"REMEMBER that the principles, for which the WHIGS struggle, are the FOUNDATION OF OUR PRESENT GOVERNMENT, which they apprehend to be undermined, whenever TORY MAXIMS ARE OPENLY AVOWED."
Address to the Cocoa-Tree, Written in the year 1763.




THE Author presents his best respects to the Reader, and begs that he would do him the favour to read the two first heads of Mr. Jenyns's seventh disquisition, before he cuts open this pamphlet, that he may perceive the full force of the allusions here made to that wonderful performance.

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2. An Heroic Postscript to the Public, occasioned by their favourable reception of a late Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers, Kt. &c. Price 1s.

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Paraphrase on Anstey's Paraphrase, 1s.

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Ruin Seize Thee, Ruthless King, 1s.

Epistle to Sally Harris, 1s.

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WHEN I lately read your Disquisition on Government and Civil Liberty, it gave me much concern to find, that you had not written it in verse. Such images and such sentiments, such wit and such arguments, were surely too good to be wasted on prose. And you who have written verse so long, and with so much facility, are highly inexcusable for not having employed that talent on so important an occasion as the present, when you had taken upon you to confute ‘"so many absurd principles con­cerning government and liberty, which have of late been disse­minated with unusual industry,"’principles, let, me add, which were still more industriously disseminated at the Revolution by Locke, at the Accession by Hoadly, and a hundred years before either, by Hooker; "principles, which you say, are as false, as mischievous, as inconsistent with common sense, as with all hu­man society, and which require nothing more than to be fairly stated, to be refuted."

[Page 2] The pious poet, Herbert, I think tells us, that

"A verse may catch him, who a sermon flies."

Why then should you discard verse, when you intended to catch such careless readers, as would be apt to fly a sermon? Why, by dividing your discourse into five methodical heads, should you make it appear as formal as the gravest pulpit-lecture ever deli­vered by old bishop Beveridge, or young Bishop Bagot? I protest, Mr. Jenyns, I cannot account for this strange proceeding.

However, that such sort of readers may read you, I have attempted to do that for your benefit and theirs, which you would not do for them, or for yourself: and, unequal as I am to the task, have drest up your two first, and, as I think, principal topics, in as easy and fashionable metre as I was capable of wri­ting. I know you would have done this much better. But, as my work is but a fragment, I am not without my hopes, that what I have done may be a spur to your indolence, and that you may be tempted not only to correct, but complete it.

But when I say that I have versified you, I take a pride in boasting, that I am not your mere versifier. I take a pleasure too in owning, that you yourself led me to attempt a nobler species of composition. I had read, some years ago, your very delectable Eclogue of the 'Squire and the Parson, written on occasion of that glorious peace, the honour of making which, is to be inscribed one day (may it be a late one!) on the mausoleum of the Earl of Bute. This, Sir, led me to think of giving my present performance a dramatic cast, so far as an eclogue can [Page 3] possess that title. On this idea, having resolved to make you my TITYRUS, I had not far to seek for a MELIBAEUS. A bro­ther writer, who has of late endeavoured to disseminate principles, similar to some of yours, with unusual, though abortive industry, immediately occurred to my imagination. And as immediately I resolved to read his more elaborate treatise, in order to enable me to execute my plan with greater exactitude, and better pre­servation of sentiment and character.

Although I must own, that this exercitation of my patience cost me many a yawn, yet I found, to my great satisfaction, that this writer allowed for true, what you hold to be false, those two first principles of Mr. Locke, that men are equal, and that men are free *. I concluded, therefore, that he was a very pro­per person to dispute those points with you. Accordingly, with­out farther ceremonial, I set you both down, not indeed sub tegmine fagi, but, for the sake of the costumé, in a snug town coffee-house, and there entered you fairly into debate.

If on your part, Sir, I have ever done more than elucidated any of those assertions, which you call arguments, I humbly ask your pardon: and on the Dean's, if I have made him a little too lively and spiritual, I as humbly ask his. I know nothing does so much harm to an ecclesiastic, in the road of perferment, as the bare suspicion of being witty. But, as the Divine in question has long been a dean, and has sworn that he will never be a bishop, I hope no great harm is done.

[Page 4] That you may long remain on the illustrious List of Pen­sioners, even after the useful Board, from which you derive that right, shall be no more; that, having changed from Tory to Whig in the ministry of the Duke of Newcastle, from Whig to Tory under those, or rather that of Lords Bute and North, you may now again change from Tory to Whig under the New Administration;—and (since we have it on very eloquent evi­dence, that it is now the fashion for persons of the greatest con­sequence to be no longer in shackles) that you may soon cease to be encumbered with your present slavish principles, is the sin­cere and fervent wish of,

Your most obsequious servant, MALCOLM MAC-GREGGOR.


