GOTHAM
.
BOOK
I.
FAR
off
(
no
matter
whether
East
or
West
,
A
real
Country
,
or
one
made
in
jest
)
Not
yet
by
modern
MANDEVILLES
disgrac'd
,
Nor
by
Map-jobbers
wretchedly
misplac'd
,
There
lies
an
Island
,
neither
great
nor
small
,
Which
,
for
distinction
sake
,
I
GOTHAM
call
.
The
Man
,
who
finds
an
unknown
Country
out
,
By
giving
it
a
name
acquires
,
no
doubt
,
A
Gospel
title
,
tho'
the
people
there
The
pious
Christian
thinks
not
worth
his
care
.
Bar
this
pretence
,
and
into
air
is
hurl'd
The
claim
of
EUROPE
to
the
Western
World
.
Cast
by
a
tempest
on
the
savage
coast
,
Some
roving
Buccaneer
set
up
a
Post
;
A
Beam
,
in
proper
form
transversely
laid
,
Of
his
Redeemer's
Cross
the
figure
made
,
Of
that
Redeemer
,
with
whose
laws
his
life
,
From
first
to
last
,
had
been
one
scene
of
strife
;
His
royal
master's
name
thereon
engrav'd
,
Without
more
process
,
the
whole
race
enslav'd
,
Cut
off
that
Charter
they
from
Nature
drew
,
And
made
them
Slaves
to
men
they
never
knew
.
Search
antient
histories
,
consult
records
,
Under
this
title
the
most
Christian
Lords
Hold
(
thanks
to
Conscience
)
more
than
half
the
Ball
;
O'erthrow
this
title
,
they
have
none
at
all
.
For
never
yet
might
any
Monarch
dare
,
Who
liv'd
to
Truth
,
and
breath'd
a
Christian
air
,
Pretend
that
Christ
(
who
came
,
we
all
agree
,
To
bless
his
people
,
and
to
set
them
free
)
To
make
a
Convert
ever
one
law
gave
,
By
which
Converters
made
him
first
a
slave
.
Spite
of
the
glosses
of
a
canting
Priest
,
Who
talks
of
Charity
,
but
means
a
feast
,
Who
recommends
it
(
whilst
he
seems
to
feel
The
holy
glowings
of
a
real
zeal
)
To
all
his
hearers
,
as
a
deed
of
worth
,
To
give
them
heav'n
,
whom
they
have
robb'd
of
earth
,
Never
shall
One
,
One
truly
honest
man
,
Who
,
blest
with
LIBERTY
,
reveres
her
plan
,
Allow
one
moment
,
that
a
Savage
sire
Could
from
his
wretched
race
,
for
childish
hire
,
By
a
wild
grant
,
their
All
,
their
Freedom
pass
,
And
sell
his
Country
for
a
bit
of
glass
.
Or
grant
this
barb'rous
right
,
Let
SPAIN
and
FRANCE
,
In
Slav'ry
bred
,
as
purchasers
advance
,
Let
them
,
whilst
Conscience
is
at
distance
hurl'd
,
With
some
gay
bawble
buy
a
golden
world
;
An
ENGLISHMAN
,
in
charter'd
FREEDOM
born
,
Shall
spurn
the
slavish
merchandize
,
shall
scorn
To
take
from
others
,
thro'
base
private
views
,
What
He
himself
would
rather
die
,
than
lose
.
Happy
the
Savage
of
those
early
times
'Ere
EUROPE's
sons
were
known
,
and
EUROPE's
crimes
!
Gold
,
cursed
Gold
!
slept
in
the
womb
of
earth
,
Unfelt
its
mischiefs
,
as
unknown
its
worth
;
In
full
Content
he
found
the
truest
wealth
;
In
Toil
he
found
Diversion
,
Food
,
and
Health
;
Strange
to
the
ease
and
luxury
of
Courts
,
His
Sports
were
Labours
,
and
his
Labours
Sports
;
His
Youth
was
hardy
,
and
his
Old
Age
green
;
Life's
Morn
was
vig'rous
,
and
her
Eve
serene
;
No
rules
he
held
,
but
what
were
made
for
use
;
No
Arts
he
learn'd
,
nor
ills
which
Arts
produce
;
False
Lights
he
follow'd
,
but
believ'd
them
true
;
He
knew
not
much
,
but
liv'd
to
what
he
knew
.
