Part 3

And that fam'd _Caledonian Youth_, whose Morn Propitious Skies, and Noon-tide Rays adorn, Who rose so _early_ in his Country's Cause, Shone, though so Young, _so bright_, that our Applause Was lock'd in Wonder--gazing Senates hung On the divine Enchantment of his Tongue; Hark with what Force he pleads in our Defence! How just he speaks an injur'd People's Sense! _Half_ lost to _Britain_ now, He chides his Fate, For stealing him, _by Titles_, from the State; Whilst we, lov'd _Polwarth_! with thy Titles _more_, As might such Virtues to the State restore.

Then too the noble _Cobham_, first of Men! May leave his Garden for the Camp again; Call'd, like old Rome's Dictator from the Plough, To plant once more the Laurel on his Brow.

And Brave _Argile_, who's form'd alike to wield The Rhet'rick of the Senate and the Field, So tun'd whose Eloquence, whose Breast so Mann'd, None can the _Speaker_ or the _Chief_ withstand.

Yet feign Methink's I'd hope that you were clear From this _high Charge_ that eccho's in my Ear; Trust that some Demon envious of my Rest With visionary Wrongs distracts my Breast, Or that this Blazon of enormous Crimes Springs from the wanton Licence of the Times. Therefore I put this _Question_ to your Heart,---- Speak, Culprit--_Are you Guilty_? Nay, don't Start, This is a Question all have right to ask, To answer it with _Honour_ is your Task; That, If you dare unbosom, I expect, Till when, _I'm Yours, Sir, with all_ due _Respect_.

_FINIS_

THE GREAT MAN's ANSWER TO Are these Things So?

(Price One Shilling.)

THE GREAT MAN'S ANSWER TO Are these Things So? IN A DIALOGUE BRTWEEN His HONOUR and the ENGLISHMAN in His GROTTO.

_Qui capit_----

By the Author of _Are these Things So?_

_LONDON:_

Printed for T. Cooper, at the _Globe_ in _Paternoster-Row_. MDCCXL.

THE GREAT MAN's ANSWER TO Are these Things So?

