THE
BATTIAD.
CANTO the First.
LONDON:
Printed for G. SMITH, near
Temple-Bar
(Price Six-pence.) MDCCL.
THE
BATTIAD.
CANTO the First.
AWAKE, my Muse, whate'er thy Name may be,
Or sprung from heav'nly seed, or low degree,
Whether thou equal'st
Garth
's majestic rage,
Or crawl'st, like
Blackmore,
thro' the drowsy Page,
Much it imports the Bus'ness to explain
That shook the puny state of
Warwick-Lane:
Then, thrice-invok'd, expand thy raven's wing,
Vast is the task, for thou hast much to sing.
o
k,
to thee I dedicate my lays;
Tho' no
Degree
thy equal merit raise,
Yet shall your skill to latest times indure,
Like
Graduates
oft you kill, like them you sometimes cure.
'Twas now the day when Fellows, Fellows meet,
To talk of weighty matters, then to eat;
Mean while the Patient, from his tyrant free,
Inhales fresh health, and lives without a Fee.
First
BATTUS
came, deep-read in worldly art,
Whose tongue ne'er knew the secrets of his heart;
In mischief mighty, tho' but mean of size,
And, like the
Tempter,
ever in disguise.
See him with aspect grave, and gentle tread,
By slow degrees, approach the sickly bed:
Then at his Club behold him alter'd soon,
The solemn Doctor turns a low Buffoon:
And he, who lately in a learned freak
Poach'd ev'ry
Lexicon,
and publish'd
Greek,
Still madly emulous of vulgar Praise,
From
Punch
's forehead wrings the dirty bays.
But who is that whose gogling Eye-balls scowl,
Like the full Orbs of the
Cecropian
fowl?
Hail,
POCUS,
Hail!—Ye Midwives, sound his fame!
Ye Nurses, sing in Lullabies his Name!
'Tis his to ease from pangs the lab'ring wife,
And tug the little Offspring into life.
As blind
Tiresias,
on a luckless day,
Lost his first Sex, as antient Poets say;
So purring
POCUS,
once scarce known to fame,
Of an unskilful Leach, a Matron grave became.
Him
Granta
saw, and bade her learned Vest
Bind his broad Shoulders, and embrace his Chest;
Yet never quaff'd he of her sacred stream,
No Muse inspiring waits his morning dream.
The Scarlet Robe its heavy Wearer mocks;
So sits a Racer's Saddle on an Ox.
As he pass'd by, a num'rous tribe succeeds,
Thick as in standing corn the purple weeds;
Names you could hardly think did e'er exist,
But that you see them in the
College List.
Slow-footed
The epithet
swift-footed
given to
Achilles,
who was famous for slaying Mankind, is, by being reversed, a most high compliment on the Learned Gentleman to whom it is applied.
Ad—ms
hobbled in the throng,
And
D—d,
a Giant Spectre, slouch'd along;
Then
Br—n
march'd onward, deep in physic leer,
And chatt'ring
Ch—n-y
wriggled in the rear.
Each
Aesculapian
Sage assumes his seat,
When
BATTUS
thus forestalls the promis'd treat.
"Ere yet we on the choicest viands dine,
"Ere the deep glass be dy'd with gen'rous wine,
"Think, think my friends, what mischiefs threat our State,
"Now Ruin perches on our College-gate;
"There Graduate
Schomberg
for his answer stands,
"Examin'd thrice, his ent'rance loud demands:
"But by yon Pile, where on the chissel'd stone
"The well-wrought Madman seems to live and groan,
"
here on clean straw, sequester'd in th
,
"The Patriot, Sage, and Bard immortal dwells,
"I swear, my soul detests the hated league,
"And Hell, if Heav'n should fail, shall second my Intrigue.
"Sooner shall rivers to their springs return,
"Or
Warwick-Lane
at sickly seasons mourn;
"Sooner shall roses bloom upon the main,
"Fish sport in woods, nay I turn
The Ed
tor is in doubt with himself whether it should not be
Wig;
for
Battus
is as apt to turn his wig for the entertainment of his company, as his coat for his own private emolument.
Whig
again;
"Than
Schomberg
in our College find a place:
"This interdicting hand shall crush his race;
"What tho' he claim admittance as his right,
The pow'r of numbers makes a raven white.
"Our
Alma-Mater
shall in vain protest,
"'Tis mine to make her bow her haughty crest;
"Down, down with
Cam
and
Isis
rev'rend schools,
"Shall we proceed on dull exploded rules?