Happy
,
thrice
happy
now
the
Savage
race
,
Since
EUROPE
took
their
Gold
,
and
gave
them
Grace
!
Pastors
she
sends
to
help
them
in
their
need
,
Some
who
can't
write
,
with
others
who
can't
read
,
And
,
on
sure
grounds
the
Gospel
Pile
to
rear
,
Sends
Missionary
Felons
ev'ry
Year
;
Our
Vices
,
with
more
Zeal
than
holy
pray'rs
,
She
teaches
them
,
and
in
return
takes
theirs
;
Her
rank
Oppressions
give
them
cause
to
rise
,
Her
Want
of
Prudence
means
,
and
Arms
supplies
,
Whilst
her
brave
rage
,
not
satisfied
with
life
,
Rising
in
blood
,
adopts
the
Scalping-Knife
;
Knowledge
She
gives
,
enough
to
make
them
know
How
abject
is
their
State
,
how
deep
their
Woe
;
The
Worth
of
Freedom
strongly
She
explains
,
Whilst
She
bows
down
,
and
loads
their
necks
with
Chains
;
Faith
too
She
plants
,
for
her
own
ends
imprest
,
To
make
them
bear
the
worst
,
and
hope
the
best
;
And
whilst
She
teaches
on
vile
int'rest's
plan
,
As
Laws
of
God
,
the
wild
decrees
of
man
,
Like
PHARISERS
,
of
whom
the
Scriptures
tell
,
She
makes
them
ten
times
more
the
Sons
of
Hell
.
But
whither
do
these
grave
reflexions
tend
?
Are
they
design'd
for
any
,
or
no
end
?
Briefly
but
this
—
to
prove
,
that
by
no
act
Which
Nature
made
,
that
by
no
equal
pact
'Twixt
Man
and
Man
,
which
might
,
if
Justice
heard
,
Stand
good
,
that
by
no
benefits
conferr'd
,
Or
purchase
made
,
EUROPE
in
chains
can
hold
The
Sons
of
INDIA
,
and
her
mines
of
gold
.
Chance
led
her
there
in
an
accursed
hour
,
She
saw
,
and
made
the
Country
her's
by
pow'r
;
Nor
,
drawn
by
Virtue's
Love
from
Love
of
Fame
,
Shall
my
rash
Folly
controvert
the
claim
,
Or
wish
in
thought
that
title
overthrown
,
Which
coincides
with
,
and
involves
my
own
.
EUROPE
discover'd
INDIA
first
;
I
found
My
right
to
Gotham
on
the
self-same
ground
;
I
first
discover'd
it
,
nor
shall
that
plea
To
Her
be
granted
,
and
denied
to
Me
.
I
plead
Possession
,
and
till
one
more
bold
Shall
drive
me
out
,
will
that
Possession
hold
.
With
EUROPE's
rights
my
kindred
rights
I
twine
;
Hers
be
the
WESTERN
WORLD
,
be
GOTHAM
Mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
Gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
Strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
As
on
a
Day
,
a
high
and
holy
Day
,
Let
ev'ry
instrument
of
Music
play
,
Antient
and
Modern
;
Those
which
drew
their
birth
(
Punctilios
laid
wide
)
from
Pagan
earth
,
As
well
as
those
by
Christian
made
and
Jew
;
Those
known
to
many
,
and
those
known
to
few
;
Those
which
in
whim
and
frolic
lightly
float
,
And
those
which
swell
the
slow
and
solemn
note
;
Those
which
(
whilst
Reason
stands
in
wonder
by
)
Make
some
complexions
laugh
,
and
others
cry
;
Those
which
,
by
some
strange
faculty
of
sound
,
Can
build
walls
up
,
and
raze
them
to
the
ground
;
Those
which
can
tear
up
forests
by
the
roots
,
And
make
brutes
dance
like
Men
,
and
Men
like
brutes
;
Those
which
,
whilst
RIDICULE
leads
up
the
dance
,
Make
Clowns
of
MONMOUTH
ape
the
Fops
of
FRANCE
;
Those
which
,
where
Lady
DULLNESS
with
Lord
MAYORS
Prefides
,
disdaining
light
and
trifling
airs
,
Hallow
the
feast
with
Psalmody
,
and
Those
Which
,
planted
in
our
Churches
to
dispose
And
lift
the
mind
to
Heaven
,
are
disgrac'd
With
what
a
foppish
Organist
calls
Taste
.