_E.M._ HAIL blest _Elizium_! sweet, secure Retreat; Quiet and Contemplation's sacred Seat! Here may my Life's last Lamp in Freedom burn, Nor live to light my Country to her Urn: Die 'ere that huge _Leviathan_ of State Shall swallow all.--Who thunders at my Gate! See _John_--But hah! what Tempest shakes my Cell? Whence these big Drops that Ooze from ev'ry Shell? From this obdurate Rock whence flow those Tears? Sure some _Ill Power_'s at hand--Soft! it appears. _E. M._ What's That approaches, _John_? _J._ Why Sir, 'tis He. _E. M._ What He? _J._ Why He Himself, Sir; the _great_ HE. _E. M._ Enough. _G. M._ Your Slave, Sir. _E. M._ No Sir, I'm _your Slave_, Or soon shall be.--How then must I behave? Must I fall prostrate at your Feet? Or how-- I've heard the _Dean_, but never saw him _Bow_. _G. M._ Hoh! hoh! you make me laugh. _E. M._ So _Nero_ play'd, Whilst _Rome_ was by his Flames in Ashes laid. _G. M._ Well, solemn Sir, I'm come, if you think fit, To solve your Question. _E. M._ Bless me! pray, Sir, sit. _G. M._ The Door! _E. M._ No Matter, Sir, my Door won't shut: Stay here, _John_; we've no _Secrets_. _G. M._ Surly Put! How restiff still! but I have _what_ will win him Before we part, or else the Devil's in him. _E. M._ I wait your Pleasure, Sir. _G. M._ Why _Fame_, you say, Reports that I'm the Author of To-Day: I am--But not the Day that you describe, Black with imagin'd Ills--Your Patriot Tribe, Those growling, restless, factious Malecontents, Who blast all Schemes, and rail at all Events; Whom Ministers, nor Kings, nor Gods can please; Whose Rage my Ruin only can appease; That motley Crew, the Scum of ev'ry Sect, Who'd fain destroy, because they can't direct; Wits, Common-Council-Men, and Brutes in Fur, Knights of the Shire, and of the Post.--_E. M._ This, Sir, Is _Gazetteer_ Abuse. _G. M._ These Miscreants dire Apply the Torch themselves, then cry out Fire; In Rhime, in Prose, in Prints, and in Debate, They falsly represent the Nation's State. Go forth, and see if _Britain_'s fall'n _so low_; Fly to her Coasts, and mark the glorious _Show_: See Fleets how gallant! See _Marines_ how _stout_! } That wait but till the _Wind shall turn about_. } _E. M._ What a whole _Twelvemonth_! _G. M._ Pray Sir, hear me out. } See all their Sails unfurl'd, their Streamers play; You'd think old _Neptune_'s Self kept Holiday: These shall protect our Commerce, scour the Main, The Honour of the _British_ Flag maintain; Pour the avenging Thunder on the Foe, } And--_E. M._ Mighty well; but when are they to go? } _G. M._ When? Psha! why look'ee, Sir, that _Time_ will show. } Next view the martial Guardians of the Land: Lo! her gay Warriors redden all the Strand: _Cockade_ behind _Cockade_, each Entrance keep, Whilst in their Sheaths ten thousand Falchions _sleep_. _E. M._ But, Sir, 'tis urg'd that these are needless quite, Kept only for Review, and not for Fight: That Fleets are _Britain_'s Safety--_G. M._ Stupid Elves! Why these, Sir, are to _save you_ from _yourselves_: Ye're prone, ye're prone to murmur and rebel, And when mild Methods fail, we must compel: Besides, consider Sir, _th' Election_'s near-- _E. M._--O, Sir, I'm answer'd--Now the _Case_ is _clear_. _G. M._ Ay,--I shall answer all the rest as well. _E. M._ I doubt it not. _G. M._ On _Se--s_ next you fell: Fie! that was paw--_Se--s_ are _sacred_ Things, And _no more_ capable of _Ill_ than--_Kings_. _E. M._ 'Tis granted. _G. M._ Yet at them your Gall is spit; You're told they _Yea_ and _No_ as I think fit; And that if some brave _One_ Rebellious prov'd, From his Lord's Banquet he was strait remov'd; Cast into utter Darkness, like the Guest, Who was not in a _Wedding Garment_ Dress'd. Well, What of that? should not the _Blind_ be led? Should not so vast a _Body_ have a _Head_? And if _one Finger's gangreen'd_, sure 'tis best To lop it off 'ere it infect the rest. _Free_ P----ts! mere stuff--What would be done? Let loose, five hundred diff'rent Ways they'd run; They'd Cavil, Jarr, Dispute, O'return, Project, And the great Bus'ness of _Supply_ Neglect; On _Grievances_, not _Ways_ and _Means_ would go; Nor one round _Vote of Credit_ e're bestow: The _sinking Fund_ would _strangely_ be apply'd, And _secret service Money_ quite denied: Whilst _Soap_ and _Candles_ we _untax_'d should rue, And _Salt_ itself would lose it's _Savour_ too: Ev'n _Gin_ would then be drank without controul, And the poor _civil List_ be ne're _lick'd whole_. Down go all _Pensioners_, all _Placemen_ down. Those lov'd and trusty Servants of the Crown, Who're always ready at their Chief's Command, Would have no _Vote_ to save the _sinking_ Land: Ev'n _Levy_'s Bench might lose it's sacred _Weight_, Remov'd, O _sad Translation_! from the State. Then Pen's like yours would _freely_ vent their Rage, No _License_ on the _Press_, or on the _Stage_; Whilst loyal _Gazetteer_'s, tho' ne're so witty, No more might chasten the Rebellious _City_: No more sage _Freeman_ trumpet out my Fame, Nor _unstamp'd Farthing-Posts_ my worth proclaim.

