ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Anonymous, "To his Excellency Philip Lord Chesterfield, on his extraordinary Embassy to Holland" The Craftsman (25 November 1727).
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
O CHESTERFIELD, with early Laurels crown'd,
For poignant Wit and nervous Sense renown'd,
Whom all the Powers of Eloquence adorn,
For publick Scenes and great Employments born,
Of every Art the Judge, to every Muse a Friend.
Now for two Years, by wrathful Heav'n ordain'd,
Discord and Strife thro' half the Globe have reign'd,
As long hath Britain mourn'd her wayward Fate,
Of Europe labouring to support the Weight.
As long her warlike Fleets have plough'd the Main,
And numerous Armies have been paid in vain,
While o're the World her boasted Commerce fails,
His Treasures seiz'd the Bankrupt Merchant wails,
The Looms stand still, Britannia's Golden Mines,
And starv'd in Ease the Artizan repines,
The various Burthens of the State increase,
Thus long prepar'd for War, nor yet assur'd of Peace.
In this dread Crisis, this Suspence of Fate,
When every Mail alarms the doubtful State,
When Hopes and Fears our Breasts alternate move,
Well does our King his wise Discernment prove,
While to such Hands he delegates his Power,
And deigns that Merit shall repine no more.
To recommend thy Name, in such a Reign,
Titles seem needless, and Distinctions vain,
On the strong Basis of Desert you stand,
Nor owe your Greatness to a second Hand,
By no mean Arts or servile Courtship rise,
But Virtue mark'd you out to Brunswick's Eyes,
In Knowledge, Sense, and Honour you confide,
And your high Lineage is your meanest pride.
Already, conscious of thy spreading Fame,
The Belgian Powers thy timely Presence claim,
In this nice Juncture of contending States,
Like Churchill once, to prosper their Debates.
Methinks I see Thee in their Councils join,
Of mystic Leagues unraveling the Design;
In upright Measures skill'd, thy generous Heart
Scorns the low Cunning of a Jugler's Art,
By Tricks and Fraud attempting to succeed,
Or skinning o'er the Wounds, which soon afresh will bleed.
For, if the Sanguine Muse aright presage
From thy known Talents, which forerun thy Age,
By prudent Counsels and deliberate Schemes,
(Proving all Ways, and shunning all Extremes)
The Broils of Europe thou shalt still compose,
And reconcile to Peace the Scepter'd Foes,
Avert from Britain her projected Fate,
And prove another TEMPLE to the State.
On Thee, my Lord, our quickening Hopes depend,
On Thee our Wishes and our Prayers attend;
Go forth, thy Country's Hope, thy Monarch's Boast,
And reach, with prosperous Gales, the destin'd Coast!
Of potent Realms prevent the direful Strife,
And call the withering Olive back to Life,
Restore the Peace of every jarring Land,
And fix the Balance fast in Brunswick's Hand.
That Work perform'd (a Work of so much Art,
That only STANHOPE can sustain the Part!)
Thy native, loud-applauding Shores regain,
And in the British Senate shine again,
Again thy Sovereign's Smiles and Counsels share,
By all the Nation blest, recover'd from Despair.