« السابقةمتابعة »
Suppose me dead; and then suppose
He would have deem'd it a disgrace, A club assembled at the Rose;
If such a wretch had known his face. Where, from discourse of this and that,
On rural squires, that kingdom's bane, I grow the subject of their chat.
He vented oft his wrath in vain : And while they toss my name about,
squires to market brought, With favor some, and some without;
Who sell their souls and **** for nought : One, quite indifferent in the cause,
The **** **** go joyful back, My character impartial draws.
To rob the church, their tenants rack; • The Dean, if we believe report,
Go snacks with ***** justices, Was never ill receiv'd at court,
And keep the peace to pick up fees; Although, ironically grave,
In every job to have a share, He sham'd the fool, and lash'd the knave; A gaol or turnpike to repair; To steal a hint was never known,
And turn ******* to public roads But what he writ was all his own."
Commodious to their own abodes. "Sir, I have heard another story ;
He never thought an honor done him, He was a most confounded Tory,
Because a peer was proud 10 own him; And grew, or he is much belied,
Would rather slip aside, and choose Extremely dull, before he died.”
To talk with wits in dirty shoes; “Can we the Drapier then forget ?
And scorn the tools with stars and garters, Is not our nation in his debt?
So often seen caressing Chartres. 'Twas he that writ the Drapier's letters !”— He never courted men in station,
“He should have left them for his betters: Nor persons held in admiration ; We had a hundred abler men,
Of no man's greatness was afraid, Nor need depend upon his pen.
Because he sought for no man's aid. Say what you will about his reading,
Though trusted long in great affairs, You never can defend his breeding ;
He gave himself no haughty airs : Who, in his salires running riot,
Without regarding private ends, Could never leave the world in quiet ;
Spent all his credit for his friends; Attacking, when he took the whim,
And only chose the wise and good; Court, city, camp--all one to him.
No flatterers; no allies in blood : But why would he, except he slobber'd,
But succor'd virtue in distress, Offend our patriot, great Sir Robert,
And seldom fail'd of good success ; Whose counsels aid the sovereign power
As numbers in their hearts must own, To save the nation every hour!
Who, but for him, had been unknown. What scenes of evil he unravels,
“ He kept with princes due decorum ; In satires, libels, lying travels ;
Yet never stood in awe before 'em, Not sparing his own clergy cloth,
He follow'd David's lesson just; But eats into it, like a moth!"
In princes never put his trust; “ Perhaps I may allow the Dean
And, would you make him truly sour, Had too much satire in his vein,
Provoke him with a slave in power. And seem'd determin'd not to starve it,
The Irish senate if you nam'd, Because no age could more deserve it.
With what impatience he declaim'd! Yet malice never was his aim;
Fair LIBERTY was all his cry; He lash'd the vice, but spar'd the name.
For her he stood prepar'd to die; No individual could resent,
For her he boldly stood alone; Where thousands equally were meant:
For her he oft expos'd his own. His satire points at no defect,
Two kingdoms, just as faction led, But what all mortals may correct;
Had set a price upon his head; For he abhorr’d the senseless tribe
But not a traitor could be found, Who call it humor when they gibe:
To sell him for six hundred pound. He spar'd a hump, or crooked nose,
“Had he but spar'd his tongue and pen, Whose owners set not up for beaux.
He might have rose like other men : True genuine dullness mov'd his pity,
But power was never in his thought, Unless it offer'd to be witty.
And wealth he valued not a groat: Those who their ignorance confest,
Ingratitude he often found, He ne'er offended with a jest; .
And pitied those who meant the wound; But laugh'd to hear an idiot quote
But kept the tenor of his mind, A verse from Horace learn'd by rote.
To merit well of human-kind; Vice, if it e'er can be abash'd,
Nor made a sacrifice of those Must be or ridiculd or lash'd.
Who still were true, to please his foes. If you resent it, who's to blame?
He labor'd many a fruitless hour, He neither knows you, nor your name.
To reconcile his friends in power; Should vice expect to 'scape rebuke,
Saw mischief by a faction brewing, Because its owner is a duke ?
