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[Page 24]
Now the Prisoner, who wanted to force
Those Ladies to follow a desperate course,
Thought nothing so likely to stir up a riot,
As to weaken their Tea, or to alter their Diet.
Not all the tyrannical acts of past Ages,
Not Tacitus; No ! not the luminous Pages
Of Gibbon himself, can an instance produce
Of Authority turn'd to so wicked a use;
No such cruelty ever was exercised in
This World, since the days of Original Sin !
As to force an affectionate dutiful son
To act by his Mother as Asoph has done.
He forgot in our Shakespere that precept Divine
"Let thy Mind be untainted, and nothing design
" Against thy Dear Mother !" No, this he forgot -
Or if he remember'd, he minded it not.
,Twas hoped that the Begums would openly rise,
And assemble a Host by the sound of their cries;
That Hastings might find some excuse for the measure
He meant to adopt with respect to their Treasure.
But the Begums, my Lords, tho' of millions bereft,
Could live pretty well upon that which was left:
They are stricken in years, they are gentle and meek;
No resentment they feel, and no vengeance they seek.
E'en now that ourselves with such zeal are pursuing
This Man, they would weep if they heard of his ruin.
'Twas expedient, my Lords, that these Dames shou'd rebel,
Or be thought so at least,which would answer well.
So Impey set off, and collected a pack
Of strange Affidavitts, some white and some black,
And returned with a Budget brim full in a crack.
One day , the Chief Justice was travelling post --
The next at Lucknow, when like Old Hamlet's Ghost,
"Swear ! Swear ! you must Swear ! was Old Truepenny's cry,
To those who stood near, and to those who pass'd by"
My Lords, this great Man, in assessing the the rate
Of Crimes, had an eye to the wants of the State:
Justinian and Timur he treated as fools,
And was guided by Cocker's Numerical Rules.
Ye Guardians of Justice, to you I appeal --
Shall Private give way to the General Weal?
Ye Prelates to whom our Religion belongs,
Our country to save may we do private wrongs?
To decide on this Question, My Lords, is your lot,
Whether Hasting's conduct was useful or not?
Let the truth but Appear, and the Battle is won,
The Verdict is ours ! -- Now, My Lords. I have done !"
The Gallery folk, who, misled by the sport,
Conceived 'twas a Play-House instead of a Court,
And thinking the Actor uncommonly good,
They Clap'd, and cry'd "Bravo" as loud as they could.
Then Edmund gave Sherry a hearty embrace,
And cry'd as he sputter'd all over his face,
"At Supper this night you shall have the First Place !"
On thy Leader's right hand be thy dignify'd seat;
Fat Beef and fat Mutton shall garnish thy Plate;
And when thou has supp'd, to enliven the soul
Shall Claret and Burgundy fill up thy Bowl !
The Heroes, who long and successfully fight,
From the Edicts of Homer establish a right
To enjoy the rich Feast with Briseis at night.
And now, till the Court shall think fit to renew
The Trial, Dear Brother, I bid you adieu.
SIMKIN
Friday, June 13th, 1788.
BROTHER SIMON in Wales
TO SIMPKIN the SECOND in London
Forgive me, Dear Sim, if I'm to deeply smitten.
With your half dozen Letters so fluently written;
And since, after Sheridan's heart-stirring summons,
A pause is judg'd prudent by Lords as by Commons
And, leisure may leave to listen, inclin'd,
I embrace a fit moment to tell you my mind.
Methinks, Brother Sim, your adventure was bold,
When you step'd forth an ape of your Namesake of old:
That Simpkin so pleasant, whose well-mingled satire,
Ow'd no poison to Party, no gall to ill-nature;
From Talents and Virtue withholding his sneer,
At Folly He laugh'd and the laugh was sincere:
In Vanity's Vortex his models he chose,
And Coxcombs and Pedants alone were his foes.
[Column 2]
But you, My Dear Brother, with feelings more nice,
Find ridicule lurking in --------horrour of Vice;
And effort of Genius acute and refin'd,
That honour country, our age, and mankind,
Deform'd in your Verse, take a farcical mien,
Where Pleasantry check'd, wears the features of Spleen:
Too angry for Humour, for Censure too gay,
Your Irony dies in plain story away.
And, while we lament that your Arrows are shot,
Where Envy and Party in vain seek a blot,
We cannot avoid, Brother Simpkin, besure,
Suspecting your motives may not be quite pure.
And thus when you tell us you're glad to the heart,
"*That the Orator Sherry has finish'd his part;
When you say "that some letters are meant for Conviction,"
We own that you there drop the language of fiction.
Beware, Brother Simpkin, this Painter sublime,
Who has lately engross'd your bespattering Rhyme,
In a playful effusion of Fancy has shewn,
A Portrait that some may mistake for your own;
A Plagiarist Author, Retailer of Scraps,
Purloined from a Brother --- from Anstey perhaps:
All Candour without, but all Envy within,
A Smile ill concealing the horrible grin;
Who fain would be witty and archly severe,
While from eyes swoln with rage, gushes forth the hot tear.
The Picture in Parsons yet gladdens the scene,
Nor need I repeat, 'tis Sir Fretful I mean.
Then warn'd, My Dear Brother, with Sherry have done,
Nor hang up your Blanket 'twixt us and the Sun;
For lo ! through the pores of your thread-bare desigh,
The rays of the God more resplendently shine.
Monmouth, June 16. SIMON.
* Vide Simpkin's 6th Letter.
SIMPKIN the SECOND
Noticing SYMON.
If there can be additional Excellence, where the general Admiration seems scarcely to have left room for Praise --- it is that that which is so well done, is done quickly -- For the Writer informs us, in his note which enclosed the following Letter, that he only saw Symon late Yesterday Morning, and we received the answer at Five o'Clock in the Afternoon.
SOME fellow, Dear Brother, assuming your Name,
My Letters to you has thought proper to blame;
His Censure's convey'd in a dissonant Chime,
With one Line for Sense, and another for Rhyme !
He talks about "Sheridan's Heart-stirring Summons,"
For no other use but to jingle with Commons;
Then he speaks of "Old Simpkin, whose well-mingled satire
Ow'd no Poison to Party, no Gall to Ill-nature."
Such uncouth ideas in every line,
Prove clearly, the Writer's no Brother of mine.
He tells me, forsooth, that he's not deeply smitten,
"With my half dozen Letters so fluently written:"
Were he not below notice, some Lines I would write him,
That, if he can feel, should effectually smite him,
One moment he thinks, and the next he is sure,
That "my motive for writing is not very pure."
If Simpkin the Second he really knew,
He would own,with a blush, his suspicion untrue.
By his boldly obtruding Suspicion for Knowledge,
One would think him a Student of Sheridan's College;
But when I consider how feeble his Pen,
Sherry never could own him -- as one of his Men.
Once more the, Dear Brother, I bid you adieu,
And will nothing more till requested by you.
SIMPKIN.
P.S. -- As to Sherry himself -- just to fill up the void,
In suppressing all Theatres, now he's employ'd;
And in having in Acting accomplish'd some Fame,
He's preventing all others -- from doing the same.
For that excellent Maxim has ne'er met his eye,
"Do to others, good Man, as you would be dine by."