Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TRIAL OF SALIM THE PERSIAN, by EDWARD MOORE (1712-1757)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TRIAL OF SALIM THE PERSIAN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The court was met, the prisoner brought
Last Line: And only virtue's friends be yours.'
Subject(s): Courthouses; Trials


MISCELLANIES.


THE court was met, the prisoner brought,
The council with instructions fraught,
And evidence prepar'd at large,
On oath, to vindicate the charge.
But first 'tis meet, where form denies
Poetic helps of fancied lies,
Gay metaphors and figures fine,
And similes to deck the line—
'Tis meet (as we before have said)
To call description to our aid.
Begin we then (as first 'tis fitting)
With the three Chiefs, in judgment sitting.
Above the rest, and in the chair,
Sat Faction, with dissembled air;
Her tongue was skill'd in specious lies
And murmurs, whence dissentions rise;
A smiling mask her features veil'd,
Her form the patriot's robe conceal'd;
With studied blandishments she bow'd,
And drew the captivated crowd.
The next in place, and on the right,
Sat Envy, hideous to the sight!
Her snaky locks, her hollow eyes,
And haggard form, forbade disguise;
Pale discontent and sullen hate
Upon her wrinkled forehead sate,
Her left-hand clench'd her cheek sustain'd,
Her right (with many a murder stain'd)
A dagger clutch'd, in act to strike
With starts of rage and aim oblique.
Last on the left was Clamour seen,
Of stature vast and horrid mien;
With bloated cheeks and frantic eyes
She sent her yellings to the skies,
Prepar'd, with trumpet in her hand,
To blow sedition o'er the land.
With these four more, of lesser fame
And humbler rank, attendant came—
Hypocrisy, with smiling grace;
And Impudence, with brazen face;
Contention bold, with iron lungs;
And Slander, with her hundred tongues.
The walls in sculptur'd tale were rich,
And statues proud (in many a nich)
Of chiefs who fought in Faction's cause,
And perish'd for contempt of laws:
The roof, in varied light and shade,
The seat of Anarchy display'd:
Triumphant o'er a falling throne,
(By emblematic figures known)
Confusion rag'd and Lust obscene,
And Riot, with distemper'd mien,
And Outrage bold and Mischief dire,
And Devastation clad in fire:
Prone on the ground a martial maid
Expiring lay, and groan'd for aid;
Her shield with many a stab was pierc'd,
Her laurels torn, her spear revers'd,
And near her, crouch'd amidst the spoils,
A lion panted in the toils.
With look compos'd the pris'ner stood,
And modest pride: by turns he view'd
The court, the council, and the crowd,
And with submissive rev'rence bow'd.
Proceed we now in humbler strains
And lighter rhymes with what remains.
The' indictment grievously set forth
That Selim, lost to patriot worth,
(In company with one Will Pitt,
And many more not taken yet)
In Forty-five the royal palace
Did enter, and, to shame grown callous,
Did then and there his faith forsake,
And did accept, receive, and take,
With mischievous intent and base,
Value unknown, a certain place.
He was a second time indicted
For that, by evil zeal excited,
With learning more than layman's share,
(Which parsons want, and he might spare)
In Letter to one Gilbert West
He the said Selim did attest,
Maintain, support, and make assertion,
Of certain points from Paul's Conversion,
By means whereof the said Apostle
Did many an unbeliever jostle,
Starting unfashionable fancies,
And building truths on known romances.
A third charge ran, that knowing well
Wits only eat as pamphlets sell,
He the said Selim, notwithstanding,
Did fall to answering, shaming, branding,
Three curious Letters to the Whigs,
Making no reader care three figs
For any facts contain'd therein;
By which uncharitable sin,
An author, modest and deserving,
Was destin'd to contempt and starving,
Against the king, his crown and peace,
And all the statutes in that case.
The pleader rose, with brief full charg'd,
And on the prisoner's crimes enlarg'd—
But not to damp the Muse's fire
With rhetoric such as courts require,
We'll try to keep the reader warm,
And sift the matter from the form.