IN Coffee-house of good account,
Not far from Bond-street, call'd The Mount,
Soame Jenyns met the Dean of Gloucester;
And, as they sate in lounging posture,
Each on his bench, and face to face,
The Dean began in tone of bass:
While Jenyns, in his treble key,
Replied with much alacrity.
Repeat, my Muse, th' alternate strains,
That flow'd from these Arcadian swains,
Who both were equally alert
Or to deny, or to assert. *
'Squire Jenyns, since with like intent
We both have writ on Government,
And both stand stubborn as a rock
Against the principles of Locke,
[Page 2] Let us, like brother meeting brother,
Compare our notes with one another.
'Tis true, I've not had time to look,
Tho' much I wish'd it, in your book.
Doctor, my book is quickly read.
I'd other crotchets in my head. *
But you, I guess, have studied mine.
No, to my shame, not ev'n a line.
That's something strange—yet fortunate;
For now on par we shall debate.
True. Who to play at whist regards;
When he, that deals, has seen the cards?
Well put. First then, 'tis fit, I deem,
You tell me how you treat your theme.
I controvert those five positions,
Which Whigs pretend are the conditions
[Page 3] Of civil rule and liberty;
That men are equal born—and free—
That kings derive their lawful sway
All from the people's yea and nay—
That compact is the only ground,
On which a Prince his rights can found—
Lastly, I scout that idle notion,
That government is put in motion,
And stopt again, like clock or chime,
Just as we want them to keep time.
'Sblood! do you controvert them all?
Indeed I do, Sir, great and small.
You're a bold man, my master Jenyns,
And have good right to count your winnings,
If you succeed.—But I, who dare
As much as most, to go so far
Had not the courage, I assure ye,
Tho' I suborned a tory jury. *
[Page 4]
That men were equal born at first,
I hold of all whig lies the worst.
But yet, if only this they mean,
That you and I, good Mr. Dean,
Were equally produced, 'tis true;
For I was born as much as you.
But now, comparing size and strength,
Our body's bulk, our nose's length,
The periwigs, that grace our pate,
My little wit, your learning great,
We find, we are unequal quite.
My honest friend, you're too polite.
Your wit, Lord Hardwicke deigns to own,
Surpasses every wit's in town:
And none e'er doubted Hardwicke's taste,
Who e'er were bid to Hardwicke's feast.
But yet, I fear, at this arch quibble
The Lockians will do more than nibble.
They say, and with them I agree,
That, as to men's equality,
It rests on native rights they have,
Not to become another's slave,
Or tamely bear a tyrant's yoke: *
This truth you parry with a joke.
[Page 5]
Jokes, Mr. Dean, I'd have you know,
Have parried many a stouter blow.
A joke like this, as I conceive,
Is reason's representative,
Who, vested with his rights, is sent
To disputation's parliament.
Yet scorns, like some they patriots call,
To vote, as he instructs, at all.
Sometimes he may—but to proceed—
All men at birth, it is agreed,
Have equal learning, wit and power,
Tho', at Lucina's squalling hour,
The new-born babes, in nurse's lap,
Have only power to suck her pap.
[Page 6] Good heavens! to talk of wit and learning
In infants void of all discerning,
Is just as if these whigs disputed,
As most fools do, to be confuted,
Whether their teeth, in breadth and length,
Had equal size and equal strength;
When, bless each little slobbering mouth,
It had not cut a single tooth.
Your instance, I confess, is pretty:
I wish it were as apt as witty.
But let us give them all they ask,
Their equal birth, a harder task
I think remains behind, to prove
That men thro' life must equal move;
None e'er assume a jot of power
More than he had at natal hour.
Strange doctrine this! ye whigs, shall none
Be long and lank as Jenkinson,
None grow to full six feet or more,
Because some only measure four?
Or, because Hunter cannot treat us
With different size of same-aged faetus?
Thus, Mr. Dean, the point I've prov'd:
And, if your Reverence is so mov'd,
[Page 7] You'll find, with like facility
I prove they all are not born free.
My sprightly 'Squire, if this be proving,
Then billing is the whole of loving.
Dame Logic knows, whene'er I meet her,
With more substantial sport I treat her.
These whigs will answer your demand
With saying, all they understand
By power is, "That alone is just,
"Which to a few the rest entrust;
"And to assume without assent,
"Is force, not legal government." *
As to your simile of size,
They'll say your brains are in your eyes.
But now go on.
Their next assertion
You'll find affords me more diversion.
For how should men be e'er born free,
When to be born is slavery,
[Page 8] An imposition in itself.
Do parents ask the little elf,
Ere they beget him, his good leave
Or to beget or to conceive?
Or does he approbation give
By self, or representative?
Yet, when begot, in my opinion,
He's then the heir to self-dominion;
Has right both to be born and bred,
To suck the breast—
And p—his bed.
He has. Nay more, I'd have you know,
Protection, while in embrio,
Is his, e'er you can justly date
His quasi-compact with the state. *
Once, Sir, I knew a pious lady,
Who, just as she was getting ready
