NEWMARKET. A SATIRE.

NEWMARKET . A SATIRE . BY THE SAME . HIS country's hope , when now the blooming heir Has left the parent's , or the guardian's care ; Fond to possess , yet eager to destroy , Of each vain youth , say , what's the darling joy ? Of each fond frolic what the source and end , His sole and first ambition what ? — to spend . Some 'squires , to Gallia's cooks most dainty dupes , Melt manors in ragouts , or drown in soups : This coxcomb doats on fidlers , till he sees His mortgag'd mountains dcstitute of trees ; Convinc'd too late , that modern strains can move , With mightier force than those of Greece , the grove . In headless statues rich , and useless urns , Marmoreo from the classic tour returns ; So poor the wretch of current coin , you'd laugh — He cares not — if his Antique medals . Caesars be but safe . Some tread the slippery paths of love's delights , These deal the cards , or shake the box at White's . To different pleasures different tastes incline , Nor the same sea receives the rushing swine . Tho' drunk alike with Circe's poisonous bowl , In separate sties the mimic monsters roll . But would ye learn , ye leisure-loving 'squires , How best you may disgrace your prudent sires ; How soonest soar to fashionable shame , Be damn'd at once to ruin — and to fame ; By hands of grooms ambitious to be crown'd , O greatly dare to tread Olympic ground ! Where fam'd Newmarket spreads her tempting plain , There let the chosen steed victorious strain ; Where not Alluding to those well known lines of Sir John Denham , in Cooper's Hill , on London . " — Thro' several ways they run , " Some to undo , and some to be undone . " ( as erst was sung in manly lays ) Men fly to different ends thro' different ways ; Thro' the same path , to the same goal ye run , And are , at once , undoing and undone , Forfeit , forget friends , honour , and estate , Lose all at once — for what ? — to win the plate : All are betray'd , and all alike betray , To your own beasts , Actaeon-like , a prey . What dreams of conquest flush'd Hilario's breast , When the good knight at last retir'd to rest ! Behold the youth with new-felt rapture mark Each pleasing prospect of the spacious Park , That Park , where beauties undisguis'd engage , Those beauties less the work of art than age ; In simple state , where genuine Nature wears Her venerable dress of ancient years ; Where all the charms of Chance with order meet , The rude , the gay , the graceful , and the great . Here aged oaks uprear their branches . hoar , And form dark groves , which Druids might adore ; Pride and support of Britain's conquering cross , Which distant ancestors saw crown'd with moss : With meeting boughs , and deepening to the view , Here shoots the broad umbrageous avenue : Here various trees compose a chequer'd scene , Glowing in gay diversities of green : There the full stream , thro' intermingling glades , Shines a broad lake , or falls in deep cascades . Nor wants there hazle copse , or beechen lawn , To cheer with sun or shade the bounding sawn . And see the good old seat , whose Gothic towers Awful emerge from yonder tufted bowers ; Whose rafter'd hall the crowding tenants fed , And dealt to Age and Want their daily bread : Where garter'd knights , with peerless beauties join'd , At high and solemn festivals have din'd ; Presenting oft fair Virtue's shining task , In mystic pageantries , and moral It was a fashionable practice among our ancient nobility and gentry , of both sexes , to perform personally in entertainments of this kind . Nothing could be a more delightful or rational method of spending an evening than this . Milton's Comus was thus exhibited at Ludlow-Castle , in the year 1631. See Ben Johnson's Masques . masque . But vain all ancient praise , or boasts of birth , Vain all the palms of old heroic worth ! At once a bankrupt , and a prosperous heir , Hilario bets — Park , house , dissolve in air . With antique armour hung , high trophied rooms Descend to gamesters , prostitutes , and grooms . He sees his steel-clad sires , and mothers mild , Who bravely shook the lance , or sweetly smil'd , All the fair series of the whisker'd race , Whose pictur'd forms the stately gallery grace , Debas'd , abus'd , the price of ill-got gold , To deck some tavern vile , at auctions sold . The parish wonders at th' unopening door , The chimnies blaze , the tables groan no more . Thick weeds around th' untrodden courts arise , And all the social scene in silence lies . Himself , the loss politely to repair , Turns atheist , fidler , highwayman , or player . At length , the scorn , the shame of Man and God , Is doom'd to rub the steeds that once he rode . Ye rival youths , your golden hopes how vain , Your dreams of thousands on the listed plain ! Not more fantastic Clavileno . See Don Quixote . Sancho's airy course , When madly mounted on the magic horse , He pierc'd heaven's opening spheres with dazzled eyes , And seem'd to soar in visionary skies . Nor less , I ween , precarious is the meed Of young adventurers on the Muse's steed ; For poets have , like you , their destin'd round , And ours is but a race on classic ground . Long time , soft son of patrimonial ease , Hippolitus had eat firloins in peace : Had quaff'd secure , unvex'd by toils or wife , The mild October of a rural life : Long liv'd with calm domestic conquests crown'd , And kill'd his game on safe paternal ground . As bland he puff'd the pipe o'er weekly news , His bosom kindles with sublimer views . Lo there , thy triumphs , Taaff , thy palms , Portmore , Tempt him to rein the steed , and stake his store . Like a new bruiser on Broughtonic sand , Amid the lists our hero takes his stand ; Suck'd by the sharper , to the peer a prey , He roils his eyes that witness huge dismay ; When lo ! the chance of one unlucky heat Strips him of game , strong beer , and sweet retreat . How aukward now he bears