To the PUBLICK.
[i]A Paultry Collection of Songs having lately made its Appearance, to which the Pub⯑liſher has, with uncommon Effrontery, prefixed my Name as the Editor, and upon my diſclaiming the P [...]ſit [...]on, has even had the Aſſurance, in a publick Advertiſement, to aſſert that he had my Authority for ſo doing;—although I have more Veneration for the Publick, than either to trouble them, or load the Daily Papers with an Altercation between a little Country Shopkeeper and a Ballad-Maker, yet I once for all beg Leave to ſtate the real Fact.
About four Years ago I exhibited my LECTURE at Whitehaven, and having Occaſion to uſe this Man's Shop, he took the Opportunity of ſolliciting me to give him a few Comic Songs, ‘becauſe he had a Mind to publiſh a Volume to pleaſe his Cuſtomers in the Part of the Country where he lived,’ and at the ſame Time opening a Song Book, ſhewed me ſeveral under my Name, which he told me he pur⯑poſed to print in his Collection:—My Reply was;— ‘Sir, There is not one of thoſe printed as I wrote them; and ſome to which my Name is affixed are really not mine.’—‘But ſir, replied my Chapman, will you pleaſe to give yourſelf the Trouble to mark ſuch [ii]of them as are yours.’—‘Why really, ſir, I am aſhamed of them.’—‘Lord, ſir, they'll do very well here; pray, ſir, take the Book home, and be ſo obliging as to mark them for me. — And, if it would not give Mr Stevens too much Trouble, I ſhould be greatly obliged if he would juſt put a Mark upon any other Songs in the Book that he thinks worth printing.’—This was done, and the Volume returned the next Day.
From hence I could not imagine he would do more than inſert my Name to the Songs I had owned; and I ſolemnly declare he had no Authority from me to uſe it otherwiſe. — What I did was a meer Act of common Civility;—I had not then, nor have I ſince had any Connections with the Man; and upon this Ground alone he has had the Modeſty to charge me with a Breach of Promiſe by my Diſavowal.— This, among other Reaſons, has induced me to publiſh my own Songs, which I now claim as Property, and have entered in the Hall Books of the Stationers Company.
THE HISTORY OF CHOICE SPIRITS AND BALLAD SINGING.
[4]JUBAL, or TUBAL CAIN, was the firſt compoſer of Tunes; his Lyre preceded Orion's, Amphion's, and even the Harp of Orpheus.
ORION, when making his voyage upon the Dolphin's back, invented Wa⯑ter Muſic.
AMPHION introduced Cotillons as well as Country Dancing.
ORPHEUS, to pleaſe his Eurydice, ex⯑hibited the firſt Harmonic Meeting.
[5]And on the mountain Gibello, CIRCE held her firſt Court for COMUS. The Magazines of the Ancients, thoſe moſt uſeful repoſitories of ready-made erudi⯑tion tell us, that BACCHUS inſtituted a Club at this very period, called the Baccae or Bacchantes, and which are now called the BUCKS; as it appears, not only by Nimrod's ancient Charter depoſited in the Archives of the Babylonian Lodge in the environs of Soho, but alſo by the authenticated Records belonging to the Pewter Platter in Biſhopſgate-precinct.
And to theſe two Bodies of that Noble and Ancient Order, the following En⯑graving of the famous GOBLET, or CUP uſed by the GRAND BUCK at Rome, when he celebrated the Secular Games, is here addreſſed, with its original Inſcrip⯑tion, and a Tranſlation, for the mutual entertainment of thoſe diſtinct Claſſes of Critics, the LEARNED and UN⯑LEARNED, who alternately take the lead in all Converſations.
BENE VOBIS,
BENE MIHI,
BENE AMICAE MEAE,
BENE OMNIBUS NOBIS;
BENE CUI NON INVIDET MIHI,
ET EO CUI NOSTRO GAUDEO GAUDET.
THUS TRANSLATED:
HERE'S TO THEE,
HERE'S TO ME,
ON OUR ABSENT FRIENDS WE'LL THINK,
TO OUR NOBLE SELVES WE'LL DRINK;
THEN TO HIM, FROM ENVY FREE,
WHO LOVES FUN LIKE YOU AND ME.
[7]The reaſon for introducing this Antique unto the Reader's acquaintance is, ac⯑cording to the modern cuſtom of Book-making, to ſhew the Author's ERUDI⯑TION; which is ſtill farther diſplayed in the following account of CHOICE SPIRITS.
After Circe's elopement with Ulyſſes, they became wanderers upon the Face of the Earth, and like Jews, and Strol⯑ing-players, continue Itinerants even unto this day; they have nevertheleſs mul⯑tiplied exceedingly, propagating their Convivialities into the different Orders of GRIGS, GREGS, and GREGORIANS; —ANTIGALLICANS, FREE MASONS, and MACARONI;—SONS of SOUND SENSE and SATISFACTION;—SONS of KIT, and OLD SOULS;—TRUE BLUES, PUR⯑PLES, and ALBIONS; — The BEEF STEAK, JOCKEY, and CATCH CLUBS; —The MAGDALENS, and LUMBER TROOP, with many Others; all which acknowledge the Affinity they bear to their paternal Society, by celebrating [8]their Evening Myſteries with a Song and a Sentiment.
The CHOICE SPIRITS have ever been famous for their Talents as Muſical Artiſts. They uſually met at the har⯑veſt-homes of Grape-gathering: There exhilerated by the preſſings of the Vin⯑tage, they were wont to ſing Songs, tell Stories, and ſhew Tricks, from their firſt emerging, until their Perihelion under the Preſidentſhip of Mr. GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS, Ballad-Laureat to the Society of CHOICE SPIRITS, and who appeared at Ranelagh in the Cha⯑racter of COMUS, ſupported by thoſe Droles of merry Memory.
Unparalleled were their performances, as firſt Fiſts upon the SALT-BOX, and inimitable the variations they would twang upon the forte and piano JEWS-HARP. Excellent was Howard in the CHIN CONCERTO; whoſe Noſe alſo ſupplied the melodious Tones of the BAGPIPE. — Upon the STICCADO Matt. Skeggs remains ſtill unrivalled.—And we cannot now boaſt of one real [9]Genius upon the genuine HURDY GURDY.
Alas! theſe Stars are all extinguiſhed; and the remains of ancient Britiſh Har⯑mony is now confined to the manly Muſic of MARROW-BONES and CLEAVERS.
Every thing muſt ſink into Obli⯑vion; —"Corn now grows where Troy Town ſtood."—Ranelagh may be meta⯑morphoſed into a Methodiſt's Meeting-Houſe! Vaux-Hall cut into Skittle-Alleys! the two Theatres converted into Auction-Rooms; and the New Pantheon become the ſtately Habitation of ſome Jew Pawn-Broker:—Nay, the SONS OF LIBERTY themſelves * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *.
Caetera deſunt.
PROLOGUE.
[15]THROUGH gloomy Grove, along the Lawn,
Or by the ſtill Brook's ſide,
When the Day's ſable ſhroud is drawn,
Then Ghoſts are ſaid to glide.
The paly Moonſhine's ſilv'ry gleams
Seem dancing down the glade,
Mingling 'midſt ſhadowy forms it's beams,
Which ſcare the trembling Maid.
The Trav'ller oft is apt to ſee,
Through twilight's duſky veil,
A Giant in each Hedge-row Tree,
While Phantoms fill the Dale.
So rambling Readers may condemn
This Book of medley Rhimes,
Whoſe Errors will appear to them
A liſt of Giant Crimes.
Already mark;—Sir Cynic ſcowls,
Rage wrinkling on his brow,
To ſee, O ſhame! two am'rous Owls,
Inſtinctive on yon Bough.
[16]With outſpread hands, and upcaſt eyes,
As Bigots tell their ſtories,
Th' o'er-zealous Commentator cries,
O Tempora! O Mores!
But why ſhould Critics carp at Songs?
Or Claſſic Scales apply?
To them alone this freight belongs,
Who'd rather laugh than cry.
For neither Pedant nor for Prude,
Theſe Sonnets took their birth;
But are diſh'd up, as pleaſant Food,
For SONS of SOCIAL MIRTH.
SONGS, COMIC and SATYRICAL.
[1]SONG I. ORIGIN of ENGLISH LIBERTY.
To it's own Tune.
I.
ONCE the Gods of the Greeks, at am⯑broſial feaſt,
Large bowls of rich nectar were quaffing,
Merry Momus among them appear'd as a gueſt,
Homer ſays the Celeſtials lov'd laughing.
II.
This happen'd 'fore Chaos was fix'd into form,
While Nature diſorderly lay;
While elements adverſe engender'd the ſtorm,
And uproar embroil'd the loud fray.
[2]III.
On ev'ry Olympic the Humouriſt droll'd,
So none cou'd his jokes diſapprove;
He ſung, repartee'd, and ſome odd ſtories told,
And at laſt thus began upon Jove:
IV.
Sire, — Mark how you Matter is heaving below,
Were it ſettled 'twou'd pleaſe all your Court;
'Tis not wiſdom to let it lie uſeleſs, you know;
Pray people it, juſt for our ſport.
V.
Jove nodded aſſent, all Olympus bow'd down,
At his Fiat creation took birth;
The cloud-keeping Deity ſmil'd on his throne,
Then announc'd the production was Earth.
VI.
To honour their Sov'reign each God gave a boon;
Apollo preſented it Light;
The Goddeſs of Child-bed diſpatch'd us a Moon,
To ſilver the ſhadow of Night.
VII.
The Queen of Soft-wiſhes, foul Vulcan's fair bride,
Leer'd wanton on her Man of War;
Saying, as to theſe Earth-folks I'll give them a guide,
So ſhe ſparkled the morn and eve Star.
VIII.
From her cloud, all in ſpirits, the Goddeſs up ſprung
In ellipſis each Planet advanc'd;
The Tune of the Spheres the Nine Siſters ſung,
As round Terra Nova they danc'd.
[3]IX.
E'en Jove himſelf cou'd not inſenſible ſtand,
Bid Saturn his girdle faſt bind,
The Expounder of Fate graſp'd the Globe in his hand,
And laugh'd at thoſe Mites call'd Mankind.
X.
From the hand of great Jove into Space it was hurl'd,
He was charm'd with the roll of the ball,
Bid his daughter Attraction take charge of the World,
And ſhe hung it up high in his hall.
XI.
Miſs, pleas'd with the preſent, review'd the globe round,
Saw with rapture hills, vallies, and plains;
The ſelf-balanc'd orb in an atmoſphere bound,
Prolific by ſuns, dews, and rains.
XII.
With ſilver, gold, jewels, ſhe India endow'd,
France and Spain ſhe taught vineyards to rear,
What was fit for each clime on each clime ſhe beſtow'd,
And Freedom ſhe found flouriſh'd here.
XIII.
The blue-ey'd celeſtial, Minerva the wiſe,
Ineffably ſmil'd on the ſpot;
My dear, ſays plum'd Pallas, your laſt gift I prize,
But, excuſe me, one thing is forgot.
XIV.
Licentiouſneſs Freedom's deſtruction may bring,
Unleſs Prudence prepares it's defence;
The Goddeſs of Sapience bid Iris take wing
And on Britons beſtow'd Common-Senſe.
[4]XV.
Four Cardinal Virtues ſhe left in this iſle,
As guardians to cheriſh the root;
The bloſſoms of Liberty gaily 'gan ſmile,
And Engliſhmen fed on the fruit.
XVI.
Thus fed, and thus bred, by a bounty ſo rare,
Oh preſerve it as pure as 'twas giv'n;
We will while we've breath, nay we'll graſp it in death,
And return it untainted to Heav'n.
SONG II. ORIGIN of FACTION.
Tune, — I am, quoth Apollo, when Daphne, &c.
I.
IN hiſt'ries of Heathens, by which Tutors train us,
The ſalt-water Sov'reign is call'd OCEANUS;
His ſpouſe was deliver'd, by man-midwife Triton,
Of this ſea-girt iſland, his fav'rite Britain.
II.
The Naiads were Nurſes; old Trident declar'd,
To embelliſh his offspring no pains ſhou'd be ſpar'd:
By flying fiſh drawn, to Olympus he drove,
And petition'd the Gods, that his ſuit they'd approve.
[5]III.
Quoth Jupiter, I'll make it King of the Sea:
Avaſt! reply'd Neptune, pray leave that to me:
I'll guard it with ſhoals, and I'll make their lads Seamen.
Strong Hercules hollow'd out, I'll make 'em Freemen.
IV.
And what will you make, Venus whiſper'd to Mars?
Why I'll make all Soldiers, that Nep. don't make Tars.
Momus ſmil'd, as that droll always merrily means;
He begg'd they'd go partners, and make 'em Marines.
V.
Quoth Saturn, much time I'll allow 'em for thinking;
Buck Bacchus reply'd, no, allow it for drinking:
But Mercury anſwer'd, a fig for your Wine,
The art of Time-killing by Card-playing's mine.
VI.
By Styx, quoth Apollo, but Hermes you're bit;
'Gainſt Gaming I'll ſend 'em an antidote, — Wit:
In England, laugh'd Momus, Wit no one regards,
Save that ſort of Wit that's in — Playing your Cards.
VII.
Well, well, replies Phoebus, I'll mend their conditions,
I'll teach 'em to fiddle, and ſend them Phyſicians.
'Mong Fidlers, quoth Momus, true Harmony's ſcarce;
And as to your Doctorſhip, — Phyſick's a Farce.
VIII.
Says Venus, I'll people this Iſland with Beauties,
And tempt Married-Men to be true to their duties.—
You to Married-Men's duty a friend! bawl'd out Juno,
You're a ſtrumpet, you ſlut, and that I know and you know.
[6]IX.
Then turning to Jove, who look'd pale, ſhe began, —
I'll ſpoil your olympical gift-giving plan:
Herſelf not conſulted, ſhe vow'd ſhe wou'd wrong us,
Blew a Scold from her mouth, and ſent Party among us.
X.
God Bacchus, to counterpoiſe Juno's raſh action,
Commanded Silenus to ſeize upon Faction;
Swift flitted the Fiend, the old Toper outſped,
Whilſt Semele's ſon ſent a Flaſk at his head.
XI.
The Imp, by the blow, ſpeechleſs fell to the ground;
May Wine thus for ever foul Faction confound:
Unanimity! that, that's the Toaſt of our Hearts,
Though no Party-men here, Here's to all Men of Parts.
SONG III. THE RACE.
Tune, As Roger came tapping at Dolly's Window.
I.
AS the Farmer went over his corn ripen'd land,
And counted encreaſe of his grain,
Scarlet poppies he ſaw down the long furrows ſtand,
Like ſoldiers, in lines on the plain.
[7]Quoth he, though in Learning I am not well ſkill'd,
In mem'ry this maxim I'll keep,
Thoſe weeds among wheat, ſhew when belly is fill'd
We have nothing to do but to ſleep.
II.
Each ſcene of creation that opes to our view,
Affords contemplation a theme,
As bloſſoms enamell'd by drops of bright dew,
With di'monds ſo Court-beauties beam.
See grape to grape ſwelling, tranſparent on vine,
That fruit is an emblem of bliſs;
Balmy lip to lip Lovers as luſciouſly join,
And the nectar enjoy of a Kiſs.
III.
While Britons, like Britons, dare Engliſh Taſte own,
Succeſs on our ſtrength could depend;
We now, by importing enervate Bon Ton,
To impotent Idlers deſcend.
We wed without Love, we attempt without Powers,
And ſtrengthleſs, and ſenſeleſs, in ſwarms,
Inſipid as butterflies, baſking on flowers,
The fribbles fill fine womens arms.
IV.
If Bacchus and Ceres were drove from Love's court,
Deſire muſt frozen depart!
Roaſt Beef quantum ſuff. and take tantum Red Port,
They ſteel the Main-ſpring of the Heart.
Cou'd we Venus conſult, why indeed ſo we may,
Since each circle a Venus ſupplies,
I'll back my opinion, thoſe beauties will ſay
A Milkſop's the thing we deſpiſe,
[8]V.
The Elixir of Love in our full bottles view,
For Beauty's ſake Bumpers embrace;
While kept in this Training we can't but come through,
For Give-and-Take Plates in Love's Race.
Succeſs to that Meeting, where each againſt each,
Well mounted, puſh forward to win,
For third, fourth, or fifth heats, they rallying ſtretch,
And, neck to neck, nimbly come in.
SONG IV. THE WORMS.
Tune, When Strephon to Chloe made love his pretence.
KEEP your diſtance, quoth King, who in lead coffin lay,
As beſide him they lower'd a ſhrowdleſs old Clay;
The Mendicant Carcaſe replied, with a ſneer,
"Miſter Monarch be ſtill, we are all equal here.
II.
"Life's miſeries long I was forc'd to abide,
"By the Seaſons ſore pelted, ſore pelted by pride:
"And tho' clad in ermine, yet you've been diſtreſt,
"Both our cares now are over,—ſo let us both reſt."
III.
A committee of worms, Manor Lords of the Grave,
Overheard 'em and wonder'd to hear the Dead rave.
Quoth the Chairman, Dare mortals preſume thus to prate,
When even we Maggots don't think ourſelves great?
[9]IV.
"Inſane oſtentations, who brag of their births,
"Yet are but Machines, mix'd of aggregate earths.
"They diſtinctions demand, with diſtinctons they meet
"When we throw by the rich folks, as not fit to eat.
V.
"They are ſcurvy compounds of Debauch and Diſeaſe,
"Putrefactions of Sloth, or Vice run to the Lees.
"By Luxury's peſtilence Health is laid waſte:
"And all they can boaſt is,—They're poiſon'd in Taſte.
VI.
"'Tis true, cries Crawlina, the Queen of the Worms,
"They make upon earth immenſe noiſe with their forms,
"Pon onner, with Beauties tho' ſo much I deal,
"On not one in ten can I make a good meal.
VII.
"When we choſe to regale, on the dainties of charms,
"We formerly fed on necks, faces, and arms;
"Now Varniſh envenoms their tainted complections,
"A fine woman's features ſpread fatal infections.
VIII.
"Not a Worm of good taſte, and bon ton, I dare vouch,
"A morſel of faſhion-made Beauties will touch.
"A Quality Toaſt we imported laſt week,—
"Two Maggots, my ſervants, dy'd eating her cheek."
IX.
Very odd, quoth a Critic, Worms hold ſuch diſcourſe.
Very odd, quoth the Author, that Men ſhou'd talk worſe.
Like Reptiles, we crawl upon earth for a term,
Take wing for a while,— then deſcend to a Worm.
[10]X.
Dan Pope declares all Human Race to be Worms;
Maids, Miſſes, Wives, Widows, all Maggotty forms.
But of Worms, and worm-feeding, no more we'll repeat,
Here's a glaſs, To the Dainty that's made for Man's meat
SONG V. THE PICTURE.
Tune, — Fine Songsters too often apologies make.
I.
WISHING well to good folks, both on this and that,
By my own fire-ſide, with my Laſs,
Not yawning, nor mute, but in ſpiritful chat,
To Old England I took off my glaſs.
II.
The next to my King; and the third was a Joke,
Of all places I toaſted The Beſt;
She ſeem'd not to hear, but her cheeks bluſhes ſpoke
The Wanton my Sentiment gueſs'd.
III.
Her boſom I preſs'd, to my lips it aroſe,
The crimſon ſtill fluſhing her face;
With love-liſping laugh, ſhe replied, "I ſuppoſe
"You preſume I can gueſs at the place."
[11]IV.
I anſwer'd, but firſt for my Fee took a Kiſs,
"Where the Temple of Love we attend.
"Beauty's columns begin at the Fountain of Bliſs;
"In tapering outlines they end.
V.
"On the top, at the Arch of Enjoyment unite,
"Curl'd tendrils the Pediment grace;
"For Cupid's Pantheon, the Shaft of Delight
"Muſt ſpring from the Maſculine Baſe.
VI.
"If the Lady of this perfect Manſion you'll ſee,"
As I ſpoke, gave my hand to the Laſs,
"Oh, by all means" ſhe ſaid;—"then my dear come with me;"
So I led my Girl up to the glaſs.
VII.
Off ſhe turn'd, with a pſhah! yet no anger expreſt,
Good-breeding ſcorns Prudery's ſkreen;
'Mong our dinner-time toaſts, when we drink to the Beſt,
We only moſt excellent mean.
VIII.
Remember, my Bucks, when you're aiming at Jokes
Be ſure make the moſt of a Jeſt;
Not like the aſſembly of impotent folks,
Who prove themſelves, — bad at the beſt.
IX.
Our Youths in their waiſts are now ſcarcely a ſpan,
An inſenſible, expletive crew;
When Lovelineſs weds one, in hopes of a Man,
'Tis the worſt thing a Lady can do.
[12]X.
Here's to Beauty a Toaſt, ſir, but not Face alone,
Lower yet lies the Circle of Grace;
Beneath, where in centre Love buckles her Zone,
The Point of Attraction we place.
XI.
Let our Bottles, like globes, have elliptical ſweep;
Geometriſts mind what I ſay,
May beautiful Parallels diſtances keep,
To give Perpendiculars way.
SONG VI. SILENUS and CUPID.
Tune, — Derry down.
I.
CUPID ſent on a meſſage one evening by Venus,
As ill-luck wou'd have it, was met by Silenus;
The big-belly'd Sot aſk'd the Urchin to play,
And the ſilly lad gam'd all Love's weapons away.
Derry down, &c.
II.
His Bow from the Bubble, the old Gambler drew,
And into a crutch-headed Stick turn'd the Yew:
The String was tough Catgut, Si. ſwore it was well,
A ſtrong line he wanted, to ring his Bar Bell.
[13]III.
Love's Arrows were Cane, he divided the joints,
Pipe-ſtoppers the ends made, and Pick-teeth the points.
The Feathers to bruſh down his tables were clever;
And to a Tobacco-pouch turn'd the boy's Quiver.
IV.
For pipe-lighting Matches he choſe Billet-deux,
And away, at each puff, went a Sonneteer's Vows.
His Tinder was drawn from the brains of the Jealous;
And long-bottled Sighs he preſerv'd for his Bellows.
V.
Hermes took the lad home, told the ſtory to Venus,
She daſh'd down her tea-cup, and flew to Silenus:
Then threaten'd her Captain ſhou'd kick the old Clown,
But he laugh'd, and he ſmoak'd, and he ſung derry down.
VI.
She ſqueez'd his hard hand, and his filthy beard ſtrok'd,
Nay kiſs'd him, tho' with his tobacco-fumes choak'd;
Then begg'd the boy's Arms, but Si. ſwore with a frown,
He'd be damn'd if he gave them for her Derry down.
VII.
She whipt her doves back, vaſtly piqued you may gueſs,
In Synod Celeſtial demanded Redreſs;
Jove laugh'd at the jeſt, and he vow'd, by his Crown,
When Spouſe rail'd hereafter he'd ſing — Derry down.
MORAL.
Ye Huſbands, too fond, who are Feminine-fool'd,
And tamely, by Petticoat Government rul'd,
Reſiſt your Wives Railings, their ſhrill trebles drown,
By ſmoaking, and ſinging of — Down, derry down.
Derry down, &c.
SONG VII. THE DIVORCE.
[14]Tune, Old women we are, and as wiſe in the chair.
I.
NO more let defections of Wedlock be blam'd,
To be ſure of grave Cato you've heard;
In morals more ſtrict not a man cou'd be nam'd,
Yet his Wife to a friend he transferr'd.
II.
In Rome they encourag'd no Trials crim. con.
In France, Cuckold-making's a Jeſt;
And, I truſt, in few years, by the help of bon ton,
We ſhall be as polite as the beſt.
III.
'Tis vaſtly immenſe! and moſt horridly low!
When a Month after Marriage is paſt,
That the Huſband ſhou'd be ſuch a Fright not to know
His Lady's affections can't laſt.
IV.
For, broken in Fortune, and ruin'd in Health,
To patch up both Perſon and Purſe,
His Honour addreſſes ſome Citizen's Wealth,
And the Daughter accepts, as his Nurſe.
V.
Too oft, for the ſake of a Title impure,
Doom'd Beauty is forc'd from her vows,
To unite with a Blank, for upon the Grand Tour
Foreign Vice has diſabled the Spouſe.
[15]VI.
In defence of the Fair, Satire openly ſtands,
And forbids the vague Spendthrifts to roam;
Wives have too much ſtock lying dead on their hands
When Huſbands are Bankrupts at home.
VII.
Cenſure no married Dame, as the trade's ſo decreas'd,
Heavy Intereſt, Principal clogs;
When Ladies have furniſh'd and exquiſite feaſt,
Muſt their dainties be thrown to the dogs?
VIII.
Then Divorce,—but we laugh at ſuch frivolous things,
Having here no intention to part:—
We are wed to our Wine; Wine regen'rates the ſprings
Of that ſelf-moving muſcle the Heart.
IX.
Though to Wine we are wed, yet we do not think fit
To be tied down for better for worſe,
If our landlord Adultery dares to commit,
At once we demand a Divorce.
X.
But at preſent I hope, with an Engliſhman's eaſe,
We enjoy both our Wine and our Wives;
By Liberty bleſs'd, with the pleaſure to pleaſe,
May we live all the days of our lives.
SONG VIII. NUNC EST BIBENDUM.
[16]Tune, — Moggy Lauder.
I.
NOW we're free from College Rules,
From Common-place-book reaſon,
From trifling ſyllogiſtic Schools,
And Syſtems out of Seaſon;
Never more we'll have defin'd,
If Matter thinks or thinks not;
All the matter we ſhall mind,
Is — he who drinks — or drinks not.
II.
Metaphyſic'ly to trace,
The Mind, or Soul abſtracted;
Or prove Infinity of Space,
By cauſe on cauſe effected;
Better Souls we can't become
By immaterial thinking;
And as to Space, we want no room,
But room enough to drink in.
III.
Plenum, vacuum, minus, plus,
Are learned words, and rare too, —
Thoſe terms our Tutors may diſcuſs,
And thoſe who pleaſe may hear too. —
A Plenum in our Wine we ſhow,
With Plus, and Plus behind, ſir,
And when our Caſh is minus, low,
A Vacuum ſoon we find, ſir.
[17]IV.
Copernicus, that learned ſage,
Dane Tycho's error proving,
Declares in — I can't tell what page —
The Earth round Sol is moving.
But which goes round, what's that to us?
Each is, perhaps, a notion;
With Earth, and Sun, we make no fuſs,
But mind the Bottle's motion.
V.
Great Galileo ill was us'd,
By Superſtition's fury;
Antipodeans were abus'd
By ignoramus jury:
But, feet to feet, we dare atteſt,
Nor fear a treatment ſcurvy;
For when we're drunk, probatum eſt,
We're tumbling, topſy turvy.
VI.
Newton talk'd of Lights and Shades,
And different Colours knew, ſir:
Don't let us diſturb our heads, —
We will but ſtudy two, ſir.—
White and Red our glaſſes boaſt,
Reflection, and Refraction;
After him we name our Toaſt, —
"The Center of Attraction."
VII.
On that Theſis we'll declaim,
With ſtratum, ſuper ſtratum;
[18]There's mighty magic in the name,
'Tis Nature's Poſtulatum.
Wine, in nature's next to love;
Then wiſely let us blend 'em;
Firſt tho', phyſically prove,
That Nunc, nunc eſt bibendum.
SONG IX. ENGLISH LITANY.
TUNE, When I enter'd my Teens, and threw play-things aſide.
I.
TO a Stage-Coach we aptly may liken this Nation,
Where Paſſengers ſeldom are pleas'd with their ſtation;
But wrangling, and jangling, and joſtling, and jumbling,
The Inſide-folks grin, and the Outſides are grumbling.
II.
The Inns they are in, and the Outs they are out;
To be in is the Riddle, which makes all this route.
The Outs call the Miniſtry infamous elves;
And the Inns, when they're out, ſay the ſame things themſelves.
[19]III.
It is cunning Credulity ever enſlaves;
The world is a Hot-bed, to raiſe Fools and Knaves:
They pull this and that way, ſometimes pull together;
But Common-ſenſe ſcorns to go partners with either.
IV.
My Country, my Freedom, and oh, my Religion!
Theſe tickle the ear, faith, like Mahomet's pigeon:
'Tis the time's cant, the farce, the fineſſe of all ages,
For what the beſt actors of, get the beſt wages.
V.
Oh my Country? but hold, ſir, on which ſide the Tweed?
Wa worth tul your words, if ye dinna tak hede.
We give praiſe to one ſide, the other abuſe,
Can the unborn their place of nativity chuſe?
VI.
Off Prejudice, off, to Oblivion's cave;
We boaſt we are Britons, as Britons behave:
Can this, or that ſide of a ſtream alter nature?
No, — waſh thoſe reflections away in the water.
VII.
Get, get, is the cry now, and get all ye can;
If ye can get, get honeſtly; get, though's the plan.
Get one thing, and ev'ry thing elſe you'll obtain:
For Honours are now humble ſervants to Gain.
VIII.
The African Slave-dealers ſome may think baſe;
But what muſt they think—if at home 'tis the caſe?
The Guinea trade, here keeps a market, 'tis certain;
And Yes and No bought and ſold; more's the misfortune.
[20]IX.
When a Beauty's enjoy'd by a Man of the Town,
What he doted laſt week on, this week he'll diſown.
The Self-ſellers thus, become thoſe people's ſcoff,
Who firſt turn them Proſtitutes, then turn them off.
X.
May all be turn'd off, who thoſe dealings befriended,
Where honeſter folks have been ſometimes ſuſpended;
May they die as they liv'd, by all good men abhorr'd,
WE BRITONS BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US, GOOD LORD.
SONG X. The MARINE MEDLEY.
Firſt tune, — Come and liſten to my ditty.
I.
NOW ſafe moor'd, with bowl before us,
Meſs-mates heave a hand with me,
Lend a Brother Sailor Chorus,
While he ſings our Lives at Sea:
O'er the wide wave-ſwelling ocean;
Toſs'd aloft, or tumbled low,
As to fear, 'tis all a notion,
When our Time's come, we muſt go.
[21]II.
Tune, — Life is chequer'd.
Hark the boatſwain hoarſely bawling
By topſail ſheets and haul-yards ſtand,
Down top-gallants, down be hauling,
Down your ſtay-ſails, hand boys, hand;
Now ſet the braces,
Don't make wry faces,
But the lee top-ſail ſheets let go,
Starboard here,
Larboard there,
Turn your quid,
Take a ſwear,
Yo! yo! yo!
III.
Firſt Tune again.
Oh, ye Landmen, idly lying
All along-ſide Beauty's Charms,
Safe in ſoft beds, ſeas defying,
Free from all but Love's alarms.
While on billows, billows rolling,
Death appears in every form,
On no Lady Laps we're lolling,
No kind Kiſs can calm the Storm.
IV.
But loud peals, on peals are claſhing,
Through rift rocks, the ſhrill wind ſhrieks;
In our eyes fierce lightning flaſhing,
Scorch the ſails, and ſtench the decks.
[22]Burſting clouds upon us pouring,
Black, o'erſpread the face of day,
Burying ſeas in whirlpools roaring,
Fierey flies the ſparkling ſpray.
V.
High, the toſſing Tempeſt heaves us,
Tow'rds the Pole aloft we go,
While the clouds ſeem to receive us,
Dreadful yawns the gulph below.
In that dark deep, down, down, down, down,
Down we ſink from ſight of ſky,
By the ſwell, as inſtant up thrown,
Hark! what means yon diſmal cry!
VI.
