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By Christopher Caustic L. L. D.
THE GIBBET OF SATIRE
ARGUMENT.
THE Bard proceeds in an ungrateful
Task, which is, hangman-like, and hateful,
A gang of hypocrites t' expose,
And deeds of infamy disclose;
And on the rack of satire, stretches
A set of weak and wicked wretches,
Whose inauspicious domination
Portends destruction in the nation.
Ye Tories, Demo's, Antifeds,
Of hollow hearts, and wooden heads,
In Washington's own estimation,
The curses of our Age and Nation.
Who and what are ye, Patriots stout,
For freedom, who make such a rout?
Ye are, or should be, men, I'm sure,
Whose hands are clean, whose hearts are pure.
O yes! your purity so nice is,
The best among you have your prices,
Flour-Merchants, public defalacators,
Horse Jockies, swindling Speculators.
The scum � the scandal of the age,
A blot on human nature's page;
In these two epithets included,
Deluding knaves, and fools deluded
.
Step forward now, and hear, affrighted,
The crimes of which ye stand indicted,
Now elevate your culprit paws,
While "We the People," try your cause.
Step forth, Honestus, lank and lean,
With lantern jaws and haggard mein,
A wight, lavater would decide
Was Envy's self personified.
Sir, have you any thing to say
Of serape fraternal with Genet?
And did you, if truth were told,
E'er pocket any of his gold?
Does the arch Democrat inherit,
A greater spleen against true merit?
And though Democracy he founded,
Is he by viler gangs surrounded?
Hast thou supported thy life long,
One measure not precisely wrong,
One single thing, when you your best did,
Whose usefulness by time is tested?
When did the tyrant Bonaparte,
E'er find an advocate more hearty?
Or one more ready to advance
The wildest whims of frantic France?
Are you the Jacobin of spirit,
Who first found out your own great merit,
And in practical careering,
First practis'd self-electioneering?
How come you, modest Sir, to hit on
This horrid practice of Great Britian,
When you as every body knows,
Are one of her determin'd foes?
Are you indeed the very man,
Who seem'd t' oppose the Funding Plan,
And hypocritical pretence
To pocket its emoluments?
Has it not been your constant aim,
The passions of the mob t' inflame;
Their jealousy and pride exciting
By flattery, falsehood, and backbiting?
Pray Sir, if one may be so bold,
How many lies may you have told,
Since you, and certain other knowing
Knaves set the Chronicle a going?
Now ere too late begin repentance,
Before the people pass their sentence,
That they no longer will be bit
By such a shallow hypocrite.
For though you stride, without remorse,
Fell faction's hobbling hobby horse,
The jade may toss, by sudden flirt,
Your demagogue-ship in the dirt.
For freedom you may make a pother,
But �twill be known, some time or other,
How oft the People's good is lost in
The greater good of Mr. ______
Step forward "simple" Tony Pasquin,
In Presidential favour basking,
A very proper sort of crony,
For such a wight as Mr. Hone.
I'm free to own, that I'm amaz'd,
Your heart deprav'd, your noddle craz'd,
That even our leaders of sedition,
Should use you for a politician.
Our Yankey-Statesmen put to school,
To such a sorry sort of tool,
Who can't write Englifs if he dies,
Will, doubtless, turn out wondrous wise!
With such a dirty wretch as Tony,
Who but Honestus would be crony?
And what vile renegade but Tony,
Would be the intimate of Hone?
Your friends, the Feds, are much delighted
To see such noble souls united,
And when death threatens squally weather,
They hope e'en then you'll - hang together!
Come forward, spitting Matthew Lyon,
Thy flaming wooden sword pray tie on,
Hold up thy head, man, don't be frighted,
A bolder warrior ne'er was knighted.
Great Hero of Ticonderogue,
So long as valour is in vogue,
Thy name and merits shall be shouted,
Nor once by infamy be scouted.
Tis said by some, O far fam'd Matt.,
Although a noted Democrat,
Thou dost design to turn about,
And join the fallen Federal rout.
And wouldst thou condescend, my hearty,
To head the tertium-quid third party?
Demo's and Feds would all be merry,
fell Discord's tomahawk to bury.
Thy dagger form'd of toughest lath,
Would quell the rage of party wrath;
And wav'd by thee like conjurer's wand,
Chase Discord's demon from the land.
