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[Page 9]

[Handwritten] 1785  Morning Post
 

Bellows working,
Elbows jerking,
Scraping beating,
Roaring, sweating,
Thro' the old gothic roofs be the chorus rebounded,
'Till echo is deafened, and thunder dumb-founded —
And now another pause — and now another nod
— All proclaim a present God.

(1) Bishops and Lords of the Bedchamber!
George submissive Britain sways;
Heavy Hanover obeys;
Proud Ierne's volunteers,
Abject Commons, prostrate Peers —
All proclaim a present God —
(On the necks of all he trod)
A present God,
A present God.

Halleluja!
 

(i) "Lords of the Bed-chamber" &c.) Candour obliges us to confess that this designation of the performers, and in truth the following stanza did not stand in the original copy, delivered into the Lord Chamberlain's office. Indeed Signor Delpini had his doubts as to the legality of admitting it, notwithstanding Mr. Rose's testimony, that it was actually and bona fide composed with the rest of the ode, and had only accidentally fallen into the same drawer of Mr. Pitt's bureau in which he had lately mislaid Mr. Gibbin's note. Mr. Bank's testimony was also solicited to the same effect; but he had left off vouching for the present session. Mr. Pepper Arden, indeed, with the most intrepid liberality engaged to find authority for it in the statutes at large: on which Signor Delpini, with his usual terseness of repartee, instantly exclaimed Ha! ha! ha! However the difficulty was at length obviated by an observation of a noble Lord, that in the case of the King versus Atkinson, the House of Lords had established the right of judges to amend a record, as Mr. Quarme had informed his Lordship immediately after his having voted for that decision.
Here end Mr. Robinson's notes.

"A present God
"Heavy Hanover,
" Abject Commons," &c.
The imitation will be obvious to the classical reader.
— Prœsens divus habebitur
Augustus, abjectis Britannis,
Imperio, gravibufque Perfis.       HOR.

All the editors of Horace have hitherto read adjectis Britannis. Our author, as found a critic as a divine, Suo per iculo makes the alteration of a single letter, and thereby gives a new and peculiar force to the application of the passage. — N. B. Abject , in the author's understanding of the word, means that precise degree of submission due from a free people to monarchy. It is further worthy remark, that Horace wrote the ode alluded to, before Britain was subjected to absolute sway; and consequently the passage was meant as a prophetic compliment to Augustus. Those who do not think that Britain is yet sufficiently abject, will regard the imitation in the same light. We shall close this subject by observing how much better GRAVIBUS applies in the imitation than in the original; and how well the untruth of Ierne's volunteers joining in the deification exemplifies the dedicatory address of the lie SUPLIME.

[Handwritten] July. 20.

PROBATIONARY ODES.
No. XVI.
We have been favored by the official correspondent, who has continued with so decided and flattering a preference, to communicate to us every flower and sprig of the poetical Bouquet, which has been produced on the prolifc subject of the Laureatship : with the following duplicate Ode, on the part of the Right Hon. Viscount Mountmorris. The reasons of this double diligence on the part of his Lordship, after so admirable a display of his talents, as was exhibited in this paper a few days ago, are explained in the following letter from himself to a noble Lord.

My Lord,
Being informed from undoubted authority, that the learned Pierot whom you Lordship has thought proper to nominate to the dignity of your Assessor, knows no language but his own; it seemed to me probable he might not understand Irish, — Now as I recollect my last ode to have proceeded on the orthography of that kingdom, I thought his entire ignorance of the tongue, might perhaps be some hindrance to his judgment, upon its merit. — On account of this unhappy ignorance, therefore, on the part of the worthy Busso of any language but Italian, I have taken the liberty to present your Lordship and him with a second Ode, written in English ; which I hope he will find no difficulty in understanding, and which certainly has the better chance of being perfectly correct in the true English idiom, as it has been very carefully revised and altered by my worthy friend, Mr. Henry Dundas.
I have the honor to be, my Lord,
Your Lordship's devoted servant,
MOUNTMORRIS.

PROBATIONARY ODE,
By the Right Hon. Harvey Redmond Morris, Lord Viscount Mountmorris, of the Kingdom of Ireland, &c.

I.
YE gentle Nymphs who rule the Song,
Who stray Thessalian groves among,
With farms so bright n airy;
Whether you pierce Pierian shades,
Or less refin'd, adorn the glades,
And wanton with the lusty blades,Of fruitful Tipperary;
Whether you sig Aonias' wave,
0r, in thy streams, fair Lissy, lave;
Whether you taste ambrosial food,
Or think potatoes quite as good,
Oh, listen to an Irish Peer,
Who has woo'd your sex for many a year.

II.
Gold, thou bright benignant power,
Parent of the jocund hour,
Say, how may breast has heav'd with many a storm,
When thee I worship'd in a female form!
Thou, whose high and patent skill,
Turns things and persons at thy will !
Thou, whose omnipotent dearer,
Mighty as Fate's eternal rule,
Can make a wise man of a fool,
And grace e'en loath'd deformity
Who straitness gives to her that's crooked,
And Grecian grace to nose that's hooked,
Who smooths the mount on Laura's back,
And wit supplies, to those that lack ;
Say, and take pity on my woes, 
Record my throbs, recount my throes;
How oft I sigh'd,
How oft I dy'd
How oft dismiss'd
How seldom kiss'dHow oft fair Phyllida, when thee I woo'd,
With cautious foresight, all thy charms I view'd;​​​​​​​
Oe'r many a sod,
How oft I trod,
To count thy acres o'er,
Or spent my time,
For marle or lime,
With anxious zeal to bore !
How Cupid then all great and powerful fate,
Perch'd on the vantage of a rich estate;
When for his darts, he us'd fair spreading trees,
Ah! who cou'd fail, that shot with shaft like these:

III.
Oh, fad example of capricious fate!
Sue Irishmen in vain ?
Does Pompey's self, the proud, the great
Fail e'en a maid to gain! --
What boots my form so tall and slim,
My leg so stout -- my beard so grim,
Why have I Alexander's bend,
Emblem of conquest never gain'd?

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