_E. M._ Indeed--such dire _Calamities_ attend! O worse, Sir, worse--Heav'n knows where it might end. Perhaps _Ourself_ and our dear _Brother_ too, No longer might our Country's Business do--

_E. M._ That, Sir, you've done already--rather, then, _Your_ Business would be done. _G. M._ Ungrateful Men! We that have serv'd you at such vast Expence, } And gone thro' thick and thin. _E. M._ There's no Defence, } Would serve your Purpose--Hence, then, good Sirs, Hence; } Fly, for the Evil Days at Hand, Pray fly-- _G. M._ What leave my Country to be _lost_?--Not I; The Danger's yet but in Imagination, I hope one _Seven Years more_ to _save_ the Nation. In vain you Patriot Oafs pronounce my Fall, Like the great LAUREAT, _S'Blood I'll stand you all_. What tho' you've made the _People_ loath my Name, I live not on such slender Food as Fame; And yet that _People_'s _mine_--My Will obey, } Implicit Bow beneath my sovereign Sway, } Whilst these my _Messengers_ prepare my Way; } These all your Slanders will at Sight refute, They're sterling Evidence which none dispute. For these, Content, or to be Damn'd or Sav'd-- _E. M._--Nay if they will, why let 'em be enslav'd: If they will barter all that's Good and Great, For present Pelf, nor Mind their future State; If none Thy baleful Influence will withstand, Go forth, _Corruption_, Lord it o'er the Land; If they are Thine for better and for worse, On Them and on their Children light the Curse.

_G. M._ _Corruption_, Sir!--pray use a milder Term; 'Tis only a Memento to be _firm_; The Times are greatly alter'd--Years ago, A Man would blush the World his _Price_ should know: Scruple to own his _Voice_ was to be bought; And meanly minded what the Million thought; Our Age more _Prudent_, and _Sincere_ is grown, The Hire they _wisely_ take, they _bravely_ own; Laugh at the Fool, who let's his _Conscience_ stand, To barr his Passage to the promis'd Land; Or, sway'd by Prejudice, or puny Pride, Thinks _Right_ and _Int'rest_ of a different Side.

_E. M._ _O Nation_ lost to Honour and to Shame! So, then, Corruption now has chang'd its Name: And what was once a paultry _Bribe_, to Day Is gently stil'd an _Honourable_ Pay. Blessings on that great Genius who has wrought This strange Conversion--Who has bravely bought Our Liberty from Virtue--Pray go on. _G. M._ Of Commerce next you talk--pretend 'tis gone, To _Foreign_ Climes--_Amen_, for what I care, Perdition on the Merchants--They must dare! To thwart my Purpose--I detest them--_E. M._ How! _G. M._ Yes--And I think I'm _even_ with 'em now. They would not be _convention'd_, nor _excis'd_, But they shall feel the Scourge themselves advis'd; They shall be swingingly _bewarr'd_, I'll swear; And since they'd not my _little Finger_ bear, My _Loins_ shall press 'em 'till they guilty plead, And sue for Mercy at my Feet. _E. M._ Indeed! _G. M._ Aye, trust me, shall they----_E. M._ But don't tell 'em so; } For they're a stubborn _sturdy_ Gang you know, } _G. M._ O! they'll be _supple_ when their Cash runs low. Their _Purse_, which makes them proud and insolent, A trav'ling with their Commerce shall be sent-- _E. M._ Take Care they don't send _you_ a trav'ling first; _G. M._ No, Sir, I dare 'em now to do their Worst. _Seven Sessions_ more I am at least secure-- _E. M._ Nay then you'll crush 'em quite?--But are you sure, There is a _Spirit_, Sir? _G. M._ What Spirit pray? A _Spirit_ that the _Treasury_ can't lay. _E. M._ I'm answer'd Sir,--_G. M._ Next, Friend, one Word about Those spiteful Innuendoes you throw out, That squint at _Contracts_, _Forage_, and what not, 'Tis _more_ than Time that those Things were forgot. You should not link the _present_ with the _past_-- _E. M._ Yes when they make one _glorious Whole_ at last; When, tho' _Times differ_, _Actions_ still _agree_, And what Men _were_ they _are_--What they _will_ be, We safely may pronounce--_G. M._ Well, Sir, but why On my dear Family and Friends this Cry? Suppose they've Places, Wealth, and Titles too, _Merit_ like Ours should surely have its _Due_. That _squaemish_ Steward's of all Fools the worst, That lays not up for his _own Houshold_ first; Nor takes a _proper_ Care of those _staunch_ Friends, By whose _good Services_ he gains his Ends. Besides, who'd drudge the _Mill-Horse_ of the State; Curst by the Vulgar, envy'd by the Great; In one fastidious Round of Hurry live, And join, in Toil, the _Matin_ with the _Eve_; Be hourly plagu'd 'bout Pensions, Strings, Translations, Or, worse! that _damn'd Affair_ of _Foreign_ Nations. Make _War_ and _Treaties_ with alternate Pain: First sweat to build, then to pull down again. Who'd cringe at _Levees_, or in _Closets_--Oh! Stoop to the _rough_ Remonstrance of the _Toe_? Did not some Genius whisper, "That's the Road "To Opulence, and Honours bless'd Abode; "Thus you may aggrandize yourself, and Race; "_Pension_ this _Knight_, or give that _Peer_ a _Place_."

