ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
R. N. Esq. [Robert Nugent?], "Epistle to the Earl of Chesterfield from the Hills of Howth in Ireland, where the Author was drinking Goat's-Whey" Publick Register (3 January 1741) 5-6.
1741: R. N. Esq.
1742: Alexander Pope
1746: T. B.
1746: Thomas Sheridan
1746: Henry Jones
1754: Nathaniel Weekes
1767: Michael Clancy
1770 ca.: Horace Walpole
1772: Soame Jenyns
1774: Samuel Johnson
1774: James Beattie
1774: Elizabeth Carter
1777: J. F.
1777: Elizabeth Carter
1779: Rev. Vicesimus Knox
1782: William Cowper
1783: Edmond Malone
1785: Thomas Clio Rickman
1787: Elizabeth Montagu
1790: Robert Burns
1804: Rev. William Tooke
1805: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1807: Robert Southey
1807: Lady Anne Hamilton
1814: George Dyer
1814: Horace Twiss
1833: Thomas Babington Macaulay
R. N. Esq.:
1741: Lord Chesterfield
STANHOPE! wouldst thou condescend
Here to see thy humble Friend,
Far from Doctors, Potions, Pills,
Drinking Health on Hawthorn Hills:
Thou the precious Draught shalt share,
Lucy shall the Bowl prepare.
From the brousing Goat it flows,
From each balmy Shrub that grows.
Hence the Kidling's wanton Fire,
Hence the Nerves that brace his Sire.
What, tho' far from Silver Thames,
Stately Piles, and courtly Dames?
Here we boast a purer Flood,
Joys that stream from sprightly Blood;
Here is simple Beauty seen,
Fair, and cloath'd like Beauty's Queen;
Nature's Hands the Garb compose,
From the Lilly and the Rose;
Or, if charm'd with richer Dies,
Fancy ev'ry Robe supplies.
Dames with India's Treasure fraught,
Rise by magick Pow'r of Thought;
While remote from real Pelf,
Here thou shalt enjoy Thyself.
Come, and with Thee bring along
Jocund Tale, and witty Song,
Sense to teach, and Words to move,
Arts that please, adorn, improve;
And, to gild the glorious Scene,
Conscience spotless and serene.
Wretched with a W—'s store,
Wretched, tho' possess'd of more,
Lives the Man, who doom'd to roam,
Never can be bless'd at Home;
Nor retire within his Mind,
From th' Ungrateful and Unkind.
Happy they, whom Crowds befriend,
Curs'd who on those Crowds depend;
On the Great-one's peevish Fit,
On the Coxcomb's spurious Wit;
Ever sentenc'd to bemoan
Ev'ry Failing but their own.
If, like Them, rejecting Ease,
Hills and Health no longer please;
Quick descend: Thou may'st resort
To the Viceroy's splendid Court;
Like a Monarch's is his State,
O! were Monarchs just so great!
There, indignant, shalt thou see
Cringing Slaves, who might be free,
Brib'd with Titles, Hope, or Gain,
Tie their Country's shameful Chain;
Or, inspir'd by Heaven's good Cause,
Waste the Land with holy Laws;
While the Gleanings of their Pow'r,
Lawyers, Lordlings, Priests devour.
Now, methinks, I hear Thee say,
"Drink alone thy Mountain-Whey;
Wherefore tempt the Irish Shoals?
Sights like These are nearer Pauls."