whilst a base heart within<br>Is rotten to the core with filth and sin;<br>'Tis not the tinsel grandeur, taught to wait,<br>At Custom's call, to mark a fool of state <br>From fools of lesser note, that soul can awe,<br>Whose pride is reason, whose defence is law.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">_L_. Suppose, (a thing scarce possible in art,<br>Were it thy cue to play a common part)<br>Suppose thy writings so well fenced in law,<br>That Norton cannot find nor make a flaw--<br>Hast thou not heard, that 'mongst our ancient tribes,<br>By party warp'd, or lull'd asleep by bribes,<br>Or trembling at the ruffian hand of Force,<br>Law hath suspended stood, or changed its course? <br>Art thou assured, that, for destruction ripe,<br>Thou may'st not smart beneath the self-same gripe?<br>What sanction hast thou, frantic in thy rhymes,<br>Thy life, thy freedom to secure?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">_G_. The Times.<br>'Tis not on law, a system great and good,<br>By wisdom penn'd, and bought by noblest blood,<br>My faith relies; by wicked men and vain,<br>Law, once abused, may be abused again.<br>No; on our great Lawgiver I depend,<br>Who knows and guides her to her proper end; <br>Whose royalty of nature blazes out<br>So fierce, 'twere sin to entertain a doubt.<br>Did tyrant Stuarts now the law dispense,<br>(Bless'd be the hour and hand which sent them hence!)<br>For something, or for nothing, for a word<br>Or thought, I might be doom'd to death, unheard.<br>Life we might all resign to lawless power,<br>Nor think it worth the purchase of an hour;<br>But Envy ne'er shall fix so foul a stain<br>On the fair annals of a Brunswick's reign. <br>If, slave to party, to revenge, or pride;<br>If, by frail human error drawn aside,<br>I break the law, strict rigour let her wear;<br>'Tis hers to punish, and 'tis mine to bear;<br>Nor, by the voice of Justice doom'd to death<br>Would I ask mercy with my latest breath:<br>But, anxious only for my country's good,<br>In which my king's, of course, is understood;<br>Form'd on a plan with some few patriot friends,<br>Whilst by just means I aim at noblest ends, <br>My spirits cannot sink; though from the tomb<br>Stern Jeffries should be placed in Mansfield's room;<br>Though he should bring, his base designs to aid,<br>Some black attorney, for his purpose made,<br>And shove, whilst Decency and Law retreat,<br>The modest Norton from his maiden seat;<br>Though both, in ill confederates, should agree,<br>In damned league, to torture law and me,<br>Whilst George is king, I cannot fear endure;<br>Not to be guilty, is to be secure. <br>But when, in after-times, (be far removed<br>That day!) our monarch, glorious and beloved,<br>Sleeps with his fathers, should imperious Fate,<br>In vengeance, with fresh Stuarts curse our state;<br>Should they, o'erleaping every fence of law,<br>Butcher the brave to keep tame fools in awe;<br>Should they, by brutal and oppressive force,<br>Divert sweet Justice from her even course;<br>Should they, of every other means bereft,<br>Make my right hand a witness 'gainst my left; <br>Should they, abroad by inquisitions taught,<br>Search out my soul, and damn me for a thought;<br>Still would I keep my course, still speak, still write,<br>Till Death had plunged me in the shades of night.<br>Thou God of truth, thou great, all-searching eye,<br>To whom our thoughts, our spirits, open lie!<br>Grant me thy strength, and in that needful hour,<br>(Should it e'er come) when Law submits to Power,<br>With firm resolve my steady bosom steel,<br>Bravely to suffer, though I deeply feel. <br>Let me, as hitherto, still draw my breath,<br>In love with life, but not in fear of death;<br>And if Oppression brings me to the grave,<br>And marks me dead, she ne'er shall mark a slave.<br>Let no unworthy marks of grief be heard,<br>No wild laments, not one unseemly word;<br>Let sober triumphs wait upon my bier;<br>I won't forgive that friend who drops one tear.<br>Whether he's ravish'd in life's early morn,<br>Or in old age drops like an ear of corn, <br>Full ripe he falls, on Nature's noblest plan,<br>Who lives to Reason, and who dies a Man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Churchill">Charles Churchill</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354711" data-title="The Conference de Charles Churchill" data-description="Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree, When they are told that grace was said by me; The servants gone to break the scurvy jest On the proud landlord, and his threadbare guest; 'The King' gone round, my lady too withdrawn; My lord, in usua..."></div> </div> </div>

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