_E. M._ So _Angria_, Sir, as justly might declare, He _plunder'd_ only to _enrich_ his _Heir_; Nor longer would his _Piracies_ pursue, Than 'till he had _provided_ for his _Crew_.

_G. M._ Your Servant, Sir, I think you're pretty _free_-- } _E. M._ Why Truth is Truth, Sir, and will out, you see; } _G. M._ Yes, s'death! but _couple Angria_ with _me_! _E. M._ I'll say no more on't--_G. M._ No you've said _enough_; And what you next advise, is canting Stuff.

_Turn my Eyes inward_! not quite so devout; They've Task sufficient to look sharp _without_: And should the fatal Sisters cut my Thread Some _score Years_ hence--I trouble not my Head } _Where_ I'm entomb'd, or number'd with _what_ Dead; } I want no _Grave-Stone_ to promulge my _Fame_, Nor trust to _breathless Marble_ for a _Name_, BRITANNIA'S self a _Monument_ shall stand Of the _bless'd Dowry_ I bequeath my Land: Her Sons shall hourly my _dear Conduct_ boast; They _best_ can speak it, who will _feel_ it most. But if some grateful Verse _must_ grace my Urn, Attend ye _Gazeteers_--Be this the Turn-- _Weep_, Britons, _weep_--_Beneath this Stone lies He, Who set your Isle from dire Divisions free, } And made your various Factions all agree_. }

_E. M._ That's right, _G. M._ You'd have me quit too--No, I'll still Drive on, and make you happy '_gainst your Will_. As for your _may_ and _may_, Sir,--_may be Not_, Can my _vast Services_ be _There_ forgot?

As for those _lauded Successors_ you name, If once in Pow'r, they'd act the very _same._ _E. M._ That's Cobweb Sophistry--Did they not fill The noblest Posts? And had they not, pray, _still_, But that they greatly scorn'd to _league_ with those, Who were at once their King's and Country's Foes? _G. M._ Well, Sir, as there is nothing I can say Will with your starch'd unbending Temper weigh; My last _best_ Answer I'll in _Writing_ leave; Pray mark it--_E. M._ How! May I my Eyes believe? _G. M._ You may--I thought I should convince you, _E. M._ Yes, That Fame for once spoke Truth--And as for _This_-- _G. M._ Furies! My _thousand Bank_, Sir, _E. M._ Thus I Tear, Go, blend, _Corruption_, with _corrupting_ Air. _G. M._ Amazing Frenzie! Well, if this won't do, What think you of a _Pension_? _E. M._ As of _You_. _G. M._ A _Place_--_E. M._ Be gone, _G. M._ A _Title_--_E. M._ is a _Lie_ When ill conferr'd _G. M._ A _Ribband_--_E. M._ I defie Farewell then Fool--If you'll accept of _Neither_, You and your _Country_ may be _damn'd_ together.

_FINIS_

WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES

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=1948-1949=

16. Henry Nevil Payne, _The Fatal Jealousie_ (1673).

17. Nicholas Rowe, _Some Account of the Life of Mr. William Shakespear_ (1709).

18. Anonymous, "Of Genius," in _The Occasional Paper_, Vol. III, No. 10 (1719), and Aaron Hill, Preface to _The Creation_ (1720).