Virtue and social love, he said,
And honour, from the land were fled;
That patriots now, like other folks,
Were made the but of vulgar jokes,
While Opposition dropp'd her crest,
And courted pow'r for wealth and rest;
Why some folks laugh'd and some folks rail'd,
Why some submitted, some assail'd,
Angry or pleas'd—all solv'd the doubt
With who were in, and who were out;
The sons of Clamour grew so sickly
They look'd for dissolution quickly;
Their Weekly Journals, finely written,
Were sunk in privies, all besh—n;
Old England and the London-Evening
Hardly a soul was found believing;
And Caleb, once so bold and strong,
Was stupid now and always wrong.
Ask ye whence rose this foul disgrace?
Why, Selim has receiv'd a place;
And thereby brought the cause to shame,
Proving that people, void of blame,
Might serve their country and their king
By making both the self-same thing;
By which the credulous believ'd,
And others (by strange arts deceiv'd)
That ministers were sometimes right,
And meant not to destroy us quite.
That bartering thus in state affairs,
He next must deal in sacred wares,
The clergy's rights divine invade,
And smuggle in the gospel-trade;
And all this zeal to reinstate
Exploded notions out of date,
Sending old rakes to church in shoals,
Like children, sniveling for their souls,
And ladies gay from smut and libels
To learn beliefs and read their Bibles;
Erecting Conscience for a tutor,
To damn the present by the future;
As if to evils known and real
'Twas needful to annex ideal,
When all of human life we know
Is care, and bitterness, and woe,
With short transitions of delight
To set the shatter'd spirits right;
Then why such mighty pains and care
To make us humbler than we are?
Forbidding short-liv'd mirth and laughter
By fears of what may come hereafter;
Better in ignorance to dwell;
None fear, but who believe a hell;
And if there should be one, no doubt
Men of themselves would find it out.
But Selim's crimes, he said, went further,
And barely stopp'd on this side murther;
One yet remain'd to close the charge,
To which (with leave) he'd speak at large.
And first 'twas needful to premise,
That though so long (for reasons wise)
The press inviolate had stood,
Productive of the public good;
Yet still too modest to abuse,
It rail'd at vice, but told not whose;
That great improvements of late days
Were made to many an author's praise,
Who not so scrupulously nice
Proclaim'd the person with the vice;
Or gave, where vices might be wanted,
The name, and took the rest for granted.
Upon this plan a champion rose,
Unrighteous greatness to oppose,
Proving the man inventus non est
Who trades in pow'r and still is honest;
And (God be prais'd!) he did it roundly,
Flogging a certain junto soundly;
But chief his anger was directed
Where people least of all suspected,
And Selim, not so strong as tall,
Beneath his grasp appear'd to fall,
But Innocence (as people say)
Stood by, and sav'd him in the fray:
By her assisted, and one Truth,
A busy, prating, forward youth,
He rallied all his strength anew,
And at the foe a Letter threw;
His weakest part the weapon found,
And brought him senseless to the ground:
Hence Opposition fled the field,
And Ignorance, with her sev'nfold shield;
And well they might, (for things weigh'd fully)
The prisoner, with his whore and bully,
Must prove for every foe too hard
Who never fought with such a guard.
But Truth and Innocence, he said,
Would stand him here in little stead,
For they had evidence on oath,
That would appear too hard for both.
Of witnesses a fearful train
Came next, the' indictments to sustain,
Detraction, Hatred, and Distrust,
And Party, of all foes the worst;
Malice, Revenge, and Unbelief,
And Disappointment, worn with grief;
Dishonour foul, unaw'd by shame,
And every fiend that Vice can name:
All these in ample form depos'd
Each fact the triple charge disclos'd,
With taunts, and gibes of bitter sort,
And asking vengeance from the court.
The prisoner said, in his defence,
That he indeed had small pretence
To soften facts so deeply sworn,
But would for his offences mourn;
Yet more, he hop'd, than bare repentance
Might still be urg'd to ward the sentence.
That he had held a place some years,
He own'd with penitence and tears;
But took it not from motives base,
The' indictment there mistook the case;
And though he had betray'd his trust,
In being to his country just;
Neglecting Faction and her friends,
He did it not for wicked ends,
But that complaints and feuds might cease,
And jarring parties mix in peace.
