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[Page 6]
July 7 1785 Morning Herald [handwritten note]
PROBATIONARY ODES. No. XIV.
By Lord THURLOW, Lord High Chancellor of Great-Britain.
Chorus, Accompanied with Speaking Trumpets
Hurly, burly, blood and thunder,
This is a day, ye Gods, for wonder!
This is a day for fun and drinking,
This is a day for damning, sinking;
For this day big George was born,
At twenty-three minutes past two in the morn.
RECITATIVE.
Accompanied with double basses, except the tenth line, that with a Squeakig Pig.
And if he had not, there it matter'd,
Billy Pitt would ne'er have chatter'd,
And Dundas in Scottish phrase,
As well as Sidney, no more would blaze
In founds ne'er understood,
Therefore might be bad or good -
Ha! Who interrupts me in this my ode?
Quarme, the little, by the Lord;
D----n, Why on me attend?
"My Lord, a message now the Commons send"
"Bid them come in, call them, call, call,
May the Devil take them, one and all;
Little Peppy is below the bar,
Whose glory needs no echoing ear;
For in battle or in prosing,
He's ne'er afraid to pop his Nose in."
AIR
Tune, The Devil's a dancing.
As on the Woolsack now I fit,
George I think of, who for wit,
In gracious plenitude has shewn
A deal, tho' night high flown,
And when I hear, - I praise the day,
His father was born, but no more can say.
RECITATIVE
Bishops I hate, and all their clan,
Lawyers too - save he's a prig, -
I am not mistaken, dam my wig;
All together I do despise,
The King and Chancellor are only wise,
I am only happy with my Tit,
Who for the Bar was never fit;
She hears me rave, she hears me swear,
She thinks - but never calls me Bear.
Zounds, hilloa! accord my lyre!
My Ode is animated fire!
Play up, good music! tho' I am heavy,
E'en let it be to Dainty Davy!
For I ne'er was taught to sing,
Except by office - "God save the King!"
Chorus, singers and singers of chorus, enter;
And shake the earth unto its center!
CHORUS.
Hurly, burly, &c.&c.
RECITATIVE.
Westminster and Lincoln Halls resound
With cursed Lawyers' throats that know no bound,
Money! money! is all their aim,
Sack alone I wish to gain!
A butt, a butt, as Runnington big,
With, or without, his gown and wig!
Who is as round as the gallon keg,
And never yet has seen his leg!
But why, my Muse why descend?I
Inspire my pen, and vigour lend!
The day's my own! Shout! huzza! sack! shout!
While I'm in, the Devil may care who's out!
CHORUS
Hurly, burly, blood and thunder! &c. &c.
PROBATIONARY ODES
No. XIV.
IRREGULAR ODE,
By Edward Lord THURLOW, Lord High Chancellor of Great-Britain.
I.
DAMNATION seize ye all,
Who puff, who thrum, who bawl and squall;
Fired with ambitious hopes in vain,
The wreath, that blooms for other brows, to gain.
Is THURLOW yet so little known?
By G-d I swore, while GEORGE shall reign,
The Seals, in spite of changes, to retain,
Nor quit the Woolsack, till he quits the throne.
And now, the bays for life to wear,
Once more, with mightier oaths, by G--d I swear;
Bend my black brows, that keep the Peers in awe,
Shake my full-bottom wig, and give the nod of law.
II
What? * tho' more sluggish than a toad,
Squat in the bottom of a well;
I too, my gracious Sovereign's worth to tell,
Will rouze my torpid genius to an Ode.
The toad a jewel in his head contains;
Prove we are the rich production of my brains.
Nor will I court with humble plea,
Th' [Amian?] Maids to inspire my wit;
One mortal girl is worth the Nine to me;
The prudes of Pindus I resign to Pitt.
His be the classic art, which I despise;
THURLOW on Nature, and himself relies.
III
'Tis mine to keep the conscience of the King;
To me, each secret of his heart is shown;
Who then, like me, shall hope to sing
Virtues to all, but me, unknown?
Say, who, like me, shall win belief
To tales of his paternal grief;
When civil rage with slaughter dyed
The plains beyond th' Atlantic tide?
Who can, like me, his joy attest,
Though little joy his looks confest,
When Peace, at Conway's call restor'd,
Bade kindred nations sheathe the sword?
How pleas'd he gave his people's wishes way,
And turn'd out North, when North refus'd to stay!
How in their sorrows sharing too, unseen,
For Rockingham he mourn'd, at Windsor with the Queen!
IV.
His bounty, too, be mine to praise,[
Myself th'example of my lays.
A Teller in reversion I,
And unimpair'd I vindicate my place,
The chosen subject of peculiar grace,
Hallow'd from hands of Burke's economy:
For + so his royal word my Sovereign gave;
And sacred have I found that word alone,
When not his grandsire's Patent, and his own,
To Cardiff, and to [Sondes?], their [indecipherable] could save.
Nor should his chastity be here unsung,
That chastity, above his glory dear;
++ But Harvey frowning, pulls my ear,
Such praise, she swears, were satire from my tongue.
V.
[indecipherable] at her voice, I grow prophane,
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
To THURLOW'S lyre more daring notes belong.
Now tremble every rebel foul!
While on the foes of George I roll
The deep-ton'd execrations of my song,
In vain my brother's piety, more meek,
Would preach my kindling fury to repose;
Like Balaam's ass, were he inspir'd to speak,
'Twere vain! resolv'd I go to curse my
Prince's foes.
VI.
"Begin! Begin!" fierce Hervey cries,
See! the Whigs, how they rise!
What petitions present!
How teize and torment!
D-- mn their bloods, d---mn their hearts, d---mn their eyes!