All
,
from
the
Fiddle
(
on
which
ev'ry
Fool
,
The
pert
Son
of
dull
Sire
,
discharg'd
from
School
,
Serves
an
apprenticeship
in
College
ease
,
And
rises
thro'
the
Ganiut
to
degrees
)
To
Those
which
(
tho'
less
common
,
not
less
sweet
)
From
fam'd
Saint
Giles's
,
and
more
fam'd
Vine-street
,
(
Where
Heav'n
,
the
utmost
wish
of
man
to
grant
,
Gave
me
an
old
House
,
and
an
older
Aunt
)
THORNTON
,
whilst
HUMOUR
pointed
out
the
road
To
her
arch
cub
,
hath
hitch'd
into
an
ode
;
All
Instruments
(
attend
Ye
list'ning
Spheres
,
Attend
Ye
Sons
of
Men
,
and
hear
with
ears
)
All
Instruments
(
nor
shall
they
seek
one
Hand
Imprest
from
modern
MUSIC's
coxcomb
band
)
All
Instruments
,
self-acted
,
at
my
name
Shall
pour
forth
harmony
,
and
loud
proclaim
,
Loud
but
yet
sweet
,
to
the
according
globe
,
My
praises
,
whilst
gay
NATURE
,
in
a
robe
,
A
Coxcomb
Doctor's
robe
,
to
the
full
sound
Keeps
time
,
like
BOYCE
,
and
the
World
dances
round
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
!
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
Praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
INFANCY
,
straining
backward
from
the
breast
,
Tetchy
and
wayward
,
what
he
loveth
best
Refusing
in
his
fits
,
whilst
all
the
while
The
Mother
eyes
the
wrangler
with
a
smile
,
And
the
fond
Father
sits
on
t'other
side
,
Laughs
at
his
moods
,
and
views
his
spleen
with
pride
,
Shall
murmur
forth
my
name
,
whilst
at
his
hand
Nurse
stands
interpreter
,
thro'
GOTHAM's
land
.
CHILDHOOD
who
,
like
an
April
morn
,
appears
,
Sunshine
and
Rain
,
Hopes
clouded
o'er
with
fears
,
Pleas'd
and
displeas'd
by
starts
,
in
passion
warm
,
In
Reason
weak
,
who
,
wrought
into
a
storm
,
Like
to
the
fretful
bullies
of
the
deep
,
Soon
spends
his
rage
,
and
cries
himself
asleep
,
Who
,
with
a
fev'rish
appetite
oppress'd
,
For
trifles
sighs
,
but
hates
them
when
possess'd
,
His
trembling
lash
suspended
in
the
air
,
Half-bent
,
and
stroking
back
his
long
,
lank
hair
,
Shall
to
his
mates
look
up
with
eager
glee
,
And
let
his
Top
go
down
to
prate
of
Me
.
YOUTH
,
who
fierce
,
fickle
,
insolent
,
and
vain
,
Impatient
urges
on
to
MANHOOD's
reign
,
Impatient
urges
on
,
yet
,
with
a
cast
Of
dear
regard
,
looks
back
on
CHILDHOOD
past
,
In
the
mid-chase
,
when
the
hot
blood
runs
high
,
And
the
quick
spirits
mount
into
his
eye
,
When
Pleasure
,
which
he
deems
his
greatest
wealth
,
Beats
in
his
heart
,
and
paints
his
cheeks
with
health
,
When
the
chaf'd
Steed
tugs
proudly
at
the
rein
,
And
,
'ere
he
starts
,
hath
run
o'er
half
the
plain
,
When
,
wing'd
with
fear
,
the
Stag
flies
full
in
view
,
And
in
full
cry
the
eager
hounds
pursue
,
Shall
shout
my
praise
to
hills
which
shout
again
,
And
e'en
the
Huntsman
stop
to
cry
Amen
.
MANHOOD
,
of
form
erect
,
who
would
not
bow
Tho'
Worlds
should
crack
around
him
;
on
his
brow
WISDOM
serene
,
to
Passion
giving
law
,
Bespeaking
Love
,
and
yet
commanding
Awe
;
DIGNITY
into
Grace
by
Mildness
wrought
;
COURAGE
attemper'd
and
refin'd
by
Thought
;
VIRTUE
supreme
enthron'd
;
within
his
breast
The
Image
of
his
Maker
deep
impress'd
;
Lord
of
this
Earth
,
which
trembles
at
his
Nod
,
With
Reason
bless'd
,
and
only
less
than
God
;
MANHOOD
,
tho'
weeping
Beauty
kneels
for
aid
,
Tho'
Honour
calls
in
Danger's
form
array'd
,
Tho'
,
cloath'd
with
sackcloth
,
Justice
in
the
gates
,
By
wicked
Elders
chain'd
,
Redemption
waits
,
MANHOOD
shall
steal
an
hour
,
a
little
hour
,
(
Is't
not
a
little
One
?