That what he wrote to Gilbert West
Bore hard against him, he confest;
Yet there they wrong'd him, for the fact is,
He reason'd for belief, not practice;
And people might believe, he thought,
Though practice should be deem'd a fault.
He either dream'd it, or was told,
Religion was rever'd of old,
That it gave breeding no offence,
And was no foe to wit and sense;
But whether this was truth or whim
He would not say; the doubt with him
(And no great harm, he hop'd) was how
The' enlighten'd world would take it now;
If they admitted it, 'twas well;
If not, he never talk'd of hell;
Nor even hop'd to change men's measures,
Or frighten ladies from their pleasures.
One accusation, he confest,
Had touch'd him more than all the rest,
Three Patriot Letters, high in fame,
By him o'erthrown and brought to shame:
And though it was a rule in vogue,
If one man call'd another rogue,
The party injur'd might reply,
And on his foe retort the lie;
Yet what accrued from all his labour
But foul dishonour to his neighbour?
And he's a most unchristian elf
Who others damns, to save himself.
Besides, as all men knew, he said,
Those Letters only rail'd for bread,
And hunger was a known excuse
For prostitution and abuse;
A guinea properly applied
Had made the writer change his side:
He wish'd he had not cut and carv'd him,
And own'd he should have bought, not starv'd him.
The court, he said, knew all the rest,
And must proceed as they thought best,
Only he hop'd such resignation
Would plead some little mitigation;
And if his character was clear
From other faults, (and friends were near
Who would, when call'd upon, attest it)
He did in humblest form request it
To be from punishment exempt,
And only suffer their contempt.
The prisoner's friends their claim preferr'd,
In turn demanding to be heard.
Integrity and Honour swore,
Benevolence, and twenty more,
That he was always of their party,
And that they knew him firm and hearty;
Religion, sober dame! attended,
And, as she could, his cause befriended;
She said, 'twas since he came from college
She knew him, introduc'd by Knowledge;
The man was modest and sincere,
Nor farther could she interfere.
The Muses begg'd to interpose,
But Envy, with loud hissings, rose,
And call'd them women of ill fame,
Liars, and prostitutes to shame,
And said to all the world 'twas known
Selim had had them every one.
The prisoner blush'd, the Muses frown'd,
When silence was proclaim'd around,
And Faction, rising with the rest,
In form the prisoner thus addrest:
'You, Selim, thrice have been indicted;
First, that by wicked pride excited,
And bent your country to disgrace,
You have receiv'd and held a place;
Next, infidelity to wound,
You've dar'd, with arguments profound,
To drive free-thinking to a stand,
And with religion vex the land;
And lastly, in contempt of right,
With horrid and unnatural spite,
You have an author's fame o'erthrown,
Thereby to build and fence your own.
'These crimes successive, on your trial,
Have met with proofs beyond denial,
To which yourself with shame conceded,
And but in mitigation pleaded;
Yet, that the justice of the court
May suffer not in men's report,
Judgment a moment I suspend,
To reason as from friend to friend.
'And first, that you, of all mankind,
With kings and courts should stain your mind,
You! who were Opposition's lord,
Her nerves, her sinews, and her sword!
That you, at last, for servile ends,
Should wound the bowels of her friends!—
Is aggravation of offence
That leaves for mercy no pretence.
Yet more—for you to urge your hate,
And back the church to aid the state,
For you to publish such a Letter,
You! who have known religion better;
For you, I say, to introduce
The fraud again!—there's no excuse:
And last of all, to crown your shame,
Was it for you to load with blame
The writings of a patriot-youth,
And summon Innocence and Truth
To prop your cause!—Was this for you?—
But Justice does your crimes pursue;
And sentence now alone remains,
Which thus by me the court ordains:
'That you return from whence you came,
There to be stript of all your fame
By vulgar hands; that once a week
Old England pinch you till you squeak;
That ribald Pamphlets do pursue you,
And Lies and Murmurs, to undo you,
With every foe that Worth procures,
And only Virtue's friends be yours.'





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