While they pursued each other's ruin. His friendships, still to few confin'd,
But, finding vain was all his care, Were always of the middling kind;
He left the court in mere despair. No fools of rank, or mongrel breed,
“ And, oh! how short are human schemes' Who fain would pass for lords indeed :
Here ended all our golden dreams. Where titles give no right or power,
What St. John's skill in state affairs, And peerage is a wither'd flower;
What Ormond's valor, Oxford's cares,
To save their sinking country lent,
For party he would scarce have bled :-
I say no more—because he's dead.
What writings has he left behind ?"
“I hear they 're of a different kind :
A few in verse; but most in prose"
“Some high-flown pamphlets, I suppose : By solemn league and covenant bound,
All scribbled in the worst of times,
To palliate his friend Oxford's crimes ;
To praise queen Anne, nay more, defend her,
As never favoring the Pretender:
Or libels yet conceal'd from sight,
Against the court to show his spite :
Perhaps his travels, part the third ;
A lie at every second wordm
Offensive to a loyal ear >
But-not one sermon, you may swear."
“He knew an hundred pleasing stories, Beheld the dire destructive scene :
With all the turns of Whigs and Tories :
Was cheerful to his dying day;
And friends would let him have his way.
" As for his works in verse or prose,
I own myself no judge of those.
Nor can I tell what critics thought them;
But this I know, all people bought them, “By innocence and resolution,
As with a moral view design'd
To please and to reform mankind :
And, if he often miss'd his aim,
The world must own it to their shame,
The praise is his, and theirs the blame.
He gave the little wealth he had
To build a house for fools and mad ;
To show, by one satiric touch,
No nation wanted it so much.
That kingdom he hath left his debtor;
I wish it soon may have a better.
And, since you dread no further lashes,
Methinks you may forgive his ashes."
“ To save them from their evil fate,
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.
ON THE EVER-LAMENTED LOSS OF THE TWO
YEW-TREES IN THE PARISH OF CHIL-
Imitated from the Eighth Book of Ovid.
In ancient times, as story tells,
The saints would often leave their cells,
And stroll about, but hide their quality,
To try good people's hospitality.
It happend on a winter-night,
As authors of the legend write,
Two brother-hermits, saints by trade,
Taking their tour in masquerade,
Disguis'd in tatter'd habits, went
To a small village down in Kent;
Where, in the strollers' canting strain,
They begg'd from door to door in vain,
Tried every tone might pity win;
But not a soul would let them in.
Our wandering saints, in woful state,
Treated at this ungodly rate,
Having through all the village past,
To a small cottage came at last;
Where dwelt a good old honest ye'man,
Calld in the neighborhood Philemon;
Who kindly did these saints invite
In his poor hut to pass the night;
And then the hospitable sire
The ballads, pasted on the wall, Bid Goody Baucis mend the fire ;
Of Joan of France, and English Moll, While he from out the chimney took
Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood, A fitch of bacon off the hook,
The Little Children in the Wood, And freely from the fattest side
Now seem'd to look abundance better, Cut out large slices to be fried;
Improv'd in picture, size, and letter; Then stopp'd aside to fetch them drink,
And, high in order plac'd, describe Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
The heraldry of every tribe.* And saw it fairly twice go round;
A bedstead of the antique mode, Yet (what is wonderful !) they found
Compact of timber many a load, 'Twas still replenish'd to the top,
Such as our ancestors did use, As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop.
Was metamorphos'd into pews ; The good old couple were amaz'd,
Which still their ancient nature keep And often on each other gaz'd ;
By lodging folks dispos’d to sleep. For both were frighten'd to the heart,
The cottage by such feats as these And just began to cry,—“What ar't?"
Grown to a church by just degrees, Then softly turn'd aside to view
The hermits then desir'd their host Whether the lights were burning blue.
To ask for what he fancied most. The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't,
Philemon, having paus'd awhile, Told them their calling, and their errand : Return'd them thanks in homely style: “Good folks, you need not be afraid,
Then said, “My house is grown so fine, We are but saints,” the hermits said :
Methinks I still would call it mine : “No hurt shall come to you or yours :
I'm old, and fain would live at ease; But for that pack of churlish boors,
Make me the parson, if you please.” Not fit to live on Christian ground,
He spoke, and presently he feels They and their houses shall be drown'd;
His grazier's coat fall down his heels: Whilst you shall see your cottage rise,
He sees, yet hardly can believe, And grow a church before your eyes.”
