EPISTLE TO THE Right Honble . the Lord Viscount BEAUCHAMP . WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXXXV-VI . BY THE SAME . MY LORD , " WHAT is Nobility ? " you wish to know , The real substance stripp'd of all its show : And can you then the honest freedom bear Of truths I ought to tell , and you to hear ? Or shall I say — " Such beauty , birth , estate , " Must make their owner lov'd , and make him great ! " Above the mean restraint of vulgar rules , " Your will a law , plebeians but your tools , " While mingling with your blood each honour flows ; " And in each pulse a Percy's ardor glows ? — Not so the muse : she teaches you to know , How vain those honours you to others owe ! Who rise to glory , must by virtue rise , 'Tis in the mind all genuine greatness lies : On that eternal base , on that alone , The world's esteem you build , and more — your own . Tho' Percy , Seymour , mighty names ! combine To swell your blood , to dignify your line ; For you tho' fortune all her stores has spread , And beauty points to pleasure's rosy bed ; Yet what avail birth , beauty , fortune's store , The plume of title , and the pride of power , If deaf to virtue , deaf to honour's call , To tyrant vice a wretched slave you fall ? To vice , paternal laurels you must yield ; Revers'd each triumph , lost each purple field ; Your sires no more their captive foes detain , You pay the ransom , and you break the chain ; No more your high-descended fame we view , No Hartford fought , no Percy bled for you . I know , my lord , ambition fills your mind , And in life's voyage is th'impelling wind ; But at the helm let sober reason stand , And steer the bark , with heaven-directed hand ; So shall you safe ambition's gales receive , And ride securely , tho' the billows heave ; So shall you shun the giddy hero's fate , And by her influence be both good and great . She bids you first , in life's soft vernal hours , With active industry , wake nature's powers ; With rising years , still rising arts display ; With new-born graces , mark each new-born day . 'Tis now the time young passion to command , While yet the pliant stem obeys the hand ; Guide now the courser with a steady rein , Ere yet he bounds o'er pleasure's flowery plain : In passion's strife , no medium you can have ; You rule a master , or submit a slave . " For whom these toils , you may perhaps enquire ; " First for yourself : Next nature will inspire The filial thought , fond wish , and kindred tear , Which make the parent and the sister dear : To these , in closest bands of love , ally'd , Their joy or grief you live , their shame or pride : Hence timely learn to make their bliss your own , And scorn to think or act for self alone ; Hence bravely strive upon your own to raise Their honour , grandeur , dignity , and praise . But wider far , beyond the narrow bound Of family , ambition searches round ; Searches to find the friend's delightful face , The friend at least demands the second place . And yet beware : for most desire a friend From meaner motives , not for virtue's end . There are , who with fond favour's fickle gale Now sudden swell , and now contract their sail ; This week devour , the next with sickening eye Avoid , and cast the sully'd play-thing by ; There are , who , tossing in the bed of vice , For flattery's opiate give the highest price ; Yet from the saving hand of friendship turn , Her med'cines dread , her generous offers spurn . Deserted greatness ! who but pities thee ? By crowds encompass'd , thou no friend can'st see : Or should kind truth invade thy tender ear , We pity still ; for thou no truth can'st hear . Ne'er grudg'd thy wealth to swell an useless state , Yet , frugal , deems th' expence of friends too great ; For friends , ne'er mixing in ambitious strife , For friends , the richest furniture of life ! Be your's , my lord , a nobler , higher aim , Your pride to burn with friendship's sacred flame ; By virtue kindled , by like manners fed , By mutual wishes , mutual favors spread , Increas'd with years , by candid truth refin'd , Pour all its boundless ardors thro' your mind . Be your's the care a chosen band to gain ; With them to glory's radiant summit strain , Aiding and aided each , while all contend , Who best , who bravest , shall assist his friend . Thus still should private friendships spread around , Till in their joint embrace the