Gazette Of The United States

ODE TO POPULARITY.
By R. CUMBERLAND, Esquire.

O POPULARITY, thou giddy thing,
What grace or profit dost thou bring?
Thou art not honest, thou art not fame;
I cannot call thee by a worthy name.
To say I hate thee were not true;
Contempt is properly thy due;
I cannot love thee and despise thee too.

Thou art no patriot, but the veriest cheat
That ever traffick'd in deceit;
A state empiric, bellowing loud
Freedom and phrenzy to the mobbing crowd;
And what car'st thou, if thou can'st raise
Illuminations and huzzas
Tho' half the city sunk in one bright blaze!

A patriot! no; for thou dost hold in hate
The very peace and welfare of the state;
When anarchy assails the Sovereign's throne,
Then is thy day, the night thy own;
Then is thy triumph, when the foe
Levels some dark insidious blow,
Or strong rebellion lays thy country low.

Thou canst affect humility, to hide
Some deep device of monstrous pride;
Conscience and charity pretend,
For compassing some private end;
And in a canting conventicle note
Long scripture passages canst quote
When persecution rankles in thy throat.

Thou hast no sense of nature at thy heart,
No care for science, and no eye for art,
Yet confidently dost decide at once
This man a wit, and that a dunce;
And (strange to tell) how'er unjust,
We take thy dictates upon trust,
For if the world will be deceiv'd, it must.

In truth and justice thou hast no delight,
Virtue thou dost not know by sight;
But, as the chymist by his skill,
From dross and dregs a spirit can distill,
So from the prisons, or the stews,
Bullies, blasphemers, cheats, or jews
Shall turn to heroes, if they serve thy views.

Thou dost but make a ladder of the mob
Whereby to climb into some courtly job;
There safe reposing, warm and snug,
Thou answer'st with a patient shrug
Miscreants, begone; who cares for you,
Ye base born brawling, clamorous crew?
You've serv'd my turn, and, vagabonds, adieu.