About each arm a pudding-sleeve ; They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft His waistcoat to a cassock grew, The roof began to mount aloft;
And both assum'd a sable hue; Aloft rose every beam and rafter;
But, being old, continued just The heavy wall climb'd slowly after.
As threadbare, and as full of dust. The chimney widen'd, and grew higher, His talk was now of tithes and dues : Became a steeple with a spire.
He smok'd his pipe, and read the news; The kettle to the top was hoist,
Knew how to preach old sermons next, And there stood fasten'd to a joist,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text; But with the upside down, to show
At christenings well could act his part, Its inclination for below :
And had the service all by heart; In vain ; for a superior force,
Wish'd women might have children fast, Applied at bottom, stops its course ;
And thought whose sow had farrow'd last; Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell,
Against dissenters would repine, "Tis now no kettle, but a bell.
And stood up firm for right divine ; A wooden jack, which had almost
Found his head fill'd with many a system; Lost by disuse the art to roast,
But classic authors,—he ne'er miss'd'em. A sudden alteration feels,
Thus having furbish'd up a parson, Increas'd by new intestine wheels ;
Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on. And, what exalts the wonder more,
Instead of home-spun coifs, were seen The number made the motion slower:
Good pinners edg'd with colbertecn ;
Her petticoat, transform'd apace,
Plain Goody would no longer down ;
"Twas Madam, in her grogram gown. The jack and chimney near allied,
Philemon was in great surprise, Had never left each other's side :
And hardly could believe his eyes, The chimney to a steeple grown,
Amaz'd 10 see her look so prim; The jack would not be left alone;
And she admir'd as much at him. But, up against the steeple rear’d,
Thus happy in their change of life, Became a clock, and still adher'd;
Were several years this man and wife ; And still its love to household cares,
When, on a day, which prov'd their last, By a shrill voice at noon, declares,
Discoursing o'er old stories past, Warning the cook-maid not to burn
They went by chance, amidst their talk, That roast meat which it cannot turn.
To the church-yard to take a walk; The groaning chair began to crawl,
When Baucis hastily cried out, Like a huge snail, along the wall;
My dear, I see your forehead sprout!" There stuck aloft in public view,
"Sprout!" quoth the man; “what's this you And, with small change, a pulpit grew.
tell us? The porringers, that in a row
I hope you don't believe me jealous ?
The tribes of Israel are sometimes distinguished in Were now but leathern buckets rang’d. country churches by the ensigns given to them by Jacob
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
There's nine hundred pounds for labor and grain, And really yours is budding 100:
I increase it to twelve, so three hundred remain; Nay-now I cannot stir my foot;
A handsome addition for wine and good cheer, It feels as if 'twere taking root.”
Three dishes a day, and three hogsheads a year : Description would but tire my Muse; With a dozen large vessels my vault shall be stor'd; In short, they both were turn'd to yews. No litile scrub joint shall come on my board ; Old Goodman Dobson of the
And you and the Dean no more shall combine Remembers, he the trees has seen :
To stint me at night to one bottle of wine; He'll talk of them from noon till night, Nor shall I, for his humor, permit you to purloin And goes with folks to show the sight: A stone and a quarter of beef from my sirloin. On Sundays, after evening prayer,
If I make it a barrack, the crown is my tenant ! He gathers all the parish there ;
My dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't: Points out the place of either yew;
In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent; Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew:
Whatever they give me, I must be content, Till once a parson of our town,
Or join with the court in every debate ; To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;
And rather than that, I would lose my estate." At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd
Thus ended the knight; thus began his meek wife :
With parsons what lady can keep herself clean?
The captain, I'm sure, will always come here ; A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING. I then shall not value his Deanship a straw, 1709.
