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[Page 18]
[Handwritten] 1785 Morning Herald.
PART III.
RECITATIVE, by Dr. Prettyman, accompanied by a Lute.
But now, even now, as the rich revel thickens,
My sad soul sickens ;
Through the gay dome I hear the plaintive notes
Of my sweet lamb, whose rending strain denotes
(b) The early death of our dear boy,
First-fruit, and [indecipherable] of our am'rous joy !
Alas, like young Marcellus,
He only came to tell us,
(And, tho' he was my son, 'tis sure no lie)
"That we are mortal all, and that we all must die!"
Gone to that scene where, through her thrifty fan,
(c) His moth first espied her darling Prettyman !
FUGE, by the same Performer.
But still protecting Heaven,
In mystic ways befriends us,
And now an ill, and now a bounty sends us,
And so, of bliss and pain, preserves the balance even !
Even now, while sunk I sit, in sad despair,
To think I must beget another heir, ---
He comes ! --- he comes ! behold ! behold !
The King's Gazette his radiant fact unfold,
I am, in spite of Fate, and factions' bellow,
Thy Rector, Happy Sudburn, cum Capello !
Here --- there's the Parchment, with the Signet dread,
Of Mother Church's secred sapient head !
'Tis thus the powers divine,
(d) The growth of Isacc build on Ned's decline,
So Elliot blooms in health, as Harvey bleeds
So Conway dies, and Prettyman succeeds ;
Accomplish'd Bond thus mounts on Gilbert's [indecipherable]
And this eternal justice we may call!
On bended knees,
The sacred gift I seize,
And thus in prayer, I pay the Royal fees !
The INVOCATION, by the Archbishop of York.
Oh, thou, of Europe's Kings, the leading star ?
More great thyself than all her Monarchs are ;
Who in thy sacred person dost contain,
Without his pride, the probity of Spain.
The prop, like Cathrine, of a graceless state,
More firm by far -- and not so obstinate ;
Like Fred'ric wife, experienc'd, deep, and bold
-- And just, as free from sordid love of gold.
His worth surpassing, and his vices [indecipherable],
All Sweden's craft, th-u hast -- without his cunning.
Like Joseeph straight, and clear -- who never trims,
Whose planning soul thou shew'st -- without his whims ;
Like Lewis, great and good -- but not as vain. --
Him thou hast drubb'd, and doubless wilt again.
Though Arbiter of Realms ! thou Lord of Fate !
Who hold the balance of each trembling state
e Great Miracle of Chiefs !! Immortal King !!
Oh ! may thy will be done in every thing.
(b) The amiable author of this excellent composition lost his new-born child about this timer
(c) Mrs Prettyman first saw her accomplished husband in Westminster-Abbey, at one of the Musical Meetings, and fell incontinently in love with him, whilst he was gazing through an Opera-glass at the Princess Elizabeth.
(d) In this line, it is not improbable the Reverent Poet had his thoughts on Colonel Barre's obtaining the Pells on the demise of Sir Edw. Walpole, by that master-stroke of unmatched magnanimity in our excellent Premier. Indeed the morality of this whole passage is admirable ; and the conclusion that Mr. Bond will fill the vacant seat of Mr. Gilbert, is the happiest compliment to the discering patronage of Mr Pitt and Lord Sydney, who after having raised Mr. Justice Wright to the dignity of Knighthood during their former Administration, want only the accomplishment of this prediction, to stamp on everlasting grace on the already honored magistracy of the city of Westminister, and county of Middlesex.
(e) The poetical turn of the two last lines of this glorification of our august Sovereign, (which it should be observed were capitally sung as a duet, by Sir William [Dolben?] and Sir Harry Houghton) seems to have been borrowed from Mr Cumberland's invocation to Apollo, in his excellent opera of Calypso.
Phoebus oracular ! bowman divine !
Solar sublimity ! propitious shine !
The BLESSING. -- A Chorus of Bishops
(A great Personage's eyes raised up the the plinth of the wainscot
My ev'ry thing take place that gives thee joy,
May thy first born his manly frame destroy ;
May Royal York, those useful arts acquire,
That nerve the Prince, and quench the people's fire ;
May, he, in time, command this headstrong nation,
And prove the blessings of his education.
May England still be dup'd by ev'ry knave,
May Ireland yield, and soon become a slave,
May Scots their new born love of rights give o'er,
And soon again be what they were before ;
May bless'd prerogative in splendor rise,
And Tudor's times, and Steuart's realize.
May priv'lege never gain a greater weight,
Than just the useful face of a debate ;
When'er the crowd, one grievous ill deplore,
May they be tax'd, great Monarch, o'er and o'er ;
To shew thy power, and keep thy honor clear,
Still may'st thou break they promise twice a year.
May law be guided by the soldier's hand,
And Jury's sink, and freedom fly the land,
May the whole hated race of Whigs be curst,
And Fox, to crown the whole, his windpipe burst.
Doctor Prettyman and Chorus.
And if hereafter, through thy sacred call,
I ever live to mount a mitre'd stall
May I be d--'d myself, if I don't d-- them all.