Not more fantaftic* Sancho's airy course,
When madly mounted on the magic horse,
He pierc'd heaven's opening fpheres with dazzled
And feem'd to foar in vifionary skies.
• Nor lefs, I ween, precarious is the meed,
Of young adventurers, on the Muse's steed;
For poets have, like you, their deftin'd round,
And ours is but a race on claffic ground.
Long time, soft son of patrimonial ease,
Hippolitus had eat firloins in peace:
Had quaff'd fecure, unvex'd by toils or wife,
The mild October of a rural life:
Long liv'd with calm domeftic conquefts crown'd,
And kill'd his game on fafe paternal ground.
As bland he puff'd the pipe o'er weekly news,
His bofom kindles with fublimer views.
Lo there, thy triumphs, Taaff, thy palms, Portmore,
Tempt him to rein the fteed, and stake his store.
Like a new bruiser on Broughtonic sand,
Amid the lifts our hero takes his ftand;
Suck'd by the sharper, to the peer a prey,
He rolls his eyes that witnefs huge difmay;
When lo! the chance of one unlucky heat,
Strips him of game, ftrong beer, and sweet retreat.
How aukward now he bears disgrace and dirt,
Nor knows the poor's last refuge, to be pert.-
*Clavileno. See Don Quixote.
The fhiftlefs beggar bears of ills the worst,
At once with dullness, and with hunger curft.
And feels the tasteless breast equestrian fires?
And dwells fuch mighty rage in graver 'fquires?
In all attempts, but for their country, bold,
Britain, thy confcript counfellors behold;
(For fome perhaps, by fortune favour'd yet,
May gain a borough, by a lucky bet,)
Smit with the love of the laconic boot,
The cap and wig fuccinct, the filken fuit,
Mere modern Phaetons ufurp the reins,
And fcour in rival race New-Market's plains.
See fide by fide, the Jockey and Sir John,
Difcufs th' important point-of fix to one.
For oh, my Mufe, the deep-felt blifs how dear,
How great the pride, to gain a Jockey's ear!
See, like a routed hoft, with headlong pace,
Thy Members pour amid the mingling race!
All afk, what crowds the tumult could produce-
"Is Bedlam or the Commons all broke loose ?"
Such noife and nonfenfe, betting, damning, finking,
Such emphafis of oaths, and claret-drinking!
Like school-boys freed, they run as chance directs,
Proud from a well-bred thing to rifque their necks.
The warrior's fear not half fo graceful feems,
As, at New-Market, diflocated limbs.
Thy fages hear, amid th' admiring crowd. Adjudge the stakes, moft eloquently loud:
With critic fkill, o'er dubious bets prefide,
The low difpute, or kindle, or decide:
All empty wisdom, and judicious prate,
Of diftanc'd horfes gravely fix the fate,
Guide the nice conduct of a daring match, [watch.
And o'er th' equestrian rights, with care paternal,
Mean time, no more the mimic patriots rise,
To guard Britannia's honour, warm and wife:
No more in Senates dare affert her laws,
Nor pour the bold debate in freedom's caufe:
Neglect the counfels of a finking land,
And know no roftrum, but New-Market's * Stand.
Are these the sage directive powers defign'd,
With the nice fearch of a fagacious mind,
In judgment's fcales, the fate of realms to weigh,
Britannia's intereft, trade, and laws survey?
O fay, when leaft their fapient schemes are croft,
Or when a nation, or a match is loft?
Who dams and fires with more exactness trace,
Than of their country's kings the facred race:
Think London journies are the worst of ills,
And fet their hands to articles for bills:
A kind of fcaffold, where is held a confiftory, made up of feveral very eminent gentlemen, for determining doubtful cafes in the race, &c. This place might not improperly be called, a Pandæmonium,
Strangers to all historians sage relate,
Their's are the memoirs of th' equestrian state:
Unskill'd in Albion's past and present views,
Who Cheny's records for Rapin peruse.
Go on, brave youths, till, in fome future
Whips fhall become the fenatorial badge;
Till England fee her thronging fenators
Meet all at Westminster, in boots and spurs;
See the whole house, with mutual frenzy mad,
Her patriots all in leathern breeches clad :
Of bets, for taxes, learnedly debate,
And guide, with equal reins, a Steed and State.
How would a virtuous + Houhnhym neigh difdain,
To fee his brethren brook th' imperious rein;
Bear flavery's wanton whip, or galling goad,
Smoak thro' the glebe, or trace the deftin'd road,
And robb'd of manhood by the murderous knife,
Suftain each fordid toil of fervile life.
Yet oh, what rage would touch his generous mind,
To fee his fons of more than mortal kind;
A kind, with each ingenuous virtue bleft,
That fills the prudent head, or valorous breast,
Afford diverfion to that monster base, ·
That meaneft spawn of man's half-monkey race;
The accurate and annual author of an hiftorical lift of the running horses, &c.
Vide Gulliver's travels, voyage to the Houhnhyms.
In whom pride, avarice, ignorance confpire,
That hated animal, a Yahoo-'fquire.
How are th' adventurers of the British race Chang'd from the chofen chiefs of antient days; Who, warm'd with genuine glory's honeft thirst, Divinely labour'd in the Pythian duft.
Theirs was the wreath that lifted from the throng,
Theirs was the Theban bard's recording fong.
Mean time, to manly emulation blind,
Slaves to each vulgar vice that stains the mind,
Our British Therons iffue to the race,
Of their own generous courfers the difgrace.
What tho' the grooms of Greece ne'er took the odds,
They won no bets - but then they foar'd to gods;
And more an Hiero's palm, a Pindar's ode,
Than all the united plates of George bestow'd.
Greece! how I kindle at thy magic name,
Feel all thy warmth, and catch the kindred flame.
Thy folemn scenes, and awful vifions rife,
In antient grace, before my mufing eyes.
Here Sparta's fons in mute attention hang,
While fage Lycurgus pours the mild harangue;
There Xerxes' hofts, all pale with deadly fear,
Shrink at her * fated Hero's flashing spear.
Here, hung with many a lyre of filver ftring,
The laureat walks of fweet Iliffus fpring:
|