Quebec Gazette - 1767 - March - Poems in Early Canadian Newspapers

March

-
March 2, 1767. No. 113.
To a Lady who distinguishes a Gentleman by the Name of, The Irishman.
The Irishman, Madam! how mean you, Odzounds! The Irish, I’d have you to know, Blood and Wounds!
Are as good as the best in the Nation;
Their Hearts are as sound, and their Spirits as light,
Their Limbs are as stout, and their Bodies as tight;—	5
’Tis you, Ma’am, who want Reformation:
When Ladies precise will affect the stale Prude;
Call this Thing too coarse, and the other too rude,
’Tis Time we should tell them their own;
Our Girls are much prettier, freer from Pride,	10
Though their Legs are the thickest, we lay them aside,
Nor Care for your Smile, or your Frown.
While your poor English Lovers court, flatter, and swear, Now sigh in a Sonnet, now whine in Despair,
With Spirit we open the Trenches;	15
Though so haughty before, your high-bred English Dame Is soon found unable to smother her Flame,
And we win the Ground fairly by Inches.
Though you my dear Country and Accent despise, Yet so fine is your Shape, and so graceful your Size,	20
That haply had I a Clive’s Purse,
And you at next Auction were set up to Sale, I’d bid against R****, ’til bidding should fail,
And take you for better or worse.
WILD IRISH.

March 9, 1767. No. 114.
The MIRROUR of KNIGHTHOOD A True Tale
Ribbons and Stars, and Courtly Toys, Attract the wond’ring Vulgar’s Eyes, Who an implicit Homage pay To ev’ry Thing that’s glitt’ring gay; A Dunce, or what’s inanimate,	5
A golden Ass, or Coach of State: But the discerning Few, the Wise, Trust not intirely to their Eyes; For they consider Honour’s Badges Are not true Merit’s constant Wages.	10
Examples in all Lands abound, Except our own, where few are found: And therefore, to avoid Reflection, A foreign Tale is my Election.
An English Merchant,* who for Trade	15
His Residence Oporto made, Liv’d in a House of Structure odd; One Wing extending to the Road, Which made a Nook, where People stood The Fountains of a briny Flood.	20
Sol here intensely darts his Beams, And raises suffocating Steams. Our Merchant, who could not endure The Nuisance, studied for a Cure. Should he desire them to forbear;	25
A show’ry Sky as soon would hear: For they but small Regard would show A Foreigner, their Church’s Foe. This brought to Mind their Superstition; (A lucky Thought in his Condition)	30
With that he for a Workman sends, Bids him forth with the Corner cleanse, And in it then a Cross erect; (Object of Catholicks Respect) ’Tis done: The Passengers no more	35
Infect the Corner as before; But kneeling there the Cross adore.
Their King soon after hapt to dub,
With Knighthood, a notorious Scrub: (Ye Britons take my Story right,	40
’Twas Portugal that own’d the Knight) So ill-bestow’d a Grace became Of Conversation general Theme:
When at our Merchant’s Table one On the same Subject thus begun:	45
“I must confess, I’m at a Loss, How the King came to give the Cross To such a Wretch, the publick Scorn!” (The Cross there Badge of Knighthood worn). Our Merchant with a Smile replies,	50
“’Tis done with Reason. Kings are wise. The same I’ve to my Corner done, That it might not be piss’d upon.”
* The late Sir Robert Godschall. [back]

March 16, 1767. No. 115.
To THE PRINTERS. Please to insert the following in your next Paper, and you’ll oblige your constant Female Readers. What Charms has the dull stupid sauntring Life of a Bachelor, above that of a married Man? What are his Advantages? Where is the Joy of living on the Earth, without having any one Place in it that he can call his Home? What Pleasure is there in a selfish Unconcern for all the World? What Comfort in having none concerned or interested for him?
The dry, dull, drowsy Bachelor surveys
Alternate joyless Nights and lonesome Days; No tender Transports wake his sullen Breast, No soft Endearments lull his Cares to rest: Stupidly free from Nature’s tend’rest Ties,	5
Lost in his own sad self he lives and dies.
Not so the Man to whom indulgent Heaven,
That tender Bosom-Friend, a WIFE, has given: Him blest in her kind Arms no Fears dismay, No secret Checks of Guilt his Joys allay;	10
No Husband wrong’d, no virgin’s Honor spoil’d, No tender Parent weeps his ruin’d Child, No bad Disease or false Embrace is here, The Joys are safe, the Raptures are sincere. Does Fortune smile? how grateful must it prove	15
To tread Life’s pleasing Round with one you love? Or does she frown with one whose soft’ning Art Will sooth your Woes, or bear a willing Part?
Forgive us, Gentlemen, this Start of Poetry; the Warmness of our Hearts, occasioned the Elevation of our Stile: But if we have said nothing but what is true, nothing but what is just and reasonable, we hope the Strikingness of the Contrast, and the Strength of the Sentiment, will co-operate together to make you ashamed of yourselves; and as the fair Fruits of your Repentance, throw yourselves at our Feet and with humble contrite Hearts confess your past Follies, and joyfully embrace the Forgiveness which tender Bosoms will undoubtedly be disposed to favour you with.

