THE DEAN and the 'SQUIRE.
[]IN Coffee-houſe of good account,
Not far from Bond-ſtreet, call'd The Mount,
Soame Jenyns met the Dean of Glouceſter;
And, as they ſate in lounging poſture,
Each on his bench, and face to face,
The Dean began in tone of baſs:
While Jenyns, in his treble key,
Replied with much alacrity.
Repeat, my Muſe, th' alternate ſtrains,
That flow'd from theſe Arcadian ſwains,
Who both were equally alert
Or to deny, or to aſſert. *
DEAN.
'Squire Jenyns, ſince with like intent
We both have writ on Government,
And both ſtand ſtubborn as a rock
Againſt the principles of Locke,
[2] Let us, like brother meeting brother,
Compare our notes with one another.
'Tis true, I've not had time to look,
Tho' much I wiſh'd it, in your book.
'SQUIRE.
Doctor, my book is quickly read.
DEAN.
I'd other crotchets in my head. *
But you, I gueſs, have ſtudied mine.
'SQUIRE.
No, to my ſhame, not ev'n a line.
DEAN.
That's ſomething ſtrange—yet fortunate;
For now on par we ſhall debate.
'SQUIRE.
True. Who to play at whiſt regards;
When he, that deals, has ſeen the cards?
DEAN.
Well put. Firſt then, 'tis fit, I deem,
You tell me how you treat your theme.
'SQUIRE.
I controvert thoſe five poſitions,
Which Whigs pretend are the conditions
[3] Of civil rule and liberty;
That men are equal born—and free—
That kings derive their lawful ſway
All from the people's yea and nay—
That compact is the only ground,
On which a Prince his rights can found—
Laſtly, I ſcout that idle notion,
That government is put in motion,
And ſtopt again, like clock or chime,
Juſt as we want them to keep time.
DEAN.
'Sblood! do you controvert them all?
'SQUIRE.
Indeed I do, Sir, great and ſmall.
DEAN.
You're a bold man, my maſter Jenyns,
And have good right to count your winnings,
If you ſucceed.—But I, who dare
As much as moſt, to go ſo far
Had not the courage, I aſſure ye,
Tho' I ſuborned a tory jury. *
'SQUIRE.
[4]That men were equal born at firſt,
I hold of all whig lies the worſt.
But yet, if only this they mean,
That you and I, good Mr. Dean,
Were equally produced, 'tis true;
For I was born as much as you.
But now, comparing ſize and ſtrength,
Our body's bulk, our noſe's length,
The periwigs, that grace our pate,
My little wit, your learning great,
We find, we are unequal quite.
DEAN.
My honeſt friend, you're too polite.
Your wit, Lord Hardwicke deigns to own,
Surpaſſes every wit's in town:
And none e'er doubted Hardwicke's taſte,
Who e'er were bid to Hardwicke's feaſt.
But yet, I fear, at this arch quibble
The Lockians will do more than nibble.
They ſay, and with them I agree,
That, as to men's equality,
It reſts on native rights they have,
Not to become another's ſlave,
Or tamely bear a tyrant's yoke: *
This truth you parry with a joke.
'SQUIRE.
[5]Jokes, Mr. Dean, I'd have you know,
Have parried many a ſtouter blow.
A joke like this, as I conceive,
Is reaſon's repreſentative,
Who, veſted with his rights, is ſent
To diſputation's parliament.
DEAN.
Yet ſcorns, like ſome they patriots call,
To vote, as he inſtructs, at all.
'SQUIRE.
Sometimes he may—but to proceed—
All men at birth, it is agreed,
Have equal learning, wit and power,
Tho', at Lucina's ſqualling hour,
The new-born babes, in nurſe's lap,
Have only power to ſuck her pap.
[6] Good heavens! to talk of wit and learning
In infants void of all diſcerning,
Is juſt as if theſe whigs diſputed,
As moſt fools do, to be confuted,
Whether their teeth, in breadth and length,
Had equal ſize and equal ſtrength;
When, bleſs each little ſlobbering mouth,
It had not cut a ſingle tooth.
DEAN.
Your inſtance, I confeſs, is pretty:
I wiſh it were as apt as witty.
'SQUIRE.
But let us give them all they aſk,
Their equal birth, a harder taſk
I think remains behind, to prove
That men thro' life muſt equal move;
None e'er aſſume a jot of power
More than he had at natal hour.
Strange doctrine this! ye whigs, ſhall none
Be long and lank as Jenkinſon,
None grow to full ſix feet or more,
Becauſe ſome only meaſure four?
Or, becauſe Hunter cannot treat us
With different ſize of ſame-aged faetus?
Thus, Mr. Dean, the point I've prov'd:
And, if your Reverence is ſo mov'd,
[7] You'll find, with like facility
I prove they all are not born free.
DEAN.
My ſprightly 'Squire, if this be proving,
Then billing is the whole of loving.
Dame Logic knows, whene'er I meet her,
With more ſubſtantial ſport I treat her.
Theſe whigs will anſwer your demand
With ſaying, all they underſtand
By power is, "That alone is juſt,
"Which to a few the reſt entruſt;
"And to aſſume without aſſent,
"Is force, not legal government." *
As to your ſimile of ſize,
They'll ſay your brains are in your eyes.
But now go on.
'SQUIRE.
Their next aſſertion
You'll find affords me more diverſion.
For how ſhould men be e'er born free,
When to be born is ſlavery,
[8] An impoſition in itſelf.
Do parents aſk the little elf,
Ere they beget him, his good leave
Or to beget or to conceive?
Or does he approbation give
By ſelf, or repreſentative?
DEAN.
Yet, when begot, in my opinion,
He's then the heir to ſelf-dominion;
Has right both to be born and bred,
To ſuck the breaſt—
'SQUIRE.
