(IN FAVOUR OF HER FRIENDS AT COURT) O ye! who basking in the sunny sphere, Where vulgar truth must ever fail to please; What say you, when the sportive pen I seize, To sing, in varied strains, the op’ning year? Not like the Laureat,¹ to unfold 5 A tale poetical, – and often told; To paint, in fancy, Valour’s car Victorious, o’er the world of War! To boast prosperity, and such fine things; To say, that ev’ry morn, new glory brings; 10 To swear that loud defiance shall be hurl’d, To all the corners of the trembling world, While Britain, like a rock of pearl shall be, A wonder! – circled by silver sea! Methinks in ev’ry face appears, 15 A book of symptomatic fears! Some pallid, lest the pen of satire, Should mark with rude uncourtly line, The follies of a race – divine! And hallo in their ears, – the song of nature: 20 Th at I should tell the truth – Oh Heav’n forbid! They would not understand me, – if I did. 'Tis said, that ev'ry new born year, (And days of more importance too I ween) A loyal Ode shou'd meet the sacred ear 25 Of Britain's King, - and Britain's Queen! That, for this scrap of lofty strain, (Which seldom works the Poet’s brain) He makes poor Pegassus - a venal hack - Carrying triumphant home, - a butt of sack! 30 Nay more, since praise is often found, To soothe our care with Syren sound, The Patron of the Muses pays – The glozer for his dulcet lays – (So scarce are words of oil and honey) 35 Two hundred annual pounds, of lawful money! And who in these free, prosperous times, Will count the bargain dear, – for twenty soothing rhymes; Sweet Nymphs of Honour, maidens nam’d, For chastity and saint-like manners fam’d; 40 356Ye, who have grac’d the higher spheres, – The very same, these twenty years! How comes it, in the loyal Odes, You share no little Episodes? Is it because your forms, so richly stor’d 45 In private only, – seek to be ador’d? And you, ye stiff unbending race, Who never stoop, except to gain a place; Ye, who with golden key, and taper wand - The darkest avenues of Courts command; 50 Why does the Laureat pen forbear to shew Your well-plac'd features - simp'ring in a row? Waiting the nod familiar, or the joke Which, to be laugh'd at — only needs be spoke? For Courtly jaws are ever on the watch, 55 Like hungry dogs, - a sav'ry bit to snatch; And whether sour or sweet the morsel fall, Like well train'd packs, they scent, and seize on all! Why does the Poet too disdain - The votive lay, the flatt'ring strain; 60 To sing the blooming charms of T—N,² Of etiquette — the guardian lion! Of R—d's³ modesty, — that dies, Whene'er a youthful lover sighs! Of P—d's⁴ friendship! - O—w's⁵ wit! 65 Of A—r's⁶ native blushes! - Q—y's⁷ youth! Of W—d—m's⁸ patriotic truth! Or, still more wonderful, - the diffidence of P—tt!⁹ And why refuse a few kind words, - To those high posts of honour, chamber - Lords! 70 Let these, Oh! loyal rhymester! grace your lays, And though no bribe, no place, no pension, Should e’er reward thy kind intention, Though thou should’st be of ev’ry muse the sport, Still shall thou shine, the glow-worm of the Court, 75 A thing that shrinks from true Promethean rays! Or like an ass of burden, make Poor Pegassus with annual off’rings move, Weighty enough his winged back to break, While you, and wily P—tt, the venal butts shall prove! 80 TABITHA BRAMBLE