<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354714" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Duellist - Book III</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah me! what mighty perils wait<br>The man who meddles with a state,<br>Whether to strengthen, or oppose!<br>False are his friends, and firm his foes:<br>How must his soul, once ventured in,<br>Plunge blindly on from sin to sin!<br>What toils he suffers, what disgrace,<br>To get, and then to keep, a place!<br>How often, whether wrong or right,<br>Must he in jest or earnest fight, <br>Risking for those both life and limb<br>Who would not risk one groat for him!<br>Under the Temple lay a Cave,<br>Made by some guilty, coward slave,<br>Whose actions fear'd rebuke: a maze<br>Of intricate and winding ways,<br>Not to be found without a clue;<br>One passage only, known to few,<br>In paths direct led to a cell,<br>Where Fraud in secret loved to dwell, <br>With all her tools and slaves about her,<br>Nor fear'd lest Honesty should rout her.<br>In a dark corner, shunning sight<br>Of man, and shrinking from the light,<br>One dull, dim taper through the cell<br>Glimmering, to make more horrible<br>The face of darkness, she prepares,<br>Working unseen, all kinds of snares,<br>With curious, but destructive art:<br>Here, through the eye to catch the heart, <br>Gay stars their tinsel beams afford,<br>Neat artifice to trap a lord;<br>There, fit for all whom Folly bred,<br>Wave plumes of feathers for the head;<br>Garters the hag contrives to make,<br>Which, as it seems, a babe might break,<br>But which ambitious madmen feel<br>More firm and sure than chains of steel;<br>Which, slipp'd just underneath the knee, <br>Forbid a freeman to be free.<br>Purses she knew, (did ever curse<br>Travel more sure than in a purse?)<br>Which, by some strange and magic bands,<br>Enslave the soul, and tie the hands.<br>Here Flattery, eldest-born of Guile,<br>Weaves with rare skill the silken smile,<br>The courtly cringe, the supple bow,<br>The private squeeze, the levee vow,<br>With which--no strange or recent case--<br>Fools in, deceive fools out of place. <br>Corruption, (who, in former times,<br>Through fear or shame conceal'd her crimes,<br>And what she did, contrived to do it<br>So that the public might not view it)<br>Presumptuous grown, unfit was held<br>For their dark councils, and expell'd,<br>Since in the day her business might<br>Be done as safe as in the night.<br>Her eye down-bending to the ground,<br>Planning some dark and deadly wound, <br>Holding a dagger, on which stood,<br>All fresh and reeking, drops of blood,<br>Bearing a lantern, which of yore,<br>By Treason borrow'd, Guy Fawkes bore,<br>By which, since they improved in trade,<br>Excisemen have their lanterns made,<br>Assassination, her whole mind<br>Blood-thirsting, on her arm reclined;<br>Death, grinning, at her elbow stood,<br>And held forth instruments of blood,-- <br>Vile instruments, which cowards choose,<br>But men of honour dare not use;<br>Around, his Lordship and his Grace,<br>Both qualified for such a place,<br>With many a Forbes, and many a Dun,<br>Each a resolved, and pious son,<br>Wait her high bidding; each prepared,<br>As she around her orders shared,<br>Proof 'gainst remorse, to run, to fly,<br>And bid the destined victim die, <br>Posting on Villany's black wing,<br>Whether he patriot is, or king.<br>Oppression,--willing to appear<br>An object of our love, not fear,<br>Or, at the most, a reverend awe<br>To breed, usurp'd the garb of Law.<br>A book she held, on which her eyes<br>Were deeply fix'd, whence seem'd to rise<br>Joy in her breast; a book, of might<br>Most wonderful, which black to white <br>Could turn, and without help of laws,<br>Could make the worse the better cause.<br>She read, by flattering hopes deceived;<br>She wish'd, and what she wish'd, believed,<br>To make that book for ever stand<br>The rule of wrong through all the land;<br>On the back, fair and worthy note,<br>At large was Magna Charta wrote;<br>But turn your eye within, and read,<br>A bitter lesson, Norton's Creed. <br>Ready, e'en with a look, to run,<br>Fast as the coursers of the sun,<br>To worry Virtue, at her hand<br>Two half-starved greyhounds took their stand.<br>A curious model, cut in wood,<br>Of a most ancient castle stood<br>Full in her view; the gates were barr'd,<br>And soldiers on the watch kept guard;<br>In the front, openly, in black<br>Was wrote, The Tower: but on the back, <br>Mark'd with a secretary's seal,<br>In bloody letters, The Bastile.