For the captain, I warrant, will keep him in awe;
Or should he pretend to be brisk and alert, Now hardly here and there an hackney-coach Will tell him that chaplains should not be so pert, Appearing, show'd the ruddy Morn's approach. That men of his coat should be minding their prayers, Now Betty from her master's bed had flown, And not among ladies to give themselves airs." And softly stole to discompose her own;
Thus argued my lady, but argued in vain ; The slipshod 'prentice from his master's door
The knight his opinion resolv'd to maintain. Had par'd the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor. But Hannah,ll who listen'd to all that was past, Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dextrous airs, And could not endure so vulgar a taste, Prepard to scrub the entry and the stairs.
As soon as her ladyship call’d to be dresi, The youth with broomy stumps began to trace Cried, “ Madam, why surely my master's possest! The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the place. Sir Arthur the malster! how fine it will sound ! The small-coal-man was heard with cadence deep, I'd rather the bawn were sunk under ground. Till drown'd in shriller notes of chimney-sweep. But madam, I guess'd there would never come good, Duns at his lordship's gate began to meet; When I saw him so often with Darby and Wood. T And brick-dust Moll had scream'd through half the And now my dream's out; for I was a-dream'd street.
That I saw a huge rat— dear, how I scream'd! The turnkey now his flock returning sees, And after, methought, I had lost my new shoes ; Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees :
And Molly, she said, I should hear some ill news. The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands, “Dear madam, had you but the spirit to tease, And school-boys lag with satchels in their hands.
You might have a barrack whenever you please :
Till he gave me my will, I would give him no rest; THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED: And, rather than come in the same pair of sheets
With such a cross man, I would lie in the streets ; WHETHER HAMILTON'S BAWN SHOULD BE TURNED But, madam, I beg you contrive and invent, INTO A BARRACK OR A MALT-HOUSE. 1729.
And worry him out, till he gives his consent.
Dear madam, whene'er of a barrack I think, Thus spoke to my lady the knight* full of care :
An I were to be hang'd, I can't sleep a wink : " Let me have your advice in a weighty affair.
For if a new crotchet comes into my brain, This Hamilton's bawn,t whilst it sticks on my hand, I can't get it out, though I'd never so fain. I lose by the house what I get by the land ;
I fancy already a barrack contriv'd But how to dispose of it to the best bidder,
At Hamilton's bawn, and the troop is arriv'd; For a barrackt or mall-house, we now must consider. Of this, to be sure, Sir Arthur has warning, "First, let me suppose I make it a malt-house,
And waits on the captain betimes the next morning. Here I have computed the profit will fall t’us;
Now see, when they meet, how their honors behave: * Noble captain, your servani'— Sir Arthur, your
slave; * Sir Arthur Acheson, at whose seat this was written. † A large old house, two miles from Sir Arthur's seat. § A cant word in Ireland for a poor country clergyman. F.
F I The army in Ireland is lodged in strong buildings,
| My lady's waiting.woman. F. over the whole kingdom, called barracks. F.
Two of Sir Arthur's managers. N.
You honor me much'--The honor is mine.'- The servants amaz'd are scarce ever able • 'Twas a sad rainy night — But the morning is To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the table ; fine.'
(service.' - And Molly and I have thrust in our nose "Pray how does my lady ?'— My wife's at your To peep at the captain all in his fine clo'es. • I think I have seen her picture by Jervas.' Dear madam, be sure he's a fine-spoken man, Good-morrow, good captain. I'll wait on you Do but hear on the clergy how glib his longue ran ; down.'
* And, madam,' says he, if such dinners you give, • You shan't stir a foot.' - You'll think me a clown:' You 'll ne'er want for parsons as long as you live. . For all the world, captain-'-'Not half an inch I ne'er knew a parson without a good nose ; farther.'