The fore-maſt's gone, yells ſome ſad tongue out
O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck.—
A leak beneath the cheſtree's ſprung out,
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
Quick the lannyard's cut in pieces,
Come my Hearts, be ſtout and bold,
Plumb the well, the leak encreaſes—
Four feet water's in the hold.
VII.
Worſe and worſe, the wild winds tearing
Warring waves around us foam,
For the worſt, while we're preparing,
Nature ſinks, and ſighs for Home.
There, our babes, perhaps are ſaying,
In their little liſping ſtrain,
As round mother's knees they're playing,
Daddy ſoon will come again.
[23]VIII.
Tune, — Early one morn a jolly young Tar.
If we muſt die, why die we muſt,
'Tis a birth in which all muſt belay mun.
When our debt's due, for Death won't truſt,
Then all hands be ready to pay mun.
As to Life's ſtriking its Flag, never fear,
Our Cruiſe is out, that's all my brother,
In this world we've luff'd it up, thus, and no near,
So let's ſhip ourſelves now for another.
IX.
Tune the firſt again.
Overboard the guns be throwing,
To the pumps come ev'ry hand,
See her mizen maſt is going
On the lee beam lies the land.
Riſing rocks appear before us,
Hopeleſs, yet for help we call,
Ev'ry ſea breaks fatal o'er us,
To the Storm's fell power we fall.
X.
Now Diſmay, with aſpect horrid,
Swells each ſleepleſs eye with tears;
And Deſpair, with briſtly forehead,
On each bloodleſs face appears.
Sadly ſtill we wait the Wave! —
Th' o'erwhelming Wave rolls mountain high;
The ſwell comes on, our ſea-green grave, —
Hark, what means yon happy cry!
[24]XI.
The Leak we've found, it cannot pour faſt,
We've lighten'd her a foot or more;
Up and rig a jury Fore-Maſt,
She rights, ſhe rights, boys, wear off ſhore.
Now, my Hearts, we're ſafe from ſinking,
We'll again lead Sailors lives;
Come, the Cann boys, let's be drinking
To our Sweethearts, and our Wives.
SONG XI. REASON.
Tune, — When Fanny to Woman is growing apace.
I.
WHAT the heart feels oppoſe to the phraſes of ſchools,
Sweet Sympathies prove the Philoſophers fools.
Can all the claſp'd volumes of learned mens feats,
Be equal to claſping one Beauty in ſheets.
II.
Go Inſtinct, call Reaſon, and hear what he'll ſay—
The cowardly Tyrant keeps out of the way.
Bolt the door then Deſire, we'll bilk him at leaſt,
He may pick up our Offals, and rail at the feaſt.
[25]III.
The union of Souls is a Taſk, words may try
But Lovers' Senſations, Deſcription defy;
To them only known, who voluptuouſly prove
Affection's Enjoyment, the Phrenzy of Love.
IV.
But hark! who is that we hear hobbling up ſtairs?
It is Reaſon, quoth Fancy;—Oh is it! who cares?
He's welcome,—a chair there—I hope he'll ſit down:
As he enter'd I ſmil'd, — he return'd me a frown.
V.
My Laſs was before me, my Bottle between;
In our looks we rejoic'd we juſt now were not ſeen;
But when Pleaſure prompts, Reaſon always ſneaks off;
When over, he bully-like, enters to huff.
VI.
Juſt like an old Watchman, the Goblin was dreſt,
Grey hairs, pole and lanthorn, broad belt, and long veſt;
Young Fellow, quoth He, it is time you ſhou'd think;
Old Fellow, quoth Me, it is time you ſhou'd drink.
VII.
[...] offer'd a Flaſk of Champaign, on my knee,
And begg'd, as my Doctor, he'd drink for his fee;
[...] prais'd his wiſe ſeeming, — my praiſes prevail'd;
For Flattery's a noſtrum which never yet fail'd.
VIII.
With Praiſes, with Bumpers, I ply'd him ſo long,
That himſelf he forgot, and wou'd ſing us a Song;
Aye and dance, nay a wench he wou'd have, and he ſwore;
But attempting to riſe, he fell drunk on the floor.
[26]IX.
As I order'd a Bed, ſays my love-looking Fair,
"As to Bed, my dear! Reaſon has no buſineſs there;
"The Senſes their title to that Manor prove,
"Let Reaſon ſleep on, while we waken to Love."
The MORAL.
Reaſon is but a Bugbear, to ſcare girls and boys,
Wine and women, without him, Experience enjoys;
That we're worthy thoſe Bleſſings, let Life's practice prove,
May we never want Reaſon for Drinking or Love.
SONG XII. THE RAILERS.
Tune, Ye Ladies who drive from the ſmoke of the Town.
I.
BEhold on the brow the leaves play in the breeze,
While Cattle calm feed in the vale;
The Church ſpire tapering, points through the trees,
As Lord of the hill and the dale.
II.
The playful Colts ſkip after Dams to the brook,
The Brook ſlow and ſilently glides;
The ſurface ſo ſmooth, and ſo clear, if you look
It reflects the gay green on it's ſides.
[27]III.
[...]n Farm-yard, by his feather'd Seraglio careſs'd,
The King of the Walk dares to crow;
No Nabob, not Nimrod, enſlaving the eaſt,
Such proweſs with Beauty can ſhew.
IV.
Beneath the ſtill Cow, Nancy preſſes the teat,
Her face like the ruddy fac'd morn;
Loud ſtrokes in the barn the ſtrong Threſhers repeat,
Or winnow for market the corn.
V.
Induſtrious, their Wives, at the doors of their cots,
Sit ſpinning, dreſs'd cleanly, tho' coarſe,
To their Babes, while unheeding the Traveller trots,
They ſhew the fine Man and his Horſe.
VI.
At the heels of the Steed, bark the baſe village Whelps,
Each Puppy rude echo beſtirs;
But the Horſe, too high bred, bounds away from their yelps,
Diſregarding the clamour of Curs.
VII.
Illiberal Railers thus Envy betray,
When Merit above them they view;
But Genius diſdains to turn out of his way,
Or afford a reply to the Crew.
VIII.
To contempt and deſpair, ſuch Inſanes we commit;
But to generous Rivals, a Toaſt, —
May rich Men reward honeſt Fellows of wit, —
Here's a health to thoſe Dunces hate moſt.
SONG XIII. THE ARTISTS.
[28]Tune, Tho' Man has long boaſted an abſolute ſway.
I.
PRUDE Pallas obſerv'd to the Demirep Queen,
Dear Venus, what is it theſe Engliſh folks mean?
Their Iſland is favour'd beyond other Iſles,
'Twas I gave them Sapience, and you beſtow'd Smiles;
Nay ev'ry Immortal a bounty has ſent 'em,
II,
The Goddeſs of Grace, in love's ſoft ſilver tone,
Reply'd "'twas immenſe, immenſe odd ſhe muſt own;
"Let us trip down to Earth, juſt to ſee the affair,
"It is only through Atmoſphere taking the air;
"I've my Doves at the door, come, dear creature, "with me;"
Away in a Whirlwind they whiſk'd — Vis a vis.
III.
From Council Jove miſs'd them, enquiring about,
His feather-heel'd poſt boy diſcover'd their rout;
Replies the ſky ruler, "they've no buſineſs there,
"In Britain there always is beauty to ſpare;
"And as to Dame Wiſdom, by Styx I aver,
"While Faction ſtays with them they won't employ her.
[29]IV.
"Haſte home with them Hermes," away flew the God,
And the yielding clouds cut with his ſnake twiſted rod;
In London, from place to place, queſtioning flew,
Where is Wiſdom? but where, indeed nobody knew.
He return'd with a tale, with a tale melancholy,
That Wiſdom elop'd into Scotland with Folly.
V.
"Where is Venus??" quoth Mars, "Aye, my Wiſe "have you ſeen?"
Cries the King of the Cyclops, "My Man-loving "queen?"
"I left her employ'd with her Handmaids, the Graces,
"By Science requeſted to finiſh his Faces:
"Here's the name of each Genius with whom ſhe's a gueſt,
"REYNOLDS, GAINSBOROUGH, MORTIMER, "MYERS, DANCE, WEST."
VI.
Vulcan vow'd he wou'd fetch her, "You ſhan't, "thurder'd Jove,
"I encourage the Arts, and yon Iſland I love;
"Into Fate I have look'd, and e'er long I can ſee,
"What Athens was once, my Britannia will be;
"So Lemnos be mute, Haebe hand me the nectar,
"Here's Great-Britain's Artiſts, and GEORGE "their PROTECTOR."
SONG XIV. THE DREAM.
[30]Tune,—Puſh about the briſk Bowl.
I.
BY a whirlwind methought I through Aether was hurl'd,
Electric 'mong Spirits of Air;
Upborn by the clouds, we look'd down on the world,
And odd exhibitions ſpy'd there.
II.
England's Genius was there, bearing Monarchy's crown,
In proceſſion round Liberty Hall;
Faction ſeiz'd her rich robe, Public Spirit pull'd down,
And Folly broad grinn'd at her fall.
III.
In weather-houſe plac'd, to denote foul and fair,
Two Figures are veering about;
So pageants we ſaw, and we ſmil'd at their glare,
As they turn'd, with the Times, in and out.
IV.
The Methodiſts, maſk'd with Hypocriſy's face,
Anathemas thunder'd aloud;
So Jack Puddings joke, with diſtorted grimace,
Benetting their Gudgeons,—the Croud.
V.
Wit and Humour were there, drove from Dignity's door,
That Stupidity's coach might have room;
Debauch we ſaw open Temptation's baſe ſtore,
And Diſeaſe taint Simplicity's bloom.
[31]VI.
Stubborn Will againſt Prudence was waging a fight,
While Deſire oppos'd Duty ſtrong;
The Paſſions confeſs'd Reaſons Dictates were right,
Though themſelves ſtill reſolv'd to be wrong.
VII.
A wonderful Troop towards Weſtminſter bore;
What wonders there are 'mong mankind?
In gilt chariots Lawyers paraded before,
On foot Juſtice follow'd behind.
VIII.
Church Preferments we ſaw—but reſpect ſhall withſtand
The abuſe that's pour'd forth on the Cloth;
Stock Jobbers and Stateſmen we ſaw hand in hand,
And Pride ſtood at par between both.
IX.
Cent per Cent had lain ſiege to Integrity's head,
And Beauty was battering his heart;
Eaſt India Succeſs ſtruck Humility dead,
And Title took Vanity's part.
X.
Crafty Care and pale Uſury, two ſleepleſs hags,
Wealth o'erwhelm'd, yet untired with toil;
Their heir Diſſipation we ſaw at their bags,
With Flattery ſharing the ſpoil.
XI.
The myſt'ries of Trade, — but no longer I'll dwell,
On either the mighty or mean;
From an Emperor's court to a Penitent's cell,
Life's all the ſame laughable ſcene.
[32]XII.
'Tis a pitiful piece, like a Farce in a Fair,
Where ſhew, noiſe, and nonſenſe miſrule,
Where tinſel paradings, make Ignorance ſtare,
Where he who acts beſt is the Fool.
SONG XV. INDEPENDENCY.
Tune,—Tho' my dreſs, as my manners, is ſimple and plain.
I.
LET us laugh at the common diſtinctions of State,
When merely from Title, men hold themſelves great;
If Merit wins Honours, the wearers we praiſe,
But only the Mean, homage Heraldry's Blaze.
II.
If you are a lineal deſcendant from Adam,
Or Spouſe can collateral claim from his Madam;
O'er acres of parchment, tho' Pedigrees ſpread,
Boaſt not how you're born ſir, but ſhew how you're bred.
III.
You Laurels diſplay, which your forefathers won;
We allow they did great things, but what have you done?
The Cover, the Stubble, your conqueſts proclaim,
And your Country's preſerv'd—by the Laws of the Game.
IV.
Ye Lords of large Manors, your flatt'rers diſband,
What are ye but tenants for life to the Land;
Your lakes, gardens, grots, temples, buſts, pictures, plate,
Are things of the Inn, where in Life's-ſtage you bait.
[33]V.
Awhile you the labours of Luxury bear,
'Till Time tells you out, to make room for your Heir;
The ſame round of riot, he runs for his day,
His ſucceſſor's ſummons, ſends him the ſame way.
VI.
But HE who exiſts in Infinity's State,
Whoſe hand holds the Sun, and whoſe Fiat is Fate;
To ſome has ſent power, to others gives wealth,
And to us, who are humble, his beſt Bleſſing—Health.
VII.
To the Graces, we nightly, a ſacrifice make,
Wit and Humour, the chairs, as our Toaſt-maſters take;
By their ſocial converſe, our time we improve,
While Tenderneſs lends us the daughters of Love.
VIII.
Jolly Welcome attends Hoſpitality's call,
Common Senſe is our Cat'rer in Liberty Hall;
For one diſh dreſs'd there, all Court Treats we reſign,
Keep your diſtance, ye Kings! INDEPENDANT we dine.
SONG XVI. TOLL, LOLL, LOLL.
Tune,—Black Joke.
I.
AS one day at home in a maudliniſh mood,
Like dull Porter Drinkers, I drowſily ſtood,
Heavily humming out, Toll, loll, loll, loll.
[34]The Fair of my Fancy whiſk'd into the room,
All lovely ſhe look'd, like a May morning's bloom;
Her form was, but forming a Simile's flat,
Think all that you can think, and ſhe was all that.
I quickly left yawning, Toll, loll, loll, &c.
II.
On a Sopha ſhe ſunk, as if failing in ſtrength,
Then gracefully wanton, fell back at full length,
In attitude temptingly, tuning Toll, loll.
I begg'd for the Words, but her ſmiling expreſs'd,
What Words among friends? try the Tune 'twill do beſt.
'Twas a hint, and I inſtantly 'roſe to her Wiſhes,
Fell into her arms, there ſhe fed me with Kiſſes,
For Kiſſes are Symphonies, Toll, loll, &c.
III.
As if juſt awaken'd, inclining her head,
Her eyes pleaſure ſparkling, ſhort ſighing ſhe ſaid
"How ſweet is the found of Toll, loll?
"All Art in Enjoyment's profane Affectation,
Poſſeſſion's true Pleaſure, is prompt Inclination;
"When Souls in ſweet Uniſon, blend their Embraces▪
"Then, then, and then only, Love's gamut has Graces?
Toll, loll, loll, &c.
IV.
It is Taſte at an Op'ra, to Pantomime Pleaſure,
O'ercome by the magic of Harmony's meaſure,
And ſeem to expire with Toll, loll, loll, loll
But Nature's nice organs, have nobler ſenſations,
Not bodileſs ſounds, but corporeal vibrations;
In theſe dear Da Capos, both equal advancing,
Elaſtical Arteries full Chords are dancing,
Toll, loll, loll, &c.
[35]V.
To practiſe Love's leſſon exceeds all the ſchools,
Scarlatti and Handell, and ſuch folks were fools,
At Toll, loll, loll, loll, loll, loll, loll.
They Harmony made out of half Tones and whole,
To lull lady's ears, but 'tis Love charms the Soul;
When lips to lips tuning ſoft Symphonies tender,
The heart beating Preludes, denote a ſurrender
Of Toll, loll, loll, &c.
VI.
'Tis Muſic and Love, or the Muſic of loving,
That only the life which we live for is proving,
Toll, loll, loll, loll, loll, loll, loll, loll.
Tho' Int'reſt makes Freedom pay Wedlock's expences,
Yet Love for Love leads up the Dance of the Senſes;
Where Jealouſy frights not, nor Folly is teazing,
There may we enjoy the true pleaſure of pleaſing.
Toll, loll, loll, loll, &c.
SONG XVII. TOLL, LOLL DE ROLL.
Tune,—Let the Grave and the Gay.
I.
WHEN the Deity's word
Throughout Chaos was heard,
And in order up roſe this vaſt ball;
Land, Sea, and Sky rung
With Creation's glad ſong,
It was then a fine—Toll, de roll, loll.
[36]II.
Inconſtant mankind
Could not keep in one mind,
But into foul parties muſt fall;
'Gainſt Religion and State
Rais'd a pother and prate,
And made a ſad—Toll de roll, loll.
III.
On this ſea-circled land,
By great Nature's command,
Freedom ſtopp'd at Integrity's call;
England's Genius apppear'd,
In full chorus was heard,
Lov'd Liberty's ſong—Loll de roll.
IV.
On each diſtant ſhore
We have ſung it encore,
And are ready, my lads, One and All,
To ſound the ſame ſtrain,
Tho' I think France and Spain
Have enough of our—Loll de roll, loll.
V.
All the noiſe that our foes
Took ſuch pains to compoſe,
Not a Heart of Oak's Ear could appal;
But the Dons and Mounſeers
Were ſtruck dumb with three cheers,
They're the Engliſh Tarr's Toll de roll, loll
[37]VI.
At the place Minden nam'd,
By the Britiſh Foot fam'd,
How glorious thoſe days to recall:
The French Folks advancing,
Were ſtopp'd in their dancing,
And tumbled about—Loll de roll.
VII.
For this thing, or that,
Toll de roll, comes in pat,
'Tis a Chorus I'll always extol;
'Tis ſuppos'd, not expreſs'd,
'Tis what each one likes beſt,
Then here's to the beſt—Toll de roll, &c.
SONG XVIII. THE ORIGIN OF TOLL, LOLL, LOLL.
Tune,—As one day at home in a maudliniſh mood.
I.
I'LL ſing you a ſong, and I'll ſung all about it,
Or in tune on out on't, you need not to doubt it,
My tune is Toll, toll, toll, loll, loll.
Stoccatos, Chromatics, Reſts, Crotches, and Chords,
Deep Tenors, ſharp Trebles, with Fifths, Eighths, and Thirds,
Are ſounds without Senſe; Common Senſe come before us.
So Silence each Solfa let's Toll, toll, toll, chorus,
And nothing but Toll, toll, toll, toll, toll, toll.
[38]II.
If word-gnawing Critics gramatical bawl,
Unde derivatur, Sir, this Toll, toll, toll?
"I anſwer, from Loll, loll, loll, loll, loll, loll."
And pray what is Loll, loll, loll, perge, quoth Pedant?
Profecto, continues he, I never read on't;
What part of Speech are you, this Toll, loll, loll, making?
"The only part, ſir, of the whole that's worth taking,"
Toll, loll, loll, &c.
III.
The Verb which Love conjugates, Nature's the tutor,
Both active and paſſive, but ſometimes ſtands neuter,
Toll, loll, loll, &c.
When wantonly wiſh'd for, optative Mood makes it;
When promis'd in ſuture, Hope happily takes it.
Of all Terminations reſpecting the Tenſes,
The preſent is always the beſt for the Senſes.
Toll, loll, loll, &c.
IV.
But let us for once, tho' become ſomething ſer'ous;
The Black Joke's a tune, that mayhap is miſter'us,
Who knows what is hid under Toll, loll, loll, loll.
What is under, or in it, or what is about it,
Perhaps has a meaning, perhaps is without it;
It may be thought Wit, but that wou'd be wonder;
It may be a ſingle, or double Entendre,
Toll, loll, de roll, &c.
V.
If you have, or if you have not, read a Hiſt'ry,
If you are Free-maſon'd, and underſtand Miſt'ry,
Toll, loll, loll, loll, loll, is Loll, toll, toll, toll.
[39]VI.
If more may be made on't, I beg to know what,
It may be, or mayn't be, it can, or cannot;
For how be it, hereby, ſo be it, and ſo forth,
But good friends excuſe me, indeed I muſt go forth.
Toll, loll, de roll, &c.
SONG XIX. THE NABOB.
Tune, — Ye Lovelies who never Inconſtancy knew.
YE makers of Nabobs who millions amaſs,
Eclipſing Nobility's train;
In pride of profuſion your Pageantries paſs,
To your Worſhips a word,—don't be vain.
Tho' Spoils of the Eaſt, you exultingly view,
Not a Reptile that crawls but is richer than you.
II.
Your ſideboards may bend with ſuperfluous weight,
Your breaſts the ſlant Ribbon may bind,
You homage receive from the Paupers of State,
Weigh theſe 'gainſt the Wealth of the Mind.
An Inſtinct unerring all animals boaſt;
Lord-Man he has Reaſon, and ſo my Lord's loſt.
III.
Can we wanton on waves in the deep troubled ſtorm?
Can the Board of Works, Beaver-like build?
Can ye Artiſts contend with a tranſmigrate Worm?
Or Spider-like ſail through the field?
Cont [...]mpt muſt attend on Ambition's odd graſp,
Who catches at Crowns, when he ſhrinks from a Waſp.
[40]IV.
O'er Paſſion can Beauty a conqueſt atchieve?
Cou'd Sampſon an Ague engage?
What Science can teach us the Art not to grieve?
What Bribe is to buy off old Age?
What Opium can lull the Alarms of the Mind?
That ſomething ſo wakeful, which wakens mankind.
V.
In pompous down beds Guilt may labour to reſt;
Back, Conſcience the curtain will draw,
To exhibit ſuch ſpeeches as harrow the Breaſt,
While Memory ſharpens her ſaw:
Humanity ſighs at the ſufferer's pains;
But Juſtice proclaim'd, Thus I ballance their Gains.
VI.
Let us, as we ought, bid defiance to Knaves,
And Briton-like ſpeak as we think.
Diſgrace to the crew of Venality's ſlaves;
To honeſt men—Happineſs drink.
Here's to Liberty, Lads, without Flatt'ry or Fear,
And I hope I am pledg'd from the Heart by all here.
SONG XX. TRUE BLUE.
Tune—To all ye Ladies now at Land.
THE cards were ſent, the Muſes came,
'Twas Ceres gave the feaſt
To Juno, Jove's majeſtic dame,
Fair Haebe hail'd each gueſt.
[41]With Phoebus, Bacchus, wit and wine,
Like man and wife, ſhou'd ſocial ſhine.
With I fall, lal, la.
II.
Th' Olympic Dance, Minerva wiſe,
With graceful ſteps mov'd round;
Blue was the fillet—like her eyes,
Her ſapient temples crown'd;
That girdle looſen'd, falling down,
Buck bacchus caught the azure Zone.
III.
Upon his breaſt the Ribbon plac'd,
By Styx, avow'd the youth,
What had the Throne of Wiſdom grac'd,
Shou'd grace the Seat of Truth:
His robe he inſtant open threw,
And on his boſom beam'd True Blue.
IV.
"Kings, taught by me, ſhall Garters give,
"In Inſtallations ſhow;
"What Subjects merits ſhou'd receive,
"Their Monarchs ſhou'd beſtow.
"This Symbol, lov'd, Celeſtials view,
"And ſtamp your Sanctions on True Blue."
V.
The roſy God, Urania prais'd;
The tuneful ſiſters join;
The Sov'reign of the Sky was pleas'd
To conſtellate the Sign.
Along the Clouds, loud Paeans flew,
Olympus join'd, and hail'd True Blue.
[42]VI.
This order Iris bore to earth,
Minerva charg'd the fair,
Where firſt ſhe found out Sons of worth,
To leave the Ribbon there.
From clime to clime ſhe ſearching flew,
And in HIBERNIA left True Blue.
SONG XXI. DITTO.
Tune, — Maſks all.
I.
LET thoſe who love Helicon ſip at it's ſtreams,
And chill'd by cold water, doze ſpiritleſs dreams;
No aid I'll invoke from a tea-drinking Muſe,
But bumper me Bacchus to toaſt the True Blues.
Sing tantararara True blue.
II.
No man ſlaying hero's raſh deeds I rehearſe,
Nor ſhall Strephon's ſighs ſadly whine in my verſe;
To friendſhip, to freedom, this ſonnet is due,
And friendſhip and freedom become a True Blue.
III.
Wrong'd Nature to Newton from Dullneſs appeal'd,
Mankind he enlighten'd, bright viſion reveal'd;
All colours examin'd, and found upon view
One chief, one unchang'd, and he nam'd it True Blue.
[43]IV.
Kings, Stateſmen, and Patriots, illuſtrious chuſe
The ſlant azure bandage, the mark of True Blues;
To Britain's chief knigthood the Garter is due,
And that honour'd Ribbon is ſpotleſs True Blue.
V.
To furniſh, with Science, the ſons of the earth,
Olympus the goddeſs of Wiſdom brought forth;
Her eyes, Paris own'd, were the brighteſt he knew,
And their luſtre, quoth Homer, is ſparkling True Blue.
VI.
In ſpring, when Creation her bloſſoms reſumes,
And field-flowers fill the rich air with perfumes;
What ſky colour, tell me, the ſun beſt looks through?
The atmoſphere's cleareſt when clouds are True Blue.
VII.
To ſully that ſtandard each ſocial diſdains,
The tint of True Blue bids defiance to ſtains;
On the breaſt of each Brother the Ribbon we view,
Which ſhews, that at heart he is pure and True Blue.
VIII.
When Liberty ling'ring, Hibernia quits,
And Honour to paſſive Obedience ſubmits;
Public Spirit to Ireland then bids adieu,
Adieu, Lads to life then, then farewell True Blue.
SONG XXII. THE WINE VAULT.
[44]Tune, — The Hounds are all out.
I.
COntented I am, and contented I'll be,
For what can this world more afford,
Than a laſs who will ſociably ſit on my knee,
And a Cellar as ſociably ſtor'd,
My brave boys.
II.
My Vault door is open, deſcend and improve,
That Caſk,—aye, that we will try;
'Tis as rich to the taſte as the lips of your love,
And as bright as her cheeks to the eye.
III.
In a piece of ſlit hoop, ſee my candle is ſtuck,
'Twill light us each bottle to hand;
The foot of my glaſs for the purpoſe I broke,
As I hate that a bumper ſhould ſtand.
IV.
Aſtride on a butt, as a butt ſhou'd be ſtrod,
I gallop the bruſher along;
Like grape bleſſing Bacchus, the good fellow's God,
And a Sentiment give, or a Song.
V.
We are dry where we ſit, tho' the oozing drops ſeem
With pearls the moiſt walls to emboſs;
From the arch, mouldy cobwebs in gothic taſte ſtream
Like ſtucco-work cut out of moſs.
[45]VI.
When the lamp is brimful how the taper flame ſhines,
Which when moiſture is wanting decays;
Repleniſh the lamp of my life with rich wines,
Or elſe there's an end of my blaze.
VII.
Sound thoſe Pipes, they're in tune, and thoſe Bins are well fill'd,
View that heap of Old Hock in your rear;
Yon bottles are Burgundy! mark how they're pil'd,
Like artillery, tier over tier.
VIII.
My cellar's my camp, and my ſoldiers my flaſks,
All gloriouſly rang'd in review;
When I caſt my eyes round I conſider my caſks
As kingdoms I've yet to ſubdue.
IX.
Like Macedon's Madman my glaſs I'll enjoy,
Defying hyp, gravel, or gout;
He cry'd when he had no more worlds to deſtroy,
I'll weep when my liquor is out.
X.
On their ſtumps ſome have fought, and as ſtoutly will I,
When reeling, I roll on the floor;
Then my legs muſt be loſt, ſo I'll drink as I lie,
And dare the beſt Buck, to do more.
XI.
'Tis my will when I die, not a tear ſhall be ſhed,
No Hic Jacet be cut on my ſtone;
But pour on my coffin a bottle of red,
And ſay that His drinking is done,
My brave boys.
SONG XXIII. A PASTORAL.
[46]Tune, — Deſpairing beſide a clear ſtream.
I.
BY the ſide of a green ſtagnate pool,
Brick-duſt Nan ſhe ſat ſcratching her head,
Black matted locks frizzled her ſkull,
As briſtles the hedge-hog beſpread;
The wind toſs'd her tatters abroad,
Her aſhy-bronz'd-beauties reveal'd;
A link boy to her, through the mud,
Bare-footed, flew over the field.
II.
As vermin on vermin delight,
As carrion beſt ſuits the crow's taſte,
So beggars and bunters unite,
And ſwine-like on dirt make a feaſt:
To a Hottentot offals have charms,
With garbage their boſoms they deck;
She ſluttiſhly open'd her arms,
He filthily fell on her neck.
III.
On her flabby breaſts one hand he plac'd,
No towels thoſe breaſts ever teaze,
The other fiſt grip'd her ſtays-wanting-waiſt,
Like ladies, ſhe dreſs'd for her eaſe:
Jack drew forth his quid, and he ſwore,
Then his lower lip, charg'd to the brim,
He ſcoul'd, like a lewd grunting boar,
And ſquinting, ſhe leer'd upon him.
[47]IV.
"Oh, my love, thof I cannot well jaw,"
This plyer at playhouſe began,
"Not tobacco's ſo ſweet to the chaw,
"As to kiſs is the lips of my Nan:"
O! my Jack, cries the mud-coloured ſhe,
And gave him ſome rib ſqueezing hugs,
In a duſt hole I'll cuddle with thee,
Aye, blaſt me! though bit by the bugs.
V.
Full as black as themſelves, now the ſky
To the ſouth of the hemiſphere lour'd,
To finiſh love's feaſt in the dry,
To a ſtable they haſtily ſcour'd;
While hungry rats round them explor'd,
And cobwebs their canopy grace,
Undaunted on litter they ſnor'd,
Fatigu'd with dirt, drink, and embrace.
SONG XXIV. EXTRAVAGANZA.
Tune, — Pan's ſong in Midas.
I.
NOT one of the wiſe men, tho' ever ſo knowing,
Can ſtop the heart's dancing, when fancy is flowing,
Dame Caution may dodge us, but quickly we'll breathe her,
And high over earth boys, break cover in Aether.
Toll, loll.
[48]II.
How then ſhall we laugh at each ſublunar ſyſtem,
And prove to ſtar peepers how much they have miſt'em.
We'll hob nob with Saturn, his cellar will charm us,
And hand in hand run round his girdle to warm us.
III.
In tangents fly off, and to Jupiter hurry,
Aſk Majeſty's leave with his moons to be merry;
On Captain Mars call, from the Spheres get a tune,
Send the North Star a card, by the Man in the Moon.
IV.
On Mercury mount, make a Comet poſtilion,
With Demirep Venus then dance a cotillion;
Her Heſper and Veſper, you know their vocation,
They riſe and ſet juſt like the ſtate of the nation.
V.
But now to talk more like a two-legg'd terreſtrial,
Awhile we'll leave fancying this gallop celeſtial:
Suppoſe ſome dear girl her appointment was keeping,
And pat pat up ſtairs, you firſt heard her feet tripping.
VI.
Or when down the dark walk the ſilk gown comes ruſtling,
How each ſenſe is hurry'd, from head to heel buſtling;
Unbounded as mad expectation can fancy,
'Tis pleaſure's ſharp fury, Love's Extravaganzy.
VII.
We fill up our time, by full filling our glaſſes,
And jollily laughing with love-looking laſſes;
Our bumpers diſcharging, then charge to our wiſhes,
Preſent and give fire in volleys of kiſſes.
[49]VIII.
But we'll have no more now of Roundelays rattling,
Of chiming and rhiming, of tittling and tattling.
This ſinging or ſaying may pleaſe I don't doubt it;
But here's to that mouth who makes no words about it.
SONG XXV. TIME's DEFEAT.
Tune,—Cupid ſent on an Errand, &c.
I.
ONE evening, Good Humour, took Wit as his gueſt,
By Friendſhip invited to Gratitude's feaſt;
Their liquor was Claret, and Love was their hoſt,
Laugh, ſong, and droll Sentiment, garniſh'd each toaft.
II.
While Freedom and Fancy enlarg'd the deſign,
And dainties were furniſh'd by Love, Wit, and Wine,
Alarm'd, they all heard, at the door a loud knock,
A watchman hoarſe bawling, 'Twas paſt Twelve o'Clock.