)
to
hail
my
pow'r
.
OLD-AGE
,
a
second
Child
,
by
Nature
curs'd
With
more
and
greater
evils
than
the
first
,
Weak
,
sickly
,
full
of
pains
;
in
ev'ry
breath
Railing
at
life
,
and
yet
afraid
of
death
;
Putting
things
off
,
with
sage
and
solemn
air
,
From
day
to
day
,
without
one
day
to
spare
;
Without
enjoyment
,
covetous
of
pelf
,
Tiresome
to
friends
,
and
tiresome
to
himself
,
His
faculties
impair'd
,
his
temper
sour'd
,
His
memory
of
recent
things
devour'd
E'en
with
the
acting
,
on
his
shatter'd
brain
Tho'
the
stale
Registers
of
Youth
remain
;
From
morn
to
evening
babbling
forth
vain
praise
Of
those
rare
men
,
who
liv'd
in
those
rare
days
When
He
,
the
Hero
of
his
tale
,
was
Young
,
Dull
Repetitions
falt'ring
on
his
tongue
,
Praising
gray
hairs
,
sure
mark
of
Wisdom's
sway
,
E'en
whilst
he
curses
time
which
made
him
gray
,
Scoffing
at
Youth
,
e'en
whilst
he
would
afford
All
,
but
his
gold
,
to
have
his
Youth
restor'd
,
Shall
for
a
moment
,
from
himself
set
free
,
Lean
on
his
Crutch
,
and
pipe
forth
praise
to
Me
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
Things
without
life
shall
in
this
Chorus
join
,
And
,
dumb
to
others
'praise
,
be
loud
in
mine
.
The
Snow-drop
,
who
,
in
habit
white
and
plain
,
Comes
on
the
Herald
of
fair
FLORA's
train
;
The
Coxcomb
Crocus
,
flow'r
of
simple
note
,
Who
by
her
side
struts
in
a
Herald's
coat
;
The
Tulip
,
idly
glaring
to
the
view
,
Who
,
tho'
no
Clown
,
his
birth
from
Holland
drew
,
Who
,
once
full-dress'd
,
fears
from
his
place
to
stir
,
The
Fop
of
flow'rs
,
the
MORE
of
a
Parterre
;
The
Wood-bine
,
who
her
Elm
in
marriage
meets
,
And
brings
her
dowry
in
surrounding
sweets
;
The
Lilly
,
silver
Mistress
of
the
vale
,
The
Rose
of
SHARON
which
perfumes
the
gale
;
The
Jessamine
,
with
which
the
Queen
of
flow'rs
To
charm
her
God
adorns
his
fav'rite
bow'rs
,
Which
Brides
,
by
the
plain
hand
of
neatness
drest
,
Unenvied
rival
,
wear
upon
their
breast
,
Sweet
as
the
incense
of
the
Morn
,
and
chaste
As
the
pure
Zone
,
which
circles
DIAN's
waist
;
All
flow'rs
,
of
various
names
,
and
various
forms
,
Which
the
Sun
into
strength
and
beauty
warms
,
From
the
dwarf
Daisy
,
which
,
like
infants
,
clings
,
And
fears
to
leave
the
earth
from
whence
it
springs
,
To
the
proud
Giant
of
the
garden
race
,
Who
,
madly
rushing
to
the
Sun's
embrace
,
O'ertops
her
fellows
with
aspiring
aim
,
Demands
his
wedded
Love
,
and
bears
his
name
;
All
,
One
and
All
,
shall
in
this
Chorus
join
,
And
,
dumb
to
others
'praise
,
be
loud
in
mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
Forming
a
gloom
,
thro'
