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
5
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,
10
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,
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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.
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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
25
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?
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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,
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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;
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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,
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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.
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,
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"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:
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"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,
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"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,
"Than
Schomberg in our College find a place:
"This interdicting hand shall crush his race;
[Page 6] "What tho' he claim admittance as his right,
The pow'r of numbers makes a raven white.
"Our
Alma-Mater shall in vain protest,
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"'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;
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"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,
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"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?"
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He said, and paus'd; the Midwife rear'd his size,
Rolling from side to side his
* Ox-like eyes;
And while the scarlet Heroes he address'd,
Thick eructations half his speech suppress'd.
"I undismay'd with thee will greatly dare,
[Page 7] "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,
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"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
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"The affidavit of an half-starv'd
*
Jew;
"And did not I my critic skill display?
"Man, haughty Man, indebted to the Brutes,
"Assumes that name which best his nature suits;
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"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,
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"I
Schomberg hate, nor know the reason why:
"Perhaps too oft his busy Sire I meet,
"That cursed chariot rolls thro' ev'ry street;
[Page 8] "Perhaps—I know not what inflames my rage,
"But youthful ardor thaws my frozen age;
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"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,
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"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.
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"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."
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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;
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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.