Panegyrical Verses, on the Forty-Five Cliffites

For the Lewes Journal.

Panegyrical Verses, on the Forty-Five Cliffites, Who Went to Chichester, to vote for Sir Thomas Spencer Wilson, Oct. 19, 1774.

1 In ancient times, when Briton’s bold,
2 No foreign Despot’s chain cou’d hold;
3 When, prodigal of life and blood,
4 They rush’d, impetuous, from the Wood,
5 (Their native Wood, where freedom stray’d,
6 Secure, and of no force afraid)
7 To meet, to rout the crested Foe,
8 ambition, in the vale below.
9 Then Prowess met her due reward,
10 And ev’ry Hero had his Bard;
11 Returning from th’embattled plain,
12 His soul was cheer’d with Hoel’s strain;
13 The praise of sweet Llewellyn’s Lyre,
14 Cou’d warm the Old, the Young cou’d fire.
15 And dwells, in our degen’rate time,
16 No Builder of the pow’rful Rhime,
17 To crown with praise the glorious few,
18 Who, to Themselves and freedom true,
19 Bright Honour’s shining tract pursue;
20 Scorn to be led in silken strings,
21 The dupes of Ministers and Kings.
22 Such spirit late thy sons inspir’d,
23 O cliffe! with British ardor fir’d,
24 When, leagu’d in friendly, firm array,
25 To Chichester they bent their way,
26 To shield the fav’rite Son of Fame,
27 And crush a sneaking Minion’s aim.
28 Lo! where the glitt’ring cars proceed,
29 The sprightly cavalry succeed,
30 Advancing to the Hautboy’s measure,
31 Each face illum’d with heart-felt pleasure;
32 Not with the coward, joyless pace,
33 The sullen mien of vassals base,
34 Who, led by some Parochial God,
35 And trembling at his awful nod,
36 Are taught, like Parrots, from their throat,
37 To speak, or scarce to speak their Vote.
38 this noble tribe no Tyrant’s Law,
39 No Bribe can to subjection awe,
40 Free as the native air they draw;
41 Nay, freer far, for well I ween,
42 Dank vapours clog their wat’ry scene.
43 Proceed, brave Sons! To view your state,
44 Fair Damsels, crouding to the gate,
45 Their tenderest wishes with you send,
46 If aught their wishes can befriend.
47 Thrice happy ye, whose glorious deed
48 Already meets so high a need;
49 This with more joy shall strike the heart,
50 Than flutes or fiddles can impart.
51 Propitious may the omen stand,
52 Which fix’d the quota of your Band,
53 The omen quaint, which ye derive
54 From Freedom’s number, forty five;
55 Mindful of him, whose Patriot Tongue
56 Through Britain’s Isle so oft’ has rung,
57 Who with a Senate’s mighty rage,
58 A more than ten year’s war cou’d wage;
59 Whom Duns let loose, whom durance vile,
60 Whom duels, and each baser guile
61 Have fail’d to crush, or to controll
62 The native Ardor of his Soul;
63 Who now, victorious o’er his ills,
64 The praetor’s Chair triumphant fills.
65 May equal honours grace the Chief
66 To whom your forces bear relief.
67 He (smiling conscience by his side)
68 Shall boldly stem Corruption’s tide.
69 What, tho’ his thoughts, rough from the mine,
70 No flow’ry figure’s aid refine;
71 Tho’ his Speech boasts no tinsel’d art;
72 His sense is manly, sound his Heart.
73 Keen as the shining blade he wears,
74 He dares to think, to speak he dares,
75 The thunder of his tongue to wield,
76 Brave in the Senate, as the Field.
77 Sweet were the notes, that to mine ear
78 Thy honest Wishes crown’d shou’d bear;
79 Sweeter, if sharer in the same.
80 The Name of lennox added came:
81 Thy Colleague in the Soldier’s toil,
82 Oft’ hast thou seen him reap the spoil;
83 And late his glowing Cheek confest,
84 How civic praises cheer’d his Breast.
85 Blush then, ye ministerial Foes,
86 Who dare bright worth like this oppose:
87 Go ransack all the Coast around
88 Where’er a placeman’s to be found;
89 Each Harbour and each Creek explore
90 To add one royal Voter more:
91 And if (for yet, I fear, disgrace
92 Fair Freedom’s Isle that hateful race)
93 There is a man, whose grov’ling soul
94 Each meaner motive can controll,
95 Who from the sordid love of pelf,
96 Will sell his Country, — sell himself;
97 Display before his dazzled eyes
98 (I blame you not) the glitt’ring prize.
99 Or if promotion can incite
100 That wretch to vote, that black is white,
101 Let Hope, bright Hope’s all-chearing ray
102 On his imagination play. —
103 But give, ye Gods, th’ avenging stroke;
104 May his neck feel the galling yoke. —
105 Go on then, be each engine tried,
106 Be threats, be promises applied.
107 But spare, O! spare whom Favours bind,
108 Nor deeply wound the gen’rous mind.
109 Hard fate, I ween, severe his case,
110 Who to be grateful must be base,
111 And on the rack of obligation
112 Stretch’d, give his voice to damn the Nation.
113 Better to prostitute his Daughter,
114 Than of his Liberties make slaughter.
115 Enough of this: the devious Muse
116 Her Panegyrick Strain renews.
117 Then hail, ye cliffites! hail again!
118 And thrice, all hail! Accept the strain,
119 That faintly speaks your high renown:
120 May (long as Hills your suburb crown,
121 Long as old Ouse, with circling wave,
122 Your gardens and your walls shall lave)
123 Down Time’s late stream your praises flow,
124 And gather vigour as they go;
125 May distant Sons reflect their Sires,
126 And glow alike with Patriot Fires.
October 22, 1774.

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Title (in Source Edition): Panegyrical Verses, on the Forty-Five Cliffites
Author: Thomas Paine
Themes:
Genres: panegyric
Headnote: Sussex Weekly Advertiser, 24 October 1774

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Cleary, Scott M., ed. Claeys, Gregory, gen. ed. Thomas Paine Collected Writings. Vol. II. Part 2: Poetry. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2026. 5 Volumes.

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