III.
They nimbly ran down, the diſturbing dog found,
And up ſtairs they brought, the Impertinent, bound;
When dragg'd to the light, how much were they pleas'd
To ſee 'twas the Grey-glutton Time they had ſeiz'd.
IV.
His Glaſs as his Lanthorn, his Scythe as his Pole,
And his ſingle Lock dangled adown his ſmooth Skull;
My friends, quoth he, panting, I thought fit to knock,
And bid ye be gone, for 'tis paſt Twelve o'Clock.
[50]V.
Says the Venom'd-Tooth'd-Savage, on this advice fix,
Tho' Nature ſtrikes twelve, Folly ſtill points to ſix;
He longer had preach'd, but no longer they'd bear it,
So hurry'd him into a Hogſhead of Claret.
VI.
Wit obſerved it was right, while we're yet in our prime,
There is nothing like Claret for killing of Time;
Love, laughing reply'd, I am pleas'd from my heart,
He can't come and put us in mind we muſt part.
VII.
This intruder, rude Time, tho' a tyrant long known,
By Love, Wit and Wine can be only o'erthrown;
If hereafter he's wanted on any deſign,
He'll always be ſound in a Hogſhead of Wine.
VIII.
Since Time is confin'd to our Wine, let us think
By this rule we are ſure of our Time when we drink;
Henceforth, let our glaſſes with bumpers be prim'd,
We're certain our drinking muſt now be well tim'd.
SONG XXVI. THE BRITON.
Tune,—All you who wou'd wiſh to ſuceed with a Laſs.
I.
FROM the face of the Sun, ſee the Miſts diſappear,
Reſplendent his beams brighten Day;
The Highlands, the Trees, and the Hill-tops are clear,
'Tis the pride of the year, it is May.
[51]II.
The Hare ſtarts away, Puſs diſturb'd from her ſeat
Flies frighted, and doubles the Wold.
How plaintive the Sheep their loud echoes repeat,
Becauſe not yet free'd from the Fold.
III.
'Tis Liberty's language, the voice of the ſoul,
Throughout Air, upon Earth, in the Sea,
From us unto where the moſt diſtant Worlds roll,
What Animal wou'd not be free?
IV.
Let us live while we're free; but when Liberty wares
Life is but impriſoning breath;
As ſlaves ſhall we ſigh, or eſcape from our chains,
And follow our Freedom to death.
V.
We dare, even dying, our birthrights defend,
Our laſt ſhall be Liberty's call;
Like Sampſon, we'll nobly exiſtency end,
And our Tyrants o'erwhelm with our fall.
VI.
Good inbjects will Government ever obey,
Into Air toſs Malignity's tale;
But Honour forbid, Fraud ſhou'd e'er come in play,
And England be ſet up to ſale.
VII.
While Will, without Law, ſcourges Gallia's coaſt,
Let us, in our honeſty bold,
Firſt drink the KING's health,—then a'd to the toaſt,
May Engliſhmen ſcorn to be ſold.
SONG XXVII. THE TRIO.
[52]Tune — Ye Fair poſſeſs'd of ev'ry Charm.
I.
WIT, Love, and Reputation, walk'd
One ev'ning out of town,
They ſung, they laugh'd, they toy'd, they talk'd
'Till night came darkling on.
Love wilfull needs wou'd be their guide,
And ſmil'd at loſs of day,
On her the kindred pair rely'd,
And loſt with her their way.
II.
Damp fell the dew, the wind blew cold,
All bleak the barren moor.
Acroſs they toil'd, when Love, grown bold,
Knock'd loud at Labour's door.
Awhile within the reed-roof'd-cot
They ſtood, and ſtar'd at Care,
But long cou'd not endure the ſpot,
For Poverty was there.
III.
The Twain propos'd next morn to part,
And travel different ways;
Quoth Love, I ſoon ſhall find a Heart,
Wit went to look for Praiſe.
But Reputation, ſighing, ſpoke,
"Tis better we agree,
"Though Love may laugh, and Wit may joke,
"Yet friends take care of me.
[53]IV.
"Without me, Beauty wins no Heart,
"Without me Wit is vain;
"If headſtrong here with me you part,
"We ne'er can meet again.
"Of me you both ſhou'd take great care,
"And ſhun the rambling plan,
"No calling back, my friends, I'll bear,
"So keep me while you can."
V.
Love ſtopt among the village youth,
Expecting to be crown'd,
Enquiring for her brother Truth,
But Truth was never found.
She ſought in vain, for Love was blind,
And Hate her guidance croſt;
'Tis ſaid, ſince Truth ſhe cannot find,
That Love herſelf is loſt.
SONG XXVIII. THE END.
Tune,—The Fool who is wealthy is ſure of a Bride.
I.
PAPILIO the rich, in the hurry of love,
Reſolving to wed, to fair Arabell drove;
He made his propoſals, he begg'd ſhe wou'd fix,
What Maid cou'd ſay no to a new Coach-and-ſix?
[54]II.
We'll ſuppoſe they were wed, the gueſts bid, ſupper done,
The fond pair in bed, and the ſtocking was thrown.
The Bride lay expecting to what this wou'd tend,
Since created a wife, wiſh'd to know for what end.
III.
On the velvet peach oft, as the gaudy fly reſts,
The Bridegroom's lips ſtopp'd, on Love's pillows, her breaſts.
All amazement, impaſſive, the heart-heaving fair,
With a ſigh ſeem'd to prompt him, don't ſtay too long there,
IV.
Round her waiſt, and round ſuch a waiſt, circling his arms,
He raptures rehears'd on her unpoſſeſs'd charms.
Says the fair one, and gap'd, I hear all you pretend,
But now, for I'm ſleepy, pray come to an end.
V.
My love ne'er ſhall end, 'Squire Shadow reply'd,
But ſtill, unattempting, lay ſtretch'd at her ſide.
She made feints, as if ſomething ſhe meant to defend,
But found out, at laſt, it was all to no end.
VI.
In diſdain ſtarting up from the impotent boy,
She, ſighing, pronounc'd, there's an end of my joy.
Then reſolv'd this advice to her ſex ſhe wou'd ſend,
Ne'er to wed 'till they're ſure they can wed to ſome end.
VII.
And which end is that? why the end which prevails,
Ploughs, ſhips, birds, and fiſhes, are ſteer'd by their Tails,
And tho' man and wife for the Head may contend,
I'm ſure they're beſt pleas'd when they gain t'other end.
[55]VIII.
The end of our wiſhes, the end of our wives,
The end of our loves, and the end of our lives,
The end of conjunction 'twixt miſtreſs and male,
Tho' the Head may deſign, has its end in the tail.
IX.
'Tis time tho' to finiſh, if ought I intend,
Leſt, like a bad huſband, I come to no end:
The ending I mean is what none will think wrong,
And that is, to make now an end of my ſong.
SONG XXIX. CASTLES IN AIR.
Tune,—The Laſs who wou'd know how to manage a Man.
I.
IF I was a wit, like a wit I'd preſume,
But no Muſe beckon down from the ſky.
I had rather go up—ſo old Pindar the groom
Bring Pegaſas out and I'll fly.
II.
Take a leap from the land, gallop atmoſphere o'er,
The man in the moon how he'll ſtare!
When I ſtart for the pole, I'll go off upon ſcore,
And clear ev'ry Caſtle in Air.
III.
Thoſe caſtles are built by Dependancy's dreams,
Poor Vanity's bubble the baſe.
Pale promiſe-pin'd Hope, as the architect ſchemes,
They're furniſh'd by folks out of place.
[56]IV.
If the nod of a Courtier our cringing ſhou'd crown,
Or bit by a ſmile from the fair,
Self-conſequence ſwell'd, we diſdain to look down,
So look up to a Caſtle in Air.
V.
My country I'll ſerve, my conſtituents defend—
On their honour thus candidates ſwear.
But fix'd in their ſeat, wou'd you look for your friend
He is loſt in a Caſtle of Air.
VI.
What man in his ſenſes of puffs wou'd be proud,
Or covet the multitude's ſtare?
What uſe have the ſhouts of Venality's croud?
But erecting a Caſtle in Air.
VII.
As to Genius, or Learning, or Science;—ſuch names
Are frights to make fine breeding ſtare.
Diſſipation at preſent ſuch title diſclaims,
They're ſaid to be Caſtles in Air.
VIII.
Wiſe men from the Eaſt—you indeed ev'ry day
Can count out your orient glare.
Hark forward ye NIMRODS, a Nabob's your play,
A NABOB's no Caſtle in Air.
IX.
Till Death ſhall us part, I'll be conſtant I vow,
This, too oft, is the phraſe of the Fair,
But ſome Ladies minds are—one cannot tell how—
Not better—than Caſtles in Air.
[57]X.
Till Death!—How appalling muſt that ſentence be?
What looks then the proudeſt muſt wear?
When all the land left them, is ſix feet by three,
Their Caſtle—but out of the Air.
XI.
Too late they perceive, that they've time miſemploy'd
To be ſtar'd at, or only to ſtare;
That they've liv'd to their loſs, as each day was deſtroy'd
Erecting new Caſtles in Air.
XII.
The Grave—but too grave is not fit for our plan,
Which is neither to doat nor deſpair.
While we live, let us live, making life all we can.
Then a fig for each Caſtle in Air.
SONG XXX. REPENTANCE.
Tune,—In April when Primroſes paint the ſweet plain.
THE dictates of Nature prove ſchool know⯑ledge weak;
Does not Inſtinct beyond all the orators ſpeak?
From their parts of ſpeech we'll not borrow one part,
Our lips, without words, find the way to the heart.
II.
[...]hus as laſt night I ſung, with my laſs on my knee,
[...]ethought one below, hoarſe enquired for me;
[...]e liſten'd and heard him, his breathing ſeem'd ſcant,
[...]nd up ſtairs he ſtepp'd with aſthmatical pant.
[58]III.
The door op'ning wide, ſolus enter'd the ſprite,
Black and all black his dreſs, ſable emblem of Night.
His livid lips quiver'd, pronouncing my name,
And, head and ſtaff ſhaking, declar'd me to blame.
IV.
Repentance (quoth he) won't admit of delays,
I inſiſt, from this moment, you alter your ways.
As I ſtar'd at him, ſlily, my bottle I hid,
Then punct'ally promis'd to do as he bid.
V.
With unkerchief'd neck, ſparkling eyes, and looſe hair,
Her gown, ſingle pinn'd, burſt from cloſet my fair,
There ſhe fled when the fright firſt appeared in the room,
Then fell at his ſeet in the health of Love's bloom.
VI.
So graceful ſhe knelt, and ſo tender her tone,
Then ſhe ſent ſuch a look, Silver-beard was her own.
I ſaw his eyes twinkle, blood flatter'd his face,
He fondly, tho' feebly, eſſay'd an embrace.
VII.
I left them, and, juſt as I fancy'd, the churl
Made a ſtrengthleſs attempt to be rude with my girl.
She ſhriek'd, I ruſh'd in as he ſtrove to eſcape,
And the Watch took Repentance away for a rape.
VIII.
Ever ſince when we wanton in rapt'rous embrace,
The reproach-bearing-wretch dares not ſhew us his face
May each fond of each, thus enjoyment improve,
Be henceforth Repentance a ſtranger to Love.
SONG XXXI. ELIXIR L'ARGENT.
[59]Tune,—Pretty Peggy of Windſor.
I.
THO' with puffs daily papers are cramm'd, Sir,
With antidotes for ev'ry ail,
I'll ſhew a ſpecific not ſhamm'd, Sir,
A Noſtrum which never can fail.
The Drop and Pill
May heal or kill,
As Doctors on Doctors have done;
But ſnug and ſure,
To work a cure,
Apply th' Elixir l'Argent.
II.
For weak conſcience 'tis an Emetic;
A Reſtorative for a loſt fame;
If fear gravels you, this Di'retic
Diſcharges each ſymptom of ſhame.
Like Achilles from Styx,
No would will fix
When this Unguentum is on.
Nay, chuſe to anoint
Ev'n Juſtice's point,
'Tis blunt by Elixir l'Argent.
[60]III.
'Tis a Stiptic to ſtop maidens ſcruples,
An Opiate makes jealouſy reſt;
'Tis a Lecture where all men are pupils,
Art and ſcience without it a jeſt.
Be witty, be wiſe,
Win Learning's prize,
This Recipe want your're undone:
Merit vainly may ſtrive,
No genius can thrive,
But the genius who gets the l'Argent.
IV.
His Honour demurs to a hearing,
The Agent demurs to his plan,
The Witneſs demurs to his ſwearing,
And Madam demurs to her man;
Yet each ſick breaſt
Demurs digeſt,
Secundum artem they're gone,
When a Quantum ſuff.
Is took of the ſtuff,
Elixir nouveau de l'Argent.
V.
When ſickneſs voluptuouſneſs ſeizes,
The medical corps in array,
Sword by ſide take the field 'gainſt diſeaſes,
And, Swiſs-like, give battle for pay.
Not a word of Self,
Accepting the pelf,
That leſſon the learned ne'er con,
But ſaith we're flamm'd,
We might dye and be damn'd,
But for our Elixir l'Argent.
SONG XXXII. GAMING.
[61]Tune,—Ye Virgins of Britain who wiſely attend.
I.
LAST night I attended at Robinhood's Group,
Where five-minute-orators keep the thing up;
Where Politics, Phyſics, Wit, Humour, and Learning,
May hear things to wonder at paſt their diſcerning.
II.
Quoth a Speaker, applying a pinch to his noſe,
As ſlowly, like tragedy ghoſt, he aroſe,
The Methodiſt Preachers began our ſeduction,
And Gameſters and Gambling compleat our deſtruction.
III.
Young Knowell upſtarting, reply'd, with a ſneer,
"Mr. Preſident, really that gentleman's queer,
"He rails againſt Gameſters, yet, this may be ſaid,
"He wou'd have been one, but he wanted a head.
IV.
"And now I am up, and my minutes go on,
"That I prove him a fool, why, I'll hold two to one.
"Theſe fault-finders don't know the things they're abuſing,
"What's all's the world after, but winning and loſing?
V.
"I forgive all he knows, and I dare him to ſay,
"If he wou'd, or wou'd not have the beſt of the lay.
"Honeſt people I love, but I never heard yet,
"It was thought wrong to have the right ſide of a Bett.
[62]VI.
"Life's like Hazard-playing, we all wiſh to win,
"And he muſt have luck, to be ſure, who throws in.
"'Tis the ſtateſman who ſets, his friends nick their places,
"And thoſe 'gainſt the court are ſuppos'd to throw Aces.
VII.
"On the turf we perhaps may have Cunning's aſſiſtance,
"But Weſtminſter-hall gives Newmarket a diſtance.
"By croſſing and joſtling this land may be loſt,
"And Liberty run on the wrong ſide the Poſt.
VIII.
"I abjure each expreſſion wou'd hurt Ladies fame,
"But will they not all play the beſt of the game?
"To be ſure trade's a virtue, and gaming a vice,
"Yet fraudulent bankrupts are worſe than falſe dice.
IX.
"If our betters will play, and playfellows eſteem us,
"Cum Monitor ludit nos quoque ludemus,
"Don't blame him who wins, rather laugh at the loſer.
"We only take Fortune from thoſe who abuſe her.
X.
"If a Lord loves a Gameſter's life, is it abſurd
"For a Gameſter to take up the life of a Lord?
"Whether Lord, or what elſe, 'tis a matter of mirth,
"What ſignify's title, Sir, What are you worth?"
XI.
The hammer went down, Knowell ſilent became,
And henceforth we'll honour the beſt of the game.
So here goes a Main, here the Caſter muſt win,
We drink to the lucky, who hold longeſt in.
SONG XXXIII. THE JOLLY SOUL.
[63]Tune,—The Wine Vault.
I.
COME Liberty, damme boys, but we'll be free,
Tho' Care kill'd a cat, what care I?
I'll hold ſix to four, only ſay done to me,
Like a Soul I have liv'd, and I'll dye.
My brave boys.
II.
They ſent me to college, I didn't mind that,
To teach me to preach and to pray;
I woudn't be humm'd, I ſaw what they were at,
So my eye upon all they can ſay.
III.
As to pulpit palaver, why, that's all a flam,
No prieſtcraft ſhall e'er do for me.
I will, or I won't, a free agent I am,
And I'll only believe what I ſee.
IV.
May lovers of Claret, aye, Claret's the thing,
To drink it without any tax;
I don't mind the bother 'bout Subject and King,
But cuſtom-free that's all I ax.
V.
If Clergy, and Commons, and Lords will but join,
Our national debts to pay off,
And let us free Gratis have women and wine,
Why then we may do well enough.
[64]VI.
In half-pints the Parla'ment-houſe then I'll toaſt,
And GEORGE too, upon my bare knee;
I don't care which ſide, nor if none rule the roaſt,
So I've but my fun and am free.
VII.
But now they're ſad times, for our freedom is gone,
Since we to bumbailiffs ſubmit;
Bill o' Rights! damn all bills, for the nation's undone
By that General Warrant, a Writ.
VIII.
We muſt be made ſlaves if they don't put a ſtop
To Lawyers, the Juſtice, and all;
For if in Old England we don't keep it up,
Why then, to be ſure, it muſt fall.
IX.
When I dye—but that's queer—and to think on't is dull,
So as to this here, or that there,
Let me go where I will, if my bottle is full,
And I get but a girl, I don't care.
X.
If Maſter Death thruſts himſelf into my room,
They tell me, he always makes free,
I'll try if I can't tip old Boney a hum,
If not, why, may-hap he hums me.
XI.
As I told you before, I'm reſolv'd not to think,
So I cannot a Sentiment give,
However, my Souls, while we live let us drink,
Becauſe while we're drinking we live,
My brave boys.
SONG XXXIV. TO-DAY AND TO-NIGHT.
[65]Tune,—What a Blockhead is he who's afraid to dye poor.
I.
RUBY-FINGER'D Aurora, fair Lady of Light,
From ſaffron robes ſhaking the laſt ſhade of Night,
Call'd Phoebus, who bleſs'd with his ſea beauty's boon,
Slow awoke, Thetis vow'd, 'twas immenſely too ſoon.
II.
Above the horizon his beams, circling, ſpread
The grey dappled clouds, fring'd tranſparent with red.
The breezy air rich with the perfumes of May,
While birds on the boughs chirp'd and ſung in the day.
III.
Shall man, moſt oblig'd, offer leſs to that pow'r
By whom he's endow'd, to enjoy ev'ry hour?
Yes,—pride-born Ingratitude never will pay
The thanks which are due for the gift of To-day
IV.
No,—To-morrow's the thing; To-morrow! Sloth cries—
To-morrow's the ſhadow which ev'ry day flies.
Death Yeſterday call'd in his fools—and, To-day,
'Tis not ſix to four but we're had the ſame way.
V.
We muſt laugh when we look on Time-killers's diſtreſs,
Who dreſs, dine, and daudle—dine, daudle, and dreſs.
In one ſenſeleſs ſaunter dream Day and Night thro',
In nothing to ſay, and—in nothing to do.
[66]VI.
As for thinking To-day, 'tis abſurd to begin:
A head fine frizzur'd wants no finiſh within.
To-morrow's the wild-gooſe at which they take aim,
A mouthful of moonſhine they get for their game.
VII.
Let us, lads, depend on Life's plain-dealing plan,
Not kill Time, but keep all alive while we can.
Day and Night too, our welcome to Beauty we'll pay,
Love equal expects both good Night and good Day.
VIII.
To Night be my ſong then,—I honour its ſhades;
Fall fertile ye vapours, make Mothers of Maids.
To the end of each Day be our doings upright,
May all do the beſt thing they can do To-night.
SONG XXXV. TO DRINK.
Tune,—Guildford Stile.
I.
WHEN Prudence declaims how time paſſes,
Cou'd we tempt Mr. Chronos to ſtay,
While we're bump'ring a round of our laſſes,
We wou'd wait upon all he cou'd ſay.
But is it worth while
Through books to toil,
In troubling our heads how to think?
Thought ne'er was deſign'd
To puzzle the mind,
Let us only mind how we drink.
[67]II.
There was Solomon one of the wiſe things
When paſt it, began to complain:
He affected at laſt to deſpiſe things
Becauſe his was labour in vain;
But uſed to ſay,
There's time to play,
To labour, to love, and to think;
Let thoſe in their prime
Remember the time,
At preſent 'tis time we ſhou'd drink.
III.
A pox on Reflection, be jolly,
Diſpaſſionate Cynics deſpiſe,
Did you once know the raptures of folly,
You never wou'd wiſh to be wiſe.
I ſcorn the plans
Sobriety ſcans,
From bumpers I never will ſhrink;
By the buſy in trade
Be Cent per Cent. made,
'Tis Cent. per Cent. better to drink.
SONG XXXVI. KISSING.
Tune, — In purſuit of ſome Lambs from my Flocks that had ſtray'd.
YE delicate lovelies, with leave, I maintain
That happineſs here you may find.
To yourſelves I appeal for Felicity's reign
When you meet with a man to your mind.
[68]II.
When Gratitude Friendſhip to Fondneſs unites,
Inexpreſſive endearments ariſe:
Then hopes, fears, and fancies, ſtrange doubts, and delights,
Are announc'd by thoſe tell tales, the eyes.
III.
Thoſe technical terms, in the ſcience of Love,
Cold ſchoolmen attempt to deſcribe,
But how ſhould they paint what they never can prove?
For Tenderneſs knows not their tribe.
IV.
Of all the abuſe on enjoyment that's thrown,
The treatment Love takes moſt amiſs,
Is the rant of the coxcomb, the ſot, and the clown,
Who pretend to indulge on a Kiſs.
V.
The love of a fribble at ſelf only aims:
For ſots and clowns—claſs them with beaſts.
No fibre, no atom, have they in their frames,
To reliſh ſuch delicate feaſts.
VI.
In circling embraces, when lips to lips move,
Deſcription, oh! teach me to praiſe
The Overture KISS to th' Op'ra of Love—
But Beauty wou'd laugh at the phraſe.
VII.
Love's preludes are Kiſſes, and, after the play,
They fill up the pauſe of delight.
The rich repetitions, which never decay,
The Lip's ſilent language at night.
[69]VIII.
The raptures of KISSING we only can taſte,
When ſympathies equal inſpire;
And while to enjoyment, unbounded, we haſte,
Their breath blows the coals of deſire.
IX.
Again, and again, and again Beauty ſips;
What feelings theſe preſſures excite?
When fleeting life's ſtopp'd by a Kiſs of the lips,
Then ſinks in a ſigh of delight.
MORAL.
Whilſt our glaſſes we kiſs, and we frolick at eaſe,
Of Happineſs ne'er may we miſs;
May we live as we liſt, may we kiſs whom we pleaſe,
And may we ſtill pleaſe whom we kiſs.
SONG XXXVII. BARTLEME FAIR.
Tune,—Young Strephon he went t'other day to the Wake.
I.
WHILE gentlefolks ſtrut in their ſilver and ſattins,
We poor folks are tramping in ſtraw hats and pattens,
As merrily Old Engliſh ballads can ſing—o,
As they at their opperores outlandiſh ling—o;
Calling out, bravo, encoro, and caro,
Tho'f I will ſing nothing but Bartleme Fair—o.
[70]II.
Here firſt of all, crowds againſt other crowds driving,
Like wind and tide meeting, each contrary ſtriving;
Here's fiddling and fluting, and ſhouting and ſhrieking,
Fifes, trumpets, drums, bag-pipes, and barrow-girls ſqueaking.
My rare round and ſound, here's choice of fine ware—o,
Tho' all is not ſound ſold at Barleme Fair—o.
III.
Here are drolls, hornpipe dancing, and ſhewing of poſtures;
Plum-porridge, black-puddings, and op'ning of oyſters;
The tap-houſe gueſts ſwearing, and gall'ry folks ſquawling,
With ſalt-boxes, ſolos, and mouth-pieces bawling;
Pimps, pick-pockets, ſtrollers, fat landladies, ſailors,
Bawds, baileys, jilts, jockies, thieves, tumblers, and taylors.
IV.
Here's Punch's whole play of the gunpowder-plot, Sir,
Wild beaſts all alive, and peaſe-porridge hot, Sir:
Fine ſauſages fry'd, and the Black on the wire;
The whole court of France, and nice pig at the fire.
The ups-and-downs, who'll take a ſeat in the chair—o,
There are more ups and downs that at Bartleme Fair-o.
V.
Here's Whittington's cat, and the tall dromedary,
The chaiſe without horſes, and Queen of Hungary;
The merry-go-rounds, come who rides, come who rides;
Wine, beer, ale, and cakes, fire-eating beſides;
The fam'd learned dog that can tell all his letters,
And ſome men, as ſcholars, are not much his betters.
[71]VI.
This world's a wide fair, where we ramble 'mong gay things;
Our paſſions, like children, are tempted by play-things;
By ſound and by ſhew, by traſh and by trumpery,
The fal-lals of faſhion, and Frenchify'd frumpery.
Life is but a droll, rather wretched than rare—o,
And thus ends the ballad of Bartleme Fair—o.
SONG XXXVIII. RURAL FELICITY.
Tune,—On Market-day laſt, I remember the time.
I.
LET court lovers pay adoration to crowns,
That man is a monarch for me,
Who chearful improves the few acres he owns,
Unenvying, induſtrious, and free.
II.
At night, in high health, from his labour he reſts,
His houſhold ſit round in a row,
Wife, children, and ſervants, domeſtical gueſts,
Such circles in town can ye ſhew?
III.
He ſmiles on his babes, as ſome ſtrive for his knee,
And ſome to their mother's neck clung,
While playful the prattlers for place diſagree,
The roof with their ſhrill trebles ring.
[72]IV.
Thoſe Cynics who brood o'er a ſingle life's ſpleen,
The offspring they have dare not own,
But happy-wed pairs can enjoy the fond ſcene
To you ye unſocials unknown.
V.
His dame the good man of the houſe thus addreſs'd:—
'Twas ſo with us when we were young.
Her hand within his he with gentleneſs preſs'd,
While ſentiment prompted his tongue.
VI.
I remember the day of my falling in love,
How fearful I firſt came to woo;
I hope that theſe boys will as true-hearted prove,
And our laſſes, my dear, look like you.
VII.
A tear of joy ſtarting, he kiſs'd from her cheek,
Love gratefully glowing her face,
Too full her fond heart, not a word cou'd ſhe ſpeak,
But, ſighing, return'd his embrace.
VIII.
'Tis by ſuch endearments affection is ſhewn,
In ſilence more nobly expreſs'd,
Than all the cant phraſe, the Bon Ton of the town,
Where Love is a Monmouth-ſtreet gueſt.
IX.
Go on ye high births, and pretend to deſpiſe
Thoſe ſcenes which to you are unknown;
But laugh not too long, rather aim to be wiſe,
And compare ſuch a life with your own.
[73]X.
Vain jeſters be mute, I'll a Sentiment give,
A Toaſt which eſteem will not ſcorn;
May they who can taſte them, Love's kiſſes receive,
And Tenderneſs meet a return.
SONG XXXIX. THE TOPER.
Tune, — Shanbuy.
YE lads of true ſpirit pay courtſhip to Claret,
Releaſed from the trouble of thinking;
A fool long ago ſaid, we nothing cou'd know,—
The fellow knew nothing of drinking.
To pore over Plato,
Or practice with Cato,
Diſpaſſionates, dunces might make us;
But men now more wiſe,
Self-denial deſpiſe,
And live by the leſſons of Bacchus.
II.
Big wigg'd, in fine coach, ſee the Doctor approach,
And ſolemnly up the ſtairs pace,
Gravely ſmell on his cane, apply finger to vein,
And count the repeats with grimaces.
As he holds pen in hand,
Life and Death's at a ſtand,
A toſs-up which party will take us;
Away with his cant,
No preſcription we want,
But the nouriſhing noſtrums of Bacchus.
[74]III.
We jollily join in the practice of Wine,
While miſers 'midſt millions are pining;
While ladies are ſcorning, and lovers are mourning,
We laugh at wealth, wenching and whining.
Drink, drink, now 'tis prime,
Toſs a bottle to Time,
He'll not make ſuch haſte to o'ertake us;
His threats we prevent,
And his cracks we cement,
By the ſtyptical Balſam of Bacchus.
IV.
What work there is made, by the news-paper trade,
Of this man and t'other man's ſtation;
The Ins are all bad, and the Outs are all mad,
In and Out is the cry of the nation.
The politic patter,
Which both parties chatter,
From bumpering freely ſhan't ſhake us;
With half-pints in hand,
Independent we'll ſtand,
To defend Magna Charta of Bacchus.
V.
Be your motion well tim'd, you're charg'd and you're prim'd,
Have a care!—Right and left, and make ready—
Right hand to glaſs join—at lips reſt the wine—
But be in your exerciſe ſteady.
[75]Our levels we boaſt,
When our women we toaſt,
May graciouſly they undertake us;
No more we deſire,
So drink and give fire,
And volley to BEAUTY and BACCHUS.
SONG XL. THE TIMES.
Tune, — Once on a time, 'twas long ago.
I.
GOOD people all, both great and ſmall,
And eke, and aye, and alſo;
Pray lend an ear, and you ſhall hear,
And then I need not bawl ſo.
There was a Time, when Times were good,
The antient Bard in rhime ſings;
So uſe Time well, 'tis Time we ſhould,
We ſhould ſo, did we time things.
II.
But out of Time, and out of Tune,
We helter ſkelter go forth;
Sometimes too late, ſometimes too ſoon,
Good lack-a-day, and ſo forth.
We give great folks the greateſt crimes,
They can afford to father 'em,
But ſo impartial are the Times,
We're guilty, omnium gatherum.
[76]III.
Fox-hunting, boldly Bucks embrace,
But Sportſmen of diſcernment,
Abroad will chuſe a Nabob's Chace,
Or hunt at home Preferment.
To hunt the Stateſman, who's in play,
When Patriots caſt-about Sir,
A Penſion ſtops the Hark-away,
And ſo the Field's flung out Sir.
IV.
In ſuch place-tempting Times as theſe,
Upright be our intentions;
Ill fare the Loon who firſt took Fees,
And Him who firſt paid Penſions.
Yet Sine-cures we'll not abuſe,
Nor their illuſt [...]ious Givers,
We quarrel now, 'cauſe we can't chuſe
Who ſhou'd be the Receivers.
V.
Dear Engliſhmen and Country-folks,
Don't give yourſelves uneas'neſs,
Nor mind the flouts, the ſhouts, the jokes,
But only mind your bus'neſs.
Wou [...]d one mind one, the Kingdom thro',
And work within his ſtation,
At h [...]me h [...]'ll find enough to do,
And not undo the Nation.
[77]VI.
So to conclude, and make an end,
Of this nice-diction'd ditty,
Indeed 'tis Time, the Times ſhou'd mend,
In Country, Court, and City.
For our good Queen our ſong we'll ſing,—
May ſhe ne'er wake nor ſleep ill;
And next, my lads,—God bleſs the King,
And all his faithful people.
SONG XLI. AD INFINITUM.
Tune, — Which nobody can deny.
I.
SINCE Life's but a jeſt, let us follow this rule,
There's nothing ſo pleaſant as playing the Fool;
In town we may practice, as well as at ſchool,
Which nobody can deny.
II.
The World turns about, the ſame things o'er and o'er;
We fool it; our forefathers fool'd it before:
They did what we do, which our ſons will encore.
III.
