The Gillmertoun Vulcan gone,
who hew'd seven Fire-Rooms in a single stone:
An E L E G Y on George Paterson Smith, Good-Man
of the famous Gillmertoun Caves.
INgenious George, at last alace thou'rt gone,
To lodge in Clay and left thy hollow Stone:
Ah me! Could not thy sturdy Wills of Rock,
Resist Deaths Darts and disappoint the Stroak;
Or coud'lt thou not thy Dest'ny to prevent,
Have cudgel'd Death by Dint of Argument:
for what could Death further of thee require;
Long since subjected to his dark Empire;
And sure in might be very well aver'd,
One's fairly dead that's seven Years inter'd.
Well Sirs, what shall we say of honest George,
His learning Parts, his curious Cave and Forge,
For's Mem'rys Cause kind Reader it you please,
Let's have a little Hint at each of these.
George was no Man of many Letters, yet
He had a mighty Stock of Mother-Wit,
And tho' not taught in Geometrie at Schools,
Nor well acquaint with Euclid's learned Rules;
Yet here we are oblig'd t'observe his Knowledge,
An meas'ring Superficials and Sollids,
He con'd without Line, Compis, Rule or Pen,
Take the Dimsnsions of a Rock in's Brain,
Catrive what Rooms Square oblong, and so on
He con'd cut out within a single Stone,
Which his prodigious Work will plainly tell,
To Travellers crouding to see his Cell.
E're Passengers approach'd his hollow Rock,
They from a far beheld th' ascending Smoak,
Thar surionsly did from his Forge arise,
Ano Ĉma like, clouded the neighbouring Skies.
Such Smoak from th' one cy'd Cyclop's Cave arose,
When forgoing Thunder with alternate Blows,
By Stairs hewn in firm Rock th' Enteire descends,
Which to the subteraneous Labyrinth tends:
Here the amaz'd Beholder's at a Stand,
Entries present themselves on every Hand,
To Kitchen, Dining, Drawing rooms apart,
Cut in the Rock with most ingenious Art,
And as with Wonder forward we advance,
In the meand'rings of a volted Trance ;
Apartment do appear on every Side,
Nicely contriv'd, which Craigie Walls divide:
To crown the Comforts of this curious Cell,
Deep in the Rock here springs a pleasant Well,
By George's Hands, hewn with prodigious Pains,
Who's Water is refin'd in Rockie Veins.
No Furniture this dusky Cavern fills,
Or Timber fell'd on Cold Norvegian Hills ;
Nor doth its Roof rest upon Beams of Oak,
but sturdy Pillars of substantial Rock.
Here Roof, Walls, Floor and Furniture are one,
All nicely cut in ne'er decaying Stone,
Which doubtless here have untransported stood,
Since Father Adam's Day e're Noah's Flood :
Unshaken too they stoutly seem to stand,
Scorning Times, all devouring Teeth or Hand,
And yet it's evident there's not one small
Stone standing 'bove another in its Wall.
Thus how he form'd his House is hard to say,
By bearing down and throwing Stones away,
Beds Tables, Chairs, are Moveables you know,
George's House you'd hardly find it so.
You cannot here be Quarrels e'er so great,
Nor can ye tho' design'd his Heels to Trip;
Kick off the Chair to give his Bum the Slip ;
Nor can his Dame (Xantipe like) at Dinner,
O'erturn the Table with his Belly Timber,
Thus here you hardly can insirnge the Pace,
Unless against a Rock you run your Face.
To Poind his Goods he Meslengers might Mock',
They'd necd Concurrence to transport a Rock;
'Tis perfect Proof 'gainst Roberie and Thift,
There's little here that humane Hands can lift,
And Men you know may to a Thief afford,
The Charge of Millstones if they are unbor'd.
Deservedly it may be deem'd a Place,
Of Safety too in War as well as Peace;
'Gainst it what can the fiercest Foe perform,
'Tis Proof 'gainst bombing Battery or Storm:
So situate it cou'd sustain no Hurt,
From all th' Artillery in maiden Fort;
Castles on Rocks securely stand 'tis thought,
Securer this which in firm Rock is wrought,
Upon its sturdy Root in vain doth beat,
The Winter Tempest or the Summer Heat.
From blust'ring North Winds free and falling Rain,
Insurrance Tickets too wou'd be in vain:
Nature and Art together here conspite,
To mock the Floods and disappoint the Fire,
Thus dwelt the ancient Warlick Pios of Old,
Rocks were their Refuge, Rocks their strongest Hold
His Muse great Hautbornden did ost invock,
And breath'd his machless Lays from such a Rock;
And th' Oracles, which to the Ancients spoke,
Gave their Responces from some reverend Rock.
Papists to prove their Errors Orthodox,
Build Churches over Caves cut in firm Rocks,
And thus with pious Tricks Priestriden Folls
George to his Neighbour show'd his generous Love,
Liv'd under Ground t afford them Room above,
Thus he by far bewray'd a nobler Spirit,
Than Men who mighty Tracks of Land inherite,
Which they inclose make hudge Depopulation,
And wish they could monopolize the Nation,
judging it would much more augument their Stock
To banish Man and multiply their Flocks,
The Use of Arms they then would teach their Cat
To save their Bacon in the Day of Battle.
All Day his Hammers made the Grotto groan,
And nightly when the toilsome Day was gone,
He Vulcan like, lay on a Couch of S one;
Stone too instead of Courtains do inviron,
Stone is its Stead as Anaks was of Iron. . .
From off his House he are the Thatch for Food,
And blest his Stars and call'd the Product good
Like old Diegenes in his Tub Castle,
He sat and crack't as crouseas will of Wastle,
Repeating with a graceful Air each Motto,
By Bards composed on his carious Grotto.
But ah! at last grim Death espy'd poor George,
Pent in his secret subteraneous Forge,
And laid him lifeless with a fatal Drub,
As Hercules did Cacus with his Club.
F I N I S.
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Probable date published:
1735 shelfmark: Ry.III.c.36(115)
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