NUMBER XX. IRREGULAR ODE, FOR THE T KING'S BIRTH-DAY, By SIR GEORGE HOWARD, K. B. CHORUS. Re mi fa sol, Tol de rol lol. I. My Muse, for George prepare the splendid song, Oh may it float on Schwellenburgen's voice! Let Maids of Honour sing it all day long, That Hoggaden's fair ears may hear it, and rejoice. II. What subject first shall claim thy courtly strains? While Rebel Freedom, forc'd at length to bow, Retir'd reluctant from her fav'rite plains? Ah! while in each insulting tower you trace How wilt thou joy to view the alter'd scene! The levell'd ditch no more its jaws discloses, } Hath spread smooth gravel walks, and a small bowling green! III. Mighty Sov'reign! Mighty Master! In a poor porter's lodge, by Chambers plann❜d, Talking! talking! talking! talking! All for his country's good! Oh! Europe's pride! Britannia's hope! The victor monarch walks like Cincinnatus. See, heavenly Muse! I vow to God 'Twas thus the laurel'd hero trod Sweet rural joys! delights without compare Pleasure shines in his eyes, While George with surprize, And his 'sparagus wave in the air! IV. But hark! I hear the sound of coaches, Haste, ye Postillions! o'er the turnpike road; Back to St. James's bear your royal load! 'Tis done-his smoaking wheels scarce touch'd the ground By the Old Magpye and the New, By Colnbrook, Hounslow, Brentford, Kew, And now, behold, he's landed safe and sound. Hail to the blest who tread this hallow'd ground! Warriors, who love their fellow-creatures, Ye gentle, maids of honour, in stiff hoops, Who chaste as Phoenixes in coops, } Know not the danger that await your sex! Who in these precincts joy to wait Ye courtly wands, so white and small, Hail to you all! ! ! CHORUS. Hail to you all! ! ! V. Now, heavenly Muse, thy choicest song prepare: Proud of their mutual love, Like Nisus and Euryalus they move, To Glory's steepest heights together tend, Each careless for himself, each anxious for his friend! Hail! associate Politicians ! Hail! sublime Arithmeticians! Hail! vast exhaustless source of Irish Propositions! Sooner our gracious King From heel to heel shall cease to swing; Sooner that brilliant eye shall leave its socket; Sooner that hand desert the breeches pocket, Than constant George consent his friends to quit, And break his plighted faith to Jenkinson and Pitt ! CHORUS. Hail! most prudent Politicians ! Hail! vast exhaustless source of Irish propositions! VI. Oh deep unfathomable Pitt! To thee Ierne owes her happiest days! Wait a bit, And all her sons shall loudly sing thy praise! Ierne, happy, happy Maid! Mistress of the Poplin trade! Old Europa's fav'rite daughter, Whom first emerging from the water, In days of yore, Europa bore, To the celestial Bull ! Behold thy vows are heard, behold thy joys are full ! Thy fav'rite Resolutions greet, They're not much chang'd, there's no deceit! Pray be convinc'd, they're still the true ones, Though sprung from thy prolific head, Each resolution hath begotten new ones, And like their sires, all Irish born and bred!! Then haste, Ierne, haste to sing, God save great George! God save the King! And each revolving year bring back the fourth of June! |