Step forward, Demagogue Duane,
Than whom, a greater rogue in grain
Ne'er fortified by mob alliance,
Durst bid the Powers that be, defiance.
Law, Order, Talents, and Civility,
Before thy worshipful mobility
Must bow, while you, their knowing man,
Lead by the nose your kindred clan.
Thou art indeed a rogue as sly,
As ever coin'd the ready lie,
Among the Catalines of Faction
None calls more energies in action.
With impudence the most consummate,
You publish all that you can come at,
To make, for Discord's sake a handle
Of private anecdote and scandal.
Few good and great men can be nam'd,
Your scoundrel-ship has not defan'd,
And scarce a rogue, who ought to hang,
Who is not number'd with our gang.
And thou, audacious renegadoe,
With many a libellous bravadoe,
Assail'dst Columbia's godlike son,
The Great, th' Immortal WASHINGTON!
Dost thou remember much about a
Droll scrape of thine once, at Calcutta,
When erst invited to a breakfast,
In noose you nigh had bot your neck fast?
Sir John, however, on the whole,
Did wrong to set you on a pole,
For such a patriot ought to ride
Suspended from the under side.
Next on our list is Tony Haswell,
But he's so small a thing, that as well
Might giant bold assail musquitoe,
As we attack the little creature.
Still as his party set him high,
for once, we'll condescend to try,
If we, by any, possibility,
Can hit this essence of nihility
.
But lest the reader think the topic
On which we treat, too microscopic,
We'll merely undertake to show,
Our gnat-ling in a note below.
(From satire's arrows still exempt,
Because thou are beneath contempt!)
The next great man that I can think on,
Is no less man than Lawyer L_____n,
With whom compar'd, your Mansfields, Holts,
Are but a set of asses' colts.
Lord how my muse and I should glory
To paint his matchles oratory,
For benefit of future times,
In aevi-monumentum rhymes.
But poets, critics, each a million,
And each a Homer or Quintellian,
With each a pen can't set forth fully,
The merits of our modern Tully.
Not e'en the facund Mr. Bangs,
Can equal his sublime harrangues,
With all his eloquence unmuzziling,
He untwist Jury cause so puzzling.
By help of statue, tome and code,
A pretty decent waggon load,
When Sugar Cause he had in hand, he
Had almost made it sugar candy.
With Common and un-Common Law,
In which no man could pick a flaw,
So did so learned begin,
�Twas thought his head was Lincoln's Inn!
First he advanc'd with hems! And hahs!
"May't please your honours - in this cause,
With your good leave, I say, as how,
My point the first, I'll open now:
May't please the Court - I would say - hem -
Fore Gad I'm in a fine dilemm' ! -
May't please the Court - your honours please,
My arguments are simply these:
Let the opponents do their worst,
Still my first point is - point the firft -
Whic fully poves my case, because
All statue laws are - statute laws!!!
That is to say - the matter's here,
Since I have made this point so clear,
In favour of my cause and client,
Then our side's right, you may rely on't
.
I think this argument is pat
In point, it therefore follows - that -;
Good Lord, I wish I were a mile hence!"
Quoth Lincoln* - but quoth Sheriff - "silence!"
*(Levi Lincoln 1749-1820; political disciple of Jefferson, 1801-1805 Attorney-General of US)
Our Lawyer having found, I trow,
That point the first would hardly go,
Now stopp'd to cogitate a little,
To hit point second to a tittle.
Point firft deliver'd, as you see, his
Head was not pregnant with ideas,
Therefore to put things in a train,
He sat down to conceive again.
For our great elocution's model,
Having discharg'd his loaded noddle,
Found that he must, let who would scoff,
E'en load again, or not go off:
Now having charg'd , he rose and fir'd -
A word of two, which all admir'd,
Then for a truce put in petition,
As he was out of ammunition.
And after many a tug, he found
That point the second kept his ground,
With moft provoking "oppugnation,"
To our great Lawyer's grand oration.
But though he suffer'd sad defeat,
Friend Dallas cover'd his retreat,
And luckily, by his assistance,
The enemy was kept at distance.
But I by no means would pronounce ill,
Of our great man, as chamber counsel,
Although some say he did not shine
In Callender's remitted fine.
