  Written, about a.d. 1757, by John Ellerker, esq.
Worthy Sir,—He who sits down to write anything for the public benefit, without fixing on the person to whom he shall dedicate it, knows little of the art of authorizing, for perhaps when he has finished his work he may not know any person to whom the subject may be agreeable, or that has generosity enough to pay for washing the clean ruffles he is obliged to put on when he waits on him to implore his protection. But I generally take another way, and make my Patron before I begin my work, and suit the subject according to his capacity and genius. As, for example, if I write a book of History and Politics, I have Mr. Alderman Smith Non tali auxilio, nec defensoribus istis Tempus eget. When Britain's arms by War's fell chance Were baffled by the arms of France, And Louis threat'ned in bravado, T' invade us with a huge armado, Not of your men-of-war, but floats Of lighters and flat-bottom'd boats, To fill the land with blood and slaughter, And ravish ev'ry wife and daughter; Of our Religion to deprive us, And send us to their priests to shrive us, To change our leather shoes for wood ones, (For heretics, like us, too good ones,) To carbonade our pigs and ducklings, And fricasee our babes and sucklings, To make us keep a scarlet whore, Who kept so many whores before; To make our parsons mend their lives, And leave their own for laymen's wives; Nay, more, (the worst of papist bands) To re-assume the abbeylands: When all our military Hectors (Well paid to be the land's protectors) For all their vapouring and boasts, Dreaded to see them on our coasts; When ev'ry man was sore amaz'd, And on each other hurried gaz'd; When ev'ry fearful thing was fear'd, And not one glimpse of hope appear'd, To save us from impending ruin, Which these French scoundrels were a brewing, At Doncaster a troop stepp'd forth, All men of dignity and worth, With wrath and indignation fir'd, (By Mars himself, no doubt, inspir'd,) With minds most valorous and willing, Regardless of their pay—a shilling, Offer'd themselves to fight our battles, And to protect our goods and chattels. To four times four their number mounted, Tho' each a thousand shou'd be counted; Soon as 'twas known they were assembled, The king of France look'd pale and trembled, Recall'd his army from the strand, And drew his lighters all to land. This, soon as mighty Fred'rick knew, (For quick their fame to Prussia flew,) That king, who all the world must own Has soldiers good as most are known, Said, "Give me sixteen such as these, I'll sack Vienna when I please." O Doncaster! blest corporation, Whose sons add glory to the nation, May Peace and Plenty still attend you, And neighbouring lords their venison send you. But hark! I hear the beat of drum, See here with links Lo, in the front three men of laws, All stedfast for the good old cause. Equal to brandish sword or pen, Ready, for our defence, to shed His dearest blood, or black, or red. Whilom, commission'd to maintain Fair lady Peace in counties twain, But leaves her now and Themis' bench, To volunteer against the French. His rival next in either skill, With no less martial rage inspir'd, Nor yet with tedious marches tir'd, His aid may be depended on; None will suspect he'll ever run, Three times the courage he possesses Of common men, who three times less is, And reason good, for he affords Three times the mark for guns or swords. Happy the man in an attack Who safe shall stand behind his back. Though last the Muse records his name; Where's the attorney that can wear Cockade with a more graceful air? See how the maids' and widows' glances Centre in him, as he advances. Tho' with his manly beauteous face He captivates each wishing lass, Heedless he slights her painted charms, Nothing his heart but glory warms, Nor stickles From scouring drains or emptying ditches, Nor hates the pope and all his power More firmly does his namesake Bower. Of surgeons next a valiant pair Practised in blood and wounds appear. Or say we shou'd their titles vary And call each an apothecary. As both they're fam'd for equal skill, Licenc'd as both to cure or kill. To specify each doughty wight, But when invasion or rebelling Shall call them from their peaceful dwelling, From gun-shot wounds good heav'n defend 'em! And to their shops back quickly send 'em. For, when they're absent, who shall draw A rotten stump from aching jaw? Who can from cholic pains relieve us? Who purges or who clysters give us? When fevers burn and agues shake us, Who then shall febrifuges make us? And when the itch invades each joint, With brimstone who so well anoint? If either pox should then assail us, Who have we left then can avail us? Who then will with a grave oration Prognosticate a suppuration? Or, when it comes, can right discuss The laudability of pus? Who then luxations shall reduce? Who bathrum, or who vectis use? And who the poor deluded maid With hand obstetric timely aid? That hand devoted to oppose For there's no man, I'm sure, in all The town, can shake an urinal, Or know, like them, by Galen's rules, The consequence of fetid stools. Think not physicians I despise, Doctors indeed I duly prize; Doctors so call'd are those I drive at, Their ignorance I can't connive at. Kind reader pardon this digression, And I will shorten the procession. But say, what youth is he that follows? Oh! he's a favourite of Apollo's, Who, for our good, in time of need, Forsakes his fav'rite Muse and reed; And boldly owning Britain's quarrels, Tho' crown'd with bays will gather laurels. Me of that fame I so much want? Had'st thou not wrote I might have worn Those laurels which thy head adorn. Say, dost thou not thy castor grace With a cockade as well as lace? Adorn thy active feet so curious With buckles set with diamonds spurious? And by Euterpe's influence With flute traverse Have you not for the fall of France Now introduc'd the Pyrrhic dance, Which e'en our girls to arms will train, And make them fight like modern men? Nay, in York News most fairly worded I've read you, gentlemen, recorded. Could not emoluments like these Thy mind, ambitious minstrel, please? O! be thy song for ever curst, You've gain'd the prize by starting first. To equal thee let me aspire, For tho' I envy, I admire. Ten worthies yet remain unsung, Fit subjects for the pen or tongue Of Homer's self, had he been living. But now of any bard surviving, To sound their fame in lofty verse, And sound his own by sounding their's. Go on, great souls, and never flinch, Your leader Be active in your country's cause, Protect her freedom, guard her laws. Fight for the honour of your country, Nor once forget his honor's bounty: Let the remembrance of his claret, In each engagement rouse you spirit; Support yourselves, in each attack, With hopes of more frontiniac. If broken, rally quick again, Your sure reward is more champagne. Never forgetting once to boast That you're his beauteous lady's toast; But let it be your chief support To think what sway he bears at court. |
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