And p—his bed.
DEAN.
He has. Nay more, I'd have you know,
Protection, while in embrio,
Is his, e'er you can juſtly date
His quaſi-compact with the ſtate. *
Once, Sir, I knew a pious lady,
Who, juſt as ſhe was getting ready
For church, one Eaſter-Sunday morn,
With labour-pains was ſorely torn.
[9] The church, good ſoul! ſhe lov'd ſo dearly,
That with her ſpouſe ſhe choſe to parley;
Nor would ſhe let the midwife lay her,
Till ſhe had been at morning prayer;
When, lo! in midſt of all this fray,
Before mama had time to pray,
Her heir, a free-born Britiſh boy,
Bolted to light and liberty.
'SQUIRE.
Your ſtory, Mr. Dean, is pleaſant,
And wrapt withal, in terms right decent.
Yet vainly ſure ſuch proof you bring;
One ſwallow does not make a ſpring.
I ſay, in ſpite of your ſtrange tale,
For full nine months he lies in jail.
And what a jail! ſo little roomy,
So dank, ſo ſultry and ſo gloomy,
Howard, who ev'ry priſon knows,
Ne'er ventur'd there to thruſt his noſe.
Yet there he lies, unlucky wight!
Depriv'd of ſunſhine and of ſight,
Floating in brine, like a young porpus,
Till, by obſtetric Habeas Corpus,
The brat is pluck'd to liberty.
But, tell me, is ſuch freedom free?
[10] In ſwaddling cloaths he now is bound,
Like Styx, * that gird him nine times round;
They ſqueeze his navel, preſs his head,
Feed him with water and with bread.
Thus nine months more he lies in chains,
And, when his freedom he regains,
He puts it to ſo bad a uſe,
'Tis found he muſt not yet go looſe.
Tyrannic nurſe then claims her right
To plague him both by day and night.
Then grave as Pope, and gruff as Turk,
Prelatic ſchoolmaſter, like York,
Thraſhes the wretch with grammar's flail,
To mend his head corrects his tail,
And this with moſt deſpotic fury,
Heedleſs of mercy, law, and jury.
DEAN.
Sir, you've a happy vein for ſatire,
And touch it with a main du maitre.
Yet why, Sir, treat mild M*****m thus?
His Grace, you know, is one of us.
'SQUIRE.
I aſk his pardon. At the time
He chanc'd to hitch into my rhyme—†
[11] But to our point—thus far I've ſtated,
The boy is born and educated;
And now he walks the world at large;
Yet has he got a free diſcharge?
No; volens nolens, as at ſchool,
He ſtill muſt yield to civil rule;
A ſubject born, he's ſubject ſtill,
Not govern'd by his mere ſelf-will;
But, if he breaks the laws in force,
Or kills his man, or ſteals a horſe,
Howe'er he may diſpute their right,
And Coke with Burgerſdicius fight,
Muſt make at Tyburn his confeſſion.
DEAN.
I fear, Sir, here you beg the queſtion.
A ſubject born in any ſtate
May, if he pleaſe, depatriate,
[12] And go, for reaſons weak or weighty,
To Zealand-New, or Otaheite.
'SQUIRE.
Yet there what freedom will he have,
When made Queen Oberea's ſlave?
Her majeſty may lay a tax,
I fear would weaken ſtronger backs,
Than ev'n was your's, my doughty Dean,
When nerv'd with youth, and ſtout eighteen.
DEAN.
Perhaps ſhe might. Then let's ſuppoſe
To ſome unpeopled iſle he goes,
And takes a miſtreſs in his ſleeve,
To live as Adam did with Eve;
Or ſay, that he had luck to find
A hundred more of the ſame mind,
To migrate with their mates by dozens,
And there to live like cater-couſins,
We will not call them ſirs, and madams,
But a cool hundred Eves and Adams;
I think they would, or ſoon, or late,
By quaſi-compact found a ſtate. *
[13] What think you, 'Squire, of that Scotch peer, *
Who wenching held ſo very dear,
(I don't aver his taſte was right
In liking black girls more than white,
Not that I raſhly would decide;
They know the beſt, who both have tried)
That, to indulge and take his fill,
He fenc'd an Apalachian hill,
And, holding there ſupreme command,
"Scatter'd his image o'er the land," †
Till ſoon he got ſo large a race
Of little tawny babes of grace,
And theſe ſo ſoon begot a ſecond,
And thoſe a third, that quick he reckon'd
[14] Subjects enough of his own blood,
To reign their ſovereign great and good.
If ſuch a man was not born free,
I know not what is liberty.
'SQUIRE.
Dear Dean, you interrupt my theme.
I want to preach, but you to dream
Of negro girls and patriarch kings—
Pray clip your fancy's wayward wings.
My two points prov'd, I draw from hence
This truly Chriſtian inference,
That all, whom we the factious call,
Who 'gainſt court influence hourly bawl,
Who from their ſeats would daſh contractors,
And be themſelves the nation's factors,
Are all of the old round-head leaven,
And therefore ne'er will get to heaven.
DEAN.
Right. This would give my mind much eaſe,
If drawn from ſounder premiſes.
Locke and his crew, I know right well,
Have ſent full many a fool to hell,
But not from what you've prov'd, but I—
Hold Muſe! nor give the 'Squire's reply.
You've run two heats; to ſtart a third
Would now, I think, be quite abſurd;
[15] 'Tis much beyond an Eclogue's length;
Come breath a while, and gather ſtrength.
You ſhall not tax, ſhould it be willing,
The town beyond a ſingle ſhilling: *
Stop then in time your tinkling rill;
The reader's ears have drank their fill. †
THE END.