The Victim: A Poem

In vain the Nine, with all their charms invite,
In vain, tho' urg'd by zeal, may poets write,
Pamphlets and novels, magazines and plays,
From day to day a short sensation raise;
And like the rocket mounting to the sky,
Catch with delight the pleasure-hunting eye
But ere the heart is warm'd, the joy is o'er,
They blaze, they bounce, and strait are seen no more.

O for that art, the sacred art divine,
That taught thee, Wilkes, to form the living line,
To charm the soul, to search the guilty breast,
To rouse the Fav'rite from luxuriant rest;
Who, spight of power, or tyrannic pride,
Dares to be just, and take the weaker side,
Whene'er oppression, or when party rage,
O'erwhelms a starv'd and unsuspecting age.

In times of old, but times alike to these,
Full of corruption, luxury and ease;
When virtue bled at Mammon's gilded door,
And nought was thought a crime,—but being poor;
When Famine stalk'd rapacious thro' the land,
Whilst Justice slept with daggers in her hand;
When senators, for gold, at murder winkt,
And godlike Mercy long had been extinct;
When injur'd Merit long had su'd in vain,
And famish'd peasants left the fertile plain;
When Science, spurn'd, to foreign nations fled,
And Wisdom oft at Folly's altar bled;
In such an age, how rare, alas, to find
One man existing with untainted mind.
Yet of such god-like mortals have I read,
When Rome bore all these errors on her head;
Who durst, in spite of tyranny and pride,
Stem the rough torrent of the raging tide.

That Rome cou'd boast her worthies it is true;
Blest be my stars, for Britain boasts 'em too;
And must maintain her liberty and fame,
Whilst she preserves, unstain'd, a Camden's name;
Thro' him each Briton keeps secure his door,
And dreads despotic messengers no more;—
Yet must he own, nor think it a disgrace,
To Wilkes he owes his dignity and place.

Tho' Liberty's in ev'ry breast infus'd,
By all ador'd, and yet by all abus'd,
The verriest wretch that treads the lawless streets,
Will take the right of ev'ry lord he meets:
My lord, in councils, hold superior sway,
And takes each charter'd privilege away,
Usurps each blessing, giv'n us from above,
And tries each wholsome custom to remove.
O may destruction wait the villain's head,
Who first the baleful seeds of faction spread?
Scotchman or English, whosoe'er he be,
May fate prescribe an ax his destiny,
May Justice all his latent projects mar,
And six his hateful head on Temple-Bar,
Scotchman or English: I will not dispute,
The greater knave, a B-----d or a B--e,
Or sound the cause from whence such evils rise,
I'll leave that task to time's all-seeing eyes,
And wait the promise of the wise and great,
Who move by interest's mighty wheel of state.

You're wrong, at such a time, old Caution cries,
With head oft shaken, and uplifted eyes,
Grave and important, eloquent and slow,
Pretending ev'ry thing on earth to know;
You're wrong, said he, 'tis not for you or I,
To plague ourselves, and preach of liberty;
Let others fill their heads, and crack their brains,
Give us the pleasure; take who will the pains;
Address an exile!—'tis a fruitless scheme,
You ought to make some minister your theme,
Some panegyric, or some lofty ode,
If to the great you mean to make your road;
'Tis better far, than exercise your pen,
In holding up to view the faults of men;—
Yet hold, I cry'd, your counsel pray forbear,
I will no more such admonition hear:
And may contempt for ever blast my lays,
Whene'er I flatter where I mean to praise.

Tho' pale Detraction with her hundred heads,
Her aconitum thro' the nation spreads,
Infects each mind, and dims each candid eye,
And stupifies the babe credulity;
Yes, I will speak! tho' vengeance o'er me hung
With threat'ning eyes to stop my ardent tongue;
Tho' exil'd, and by party overthrown,
Bereft of ev'ry rent-roll of thy own,
Deny'd, in peace, to tread thy native land,
Where ev'ry foreign beggar bears command;
Where knaves, from ev'ry shore, in splendour tread,
While many a worthy Briton dies for bread.

Shall I forget? when welt'ring in thy blood,
I saw thee panting for thy country's good;
Sanguine in Liberty's immortal laws,
I saw thee fall a martyr to her cause;
Struggling, 'gainst death, with Roman fortitude,
Till thou his all-destroying arm subdu'd.
But Fate preserv'd thee for some better end,
To prove ere yet a sinking nation's friend.

In spite, what dull Indiff'rence may suggest,
For fools are ever apt to think the best;
And, like the ox, no dangers ever dread,
Till the sad stroke falls heavy on their head;
For, O my country! feel you not the wound?
Look back awhile, and cast your eyes around;
View but the lawns, where once with glee you fed,
Where Plenty once her choicest treasure's spread:
Where peace was wont to smile throughout the plains,
And labour met reward for all her pains.