Life's but a half holiday, lent us to ſtare;
We wander, and wonder, in Vanity's fair;
All baby-like bawling for each bauble there.
[78]IV.
If Denial ſhou'd follow a Lover's requeſt,
Like a tooth-cutting child he's a troubleſome gueſt,
Till the chit by his deary is huſh'd to her breaſt.
V.
When Diſcontents dare againſt Court-ſervice riot,
The Miniſter, nurſe-like, prepares proper diet;
They've Penſions for Pap, then the urchins are quiet.
VI.
We, Children-like, covet the glitter of gay things,
Make racquet for ribbonds, and ſuch ſort of play-things;
Which we cannot have tho'—without we can ſay things.
VII.
But before we can ſay, we ſhou'd ſee how things go,
If the Market is high, or Majority low,
Then, juſt at the ſelling-price, give Yes, or No.
VIII.
We take, or are all in our turns taken in;
The World, to be ſure, 'tis a ſhame and a ſin,
Might ſoon be much better,—but who will begin.
IX.
Each age has its folly, ours is diſſipation,
Enfeebling—but why all this dull declamation?
If weaken'd, we'll drink to the Strength of the Nation.
X.
Allowing things wrong, Sir, which way ſhall we right 'em?
'Tis Taſte to hear good things, 'tis taſty to ſlight 'em:
It was, is, and will be ſo, ad Infinitum.
Which nobody can deny.
SONG XLII. THE RAREE SHEW.
[79]Tune,—Now we're free from College Rules.
I.
THE Town's a Raree-Shew, ſome ſay,
A rare Shew for projectors:
What pity 'tis, we ſpoil the play
For want of better Actors.
But ſometimes in, and ſometimes out,
'Tis ſo upon all ſtages;
Folks will not mind what they're about,
But only mind the Wages.
II.
Among the imitative arts,
Chief is an Actor's ſcience;
Expreſſive Heads, and feeling Hearts,
With Nature form alliance.
Behind the ſcenes, tho' Party rage,
Caprice, and Adulation,
With Slander—but we know the Stage
Shou'd repreſent the Nation.
III.
A Repreſentative indeed!—
As Players make believe, Sir,
In this World's Drama, to ſucceed,
'Tis as you can deceive, Sir.
[80]You may be caught, by face or dreſs,
Before you come to know folks;
But then the Counterfeits confeſs,
They're all—but only Shew-Folks.
IV.
Moſt aim great Characters to hit,
Pride ſpouts as Public Spirit,
Pert Dullneſs is miſtook for Wit,
And Silenee want of Merit.
Some ſtudy the Informer's arts,
Then Power their ſide eſpouſes;
Some play the Pimps, and Flatterers parts,
In hopes to have full houſes.
V.
We title this ſame Droll we ſhew,
The Humours of the Nation —
Extremely high, extremely low,
Endemic Diſſipation.
The World!—What by that word we mean,
Is ſelf and ſelf's diſguiſes;
A buſy, lazy, Lottery Scene,
Where Folly fills up Prizes.
VI.
Whate'er we think, whate'er we ſay,
Whate'er we are purſuing,
Is o'er and o'er the ſelf-ſame play
Of doing and undoing.
Life's vegetation ripes and rots,
'Till duſt to duſt returning;
So let us ſprinkle well our ſpots
And drink from Night to Morning.
SONG XLIII. THE CONNOISSEUR.
[81]Tune,—Maſks all.
TO excel in Bon Ton both as Genius and Critic,
And be quite the thing, Sir, Immenſe Scientific;
On all exhibitions give ſentence by gueſs,
With ſhrugs and ſtolen phraſes that ſentence expreſs.
Sing tantararara Taſte all.
II.
The money you ſquander your judgement confirms,
You need not know Science, repeat but the terms.
The labour of Learning belongs to the poor,
Do but pay—that's enough for a True Connoiſſeur.
III.
As to Shakeſpeare, or Purcell, why you may allow
They were well-enough once—but they will not do now.
Admit Newton's clever, juſt clever,—that's all;
And formerly, faith, we might fancy White-hall.
IV.
When Lord of the Feaſt, 'midſt your Paraſite Group,
You're the ſlave of Conceit, and low Forgery's dupe.
All artiſts (but Engliſh ones) praiſe and procure,
By your band of Bear-leaders you're dubb'd Connoiſſeur.
V.
For Words, when you're loſt, fill the blank with Grimace,
And Pantomime Scorn by your power of Face.
If Merit dares ſpeak, and he's known to be poor,
Knock him down with a Bett, then your triumph's ſecure.
[82]VI.
With high-varniſh'd maſters, and bronz'd buſtos grac'd,
Your houſe, like a toy-ſhop, is lumber'd in Taſte.
All, all are Antiques, Ciceroni procures,
For who dares deceive ſuch compleat Connoiſſeurs?
VII.
The Worth of a man, ſay the Wiſe, is his Pence:
'Twas ſaid ſo, and ſo it will centuries hence.
Then Money's the thing; the Grand Pimp that procures,
Full work for the Wits, when ſhe forms Connoiſſeurs.
Sing tantararara Taſte all.
SONG XLIV. HERE GOES.
Tune,—To ſigh or complain.
I.
COME care-curing Mirth
From Wit's bower forth,
Bring Humour, your brother, along,
Hoſpitality's here,
And Harmony near,
To chorus droll Sentiment's ſong.
II.
In Comedy trim,
Joke, Geſture, and Whim,
With Trios will keep up the ball;
By order of Taſte
We open the feaſt
Of Friendſhip in Liberty-hall.
[83]III.
Who'll Preſident be?
Unanimity, ſee
He's order'd to ſit as our hoſt;
My Lord Common Senſe,
With pains and expence,
Introduc'd him to give out the toaſt.
IV.
Tho' Scandal we hate,
Only Good we hold great,
Nor any for Title's-ſake praiſe;
Unworthy's that name,
No Merit can claim,
But what Genealogies raiſe.
V.
In this Anno Dom. we
Wou'd Felicity ſee,
I'll demonſtrate how eaſy we cou'd:
Change fault-finding elves
To mending ourſelves,
Then things might ſoon be as they ſhou'd.
VI.
Some Wives read their mates
Curtain-Lecture debates,
And wonder they're not underſtood;
The Huſband's perplex'd,
And the Lady is vex'd,
'Cauſe every thing's not as it ſhou'd.
[84]VII.
If Penſion, or Place,
Is the gift of His Grace,
Refuſal wou'd be over-nice,
Plumb-pudding on board,
And preſs'd by my Lord,
Who wou'd not come in for a ſlice?
VIII.
Corruption's the cry,
Oppoſition runs high,
Yet who can help laughing to ſee,
Tho' Faction's ſo big
Ambo Tory and Whig,
In one part both Parties agree.
IX.
For the Kingdom of Man,
Diviſion's the plan.
By the laws of the Cyprian Court,
The Ladies muſt yield,
When our Standard we weild,
And what we advance they ſupport.
X.
For a Bumper I call,—
Here's the Sov'reign of All,
The Spring from which all honour flows,
From thence we all came,
So we go to that ſame,
Here's to it, and to it, Here goes.
SONG XLV. DICK AND DOLL.
[85]Tune,—I'm like a Skiff on the Ocean toſs'd.
I.
AS one bright ſummer's ſultry day,
For ſake of ſhade I ſought the grove;
Thro' thickſet-hedge, on top of hay,
I met with mutual Love:
A Youth with one arm round his pretty Girl's waiſt,
On ſmall ſwelling breaſts he his other hand plac'd.
While ſhe cry'd Dick be ſtill,
Pray tell me what's your will?
II.
"I come (quoth Dick) to have ſome chat,"
And cloſe to hers, his lips he ſqueez'd;
"I gueſs (cries Doll) what you'd be at,
"But now I won't be teaz'd."
She ſtrove to riſe up, but his ſtrength held her down,
She call'd out for help! and petition'd the Clown,
"O Dick, dear, let me riſe,
"The Sun puts out my eyes.
III.
"I'll tear your ſoul out!—Lord! theſe men,
"If ever—well—I won't ſubmit.—
"Why? what? the Devil!—Curſe me then!—
"You'll fling me in a fit."
Down, like a bent lily, her head dropp'd aſlant,
Her eyes loſt the day-light, her breath became ſcant,
And, feebly, on her tongue
Expiring accents hung.
[86]IV.
The chorus birds ſung o'er their heads,
The breeze blew ruſtling thro' the grove,
Sweet ſmelt the hay, on new-mown meads,
All ſeem'd the ſcene of Love.
Dick offer'd to lift up the Laſs as ſhe lay,
A look, full of tenderneſs, told him to ſtay;
"So ſoon Dick will you go?
"I wiſh—dear me!—heigh ho!"
V.
Vibrating with heart-heaving ſighs,
Her tucker trembling to and fro',
Her crimſon'd cheeks, her gliſt'ning eyes,
Proclaim'd Poſſeſſion's glow.
Dick bid her farewell, but ſhe, languiſhing, cry'd,
As wanton ſhe play'd by her fall'n Shepherd's ſide;
"A moment! pray ſit ſtill,
"Since now you've had your will."
VI.
"Lord! (cries the Girl) you haſty men,
"Of Love afford but one poor proof;
"Our Fowls at home, each Sparrow Hen,
"Is ten times better off.—
"No! that you ſhou'd not, had I known your deſign,
"But, ſince you've had your will, pray let me have mine;
"So, once more, e'er we riſe,
"Do, dear Dick, ſave my eyes."
SONG XLVI. A SIMPLE PASTORAL
[87]To a very ſimple Tune of — Chriſtmas now is coming.
I.
AURORA, Lady grey,
Hides her face in bluſhes;
Budding, blanching May,
Whitens hawthorn buſhes.
II.
See the Clouds tranſparent,
See the Sunſhine riſing;
London Rakes, I warrant,
Wou'd think this ſurprizing.
III.
See the Sturdy Swains,
Trenching-ploughs are holding;
Some on pebbly plains,
Laſt night's pens unfolding.
IV.
How the Swine-yards woo?
How the Herds are lowing?
While the Pigeons coo,
Barn-door fowls are crowing.
V.
Here are Flora's dreſſings,
Air-fill'd perfume here is,
Here Pomona's bleſſings,
Here the gifts of Ceres.
[88]VI.
Hark! the tinkling Rills,
And the bubbling Fountains;
Caſcade o'er the hills,
Tumble down the mountains.
VII.
See! at welcome Wakes,
Shew-folks Fire-eating;
While, with Ale and Cakes,
Jack his Gill is treating.
VIII.
Hark! the diſtant Drum,
Laſſes all look frighted;
But, when Soldiers come,
Girls how you're delighted.
IX.
Night her ſhutters cloſing,
All the Village ſtill is,
Save where, unrepoſing,
Captain calls on Phillis.
X.
While ſhe lets her Spark in,
Shooting Stars are ſailing,
Farmer's Dogs are barking,
Comets dreadful trailing.
XI.
For to Scholars thinking,
Omens muſt be telling;
Whether worlds are ſinking,
Or if waiſts are ſwelling.
[89]XII.
But, my Lads and Laſſes,
Mind a friend's adviſings,
Let us fill our glaſſes
To our Falls and Riſings.
SONG XLVII. THE CABAL.
Tune, — Long time with the Graces fair Venus, &c.
I.
WHY ſhou'd you, lov'd Senſible, ſhou'd you be pale,
The portrait of Grief you appear;
You look like yon' Lily that droops in the vale,
With my lips let me wipe off that tear.
II.
Diſdain a reply to Malignity's tongue,
Let Patience to Clamour ſubmit;
It is better that Slander ſhou'd ſay you was wrong,
Than that you the wrong ſhou'd commit.
III.
The Atheiſt, if really ſuch madmen exiſt,
Belief will delirious decry,
In Infidel Doubtings pretend to perſiſt,
What they cannot conceive they deny.
[90]IV.
Thus ſome of your ſex, old and ugly, will rail,
Like Atheiſts all goodneſs they doubt,
Inſiſting men may o'er all beauties prevail,
Becauſe themſelves could not hold out.
V.
You muſt pardon the cry, think not ſtrange what I ſay,
They Mercy from you muſt receive;
Be it known to your tenderneſs, 'tis the world's way,
Who injure will never forgive.
VI.
Smile, ſmile, and ſmile on, let Day beam on your face,
To Oblivion be Obloquy hurl'd;
By the beſt you're belov'd, thou fair figure of Grace,
So laugh at the reſt of the world.
SONG XLVIII. THE QUESTION.
Tun [...],—To pleaſe me the more, and to change the dull ſcene.
I.
SUPPOSE Twelve has ſtruck, wherefore pray all this fuſs?
Next time 'twill ſtrike leſs, what are Hours to us?
Let the Sun rule the day, and the Moon mark the night;
Without Rules, or Schools, ſure we know when we're right.
[91]II.
The Inf'rence from hence which I draw, but firſt drink,
A Bumper's the beſt preparation to think:
I infer, nay affirm, and with me you muſt join,
Life's not Life without Love, Love's not Love without Wine.
III.
This Truth I'll maintain, thus maintaining my poſt,
And give in this bumper a Truth for my toaſt.—
I'm ſure to be pledg'd by each Laſs-loving Youth,
Here's a Bruſher, my Bucks, to the fam'd naked Truth.
IV.
At firſt we are into this world pull'd and teaz'd;
At our getting, Papa and Mama may be pleas'd;
But as to us Babes, Nature' multiplication,
Begot for diverſion, we're born in vexation.
V.
We are Fools in green youth, mankind ripe into Knaves,
Grey hairs turn to Money, or Miſtreſſes Slaves;
To our burial from birth, paſſive objects of Fear,
Keep the door ſhut, and don't let that Scrub ſlip in here.
VI.
Let Ill-will abuſe us, Hypocriſy bawl,
Vain-zeal the cry join, we join laugh 'gainſt them all.
Self-denial may ſermonize, Temperance teaze,
We live as we like—let them live as they pleaſe.
[92]VII.
Our Voyage is Pleaſure, Hope hoiſts up the Sail,
Our Pilot is Inſtinct, Deſire the Gale;
To Beauty we're bound, we've Bacchus on board,
Our Guns by Love loaded, Enjoyment's the Word.
SONG XLIX. THE SONGSTER's HORN-BOOK.
Tune,—Ally Croker.
I.
GREAT A was alarm'd at B's bad behav'our,
Becauſe he refus'd C, D, E, F, favour,
G, got a Huſband, with H, I, K, and L,
M, marry'd Mary and ſcholars taught to ſpell.
A b c d e f g h i k l m, &c.
II.
It went hard at firſt with N, O, P, and Q,
With R, S, T, ſingle and alſo double U.
With X and Y it ſtuck in their gizzards,
'Till they were made friends by the Two crooked Izzards.
III.
This A, B, C, tho' ſo little it is thought about,
Each Change in the World, by its power has brought about;
'Tis the ground-work of Wiſdom, of Science the key, Sir,
What can a man know, who don't know A B C? Sir,
[93]IV.
Some Fiddlers, in dreſs, pretend to ape their betters,
They had better mind their Horn-book and ſtudy all their letters;
Their Knowledge now no farther goes, from A B C, Sir,
To the four more letters call'd, D, E, F, and G, Sir.
V.
As to Words 'tis not worth while to mind their preciſion,
If we thro' the Gamut can run a diviſion;
The Annals of England, to our ſhame, will tell ye,
That Newton was nothing to fine Farinelli.
VI.
How raviſhing that ſwell! what ſweet Symphonina?
What Cantabilis? what Taſte? Ah cara divina!
O chi guſto the voice of Signior Suſtinuti,
Miltonic the language of Tace titti tutti.
VII.
As inſects will cluſter round pots full of honey,
Imported illiberals ſwarm for our money.
Senſe is ſcar'd off by Sound, and Traſh over Taſte glories,
Only Shew 'tis ſucceeds now, O Tempora, O Mores!
VIII.
This A B C excuſe without Ceremoni,
My hoarſe voice and harmony is not Uniſoni.
If you cenſure my ſinging, for cenſure is free, Sir,
As a Songſter, remember, I'm but in A B C, Sir.
A b c d e f g h i k l m, &c.
SONG L. COMMON SENSE.
[94]Tune,—One morning young Roger accoſted me thus.
I.
ONE night having nothing to do—nor to drink,
I began a new practice, and that was to think;
What my ſubject ſhou'd be, kept me ſome time in doubt,
I conſider'd, at laſt—what we all were about.
II.
Such frauds and ſuch fractions, ſuch follies, ſuch fictions,
Such out-of-door clamours, and in contradictions;
What muſt this be owing to? why? or from whence?
What is it we want?—why, we want Common Senſe.
III.
O yes! who can tell us where Common Senſe dwells?
Does it burniſh Gold Roofs, or ſtrew Ruſhes in Cells?
Does it beam in the Mine? does it ſwim in the Sea?
Does it wing the wide Air? does it bloſſom the Tree?
IV.
If folks wou'd accept Common Senſe as their gueſt,
With Meum and Tuum at home they'll be bleſs'd.
Not Lunatic Lacqueys run mad up and down,
Nor mind any buſineſs but what was their own.
V.
But which is the way to find Common Senſe out?
She feaſts not on Turtle;—cuts in at no rout?—
Get the Tub Cynic's lanthorn, we won't mind expence,
But look by its light, 'till we ſpy Common Senſe.
[95]VI.
If chance ſhe is ſeen, tho' for fear we miſtake her,
She's natively neat, like a lovely young Quaker.
Pure Beauty, deſpiſing falſe Drapery's aid,
And Common Senſe ſcorns all pedantic parade.
VII.
Let us firſt call at Court, but, perhaps, we intrude,
'Twas told ſo by Miſs Affectation, the Prude;
There Faſhion forbids the free uſe of the mind,
What can Common Senſe ſay in a place ſo refin'd?
VIII.
Then at Church! to be ſure, Common Senſe there ſucceeds,
Unleſs Superſtition ſhould choak it with weeds;
And tho' Infidelity dares a pretence,
She's eaſily vanquiſh'd by plain Common Senſe.
IX.
When I mention'd the Church, you expected at leaſt,
In the common-place mode, ſome ſtale joke 'gainſt a Prieſt;
That a laugh I ſhou'd raiſe, at the Clergy's expence,
But he who wou'd wiſh it, muſt want Common Senſe.
X.
As to Trade, no accounts can be well kept without her,
Yet Stock-jobbers ſay they know nothing about her.
Bear witneſs 'Change-Alley—the Omniums declare,
Common Senſe ſhall for ever be under Par there.
[96]XI.
Come, I'll give you a Toaſt, if I give no offence—
Here's the Senſitive Plant, and the Root Common Senſe.
Here's Love's Magic Circle, which all Senſes binds,
And Delicate Pleaſures to Senſible Minds.
SONG LI. A FORE-CASTLE SONG.
Tune,—How happy cou'd I be with either.
I.
DO you ſee, as a Sailor, I'll heave off
A bit of a ſong in my way,
But, if you don't like it I'll leave off,
I ſoon can my bawling belay.
Odd Lingos Muſicianers write in,
Concerning Flats, Sharps, and all that;
We Seamen are ſharp in our fighting,
And as to the Frenchmen they're flat.
II.
Outlandiſh folks tickle your ears
With Solos, and ſuch ſort of ſtuff,
We Tars have no more than Three Cheers,
Which French folks think muſic enough.
Through Canada loudly 'twas rung,
Then echoed on Senegal's ſhore,
At Gaudaloupe merrily ſung,
And Martinique chorus'd Encore.
[97]III.
At Havre we play'd well our parts,
Tho' our Game they pretended to ſcoff,
For Trumps we turn'd up Engliſh Hearts,
They threw down their Cards and ſheer'd off.
They have met with their match now they feel,
Their Shuffling and Cutting we check;
They were lurch'â at Crown Point, and loſt Deal,
And faith they got ſlamm'd at Quebec.
IV.
Our Muſic gave French folks the vapours,
It took an odd turn on Conflans;
We knew they were all fond of Capers,
So ſet up an old Engliſh Dance.
'Twas Britons ſtrike home that we ſounded,
By the ſtrength of that tune they were trounc'd,
The Tididols looking confounded,
While Hawke faith their feather-heads pounc'd.
V.
Our inſtruments always do wonders,
From Round-tops we give ſerenades;
Our Organs are twenty-four pounders,
Our Concerts are briſk Cannonades.
For Cooks, thof the French folks are neater,
Our meſſes they never can beat,
Our Diſhes have ſo much Salt-petre,
And as to our Balls they're forc'd-meat.
[98]VI.
God bleſs our King George, with Three Cheers, Sirs,
And God bleſs his Conſort, Amen.
In paſt times we've drubb'd the Mounſeers Sirs,
For paſtime we'll drub them again.
There's one thing I have more to ſay,—Tho'
Beyond ſeas, my boys, we'll o'ercome,
If you'll give Old England fair play tho',
And keep yourſelves quiet at home.
SONG LII. THE WHIM.
Tune,—If I ever ſhou'd know, and that Knowledge impart.
I.
THAT the World is a Stage, and the Stage is a School,
Where ſome ſtudy Knaves parts, and ſome play the Fool,
Was ſaid, and again ſo we ſay;
For as the World's round, and rolls round about,
Old faſhions come in, and new faſhions go out,
As Vanity dreſſes the Play.
II.
Do not ſeriouſly think of theſe whimſical times,
But ſing or ſay ſomething in whimſical rhimes,—
The World's but a Whim, and all that;
I mean not the World which revolves on the poles,
But the Animal World, that's made up of odd Souls,
The ſons and the daughters of Chat.
[99]III.
For a new Exhibition their Portraits we'll plan,
And Pen and Ink Likeneſſes ſketch if we can,
Where all may their ſemblances ſee;
Tho' folks of fine breeding, immenſely polite,
Their own faces finiſh, with Rouge and Flake White,
So leave no employment for me.
IV.
Let us tenderly take off thoſe maſks, and their cures
Attempt, by expoſing ſuch caricatures
In Impartiality's Hall;
But if the gall'd ſinner ſhou'd wince at a line,
And cry, "Curſe the fellow!—the picture's not mine,"
The Prime-ſerjeant Painter I call.
V.
Come, Satyr, aſſiſt me, my project is new.—
The Demi-beaſt, grinning, his range of reeds blew,
And this was his Symphony's Song:—
"Shou'd I ſing of theſe Times, or in proſe or in verſe,
"Weak things, but not wicked ones I ſhou'd rehearſe,
A medley betwixt Right and Wrong.
VI.
"This Aera is much too inſipid for me,
"Futility's only in practice I ſee,
"Unworthy one ſtroke of my laſh;
"The faſhion is Folly, let Folly go on,
"To ſhew Senſe ſubſides, and True Taſte to Bon Ton;
"And Genius is baniſh'd for Traſh."
[100]VII.
Diſdain frown'd his brow, redd'ning Rage his eyes caſt,
Contempt o'er his countenance ſpread as he paſt,
No more Diſſipation he'll ſchool.
We'll be quite the thing then, as life's but a toy,
A buſtle in which we can only enjoy
The Pleaſure of playing the Fool.
SONG LIII. THE SCURVY.
Tune,—E'er Phoebus ſhall peep on the freſh budding flow'rs.
I.
EVE tempted to err, ill betide the ſad time,
Ye modern wives pity her fall,
Since we her ſons ſuffer for Grandmamma's crime,
The Scurvy has tainted us all.
II.
To curb the contagion which putrifies here,
In vain have the Faculty try'd;
Its peſtilent ſymptoms offenſive appear
In vulgar Erruptions of Pride.
III.
For all Pride is low, 'tis a Cancerous Brain,
A Poorneſs or Foulneſs of Blood;
The want of Sound Senſe renders wretches inſane
Who are lifted above what they ſhou'd.
[101]IV.
Epidemic Prognoſtics appear in each State,
Where Meaneſs in office is plac'd,
Who ſcurvily ape the odd airs of the Great,
And fancy ill breeding is Taſte.
V.
But when their high mighty Superiors approach,
The malady takes a new turn;
As abjectly then the baſe Scurvy things crouch,
As before they were bloated with Scorn.
VI.
With Artiſts the Scurvy of Envy appears,
When Comates they coldly commend;
Nay, oft it breaks out in illiberal ſneers,
And poiſons the Fame of a Friend.
VII.
Shou'd Genius a viſit to Greatneſs preſume,
He's ſcurvily offer'd a Chair;
Diſdain marks the Things in the Viſiting-room,
Who wonder the Fright ſhou'd come there.
VIII.
Be proud, if you pleaſe, ye gay Groups of Conceit,
Still flatter, be venal, and vain;
We know what ye feel, what ye pay for each treat,
And we know too—Ye dare not complain.
IX.
With unmeaning gaze pamper'd Wealth wheel'd along,
With the Scurvy of Vanity ſwell'd,
Took the ſnuff of Contempt at the more worthy throng,
By whom he's with pity beheld.
[102]X.
Come meek-ey'd Humility, lend me thy hand,
Humanity deign me thy aid,
Inſtruct me, that I may myſelf underſtand
Not to ſcorn thoſe my MAKER has made.
SONG LIV. THE DEMIRFP; OR, I KNOW WHO.
Tune,—Tho' Auſtria and Ruſſia, France, Flanders, and Pruſſia.
I.
CLEOPATRA the gay, as old ſtories declare,
Put Mark Anthony oft to the rout:
That the Lover was fond, and the Lady was fair,
No modern among us will doubt.
But yet I inſiſt
Our own Times are the beſt.
Antiquity! what can that do, Sir?
Cou'd Livia, or Lais,
Fauſtinia, or Thais,
Compare to the fine — I know who, Sir?
II.
Let Placemen receive, and let Patriots oppoſe,
And raiſe unforgiving diſſentions;
A Miſtreſs's Arms is the Poſt I wou'd chuſe,
A Bottle and Friend are my Penſions.
[103]Preferments at Court
Are Miniſters ſport,
When they ſee what to gain them folks do, Sir;
They may Boroughs command,
I wiſh only to ſtand
As Member for fine — I know who, Sir.
III.
Poſſeſſors, Aſſeſſors, envelope the mind
With Ethics of old Ariſtotle;
The Leſſon of Nature, to tutor Mankind,
Is—Beauty ſublim'd by a Bottle.
The beſt in the College,
Who boaſt of their Knowledge,
The Science ſupreme never knew, Sir,
Unleſs they can prove,
That a Lecture of Love
They have had with the fine — I know who, Sir.
IV.
You this or that ſyſtem embrace or reject,
As Philoſophy's faſhion is ruling;
But look in her face and you'll find an effect
Beyond Electricity's fooling.
Tho' ſparks there ariſe,
What are they to her eyes?
And as to what touching can do, Sir,
It is all but a joke,
When compar'd to the ſtroke
That is given by fine — I know who, Sir.
[104]V.
The Atoms of Cartes Sir Iſaac deſtroy'd;
Lebnitz pilfer'd our Countryman's Fluxions;
Newton found out Attraction, and prov'd Nature's void,
Spite of prejudic'd Plenum's conſtructions.
Gravitation can boaſt,
In the form of my Toaſt,
More power than all of them knew, Sir;
What FELLOW, or SOPH,
Will in Tangents fly off
From the Center of fine — I know who, Sir?
VI.
Ye ſenſible Socials who dare, now and then,
To laugh at ſome Folks in this Nation,
'Tis Beauty which ſculptures us Blocks into Men,
To Beauty then make a Libation.
Poor Lovers may prize,
Lips, Legs, Arms, and Eyes,
Such piece-meal pretenſions won't do, Sir?
No Part ſhall be loſt
When I mention my Toaſt,—
"Here's the WHOLE of the fine — I know who, Sir."
SONG LV. MAY.
[105]Tune,—A beautiful Face, and a Form without Fault.
I.
BLEAK Winter is drove, by warm winds, to the North,
And Spring's early pencil gay colours the Earth;
Each Bloſſom expands its pied leaves to the Day,
Creation's new cloath'd in the Livery of May.
II.
As thus, in Soliloquy, rambling along,
I look'd tow'rds the Wood, there I heard a ſweet Song;
The Leaves gently fann'd to and fro' by the breeze,
The Air a ſoft Symphony play'd thro' the trees.
III.
As a Hound after Hare the long meadow o'erleaps,
It was ſomething like Love which gave ſpeed to my ſteps;
I beat thro' the Thicket, upon the Game ſprung,
And too ſoon had a view of the Syren who ſung.
IV.
Oh! how my heart beat, how alarm'd was my pride,
To behold a young Ruſtic fix'd cloſe at her ſide;
They toy'd and they prattled, 'twas inocent play,
Their roſey cheeks ſpoke all the warmth of new May.
V.
The Lad and the Laſs look'd like Eden's firſt pair,
And I, ſcowling, ſtood juſt as Satan did there.
Her Tenderneſs hateful, his Fondneſs as bad,
But their give-and-take Kiſſings,—O God!—I grew mad.
[106]VI.
I turn'd from the ſight, then return'd in deſpair,
And pretended a cure by deſpiſing the Fair;
On both beſtow'd curſes, went raving away,
But I ſtopp'd at each ſtep, nor cou'd go, nor cou'd ſtay.
VII.
Home heavily ſighing, I halted along,
Each Bird jarr'd my Head with its out-of-tune Song:
The late pleaſing Landſcapes appear'd in decay,
The Scene to December was chang'd from new May.
VIII.
In my books I expected ſome Noſtrum to find,
But Learning to Love has ſmall ſhare in the Mind.
No Morals I met there the wonder cou'd work,
But Inſtinct ſuggeſted—to draw a long Cork.
IX.
As Sorrow is dry, the beſt thing I cou'd do,
To make my Cure perfect, was—drawing out Two:
So Wine before Wenching hereafter I'll ſay,
For Wine's good in all Months, as well as in May.
SONG LVI. THE BRITON's WISH.
Tune, — Daniel Cooper.
I.
WOU'D you know the way that Eve
In Eden was caught tripping,
Arch SATAN 'twitch'd her by the ſleeve,
And ſhew'd a Golden Pippin;
[107]Tempted by the glitt'ring charm,
'Twas ſaid ſhe ill-us'd Adam,
And ever ſince the ſame alarm
Bewitches MISS and MADAM.
II.
The Dad of Danae was a Dolt,
To lock a Woman's will in;
A Guinea Shower burſt each bolt,
Miſs op'd her lap for filling.
Aſk Beauties, who for Chapmen wait,
What 'tis they chiefly wiſh for,
They'll own, tho' moſt men take their bait,
'Tis only Gold they fiſh for.
III.
But why ſhou'd Women bear the blame,
When Men, both out and in, Sir,
Will gamble at the Golden Game,
Nor care they how they win, Sir.
Arts, Science, Office, Trade, confeſs
Mean mercenary dealings,
All Reas'ning Bipeds, more or leſs,
Shew ſelfiſh fellow-feelings.
IV.
Election Agents Truth diſgrace,
They've made this an unſound age;
To Brothels brought fair Freedom's face,
And, Pandar-like, took poundage.
But henceforth Britons may we ſhew,
In Bribes no more our truſt is,
But nobly independent go,
And only vote for Juſtice.
[108]V.
O THOU! from whom each Bleſſing ſprings,
Earth, Seas, and Skies Director,
To whom we owe the beſt of Kings,
Be his, be our Protector.
The Tyrant, arm'd with Terror's ſcourge,
Awes ſubject ſlaves t'approve him,
But Free-born Britons bow to GEORGE,
For in our hearts we love him.
VI.
Dear Liberty, Celeſtial Fire,
Remain here unconſuming;
May that ſpark catch, to Son from Sire,
From Age to Age illuming.
