The Famous Speech Maker of England or Baron Lovel’s Charge at the Azizes at Exon April 5th 1710 by Jonathan Swift

Lyrics

From London to Exon By special direction Came down the world's wonder Sir Salathiel Blunder With a quoif on his head As heavy as lead; And thus opened and said: Gentlemen of the Grand Inquest Her majesty, mark it Appointed this circuit For me and my brother Before any other; To execute laws As you may suppose Upon such as offenders have been So then, not to scatter More words on the matter We're beginning just now to begin But hold—first and foremost, I must enter a clause As touching and concerning our excellent laws; Which here I aver Are better by far Than them all put together abroad and beyond sea; For I ne'er read the like, nor e'er shall, I fancy The laws of our land Don't abet, but withstand Inquisition and thrall And whatever may gall And fire withal; And sword that devours Wherever it scowers: They preserve liberty and property, for which men pull and haul so And they are made for the support of good government also Her majesty, knowing The best way of going To work for the weal of the nation Builds on that rock Which all storms will mock Since Religion is made the foundation And, I tell you to boot, she Resolves resolutely No promotion to give To the best man alive In church or in state (I'm an instance of that,) But only to such of a good reputation For temper, morality, and moderation Fire! fire! a wild-fire Which greatly disturbs the queen's peace Lies running about; And if you don't put it out ( That's positive) will increase: And any may spy With half of an eye That it comes from our priests and Papistical fry Ye have one of these fellows With fiery bellows Come hither to blow and to puff here; Who having been toss'd From pillar to post At last vents his rascally stuff here: Which to such as are honest must sound very oddly When they ought to preach nothing but what's very godly; As here from this place we charge you to do As ye'll answer to man, besides ye know who Ye have a Diocesan,— But I don't know the man;— The man's a good liver They tell me, however And fiery never! Now, ye under-pullers That wear such black colours How well would it look If his measures ye took Thus for head and for rump Together to jump; For there's none deserve places I speak't to their faces But men of such graces And I hope he will never prefer any asses; Especially when I'm so confident on't For reasons of state, that her majesty won't Know, I myself I Was present and by At the great trial, where there was a great company Of a turbulent preacher, who, cursedly hot Turn'd the fifth of November, even the gun-powder plot Into impudent railing, and the devil knows what: Exclaiming like fury—it was at Paul's, London— How church was in danger, and like to be undone And so gave the lie to gracious Queen Anne; And, which is far worse, to our parliament-men: And then printed a book Into which men did look: True, he made a good text; But what follow'd next Was nought but a dunghill of sordid abuses Instead of sound doctrine, with proofs to't, and uses It was high time of day That such inflammation Should be extinguish'd without more delay: But there was no engine could possibly do't Till the commons play'd theirs, and so quite put it out So the man was tried for't Before highest court: Now it's plain to be seen It's his principles I mean Where they suffer'd this noisy and his lawyers to bellow: Which over, the blade A poor punishment had For that racket he made By which ye may know They thought as I do That he is but at best an inconsiderable fellow Upon this I find here And everywhere That the country rides rusty, and is all out of gear: And for what? May I not In opinion vary And think the contrary But it must create Unfriendly debate And disunion straight; When no reason in nature Can be given of the matter Any more than for shapes or for different stature? If you love your dear selves, your religion or queen Ye ought in good manners to be peaceable men: For nothing disgusts her Like making a bluster: And your making this riot Is what she could cry at Since all her concern's for our welfare and quiet I would ask any man Of them all that maintain Their passive obedience With such mighty vehemence That damn'd doctrine, I trow! What he means