By EDWARD LORD THURLOW, Lord High Chancellor of Great-Britain.

I.
Damnation seize ye all,
Who puff, who thrum, who bawl and squall!
Fir’d with ambitious hopes in vain,
The wreath, that blooms for other brows to gain;
Is THURLOW yet so little known?—
By G—d I swore, while GEORGE shall reign,
The seals, in spite of changes, to retain,
Nor quit the Woolsack till he quits the Throne!
And now, the Bays for life to wear,
Once more, with mightier oaths, by G—d I swear!
Bend my black brows that keep the Peers in awe,
Shake my full-bottom wig, and give the nod of law.

II.
What [1] tho’ more sluggish than a toad,
Squat in the bottom of a well,
I too, my gracious Sov’reign’s worth to tell,
Will rouse my torpid genius to an Ode!
The toad a jewel in his head contains—
Prove we the rich production of my brains!
Nor will I court, with humble plea,
Th’ Aonian Maids to inspire my wit:
One mortal girl is worth the Nine to me;—
The prudes of Pindus I resign to Pitt.
His be the classic art, which I despise:—
THURLOW on Nature, and himself relies.

III.
’Tis mine to keep the conscience of the King;
To me, each secret of his heart is shown:
Who then, like me, shall hope to sing
Virtues, to all but me, unknown?
Say who, like me, shall win belief
To tales of his paternal grief,
When civil rage with slaughter dy’d
The plains beyond th’ Atlantic tide?
Who can, like me, his joy attest,
Though little joy his looks confest,
When Peace, at Conway’s call restor’d,
Bade kindred nations sheathe the sword?
How pleas’d he gave his people’s wishes way,
And turn’d out North, when North refus’d to stay!
How in their sorrows sharing too, unseen,
For Rockingham he mourn’d, at Windsor with the Queen!

IV.
His bounty, too, be mine to praise,
Myself th’ example of my lays,
A Teller in reversion I;
And unimpair’d I vindicate my place,
The chosen subject of peculiar grace,
Hallow’d from hands of Burke’s economy:
For [2] so his royal word my Sovereign gave;
And sacred here I found that word alone,
When not his Grandsire’s Patent, and his own,
To Cardiff, and to Sondes, their posts could save.
Nor should this chastity be here unsung,
That chastity, above his glory dear;
[3]But Hervey frowning, pulls my ear,
Such praise, she swears, were satire from my tongue.

V.
Fir’d at her voice, I grow prophane,
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
To THURLOW’s lyre more daring notes belong.
Now tremble every rebel soul!
While on the foes of George I roll
The deep-ton’d execrations of my song.
In vain my brother’s piety, more meek,
Would preach my kindling fury to repose;
Like Balaam’s ass, were he inspir’d to speak,
’Twere vain! resolved I go to curse my Prince’s foes.

VI.
“Begin! Begin!” fierce Hervey cries,
See! the Whigs, how they rise!
What petitions present!
How teize and torment!
D—mn their bloods, s—mn their hearts, d—mn their eyes.
Behold yon sober band
Each his notes in his hand;
The witnesses they, whom I brow-beat in vain;
Unconfus’d they remain.
Oh! d—mn their bloods again;
Give the curses due
To the factious crew!
Lo! Wedgewood too waves his [4]Pitt-pots on high!
Lo! he points, where the bottom’s yet dry,
The visage immaculate bear;
Be Wedgewood d—mn’d, and double d—mn’d his ware.
D—mn Fox, and d—mn North;
D—mn Portland’s mild worth;
D—mn Devon the good,
Double d—mn all his name;
D—mn Fitzwilliam’s blood,
Heir of Rockingham’s fame;
D—mn Sheridan’s wit,
The terror of Pitt;
D—mn Loughb’rough, my plague—wou’d his bagpipe were split!
D—mn Derby’s long scroll,
Fill’d with names to the brims:
D—mn his limbs, d—mn his soul,
D—mn his soul, d—mn his limbs!
With Stormont’s curs’d din,
Hark! Carlisle chimes in;
D—mn them; d—mn all their partners of their sin;
D—mn them, beyond what mortal tongue can tell;
Confound, sink, plunge them all to deepest, blackest Hell!

[1] This simile of myself I made the other day, coming out of Westminster Abbey. Lord Uxbridge heard it. I think, however, that I have improved it here, by the turn which follows.

[2] I cannot here with-hold my particular acknowledgments to my virtuous young friend, Mr. Pitt, for the noble manner in which he contended, on the subject of my reversion, that the most religious observance must be paid to the Royal promise. As I am personally the more obliged to him, as in the case of the Auditors of the Imprest the other day, he did not think it necessary to shew any regard whatever to a Royal Patent.

[3] I originally wrote this line,
But Hervey frowning, as she hears, &c.
It was altered as it now standsj by my d—mn’d Bishop of a brother,
for the sake of an allusion to Virgil.
———Cynthius aurem
Velit, et admonuit.

[4] I am told, that a scoundrel of a Potter, one Mr. Wedgewood, is making 10,000 vile utensils, with a figure of Mr. Pitt in the bottom; round the head is to be a motto, We will spit, On Mr. Pitt, And other such d—mn’d ryhmes, suited to the uses of the different vessels.