which
to
spleen-struck
minds
Religion
,
horror-stamp'd
,
a
passage
finds
,
The
Ivy
crawling
o'er
the
hallow'd
cell
,
Where
some
old
Hermit's
wont
his
beads
to
tell
By
day
,
by
night
;
the
Myrtle
ever-green
,
Beneath
whose
shade
Love
holds
his
rites
unseen
;
The
Willow
weeping
o'er
the
fatal
wave
,
Where
many
a
Lover
finds
a
watry
grave
;
The
Cypress
sacred
held
,
when
Lovers
mourn
Their
true
Love
snatch'd
away
;
the
Laurel
worn
By
Poets
in
old
time
,
but
destin'd
now
In
grief
to
wither
on
a
WHITEHEAD's
brow
;
The
Fig
,
which
,
large
as
what
in
India
grows
,
Itself
a
Grove
,
gave
our
first
Parents
cloaths
;
The
Vine
,
which
,
like
a
blushing
new-made
Bride
,
Clust'ring
,
empurples
all
the
Mountain's
side
;
The
Yew
,
which
,
in
the
place
of
sculptur'd
stone
,
Marks
out
the
resting-place
of
men
unknown
;
The
hedge-row
Elm
,
the
Pine
of
mountain
race
;
The
Fir
,
the
SCOTCH
Fir
,
never
out
of
place
;
The
Cedar
,
whose
top
mates
the
highest
cloud
,
Whilst
his
old
Father
LEBANON
grows
proud
Of
such
a
child
,
and
his
vast
Body
laid
Out
many
a
mile
,
enjoys
the
filial
shade
;
The
Oak
,
when
living
,
monarch
of
the
wood
;
The
ENGLISH
Oak
,
which
,
dead
,
commands
the
flood
;
All
,
One
and
All
,
shall
in
this
Chorus
join
,
And
,
dumb
to
others
'praise
,
be
loud
in
mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
.
The
Show'rs
,
which
make
the
young
hills
,
like
young
Lambs
,
Bound
and
rebound
,
the
old
Hills
,
like
old
Rams
,
Unwieldy
,
jump
for
joy
;
the
Streams
,
which
glide
,
Whilst
PLENTY
marches
smiling
by
their
side
,
And
from
their
bosom
rising
COMMERCE
springs
;
The
Winds
,
which
rise
with
healing
on
their
wings
,
Before
whose
cleansing
breath
Contagion
flies
;
The
Sun
who
,
travelling
in
Eastern
skies
,
Fresh
,
full
of
strength
,
just
risen
from
his
bed
,
Tho'
in
JOVE's
pastures
they
were
born
and
bred
,
With
voice
and
whip
,
can
scarce
make
his
steeds
stir
,
Step
by
Step
,
up
the
perpendicular
;
Who
,
at
the
hour
of
Eve
,
panting
for
rest
,
Rolls
on
amain
,
and
gallops
down
the
West
,
As
fast
as
JEHU
,
oil'd
for
AHAB's
sin
,
Drove
for
a
crown
,
or
Post-boys
for
an
Inn
;
The
Moon
,
who
holds
o'er
night
her
silver
reign
,
Regent
of
tides
,
and
Mistress
of
the
Brain
,
Who
to
her
Sons
,
those
Sons
who
own
her
pow'r
,
And
do
her
homage
at
the
midnight
hour
,
Gives
madness
as
a
blessing
,
but
dispenses
Wisdom
to
fools
,
and
damns
them
with
their
Senses
;
The
Stars
who
,
by
I
know
not
what
strange
right
,
Preside
o'er
mortals
in
their
own
despite
,
Who
without
Reason
govern
Those
,
who
most
(
How
truly
judge
from
hence
!
