THE CONSULIAD, AN HEROIC POEM.

THE CONSULIAD , AN HEROIC POEM . OF warring senators , and battles dire , Of quails uneaten . Muse awake the lyre , Where C—pb—ll's chimneys overlook the square , And N—t—n's future prospects hang in air ; Where counsellors dispute , and cockers match , And Caledonian earls in concert scratch ; A group of heroes , occupied the round , Long in the rolls of infamy renown'd . Circling the table all in silence sat , Now tearing bloody lean , now champing fat ; Now picking ortolans , and chicken slain , To form the whimsies of an à-la-reine : Now storming castles of the newest taste , And granting articles to forts of paste ; Now swallowing bitter draughts of Prussian beer ; Now sucking tallow of salubrious deer . The god of cabinets and senates saw His sons , like asses , to one centre draw . Inflated Discord heard , and left her cell , With all the horrors of her native hell : She , on the soaring wings of genius fled , And wav'd the pen of Junius round her head . Beneath the table , veil'd from sight , she sprung , And sat astride on noisy Twitcher's tongue : Twitcher , superior to the venal pack Of Bloomsbury's notorious monarch , Jack : Twitcher , a rotten branch of mighty stock , Whose interest winds his conscience as his clock : Whose attributes detestable , have long Been evident , and infamous in song . A toast's demanded : Madoc swift arose . Pactolian gravy trickling down his clothes : His sanguine fork a murder'd pigeon prest , His knife with deep incision sought the breast . Upon his lips the quivering accents hung , And too much expedition chain'd his tongue . When thus he sputter'd : " All the glasses fill , And toast the great Pendragon of the hill : Mab-Uther Owein , a long train of kings , From whom the royal blood of Madoc springs . Madoc , undoubtedly of Arthur's race , You see the mighty monarch in his face : Madoc , in bagnios and in courts ador'd , Demands this proper homage of the board . " " Monarchs ! " said Twitcher , setting down his beer : His muscles wreathing a contemptuous sneer ; " Monarchs ! Of mole-hills , oyster-beds , a rock , These are the grafters of your royal stock My pony Scrub can sires more valiant trace — " The mangled pigeon thunders on his face ; His op'ning mouth the melted butter fills , And dropping from his nose and chin distills . Furious he started , rage his bosom warms ; Loud as his lordship's morning dun he storms . " Thou vulgar imitator of the great , Grown wanton with the excrements of state : This to thy head notorious Twitcher sends . " His shadow body to the table bends : His straining arm uprears a loin of veal , In these degenerate days , for three a meal : In antient times , as various writers say , An alderman or priest , eat three a day . With godlike strength , the grinning Twitcher plies , His stretching muscles and the mountain flies . Swift , as a cloud that shadows o'er the plain , It flew and scatter'd drops of oily rain . In opposition to extended knives , On royal Madoc's spreading chest it drives : Senseless he falls upon the sandy ground , Prest with the steamy load that ooz'd around . And now confusion spread her ghastly plume , And faction separates the noisy room . Balluntun , exercis'd in every vice That opens to a courtiers paradise , With D—s—n trammel'd , scruples not to draw Injustice up the rocky hill of law : From whose humanity the laurels sprung , Which will in George's-Fields be ever young . The vile Balluntun , starting from his chair , To Fortune thus address'd his private prayer : " Goddess of fate's rotundity , assist With thought-wing'd victory my untry'd fist : If I the grinning Twitcher overturn , Six Russian frigates at thy shrine shall burn ; Nine rioters shall bleed beneath thy feet ; And hanging cutters decorate each street . " The goddess smil'd , or rather smooth'd her frown , And shook the triple feathers of her crown : Instill'd a private pension in his soul . With rage inspir'd , he seiz'd a Gallic roll : His bursting arm the missive weapon threw , High o'er his rival's head it whistling slew , Curraras , for his Jewish soul renown'd , Receiv'd it on his ear and kist the ground . Curraras , vers'd in every little art , To play the minister's or felon's part : Grown hoary in the villanies of state , A title made him infamously great . A slave to venal slaves ; a tool to tools : The representative to knaves and fools . But see ! Commercial Bristol's genius sit , Her shield a turtle-shell , her lance a spit . See , whilst her nodding aldermen are spread , In all the branching honours of the head ; Curraras , ever faithful to the cause , With beef and ven'son their attention draws : They drink , they eat , then sign the mean address ; Say , could their humble gratitude do less ? By disappointment vex'd , Balluntun flies ; Red lightnings flashing in his dancing eyes . Firm as his virtue , mighty Twitcher stands , And elevates for furious fight his hands : One pointed fist , his shadow'd corps defends The other on Balluntun's eyes descends : A darkling , shaking light his optics view , Circled with livid tinges red and blue . Now fir'd with anguish and inslam'd by pride , He thunders on his adversary's side : With patt'ring blows prolongs th'unequal fight ; Twitcher retreats before the man of might . But Fortune , ( or some higher power , or god ) Oblique extended sorth a sable rod : As Twitcher retrograde maintain'd the fray , The harden'd serpent intercepts his way : He fell , and falling with a lordly air , Crush'd into atoms the judicial chair . Curraras , for his Jewish soul renown'd , Arose ; but deasen'd with a singing sound , A cloud of discontent o'erspread his brows ; Revenge in every bloody feature glows . Around his head a roasted gander whirls , Dropping Manilla sauces on his curls : Swift to the vile Balluntun's face it flies , The burning pepper sparkles in his eyes : His India waistcoat reeking with the oil , Glows brighter red , the glory of the spoil . The fight is gen'ral ; fowl repulses fowl : The victors thunder , and the vanquish'd howl . Stars , garters , all the implements of shew , That deck'd the pow'rs above , disgrac'd below . Nor swords , nor mightier weapons did they draw , For all were well acquainted with the law . Let Drap—r to improve his diction fight ; Our heroes , like Lord George could scold and write . Gogmagog early of the jocky club ; Empty as C—br—ke's oratorial tub : A rusty link of ministerial chain ; A living glory of the present reign . Vers'd in the arts of ammunition bread , He wav'd a red wheat manchet round his head : David-ap-Howel , furious , wild , and young , From the same line as royal Madoc sprung ; Occur'd , the object of his bursting ire , And on his nose receiv'd the weapon dire : A double river of congealing blood , O'erflows his garter with a purple flood . Mad as a bull by daring mastiffs tore , When ladies scream and greasy butchers roar : Mad as B—rg—e when groping through the park , He kiss'd his own dear lady in the dark . The lineal representative of kings , A carving weapon seiz'd , and up he springs : A weapon long in cruel murders stain'd , For mangling captive carcases ordain'd . But Fortune , Providence , or what you will , To lay the rising scenes of horror still ; In Fero's person seiz'd a shining pot , Where bubbled scrips , and contracts flaming hot : In the fierce Cambrians breeches drains it dry , The chapel totters with the shrieking cry , Loud as the mob's reiterated yell , When Sawny rose , as mighty Chatham fell . Flaccus the glory of a masquerade ; Whose every action is of trifles made : At Graft—n's well-stor'd table ever found ; Like G—n too for every vice renown'd . G—n to whose immortal sense we owe , The blood which will from civil discord flow : Who swells each grievance , lengthens every tax , Blind to the rip'ning vengeance of the axe . Flaccus , they outhful , degagée and gay , With eye of pity , saw the dreary fray : Amidst the greasy horrors of the fight , He trembled for his suit of virgin white . Fond of his eloquence , and easy flow Of talk verbose whose meaning none can know : He mounts the table , but thro' eager haste , His foot upon a smoking court-pie plac'd : The burning liquid penetrates his shoe , Swift from the rostrum the declaimer flew , But learnedly heroic he disdains , To spoil his pretty counteance with strains . Remounted on the table , now he stands , Waves his high powder'd-head and ruffled hands . " Friends ! Let this clang of hostile sury cease , Ill it becomes the plenipo's of peace : Shall olio's , from internal battle drest , Like bullets outward perforate the breast ; Shall jav'lin bottles blood aetherial spill ; Shall luscious turtle without surfeit kill . " More had he said : when from Doglostock flung , A custard pudding trembled on his tongue : And , Ah ! Misfortunes seldom come alone , Great Twitcher rising seiz'd a polish'd bone ; Upon his breast the oily weapon clangs ; Headlong he falls , propell'd by thick'ning bangs . The prince of trimmers , for his magic fam'd , Quarlendorgongos by infernals nam'd : By mortals Alavat in common stil'd ; Nurs'd in a furnace , Nox and Neptune's child : Bursting with rage , a weighty bottle caught , With crimson blood and vital spirits fraught , To Doxo's head the gurgling woe he sends ; Doxo made mighty in his mighty friends . Upon his front the stubborn vessel sounds , Back from his harder front the bottle bounds : He fell . The royal Madoc rising up , Repos'd him weary , on his painful crup : The head of Doxo , first projecting down , Thunders upon the kingly Cambrian's crown : The sanguine tumour swells ; again he falls ; On his broad chest the bulky Doxo sprawls . Tyro the sage , the sensible , the strong , As yet unnotic'd in the muse-taught song . Tyro , for nerocmancy far renown'd , A greater adept than Agrippa sound ; Oft as his phantom reasons interven'd , De Viris pension'd , the defaulter screen'd ; Another C—rt—t remains in Cl— ; In Fl—the—r fifty Jefferies's appear , Tyro stood neuter , till the champions tir'd , In languid attitudes a truce desir'd , Long was the bloody fight ; confusion dire Has hid some circumstances from the lyre : Suffice it , that each hero kiss'd the ground , Tyro excepted for old laws renown'd ; Who stretching his authoritative hand , Loudly thus issu'd forth his dread command . " Peace , wrangling senators , and placemen , peace , In the King's name , let hostile vengeance cease ! " Aghast the champions hear the surious sound , The fallen unmolested leave the ground . " What fury , nobles , occupies your breast ; What patriots spirits has your minds possest . Nor honorary gifts , nor pensions , please , Sav , are you Covent-Garden patentees ! How ? Wist you not what ancient sages said , The council quarrels , and the poor have bread . See this court-pie with twenty-thousand drest ; Be every thought of enmity at rest : Divide it and be friends again , " he said : The council god return'd ; and discord fled . Bristol , Jan. 4 , 1770 . C.