Still his opinion's always good,
Provided this be understood,
That when you have it stated nicely,
�Tis what is should not be, precisely.
In fine, I think his honour's law-mill,
Should go by water, like a saw-mill,
For that his only chance, I trust, is
To chance to do his clients justice.
But surely never man shone brighter,
Than our said Lawyer as a writer,
Not ever Honestus can write better
Than I've seen many a "Farmer's" letter.
�Tis true, he has not much pretence
To grammar, reason, common sense;
What then? His language is sonorus,
And, "We the People" forms the chorus.
Sure such an Ovid in a Murray,
Wont be forgotten in a hurry,
Whose every word contains an adage,
Meant to reform a bold and bad age.
When though he flirts about and flounces,
From falsehood into nonsense bounces,
He works for our good, like a dray horse,
Or Satan journeying though chaos.
We next with poet's license, pin
On Satire's Gibbet, Gallatin,
(Our gibbet not his only one,
If Justice always had been done.)
For that th' imported Financier,
Deserves such destiny, is clear;
Nor shall the rogue, by any fetch,
Escape us, as he did Jack Ketch.
But no! our moderate Feds say, "tut
!
He may deserve some notice, - but
The truth though quoted from the Bible,
Against such great men, is a libel."
You, gentlemen, may think, perhaps,
That you are somewhat prudent chaps,
But know, good Sirs, as these times are,
The height of prudence is - to dare;
And if by your remark, you mean
The thing you say, you ought to, I ween,
To bee, as either fools or knaves,
The slaves of vile imported slaves.
I'll make then, with your worship's leave, a
Slap at this great man from Geneva,
Who worm'd his way to elevation,
And holds the purse strings of the nation.
�Tis true, this gaunt Genevan, whilome,
Found this our land, a rogue's "asylum,"
Since which, in public matters, his chief
Delight has been in doing mischief.
In Faction's cause alert and brisk, he
Became a champion in the whiskey
Rebellion � therefore was among
The rogues whom Justice might have hung.
And had her Ladyship foreseen
His future management, I ween,
In her strong noose she'd make his neck fast
As cheerfully as eat'n her breakfast.
But, whereas, in these happy times,
A man is qualified by crimes
And scoundrel cunning for high station,
HE HOLD THE PURSE STRINGS OF OUR NATION. !!!
Well, if no sages of our own
Can give our Government a tone,
Let us submissively receive a
Set, fresh from Ireland, France and Geneva.
Let us in Congress hear with patience,
The worthless scum of foreign nations,
Threaten in vile outlandish squeal,
To "stop of government de veel!"
We next will stretch on Satire's rack,
a callous wretch in faded black,
A nuisance in our "happy land,"
A sort of Junior Talleyrand.
Democracy has not a rogue,
Amongst her dasher now in vogue,
A single Jacobin, or scarce one
More mischievous than this said Parson.
�Twere well had he been hung, before he
Began to print th' Observatory,
Which wold have sav'd an inundation
Of lies, which overspread the nation.
For this same Jacobin high flyer,
Is such a Satan of a liar,
He lies through habit, strange to tell,
Even when the truth would do as well.
His every paragraph's invented
To make the people discontented,
To raise the restless mob, and shove �em,
To pull down all that seems above �em.
And he as been at work to plaster
His grand illuminated master,
But time would fail to set forth how well
He daubs it on, as with a trowel.
At length the rogue has drawn a prize,
An Office, earn'd by peddling lies,
but this faid office is at most,
An exile to a western post.
Here, reader, is a pretty sample
Of rogues, for "negative example,"
Cull'd from among some scores of dozens,
You'd think th' arch Democrat;'s first cousins.
To this fine crew there might be added,
Full many a hollow heart and bad head;
And some for infamy as famous,
As any history can name us.
Among the rest, fanatic preachers,
Your self-inspir'd, and self-taught teachers,
Whose piety, so dark and mystical,
Is Godward zealous, manward - twistical.
Creatures that creep into your houses,
Just to regenerate your spouses,
With whom the spirit's operation,
Works out a carnal termination.
But worlds of folios were foo few,
To set forth half the crazy crew
Of sharping knaves, and simple flats,
Who constitute good Democrats:
Besides, for credit of our nation,
We now will close our "oppugnation,"
With some few gibbetted, �tis best,
Perhaps, to pardon all the rest.