"Now welcome those on
Leman
's banks who feed,
"The fat
Batavian,
and the Sons of
Tweed;
"These in full swarms shall all our
College
fill,
"And claim an equal privilege to kill;
"While I superior to the rest shall fit,
"A
Lect'rer, Mimic, Editor,
and
Wit.
"Nor ask what cause inflames my stubborn hate,
"My settled purpose is as fix'd as Fate;
"Reject our Claimant, nor his threat'nings fear,
"OURSELF thro' Law's wild maze will guide you clear
"'Till ev'ry Court my deep address shall own;
"What!—are your
BATTUS'
arts so little known?"
He said, and paus'd; the Midwife rear'd his size,
Rolling from side to side his
An epithet that so much exalted the beauty of
Homer
's
Juno,
must no doubt pass an high compliment on the grace of feature of our incomparable Midwife.
Ox-like eyes;
And while the scarlet Heroes he address'd,
Thick eructations half his speech suppress'd.
"By
Aedepol.
] It was the custom of the
Roman
Ladies to swear by
Castor,
as the Men did by
Hercules.
An asseveration by the Temple of
Pollux
was made use of by both sexes, and therefore aptly put in the mouth of the Midwife.
Aedepol,
my
BATTUS,
here I swear,
"I undismay'd with thee will greatly dare,
"With thee I'll misinterpret, meanings strain,
"Or wade thro' miry roads of deep chicane.
"As Hounds together in one couple ty'd,
"As
Pope
and
Devil
sitting side by side,
"As
Mountebank
and quaint
Jack-Pudding
join,
"So ever mix thy friendly name with mine.
"Nor think I've idly slept, you know my trade
"Is Nature's dark recesses to invade;
"Thro' alleys groping, lo! I set to view
"The affidavit of an half-starv'd
Half-starv'd
Jew.]
Pocus,
by his great skill in the occult sciences, found out a
Jew
in a certain corner of the town, and got him to make an affidavit that
Schomberg
was born abroad; which was true in fact, for he never saw
England
'till he was two or three years old; and, in consequence of not being a native, was incapable of being admitted Fellow, at least this was the joint opinion of
Battus
and
Pocus.
Jew;
"And did not I my critic skill display?
"See my epistle upon
O
and
A
] While
Schomberg
was carrying on his bill of Naturalization, an anonymous letter was written to the Sp—r of the H—e of C—mm—ns, purporting that
Schomberg
intended to impose upon the Par—t, for whereas he of late spelt his name with an O, he, or his father, used formerly to write it with an A. The Midwife is, for many reasons, suspected to be the author of this letter, for, among others, two witnesses are ready to depose upon oath that he can write.
O
and
A.
"Man, haughty Man, indebted to the Brutes,
"Assumes that name which best his nature suits;
"Heroes are Lions in an human shape,
"A Fox the Statesman, and the Beau an Ape;
"Then, to reward the yearnings of my soul,
"Salute your Midwife by the name of
Mole.
"Nor think I'll ever from your banners fly,
"I
Schomberg
hate, nor know the reason why:
"Perhaps too oft his busy Sire I meet,
"That cursed chariot rolls thro' ev'ry street;
"Perhaps—I know not what inflames my rage,
"But youthful ardor thaws my frozen age;
"Sleepless I lye, I foam, I toss, I rave,
"Mad as the Priestess in
Apollo
's cave.
"Let
Heberden
his views by truth direct,
"Let
Reeve
oppose, an obstinate
Elect;
"Let
Leatherland
be stubborn to his trust,
"Faint-hearted wretch, who dares not be unjust;
"Ourselves sit here above the dread of law,
"Each pow'rful
Fellow
is a grim Bashaw;
"Tho' when from hence he drives his painted wain,
"He shrinks into his Nothingness again.
"Then hear your
POCUS,
my Associates dear,
"Drive
Schomberg
hence, nor yield to idle fear.
"So
Child
's and
Batson
's shall your triumphs tell,
"And ev'ry Parish toll her
Passing-Bell.
"Then, gentle Brethren, give your kind assent."
He ceas'd, the Rabble roar'd, "content, content."
Loud was the din—Thus prouling out for food
The cackling mother leads the waddling brood;
If ought disturb them, all together cry,
And the hoarse clangor echoes thro' the sky;
Goose answers goose with dissonance of voice,
And
Sarum
's steeples catch the grating noise.
The End of the First Canto. Shortly will be published,
The
BATTIAD.
Canto the Second.