Now Famine takes her seat, whose baleful eye,
Blasts every blade, and kills each matchless die;
Peace leaves her cot, and Plenty takes her flight,
Whilst rose-lipt Hope is overwhelm'd in night,
Sunk is each eye, and sallow ev'ry cheek,
The rifl'd poor in vain for refuge seek,
In vain the hunger'd infant cries for bread,
While the sad mother droops her woeful head;
Her breast its wonted aliment denies,
And famine-struck her little cherub dies;
Fell Hyporborean laws, alas prevail,
Sunk is each science, crowded ev'ry jail;
Famine and pride now rule with dreadful awe,
O'erwhelm fair Commerce, and pervert each law.

The sacred mandate first by heav'n assign'd,
Will'd by the God of Nature for mankind,
Fair order and society to frame,
And make eternal love's extatic name;—
See human laws, presumptive break the tie,
And set the faith bound-hand at liberty;
Divorce succeeds divorce, whene'er the mind
Debas'd is to some other face inclin'd;
Unknown to love, yet urge the holy state,
Submit the knee, and rashly stipulate;
They greet the portion, but return the wife,
With scanty pittance for the rest of life;
F----oy, the muse abominates to see,
So vile a part so well perform'd by thee;
The mind corrupt, to ev'ry vice a slave,
Thy every act still constitutes the knave.

But such examples are the subjects own,
They cannot say they have 'em from the throne;
There in the greatest may you plainly see,
The envy'd state of true tranquility;
A royal pattern for a nation's guide,
To all who wish to list on virtue's side;
The best of father's in the best of kings,
In whom benevolence for ever springs!
A lovely offspring dimpl'd o'er with charms,
To grace the throne, or weild the British arms;
When years mature shall call 'em to defend
A nation's right, and prove each subject's friend;
To dignify with fame the living page,
And be the wonder of some future age.

Seal'd be each eye, and deaf be ev'ry ear,
To shield the heart, and stop the ebbing tear,
Dark was the hour, and involv'd in night,
When Rapine reign'd, assassins shun'd the light.
When Agathonian riots gorg'd the soul,
And traytors trembl'd at the midnight owl,
When bawds for pay, seduc'd the blushing fair,
Entrapping Virtue with a golden snare.
I'll-star'd Lucretia! at that fatal time,
Ripe in thy charms, and tempting in thy prime;
The lustful Tarquin stole into thy arms,
And rifl'd all thy virgin-boasted charms.

What days but these cou'd such a deed restore?
What man could act it but a Baltimore?
And who like him cou'd grace the am'rous page;
The debauchee, and Tarquin of the age?
Unhappy maid, may Justice plad thy cause;
Nor suffer Mammon to subvert her laws,
To set fair Truth and Innocence aside,
And overwhelm thee in a golden tide.
O may some Camden rescue thee from shame,
Nor let the mighty stigmatize thy name,
Reveal each action to the public eye,
Restore each truth, invalidate each lie,
Nor let the potent ravisher prevail,
How well soe'er he varnish o'er his tale;
May fierce Alecto, with gorgonian locks,
In veng'ance chace him to the Stygian rocks;
To howl unpity'd on the burning shore,
Where the baleful fiends eternal discord roar.

Each nation boasts its own peculiar vice,
From constitution, or from meer caprice;
France is to fashion an eternal slave,
And ever known more politic than brave:
The Britons rout 'em on the sea or field,
But to their fashions and their follies yield,
Who ever shew, deny it if you can,
The arrant coxcomb overcomes the man,
So fond of mode and nonsense are we grown,
We scarce can relish one thing of our own.
But from our pu'rile and unstable state,
We meanly condescend to imitate.

The hattremendous once, and deeply brimm'd,
Anon behold it to a cockle trimm'd;
The shoe once buckl'd half way to the knee
Anon 'tis buckled to the toe you see,
And Monsieurs coat attracts with equal charms,
Whether the skirts hang from the hips or arms;
When ev'ry alien, take it for a rule,
Will call his aukward coppiest a fool;
What height of madness, and what mode intense,
At once to forfeit decency and sense.
O never more the British name degrade,
Nor be again the dupes of fashion made;
But be yourselves, bold, generous and wise,
And all such foreign frippery despise.

The Scotch, all maxims but their own deride,
From native envy, or from native pride;
Bold in the field, and letter'd in the school,
Declares the Scot cannot be quite a fool;
Tho' bare each hill, and steril ev'ry plain,
They try to culture and manure the brain.
From this their pride proceeds, whose bootless store,
For ever keeps dame Fortune from the door.