And some great men I shan't exhibit
On this my Satire's famous Gibbet,
Lest my poetical proboscis
should undergo a caning process. pp 188
CANTO VI.
MONITION.
ARGUMENT.
WE now, with due submission, venture,
To make OURSELF the People's Mentor,
And boldly take the lead of those,
Who fain would lead them by the nose;
And, if their grand Omnipotences,
Have not entirely lost their senses,
By us forewarn'd,. they'll shun the slavery,
Which waits on Democratic knavery.
Altho' not bless'd with the second sight,
Divine inflation, or new light,
Have ne'er, in supernatural trance,
Seen through a mill stone at a glance; -
Ne'er danc'd with sprites at midnight revel,
Had never dealings with the devil,
Nor carried matters to such pitches,
As did the wicked Salem witches.
Han't made with t' other world so free, as
To go to H__ll, like one Aeneas,
By virtue of divine commission,
For prospects bright in fields Elyssian; -
Cannot divine like Richard Brothers,
Miss Polly Davis, and some others,
Who, in the world of fprits, spied
A gross of wonders - or they lied; -
Can't prophesy, as well as gingle,
Like �Squire Columbus, or McFingal,
And don't see quite so many glories,
As could be wish'd, now flash before us; -
Though nothing more than mortal elf,
Good, reader, very like yourself,
And therefore, shan't by any trope,
Presume to make ourself a Pope; -
Yet ne'er was conjuror acuter,
In prying into matters future; -
No old Silenus, though in liquor,
Could tell you what would happen quicker.
We'll therefore venture to assume, a
Tone of authority, like Numa;
And give such wondrous counsel, no man
Shall say we fall beneath the Roman.
Good folks of each degree and station,
Which goes to constitute our nation;
In social fabric who take place,
Or at the pinnacle or base,
With diligence, I pray attend
To counsels of a real friend,
Who tells the truth, when he assures
You, that his interest is yours.
Who hopes, that when you're plainly show'd
Your Democratic, downhill road,
Is dire destruction's dismal rout,
You'll condescend to turn about.
Why should you hardily advance,
the highway, lately trod by France;
Nor take example, ere too late,
To shun the same disastrous fate.
Methinks I hear you cry as one,
What shall be done! what shall be done!
What method hit on for defending,
Against such destiny impending?
Imprimis, cry down every rogue
Democracy has now in vogue,
Who thinks, by dint of wicked lies,
to cast a mist before your eyes.
(O, could I hope my rush-light taper
Might penetrate the Stygian vapour,
That you might see, and seeing miss,
The Democratic precipice.)
Give power to none but honest men,
Long tried, and faithful found, and then
You will not flounder in the dark,
Still wide from real freedom's mark.
Distrust those wretches, ever one,
Curses denounc'd by Washington;
Who have of late been busy, brewing
Their own, and other people's ruin.
O had we built on that foundation,
Laid by our late administration,
The fabric of our Nation's Glory
Had never been surpress'd in story.
But ever sedulous in brewing
Their own, and other's peoples ruin,
Our Democrats have been at work
To lay all level, with a jerk.
Not Satan, breaking into Eden,
Could show more malice in proceeding,
Or tell more false, malicious stories,
Than these said Jacobin-French Tories.
Sometimes the rogues were picking flaws
With Alien and Sedition Laws,
The Constitution next attacking,
They sent the Federal Judges packing.
The Feds chac'd down, the snarling elves,
At loggerheads among themselves,
E'en cut and thruft, like gladiators,
For our amusement as spectators.
Resolv'd to prove the nation's curses,
They go from bad to what still worse is,
Each wicked measure merely leading,
To more flagitious steps succeeding.
But now, methinks, you cry as one,
What must be done! - What must be done!
Those growing evils to curtail,
And make our Demos shorten sail?
Sirs, my (opinion to be blunt in)
The first step must be, "scoundrel hunting!"
The minions of a wicked faction,
Hiss! hoot quite off the stage of action!
Next, every man throughout the nation,
Must be contented in his station,
Nor think to cut a figure greater,
Than was design'd for him by Nature.
No tinker bold with brazen pate,
Should set himself to patch the State,
No cobbler leave, as Faction's call,
His last, and thereby lose his all.