<br>Around a table, fully bent<br>On mischief of most black intent,<br>Deeply determined that their reign<br>Might longer last, to work the bane<br>Of one firm patriot, whose heart, tied<br>To Honour, all their power defied,<br>And brought those actions into light<br>They wish'd to have conceal'd in night, <br>Begot, born, bred to infamy,<br>A privy-council sat of three:<br>Great were their names, of high repute<br>And favour through the land of Bute.<br>The first (entitled to the place<br>Of Honour both by gown and grace,<br>Who never let occasion slip<br>To take right-hand of fellowship,<br>And was so proud, that should he meet<br>The twelve apostles in the street, <br>He'd turn his nose up at them all,<br>And shove his Saviour from the wall!<br>Who was so mean (Meanness and Pride<br>Still go together side by side)<br>That he would cringe, and creep, be civil,<br>And hold a stirrup for the Devil;<br>If in a journey to his mind,<br>He'd let him mount and ride behind;<br>Who basely fawn'd through all his life,<br>For patrons first, then for a wife: <br>Wrote Dedications which must make<br>The heart of every Christian quake;<br>Made one man equal to, or more<br>Than God, then left him, as before<br>His God he left, and, drawn by pride,<br>Shifted about to t' other side)<br>Was by his sire a parson made,<br>Merely to give the boy a trade;<br>But he himself was thereto drawn<br>By some faint omens of the lawn, <br>And on the truly Christian plan<br>To make himself a gentleman,--<br>A title in which Form array'd him,<br>Though Fate ne'er thought on 't when she made him.<br>The oaths he took, 'tis very true,<br>But took them as all wise men do,<br>With an intent, if things should turn,<br>Rather to temporise, than burn;<br>Gospel and loyalty were made<br>To serve the purposes of trade; <br>Religions are but paper ties,<br>Which bind the fool, but which the wise,<br>Such idle notions far above,<br>Draw on and off, just like a glove;<br>All gods, all kings (let his great aim<br>Be answer'd) were to him the same.<br>A curate first, he read and read,<br>And laid in, whilst he should have fed<br>The souls of his neglected flock,<br>Of reading such a mighty stock, <br>That he o'ercharged the weary brain<br>With more than she could well contain;<br>More than she was with spirits fraught<br>To turn and methodise to thought,<br>And which, like ill-digested food,<br>To humours turn'd, and not to blood.<br>Brought up to London, from the plough<br>And pulpit, how to make a bow<br>He tried to learn; he grew polite,<br>And was the poet's parasite. <br>With wits conversing, (and wits then<br>Were to be found 'mongst noblemen)<br>He caught, or would have caught, the flame,<br>And would be nothing, or the same.<br>He drank with drunkards, lived with sinners,<br>Herded with infidels for dinners;<br>With such an emphasis and grace<br>Blasphemed, that Potter kept not pace:<br>He, in the highest reign of noon,<br>Bawled bawdy songs to a psalm tune; <br>Lived with men infamous and vile,<br>Truck'd his salvation for a smile;<br>To catch their humour caught their plan,<br>And laugh'd at God to laugh with man;<br>Praised them, when living, in each breath,<br>And damn'd their memories after death.<br>To prove his faith, which all admit<br>Is at least equal to his wit,<br>And make himself a man of note,<br>He in defence of Scripture wrote: <br>So long he wrote, and long about it,<br>That e'en believers 'gan to doubt it:<br>He wrote, too, of the inward light,<br>Though no one knew how he came by 't,<br>And of that influencing grace<br>Which in his life ne'er found a place:<br>He wrote, too, of the Holy Ghost,<br>Of whom no more than doth a post<br>He knew; nor, should an angel show him,<br>Would he, or know, or choose to know him. <br>Next (for he knew 'twixt every science<br>There was a natural alliance)<br>He wrote, to advance his Maker's praise,<br>Comments on rhymes, and notes on plays,<br>And with an all-sufficient air<br>Placed himself in the critic's chair;<br>Usurp'd o'er Reason full dominion,<br>And govern'd merely by Opinion.<br>At length dethroned, and kept in awe<br>By one plain simple man of law, <br>He arm'd dead friends, to vengeance true,<br>To abuse the man they never knew.<br>Examine strictly all mankind,<br>Most characters are mix'd, we find;<br>And Vice and Virtue take their turn<br>In the same breast to beat and burn.<br>Our priest was an exception here,<br>Nor did one spark of grace appear,<br>Not one dull, dim spark in his soul;<br>Vice, glorious Vice, possess'd the whole, <br>And, in her service truly warm,<br>He was in sin most uniform.<br>Injurious Satire! own at least<br>One snivelling virtue in the priest,<br>One snivelling virtue, which is placed,<br>They say, in or about the waist,<br>Call'd Chastity; the prudish dame<br>Knows it at large by Virtue's name.<br>To this his wife (and in these days<br>Wives seldom without reason praise) <br>Bears evidence--then calls her child,<br>And swears that Tom was vastly wild.