For this is ev'ry Briton's ſong,
This all we wiſh to be boys;
Let Life be ſhort, let Life be long,
But let that Life be free boys.
SONG LVII. MUTUAL LOVE.
Tune, — As Chloe on flowers reclin'd, &c.
I.
ON a Brook's graſſy brink, in the Willow's cool ſhade,
The Primroſes preſſing, a Damſel was laid;
She ſmil'd on the tide that roll'd limpid along,
Beholding herſelf, to herſelf ſung this ſong.—
[109]II.
The 'Squire's fine Lady laſt night he brought home;
What! tho' in ſuch gay clothes from London ſhe's come,
Had I coſtly faſhions as well ſhou'd I ſeem,
For fairer my Face is, if Truth's in this ſtream.
III.
Thro' Church-yard, on Sunday, as ſlowly I tread,
While gaping Louts, grinning, on tombſtones are ſpread,
I hear how they praiſe me, I keep on my way,
And, down-looking, ſeem not to heed what they ſay.
IV.
Sometimes Lords and Captains, all over perfume,
Will ſtop me, and tell me, I'm Beauty in Bloom.
That I rival the Roſe,—that I'm whiter than Snow:
I ſimper, and ſimply ſay—Don't jeer one ſo.
V.
They've preſs'd me, they've promis'd, nay offer'd me gold,
Sometimes (I aſſure them) they've ſtrove to be bold;
They've talk'd of my Treaſure, they've call'd it a Gem,
To be ſure ſo it is, but it is not for them.
VI.
No! no! 'tis for him, and 'tis only his part,
Who's the Man of my Hope, and the Hopes of my Heart;
Who friendly inſtructs me, who fondly can play,
And his Eyes always ſpeak what his Wiſhes wou'd ſay.
[110]VII.
The ranging Bee ſweets from the honey cup ſips,
As ſweet I taſte Love from the Touch of his Lips;
Oft' my cheek on the fleece of my Lambkins I reſt,
But cold is that pillow compar'd to his breaſt.
VIII.
'Tis here for my Fair one!—her Lover reply'd,
O'er the hedge as he leap'd, and light dropp'd at her ſide;
She ſtarted! a moment Life's bloom left her face,
But quick 'twas recall'd by the warmth of embrace.
IX.
She, languiſhing lay in Love's tendereſt ſcene,
And queſtion'd the Rambler where 'twas he had been?
Why ſo he wou'd fright her.—She'd ſcold him ſhe vow'd,
But a Kiſs was his plea, and that plea was allow'd.
X.
'Till by Kiſſes o'ercome, to his tranſports ſhe yeilds,
The landſcapes were loſt, and forgot were the fields;
Each felt thoſe Senſations Suſceptibles prove,
Who, mutually melting, exchange mutual Love.
SONG LVIII. A TIME FOR ALL THINGS.
Tune,—I am a young Damſel that flatters myſelf.
ALL things have their Time by the Hebrew King's rule;
What pity a Wiſe Man wou'd e'er play the Fool.
Yet weak was that Sage, who when long paſt his prime,
Attempted with beautiful Girls to keep Time.
All was Vanity then, and Vexation his text,
To be ſure he was vain, and his women were vex'd.
[111]II.
On his own Times how wiſely King Solomon ſpoke,
But Wiſdom, in our Times, is rather a Joke.
Who's to blame? 'tis not clear, whether we or our guides,
But equally things are ill-timed on all ſides.
Like Witlings, who ſacrifice all to their fun,
We our errors enjoy, and rejoice we're undone.
III.
There's a Time to be right, for ſome Time we've been wrong;
There's a Time for a Speech, and a Time for a Song.—
As to Song-making, ſomebody told me the way,
Since I nothing cou'd do, how I ſomething ſhou'd ſay.
A wiſh ſtill to do, has my doings out-ſped,
And all I have left, alas! lumbers my Head.
IV.
Superannuate Socials, like me, leave the Laſs,
Purſue the ſole ſport which we're fit for,—the Glaſs.
Be not bubbled by ſelf, nor by Flattery's dupes,
Nor attempt at Intrigue when Ability droops.
At impotent Keepers we've pointed with ſcorn,
Avoid the ſame vice,—be not laugh'd at in turn.
V.
Turn'd the corner of Forty, 'tis Time to give way;—
But Women to Wine change, and ſtill we've our Day.
Doctor Bibbibus ſays, whether Flaſk or Scotch Pint,
As Oil to the Head, Wine the Soul will annoint.
Embrace then the Bottles, hug cloſely your Quarts;—
May we have in our Arms what we love in our Hearts.
SONG LIX. THE VETERAN.
[112]Tune,—Give us Glaſſes my Wench.
I.
TURN'D of Forty!—what then?—why 'twixt that and Threeſcore,
All the days of our lives let us live.
We only aſk Health, not a moment hope more,
Than what Nature undoctor'd will give.
II.
Non ſum qualis eram, in Schoolmaſter's Lore,
Is, our Cake we can't have when 'tis eat;—
Do not turn to paſt views, but new ground gallop o'er,
Nor pull up, for 'tis Time enough yet.
III.
Ulyſſes at Forty Queen Circe embrac'd,
When older Calypſo cou'd move.
Aetherials pronounc'd him a Man to their Taſte,
He had Health, Underſtanding, and Love.
IV.
The Boys of this Time ne'er to Manhood ariſe,
As Shrubs cannot ſtrengthen to Trees.
Affectation Ability's Vacuum ſupplies,
E'er of Age, they are old by Diſeaſe.
V.
Inſipid Emaciates each public place throng.—
As Trinkets on Watch-chains are worn,
By fine Women's ſides, ſhewy, ratil'ing along,
The Fops are for faſhion-ſake born.
[113]VI.
Thoſe Mode-made-up Things, flutter lifehood away,
Abortions of what Britons were:
Perpetually talk, tho' they've nothing to ſay,
Their looks are but Vacancy's ſtare.
VII.
As nothing they think on, ſo nothing they do,
But only riſe up, and lye down;
Inexpletive paths Diſſipation purſue,
And hue and cry Life thro' the town.
VIII.
In the pauſe of Embrace practis'd Beauties aver,
That Wit keeps Deſire alive;
No wonder they ſenſible Forty prefer
To Folly and faint Twenty-five.
IX.
No Chronics my maſcular bulworks invade,
Within, prima via is right:
Conſtitution I never a Bankrupt have made,
So can pay Beauty's Bill upon Sight.
X.
It is true we are old,—old companions we've been:
Yet ſound in our Heads, and our Hearts,
Let Wine, Wit, and Women, but open the Scene,
We ſtill can go on with our parts.
XI.
While prompted by natural vigour to play,
We act thus, encore and encore.
The warning-bell rung, we've no buſineſs to ſtay,
Valete, the Farce faith is o'er.
SONG LX. A NEW ROAST BEEF
[114]TO THE OLD TUNE.
I.
NOW Old England's Flag is Commander in Chief,
With Monſieur our Monarch turn'd o'er a new leaf,
Down, down with French Diſhes, up, up with Roaſt Beef.
O the Roaſt Beef, &c.
II.
In Flat-botloms, ſlily, thoſe ſchemers were coaſting,
They threaten'd Invaſion, but ſpite of their boaſting,
No Ribs of Roaſt Beef had they; but a Rib roaſting.
III.
While good Engliſh Beef, and good Engliſh Brown Beer,
Pleaſe our taſtes, and each day on our tables appear,
What more can we hope for, or what can we fear?
IV.
The Spaniards once ſtrove, by the ſtrength of their Guns,
To make us keep Lent, and to turn our Girls Nuns,
But we ſtill roaſt our Beef, for we baſted the Dons.
V.
At Minorca indeed, tho' I ſpeak it with grief,
Our Garriſon fainted for want of relief,
They grew out of Hopes as they grew out of Beef.
[115]VI.
But at Minden, well fed, why we there fac'd about,
Right and Left, Van and Rear, Foot and Horſe, put to rout;
They wou'd be in our Beef—but, avaſt, they were out.
VII.
To plunder our Cupboards, France ſent the Breſt Fleet,
We a belly-full gave them without any meat;
they then ſold their Plates 'cauſe they'd nothing to eat.
VIII.
We came, ſaw, and conquer'd, the French Lilies droop,
Louiſbourg, Montreal, Martinique, Guadaloupe,
Their towns we toſs'd up, juſt as they ſwallow Soup.
IX.
By the ſtrength of our Beef we our Bulwarks maintain,
As Liberty's firſt-born, and Lords of the Main;
And thoſe deeds are witneſs'd by France and by Spain.
X.
All Knights, by their Titles, in Heraldry ſhine,
Nay, Writers Romantic have ſtiled ſome divine,
But what are their Sirs to Old England's Sir-loin.
XI.
Let us honour this Diſh, 'tis in dignity chief,
For garniſh will give it the nobleſt relief:
Here's LIBERTY,—LOYALTY,—AYE,—and ROAST BEEF.
O the Roaſt Beef, &c.
SONG LXI. THE PIPE OF LOVE.
[116]Tune, — Bleſs'd Age of Gold.
I.
ONE Primroſe Time a Maiden Brown,
Wiſhing for what we will not ſay,
By ſide of Shepherd ſat her down,
And ſoftly aſk'd him, wou'd he play?
Mild ſhone the Sun thro' Redſtreak Morn,
And gliſt'ning Dew-drops pearl'd the graſs;
The Ruſtic, ſtretch'd beneath the thorn,
Grinning, reply'd—I'll pleaſe thee Laſs.
II.
All on the green field's turfy bed,
Smiling, the fond one fell along;
The thick-leaf' ſhade her face o'erſpread,
While, liſping, ſhe began this Song.—
"Tis Love which gives Life holidays,
"And Love I'll always take thy part;
"My Shepherd's pipe ſo ſweetly plays,
"If finds the way to win my Heart.
III.
"The Ladies dreſs'd with ſilks ſo fine,
"In golden chairs to viſits go;
"On coſtly diſhes they can dine,
"And ev'ry night ſee ev'ry ſhew.
"Yet, if 'tis true what I've heard ſpeak,
"Thoſe high degrees lead lonely lives;
"Huſbands are willful, Huſbands weak,
"And ſeldom pipe to pleaſe their Wives."
[117]IV.
Blue broke the clouds, the day yet young,
The flowers fragrant fill'd the breeze;
Wanton the Laſs, half whiſp'ring, ſung,
Yes Shepherd—once more if you pleaſe.
Awaking from embrac'd delight,
She heard her Dame, and dar'd not ſtay;
They kiſs, they part, but firſt—at Night,
She charg'd him, come again and play.
V.
His Team to geer, home hy'd the Loon,
The love-cheer'd Laſs blithe bore her Pail,
And thus ſhe gave her ditty tune,
Tripping it deftly down the Dale.
"Tho' Organ Pipes play muſic fine,
"And Fountain Pipes folks run to ſee:
"Tho' thirſty Souls love PIPES of WINE,
"The Pipe of Love's the Pipe for me."
SONG LXII. NOT AS IT SHOU'D BE.
Tune, — If e'er I incline.
I.
A Coxcomb once ſaid
He had Bet's Maidenhead,
But 'twas falſe, as I told Mr. Wou'd-be.
His Doctor declar'd,
Impotency debarr'd,
The Fribble was not as he ſhou'd be.
[118]II.
As Beauty is us'd,
So Britannia's abus'd,
How many loud Coffee-houſe praters
Will boaſt of the weight
Which they have in the State,
And wou'd be the Nation's Dictators.
III.
Such Creatures pretend
They can England befriend,
So attact or diſtract all about them;
That, pon onner, they know
How, when, what, and alſo,
And the Miniſtry can't do without them.
IV.
When Candidates bow,
Patriotic they vow
To honour, eſteem, and adore us;
But choſe, they change ſoon,
They are taught the Court Tune,
And chant in Majority's Chorus.
V.
Reproach, if you pleaſe,
May impertinent teaze,
Rememb'rance attempt to awaken;
But th' anſwer is this,
I thought things amiſs,
I really, my friend, was miſtaken.
[119]VI.
His Market is made,
We all live by Trade,
So buy or ſell, Sirs—chuſe you whether;
Rich and Poor 'tis the ſame,
Chang-alley's the game,
A job! a ſad job altogether!
VII.
Our Animal Stuff
Is not made of Bomb Proof,
When Temptation's Artillery aſſails;
As the Batt'ries begin,
We're betray'd from within,
The Fleſh over Spirit prevails.
VIII.
Corruption!—that's hard—
But, from birth to church-yard,
What are we? but rotting along:
Folly moulders our Clay,
Each Vice has its Day,
But—good-night—for I've done with my Song.
SONG LXIII. BEAUTY AND WINE.
Tune — Attend all ye Fairs, I'll tell you the Art.
I.
ONE day at her Toilet as Venus began
To prepare for he face-making duty,
Bacchus ſtood at her elbow, and ſwore that her plan
Wou'd not help it, but hinder her Beauty.
[120]II.
A Bottle young Semele held up to view,
And begg'd ſhe'd obſerve his directions—
This Burgundy, dear Cytharea, will do,
'Tis a Rouge that refines all Complexions.
III.
Too polite to refuſe him, the Bumper ſhe ſips,
On his knees, the Buck begg'd ſhe'd encore;
The Joy-giving Goddeſs, with Wine-moiſten'd lips,
Declar'd ſhe wou'd Hob Nob once more.
IV.
Out of window each Waſh, Paſte, and Powder, ſhe hurl'd,
And the God of the Grape vow'd to join;
Shook hands, ſign'd and ſeal'd, then bid Fame tell the World,
The Union of Beauty and Wine.
SONG LXV. A LOVE SONG.
Tune, — Genteel is my Damon, engaging his Air.
I.
LET him fond of fibbing invoke which he'll chuſe,
Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, or Madam the Muſe;
Great names in the claſſical Kingdom of Letters,
But Poets are apt to make hee with their Betters.
[121]II.
I ſcorn to ſay aught, ſave the thing which is true,
No Beauties I'll plunder, yet give mine her due;
She has Charms upon Charms, ſuch as few people may view,
She has Charms,—for the Tooth-ach, and eke for the Ague.
III.
Her Lips;—ſhe has two, and her Teeth they are white,
And what ſhe puts into her mouth, they can bite;
Black and all Black her Eyes, but what's worthy remark,
They are ſhut when ſhe ſleeps, and ſhe's blind in the dark.
IV.
Her Ears from her Cheeks equal diſtance are bearing,
'Cauſe each ſide her head ſhould go partners in hearing:
The Fall of her Neck's the Downfall of Beholders,
Love tumbles them in by the Head and the Shoulders.
V.
Her Waiſt is—ſo—ſo, ſo waſte no words about it,
Her Heart is within it, her Stays are without it;
Her Breaſts are ſo pair'd—two ſuch Breaſts when you ſee,
You'll ſwear that no woman yet born e'er had three.
VI.
Her Voice neither Nightingales, no! nor Canaries,
Nor all the wing'd warblers wild whiſtling vagaries:
Nor ſhall I to Inſtrument Muſic compare it,
'Tis likely, if you was not deaf you might hear it.
VII.
Her Legs are proportion'd to bear what they've carry'd,
And equally pair'd, as if happily marry'd;
But Wedlock will ſometimes the beſt friends divide,
By her Spouſe ſo ſhe's ſerv'd when he throws them aſide.
[122]VIII.
Not too Tall, nor too Short, but I'll venture to ſay,
She's a very good Size—in the Middling way.
She's—aye—that ſhe is,—ſhe is all, but I'm wrong,
Her ALL I can't ſay, for I've ſung ALL my Song.
SONG LXVI. WHAT's THAT TO ME?
Tune,—The dainty Dames who trip along.
I.
THE blue Clouds from the Skies are fled,
And Vapours cap the Mountain's Head;
The Lord of Day reſigns his reign,
While Twilight uſhers in her Train.
But, what's all this to me?
II.
By Shepherds whiſtl'ing o'er the Wold,
The tink'ling Flocks are drove to fold;
Her brimming Pail the Milk-maid bears,
And hears her Love, or think ſhe hears—
Yet, what's all this to me?
III.
From reeking Pools the Steams aſcend,
Tall leafy Trees their ſhades extend;
Evening appears in matron grey,
And puts to bluſh the rakiſh Day.
Still, what's all this to me?
[123]IV.
The flow'ry Beds have loſt their bloom,
The verdant Grove's conceal'd in gloom,
The Landſcapes die upon the ſight,
And chilly ſpreads the veil of Night.
Well! what's all this to me?
V.
Tho' diſmal birds begin to prowl,
The ſlitting Bat, the hooting Owl;
And Gloworms glimmer feeble rays,
The link-boys of the lightfoot Fays,
Why, what's all this to me?
VI.
Yes, yes, 'in truth, for when 'twas dark,
A light I 'ſpy'd, and bleſs'd the mark;—
I hemm'd, and quick the caſement op'd,
How leap'd my heart, my ſearch was ſtopp'd.
And, that was much to me.
VII.
"Hiſt, (cries my fair one) ſoftly creep,
"The old folks are both faſt aſleep,
"Lord! how our Houſe-dog makes a din!
"But I'll ſteal down, and let you in."
Now, what do you think of me?
VIII.
When ſafe we met, few words were ſaid,
For fear by voice to be betray'd;—
[...]o what was done I will not ſay,
[...]Twas Love look'd on, and bid us play.
But, what is that to thee?
[124]IX.
Love's raptur'd Rites are ſecret Joys,
Profan'd by Sots and babbling Boys;
But we Initiates never boaſt,
Fidelity's our general Toaſt.
Here's that my Friend to thee.
SONG LXVII. THE SENTIMENT SONG.
Tune,—Sing Tantararara Toaſt all.
I.
DINNER o'er, and Grace ſaid, we'll for Buſineſs prepare,
Arrang'd right and left in ſupport of the Chair,
We'll Chorus our Song as the circling Toaſt paſſes,
And manage our Bumpers as Muſical Glaſſes.
Sing Tantararara Toaſt all.
II.
To your Lips, my Convivials, the Burgundy lift,
May we never want Courage when put to a Shift:—
Here's what Tars diſlike, and what Ladies like beſt;—
What's that?—you may whiſper, why 'tis to be preſs'd!
III.
Ye Fowlers who eager at Partridges aim,
Don't mark the maim'd Covey, but mind better Game;
'Tis Beauty's the ſport to repay Sportſmen's trouble,
And there may our Pointers ſtand ſtiff in the Stubble.
[125]IV.
To Game we give Law, and Game Laws we have ſkill in,—
Here's Love's Laws, and they who thoſe Laws are fulfilling.
But never may Damſels demur to our ſport,
Nor we ſuffer Nonſuits when call'd into Court.
V.
As the Indians are warring, our Game we muſt fluſh,
On our breaſts, as we lye, we preſent thro' a Buſh—
Here's the Neſt in that Buſh, and the Bird-neſting Lover;
Here's Middleſex Buſh-fighting,—reſt and recover.
VI.
Aſthmatical Gluttons exiſt but to eat,
They purchaſe repletions at each Turtle treat;
Love's feaſt boaſts a flavour unknown to made diſhes—
Here's Life's Dainty, dreſs'd with the ſweet ſauce of Kiſſes.
VII.
Fair befall ev'ry Laſs, fair may fine Ladies fall,
No colour I'll fix on, but drink to them all;
The black, the brunette, and the golden-lock'd Dame—
The Lock of all Locks, and unlocking the ſame.
VIII.
More upright fore-knowledge that Lock is commanding,
Than all other Locks, aye, or Locke's underſtanding:
That Lock has the Caſket of Cupid within it,
So—Here's to the Key Lads,—the Critical Minute.
IX.
Lads pour out Libations from Bottles and Bowls,
The Mother of All-Saints is drank by All-Souls.—
Here's the Down Bed of Beauty which upraiſes Man,
And beneath the Thatch'd-Houſe the miraculous Can.
[126]X.
The Dock-Yard which furniſhes Great Britain's Fleets,
The Bookbinders Wifes manufact'ring in Sheets,
The Brown Female-Reaper, who dares undertake her?
And the Wife of Will Wattle—The neat Baſket-maker.
XI.
Here's Bathſheba's Cockpit where David ſtood Centry;
Eve's Cuſtom-houſe, where Adam made the firſt Entry;
The pleaſant plac'd Water-fall' midſt Buſhy Park;
The Nick makes the Tail ſtand, the Farrier's Wife's Mark.
XII.
That the Hungry be fill'd with rich Things let us ſay;
And well pleas'd the Rich be ſent empty away.—
The Miller's Wife's Muſic;—the Laſs that's Lamb-like;—
And Fence of the Farmer on Top of Love's Dike.
XIII.
But why from this round-about phraſe muſt be gueſs'd,
What in one ſingle ſyllable's better expreſs'd;
That ſyllable then I my Sentiment call,
So here's to that word, which is, one word for all.
Sing Tantararara Toaſt all.
SONG LXVIII. THE DAMN'D HONEST FELLOW.
Tune,—Old Woman at Grimſtone.
AS a Choice-Spirit bred ſo I'll choiſely behave,
My Bucks I'm damn'd honeſt and free;
As to Rules, they're for Fools; I'll be nobody's ſlave;
The Miniſter muſt do for me.
[127]II.
If he does not, nor cannot, for that's all the ſame,
But leaves me to ſink or to ſwim;
If he won't do for me when I ſend in my name,
Why, damme then, I'll do for him.
III.
If GEORGE did but tip me a Place, or a Poſt,
If I didn't clear all, I'll be curſt.
I'll take care that nothing ſhall never be loſt,
Of myſelf tho', I'll take care the firſt.
IV.
The Government's Tools to a Man I wou'd ſhift,
Corruption's the Nation's diſgrace;
The Treaſury's Lord, why I'll turn him adrift,
And whip myſelf plump in his place.
V.
The National Debt I'll wet-ſpunge it away,
The Sinking Fund that I wou'd drown;
And when we bold Britons have nothing to pay,
Why then all our money's our own.
VI.
As to Scotchmen, I'll ſcotch them all off, never fear,
They are Jacobites all to man;
Pray tell me what buſineſs have ſuch fellows here?
I'm a Briton, and hate ev'ry Clan.
VII.
They have nothing to do with our Meat and our Drink,
I grant you they're clever, but ſtill
We're ten times as clever, if we wou'd but think,
And one time or other we will.
[128]VIII.
Like Foxes I'll hunt Preſbyterians to Church,
For zounds we'll be all orthodox;
The Subſidy Princes I'll leave in the lurch,
And Stockjobbers ſet in the ſtocks.
IX.
My Friends I'll provide for, and thus I'll begin;—
Arch-Biſhop of York ſhall make room,—
His Pulpit I've promis'd to my Whipper-in,
And Lord Chancellor's Seat to my Groom.
X.
My Grand Buck at Drinking ſhall Admiral be;
I've Judgement in all I deſign:—
He ſurely muſt prove beſt Commander at Sea
Who's beſt at an Ocean of Wine.
XI.
Now as to Land-ſervice, Exciſe I'll diſband,
And I'll baniſh the Watch from the ſtreet;
Betwixt York and Lunnon no Turnpikes ſhall ſtand,
And I'll burn the King's Bench and the Fleet.
XII.
As to Smugglers, why curſe on the Cuſtom-houſe Tribe,
Of Placemen, I'll ſoon make an end;
I'll hang the firſt fellow I find take a bribe,
Except 'twas a Buck,—and my Friend.
XIII.
So now for a Toaſt—ſtay—what Toaſt ſhall we have?
Why LIBERTY—can we ſay more.—
And he who won't pledge it I'm ſure is a Slave,
And a Slave is a Son of a Whore.
[129]XIV.
A Wife to be ſure! that's the faſhion in Town,
And faſhion for Wives to make free;
But I won't be humm'd, I'll have none of my own,
What Friends have will always ſerve me.
XV.
So here's to that Girl who will give one a ſhare,
But as for thoſe Jilts who deny,
So curſedly coy, tho' they've ſo much to ſpare—
But drink, Brother Bucks, for I'm dry.
SONG LXIX. LIBERTY-HALL.
Tune,—Derry down.
I.
OLD Homer! but with him what have we to do?
What are Grecians, or Trojans, to me or to you?
Such Heatheniſh Heroes no more I'll invoke,
Choice Spirits aſſiſt me, attend Hearts of Oak.
Derry down.
II.
Sweet Peace, belov'd handmaid of Science and Art,
Unanimity, take your Petitioner's part;
Accept of my Song, 'tis the beſt I can do—
But firſt, may it pleaſe ye—my ſervice to you.
[130]III.
Perhaps my Addreſs you may premature think,
Becauſe I have mention'd no Toaſt as I drink;
There are many fine Toaſts, but the beſt of 'em all
Is the Toaſt of the Times; that is Liberty-Hall.
IV.
That fine Britiſh building by Alfred was fram'd,
Its grand corner-ſtone Magna-Charta is nam'd;
Independency came at Integrity's call,
And form'd the front pillars of Liberty-Hall.
V.
This Manor our forefathers bought with their blood,
And their ſons, and their ſons ſons, have prov'd the deeds good;
By that title we live, with that title we'll fall,
For Life is not Life out of Liberty-Hall.
VI.
In mantle of honour, each ſtar ſpangled fold,
Playing bright in the ſun-ſhine, the burniſh of gold,
Truth beams on her breaſt; ſee, at Loyalty's call,
The Genius of England in Liberty-Hall.
VII.
Ye ſweet ſmelling Courtlings of ribband and lace,
The ſpaniels of Power, and Bounty's diſgrace,
So ſupple, ſo ſervile, ſo paſſive ye fall,
'Twas Paſſive-obedience loſt Liberty-Hall.
VIII.
But when Revolution had ſettl'd the crown,
And Natural Reaſon knock'd Tyranny down,
No frowns cloath'd with Terror appear'd to appall,
The doors were thrown open of Liberty-Hall.
[131]IX.
See England triumphant, her ſhips ſweep the ſea,
Her ſtandard is Juſtice, her watch word be free;
Our King is our Countryman, Engliſhmen all,
GOD BLESS HIM, and bleſs us, in Liberty-Hall.
X.
On vere is des All—Monſieur wants to know,
'Tis neither at Marli, Verſailles, Fontainbleau:
'Tis a palace of no mortal architect's art,
For LIBERTY-HALL is an ENGLISHMAN'S HEART.
Derry down.
SONG LXX. AMELIA.
Tune,—Ye Laſſes who drive from the ſmoke of the Town.
I.
ONE eve from Whiſt Table Amelia withdrew,
Join'd our Group, and ſhe begg'd we'd explain—
Why year after year, by Wit's common-place Crew,
We are told Life's ſo ſhort and ſo vain.
With a Look that ſpoke more than all Cicero ſaid,
To me flew her order—I bow'd, and obey'd.
II.
"Our Sex, my fair Curious, are Vanity's fools,
"On bubbles of Self-love we ſoar;
"However a patron may penſion his tools,
"Dependency dodges for more.
"The Groſs of Mankind are ſuch near-ſighted elves,
"As Traſh they behold all the World,—but themſelves.
[132]III.
"Illib'ral Ingratitude always will ſcold,
"Expectancy's ever in pain;
"Abuſe gives her tongue, and you need not be told,
"The moſt worthleſs are always moſt vain.
"Like pure ſilent ſtreams, Merit keeps in its place,
"Approach Dunce's torrent, Froth flies in your face.
IV.
"When you bleſs the day, with your figure and face,
"Inſenſibles ſeem to admire;
"By Love's Electricities—Beauty and Grace,
"Ev'n Dullneſs is ſtruck with deſire.
"Life's not worth without you, one half day's exp [...]nce,
"'Tis a World without Sun, and a Soul without Senſe.
V.
"O! wou'd ye, Ineffables, wou'd you endure,
"To beſtow upon Man a new birth;
"Your Forms are Specifics to furniſh the cure,
"And eradicate Folly from Earth.
"To you, as our Sovereign, we offer our Hearts,
"And only are happy when you take our parts."
SONG LXXI. THE HUMBUG.
[133]Tune, — The Man who is drunk is void of all Care.
I.
THAT Living's a Joke, Johnny Gay has expreſs'd,
Fal de roll, toll loll.
In earneſt we'll make all we can of the Jeſt;
Loll de roll, &c.
A load of conceits, a long life we are lugging,
Which ſome are Humbugg'd by, and ſome are Hum⯑bugging.
Fal de roll, &c.
II.
His Honour with conſequence charges his face,
Bows round to the Levee, and ogles His Grace;
Then whiſpers his friend, Sir, depend on my Word,—
But if you depend, you're Humbugg'd by the Lord.
III.
Says Patty the prude, and ſhe wide ſpread her fan,—
Me marry! What? I go to bed to a Man?
I deteſt all Male Creatures! my God!—I ſhall ſwoon!
She did—and was brought to-bed, faith, before noon!
IV.
To London Pa ſent her, when bloom was regain'd,
Invi'late her Maidenhead there ſhe maintain'd;
For a Virgin was wed, ſhe knew how to be mum,
So gain'd a good Huſband, her Huſband a Hum.
[134]V.
Miſs nicely obſerv'd, waſtly wulgar's this word,
Immenſely indelicate, monſterous abſurd:
Yet laſt night, dear Miſs, when you thought yourſelf ſnug,
You confeſs'd—without loving—life's all a Humbug.
VI.
The wanton Wife often, too often I fear,
Proves Words to be Facts when ſhe calls her Spouſe Deer;
And enjoys the ſweet cheat as ſtol'n pleaſures ſhe hugs,
How cunningly now ſhe her Cuckold humbugs.
VII.
But Huſband at home, as few marry'd men wiſh,
Fal de roll, toll loll.
To dine ev'ry day on the very ſame diſh,
Loll de roll, &c.
Makes a meal with her Maid, the thing publicly known is,
A Tete-a-Tete feaſt, call'd the Lex Talionis.
Fal de roll, &c.
SONG LXXII. DOODLE DOO.
Tune,—Ev'ry where fine Ladies flirting.
I.
YOUNGLINGS fond of Female Chaces,
Mount on Hopes in Wedlock's Races,
Some for Fortune, ſome for Faces.
Doodle, doodle, doo, &c.
[135]II.
Oh! th' extatic joys which flow, Sir,
When two ſouls congenial glow, Sir,
This above, and that below, Sir.
III.
Each 'gainſt each, like Wreſtlers, twining,
Each with each engagement joining,
Now reſiſting, now reſigning.
IV.
When imparadis'd they're pairing,
Ev'ry nerve ſtretch'd to its bearing,
Hardly knowing what nor wherein.
V.
Fainting, panting—pulſes thrilling—
She—obedient waits, and willing,
But he's out of breath with billing.
VI.
Fain the Fair wou'd fondly dally,
Looking Love—but he don't rally,
Rather ſeeming—ſhilly ſhally.
VII.
Kiſſing, ſmiling, ſhe cries—ſo! ſo!
Go you naughty creature, go! go!
While he yawns out—ah!—ah!—oh! oh!
VIII.
This indeed too oft the caſe is,
Men will furious fall on Faces,
Then fall off into Diſgraces.
[136]IX.
All the work they make with wooings,
Couplings, changings, curſings, cooings,
Are but doodling doodle doings.
X.
Falling back, then falling to, Sir,
We, like babies, beauties woo, Sir,
Love is—Cock a doodle do, Sir.
Doodle, doodle, doo, &c.
SONG LXXIII. THE COMET.
Tune—Shou'd I once become great, what a buſineſs twou'd be.
I.