March 16, 1767. No. 115.
Marriage A-La-Mode
Marriage, that makes two Bodies one,
Will soon their Minds disjoint;
The Magnet’s Power is lost, and gone;
The Needle turns its Point.
When Contradiction comes apace,	5
The Inclinations tack;
And Love, that brought ’em Face to Face,
Soon leaves them Back to Back.
For ever different Hours they keep,
And different Ways they take;	10
When Spouse is much dispos’d to sleep,
Then Madam’s wide awake.
The wedded Pair their Fate deplore,
No Joys their Union bless;
SHE ever sighs for something MORE,	15
And HE for something LESS.

March 16, 1767. No. 115.
Liberty An ODE
While knaves and fools, in deep debate, Perhaps are plotting England’s fate, By fancy’s aid I mount the wind, And leave this drossy world behind; There picture to the mental eye	5
The feat of heav’n-born Liberty. High on a throne, from human sight, In regions of eternal light, The goddess sits—on either hand Her attributes in order stand;	10
Mirth, plenty, innocence, and love, Descendants from immortal Jove. The power that keeps dull slaves in awe, Firm concord, reason’s, nature’s law; The virtues glowing in her breast,	15
With ample shield stands forth confest; Wide-spreading laurels spring around, And flowers enamel all the ground. Emblems of Liberty, their Queen, In harmless gambols round are seen,	20
Two lions of stupendous size, With flowing main, and fiery eyes, At times employed to draw her car, When forth she rushes to the war. Rais’d by her word above all art,	25
At distance from the throne apart, Stands a firm pillar undecay’d By time, who various ways essay’d His malice and his darts were vain, Pointless they fell upon the plain.	30
Greece, Rome, and other names were shewn, Deeply engraven on the stone; But stronger fairer than the rest, Britannia! stood thy name confest; While underneath, in words of gold	35
These ever during truths were told— “My best belov’d! my favour’d isle! While blest with my auspicious smile, The foes of Liberty and thee, Shall from my dreaded presence flee;	40
But should’st thou, heedless, lose my sight, Your glories set in endless night.”

March 23, 1767. No. 116.
EPITRE de Monsieur de VOLTAIRE à Monsieur le Cardinal Qucrini, qui lui demandoit absolument une Ode sur l’Eglise Catholique a laquelle il a fait des Presons.
Eh quoi! vous voulez que je chante
Le Temple orné par vos Bienfaits
Dont Aujourd’hui Berlin se vante?
Je vous admire, et je me tais.
Comment sur le Bord de la Sprée,	5
Dans cette infidele Contrée
Où de Rome on brave les Loix,
Pourrai je elever une Voix, A des Cardinaux consacrés?
Eloigné des Bords de Sion,	10
Je gemis en bon Catholique; Helas! mon Prince est Heretique,
Et n’a point de Devotion! Je vois avec Componction
Que dans l’Infernale Sequele	15
Il sera près de Ciceron, Ou d’Aristide, ou de Platon;
Ou vis a vis de Marc Aurele.
On sait que ces Esprits fameux
Sont punis dans la Nuit profonde;	20
Il faut qu’il soit damné comme eux,
Puisque il vit comme eux dans le Monde.
Mais surtout que je suis faché De le voir toujours enriché De l’enorme et cruel Peché,	25
Que l’on nomme la Tolerance? Pour moi, je fremis quand je pense
Que le Musulman et le Paien, Le Quakre, et le Lutherien,
L’Enfant de Geneve et de Rome,	30
Chez lui tout est recû si bich,
Pourvû que l’on soit honnete Homme.
Pour comble de mechanceté,
Il a sû rendre ridicule
Cette fainte Inhumanité,	35
Cette Haine dont sans Scrupule
S’armoit le Devot entêté,
Et dont railloit l’Incredule.
Que serai je, Grand Cardinal,
Moi Chambelain très inutile	40
D’un Prince endurci dans le Mal,
Et proscrit dans notre Evangile?
Vous, dont le Chapeau d’ecarlate
De Lauriers du Pinde est orné!
Qui marchant sur les Pas d’Horace,	45
Et sur ceux de St. Augustin, Suivez le raboteux Chemin
Du Paradis et du Parnasse;
Convertissez ce rare Esprit!
Cest à vous d’instruire et de plaire;	50
Et la Grace de Jesus Christ
Chez vous brille, en plus d’un Ecrit.
Avec les trois Graces d’Homere.