For church, one Easter-Sunday morn,
With labour-pains was sorely torn.
[Page 9] The church, good soul! she lov'd so dearly,
That with her spouse she chose to parley;
Nor would she let the midwife lay her,
Till she had been at morning prayer;
When, lo! in midst of all this fray,
Before mama had time to pray,
Her heir, a free-born British boy,
Bolted to light and liberty.
Your story, Mr. Dean, is pleasant,
And wrapt withal, in terms right decent.
Yet vainly sure such proof you bring;
One swallow does not make a spring.
I say, in spite of your strange tale,
For full nine months he lies in jail.
And what a jail! so little roomy,
So dank, so sultry and so gloomy,
Howard, who ev'ry prison knows,
Ne'er ventur'd there to thrust his nose.
Yet there he lies, unlucky wight!
Depriv'd of sunshine and of sight,
Floating in brine, like a young porpus,
Till, by obstetric Habeas Corpus,
The brat is pluck'd to liberty.
But, tell me, is such freedom free?
[Page 10] In swaddling cloaths he now is bound,
Like Styx, * that gird him nine times round;
They squeeze his navel, press his head,
Feed him with water and with bread.
Thus nine months more he lies in chains,
And, when his freedom he regains,
He puts it to so bad a use,
'Tis found he must not yet go loose.
Tyrannic nurse then claims her right
To plague him both by day and night.
Then grave as Pope, and gruff as Turk,
Prelatic schoolmaster, like York,
Thrashes the wretch with grammar's flail,
To mend his head corrects his tail,
And this with most despotic fury,
Heedless of mercy, law, and jury.
Sir, you've a happy vein for satire,
And touch it with a main du maitre.
Yet why, Sir, treat mild M*****m thus?
His Grace, you know, is one of us.
I ask his pardon. At the time
He chanc'd to hitch into my rhyme—
[Page 11] But to our point—thus far I've stated,
The boy is born and educated;
And now he walks the world at large;
Yet has he got a free discharge?
No; volens nolens, as at school,
He still must yield to civil rule;
A subject born, he's subject still,
Not govern'd by his mere self-will;
But, if he breaks the laws in force,
Or kills his man, or steals a horse,
Howe'er he may dispute their right,
And Coke with Burgersdicius fight,
Must make at Tyburn his confession.
I fear, Sir, here you beg the question.
A subject born in any state
May, if he please, depatriate,
[Page 12] And go, for reasons weak or weighty,
To Zealand-New, or Otaheite.
Yet there what freedom will he have,
When made Queen Oberea's slave?
Her majesty may lay a tax,
I fear would weaken stronger backs,
Than ev'n was your's, my doughty Dean,
When nerv'd with youth, and stout eighteen.
Perhaps she might. Then let's suppose
To some unpeopled isle he goes,
And takes a mistress in his sleeve,
To live as Adam did with Eve;
Or say, that he had luck to find
A hundred more of the same mind,
To migrate with their mates by dozens,
And there to live like cater-cousins,
We will not call them sirs, and madams,
But a cool hundred Eves and Adams;
I think they would, or soon, or late,
By quasi-compact found a state. *
[Page 13] What think you, 'Squire, of that Scotch peer, *
Who wenching held so very dear,
(I don't aver his taste was right
In liking black girls more than white,
Not that I rashly would decide;
They know the best, who both have tried)
That, to indulge and take his fill,
He fenc'd an Apalachian hill,
And, holding there supreme command,
"Scatter'd his image o'er the land,"
Till soon he got so large a race
Of little tawny babes of grace,
And these so soon begot a second,
And those a third, that quick he reckon'd
[Page 14] Subjects enough of his own blood,
To reign their sovereign great and good.
If such a man was not born free,
I know not what is liberty.
Dear Dean, you interrupt my theme.
I want to preach, but you to dream
Of negro girls and patriarch kings—
Pray clip your fancy's wayward wings.
My two points prov'd, I draw from hence
This truly Christian inference,
That all, whom we the factious call,
Who 'gainst court influence hourly bawl,
Who from their seats would dash contractors,
And be themselves the nation's factors,
Are all of the old round-head leaven,
And therefore ne'er will get to heaven.
Right. This would give my mind much ease,
If drawn from sounder premises.
Locke and his crew, I know right well,
Have sent full many a fool to hell,
But not from what you've prov'd, but I—
Hold Muse! nor give the 'Squire's reply.
You've run two heats; to start a third
Would now, I think, be quite absurd;
[Page 15] 'Tis much beyond an Eclogue's length;
Come breath a while, and gather strength.
You shall not tax, should it be willing,
The town beyond a single shilling: *
Stop then in time your tinkling rill;
The reader's ears have drank their fill.


WHEREAS a late ingenious and anonymous production, entitled An Archaeological Epistle, has been attributed to my pen, I think proper to declare, that, however I may approve the political sentiments therein contained, I am above wearing any man's laurels; and that I conceive those, who do not discri­minate between my style and that author's, have as little critical acumen, as he seems to allow to his reverend correspondent.


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