=1949-1950=

19. Susanna Centlivre, _The Busie Body_ (1709).

20. Lewis Theobald, _Preface to the Works of Shakespeare_ (1734).

22. Samuel Johnson, _The Vanity of Human Wishes_ (1749), and two _Rambler_ papers (1750).

23. John Dryden, _His Majesties Declaration Defended_ (1681).

=1951-1952=

26. Charles Macklin, _The Man of the World_ (1792).

31. Thomas Gray, _An Elegy Wrote in a Country Churchyard_ (1751), and _The Eton College Manuscript_.

=1952-1953=

41. Bernard Mandeville, _A Letter to Dion_ (1732).

=1962-1963=

98. Selected Hymns Taken Out of Mr. Herbert's _Temple_ ... (1697).

=1964-1965=

109. Sir William Temple, _An Essay Upon the Original and Nature of Government_ (1680).

110. John Tutchin, _Selected Poems_ (1685-1700).

111. Anonymous, _Political Justice_ (1736).

112. Robert Dodsley, _An Essay on Fable_ (1764).

113. T. R., _An Essay Concerning Critical and Curious Learning_ (1698).

114. _Two Poems Against Pope_: Leonard Welsted, _One Epistle to Mr. A. Pope_ (1730), and Anonymous, _The Blatant Beast_ (1742).

=1965-1966=

115. Daniel Defoe and others, _Accounts of the Apparition of Mrs. Veal_.

116. Charles Macklin, _The Covent Garden Theatre_ (1752).

117. Sir Roger L'Estrange, _Citt and Bumpkin_ (1680).

118. Henry More, _Enthusiasmus Triumphatus_ (1662).

119. Thomas Traherne, _Meditations on the Six Days of the Creation_ (1717).

120. Bernard Mandeville, _Aesop Dress'd or a Collection of Fables_ (1740).

=1966-1967=

123. Edmond Malone, _Cursory Observations on the Poems Attributed to Mr. Thomas Rowley_ (1782).

124. Anonymous, _The Female Wits_ (1704).

125. Anonymous, _The Scribleriad_ (1742). Lord Hervey, _The Difference Between Verbal and Practical Virtue_ (1742).

=1967-1968=

129. Lawrence Echard, Prefaces to _Terence's Comedies_ (1694) and _Plautus's Comedies_ (1694).

130. Henry More, _Democritus Platonissans_ (1646).

132. Walter Harte, _An Essay on Satire, Particularly on the Dunciad_ (1730).

=1968-1969=

133. John Courtenay, _A Poetical Review of the Literary and Moral Character of the Late Samuel Johnson_ (1786).

134. John Downes, _Roscius Anglicanus_ (1708).

135. Sir John Hill, _Hypochondriasis, a Practical Treatise_ (1766).

136. Thomas Sheridan, _Discourse ... Being Introductory to His Course of Lectures on Elocution and the English Language_ (1759).

137. Arthur Murphy, _The Englishman From Paris_ (1736).

=1969-1970=

138. [Catherine Trotter], _Olinda's Adventures_ (1718).

139. John Ogilvie, _An Essay on the Lyric Poetry of the Ancients_ (1762).

140. _A Learned Dissertation on Dumpling_ (1726) and _Pudding Burnt to Pot or a Compleat Key to the Dissertation on Dumpling_ (1727).

141. Selections from Sir Roger L'Estrange's _Observator_ (1681-1687).

142. Anthony Collins, _A Discourse Concerning Ridicule and Irony in Writing_ (1729).

143. _A Letter From A Clergyman to His Friend, With An Account of the Travels of Captain Lemuel Gulliver_ (1726).

144. _The Art of Architecture, A Poem. In Imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry_ (1742).

=1970-1971=

145-146. Thomas Shelton, _A Tutor to Tachygraphy, or Short-writing_ (1642) and _Tachygraphy_ (1647).

147-148. _Deformities of Dr. Samuel Johnson_ (1782).

149. _Poeta de Tristibus: or, the Poet's Complaint_ (1682).

150. Gerard Langbaine, _Momus Triumphans: or, the Plagiaries of the English Stage_ (1687).

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