)
of
Reason
boast
,
And
,
by
some
mighty
Magic
yet
unknown
,
Our
actions
guide
,
yet
cannot
guide
their
own
;
All
,
One
and
All
,
shall
in
this
Chorus
join
,
And
,
dumb
to
others
'praise
,
be
loud
in
Mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
The
Moment
,
Minute
,
Hour
,
Day
,
Week
,
Month
,
Year
,
Morning
and
Eve
,
as
they
in
turn
appear
;
Moments
and
Minutes
which
,
without
a
crime
,
Can't
be
omitted
in
accounts
of
time
,
Or
,
if
omitted
,
(
proof
we
might
afford
)
Worthy
by
Parliaments
to
be
restor'd
;
The
Hours
which
,
drest
by
turns
in
black
and
white
,
Ordain'd
as
Handmaids
,
wait
on
Day
and
Night
;
The
Day
,
those
hours
I
mean
,
when
Light
presides
,
And
BUSINESS
in
a
cart
with
PRUDENCE
rides
;
The
Night
,
those
hours
I
mean
with
darkness
hung
,
When
Sense
speaks
free
,
and
Folly
holds
her
tongue
;
The
Morn
,
when
Nature
,
rousing
from
her
strife
With
death-like
sleep
,
awakes
to
second
life
;
The
Eve
,
when
,
as
unequal
to
the
task
,
She
mercy
from
her
foe
descends
to
ask
;
The
Week
,
in
which
Six
days
are
kindly
given
To
think
of
Earth
,
and
One
to
think
of
Heaven
;
The
Months
,
twelve
Sisters
,
all
of
diff'rent
hue
,
Tho'
there
appears
in
all
a
likeness
too
,
Not
such
a
likeness
,
as
,
thro'
HAYMAN's
works
,
Dull
Mannerist
,
in
Christians
,
Jews
,
and
Turks
,
Cloys
with
a
sameness
in
each
female
face
,
But
a
strange
Something
,
born
of
Art
and
Grace
,
Which
speaks
them
All
,
to
vary
and
adorn
,
At
diff'rent
times
of
the
same
Parents
born
;
All
,
One
and
All
,
shall
in
this
Chorus
join
,
And
,
dumb
to
others
'praise
,
be
loud
in
Mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
Frore
JANUARY
,
Leader
of
the
year
,
Minc'd-pies
in
van
,
and
Calves-heads
in
the
rear
;
Dull
February
,
in
whose
leaden
reign
,
My
Mother
bore
a
bard
without
a
brain
;
MARCH
various
,
fierce
,
and
wild
,
with
wind-crack'd
cheeks
,
By
wilder
Welchmen
led
,
and
crown'd
with
leeks
!
APRIL
with
fools
,
and
MAY
with
bastards
blest
;
JUNE
with
White
Roses
on
her
rebel
breast
;
JULY
,
to
whom
,
the
Dog-Star
in
her
train
,
Saint
JAMES
gives
oysters
,
and
Saint
SWITHIN
rain
;
AUGUST
,
who
,
banish'd
from
her
Smithfield
stand
,
To
Chelsea
flies
,
with
DOGGET
in
her
hand
;
SEPTEMBER
,
when
by
Custom
(
right
divine
)
Geese
are
ordain'd
to
bleed
at
MICHAEL's
shrine
,
Whilst
the
Priest
,
not
so
full
of
grace
as
wit
,
Falls
to
,
unbless'd
,
nor
gives
the
Saint
a
bit
;
OCTOBER
,
who
the
cause
of
FREEDOM
join'd
,
And
gave
a
second
GEORGE
to
bless
mankind
;
NOVEMBER
,
who
at
once
to
grace
our
earth
,
Saint
ANDREW
boasts
,
and
our
AUGUSTA's
birth
;
DECEMBER
,
last
of
Months
,
but
best
,
who
gave
A
CHRIST
to
Man
,
a
Saviour
to
the
Slave
,
Whilst
,
falsely
grateful
,
Man
,
at
the
full
feast
,
To
do
God
honour
,
makes
himself
a
beast
;
All
,
One
and
All
,
shall
in
this
Chorus
join
,
And
dumb
to
others
'praise
,
be
loud
in
Mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
The
Seasons
as
they
roll
;
SPRING
,
by
her
side
Letch'ry
and
Lent
,
Lay-Folly
,
and
Church-Pride
,
By
a
rank
Monk
to
Copulation
led
,
A
tub
of
sainted
Salt-Fish
on
her
head
;
SUMMER
,
in
light
,
transparent
Gawze
array'd
,
Like
Maids
of
Honour
at
a
Masquerade
,
In
bawdry
Gawze
,
for
which
our
daughters
leave
The
Fig
,
more
modest
,
first
brought
up
by
EVE
,
Panting
for
breath
,
enflam'd
with
lustful
fires
,
Yet
wanting
strength
to
perfect
her
desires
,
Leaning
on
SLOTH
,
who
,
fainting
with
the
heat
,
Stops
at
each
step
,
and
slumbers
on
his
feet
;
AUTUMN
,
when
NATURE
,
who
with
sorrow
feels
Her
dread
foe
Winter
treading
on
her
heels
,
Makes
up
in
value
what
she
wants
in
length
,
Exerts
her
pow'rs
,
and
puts
forth
all
her
strength
,
Bids
Corn
and
Fruits
in
full
perfection
rise
,
Corn
Fairly
Tax'd
,
and
Fruits
without
Excise
;
WINTER
,
benumb'd
with
cold
,
no
longer
known
By
robes
of
Fur
,
since
Furs
became
our
own
,
A
Hag
who
,
loathing
all
,
by
all
is
loath'd
,
With
weekly
,
daily
,
hourly
libels
cloath'd
,
Vile
FACTION
at
her
heels
,
who
,
mighty
grown
,
Would
rule
the
Ruler
,
and
foreclose
the
throne
,
Would
turn
all
State-affairs
into
a
trade
,
Make
Laws
one
day
,
the
next
to
be
Unmade
,
Beggar
at
home
a
People
fear'd
abroad
,
And
,
force
defeated
,
make
them
Slaves
by
Fraud
;
All
,
One
and
All
,
shall
in
this
Chorus
join
,
And
,
dumb
to
other's
praise
,
be
loud
in
Mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
CHURCHILL
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
The
Year
,
Grand
Circle
,
in
whose
ample
round
The
Seasons
regular
and
fix'd
are
bound
,
(
Who
,
in
his
course
repeated
o'er
and
o'er
,
Sees
the
same
things
which
he
had
seen
before
.