HAD I old Homer here I wou'd make that wretch ſee,
(Quoth Venus) whom 'tis he abuſes;
What buſineſs has any Verſe-monger with me?
Their Prudes let them ſtick to,—the Muſes.—
And ſo I was wounded by rough Diomede?
A pretty dreſs'd up ſort of ſtory;
See Jupiter ſmiles—but Papa now, indeed,
'Tis not for your Honour and Glory.
[137]II.
Why will you permit theſe Mortality Frights,
What Olympus has plann'd to review?
Don't ſuffer ſuch Reptiles to creep out at nights
T'obſerve what we Deities do.
Immenſely impertinent 'twas, you muſt own,
My Tranſit to ſee, and expoſe it;
Becauſe, t'other day, I juſt drove out of Town,
Their Spectacles peep'd in my Cloſet.
III.
A moment Jove laid his bright dignity down,
And let Laughter illumine his face;
To his Daughter reply'd—Cytharea, a frown
Becomes not the Empreſs of Grace.
Thoſe Atoms of Clay which you ſee to and fro',
Skip about on yon' Globular Cruſt,
Like the blue on a plumb, are but Inſects you know,
A mere Animalculous Duſt.
IV.
Thoſe Emmets, 'tis true, ſcientifical prate,
A race of half-reaſoning Elves,
Who all can account (as they think) for my State,
Yet know not the State of themſelves.
They pretend to examine Eternity's rules,—
The Cauſe of all Cauſes diſpute;—
I'll ſhew you theſe arrogant Ea [...]th-worms are Fools,
And thus all their Syſtems confute.
[138]V.
Away, at his word, the vaſt COMET ruſh'd forth,
And ſwift thro' immenſity blaz'd;
Yet Attraction went on, tho' it girdl'd the Earth—
On Earth, how the Star-peepers gaz'd.
Each circl'd, and circl'd a ſcheme of his own,
And reaſon'd about, and awry;
In deriſion, a moment, Immorals look down,
'Twas a Jeſt for the Sons of the Sky.
VI.
Be humble ye Beings of feeble Threeſcore,
Shall Finites,—Infinity ſcan?
The beſt of us only are Men, and no more—
And, at beſt, only think what is Man?
A contrary mixture of Pity and Scorn,
Pride, Servility, Sorrow, and Mirth;
In a Moment he's made, in a Moment he's born,
In a Moment again he is Earth.
VII.
Sons of Error; for that's all the birthright ye ſhare,
As ev'ry day's actions make known;
No longer let Vanity gaze into Air,
But think of itſelf and look down.—
Yet hold!—let us think,—to look down did I ſay?
I did ſo,—and ſo ſeize my Cup,
Come, do as I do, and I'll ſhew you the way,
The beſt way, my Lads, to look up.
SONG LXXIV. THE BLOOD.
[139]Tune, — Tars of Old England.
I.
YE learn'd of the Age,
Each Artiſt, each Sage,
Ye Speakers at fam'd Robinhood,
Deſcribe, or decline,
Or derive, or define,
What the Character is of a Blood?
II.
Macaronies ſo neat,
Pert Jemmies ſo ſweet,
With all their effeminate brood;
Free-Maſons ſo ſhy,
Choice Spirits ſo high,
Are kick'd out of doors by a Blood.
III.
If making a Bet,
Or if taking a Whet,
Or if beating the Rounds he thinks good,
Who dare to oppoſe,
Will be pluck'd by the Noſe,
With a—Dam'me Sir, a'n't I a Blood?
IV.
If the Conſtable queer,
And the Watch ſhou'd appear,
His Riots to quell, if they cou'd,
Without compliment,
Out of Window they're ſent,
And that is fine fun for a Blood.
[140]V.
He laughs at Old Nick,
Calls Religion a trick,
And his Argument can't be withſtood;
'Tis a Bett or an Oath,
But moſt commonly both,
As to Reaſon,—What's that to a Blood?
VI.
As we have but our Day,
Even Bloods muſt decay,
He wou'd keep it up ſtill if he cou'd;
But his Manors foreclos'd,
And his Honour expos'd,
He muſt dye as he liv'd—like a Blood.
VII.
To retrench wou'd be baſe,
To repent a Diſgrace,
So he acts juſt as Geniuſſes ſhou'd;
By a Med'cine of Lead,
Warm apply'd to his Head,
He cures the Diſeaſe of a Blood.
SONG LXXV. DO THE SAME.
Tune,—How d'ye do?
MARK Anthony gave up the world for a Girl,
And he who wou'd not do the ſame is a Churl.
Do the ſame! that's the Thing; — do not think me to blame
If a Bumper I drink, will not you do the ſame?
[141]II.
But what do you think that I mean by all this?
Why Evil to them who imagine amiſs.
Hit or miſs, Luck is all; are the Lucky to blame?
No no, do but win—we wou'd all do the ſame.
III.
The dainty-fed Dame, in unpinn'd diſhabille,
To the Swain of her ſighs upon tiptoe will ſteal;
Voluptuouſly welcomes the ſenſe-piercing Kiſs,
And gives up her Soul to the dangerous bliſs.
IV.
While ſoft broken murmurs betray her delight,
The ruſtling leaves play thro' the ſtill of the night,
As if to her Tremblings they kept Time and Tune;
Above mildly ſhone, in pale ſplendor, the Moon.
V.
Lady Luna down looking, the luſcious ſcene ſees,
Withdrew her beams, bluſhing, from ſilver-topp'd trees;
In a cloud veils her face, crying out, fie for ſhame,
To Endymion drives off,—and with him does the ſame.
VI.
'Tis Hypocriſy's Humour, the Ton of the Times,
To lay on our Neighbours the Load of our Crimes;
The failings of friends we to Slander proclaim,
But ſink our own Sinnings,—won't you do the ſame.
VII.
Reaſon ne'er had the Head-ach, no Toaſts he'll approve;
Reaſon ne'er had the Heart ach—he ne'er was in Love.
B [...]t poor honeſt Inſtinct, he's always to blame,
For he'll drink and he'll love, and—why we do the ſame.
[142]VIII.
My Country! my Country! that Phraſe cannot fail;
'Tis the Bait Voters bite at, the Tub for the Whale:
Diſtinction, on each ſide, is only a name;
For this ſide, and that ſide,—both ſides do the ſame.
IX.
Let us, without blaming or this ſide or that,
Only keep to our own ſide, and mind what we're at.
I wou'd be at ſomething, but what, I won't name,
Yet to Toaſt it I'll teach you, and drink to the ſame.
X.
Your ſentiment, Decency, give it to me,—
The Quaker's Addreſs, Friend, I drink unto thee.
So here's to't, and to thee; and pray who's to blame?
Why him—can you find him? who won't do the ſame.
SONG LXXVI. LOVE AND WINE's PARTNERSHIP.
Tune,—No more let us trouble our Heads 'bout the State.
I.
IT was as one morning on Ida Jove ſhone,
All frantic the Queen of Love flew in,
Her arms ſhe expanded, embracing his throne,
Saying, Sire, oh ſave me from Ruin!
For Juſtice Dione to Jupiter prays,
They abandon my Temples and Shrine, Sir,
That Sot and his Sots, have extinguiſh'd my Blaze,
And drown'd Beauty's Altars in Wine, Sir.
[143]II.
By Styx, but 'tis falſe, jolly Bacchus reply'd;
Such ſlander I'll never endure, Ma'am.
Love's pains to aſſwage men that many things try'd,
In me only met with their Cure, Ma'am.
Your ignorant Urchin, your Booby, is blind,
And ſcatters his Arrows at random;
The Heart they miſlead, and they madden the Mind;
'Tis Wine which alone can withſtand 'em.
III.
Where is it? th' Olympical Grand called out,
Young Semele bumper'd Champaign, Sir,
Full nimbly the Genius bruſh'd it about.—
Quoth Monarchy, I'll drink again, Sir.
So laying his Lightning's Artillery down,
His Treſſes imperially ſhaking,
To Venus put on a majeſtical frown,
Saying, Certainly you are miſtaken.
IV.
Miſtaken, Papa?—Miſs pray hold your tongue,
You'd better.—Jove thunder'd to Venus,
Pon 'Onner (ſhe pertly reply'd) you are wrong,
Celeſtials be Judges between us.
Go Mercury, ſummon the States of the Sky.—
Thus order'd Lord Chancellor Jove, Sir,
[...] Ida's Exchequer this Suit they ſhall try,
Decreeing for Wine or for Love, Sir.
[144]V.
Their Worſhips went firſt on the Cyprian Cauſe,
Unarray'd, Beauty figur'd before 'em;
What licking of lips, what hums, and what hahs!
What peeping there was 'mong the Quorum!
The Patron of Vines ſaw 'twou'd go for the Wench,
Unleſs that a Duſt he cou'd kick up,
Tipp'd Hermes the wink, and they bumper'd the Bench
'Till the Court only chorus'd a Hickup.
VI.
With eye-li [...]s half-clos'd, one attempted at Speech,
But wind over-charg'd his expreſſion.
My Opin—nin—nin—nin—but bump on his Breech
He ſquatted, and ſnor'd out the Seſſion.
Apollo was Chairman, in full buckl'd wig,
For that Day, being Juno's Phyſician,
Smelt Cane, ſtrok'd his Chin, us'd hard words, and look'd big,
As became his Right Worſhip's Condition.
VII.
The Statutes, quoth he, the Statutes at Large,
Aye and ſmall too, declare Coram Nob.—
But Head was too heavy to hold out the Charge,
It dropp'd, and down fell his full Bob:
An Emblem of what often happens below,
Stupidity office diſgraces;
For Folly has friends, and too many we know—
And we know the Wiſe Folks too want Places.
[145]VIII.
Now Bacchus and Venus agreed 'twixt themſelves
Altercation hereafter to ſmother;
At Dulneſs to laugh, tho' 'mong dignify'd Elves,
And friendly aſſiſt one another.
But now mind the Moral: 'Tis clever to think,
And think too about ſomething clever;—
Since Wine makes us Love, and ſince Love makes us drink,
Here's Drinking and Loving for ever.
SONG LXXVII. COURTSHIP.
Tune, — To all ye Ladies now at Land.
I.
LET others ſing of Flames and Darts,
And all Love's lullaby;—
Of crying Eyes, and cracking Hearts—
The Deuce a bit will I.
If you are willing, I'm ſo too,
If not—why there's no more to do.
With fa, la, la.
II.
Shou'd you expect, in Sorrow's guiſe,
I'll wear a woefull face,
Such maudlin Mumm'ry I deſpiſe,
Mine is no Loveſick Caſe—
'Tis but my Whim, e'en make it thine,
Then Whim to Whim, and yours to mine.
[146]III.
Or if you think in golden rain,
Like Jove, I'll pave my way,
Such expectations are but vain,
I've only this to ſay,—
You've ſomething which I wou'd be at,
I've ſomething too;—ſo Tit for Tat.
IV.
Your Taſte, your Talk, I may admire,
And praiſe, with truth, your Face;
Your ſparkling Eyes that ſpeak Deſire,
And give Expreſſion Grace.
Yet there's a — but I'll not be bold,
Nor ſay, what's better took than told.
V.
Well kens the Laſs what I wou'd win,
And well I ken the Road;
He that is out wou'd fain be in.
A Patriot A-la-mode.—
As you're my Sov'reign grant me Grace,
I only aſk a little Place.
VI.
Leaſt ſaid, they ſay, is mended ſoon,
With you I'll not diſpute;
Ill taſtes the long requeſted Boon
'Tis ſweet, when ſhort's the ſuit.
Then grant, with Grace, the Grace I ſue,
Or let me, without Grace, fall to.
With fa, la, la
SONG LXXVIII. GOD SAVE THE KING.
[147]Tune, — While Waves rebound from Albion's ſhore.
YE hardy Sons of Honour's Land,
Where Freedom MAGNA CHARTA plann'd,
Ye Sovereigns of the Sea;
On ev'ry ſhore where ſalt tides roll,
From Eaſt to Weſt, from Pole to Pole,
Fair Conqueſt celebrates your Name,
Witneſs'd aloud by wond'ring Fame,
When! when will you be free?
II.
Miſtake me not, my Hearts of Oak,
I ſcorn with LIBERTY to joke,
Ye Sovereigns of the Sea;
No right I blame, I praiſe no wrong,
But ſing an Independent Song,—
Since Miniſters muſt be withſtood,
And Patriots are but Fleſh and Blood,
I dare with both be free.
III.
While ſtrange told tales from Scribblers' pen,
Diſturb the heads of honeſt men,
Ye Sovereigns of the Sea;
The traſh of temporizing Slaves,
Who earn their daily bread as Knaves.
Heedleſs which ſide may riſe or fall,
The Ready Money—that's their All.
Such fellows can't be free.
[148]IV.
We meet for Mirth, we meet to Sing,
And jolly join—God ſave the King,
Ye Sovereigns of the Sea;
As Honeſt Inſtinct points the way,
Our KING, our COUNTRY, we obey;
Yet pay to neither ſide our Court,
But LIBERTY in both ſupport,
As Men who ſhou'd be free.
V.
Aſſiſt, Uphold your Church and State,
See Great Men Good, and Good Men Great;
Ye Sovereigns of the Sea;
Shun Party, that unwelcome Gueſt,
No Tenant for a Briton's Breaſt.
Forget, Forgive, in Faction's Spite,
Awe All Abroad, at Home unite,
Then, then, my Friends you're free.
VI.
Ye Sov'reigns of Wide Ocean's Waves,
To Heroes long enſhrin'd in Graves,
A Requiem let us ſing;
I Alfred, Henry, Edward name,—
Then William, our Deliverer came:—
May future Ages BRUNSWICK own,
Perpetual Heir to England's Throne,
So here's GOD SAVE THE KING.
SONG LXXIX. THE VISION.
[149]Tune,—As I went o'er the Meadows, no matter the Day.
I.
AS Home I return'd, it was late in the Day,
Thro' Weſtminſter Abbey, I knew, was my way,
And there I beheld,—or believe that I ſaw,
A terrible Spectre, with Teeth wanting Jaw.
The Figure was frightful, as you may ſuppoſe,
His Sockets were Eyeleſs, and never a Noſe.
II.
I, trembling, addreſs'd him with—Sir, I preſume
Your Worſhip is walking from Nightingale's Tomb?
As Milton obſerves, ſo he grinn'd for a Smile,
And, ſtalking off, beckon'd me down the dark Iſle.
But ſaith I won't follow,—and loudly I ſpoke,
Then took to my heels and I tumbl'd—and 'woke.
III.
My Joy cou'd you gueſs, when, recover'd, I ſpy'd
My Girl ſweetly ſleeping, and warm by my ſide;
Such Lips! ſuch a Neck! then her Cheeks had a hue
Like Roſes juſt moiſt with the Summer Morn's Dew.
I preſs'd her cloſe to me, nay held her too tight,
For faith I was ſcarcely eſcap'd from my fright.
IV.
Awaking, ſhe tenderly call'd out,—My Dear!
What ails you? you ſhake ſo, you're not well I fear?
What pleaſure this is tho', quoth me to myſelf,
To have Love alive here, inſtead of that Elſ?
With rapture I fell on the dear Creature's Face,
With rapture the fond one return'd my Embrace.
[150]V.
Let Fribbles with Beauty as Fribbles behave,
And Pedantry boaſt, he is no Paſſion's Slave.
Let Pride, folly-teeming, lure dreſs-loving Elves,
To ſcorn the Enjoyment of all—but themſelves.
Such things we deſpiſe, and them only approve,
Whoſe Hearts Eſteem ripens from Friendſhip to Love.
SONG LXXX. TRANSIT OF VENUS.
Tune—Had I but the Way to turn ſome Things to Gold.
I.
ASTROLOGERS lately a Buſtle have made,
How round the Sun Venus cou'd dance it,
With optic, catoptric, dioptric parade,
To ſpy how genteel was her Tranſit.
Between you and I, tho 'twas mal a-propo,
T'examine a fine Woman's Actions,
For were we to look among Ladies below,
What Fays it wou'd make? and what Fractions?
II.
Good-lack how they look'd at this wonderful Sight.—
A wonderful Sight! but what is it?
When all came to all, and when all came to light,
Love's Regent, paid Neptune a Viſit.
Bedew'd by the Salt-water Spray as ſhe roſe,
To
Apollo her Beautyſhip
run *,
Intending to dry her Olympical Cloaths,
So ſtood between us and the Sun.
[151]III.
While pointing your Glaſſes, and winking each way,
Inquiſitives, what did you ſee?
Does th' Empreſs of Joy, now, friends, honeſtly ſay,
Wear Garters above, or 'low knee?
A fig for the farce of your ſchemes and your ſcrolls,
Eclipſes indeed ye may ſhew,
But as to each Orb which high over us rolls,
Not an Inch paſt your Noſes ye know.
IV.
Into Ditch Thales fell, with his Teleſcope geer,
At midnight wou'd Stargazing roam,
When brought back bedaub'd, all his Spouſe ſaid was, Dear
You had better obſerve things at home.
If Huſbands who ramble, this Maxim wou'd mind,
And put it but once to the proof,
Obſerve things at Home; go but Home and they'll find,
At Home they had Buſineſs enough.
SONG LXXXI. MARIA.
Tune,—Ianthe Lovely, the Joy of the Plain.
ONE day, by appointment, Maria I met,
That day of Delight, I remember it yet.
As the meadow we croſs'd, to avoid the town's croud,
The Sun ſeem'd eclips'd by a black ſpreading cloud.
Eſcaping the ſhower, to Barn we faſt fled,
There ſafe heard the pattering rain over head.
[152]II.
Some moments I ſuffer'd my Fair to take breath,
Then, ſighing, ſhe cry'd, "Lord! I'm frighted to Death;
"Suppoſe, now, by any one I ſhou'd be ſeen?"
"Nay, nay, now,—nay, pray now—Dear—what do you mean?"
"Had I thought you wou'd be half ſo rude—ſye! for ſhame!
"I wiſh I'd been wet to the ſkin e'er I came.
III.
"You will have a Kiſs then!—why, take one or two!
"I beg you won't teize me! — Lord! what wou'd you do?
"You'll tear all one's things—I ne'er ſaw ſuch a Man!
"I will hold your hands tho'!— Aye, do if you can.
"Is this your love for me?—is this all your care?
"I'll never come near you again,—now, I ſwear!
IV.
As ſhe puſh'd me away, Love explain'd by her eyes,
Reſiſtance was only to heighten the Prize;
Her Face chang'd, alternate, from Scarlet to Snow,
Her Neck roſe and fell faſt, her Language was low.
Such Beauty! but more of that ſcene was not ſhewn—
For Decency here bid her Curtain drop down.
V.
The Storm being over, all Sunſhine the Air,
When inſtant roſe up, the yet Love-looking Fair,
Crying, hark! there's one liſtens—do look out, my Dear,
I muſt be bewitch'd, I am ſure, to come here,
My things how they're rumpled?—Lord! let me begone.
What have you been doing? and what have I done?
[153]VI.
Into this fatal place, I moſt ſolemnly vow,
I innocent enter'd—but am I ſo now?
I'm ruin'd,—I never myſelf can forgive—
I'll leap in the Brook,—for I'm ſure I can't live!—
If I do, my whole life will be waſted in Grief,
Unleſs here to-morrow you'll give me Relief.
SONG LXXXII. ADMINISTRATION.
Tune, — In this Mirror Bucks behold.
I.
SEE this Bumper, Bucks be gay,
I ſcorn all impoſition;
If you'll pledge my Toaſt you may,
'Tis Courtſhip's Coalition.
When two parties cloſe embrace,
And ſeparation ſmother,
He is upright in his place,
And downright is the other.
II.
Whether 'tis to riſe or fall,
Yet ſtill his time improving,
In the Cockpit at Whitehall
The beſt of meaſures moving,
[154] Outs will ſometimes Ins become,
'Twixt both ſides bold he ventures,
Puſhing things with vigour home,
Adminiſtration enters.
III.
Certain of a ſtrong ſupport,
Each op'ning he embraces,
All the time he ſtays at Court
His friends preſerve their places.
The Members he depends upon,
When plac'd in proper Station,
The Star above the Garter won
At Beauty's Inſtallation.
IV.
In Love and State exact the ſame,
Reſpecting Mankind's wiſhes,
ALL the Cupboard's Key wou'd gain
To plunder Loaves and Fiſhes.
Placemen England have diſgrac'd,
The daily papers tell us,
Howſoe'er you have men plac'd
Non Placets will be jealous.
V.
Miniſters may Places fill,
I buy none, nor am ſelling;
A Thatch'd Houſe underneath the Hill
Is what I chuſe to dwell in.
Tho' it has no high-rais'd Roof,
Yet Proſpects can command, Sir;
Not ſo low, but Room enough
For me upright to ſtand, Sir.
[155]VI.
On the Hill, along the Dale,
I ſometimes turn a Rover,
Then within the Moſſy Vale
I ſlily creep to Cover.
There's the Sport, and that's the Spot,
'Tis Pleaſure's wild Plantation,
Leſt the Toaſt ſhou'd be forgot—
Here's Love's Aſſociation.
SONG LXXXIII. FAIR PLAY.
Tune, — When the Nymphs were contending for Beauty and Grace.
I.
FRIENDS, Britons, and Countrymen, heed what you ſay,
Let Engliſhmen ever ſhew all folks fair play;
Look up, and reflect, e'er ye dare to deſpiſe,
We are all Sons alike of one LORD of the Skies.
II.
Does HE give to the Savage, the Turk, or the Jew,
The Indian, or Catholic, leſs than to You?
But Prejudice blinds us, that mind-madd'ning Elf,
We all wou'd be wiſer than WISDOM itſelf.
[156]III.
The unfeeling Baſe deny Sorrow a tear,
Vulgarities dare at Deformity ſneer;
Tho' pity, 'tis true, but Obſervance will find
The term Vulgar takes in two-thirds of Mankind.
IV.
We wrangle, we ridicule, laugh, and deſpair,
Then raſhly our, what we call, Reaſons declare;
Illib'ral on Cuſtoms and Countries decree,
And ſentence each Being born t'other ſide Sea.
V.
At Scotſmen we ſpurn, and at Iriſhmen ſneer;
Partiality, prithee a word in your ear—
With looks of contempt other Nations you view,
With equal injuſtice they thus deride you.
VI.
Hoſpitality, ſomehow, was baniſh'd from town,
Good nature enquir'd where Welcome was flown;
By Faction drove off, ſhe returns here no more,
Contentedly ſettled on Ireland's ſhore.
VII.
For the Scots—if we ſuffer not Party to rate,
There are Wiſe Men among 'em; and Good Men and Great;
Where e'er Merit's found, give that Merit its due,
To praiſe the Praiſe-worthy, adds Merit to you.
VIII.
To Oblivion conſign thoſe Diſtinctions of Soil,
Diſtinction among Men all born in one Iſle?
The ſame ſea encircles our ſhores with its tide,
What Creation unites thus ſhall Clamour divide?
[157]IX.
Here's to all the Good Fellows, in ev'ry Degree,
Who dare do as we do, drink, think, and ſpeak free;
And here's to thoſe Laſſes who Liberty prove,
And pledge from their Hearts this Toaſt, FREEDOM IN LOVE.
SONG LXXXIV. CIRCE.
Tune, — I have a Tenement to lett.
I.
CIRCE was a precious piece,
A plague upon the Gypſey,
She dol'd out drink ſomewhere in Greece,
And made her Tenants tipſey;
And then each filthy ſwiniſh Sot,
Engend'ring 'mong her Devils,
Upon thoſe obſcene Imps begot
A harpy Spawn of Evils.
II.
The Fiend Corruption, firſt brought forth
Duſt-licking Adulation;
A ſecond Daemon harraſs'd Earth,
With Party's altercation.
The Hag Deceit a Reptile bred,
Call'd Infamy, the Pander;
A third and fourth were brought-to-bed
Of Inſolence and Slander.
[158]III.
So fertile where th' Infernal Race,
Each day new monſters prowling,
Baſe Perjury with rank Grimace,
And Envy ever howling;
Servility with worthleſs Pride,
Debauch with poiſon'd Diet,
Swoln Gluttony by Scurvy's Side,
A Faction form'd for Riot.
IV.
A while theſe Implings croak'd about,
'Till ſtartl'ing Madam Circe,
She order'd all the Vermin out,
Nor to her own ſhew'd mercy.
Abſurdity with Malice went,
Ingratitude with Lewdneſs,
Scurrility with Diſcontent,
And Ridicule with Rudeneſs.
V.
Their baſtard brood the Daemons bore,
Along the mid-air flitting,
And found at laſt a welcome ſhore,
Where Bribery was ſitting.
Ambition hail'd them on their way,
And gave them his directions;
His Agents took them into pay,
Then ſent them to ELECTIONS.
SONG LXXXV. CHASTITY.
[159]Tune, — Good people I'll tell you no Rhodamontado.
I.
I Wonder, quoth Dame, as her Spouſe ſhe embraces,
How Strumpets can look, how they dare ſhew their faces,
And thoſe wicked Wives who from Huſband's arms fly,
Lord! where do they think they muſt go when they die?
II.
But next day, by Huſband, with 'Prentice Boy caught,
When ſhe from the bed was to Toilet-glaſs brought,
Her Head he held up, with this gentle Rebuke—
My Dear! you was wiſhing to know how Whores look!
III.
Turn your eyes to that table, at once you will ſee
What Faces Jades wear; then, my Dear, behold me.
Your Features confeſs the Adultereſs clear,
My Viſage exhibits how Cuckolds appear.
IV.
You aſk'd where bad Wives go? why, really, my Chick,
You muſt, with the reſt of them, go to Old Nick!
If Beelzebub don't ſuch damn'd Tenants diſown,
For bad Wives, he knows, make a Hell of their own.
[160]V.
All the World wou'd be wed, if the Clergy cou'd ſhew
Any rule in the ſervice to change I for O:
How happy the Union of Marriage wou'd prove,
Not long as we Live join'd, but long as we Love.
VI.
At his feet ſhe ſunk down, Sorrow lent her ſuch Moans
That Reſentment was gagg'd by her Tears and her Tones.
What cou'd Hubby do then? what cou'd then Hubby do?
But Sympathy ſtruck, as ſhe cry'd, he cry'd too.
VII.
Oh Corregio! cou'd I Sigifmunda deſign,
Or exhibit a Magdalen Guido like thine,
I wou'd paint the fond Look which the Penitent ſtole,
That pierced her ſoft Partner, and ſunk to his Soul.
VIII.
Tranſported to doating! he rais'd the Diſtreſs'd,
And tenderly held her long time to his Breaſt;
On the Bed gently laid her, by her gently laid,
And the Breach there was clos'd the ſame way it was made.
SONG LXXXVI. THE SPECIFIC.
Tune, — Tho' I with one Love wou'd be always content.
THO' News-papers puff ev'ry Noſtrum to town,
What Noſtrum is like the Grape's Juice?
No Chymical Liquor that turns red to brown,
No Beaume de Vie, nor Eau de Luce.
[161]As to Rouge, the rank practice, alas! is ſo riſe,
The Beauty of Health it conſumes,
But Wine is the Volatile Spirit of Life,
And brightens our natural Blooms.
II.
The Balſam of Honey a tickling Cough ſtops,
To Maredant the Scurvy ſubmits;
There's what's his Name's wonderful Viperine Drops,
And Henry for Hyſteric Fits;
But Phyſic, like Muſic, bears Faſhion's decree,
Of Modiſh Diſtempers they tell us;
Licentiates, or not ſo, yet ev'ry M. D.
Pronounces us Narvous or Bilous.
III.
Pour Wine into Wounds you'll be cur'd in a jerk,
Religious that text to purſue,
Whene'er my mind's wounded, I draw a long Cork,
Sometimes my Preſcription is Two.
The Doctor's a Dunce, down the ſink daſh the Slops,
Thoſe Pipes we are going to ſtart 'em;
Juſt draw off a Glaſs, they are Bacchus's Drops,
The Mixture is Secundum Artem.
IV.
As to Cuckoldom—that is a hurt to the Head,—
If Wives will be Harlots why let them,
An Abſorbent we find in a Bottle of Red,
An Opiate by which we forget them.
Philoſophers ſay,—but a fig for their Saws,
Such water-chill'd Maxims diſown 'em;
Their Efficients I prove are deficient in Cauſe,
When I've my Scots Pint, Magnum Bonum.
[162]V.
Wine makes — aye, what won't it? it makes right and wrong,
'Tis Love, Wit, and Truth's Ventilator;
At once it locks up the moſt voluble Tongue,
At once turns a Mute to a Prater.
If fond of a Fair, Wine this Magic will ſhew,
Make but, like an Artiſt, your Trial;
In her it will ſilence the nerves which ſay no,
And raiſe you above a Denial.
VI.
More or leſs to the Scurvy all Men are a prey,
Quoth this, that, and t'other Phyſician:
More or leſs we're all mad, I will venture to ſay,
And the World's in a ſcurvy condition.
Good Wine makes good Blood, and good Blood keeps us ſound,
So Recipe tantum ſufficit;
For Madneſs, my friends, ſince the Remedy's found,
Let none be ſo mad as to miſs it.
SONG LXXXVII. THE GRISKIN CLUB.
Tune, — A Toper I love as my Life.
OF Griſkins I ſing,
They're a feaſt for a King;
Kings, Homer ſays, dreſs'd their own Meſſes:
Achilles, the hot,
Always hung on the Pot,
Patroclus he garniſh'd the Diſhes.
[163]II.
By the Poets of old,
Apicius we're told
Was an Eater among the Antiques;
Tho' his Taſte it was fine,
Yet like us cou'd not dine,
For no Griſkins were cook'd 'mong the Greeks.
III.
'Mong the Greeks? well I know, man,
Apicius was Roman,
So no Critic's rod am I riſking;
Not of Roman, nor Greek,
But of Britons I ſpeak,
And Britons who boaſt of their Griſkin.
IV.
Trimalchio's Stuff,
And the French Dartineuf,
Had almoſt good Eating aboliſh'd;
Sardanap'lus was great,
And Lucullus cou'd treat,
Yet never a Griſkin demoliſh'd.
V.
One Emp'ror took pains
To make Ragouts of Brains,
But how were thoſe Diſhes compounded?
It was done long ago,
For at preſent I know,
Our Cooks wou'd be greatly confounded.
[164]VI.
Come! Lads, hark away,
Hunt the Bottle To-day,
At Night, Boys, to Beauty high over;
Be this underſtood,
May our Griſkins prove good,
When, as Griſks, we leap into Love's Cover.
SONG LXXXVIII. BEEF STEAK CLUB.
Tune,—Since Artiſts who ſue for the Trophies of Fame.
I.
DRAW the Cork, the Cloth's drawn, —a Toaſt to the KING,
I preſume it is meet, after meat we ſhou'd ſing,
For thus preſcribes Galen;—"Life's Health to prolong,
"Take Dinner's digeſtive, a Glaſs, and a Song."
To him the Diplomiſts their judgements reſign,
So fiat mixturam, 'tis Muſic and Wine.
II.
Old Homer, who, Shakeſpeare-like, all Nature knew,
Does honour to Beef, and to Beef-eaters too;
He ſings, that the Greeks, by whom Troy Town was ſell'd,
In fighting and eating, all Nations excell'd;
And he, for the Day, who was Hero in Chief,
Had a Double Proportion, or Premium of Beef.
[165]III.
It was Cacus (ſome ſay) tho' that's not Orthodox,
'Twas Milo of Crotos firſt knock'd down an Ox;
He invited all friends to his Beef-eating Wake,
But firſt, on Turf Altar, he offer'd a Stake.
