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The Worshipful Company of POETS AND NEWSWRITERS do pray
that you answer this petition for justice, in your most saintly way.
Be it known,
That your Honour's petitioners (dealers in rhymes,
And writers of scandal for mending the times)
By losses in business; �tis the Senate's doing,
Are sunk in their credit and verging on ruin.
That these their misfortunes they humbly conceive
Arise not from dullness, as some folks believe,
But from delays in action, which your Honour has laid,
Yet there's no want of need to carry on trade.
That they always had formed high conceits of their use,
And meant their last breath should go out in abuse;
But now (and they speak it with sorrow and tears)
Since your Honour has sat at the helm of affairs.
No party will join them, no faction invite,
To heed what they say or to read what they write;
Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord, are in place,
And Slander abounds amongst the whole human race.
In short, public business is so carried on
That the country's deprived and patriots undone.
To perplex still more, and sure famine to bring,
(Now satire has lost both its truth and its sting)
If in spite of their natures they bungle at praise
Your Honour regards not, and nobody pays.
Your petitioners therefore most humbly entreat
(As the times will allow and your Honour thinks meet)
That measures be changed, and some cause of complaint
Be immediately furnished to end their restraint.
Their credit thereby and their trade to retrieve,
That again they may rail and the nation believe.
Or else (if your wisdom shall deem it all one)
Now that the Senate's arising and business to be done,
That your Honour would please at this dangerous crisis
To take to your bosom some well chosen vices,
By which your petitioners haply might thrive,
And keep both themselves and contention alive.
In compassion, good Sir! give them something to say,
And your Honour's petitioners ever shall pray.
For a saint, we know you are not but how are we
In doing our business, t' avoid bark'n up th' wrong tree.
When claiming bipartisanship in doing Nation's business
You then slip the knife twixt the blades in all seriousness.
While it's political gain that for sure you are after,
Will the Nation survive with only corn plaster?
Applied to its ills and far too often late
The sufferers standing in unemployment lines wait.
Having surrounded yourself with like feathered birds
We anxiously await some well chosen actions, not words
That will give meaning to those platitude few
That from your lips in earlier times flew.
A return to your plowman's roots in the western plains
Would give us all relief from your ill gotten gains.
No statesman do we require of you to gain a place in statue
It's congressional action that are the facts we are after.
For a sculpture to be done on the face of the rock
Requires more than just donning a smock
We humbly beseech ye in this way of a poet
Take your horn to S. Dakota and stow it!
*** The above is taken from the poem by Edward Moore (1712-1757) as a petition to the House of Lords. Times are a changing but politics aren't. Following is Edward Moore's petition:
SHEWETH,
That your Honour's petitioners (dealers in rhymes,
And writers of scandal for mending the times)
By losses in business and England's well doing
Are sunk in their credit and verging on ruin.
That these their misfortunes they humbly conceive
Arise not from dullness, as some folks believe,
But from rubs in their way which your Honour has laid),
And want of materials to carry on trade.
That they always had formed high conceits of their use,
And meant their last breath should go out in abuse;
But now (and they speak it with sorrow and tears)
Since your Honour has sat at the helm of affairs
No party will join them, no faction invite,
To heed what they say or to read what they write;
Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord, are fled,
And Slander scarce ventures to lift up her head
In short, public business is so carried on
That their country is saved and the patriots undone.
To perplex them still more, and sure famine to bring,
(Now satire has lost both its truth and its sting)
If in spite of their natures they bungle at praise
Your Honour regards not, and nobody pays.
Your petitioners therefore most humbly entreat
(As the times will allow and your Honour thinks meet)
That measures be changed, and some cause of complaint
Be immediately furnished to end their restraint.
Their credit thereby and their trade to retrieve,
That again they may rail and the nation believe.
Or else (if your wisdom shall deem it all one)
Now the Parliament's rising and business is done,
That your Honour would please at this dangerous crisis
To take to your bosom a few private vices,
By which your petitioners haply might thrive,
And keep both themselves and contention alive.
In compassion, good Sir! give them something to say,
And your Honour's petitioners ever shall pray.
****
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