No brawny blacksmith, brave and stout,
Our Constitution hammer out,
for if he's wise, he'll not desire,
Too many irons in the fire; -
And though a master of his trade;
with politics on anvil laid,
He may take many a heat, and yet he
can't weld a bye-law or treaty.
No tailor, than his goose more silly,
Should cut the State a garment, till he
Is sure he has the measure right,
Lest it fit awkward, loose or tight.
No farmer, had he Ceres' skill,
The Commonwealth should he think to till,
For many soils in human nature,
Would mock his art as cultivator.
The greatest number's greatest good,
Should, doubtless, ever be pursu'd;
But that consists, sans disputation.
In order and subordination.
Nature imposes her commands,
There must be heads, as well as hands,
The man of body, "son of soul,"
the former happiest on the whole: -
For toil of body still we find,
Is lighter far than toil of mind,
And nought, perhaps, but tooth-ache pains,
Can equal "wear and tear on brains."
Blest is the man with wooden head,
Who labors for his daily bread,
More happy he, if truth were known,
Than Bonapart' upon his throne: -
Yes, his advantage most immense is,
In all enjoyment of the senses,
If heath and strength in him are join'd,
With heaven's best boon, a tranquil mind.
Then think not providence disgrac'd you,
If in some lower rank it plac'd you;
Think poverty no punishment,
And be with competence content;
Do not assume of State the reins,
If you're but so so, as to brains,
Because you make yourselves vexation,
And but disgrace us as a nation.
Had Johnny Randolph known his place,
He had not hunted Mr. Chase,
Nor had the public known him to be
a blundering and malicious booby.
Had Lawyer L_____n staid at home,
His honour might have pass'd with some,
For quite a decent country Squire,
And no bad Jury - argufier.
And had our Governor that would be,
But been contented where he should be,
His Honour had not been the mark
So often hit by D___r P___k.
Had ______ somebody but known his station,
Perhaps his blasted reputation,
Stain'd by a multitude of sins,
Had �scap'd the shafts of Young and Minns
So much for wiseacres desiring,
To show their folly by aspiring,
We turn to those who new their places,
And form our social fabric's basis.
I need not tell you, Sirs, how true �tis,
That you have rights, as well as duties,
Have much at stake in preservation
Of Law and order in the nation.
But heed you not the bawling clan,
Who prate about the "rights of man,"
Although like Thomas Pain, and Firm,
They fix no meaning to the term.
Be not of good men over jealous,
Nor lightly trust the clamorous fellows,
Who �gainst your true friends set their faces,
Merely to crowd into their places.
There must be limits put to suffrage,
Although the step excite enough rage,
Lest men devoid of information
And honesty should rule the nation.
Let honest and reputation,
Be passports to your appobation,
And ne'er support, with zeal most hearty,
A knave because he's of your party.
Put down the scoundrels who are dashing,
That honest men may come in fashion,
For I can swear unless you do it,
Hereafter you'll have cause to rue it.
Remember, mid your party strife,
Whoso's a rogue in private life,
If once he gets you at his beck,
Will set his foot upon your neck.
Thus Mr. Burr, for aye intriguing,
With this side, and with that side leaguing,
Has late contriv'd a scheme quite handy,
to make himself, for life a grandee.
You next some method must be trying,
To stop the rage of party lying,
Which may be quickly done, provided
You will be honest and decided.
When printers are to lies addicted,
And have most fairly been convicted;
For instance, men like Chronicleers,
Who should be thankful - for their ears.
From pillory though they are exempt,
You ought to blast them with contempt,
But now they find, by Faction's aid,
Lying a profitable trade.
But you can stop our Demo's dashing,
Bring honest again into fashion,
Bring scoundrelism to disgrace,
Bid modest merit show its face.
But, my good sovereign friends, I now
Must make, alas, my parting bow,
Still humble hoping, with submission,
That you'll attend to my Monition.
Take my advice, which not pursuing,
You're surely in the "road to ruin,"
for rul'd by men and not by law,
your rights will not be worth a straw.
The End
Back to DemocracyI,
Back to DemocracyII,
Second Edition, Printed for the Author by David Carlisle, Boston, 1805.
Refer to Nathaniel Hawthorne - Thomas Green Fessenden (an obituary) which is posted on the web for a well balanced review of Mr. Fessenden's contribution to the development of the United States.
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