The Aetherials regal'd on the odour that 'roſe,
Says Epicure Jove, ſuch a Club we'll compoſe.
IV.
Then call'd out for Vulcan, the God, limping, came,
And, ogling behind him, attended his Dame;
Each Deity ſeem'd more inclin'd to her Meſs,
Than to dine on the beſt diſh Olympus cou'd dreſs.
Jove ſilence proclaims, his curls awfully ſhakes,
And on Ida eſtabliſh'd a Club of BEEF STAKES.
V.
When Juno, that inſtant, a female peal rung,
In Jove's hand the Bowl ſhook, the Toaſt dy'd on his tongue;
But commanding a Cloud, like a Curtain to fold,
He embrac'd her within it, and ſilenc'd the Scold.
In practice, ye Huſbands, put Jupiter's plan,
And keep your Wives quiet—as well as you can.
SONG LXXXIX. JACK TAR'S SONG.
Tune, — A Begging we will go.
COME buſtle, buſtle, drink about,
And let us merry be,
Our Can is full, we'll pump it out,
And then all Hands to Sea.
And a Sailing we will go.
[166]II.
Fine Miſs at Dancing-ſchool is taught,
The Minuet to tread,
But we go better when we've brought
The Fore Tack to Cat Head.
III.
The Jockey's call'd to Horſe, to Horſe,
And ſwiftly rides the Race,
But ſwifter far we ſhape our courſe
When we are giving Chace.
IV.
When Horns and Shouts the Foreſt rend,
His Pack the Huntſman cheers,
As loud we hollow when we ſend
A Broadſide to Mounſeers.
V.
The What's-their-names, at Uprores ſqual,
With muſic fine and ſoft,
But better ſounds our Boatſwain's Call,
All Hands, all Hands aloft!
VI.
With Gold and Silver Streamers fine
The Ladies Rigging ſhew,
But Engliſh Ships more grander ſhine,
When Prizes home we tow.
VII.
What's got at Sea we ſpend on Shore,
With Sweethearts, or our Wives,
And then, my Boys, hoiſt Sail for more,
Thus paſſes Sailors lives.
And a Sailing we will go.
SONG XC. PREJUDICE.
[167]Tune,—Without you will promiſe, nay, ſwear to be true.
I.
INGRATITUDE's crime worſe than Witchcraft is nam'd,
A neglect to repay what we owe;
Of ſuch an omiſſion we muſt be aſham'd,
I'm aſham'd ſuch omiſſion to ſhew.
II.
But when the alarm of an Earthquake was ſpread,
All London ſeem'd running away;
Unſafe the fine Gentleman fancy'd his bed,
And tumbl'd out, trembling, to pray.
III.
No Sunday-throng'd Routs then Politeneſs diſgrac'd,
But each to the Temple repairs;
The Delicate, dreſs'd moſt immenſely in Taſte,
Attempted to ſpell out their Prayers.
IV.
Under Beds, into Cellars, up Chimneys, in ſhoals,
As Rabbits to burrows will fly;
The Free-thinkers ran, they believ'd then in Souls,
And blubbering,—begg'd not to dye.
V.
But when Apprehenſion had labour'd in vain,
And Safety ſtopp'd Penitent's din,
Religion was quitted, for Seven is the Main,
'Tis Church Time, my Dear, we'll cut in.
[168]VI.
Before that Rebellion at Culloden fled,
Pale Terror took Towns in the South;
Laugh ſeem'd to want Mirth, nay, Debauch ſneak'd to Bed,
And Clamour was down in the Mouth.
VII.
Then Soldiers were welcom'd, as Soldiers ſhou'd be,
Nay, embrac'd, as the Props of the Land;
And Engliſhmen grateful, from Prejudice free,
Shook bra' bonny Scots by the Hand.
VIII.
But ſince — may HIS Memory Britons preſerve,
Who gave to Invaſion Defeat;
In Peace we permit our own Soldiers to ſtarve,
But can't bear a Scotchman ſhou'd eat.
IX.
E'er Mahomet cou'd the Turk's Miſſion begin,
Arch Gabri'l came down as his gueſt;
He purify'd Mecca's Profeſſor from ſin,
Extracting a Speck from his breaſt.
X.
That Spot we are born with, 'tis Jealouſy's Core,
Mortality's Pain and Diſgrace;
Pluck it out, and to hinder its hurting you more,
EMULATION apply in its place.
SONG XCI. FREEDOM.
[169]Tune, — Beſſy Bell, and Mary Gray.
I.
COME Neighbours, Neighbours, drink about,
Have done with Party's pother,
Liſt not, ye Lads, to Uproar's rout,
On one ſide nor on t'other.
The Winners laugh, the Loſers rail,
Thus Faction ever dins, Sir;
Inſanity tells Folly's tale,
The Outs will at the Ins, Sir.
II.
Oh, Common Senſe! once more deſcend
To ſave this Iſle from ſinking;
Be once again Britannia's friend,
And ſet her Sons to thinking!
No more by Knaves let us be ſchool'd,
But teach us how to read 'em,
Nor let well-meaning Men be fool'd
By Privilege and Freedom.
III.
Where's Freedom?—point out how and when
We have enjoy'd that Bounty?
When Magna Charta—aye, Amen,—
But tell me where's her County?
Why where our Property's ſecur'd,
Where Liberty poſſeſſing;—
Then, Brother Britons, be aſſur'd
The GAME ACT is a Bleſſing.
[170]IV.
Lov'd LIBERTY! celeſtial Maid!
Which way ſhall we addreſs thee?
You're England's Genius, it is ſaid,
And Engliſhmen poſſeſs thee.
We boaſt too much about this Fair,
For, nightly, tho' we toaſt her,
I wou'd not have you, Friends, deſpair—
But, faith, I fear we've loſt her.
V.
Like Hamlet's Ghoſt, 'Twas here! 'tis gone!
And only to be gueſs'd at;
As Maidenheads, when loſt and won,
Are what the winners jeſt at.
In vain the GODDESS opes her arms,
No more her arms we're wooing;
Licentiouſneſs has Harlot's charms,
Which tempt to our undoing.
VI.
Wit, Beauty, Sciences, and Arts,
Are all become dependant;
We're neither free in Heads nor Hearts,
We're Slaves, and there's an end on't.
It was, and ever will be ſo,
Each fetter'd to ſome Folly;
And, all the Liberty we know,
Is — drink! and let's be jolly.
SONG XCII. HONOUR.
[171]Tune, — Confuſion to him who a Bumper denies.
I.
OUR Reck'ning we've paid, here's to all bon repos,
The Decks we have clear'd, and 'tis time we ſhould go;
A Coach did you ſay? No! I'm ſober and ſtrong,
Waiter! call me a Link-boy, he'll light me along.
II.
Obſequious the dog with his dripping torch bows—
Your Honour! poor Jack, Sir, your Honour Jack knows.
For the ſake of the pence thus he'll honour me on,
Gold Duſt ſtrews the Race-ground where all Honour's won.
III.
Hold your light up!—what half-naked Objects here lye,
Thus huddled in heaps?—Good your Honour! they cry;
To poor creatures, your Honour, ſome charity ſpare;
Honour's phraſe is Neceſſity's common-place prayer.
IV.
Young periſhing Out-caſts thus nightly are found,
No Pariſhes care, they're too poor to be own'd.
For he, in theſe times, wou'd be laughed to ſcorn,
Who Diſtreſs wou'd aſſiſt, yet expect no Return.
V.
With Courtier-like bowing the Shoe-cleaners call,
And offer their Bruſh, Stool, and ſhining Black Ball;
Japanning your Honour, theſe Colouriſts plan,
And, really, ſome Honours may want a Japan.
[172]VI.
To varniſh the Taſte is,—as caſes from duſt,
Each picture now glares with a tranſparent cruſt;
Nay, ſome Ladies Faces are colour'd like Blinds,
While men uſe japanning which maſquerades minds.
VII.
Of Honour, of Freedom, yet England can boaſt,
And Honour and Freedom's an Engliſhman's Toaſt;
May Infamy ever Deſerters attend,
But Honours crown thoſe who our HONOURS defend.
SONG XCIII. FOOLS-HALL.
Tune, — The Sun in Virgin Luſtre ſhone.
I.
OLD Homer nodded long ago,
And modern Bards oft' ſleep we know;
They doze to dream, and dream to write,
'Twas thus with me the other night.
Sleeping by all ſomnif'rous rules,
Methought 'twas in the Hall of Fools;
More properly the place to call,
The Learned ſay, it was Fools-Hall.
II.
There Billingsgate, with front of braſs,
And Faction, rode on braying Aſs;
While ſcurril' Banter leer'd along,
With face buffoon, and loll'd-out tongue.
[173] Riot there, with mouth ſtretch'd wide,
On a Drunkard ſat aſtride;
Spangled Lewdneſs op'd the Ball,
And Nonſenſe echo'd round Fools-Hall.
III.
Credulity, the Dupe of Lyes,
Stupidity in Thought's diſguiſe;
Dullneſs came in Hood and Cowl,
Solemn as the broad-fac'd Owl.
Quirk and Quaintneſs hand in hand,
In Lawyer's gown, and Pleader's band.
On tiptoe Pride o'erlook'd them all,—
While Scandal flew about Fools-Hall.
IV.
Baſe Scribblers arm'd with white and black,
To ſhine or ſoil, to heal or hack,
With ſtone-blind Ignorance ſtood next,
And Pedants tearing Shakeſpeare's text.
There Prejudice the day denies,
With hands held up before his eyes;
Pert Diſſipation welcom'd all,
She kept it up within Fools-Hall.
V.
With Vanity blind Zeal was pair'd;
Hypocriſy their profits ſhar'd;
Fraud, Pimp-like, Superſtition led,
But hoodwink'd, to Impoſture's bed.
Miſs Affectation made the Rout,
Debauch the ſick'ning Feaſt ſat out;
While Doctors waited Symptom's call,
Diſeaſe's vapours fill'd Fools-Hall.
[174]VI.
The ſtupid Heirs of much-muck'd Land,
With wheezing Gluttons throng'd the Strand;
Great ſport they hop'd, they long'd to ſee,
Heedleſs what victim 'twas to be.
But wealthy Dunces joke the beſt
On Merit, when 'tis moſt diſtreſs'd;
While Sots, while Coxcombs great and ſmall,
Paraded, grinning, round Fools-Hall.
VII.
Plain Truth appear'd, but at the ſight
They ſhriek'd, they cou'd not bear the fright;
The CRY confin'd him in the Stocks,
And Virtue prov'd not Orthodox.
Honour the pariſh paſs'd away,
And Wit was gagg'd for Folly's play;
Deſerted Beauty, mock'd by all,
The Beadle's Whip drove from Fools-Hall.
VIII.
O'erwhelm'd with that I ſaw, I wept,
And, happily, no longer ſlept;
Malice, methought, had ſpy'd my tears,
Expoſing me to Party's Sneers,
Who hiſs'd, and ſhov'd me thro' the throng;
I'woke, as I was dragg'd along,—
Here's Women, Wine, and Health to all,
Who ſcorn the crouds which fill Fools-Hall.
SONG XCIV. POLITICS.
[175]Tune,—'Tis a Twelwemonth ago, nay, perhaps it is twain.
I.
AS an Engliſhman ought, I wiſh well to my King,
As an Engliſhman ought, for my Country I'll ſing,
And my mind I will tell, 'tis a Kingdom to me,
By his Birthright a Briton dares think and ſpeak free.
II.
My Hearts of Oak, ſtoutly you call out for Freedom,
And Liberty, Property,—really we need 'em;
But don't, quite ſo loud, againſt Brib'ry exclaim,
Rogues will buy, — but who ſells, Sirs? then, pray who's to blame?
III.
Ye noiſe-making, faſh-breaking, Lacqueys of Factions,
Ye inſane Diſturbers, who're bit by Diſtractions,
Think what you're about, when the loudeſt you bawl,
Not a man that you're mad for but laughs at ye all.
IV.
Who Patriots were once now are Patriots no more,
And what has been, certainly may be, encore;
Nay, have not ſome Buſtlers confeſs'd their intentions,
They open'd their mouths until MUM popp'd in Penſions.
V.
To be wiſe is the word; how that word comes about
Is,—the wiſe are thoſe in, and the otherwiſe out;
So ſmall's the diſtinction betwixt one another,
When Outs become Ins, then they're wiſer than t'other.
[176]VI.
The World has, without one exception, a Rule,
The rich Man's a wiſe Man, the poor Man's a Fool;
And fooliſh he is, faith, ſince Money's the teſt,
Who attempts not to get what will get all the reſt.
VII.
Attend and depend thro' the year, ſo you may,
And begin, waſte and end the next juſt the ſame way;
As to promiſe on promiſe ſuch ſchemes I condemn;
Folks will not ſerve us unleſs we can ſerve them.
VIII.
Let us now ſerve ourſelves, fill our Glaſſes, fill high,
We'll laugh when we're pleas'd, and we'll drink when we're dry;
And we'll drink the King's Health, 'tis the beſt Toaſt of all—
Here's our Lord of the Manor in Liberty-Hall.
SONG XCV. A CARICATURE.
Tune, — T'other day as I ſat in the Sycamore ſhade.
I.
MAN's all Contradiction, a medley Machine,
Now this Thing, and now he is that;
To-day all in Spirits, to-morrow all Spleen,
The next, knows not what to be at.
[177]II.
When in Love,—how he labours the prize to obtain,
If luck'ly, he draws Beauty's Lot,
He'll hate what he has, nay, Poſſeſſion's a Pain,
And he's mad to have what he has not.
III.
When the wind's in the Eaſt, ſad and ſick of his life,
As if under Spell of Queen Mab;
He is always at Home Sir John Brute to his Wife,
Abroad, Jerry Sneak to his Drab.
IV.
At the Tavern he'll prove all Religion is Art,
And laughs at Eternity's Doom;
But in Bed, when alone in the dark, how he'll ſtart
If a Mouſe only moves in the room.
V.
He ſwears, aye and loudly, that he will be free,
Nay, dye e'er his Country diſgrace;
Confuſion to Miniſters! drinks on his knee,
Then, riſing, runs off for a Place.
VI.
Wives, Siſters, or Daughters, wherever he ſtays,
A prey for Debauch he intends;
Proper Gratitude thus for his Welcome he pays,
It is right to be fond of one's Friends.
VII.
Shou'd Pique prompt his Spouſe to retaliate in kind,
He'll bellow Death, Vengeance, and all;
My Piſtols bring quick!—but, quick changing his mind
On his Proctor, imprimis, he'll call.
[178]VIII.
When maudlin at night, as 'tis nightly the caſe,
How loving the Creature appears;
While drops from dimn eyes trickle down his ſmear'd face,
And Hickups keep Time to his Tears.
IX.
Fooliſh friendſhips he'll proffer, and fulſome repeat,
But the zeal of the night ſnor'd away,
For his intereſt, indeed, he to-morrow may meet,
If not, he don't know you next day.
X.
Not the beſt of us all, not a Man is exempt,
If ourſelves we impartially ſcan;
We are Objects for Pity, or elſe for Contempt;
Miſconduct is Maſter of Man.
XI.
As againſt our own wills we are tumbled to Town,
So reluctant again we go out;
In chacing and changing that Will up an down,
We Wiſdomites blunder about.
XII.
Still blunder we muſt, as we're born but to dye,
And as wiſe in the Dark as the Light;
But in Drinking, my Bucks, all Miſtakes we defy;
Here's a Bumper to prove ourſelves right.
SONG XCVI. BEAUME DE VIE.
[179]Tune, — Two Gods of great Honour.
I.
ARIADNE one morning
To Theſeus was turning,
When miſſing her Man, to the Beach down ſhe flew;
Her cries unavailing,
She ſaw far off, ſailing,
His Ship 'fore the wind leſs'ning ſwift to her view.
She tore her fine hair,
Beat her breaſt in deſpair,
Spread her arms to the ſkies, and ſunk down in a ſwoon,
When Bacchus, 'midſt Aether,
Begg'd leave of his Father
To comfort the Lady, Jove granted the Boon.
II.
Then gently deſcending,
Her ſorrows befriending,
His Thyrſis he ſtruck 'gainſt the big-belly'd Earth,
When o'er the ſmooth gravel,
In murmuring travel,
A ſpring of Champaign at her Head bubbled forth;
She, wak'd with the ſcent,
Gave her ſorrow freſh vent,
Yet to drink was determin'd, exhauſted by tears;
She taſtes the Champaign,
Licks her lips, taſtes again,
And feels herſelf ſuddenly freed from her fears.
[180]III.
As ſtill ſhe kept ſipping,
Her heart lightly leaping,
She look'd upon Theſ. as a pitiful Elf;
Wine turn'd her to ſinging,
In hopes it wou'd bring in
A Lover,—'twas lonely to drink by herſelf.
The God, her Adorer
Confeſs'd, ſtood before her,
She hail'd the Celeſtial, ſhe welcom'd the Gueſt;
Champaign ſtopp'd reſiſtance,
She kept not her Diſtance,
But jollily claſp'd the young Buck to her Breaſt.
IV.
Each Girl given over,
Betray'd by her Lover,
To Hartſhorn, to Salts, or Salt-water may fly;
But we've an Elixir
Will properly fix her,
If properly ſhe'll the Preſcription apply:
The Recipe's wholſome,
'Tis Beauty's beſt Balſam,
For which we refuſe tho' to pocket a Fee.
As gratis we give it,
Girls grateful receive it,
So here's to the Practice of Love's Besume de Vie.
SONG XCVII. THE NORFOLK FARMER.
[181]Tune,—I'am marry'd, and happy, with wonder hear this.
WHEN the early Cock crows at the Day's dappl'd dawn,
And ſoaring Lark thro' the air trills,
E'er yet the warm Sun drinks the dews from the lawn,
Or vapours uncover the hills;
While Ploughmen are whiſtlitng, as furrows they turn,
And Shepherds releaſing their care,
I riſe to unkennel, at ſound of the Horn,
Or courſe, with my Greyhounds, the Hare.
II.
In Spring-time obſerving my Huſbandmen ſow,
Then ſee how my Yearlings go on;
Sometimes, riding round mark my Turnip-men hoe,
Or in Barn what my Threſhers have done,
At Home, with the Parſon, 'bout Markets I prate,
His Tythes, tho' I never delay;
We properly each ſhou'd maintain in his State,
The Vineyard-man's worthy his pay.
III.
My Milk-maidens, morn and eve, Dairy-cows preſs,
For cuſtards, cream, puddings, and cheeſe;
My Daughters keep market in neat but plain dreſs,
And Dame too—but 'tis when ſhe'll pleaſe.
We never for Maſter or Miſtreſsſhip ſtrive,
But Man and Wife's Lot ſhare and ſhare;
As Gratitude tells us, in Friendſhip we live,
Do ſo ye Crim. Cons. if ye dare.
[182]IV.
My Poultry is all by my good Woman bred,
My Garden gives Roots for my Health,
For London my Bullocks on beſt fodder fed,
Yet pinch not the Poor for my Wealth.
I've plenty of Game in my copſes and woods,
My Flock on its Thyme feeding thrives;
With Fiſhes well ſtor'd are my ponds and my floods,
And Honey from yon' row of hives.
V.
What grateful Return is to Induſtry made?
What Reward have the Bees for their Toil?
We boaſt of our RIGHTS, yet, their Rights we invade,
And ſeize on their Labours as Spoil.
But Juſtice to Power is only a name,
Great Fiſhes devour the ſmall;
Great Birds, and great Beaſts, and great Men do the ſame,
'Till Death, the grand Robber, robs all.
IV.
Content ſpreads my cloth, and ſays Grace after Meat,
While Welcome attends at my board;
No Outlandiſh Mixture diſguiſes my treat,
My Wine my own Orchards afford.
With a Glaſs in my Hand, to Church, Country, and King,
I drink, as a Subject ſhou'd do;
Perhaps my Dame ſmiles, then one Song I muſt ſing,
So, Sir, if you pleaſe, pray do you.
SONG XCVIII. THE AUCTION.
[183]Tune,—Pho! pox on this nonſenſe, I prithee give o'er.
I.
I'LL ſtrive to ſing ſomething, yet wou'd not do wrong,
Will you pleaſe to accept of a Common-place Song;—
This World's like an Auction for ſeling and ſhewing,
Truth, Friendſhip, and Gratitude,—going! a going!
II.
They are going!—but how? not by hammer knock'd down,—
No, no! out of Taſte, they muſt go out of Town.
Such ſtuff wou'd our dear diſſipation encumber,
They are ſhipp'd off for ſea, and exported as lumber.
III.
Preferment put up! who bids? I, I, I, I;
Such a noiſe it has made we the Lot muſt put by:
At the name of Preferment if uproar is heard,
No wonder ſuch clamour againſt the preferr'd.
IV.
Confuſion, and eke Contradiction its mate,
Fill out heads with,—I don't know what politic prate;
As all to be in, ſuppoſe equal pretences,
Of Innings when baulk'd, they're out of their ſenſes.
V.
Yet, ſeriouſly, Sirs, this world's not ſo bad,
Some Women are chaſte, and ſome Men are not mad;
But where do they live? 'tis not worth while to try,
They are ſuch ſort of folks other folks can't live by.
[184]VI.
How eaſy is Weakneſs by Wickedneſs turn'd,
Unworthineſs welcom'd, and Worthineſs ſcorn'd;
The Female Sex charge not with proſtitute vice,
Mankind will be bought come but up to their price.
VII.
All Men and their Meaſures 'tis eaſy to ſee,
No Parties, but Parties of Pleaſure for me;
Let this Side, or that Side, or both Sides be mad,
We know no diſtinction but good Men and bad.
VIII.
Will any here heſitate how they declare?
Or, Toaſt the good people at home and elſewhere;
Their country, complexion, religion, or wealth,
We heed not, but drink to the HONEST MAN's HEALTH.
SONG XCIX. THE BOTTLE.
Tune,—On a Time I was great, now little am grown.
PUSH the Bottle about, name the Toaſt, and away,
With Wine be our Sentiments flowing;
We idly grow old while we drinking delay,
Be merry, my Bucks, and keep doing.
Keep doing I ſay, fill it up to the brink,
'Tis a Trouble to talk, 'tis a Trouble to think,
'Tis a Trouble—no, no!—tis a Pleaſure to drink.
Prithee ring, we muſt have to'ther Bottle.
[185]II.
Our Claſſic is Bacchus, his Volumes prefer,
To all that's in old Ariſtotle;
But why, with quotations, ſhou'd we make a ſtir?
We'll ſtir about briſkly the Bottle.
A Fool once to find how the World cou'd go round,
Leap'd into the deep where the puppy was drown'd,
But deep had he drank, he the ſecret had found,
Such wonders are work'd by a Bottle.
III.
The Sportſman arous'd when the Horn harks away,
Shrill echo Tantwivy repeating,
His warm wiſhing Wife clings around him to ſtay,
But ſhouts put to ſilence entreating.
Yet what is his Chace to the Chace that we boaſt?
So, ho! here's a Bumper, hark, hark! to the Toaſt.
Hit it off, and be quick, leſt the ſcent ſhou'd be loſt,
And we're caſt in the Chace of a Bottle.
IV.
Let Heroes or Neroes run mad after Fame,
We're charg'd and rang'd ready for battle;
Let Placemen perplex, and let Patriots declaim,
Let both be indulg'd in their prattle;
But Preachers o'er Liquor we always confute,
Without 'tis the Toaſt, at our meetings we're mute,
For what, without Wine, can be worth a diſpute,
Except 'tis a Short-meaſure Bottle.
[186]V.
Shou'd Sickneſs with ſadd'ning Captivity join,
The Ancients I'll equal in thinking;
But all my Philoſophy ſhou'd be my Wine,
Deſpair I defy when I'm drinking.
Stood Death like a Drawer to wait on me home,
Or, Bailiff-like, dare he ruſh into my room,
I'd try for one moment to tip him a Hum,
While I bumper'd the laſt of my Bottle.
SONG C. THE MASQUERADE; OR, LABOUR IN VAIN.
Tune, — Maſks All.
I.
ONCE Jupiter's Lady, call'd Juno the Scold,
At Toilet imagin'd herſelf to look old;
In a pet put a Veil on to hide her diſgrace,
Then ſcheem'd how each Beauty ſhou'd ſhadow her face.
Sing tantararara Maſks all.
II.
Firſt England review'd, there, amaz'd, Madam ſaw
Many Faces and Forms without failure or flaw;
Then others diſcover'd whoſe Features were ſpread,
All taſty, all paſty, with cauſtics of lead.
[187]III.
Thoſe laſt pleas'd the Queen, who declar'd, with a ſmile,
The Folly of Faſhion ſhou'd lead in this Iſle;
The great gifts of Jove they were dup'd to deſpiſe,
And natural Beauty by Art they diſguiſe.
IV.
'Tis an Empire, ſhe ſaid, of Dreſs, Drinking, and Song;
Of Bathing—becauſe we are bit by Bon Ton:
Her ſcheme, ſhe foretold, would ſucceed with the town,
For whatever's imported muſt always go down.
V.
A Card flew to Pan, who was ſkill'd in theſe matters,
To model ſome Maſks from the Portraits of Satyrs;
Of Proſerpine aſk'd Merry Andrew's Shade,
Without a Buffoon there is no Maſquerade.
VI.
Pale Miſs Affectation was order'd, in haſte,
To dreſs up the Phantom, and call the thing Taſte;
Then taught it to talk, juſt one phraſe and no more,
Do you know me? it ſqueak'd, do you know me? encore.
VII.
'Twas the Thing, for 'twas foreign, it muſt be ador'd,—
It gagg'd depos'd Wit; when will Wit be reſtor'd?
When Engliſhmen—(thus it was Truth bid me ſay.
Will ſhew to their own Underſtandings fair play.
VIII.
The World is no more than one vaſt Maſquerade,
Where, by beſt concealments, beſt fortunes are made;
But why ſhou'd Plain Dealing pretend to complain,
Reformation to Labour is—Labour in vain.
Sing tantararara Maſks all.
SONG CI. THE MARQUIS OF GRANBY.
[188]Tune, — Shanbuy.
THO' Auſtria and Pruſſia, France, Flanders, and Ruſſia,
Have Heroes who claim an attention;
On the long liſt of Fame, as I look'd at each name,
A Briton I thought ſhe ſhou'd mention.
A Man among Men,
Who was worthy her pen,
Nor cou'd ſhe doubt who muſt the Man be;
As I ſaw not the whole,
She unfolded the ſcroll,
And on top ſtood the Marquis of Granby.
Old Time ſhook his Scythe, as he tott'ring ſtood by,
His Iron Teeth dreadfully grated;
Yet the ſad-looking Crone clear'd his brow from a frown
When Fame had my buſineſs related.
The cheeks of the Churl,
With a ſmile, ſeem to curl,
And cheerfully anſw'ring as can be,
Say, ſingle-lock'd Seer,
"Sir, this point's pretty clear,
"We all lov'd the Marquis of Granby."
III.
"By order of Fate I was bid to tranſlate
"That Hero to happier ſtation;
"The trumpet of Fame ſhook the air to proclaim
"Her Granby's beatification.
[189]"He ſhines now a Star,
"Near the Planet of War,"
Illuſtrious Soldier befriend us,
Be thy Influence our Shield,
And, when dar'd to the Field,
May thy Martial Spirit attend us.
IV.
Grief, away with your tears, ſee his Lineage appears,
We remember thoſe looks, and adore 'em;
They ſhall live in our love, and, my life on't, they prove
As brave as the brave Man before 'em.
What more can we ſay?
But the Granby's huzza!
Encore! loud and loud as loud can be;
To the brim fill it up,
It is Gratitude's Cup,
Off it goes, To the Offspring of Granby.
SONG CII. CONCLUSION OF THE HUMBUG.
TO THE SAME TUNE.
I.
THE Sages of old, and the Learn'd of this day,
Fa, la, la.
About Life and Living have ſaid and will ſay
Fa, la, la.
About and about it, about and about,
They ev'ry thing ſay, but can make nothing out.
Fa, la, la.
[190]II.
Rail on if you pleaſe, when the Knowing-ones win,
Yet half the world ſtrives to take t'other half in;
But all ſchemes concluded, and Loſs and Gain ſumm'd,
Both Biters and Bubbles are equally humm'd.
III.
Let thoſe who will hunt after Fame, and ſuch dreams,
Break their reſt, necks, or hearts, in the chace of thoſe ſchemes;
Shou'd they what they wiſh to be ever become,
They will find all they long'd for, alas! but a Hum.
IV.
By Terror of Parents, or tempted by Gain,
The Lady reſigns to ſome Jeſſamy Swain;
When Huſbands ſuch delicate creatures become,—
When Huſbands! no, no! for 'tis there lies the hum.
V.
When Beauty, all brilliant, ſhines Queen of the Ring
Such Grace and ſuch Taſte, and ſuch — oh! ſhe' the Things!
How happy her Huſband!—he may be,—but mum,
For ſometimes ſuch happineſs is but a Hum.
VI.
What a Rout 'mong the Rich at an only Son's Birth
And what a Parade when Papa's put in Earth;
Go caſt up, who pleaſes, Felicity's ſum,
From Birth unto Burial the Total's a Hum.
[191]VII.
The Profit of Life is out-ballanc'd by Coſt,
Fa, la, la.
Joy ever muſt be in Satiety loſt;
Fa, la, la.
It is,—it has ſlipp'd me, what 'tis I'd be at,
So a Bumper I'll drink, there's no Humbug in that.
Fa, la, la.
SONG CIII. SLEEP.
Tune, — By the gayly circling Glaſs.
SLEEP, thou leaden, lazy God,
What's thy Balm for Sorrow's Wound?
What thy reſtorative Rod,
Can it render Wretches ſound?
Not thy Wand,—no, no! 'tis Wine,
Wine can all Diſtreſs defy;
Ecce Signum, here's the ſign,
Don't believe me, drink and try.
II.
Let the reſtleſs Sleep invoke,
Sleep which cicatrizes Care;
Let—but, I ſay, Sleep's a joke,
Wine's the Doſe againſt Deſpair.
What we have been?—why, farewell!—
What we might be?—we'll not think.—
What we ſhall be!—who can tell?
Here we are, and here we'll drink.
[192]III.
When my Face deep wrinkles ſeize,
And my Head with palſy ſhakes;
When the Gout benumbs the Knees,
And the Voice, once manly, breaks;
When the ſunken Cheek ſhews pale,
And the hollow Eyes blear dim;
When the Ear and Mem'ry fail,
And unnerv'd each wither'd Limb.
IV.
Then repining, then I'll ſay,
Life, alas! is all a Cheat!
When I've nothing left to pay,
Envious, then, abuſe the Treat.
Soon or late, but late's too ſoon,
Who will truſt to-morrow may;
Thinking puts one out of Tune,
Let us drink, my Lads, to-day.
V.
Day by day, and night by night,
Joyful Jubilees we keep;
Life we meaſure by Delight,
Tell me,—have we time to ſleep?
Preſent Time is in our power,
And the means that Time t' improve;
Taſte it, 'tis Enjoyment's Hour,
Pledge me, lads, in Wine and Love.
VI.
Let the Glaſs and Laſs be kiſs'd,
Let not coyneſs chill the ſcene;
To excuſe, or to reſiſt,
Is High Treaſon to Love's Queen.
[193]Pouting Lips, and panting Breaſts,
Preſſing, mingling, murm'ring join;
Wine inſpiring Beauty's gueſts,
Pledge me, lads, 'tis Love and Wine.