<br>Ripen'd by a long course of years,<br>He great and perfect now appears.<br>In shape scarce of the human kind,<br>A man, without a manly mind;<br>No husband, though he's truly wed;<br>Though on his knees a child is bred,<br>No father; injured, without end<br>A foe; and though obliged, no friend; <br>A heart, which virtue ne'er disgraced;<br>A head, where learning runs to waste;<br>A gentleman well-bred, if breeding<br>Rests in the article of reading;<br>A man of this world, for the next<br>Was ne'er included in his text;<br>A judge of genius, though confess'd<br>With not one spark of genius bless'd;<br>Amongst the first of critics placed,<br>Though free from every taint of taste; <br>A Christian without faith or works,<br>As he would be a Turk 'mongst Turks;<br>A great divine, as lords agree,<br>Without the least divinity;<br>To crown all, in declining age,<br>Inflamed with church and party rage,<br>Behold him, full and perfect quite,<br>A false saint, and true hypocrite.<br>Next sat a lawyer, often tried<br>In perilous extremes; when Pride <br>And Power, all wild and trembling, stood,<br>Nor dared to tempt the raging flood;<br>This bold, bad man arose to view,<br>And gave his hand to help them through:<br>Steel'd 'gainst compassion, as they pass'd<br>He saw poor Freedom breathe her last;<br>He saw her struggle, heard her groan;<br>He saw her helpless and alone,<br>Whelm'd in that storm, which, fear'd and praised<br>By slaves less bold, himself had raised. <br>Bred to the law, he from the first<br>Of all bad lawyers was the worst.<br>Perfection (for bad men maintain<br>In ill we may perfection gain)<br>In others is a work of time,<br>And they creep on from crime to crime;<br>He, for a prodigy design'd,<br>To spread amazement o'er mankind,<br>Started full ripen'd all at once<br>A perfect knave, and perfect dunce. <br>Who will, for him, may boast of sense,<br>His better guard is impudence;<br>His front, with tenfold plates of brass<br>Secured, Shame never yet could pass,<br>Nor on the surface of his skin<br>Blush for that guilt which dwelt within.<br>How often, in contempt of laws,<br>To sound the bottom of a cause,<br>To search out every rotten part,<br>And worm into its very heart, <br>Hath he ta'en briefs on false pretence,<br>And undertaken the defence<br>Of trusting fools, whom in the end<br>He meant to ruin, not defend!<br>How often, e'en in open court,<br>Hath the wretch made his shame his sport,<br>And laugh'd off, with a villain's ease,<br>Throwing up briefs, and keeping fees!<br>Such things as, though to roguery bred,<br>Had struck a little villain dead! <br>Causes, whatever their import,<br>He undertakes, to serve a court;<br>For he by art this rule had got,<br>Power can effect what Law cannot.<br>Fools he forgives, but rogues he fears;<br>If Genius, yoked with Worth, appears,<br>His weak soul sickens at the sight,<br>And strives to plunge them down in night.<br>So loud he talks, so very loud,<br>He is an angel with the crowd; <br>Whilst he makes Justice hang her head,<br>And judges turn from pale to red.<br>Bid all that Nature, on a plan<br>Most intimate, makes dear to man,<br>All that with grand and general ties<br>Binds good and bad, the fool and wise,<br>Knock at his heart; they knock in vain;<br>No entrance there such suitors gain;<br>Bid kneeling kings forsake the throne,<br>Bid at his feet his country groan; <br>Bid Liberty stretch out her hands,<br>Religion plead her stronger bands;<br>Bid parents, children, wife, and friends,<br>If they come 'thwart his private ends--<br>Unmoved he hears the general call,<br>And bravely tramples on them all.<br>Who will, for him, may cant and whine,<br>And let weak Conscience with her line<br>Chalk out their ways; such starving rules<br>Are only fit for coward fools; <br>Fellows who credit what priests tell,<br>And tremble at the thoughts of Hell;<br>His spirit dares contend with Grace,<br>And meets Damnation face to face.<br>Such was our lawyer; by his side,<br>In all bad qualities allied,<br>In all bad counsels, sat a third,<br>By birth a lord. Oh, sacred word!<br>Oh, word most sacred! whence men get<br>A privilege to run in debt; <br>Whence they at large exemption claim<br>From Satire, and her servant Shame;<br>Whence they, deprived of all her force,<br>Forbid bold Truth to hold her course.<br>Consult his person, dress, and air,<br>He seems, which strangers well might swear,<br>The master, or, by courtesy,<br>The captain of a colliery.<br>Look at his visage, and agree<br>Half-hang'd he seems, just from the tree <br>Escaped; a rope may sometimes break,<br>Or men be cut down by mistake.