public's found , The common friend ! — then all her good explore , Explor'd , pursue with each unbiass'd power . But chief the greatest should her laws revere , Ennobling honours , which she bids them wear . A British noble is a dubious name , Of lowest infamy ; or highest fame : Born to redress an injur'd orphan's cause , To smooth th' unequal frown of rigid laws ; To stand an isthmus of our well-mix'd state , Where rival powers with restless billows beat , And from each side alike the fury fling Of maddening commons , or incroaching king . How mean , who scorns his country's sacred voice ! By birth a patriot , but a slave by choice . How great , who answers this illustrious end , Whom prince and people call their equal friend ! " Yes , there I'll rest ; ambition toils no more , " That goal attain'd , sure her long race is o'er . " Alas ! 'tis scarce begun ; ambition smiles At the poor limits of the British isles ; She o'er the globe expatiates unconfin'd , Expands with christian charity the mind , And pants to be the friend of all mankind . Her country all beneath one ambient sky ; Whoe'er beholds you radiant orbs on high . To whom one sun impartial gives the day , To whom the silver moon her milder ray , Whom the same water , earth , and air sustain , O'er whom one parent-king extends his reign , Are her compatriots all ; by her belov'd , In nature near , tho' far by space remov'd ; On common earth , no foreigner she knows ; No foe can find , or none but virtue's foes : Ready she stands her chearful aid to lend , To want and woe an undemanded friend ; Nor thus advances others bliss alone ; But in the way to theirs still finds her own . Their's is her own . What , should your taper light Ten thousand , burns it to yourself less bright ? " Men are ungrateful . " — Be they so , that dare ! Is that the giver's , or receiver's care ? Oh ! blind to joys , that from true bounty flow , To think , those e'er repent whose hearts bestow ! Man to his Maker thus best homage pays , Thus peaceful walks thro' virtue's pleasing ways : Her gentle image on the soul imprest Bids each tempestnous passion leave the breast : Thence with her livid self-devouring snakes Pale Envy flies ; her quiver Slander breaks : Thus falis ( dire scourge of a distracted age ! ) The knave-led , one-ey'd monster , Party-Rage . Ambition jostles with her friends no more ; Nor thirsts Revenge to drink a brother's gore ; Fury-Remorse no stinging scorpion rears ; O'er trembling Guilt no falling sword appears . Hence Conscience , void of blame , her front erects , Her God she fears , all other fear rejects . Hence Just Ambition boundless splendours crown , And hence she calls eternity her own . Thus your lov'd Scipio Africanus Aemilianus . Scipio past his glorious days , Blest with his kindred's , friend's , and country's praise . Nor ended there the human hero's thought , Nor in the Roman was the man forgot ; In the deaf battle hearing nature's call , He doom'd with tears a rival empire's fall , The world's great patriot he ! — by fame inspir'd , His youth each art adorn'd , each virtue fir'd ; He thro' Rome's sons the brave contagion spread , Now led to conquest , now to wisdom led ; Pleas'd , or to still the forum's civil roar , Or muse , Cajeta , on thy bending shore ; Free from affairs , unfetter'd with parade , To taste a friend amid the rural shade : There deigns to mingle in immortal lays , There deep thro' time his country's fate surveys ; While from his tongue sublimest precepts flow — " How man but sojourns on this spot below , " How mortal fame is to a point confin'd , " Heaven only fit to fill th' immortal mind ; " For heaven , how virtue can alone prepare , " And vice wou'd find herself unhappy there . " Hence , loos'd from earth , his pure affections soar Where sensual pleasure cheats the soul no more . Beneath his feet do nations treasures lie ? Millions he views with unretorted eye . His country's manners does corruption drown ? He , blameless censor ! stems them by his own . Did kingdoms groan ? he bade oppression cease , Stern tyrants aw'd , and hush'd the world to peace . Did justice call ? he car'd not what became Of life , or of life's sweetest breath , his fame : For her he dar'd the nobles , peoples hate , For her he liv'd , for her resign'd to fate . These were his honours , his high triumphs these ! Oh ! how unlike the slaves of wealth and ease : With plenty curst , to make their life a void , Too great , too noble , to be well employ'd , They seek some livery'd friend to drag away The heavy , cumberous , miserable day . There are , my lord , that with unfeeling ear A Scipio's , Sydney's , Falkland's glory hear , Unmov'd a Lonsdale's spotless honour see , Wise , studious , generous , loyal , just , and free ! Are proof to every lure of honest fame ; And yet of sycophants would buy a name ; Hence birds of throat obscene , and greedy maw , The chattering magpye , the tale-bearing daw , Rooks , vultures , harpies , their vile board surround , While frighted merit flies th' unhallow'd ground , Flies to the private shade , the pure retreat , And to their flatterers leaves the proud and great . What , tho' their hands ne'er hold Britannia's reins , Nor swords e'er seek her foes on crimson plains ? Yet , Blount shall own they drive six horses well , And Mordington's their bolder courage tell , Their name with Mordaunt's Pope disdains to sing , Yet with their triumphs does Newmarket ring . What tho' ( ye fair ! ) they break thro' honour's laws ; Yet hence they gain a modish world's applause : Receiv'd , repuls'd , their boast is still the same , And still they triumph o'er each injur'd name . Their vote , we know , ne'er rais'd the drooping state , But rescu'd operas from impending fate . Their bounty never bids Affliction smile , But pampers fidlers with the tradesman's spoil . No Goth to learning e'er was foe so fell , Yet their bought praises dedications swell ; Yet White's allows them , in a length of years , The first of sharpers , tho' the last of peers . In vain for such may domes on domes arise , With heads audacious , and invade the skies ; In vain dishonour'd stars dart mimic rays , To give their sordid breasts a borrow'd blaze ; In vain with lordly rule , their wide domains Swell hundred hills , and spread an hundred plains : If mean , still meaner by their lofty state , ( So statues lessen by a base too great ) With birth ignoble , poor amid their store , Obscur'd by splendor , impotent with power , By titles stain'd , with beauty unadorn'd , Courted by flattery , but by merit scorn'd , The slaves of slaves , corruption's dirty tools , The prey of villains , and the gaze of fools . Rise then , my lord , with noble ardor rise ! And whilst your sires before your ravish'd eyes Pass in a grand review , oh ! pant for fame , And by your actions dignify their name , Transmitting thence , with heighten'd lustre down , Honours , that may your future offspring crown ! That sight the muse with pleasing hope surveys , While to the blissful hour her fancy strays , When in the Hertford of another age The same fair virtues shall your soul engage ; The same soft meekness and majestic mien Shall chear the private , grace the public scene . From her , to glad at once your ears and eyes , A fair Eliza shall with spirit rise , With lively humour , yet devoid of blame , And be , with sweet variety , the same ; O'er some blest heart confirm her lasting sawy , With reason sprightly , and with goodness gay . When to another Beauchamp you shall owe Those joys , that with your dawning virtues grow , In him again be born , again shall live , And take that happiness , which now you give . Heaven has on you pour'd down his kindest shower , Health , riches , honours , bless'd your natal hour ; At once an elegance of form and mind , To please , to serve , and to adorn your kind ; In manners gentle , but in genius strong ; Tho' gay , collected , and polite , tho' young . These bounteous heaven bestows ! 'tis your's to raise His gifts , and from their use derive your praise : His the materials , your's the work must be ; Your choice , my lord , is fame or infamy . Oh ! should your virtues in pure current flow , And wealth and pleasure all around bestow , Till earth no more their length'ning stream can bound , Nor sinks their fame in time's vast ocean drown'd , Say , might the muse to future age declare , They were her early honour and her care ? That by her hand the bubbling fount was clear'd , That , following where the mazy rill appear'd , She form'd their channel , and their course she steer'd ? Might then this fond ambitious verse pretend , She taught the pupil , yet preserv'd the friend ; First twin'd the wreaths , that shall your temples crown , Still in your glory happier than her own ?