Beneath this dome, where dwells St. Stephen’s shade, And benches rife in many a verdant bed, No seats are occupied, no motions made, The quondam Treas’ry Members all are fled. The early call of incense-breathing tools, The Council’s summons thund’ring at their door; The Levee’s courtly pomp (the pride of fools) Shall rouze them from their privacy no more. For them no more shall Council dinners smoke, Or City feasts display their sumptuous fare; No needy hangers-on retail each joke, No parasites the flatt’ring smile prepare. Some time they reap’d the harvest of the feats Full many an act they plann’d, debated well; Their chariots rattled thro’ Augusta’s streets, And loud they laugh’d, whilst public credit fell. Yet let not future statesmen mock their toil, Their strange connection, and their means obscure; Nor grandeur look with a disdainful smile, Because, beside their faults, these men were poor. Not all the wealth that either India brings, Not all those arts which fell corruption tries, Can buy the best prerogative of Kings To listen to an injur’d people’s cries. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the blame, That mem’ry, o’er their fall, no trophies raise; Those men had better die without a name, Who merit infamy instead of praise. Perhaps, amidst this band, have sunk in night, Some hearts once pregnant with celestial fire, Hands that might well have done their country right, Or wak’d to extacy the Muse’s lyre. But Science, tho’ she led their early youth, Beheld her power to politics give way; Accurst self-int’rest hid the face of truth And party zeal assum’d unrivall’d sway. Perhaps some Calvin, in whose restless brain Things call’d Reform Bills lurk’d, (a specious brood,) Perhaps some Catiline might head their train, Some Cromwell yet unstain’d with legal blood. The votes of venal Senates to command, To break the Constitution’s strongest ties; To seize the sacred charters of the land, And on the ruins of her commerce rise, Their lot forbade, nor circumscrib’d alone Their views tow’rd India, but their plots unplanned, Forbad to chain their sovereign on his throne And ride triumphant o’er th’ insulted land. Far from their Monarch’s sight, the senate’s strife, These madd’ning Patriots now shall learn to stay. Along the cool sequester’d vale of life Unplac’d, unpension’d, unlamented, stray. From _The History of the Westminster Election_. London, J. Debrett. 1784. ――――:o:―――― ELEGY, _Written in a Grub street Garret._ Now sinks the sun within the azure main, The dirty walls assume a darker hue; Each brother Poet racks his muddy brain To write fresh strictures on the _fighting Jew_.