To Mrs. Pleydell, With A Pot Of Honey, During The Ferment Occasioned By The Popish Bill Of Toleratio Poem by Hector Macneill

Remov'd thank God! from fierce contentions;
Unknown to parties or Conventions;
Alike averse to rage and folly,
And foe to gloomy melancholy;
Amid confusion, war, and zeal,
Accept these lines from bard Macneill.

When morning comes, my breastfast down,
Compos'd and wrapp'd in flannel gown,
Till Andrew comes my brains to muddy,
I dedicate some hours to study
Behold me then, in elbow chair,
Turn o'er a leaf with serious air;
Or seiz'd with strong poetic fit,
Compose some precious scrap of wit :
Fir'd by the muses melting strain
I rise - sit down - get up again;
When 'midst my raptures, frisks, and papers,
Bounce! in comes Christy with - the papers.

With some regret I dropp the quill
Well! what's the news? the Popish Bill.
Is Keppel tried? - a dull essay
From fierce I. A. to sly John Hay;
Has d'Estaing sail'd? - to show the better
What papists are, this day a letter,
Just from the press, which well explains
What hellish laws that sect maintains!'
Where's Byron? - 'Murders! popish tricks;
No faith! - no faith, with heretics!'
Asham'd; - provok'd in every page,
I curse the papers in a rage;
Start up and ring with all my might;
Here! take this nonsense from my sight!

Scarce have I banish'd raving faction
Till in bolts J---y in distraction.
'All - all is lost! - d'Estaing's gone forth!
God curse that headstrong blockhead North!
No scheme succeeds - we've no invention!
This nation's ruin'd past redemption!
Our fleets are beat! - our trade is gone
We'll be invaded ten to one
Ecod! the French may come to-morrow
It won't cause universal sorrow.
They've many friends in this wise nation
The Popish Bill of Toleration.'
Stop, Doctor! - stop! - 'Why should I stop, pray?
I'm really sick you are! - your reasons - eh!'
Some other time - some other day.

Thus, doubly teas'd 'twixt saint and sinner,
An invitation comes to dinner:
To dress I run - thank heav'n, I cry,
Some pious hearts are often dry;
A cheerful glass may work a wonder;
May still, perhaps, this papal thunder
O! grant us, Bacchus, wine that's strong!
Raise! Orpheus, raise the blithesome song!
Let Pleydell come, serenely gay!
And social mirth shall crown the day.
Flush'd with fond hope, away I haste
(Alas! why must I tell the rest!)
In spite of dishes, nice and rare,
In spite of wit - for you were there;
In spite of ale, punch, port, and sherry;
Though S---n sang, we ne'er were merry.
Ask you the cause? 'twas indigestion
From one curs'd sauce each dish was drest in;
For while we ate and drank our fill,
Still in our stomachs stuck the -- bill.

'Tis now, methinks, five weeks at least,
Since first I sought some tranquil feast;
Where wholesome food and converse kind
Might please the stomach, cheer the mind;
Make folds good-humour'd, frank, and civil,
And banish popery to - the devil!
I sought, I say; nay rack'd my brain,
To find this feast, but all in vain;
When t'other morn, in elbow chair,
Unty'd my shoes, uncomb'd my hair,
Two hours from bed, and breakfast o'er,
Rap! went the knocker at the door.
Upstarted Christy from the wheel-
'Is this the house o' Squire Macneill?'
Yes, - what is that? - 'A can, my queen,
Just come to Leith frae Aberdeen;
The freight a shilling - carriage twa
The weight I'm sure is far frae sma'
I wonder what the sorrow's in't,
It maun be leed or stane o' flint!
The deil be on't! it's hurt my heed,
It's surely fill'd wi' stanes or leed!'
The chattering rogue receiv'd his money,
The stanes and lead turn'd out good - Honey;
Pure, rich, and sparkling as you see;
The product of th' industrious bee:
A balmy gift from shrub and flower!
The fruits of many a toilsome hour.

Struck with the prospect of my treasure,
I felt, methought, unusual pleasure:
A sudden charm; a joy refin'd
Shed peace and comfort o'er the mind;
Each sound of Popery died away,
And thus I said - or meant to say

In past'ral days, when wants were few,
When love beat strong and friendship true,
Our fathers, nurtur'd in content,
A calm unruffled life time spent
Mid herds and flocks (their only care),
A feast like this was oft their fare.
Here, by the streamlet's bubbling side,
Unknown to controversial pride,
The oaten pipe and rural lay
Chas'd spleen and ranc'rous hate away
Unskill'd in schoolmen's mystic dance,
Untrain'd in dark Intolerance,
No zealous phrensy fir'd the breast;
No fears fanatic broke their rest;
By nature taught they still pursu'd
What whispering conscience said was good;
Nor could their social minds approve
Of aught that sever'd peace and love!

Harass'd with zeal, and frantic passion,
And for the times - quite out of fashion;
I can't help sighing for repose,
Envying the life our fathers chose.
At morn and eve whene'er I spy
My warning can with placid eye,
In midst of fierce religious splutter,
I spread, with smiles, my bread and butter;
Draw near my feast of sparkling brown,
Lay thick the charm, then - gulp it down;
Experience joys serenely still,
Nor pass one thought on - Popish Bill.

Take then, dear Pleydell! take this treasure,
The source of soothing peace and pleasure;
When dark and dismal qualms attack you,
Or fears of popish priests distract you,
Observe the rule I herewith give you,
And take my word, it will relieve you.

When Sol through curtains pops his head
And wakes sweet Aggy still in bed,
Or Vesper mild through whispering groves
Lures Mary to the haunts she loves;
When cups are rang'd and muffins hot,
And green or cougo in the pot;
Instead of popery's dismal gloom,
Pour out a dish of rich perfume:
Dismiss your fears - be frank - be funny
Produce with smiles your Can of Honey.
Glance o'er these lines ('twill be an honour
Conferr'd upon the happy donor):
Excuse whate'er you think is said ill;
In short, be - just blythe Mrs. Pleydell.