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Broadside ballad entitled 'Panegyrick on Robert Cowan's Trip to the Tron'


PANEGYRICK On Robert Cowan's Trip to the Tron,         who should have been ex-
posed there, with his Ditty on his Breast, Wednesday 22d, January 1724, by Sentence
of the Senators of the College of Justice for defrauding his Creditors of vast Sums.

What Moonshine or Trade-wind hath blown thee here,
Loadstone of Trade,why did the SkipperStear
Thy Vessel for to Harbour at the Tree,
And failing down our Coasts cry Helmalee,
Did he mistake his Compas very far,
Thinking our Cock-stool was the pollur star,
And brought thee for to Anchor at this Port,   
Beneath the Shelter of the Maiden Fort,            
Writing in Capitals upon thy Stern,               
Here stands &cetera, that all may learn,
The Cargo is return'd by his deep Skill,
And that thou art a standing Merchant still,
Around thy awfull Throne, the Coasters croud,
Where thon in querpo stands by thousands View'd
Whilst a Dutch Vessel for the Indies Bound,
Carrying 700 Tun is run a Ground,
Her Main-mast bruisd, and floating in the Sea
But thou brave Man supports that usefull Tree
Within thy Iron Barge, thou stands Erect,
safe with the Sauldiery around the Deck,
Pelted with Hand Granads thou'rt firm as Steel,
And doth not hide thy self within the Keel.
The Western Wind that regularly Blows,
Knows the Sea Tides, and how she ebbs and flows
Made the with success on his Billows Ride,
Tho' some alledge ye'r now at a Neep Tide,
As if that Eolus stood at thy beck         
Nothing except thy Conscience went to Wreck
At Anchor riding, glory in your Mark,
Painted upon your stern, the Bankrupt Bark,
Tho' punny sneaking 'Traders on the Brime,
Upbraid thee as a Pyrate for a Crime,
And cursing cry, behold the Smugler there,
Who enter'd all his Goods the Lord knows where
Mad Words to keep a free Born Soul in awe,
For these who follow Nature, Laugh at Law,
How doth the Squirel pillage all the Nuts,
Hoord large Treasures for its little Guts,
Such Wisdom is in the weak-Rabbit found,
It digs its Vaults and store hoose in the Ground,
So salmon when theyve fed on little Fish,
Are Fat and full with many a sttollen Dish:
Run to their Native Stores, and quitte the Main
And when they've spawn'd, they do return again
Merchants should be like Solomon's wife Ants,
To filch in summer for the Winters Wants,   
These winged Insects Lecture to the Saints.      
Philosophers conclude with learned Skill
The tim'rous Hare pursu'd makes up the Hill,
Because her hinder Legs are very long,
But her fore ones are short and very Strong.
So what a Merchants Hands doth safe convey,
For that his Legs were made to run away:
Observe the Water Duck pursu'd by Dogs,   
(As many honest Bankrupt is by Rogues)
Immerges in the Pool to hide it's Head,
Until the clam'rous Dogs believes its dead,
And when the Dangers over it doth Swime,
Above the surface of the Silver Stream.
How proudly do you Stand in that fair Spot,
Thinking your Signature a 10 pound Note,
Flown from it's Breth'ren in the Letter Case,
To deck thy Breast, and gaze upon thy Face,
See how all ranks are swarming to the street,
As if they were to view th' East-india Fleet.
But when you turn your eyes on the Black-Lords
Like Devils or Yunkos handling of the Cords'
And John Dalglesh the Captain of the Ship,
Doth gravely to the Supercargo Trip,
Then he concludes, that all your Plots are fail'd;
And they're preparing to have you Keel-hail'd
Don't hang an Arse, your toils are overpast,
And thou art now an Alter at the Mast.
As these of old whom holy terror seiz'd,
Infants new Born to Moloch sacrific'd
Passing thro' Flames to pacify his Wrath,
And strove t'appease his Ire' with Childrens Death,'
So thou, thro'Guards and Crouds in Triumph stode
To sacrifice to Mammon, thy Pa-god.
Amongst the Romans Men of deathless fame,   
Who conquer'd bravely in th' Olimpick Game,
Did in their Annalls Shine, and were decreed,
To've Wreaths of Olives twisted round their head,
So you, who far excel all Men in Trade,
Are thro' our Capital with glory led.
Thy lovely Bombrief written on thy Breast,
Which doth thy high immortal Fates attest.   
Great Soul, how you dispise the shocks of
The vulgars Clamour, and the great ones hate,
The jangling Lawyers with their harsh Term bolus,
( Dang'rous and bitter as a Doctor's Bollus)
Contriv'd to bring thee to a triple Tree,
But faill'd, and basely blundrer'd in the plea,
Nobly was you acquit, that all may know it,
You've brought a Large Testificat to show it.
Fraud'lent Bankrupt is an Epithet,                           
That rais'd thee to this high exalted Seat,
Fraud Pious monnasylable has gain'd            
What Honesty would never have attain'd.
How many honest Men, that meet with loss,
Do Skulk in Cog. and dare not see the Cross,
Conscience, and Honesty's not worth Snuff.
Beggarly Things they are not Caption proof,
But Fraud hath rais'd thee bove the Rank of Lairds,
To have thy Liv'ry Man and armed Guards.
Thon Glasgow Whale, couldst never yet abide,
The stubborn Finny Fry that Swime in Clyde,
You soon smell'd their Provisions with your Nose,
And left them starving on the naked Oar,
South Sea Directors in their Trade Stock jobing.
Were not more Crafty in their Art of Robbing.
Go on great Cowan, and triumphant Ride,
To thy own Native Soil, the Banks of Clyde,
And when in solemn Pomp, you mount the Tron,
Believe that you ascend the Royal throne,            
And all your faithful subjects looking on,            
Don't head the impous Mob, who'll pass this jest,
You've Mene Tekel Written on your Breast.
Whist he liv'd here, his Wares were never right
And now he's Weigh'd himsel,and is found Light'
But when the Show is over then behold,
Your secret Tresures and your Crafts of Gold,
Say to them, O my gods I hither haste
To be rewarded for my Labours past.
I have escaped from th'Enemies Hands, and now,
With lowly rev'rance to my gods I bow,
Papists may be afraid, but I am bold,
They have a god of Bread, but all my gods are Gold,


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Date of publication: 1724   shelfmark: Ry.III.a.10(097)
Broadside ballad entitled 'Panegyrick on Robert Cowan's Trip to the Tron'
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