Edina, ever with a jealous eye,
Frown'd on her sister's vast fertility,
Oft has she led her legions to the field,
And smote Britannia's adamantine shield,
Whose fierce repulse oblig'd her famish'd band
To keep the limits of her native land;
The sword in vain with all her might she drew,
In hope our envy'd nation to subdue;
To institute her base despotic laws,
To save a Stewart, and defend his cause;
Whose sanguine name has left a purple stain,
Fit to adorn a priest-rode tyrant's reign.
Now hostile hopes subside, the supple knee,
Pretended friendship, and hypocrisy,
Make more advancements in the public weal
Than all the havock of the pointed steel;
For what but discord has been heard alone,
E'er since a Stuart stood so near the throne,
To whom can Fate these murmurings impute
But the despotic principles of B---.

Exotic maxims cause domestic broils,
And ev'ry tranquil happiness despoils;
The knavish tutor, politic and kind,
Protests his friendship but conceals his mind,
Which ever leaning to some selfish end,
He acts the villain most to seem the friend;
My lord lays open his unwary heart,
And falls a victim to a traytor's art.

Fond of her flights the muse wou'd fain intrude,
To draw unskill'd, a faint similitude,
'Tween who, or what, I'll leave mankind to guess,
Or those who wish a nation's happiness;
By other's folly we are often shewn
The hateful mirrour, and despise our own:
All can behold the blemish but the blind,
To let him feel it then is surely kind.

Once on a time, the fam'd historian writes,
Skill'd in the annals of the Troglodites:—
(Capricious realm, in Africa remote,
Where feeds the pard, where climbs the mountain-goat:)
A noble youth, benevolent and kind,
To vice a foe, to ev'ry good inclin'd;
Born to a throne, and rais'd to high degree,
Ere he had tasted of maturity;
Sprung from a stock that had been long ador'd,
Whose valiant arms a welcome peace restor'd;
A long contention with a tyrant held,
And made the thistle to the olive yield.
The plains rejoic'd, and bless'd the great event,
And drank the cup of plenty and content:
Ev'n infants whisper'd great Muzeedan's name,
And virgins crown'd him with the wreath of fame.
A slave from Envy, and from Famine sprung,
All supple was his knee, all sweet his tongue:
Yet held Muzeedan in eternal hate,
His foe's dear kinsman, and his advocate:
Albuda he, a northern mountaineer,
His looks were agalastic and severe;
His eyes malignant, with a tear conceal'd,
While he his story to the youth reveal'd;
Feign'd a false zeal, and flatter'd in his praise,
The track each villain takes ere he betrays;
And like the pill all gilded to the eyes,
Few can discover where the poison lies;
Till with celerity it makes its way
Thro' ev'ry pore, and shuts the eyes from day.

The slave prevail'd, the youth too soon believ'd,
The mind untainted, is the first deceiv'd;
His manners gentle, and his speech was fair,
His breast kept no malignant tenant there,
Save what Albuda introduc'd by art;
Who drain'd the springs of virtue from his heart;
Infusing strange chimera's in his mind,
To rule tyrannic, and oppress mankind;
When ev'ry needy minion of his own,
Was introduc'd, and planted round the throne.

Lost to himself, Muzeedan's mind gave way,
And bore the sceptre with despotic sway:
The subject saw it, and in murmurs loud,
A threat'ning discord breath'd throughout the crowd;
Whilst hydra-like, Revenge rear'd up her head,
At whose dread roar the peaceful village fled;
Domestic broils, and savage war began,
And with destruction thro' the nation ran:
Rebellion drew her sword, whose hand, like fate,
Shock the foundation of the throne and state.

Albuda saw it with enraptur'd eyes,
And vulture-like he stood to seize his prize,
Plung'd the vile poniard in Muzeedan's side,
And bath'd his fingers in the purple tide;
Then with his legions, who in secret lay,
Stole the long envy'd diadem away,
Rush'd on the croud confus'd, who thought to save
Their liberty, but fell still more a slave;
With eyes dejected, and with tears they view'd,
The sacred name of liberty subdu'd,
And with despair and agony they saw,
Rise in her stead each hyperborean law,
Whose arms oppressive made the subject groan,
From the hard burdens of a tyrants throne.

O may each monarch shun Muzeedan's fate,
And ev'ry subject closely eye the state,
Nor suffer one Albuda more, so near,
To whisper poison in a prince's ear.
May plenty flow, and public discord cease,
May Brunswick reign in everlasting peace:—
Curs'd be the tongue—audacious—that shall dare
To vent its poison on a name so fair;
Whose royal stock bore terror in the field,
And yet with lenity the sceptre held;
Mercy subdu'd the warlike victor's breast,
And justice shone illustrious on his crest;
Peace was the study of his royal mind,
At once the friend and father of mankind.