<br>He hath not virtue (in the school<br>Of Vice bred up) to live by rule,<br>Nor hath he sense (which none can doubt<br>Who know the man) to live without.<br>His life is a continued scene<br>Of all that's infamous and mean;<br>He knows not change, unless, grown nice<br>And delicate, from vice to vice; <br>Nature design'd him, in a rage,<br>To be the Wharton of his age;<br>But, having given all the sin,<br>Forgot to put the virtues in.<br>To run a horse, to make a match,<br>To revel deep, to roar a catch,<br>To knock a tottering watchman down,<br>To sweat a woman of the town;<br>By fits to keep the peace, or break it,<br>In turn to give a pox, or take it; <br>He is, in faith, most excellent,<br>And, in the word's most full intent,<br>A true choice spirit, we admit;<br>With wits a fool, with fools a wit:<br>Hear him but talk, and you would swear<br>Obscenity herself was there,<br>And that Profaneness had made choice,<br>By way of trump, to use his voice;<br>That, in all mean and low things great,<br>He had been bred at Billingsgate; <br>And that, ascending to the earth<br>Before the season of his birth,<br>Blasphemy, making way and room,<br>Had mark'd him in his mother's womb.<br>Too honest (for the worst of men<br>In forms are honest, now and then)<br>Not to have, in the usual way,<br>His bills sent in; too great to pay:<br>Too proud to speak to, if he meets<br>The honest tradesman whom he cheats: <br>Too infamous to have a friend;<br>Too bad for bad men to commend,<br>Or good to name; beneath whose weight<br>Earth groans; who hath been spared by Fate<br>Only to show, on Mercy's plan,<br>How far and long God bears with man.<br>Such were the three, who, mocking sleep,<br>At midnight sat, in counsel deep,<br>Plotting destruction 'gainst a head<br>Whose wisdom could not be misled; <br>Plotting destruction 'gainst a heart<br>Which ne'er from honour would depart.<br>'Is he not rank'd amongst our foes?<br>Hath not his spirit dared oppose<br>Our dearest measures, made our name<br>Stand forward on the roll of Shame<br>Hath he not won the vulgar tribes,<br>By scorning menaces and bribes,<br>And proving that his darling cause<br>Is, of their liberties and laws <br>To stand the champion? In a word,<br>Nor need one argument be heard<br>Beyond this to awake our zeal,<br>To quicken our resolves, and steel<br>Our steady souls to bloody bent,<br>(Sure ruin to each dear intent,<br>Each flattering hope) he, without fear,<br>Hath dared to make the truth appear.'<br>They said, and, by resentment taught,<br>Each on revenge employ'd his thought; <br>Each, bent on mischief, rack'd his brain<br>To her full stretch, but rack'd in vain;<br>Scheme after scheme they brought to view;<br>All were examined; none would do:<br>When Fraud, with pleasure in her face,<br>Forth issued from her hiding-place,<br>And at the table where they meet,<br>First having bless'd them, took her seat.<br>'No trifling cause, my darling boys,<br>Your present thoughts and cares employs; <br>No common snare, no random blow,<br>Can work the bane of such a foe:<br>By nature cautious as he's brave,<br>To Honour only he's a slave;<br>In that weak part without defence,<br>We must to honour make pretence;<br>That lure shall to his ruin draw<br>The wretch, who stands secure in law.<br>Nor think that I have idly plann'd<br>This full-ripe scheme; behold at hand, <br>With three months' training on his head,<br>An instrument, whom I have bred,<br>Born of these bowels, far from sight<br>Of Virtue's false but glaring light,<br>My youngest-born, my dearest joy,<br>Most like myself, my darling boy!<br>He, never touch'd with vile remorse,<br>Resolved and crafty in his course,<br>Shall work our ends, complete our schemes,<br>Most mine, when most he Honour's seems; <br>Nor can be found, at home, abroad,<br>So firm and full a slave of Fraud.'<br>She said, and from each envious son<br>A discontented murmur run<br>Around the table; all in place<br>Thought his full praise their own disgrace,<br>Wondering what stranger she had got,<br>Who had one vice that they had not;<br>When straight the portals open flew,<br>And, clad in armour, to their view <br>Martin, the Duellist, came forth.<br>All knew, and all confess'd his worth;<br>All justified, with smiles array'd,<br>The happy choice their dam had made.</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=354714" data-title="The Duellist - Book III de Charles Churchill" data-description="Ah me! what mighty perils wait The man who meddles with a state, Whether to strengthen, or oppose! False are his friends, and firm his foes: How must his soul, once ventured in, Plunge blindly on from sin to sin! What toils he suffers, what disgra..."></div> </div> </div>

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