The
same
Stars
keep
their
Watch
,
and
the
same
Sun
Runs
in
the
track
where
he
from
first
hath
run
;
The
same
Moon
rules
the
night
,
Tides
ebb
and
flow
,
Man
is
a
Puppet
,
and
this
World
a
Show
,
Their
old
dull
follies
old
dull
fools
pursue
,
And
Vice
in
nothing
,
but
in
Mode
,
is
new
,
He
—
a
Lord
(
now
fair
befall
that
Pride
,
He
liv'd
a
Villain
,
but
a
Lord
he
died
)
DASHWOOD
is
pious
,
BERKLEY
fix'd
as
fate
,
SANDWICH
(
THANK
HEAV'N
)
first
Minister
of
State
,
And
,
tho'
by
Fools
despis'd
,
by
Saints
unbless'd
,
By
Friends
neglected
,
and
by
Foes
oppress'd
,
Scorning
the
servile
arts
of
each
Court-Elf
,
Founded
on
Honour
,
WILKES
is
still
himself
)
The
Year
,
encircled
with
the
various
train
Which
waits
,
and
fills
the
glories
of
his
reign
,
Shall
,
taking
up
this
theme
,
in
Chorus
join
,
And
,
dumb
to
others
'Praise
,
be
loud
in
Mine
.
Rejoice
,
Ye
happy
GOTHAMITES
,
rejoice
;
Lift
up
your
voice
on
high
,
a
mighty
voice
,
The
voice
of
gladness
,
and
on
ev'ry
tongue
,
In
strains
of
gratitude
,
be
praises
hung
,
The
praises
of
so
great
and
good
a
King
;
Shall
Churchill
reign
,
and
shall
not
GOTHAM
sing
?
Thus
far
in
Sport
—
nor
let
our
Critics
hence
,
Who
sell
out
monthly
trash
,
and
call
it
Sense
,
Too
lightly
of
our
present
labours
deem
,
Or
judge
at
random
of
so
high
a
Theme
;
High
is
our
Theme
,
and
worthy
are
the
men
To
feel
the
sharpest
stroke
of
Satire's
Pen
;
But
when
kind
Time
a
proper
season
brings
,
In
serious
mood
to
treat
of
serious
things
,
Then
shall
they
find
,
disdaining
idle
play
,
That
I
can
be
as
grave
and
dull
as
They
.
Thus
far
in
Sport
—
nor
let
half
Patriots
,
(
those
Who
shrink
from
ev'ry
blast
of
Pow'r
which
blows
,
Who
,
with
tame
Cowardice
familiar
grown
,
Would
hear
my
thoughts
,
but
fear
to
speak
their
own
,
Who
,
lest
bold
Truths
,
to
do
sage
Prudence
spite
,
Should
burst
the
Portals
of
their
lips
by
night
,
Tremble
to
trust
themselves
one
hour
in
sleep
,
)
Condemn
our
course
,
and
hold
our
Caution
cheap
.
When
brave
Occasion
bids
,
for
some
great
end
When
Honour
calls
the
Poet
as
a
Friend
,
Then
shall
They
find
,
that
,
e'en
on
danger's
brink
,
He
dares
to
Speak
,
what
they
scarce
dare
to
Think
.
END
OF
THE
FIRST
BOOK
.