Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin: Comprising the Celebrated Political and Satirical Poems, of the Rt. Hons. G. Canning, John Hookham Frere, W. Pitt, the Marquis Wellesley, G. Ellis, W. Gifford, the Earl of Carlisle, and Others.
History
Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin: Comprising the Celebrated Political and Satirical Poems, of the Rt. Hons. G. Canning, John Hookham Frere, W. Pitt, the Marquis Wellesley, G. Ellis, W. Gifford, the Earl of Carlisle, and Others.
English poetry; France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Poetry; Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 1789-1820
Whither bound? (you will ask). ’Tis a question, my friend,
On which I long doubted; my doubt’s at an end.
To Arabia the Stony, Sabæa the gummy,
To the land where each man that you meet is a mummy;
To the mouths of the Nile, to the banks of Araxes,
To the _Red_ and the _Yellow_, the _White_ and the _Black_ seas,
With telescopes, globes, and a quadrant and sextant,
And the works of all authors whose writings are extant;
With surveys and plans, topographical maps,
Theodolites, watches, spring-guns and steel-traps,
Phials, crucibles, air-pumps, electric machinery,
And pencils for painting the natives and scenery.
In short, we are sent to oppose all we know
To the knowledge and mischievous arts of the foe,
Who, though placing in arms a well-grounded reliance,
Go to war with a flying artillery of science.
The French _savans_, it seems, recommended this measure,
With a view to replenish the national treasure.
First, the true _Rights of Man_ they will preach in all places,
But chief (when ’tis found) in the Egyptian Oasis:
And this doctrine, ’tis hoped, in a very few weeks
Will persuade the wild Arabs to murder their cheiks,
And, to aid the _Great Nation’s_ beneficent plans,
Plunder pyramids, catacombs, towns, caravans,
Then enlist under Arcolé’s gallant commander,
Who will conquer the world like his model ISKANDER.
His army each day growing bolder and finer,
With the Turcoman tribes he subdues Asia Minor,
Beats Paul and his Scythians, his journey pursues
Cross the Indus, with tribes of Armenians and Jews,
And Bucharians, and Affghans, and Persians, and Tartars,—
Chokes the wretched Mogul in his grandmother’s garters,
And will hang him to dry in the Luxembourg hall,
’Midst the plunder of Carthage and spoils of Bengal.
Such, we hear, was the plan; but I trust, if we meet ’em,
That _savant_ to _savant_, our cargo will beat ’em.
Our plan of proceeding I’ll presently tell;—
But soft—I am call’d—I must bid you farewell:
To attend on our _savans_ my pen I resign,
For, it seems, that they _duck_ them on _crossing_ the Line.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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