disgrace and dirt , Nor knows the poor's last refuge , to be pert . — The shiftless beggar bears of ills the worst , At once with dullness , and with hunger curst . And feels the tasteless breast equestrian fires ? And dwells such mighty rage in graver 'squires ? In all attempts , but for their country , bold , Britain , thy conscript counsellors behold ; ( For some , perhaps , by fortune favour'd yet , May gain a borough by a lucky bet ) Smit with the love of the laconic boot , The cap and wig succinct , the silken suit , Mere modern Phaetons usurp the reins , And scour in rival race Newmarket's plains , See side by side , the Jockey and Sir John , Discuss th' important point — of six to one . For O , my Muse , the deep-felt bliss how dear , How great the pride to gain a Jockey's ear ! See , like a routed host , with headlong pace , Thy Members pour amid the mingling race ! All ask , what crowds the tumults could produce — " Is Bedlam or the commons all broke loose ? Such noise and nonsense , betting , damning , sinking , Such emphasis of oaths , and claret drinking ! Like school-boys freed , they run as chance directs , Proud from a well-bred thing to risque their necks . The warrior's scar not half so graceful seems , As , at Newmarket , dislocated limbs . Thy sages hear , amid th' admiring crowd Adjudge the stakes , most eloquently loud : With critic skill , o'er dubious bets preside , The low dispute , or kindle , or decide : All empty wisdom , and judicious prate , Of distanc'd horses , gravely six the fate , Guide the nice conduct of a daring match , And o'er th' equestrian rights , with care paternal watch . Mean time , no more the mimic patriots rise , To guard Britannia's honour , warm and wise : No more in senates dare assert her laws , Nor pour the bold debate in Freedom's cause : Neglect the counsels of a sinking land , And know no rostrum , but Newmarket's A kind of scaffold , where is held a consistory , made up of several very eminent gentlemen for determining doubtful cases in the race , &c. This place might not improperly be called a Pandaemonium . stand . Are these the sage directive powers design'd , With the nice search of a sagacious mind , In judgment's scales the fate of realms to weigh , Britannia's interest , trade , and laws survey ? O say , when least their sapient schemes are crost , Or when a nation , or a match is lost ? Who dams and sires with more exactness trace , Than of their country's kings the sacred race : Think London journies are the worst of ills , And set their hands to articles for bills : Strangers to all historians sage relate , Theirs are the memoirs of th' equestrian state : Unskill'd in Albion's past and present views , Who The accurate and annual author of an historical list of the running-horses , &c. Cheny's records for Rapin peruse . Go on , brave youths , till , in some future age , Whips shall become the senatorial badge ; 'Till England see her thronging senators Meet all at Westminster , in boots and spurs ; See the whole house , with mutual frenzy mad , Her patriots all in leathern breeches clad ; Of bets , for taxes , learnedly debate , And guide , with equal reins , a steed and state . How would a virtuous Vide Gulliver's travels , voyage to the Houhnhyms . Houhnhym neigh disdain , To see his brethren brook th' imperious rein ; Bear slavery's wanton whip , or galling goad , Smoak thro' the glebe , or trace the destin'd road , And robb'd of manhood by the murderous knife , Sustain each fordid toil of servile life . Yet O , what rage would touch his generous mind , To see his sons of more than mortal kind ; A kind , with each ingenuous virtue blest , That fills the prudent head , or valorous breast , Afford diversion to that monster base , That meanest spawn of man's half-monkey race ; In whom pride , avarice , ignorance conspire , That hated animal , a Yahoo-'squire . How are th' adventurers of the British race Chang'd from the chosen chiefs of ancient days ; Who , warm'd with genuine glory's honest thirst , Divinely labour'd in the Pythian dust . Theirs was the wreath that lifted from the throng , Theirs was the Theban bard's recording song . Mean time , to manly emulation blind , Slaves to each vulgar vice that stains the mind , Our British Therons issue to the race , Of their own generous coursers the disgrace . What tho' the grooms of Greece ne'er took the odds , They won no bets — but then they soar'd to gods ; And more an Hiero's palm , a Pindar's ode , Than all th' united plates of George bestow'd . Greece ! how I kindle at thy magic name , Feel all thy warmth , and catch the kindred flame . Thy solemn scenes , and awful visions rise , In ancient grace , before my musing eyes . Here Sparta's sons in mute attention hang , While sage Lycurgus pours the mild harangue ; There Xerxes' host , all pale with deadly fear , Shrink at her Leonidas . fated hero's flashing spear . Here , hung with many a lyre of silver string , The laureat walks of sweet Ilissus spring : And lo ! where , rapt in beauty's heavenly dream , Hoar Plato walks his oliv'd Academe . — Yet ah ! no more the seat of art and arms Delights with wisdom , or with virtue warms . Lo ! the stern Turk , with more than Gothic rage , Has blasted all the bays of ancient age ; No more her groves by sacred feet are trod , Each Attic Grace has left the lov'd abode . Fall'n is fair Greece ! by Luxury's pleasing bane Seduc'd , she drags a barbarous foreign chain , Britannia , watch ! O trim thy withering bays , Remember thou hast rivall'd Graecia's praise , Great Nurse of works divine ! yet oh ! beware Lest thou the fate of Greece , my Country , share . Recall thy wonted worth with conscious pride , Thou too hast seen a Solon in a Hyde ; Hast bade thine Edwards and thine Henry's rear , With Spartan fortitude , the British spear ; Alike hast seen thy sons deserve the meed , Or of the moral , or the martial deed .