But the Devil's as welcome wherever he goes : • You must be obey'd !' - Your servant, Sir Arthur! G-d-n me! they bid us reform and repent, My humble respects to my lady unknown.' - But, 2—-s! by their looks they never keep Lent. • I hope you will use my house as your own.' Mister curate, for all your grave looks, I'm afraid
“Go bring me my smock, and leave off your prate, You cast a sheep's eye on her ladyship's maid: Thou hast certainly gotten a cup in thy pate.” I wish she would lend you her pretty white hand
"Pray, madam, be quiet; what was it I said ? In mending your cassoc, and smoothing your band. You had like to have put it quite out of my head. (For the Dean was so shabby, and look'd like a ninny, Next day, to be sure, the captain will come, That the captain suppos'd he was curate to Jinny.) At the head of his troops, with trumpet and drum. Whenever you see a cassoc and gown, Now, madam, observe how he marches in state : A hundred to one but it covers a clown. The man with the kettle-drum enters the gate : Observe how a parson comes into a room ; Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow,
G-d-n me! he hobbles as bad as my groom ; Tantara, tantara ; while all the boys hollow. A scholard, when just from his college broke loose, See now comes the captain all daub'd with gold lace: Can hardly tell how to cry bo to a goose ; O la! the sweet gentleman! look in his face ; Your Noveds, and Bluturcks, and Omurs,† and stuff And see how he rides like a lord of the land, By G-, they don't signify this pinch of snuff. With the fine flaming sword that he holds in his hand; To give a young gentleman right education, And his horse, the dear creter, it prances and rears; The army's the only good school in the nation: With ribbons in knots at its tail and its ears : My schoolmaster callid me a dunce and a fool, At last comes the troop by the word of command, But at cuffs I was always the cock of the school ; Drawn up in our court; when the captain cries, I never could take to my book for the blood o' me, Stand!
And the puppy confess'd he expected no good o'me. Your ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen He caught me one morning coquetting his wife ; (For sure I had dizen'd you out like a queen). But he mauld me, I ne'er was so maul'd in my life : The captain, to show he is proud of the favor, So I wok to the road, and what's very odd, Looks up to your window, and cocks up his beaver. The first man I robb’d was a parson, by G(His beaver is cock’d; pray, madam, mark that, Now, madam, you 'll think it a strange thing to say, For a captain of horse never takes off his hat, But the sight of a book makes me sick to this day.' Because he has never a hand that is idle ;
• Never since I was born did I hear so much wit, For the right holds the sword, and the left holds the And, madam, I laugh 'd till I thought I should split. bridle :)
So then you look'd scornful, and snifi at the Dean, Then flourishes thrice his sword in the air, As who should say, Now, am I skinny and lean ?i As a compliment due to a lady so fair;
But he durst not so much as once open his lips, (How I tremble to think of the blood it hath spilt!)And the doctor was plaguily down in the hips." Then he lowers down the point, and kisses the hilt. Thus merciless Hannah ran on in her talk, Your ladyship smiles, and thus you begin : Till she heard the Dean call, “ Will your ladyship • Pray, captain, be pleas'd to alight and walk in.'
walk ?" The captain salutes you with congee profound, Her ladyship answers, “ I'm just coming down :" And your ladyship curtsies half-way to the ground. Then, turning to Hannah, and forcing a frown, Kit, run to your master, and bid him come to us; Although it was plain in her heart she was glad, I'm sure he'll be proud of the honor you do us. Cried, “ Hussy, why sure the wench is gone mad! And, captain, you 'll do us the favor to stay, How could these chimeras get into your brains ? And take a short dinner here with us to-day:
Come hither, and take this old gown for your pains. You 're heartily welcome ; but as for good cheer, But the Dean, if this secret should come to his ears You come in the very worst time of the year: Will never have done with his gibes and his jeers. If I had expected so worthy a guest
For your lise, not a word of the matter, I charge ye. • Lord ! madam! your ladyship sure is in jest: Give me but a barrack, a fig for the clergy." You banter me, madam; the kingdom must grant• You officers, captain, are so complaisant!" Hist, hussy, I think I hear somebody coming,"
ON POETRY: A RHAPSODY. 1733. “No, madam; 'tis only Sir Arthur a-humming. To shorten my tale (for I hate a long story),
ALL human race would fain be wits, The captain at dinner appears in his glory ;
And millions miss for one that hits. The Dean and the doctor* have humbled their pride,
Young's universal passion, pride, For the captain's entreated to sit by your side ;
Was never known to spread so wide. And, because he's their betters, you carve for him
Say, Britain, could you ever boast,
Three poets in an age at most? The parsons for envy are ready to burst.
† Ovids, Plutarchs, Homers. * Dr. Jinny, a clergyman in the neighborhood. F.
| Nicknames for my lady.