On the great day, when Buckingham, by pairs Ascended, Heaven impell'd, the K------'s back-stairs; And panting breathless, strain'd his lungs to show From Fox's bill what mighty ills would flow: That soon, _its source corrupt, Opinion's thread, On India's deleterious streams wou'd shed_; That Hastings, Munny Begum, Scott, must fall, And Pitt, and Jenkinson, and Leadenhall; Still, as with stammering tongue, he told his tale, Unusual terrors Brunswick's heart assail; Wide starts his white wig from his royal ear, And each particular hair stands stiff with fear,
We flatter ourselves that few of our readers are so void of taste, as not to feel the transcendant beauties of this description. First, we see the noble Marquis mount the fatal steps "by pairs," _i.e._ by two at a time; and with a degree of effort and fatigue: and then he is out of breath, which is perfectly natural. The obscurity of the third couplet, an _obscurity_ which has been imitated by all the ministerial writers on the India bill, arises from a confusion of metaphor, so inexpressibly beautiful, that Mr. Hastings has thought fit to copy it almost verbatum, in his celebrated letter from Lucknow. The effects of terror on the royal wig, are happily imagined, and are infinitely more sublime than the "_steteruntque comæ_" of the Roman poet; as the attachment of a wig to its wearer, is obviously more generous and disinterested than that of the person's own hair, which naturally participates in the good or ill fortune of the head on which it grows. But to proceed.--Men in a fright are usually generous;--on that great day, therefore, the Marquis obtained the promise of the Admiralty. The dying drummer then proceeds to describe the Marquis's well-known vision, which he prefaces by a compliment on his Lordship's extraordinary proficiency in the art of lace-making. We have all admired the parliamentary exertions of this great man, on every subject that related to an art in which the county of Buckingham is so deeply interested; an art, by means of which Britannia (as our author happily expresses it)
Puckers round naked breasts, a decent trimming, Spreads the thread trade, and propagates old women!
How naturally do we feel disposed to join with the dying drummer, in the pathetic apostrophe which he addresses to his hero, when he foresees that this attention will necessarily be diverted to other objects:--