SONG CIV. THE LONDON HUNT.
Tune, — Come rouſe Brother Sportſinen, &c.
I.
THO' far from Field Sports, we will Field Sports apply,
Hark! hark! ſocial Sportſmen, hark forward and try;
Nor think we want Game, tho' we're ſettl'd in Town,
It's Follies are Game, which we here will hunt down.
II.
We break Cover firſt, and throw off 'mong the Great,
By Babblers ſurrounded, call'd Flatt'rers of State;
Whip them off, for they're vermin unworthy a chace,
Their Patron's diſhonour, and Bounty's diſgrace.
III.
Like Pageants, the Nimrods of Nabobs behold!
Midſt all they have purchas'd by ſtrange gotten Gold;
Tho' large packs of Livery Couples they own,
When Conſcience ſtarts up, can they all hunt it down?
IV.
[...]n French varniſh'd chariots ſee Quacks drawn along,
Like Death, looking down on their Victims, the Throng;
[194]With tales of their Med'cines each paper abounds,—
Hunt their Noſtrums;—no, no!—they wou'd poiſon our hounds.
V.
Diſappointment againſt the Succeſsful exclaims,
And Envy will always make Uproar call names.
Thoſe peſts of the public to Clamour make court,
To kennel ſuch curs, for they only ſpoil ſport.
VI.
The Outs 'gainſt the Ins will for ever take aim,
And Miniſters muſt be the Multitude's game;
'Tis Tempeſts and Tides which preſerve the pure Sea,
We ſoon ſhou'd be ſtagnate if all ſhou'd agree.
VII.
Beat about for freſh ſport, thro' yon' Hall let us draw,
It abounds in Black Game, and that Game is the Law;
Call the Dogs off I ſay,—there have nothing to do,—
If you meddle with them they'll ſoon turn and hunt you.
VIII.
We're at fault, but whoſe is it? come, Sportſmen, try back,
Hark to Honeſty, that's the prime hound in our pack;
We are all ſound and ſtaunch, for a briſk Burſt prepare,
Talio! tis a Bumper,—fill free and drink fair.
IX.
Here's the Queen of our Hunt, 'tis Britannia's our boaſt;
Old England for ever! let that be the Toaſt;
See a freſh bottle ſtarts, one view hollow;—huzza!
The Fox Bruſh, and Beauty's Bruſh, bruſh them away.
SONG CV. THE MAN.
[195]Tune,—How pleaſant the meads were, how joyful the ſcene.
I.
IT is he who's unaw'd by the ſound of a Name,
Yet harbours no Hate in his breaſt;
What his Betters may do he pretends not to blame,
As he hopes they do all for the beſt.
To his King he is juſt, to his Country he's true,
And true to his Friend and his Glaſs;
A Sportſman who always with ſpirit comes thro'
And ne'er baulk'd a Leap, nor a Laſs.
II.
No Office he flatters, compounds with no Cheat,
But ever takes Honeſty's part;
Compaſſion awaits on his Juſtice's ſeat,
And Charity tenants his heart.
When a love-laden Laſs with contrition appears,
For Girls are enſnar'd like the Game;
His tenderneſs turns not away from her tears,
His pity prevents her from ſhame.
III.
To Game-Acts he fancies our Liberty yeilds,
So ſets their inflictions aſide;
Protection allows not to vermin in fields,
Which is to the Freeborn deny'd.
Suppoſe a Young Idler at birds ſhou'd take aim,
Or Puſs take, perhaps, in a ſnare,
Muſt Engliſhmen's Birthright be forfeit for Game,
And Man made a Slave for a Hare?
[196]IV.
If Sticks from the Hedge of his Honour are found
In the lap of the big-belly'd poor,
While ſleet fills the air, and deep ſnow's on the ground,
And Miſery groans at the door;
Humanity tells him to ſeek out the cauſe,
Which prompted Diſtreſs to turn Thief;
Convinc'd 'twas mere Want, he awakes not the laws,
But ſtops future crimes by Relief.
V.
This, this is the Man, uncorrupted he ſtands,
To Baal who ne'er bow'd the knee;
Unmortgag'd, enjoys all his Anceſtor's Lands,
And ever liv'd debtleſs and free.
Yes, yes, this is He, this the Man to my mind,
The Man who no Party can ſnare;
Shall I tell you, my Friends, where this Man you may find,
I wou'd—if I cou'd but tell where.
SONG CVI. MY NOSE.
Tune, — An Aſs, an Aſs.
I.
WHILE people call'd Poets, in Blank Verſe, or Rhime,
Pindarics or Epics compoſe,
And celebrate Heros in Sonnets ſublime,
My ſubject is, ſimply,—my Noſe.
[197]II.
The large Noſe and long one, thereby hangs a Tale,
A Tail the old Scholiaſts ſuppoſe;
Ex noſcitur Naſo—but Proverbs may fail,
I find it, in faith, by my Noſe.
III.
The boys of Conceit bluſhing Merit deride,
For Coxcombs are Modeſty's foes;
I challenge the ſons and the daughters of Pride
To move ſuch a muſcular Noſe.
IV.
Prometheus, 'tis ſaid, form'd our Animal Clay,
For quick'ning to Aether he roſe;
I fear that ſome 'Prentice, when he was away,
A little aſide ſhov'd my Noſe.
V.
I preſume,—but perhaps, 'tis preſumption to ſay,
I even preſume to ſuppoſe,
I ſhou'd ſet myſelf up in the Song-ſinging Way,
When I ought to ſet down with my Noſe.
VI.
My Song therefore ends, now a Toaſt with your leave—
May Wiſdom our Councils compoſe,
May Britons be Friends, and forget and forgive,
And at Faction each turn up his Noſe.
SONG CVII. SERIOSITY.
[198]Tune,—This cold flinty Heart it is you who have warm'd.
I.
WHITE Winter has left us, with all its chill train,
And fruitful Spring puts forth it buds o'er the plain;
The Birds their glad welcome by warblings expreſs,
All Nature ſeems pleas'd at the change of her dreſs.
II.
Let us take example, and merrily ſing,
Each moment at Midnight to us is new Spring;
Our green cover'd Table, a Garden for Souls,
Our Noſegays are Bumpers we gather from Bowls.
III.
With Daiſies, with King-cups, the meadows are crown'd,
But Bloſſoms from Bacchus our Verdure ſurround;
'Tis Life—and ſuch Life too, which only Bucks know,
As for Death we can talk about him when we go.
IV.
When coffin'd, no matter to us all the fun,
The ſmart things we've ſaid, or the droll things we've done;
Future Fame's all a joke—I'm for Life's preſent treat,
What's to come may be queer, for To-morrow's a Cheat.
[199]V.
'Tis certain that, one by one, all muſt reſign
The poſt of true pleaſure, Health, Women, and Wine.
Think, Ladies, what Life is, and Living improve,
To bilk the baſe worms, beſtow Beauty on Love.
VI.
As we ought, we reflect on Life's pleaſure and pain,
We have liv'd, drank, and lov'd, we'll repeat them again.
While Deſires depend on Ability's aid—
But Faculty's failing,—here Sexton your ſpade.
VII.
I have acted from Inſtinct, I've liv'd upon Whim,
As to Prudence—I can't ſay I e'er drank with him;
With the Sun tho' I've drove round the Bottle in Tune,
And have labour'd all Night with Queen Midwife the Moon.
VIII.
As to Sins,—why, Repentance will ſhorten our ſcore,
The loweſt have Hopes, and the higheſt no more;
We ſpeak as we feel, and we act as we think,
And to Men of ſuch Methods a Bumper we'll drink.
IX.
Here's to thoſe who, like us, Affectations defy,
Not Spendthrifts of life, nor like Miſers wou'd dye:
When call'd on to pay, calmly caſt up expence,
And drink their laſt Toaſt—A good Journey from hence.
SONG CVIII. THE SQUABBLE.
[200]Tune,—Puſh the Bottle about, &c.
I.
ON Ida one day, at Olympical feaſt,
The Laſs loving Jove was the Hoſt, Sir,
Who gayly propoſing a Health to the Beſt,
On Venus he fix'd for his Toaſt, Sir;
Each Deity ſmil'd as the Glaſs went about,
But, pettiſhly, Pallas her Bumper threw out,
She ſpoke not, but ſeem'd by her manner to doubt
The juſtice of toaſting Miſs Venus.
II.
Then Juno broke ſilence, and ſwore by her power,
Her face looking pale like a Spectre,
"The Liquor was turning exceſſively ſour,
"The Toaſt gaver a Fuſt to the Nectar."
Minerva maliciouſly ſeconds the Queen,
"I wonder, Papa, what it is you can mean,
"Sure other Celeſtials are ſweet and as clean,"
Tho' not quite ſo common as Venus.
III.
Dear M'em, replies Demirep Dio, and bow'd,
Your breeding juſt parrs your good-nature,
But aſk the Gods round, and, Nem. Con. 'tis allow'd,
To all I'm ſuperior in Feature.
To be ſure you're a Prude, and Enjoyment to ſpite,
That ugly Shield bear, as if Lovers you'll fright,
Enough, they are ſcar'd when they've once had a ſight
Of the old-mainden face of Minerva.
[201]IV.
Her Sov'reign and Spouſe haughty Juno may teize,
And bed-chamber women be rating,
And you, Miſs Militia, as long as you pleaſe,
May liſten to Sophiſters prating;
But I, who am Empreſs of Love and its Laws,
Who have from Immortals and Mortals applauſe,
Whoſe Beauties—but Beauty (quoth Vulcan) has flaws;
When Mars knit his brow and look'd frowning.
V.
Jove roſe in a rage, as he roſe tho', he reel'd,
And Hiccups gave out by the hundred;
Like Artiſts on Ice, to the right and left wheel'd,
By Styx then he ſwore and he thunder'd:
"Two to one, Madam Ox-Eye, is very foul play;
"Miſs Brain-born I beg you'll diſpatch and away,
"Or what Paris told me of both, I ſhall ſay."
The Goddeſſes went away grumbling.
VI.
Come, come! (ſays young Bacchus) pray, father, have done,
They are off; in the Milky-Way, walking,
We'll drink and be merry, the Goſſips are gone—
Of a Song brother Phoebus was talking.
Apollo began, with the help of the Nine,
The Ladies returning, good-natur'dly join,
Such power has Muſic when mingled with Wine,
All friendly were fuddled together.
SONG CIX. THE PORTRAIT; OR, LA, LA, LA.
[202]Tune,—Colin and Phoebe.
I.
YE Bibbers who ſip limpid Helicon's Rill,
Ye Lords of large Manors on Parnaſſus Hill,
Allow me, a Scribler, to try at Solfa,
And languiſh, in liquids, a Love-Song, la, la.
II.
The Grubber in Kennels for old Iron ſeeks,
A Grubber for Thoughts ſcrubs the Streams of the Greeks;
With ſtumpy Quils raking each Claſſical Spa,
To pick up ſome Simile Fragments, la, la.
III.
I wou'd, if I cou'd, with the Muſes make free,
But which of thoſe Siſters will liſten to me?
Attraction I want, their attention to draw,
As I'm old, they'll object, that it muſt be, la, la.
IV.
Ye Ladies of Lapland who beeſoms beſtride,
Or, pair'd in Witch Whiſkeys, aſlant the Moon ſlide;
If Fiends, or if Friends, you have harneſs'd to draw,
Let me be Poſtilion, and trot on la, la.
[203]V.
Ground Ivy has crown'd me inſtead of the Bays,
Right Holland's inſpires my rare Roundelays;
Miſs Soap Suds I ſing, by Poetical Law,
To Shifts more than to Shirts we are put, la, la, la.
VI.
Ye Dabblers in Diſtichs wherever ye ſnore,
On flock beds in cellars, or Garreteers ſoar,
Arouze from your blankets, aſſiſt me to draw
My Love's half, three-quarters, and whole-length, la, la.
VII.
Her Eye-brows are Croſs-bows, the Bolts are her Looks,
With which my poor Senſes are knock'd down like Rooks;
Her Cheeks—but who can a compariſon draw?
Not Carmine,—no, no; ſhe has none! 'tis la, la!
VIII.
Her Lips! and ſuch Lips, and ſuch Kiſſes they gave,
That Prudence was gagg'd, and ſent off as a ſlave;
They found in my Mind's Magna Charta a flaw;
Non-ſuited my Judgement, and caſt me, LA, LA!
IX.
Her Neck has great Grace, after Meat and before;
Her Legs, but, alas! I muſt mention no more,
For Decency, lately, has kept me in awe,
So to ſay any more wou'd be, but paw, paw; paw.
SONG CX. A TOAST.
[204]Tune,—Ye Lads who approve.
I.
WHEN running Life's Race,
We gallop apace,
Each ſtrives to be firſt at the Poſt;
Mount Hope with Catch-weights,
For Game's Give-and-take Plates,
And pray what is Fame but a Toaſt?
II.
The Taſte of our days
Is poaching for praiſe,
All Men of their Services boaſt;
The Ladies by Dreſs,
The ſame ardour expreſs,
Each wou'd if ſhe cou'd be a Toaſt.
III.
Both Sexes agree,
Over Wine to be free,
For Freedom's an Engliſhman's boaſt;
As freely we think,
So as freely we drink,
And a Sentiment give for a Toaſt.
IV.
What is Life? prithee ſay,
But a Glaſs and away,
While Health is our ruddy-fac'd Hoſt;
But when we abuſe him,
We're certain to loſe him,
By taking too much of a Toaſt.
[205]V.
Theſe Common-place Rhimes
Suit Common-place Times,
Who now can of Genius boaſt?—
Why, really, I think
'Tis a Science to drink,
And there's Genius in giving a Toaſt.
VI.
Even Politics fail,
Altercation grows ſtale,
Of what now can either ſide boaſt?
No matter to us,
All their Farce and their Fuſs,
Deſerves not the name of a Toaſt.
VII.
The Riots and Routs
Of the Ins and the Outs,
Is only a newſpaper roaſt;
Of Cricket I ſing,
In and Out there's the thing,
And there I'll attempt a new Toaſt.
VIII.
May our Innings be long,
May our bowling be ſtrong,
Middle-wicket I chuſe for my poſt;
Come, bumper away,
'Twixt the Stumps your Balls play,
And win the Game Love—that's the Toaſt.
SONG CXI. THE WORLD.
[206]Tune,—The Schemes of my Sex I abhor and abjure.
I.
THE World, and its Works, which we grieve to forſake,
Are good or bad, juſt as we hit or miſtake;
We write and we wrangle, make parties and plan,
As wife when we finiſh as when we began;
So let us laugh on, to be ſerious is ſad,
A Man in his Senſes wou'd now be thought mad.
II.
Our Senſes are bubbles in Vanities Fair,
And Men-children ſillily make a ſhew there.
Each mounting his hobby-horſe ſtarts for the race,
Expects Admiration, but ends in Diſgrace;
For ſo Diſſipation our training has ſcheem'd,
The more we're look'd into, the leſs we're eſteem'd.
III.
Behold the Booth's Shew-cloth to draw the croud in,
The Ruſtics are wrinkl'd with open-mouth grin.
Each Muſcle's in motion at Andrew's grimace,
Who tickles the throng 'till they puſh in for place;
Pray tell me what more is the World's preſent plan,
Than places to get in, and puſh who puſh can.
[207]IV.
The ſhirtleſs untrowzer'd Philoſophers Saws,
Once obſolete Reaſon pretended were Laws;
But Inſtinct turn'd Rebel, ſo Inſtinct was try'd,
The Paſſions were Jurors, NOT GUILTY! they cry'd.
Keep Sapience in ſchools, Folly now is the mode,
Truth's ways want repairing, I'll ride the new Road.
V.
My Bottle's my Hunter, I mount with a Song,
And ti-tup about like a Sunday-hack throng.
Each raiſes his Portion of Duſt for the day,
And he who's a Buck here will duſt it away.
We'll laugh at the Duſt which is made about Town,
And up with our Bruſhers, to bruſh the Duſt down.
SONG CXII. BEEF AND A BUMPER.
Tune,—Accept of my Ditty without finding fault.
I.
LET thoſe who have nothing to do but to hear,
And thoſe who have nothing to do but to ſneer,
Glean Scandal from Infamy's ſtubble;
Praiſe is but a vapour, and Cenſure the ſame,
Go aſk of Philoſophers what they call Fame?
'Tis, Anglice, Vanity's bubble.
[208]II.
This ſcribbling, this pen-and-ink-itch is a crime,
Yet Heaven forgive each poor Sinner in Rhime,
Condemn'd to the pennance of Thinking;
For what are all Similes to a Sirloin?
The flowing of Fountains to filling of Wine?
Huzza! for good eating and drinking.
III.
The Sapphics ſo ſoft, the Pindarics ſo rare,
The Epics, Iambics, and ſuch ſort of fare,
With many more names that are harder.
To Turtle, what ſignifies Tytire tu?
With Claſſics I beg you'll have nothing to do,
But ſtudy the ſtile of a Larder.
IV.
Parnaſſus and Pegaſus, cold Hypocrene,
Are words which I warrant give ſchool-boys the ſpleen.
And as to the Pedant Apollo,
Let him take his Snuff, let his Siſters drink Tea,
No Coxcombs I want, Sir, no old Maids for me,
But Bacchus and Venus I'll follow.
V.
The Choice Spirit Horace compos'd Lyric Verſe,
Catullus and Ovid good Scholars rehearſe,
Cap, ſcan 'em, and conjugate clever;
My Sentiments are for a Sentiment Toaſt,
And Syntax aboliſh for bak'd, boil'd, and roaſt.
So BEEF and a BUMPER for ever!
SONG CXIII. SPRING.
[209]Tune,—Come! pledge me Love, &c.
I.
LOOK round, my Love! how chang'd the Scene,
So late white o'er with Snow;
Now 'ray'd in flow'r enamell'd green,
How rich the meadows ſhew?
II.
The Sun creative pow'r re-ſumes,
And warms the breezy air;
The burſting buds expand their blooms,
While birds their neſts prepare.
III.
The Herds, and Flocks on herbage feed,
Sweet Spring renews its pride;
The Ice-bound Streams from fetters freed,
Now tinkling, roll their tide.
IV.
On leafleſs boughs no candy'd froſt
In icycles appears;
But as in grief, for Winter loſt,
Diſſolving into tears.
V.
Thus ſordid ſenſeleſs Human Kind
But mere exiſtence prove;
'Till Beauty's Sunſhine ope's the Mind,
And melts the Maſs to Love.
[210]VI.
For ſpite of Wealth, or Power's controul,
Or all the Wiſe can ſay,
'Till WOMAN warms the frozen ſoul,
We are but Clods of Clay.
SONG CXIV. A WONDER.
Tune,—Since Life's but a Jeſt.
I.
A Wonder! a Wonder! a Wonder I'll ſhew,
You'll wonder indeed when this Wonder you know,
We are wonderful high, and as wonderful low.
Which nobody can deny.
II.
We always are wond'ring at ev'ry thing new,
The good things we wonder at rich people do,
'Tis a Wonder indeed if ſuch Wonders are true.
III.
Some wonderful folks make a wonderful rout,
While ſome blunder in other folks blunder out,
We wonder what Blunderers can be about.
IV.
One Side ſays the Times are ſo good they are glad;
The Times, ſays the other ſide, ne'er were ſo bad:
No Wonder if this Side or that Side is mad.
[211]V.
For the Times, I ſome Patriot Changes propoſe,—
That our Taxes be leſs, and we wear plainer cloaths;
And that ev'ry wearer may pay what he owes.
VI.
Imprimis,—reflect on the Taxes on Wheels,
On Cards, and the Claret we waſte at our meals;
Theſe grievances each party equally feels.
VII.
To be ſure we muſt own 'tis curſed provoking,
To ſee how ſome people their vices are cloaking,
While Virtue—but, neighbours, don't think I am jokeing.
VIII.
For my Grandfather ſaid, and his name's rever'd,
That his Father's Father had often times heard,
How Virtue, when he was a ſchool-boy, appear'd.
IX.
She fled without leaving behind her directions,
'Twas in vain ſhe obſerv'd to oppoſe ſuch connexions,
As Turtle-feaſts, Cuckoldoms, Cards, and Elections.
X.
You may think me ſevere, but indeed you think wrong,
I promis'd a Wonder at firſt in my Song,
And the Wonder is—How cou'd you liſten ſo long?
Which nobody can deny.
SONG CXV. THE PARADE.
[212]Tune,—While others ſtrive by pompous Phraſe.
I.
LET thoſe attend who ſeek the choice,
Here, independent, we rejoice;
We look, we like, we meet, we part,
As Inſtinct prompts the feeling heart.
While many Groups miſcall'd the great,
Surrounded by inſipid State,
The Health of Peace abuſe.
In Party's tumult, Pomp's fatigue,
Place, Popularity's intrigue,
Life's ſocial ſcenes they loſe.
II.
The Danglers at a Birth-night's glare,
As Toyſhop Figures, fin'ry wear,
Like winnow'd chaff ſhift to and fro',
In all the fuſs and farce of ſhew.
As flies to Sunſhine ſpread their wings,
So up and down theſe idle things,
In courtly Sunbeams play.
The Nobles ſmile to ſee the train,
Which, with a bluſh, they muſt maintain,
To garniſh Grandeur's day.
[213]III.
Daughters of Dignity and Grace,
Ye high-bred Dames of haughty Race,
What think you, 'midſt your Di'mond blaze,
Your crouded Routs, and Gala days?
Tho' ſordid Flatt'ry's ſervile grin
Extols your forms, is all within
Fit for Contentment's dome?
Siſters of Faſhion laugh and love,
Tho' round you all the Graces move,
Yet how are things at Home?
IV.
Your ſtucco'd Cielings, emboſs'd Plate,
Your Carpets, Robes, and Beds of State,
Where Gold and Silver Cupids wove,
Exbibit artificial Love.—
Can Down, or fring'd Embroidery's art,
Affection win or warm the Heart,
Or ſtrengthen Vigour's ſtores?
Perhaps, 'midſt all the waſte of Pride,
The Fribble yawns at Beauty's ſide,
Or ſottiſh Huſband ſnores.
V.
While we, as marry'd folks ſhou'd do,
On neat unvarniſh'd Love fall to.
Satiety ne'er bids us roam,
We find Fruition's feaſt at home;
Beyond all mercenary charms,
Pure Inclination opes her arms.
Give Caeſar Caeſar's due.
May Friendſhip fill the manly breaſt,
And Gratitude be Beauty's gueſt,
And each to each be true.
SONG CXVI. THE FRIGHT.
[214]Tune,—Ah! Chloe! tranſported, I cry'd.
I.
ONE Ev'ning alone in the Grove,
Miſs ſat on the ſide of the Green,
She wonder'd at what they call Love,
And what it was marry'd folks mean.
"All night how I tumble and toſs,
"Yet neither want manner nor means;
"Alas! muſt I live to my Loſs,
"And wither away in my Teens?
II.
Young Rhodophil ran up the ſlope,
As if he ſome Sport had in view;
She trembl'd, betwixt Fear and Hope,
Irreſolute what ſhe ſhou'd do.
She ſaw him advance to her ſeat,
She ſaw him, but cou'd not away;
Love fix'd a large weight to her feet,
Curiouſity told her to ſtay.
III.
Deſire gave grace to his tongue,
As Lovers to Lovers will ſpeak;
Enamour'd, he over her hung,
Then bow'd down his Lips to her Cheek.
He knelt, ſhe attempted to riſe,
Tho' 'twas but a feeble eſſay;
The wildneſs he wore in his eyes,
So ſcar'd her ſhe fainted away.
SONG CXVII. TIME KILLERS.
[215]Tune,—How fooliſh weak Women believe.
I.
HOW weak is the Wiſdom of Man?
How fooliſh the fancy of Taſte?
Admitting that Life's but a Span,
That Span muſt we wantonly waſte?
About we diſſatisfy'd move,
And ramble from climate to clime;
Yet neither enjoy nor improve,
But only, alas! to kill Time.
II.
Ye Huſbands, raſh Dupes to Exceſs,
Pretend to live damn'd honeſt lives,
Ingrates to the good ye poſſeſs,
You abuſe both your Time and your Wives.
At midnight inebriate reel,
A prey to foul Proſtitute's lure,
O! think what Affection muſt feel,
What delicate Wives may endure?
III.
The Gun-loaded 'Squire will toil
All day with keen Induſtry's care,
Inceſſantly anxious to ſpoil,
The innocent Tenants of Air.
Or after the Fox burſts away,
Swift down the wind gallops along;
The Miſchiefs that chance in the Day,
At Night furniſh Fun for a Song.
[216]IV.
At Toilets how Beauties appear,
Like Fowlers they arm and take aim;
High charg'd with Curls, tier over tier,
And animal Man is their Game.
Sometimes with leſs dangerous arts
The fair, Diſſipations purſue,
If Trifles did not take their parts,
With horrid Time what cou'd they do?
V.
When fine Women do as they pleaſe,
They hear not the Nurſery's din;
No Huſband's abſurdities teize,
They fly ſuch dull Scenes to cut in.
Dear Bragg, Hazard, Loo, and Quadrille,
Delightful! extatic! immenſe!
With them each Reflection they kill,
And eſcape all the trouble of Senſe.
VI.
Yet, Lovelies, before 'tis too late,
While yet the pulſe beats in its prime,
Conſider that wrinkles await,
And make up your Quarrel with Time.
Before 'tis too late, ſo will we—
Too long I've your patience be rhim'd,
With Time may we henceforth agree,
And henceforth all things [...]e well-tim'd.
SONG CXVIII. THE FUNERAL.
[217]Tune,—Come ye careleſs, come and hear me.
I.
SEE the Pall-ſupporting Bearers,
All in Undertaker's ſhew;
See the train of Sable-wearers,
Acting ev'ry Mode of woe.
Silent crouds the ſpot ſurrounding,
Call'd the GRAND RECEIVER's Dome;
Diſmal tolling Tenor ſounding,
Fellow Mortals follow Home.
II.
Liſt! oh liſt! ye State Declaimers,
On whoſe words the many dwell;
Place-beſtowing, Patriot-tamers,
Hark! oh hark! 'tis Grandeur's Knell.
Heralds loud proclaim the Honours
Which this once puiſſant paſt;
Tell his Titles, count his Manors,
Lord of only this at laſt.
III.
View the Tomb with Sculpture ſplendid,
View the Sod with Briars bound;
There the Farce of Finery's ended,
All are equal under ground.
Faſhions there, there Envy's baniſh'd,
Beauties there can't plead their forms;
There Precedencies are vaniſh'd,
Offals ALL to odious worms.
[218]IV.
Wiſe folks, weak ones, poor, and wealthy,
Tenant unremitting Graves;
Haughty, humble, ſick, and healthy,
Britons ſons, and Aſian ſlaves.
Gloom no more the brow with ſorrow,
Meet the moment, come what may;
If we're all to dye To-morrow,
Let us live, my Lads, To-day.
V.
We'll not laviſh Life's expences,
Nor be Niggards when we pay;
Let us pleaſe, not pall our Senſes,
This is Reaſon's holiday.
Here, to Dunces bid defiance,
Affectations diſapprove;
Here's my Toaſt,—The grand Alliance,
FRIENDSHIP, FREEDOM, WIT, and LOVE.
SONG CXIX. THE COBLER OF CRIPPLEGATE.
Tune,—Had pretty Miſs been at a Dancing-School bred.
I.
THO' a Cobler is call'd but a low occupation,
The practice of cobling is come into faſhion,
From me up to thoſe who wou'd cobble the nation.
[219]II.
[...]ome ſay that Old England wants heel-piecing, true,
Our Country is trod upon like an old Shoe,
And may Heel-pieces want, aye, and Head-pieces too.
III.
One, vamping our old Conſtitution pretends,
And turn and tranſlate it to ſerve ſelf and friends,
All this is but botching to ſerve their own Ends.
IV.
Each Roof in this Iſland with Liberty rings,
The Good of their Country each Party-man ſings,
The Senſe of that Phraſe is, — My Country's good Things.
V.
If I, but how ſhou'd I the State have a hand in?
Good ſouls I'd be picking, the bad be diſbanding,
And then we ſhou'd come to a right underſtanding.
VI.
Againſt Want the cunning man wifely provides,
A Storm ſhunning ſhepherd beneath a buſh hides,
[...]o as the Times change we are ſure to change Sides.
VII.
With my Awl in my hand I'll Old England defend,
Giving room to my betters who've much room to mend,
[...]lay they ſoon become better, or ſoon have an end.
VIII.
To thoſe who are heedleſs what here may miſhap,
Their hearts are as hard as the Stone in my lap,
They're taking their ſwing, wou'd their ſwing was my Strap.
[220]IX.
I begin to wax warm, ſo I'll cloſe up my ſeam,
Or elſe I cou'd hammer out ſuch a fine theme,
It was about ſomething I ſaw'd in a dream.
X.
To my Laſt I am come, and that ſhall not laſt long,
So this is the laſt of a poor Cobler's Song,
May they now be right who till now have been wrong.
SONG CXX. MUM.
Tune, — Ye medley of mortals.
I.
YE Goſſips who blab out the ſecrets of State,
Ye Tell-tales who over the tea-tables prate,
Ye Boaſters of Favours from Beauties o'ercome,
Be wiſer poor Pratlers, henceforward be mum.
Sing tantararara mum all.
II.
Ye Wives who have Huſbands neglecting their duties,
That time give the Bottle that's due to your beauties;
Would you cure them? take care when in drink they reel home,
To receive them with ſmiles, and reſolve to be mum.
III.
It is good to hold faſt, to hold much, or hold long,
But the beſt hold of all is the holding your Tongue;
Tho' Wits by their words good companions become,
Can they get half ſo much as the Man who is mum?
[221]IV.
The Servant who ſlily keeps ſilent will riſe,
His ears he muſt doubt, nor give faith to his eyes;
Aſk the fine Waiting-maid how ſhe rich cou'd become,
She will curt'ſy and anſwer, becauſe I was mum.
V.
But enough has been ſaid, and enough has been ſung,
Remember, dear friends, keep good watch o'er your Tongue;
I have no more to ſay, to an end I am come,
My Rhymes are all out, I muſt henceforth be mum.
Sing tantararara mum all.
SONG CXXI. THE PARENT.
Tune, — Away with the Strife, the Uproar of State.
I.
A Fond Father's bliſs is to number his race,
And exult on the bloom that juſt buds on their face;
With their prattle he'll daily himſelf entertain,
And read in their ſmiles their lov'd mother again.
Men of pleaſure be mute, this is Life's lovely view;
When we look on our young ones our youth we renew.
II.
Thus living we love, and thus loving enjoy;
No Deceit here diſtracts, no Debauches deſtroy;
[222]From the May-morn of Youth unto Winter's white age,
Hand in hand, with contentment, we ſing thro' Life's ſtage;
When Death bids us ſtop we end eaſy our Song,
And give the Gods thanks that we've liv'd well ſo long.
SONG CXXII. THE HUM.
Tune, — Puſh about the briſk Bowl.
I.
PUSH about the briſk Bowl, 'twill enliver the heart,
While thus we ſit round on the—Stay!
What buſineſs have I an old Song to impart,
When I, Sirs, a new one can ſay, can ſay,
When I, Sirs, a new one can ſay
II.
What ſhall I firſt ſay, or what ſhall I firſt do?
What beſt will my bad voice become?
Why faith, Sirs, I'll ſtrive by my verſes to ſhew,
That Life is, alas! but a Hum.
III.
Children weep at their birth, and old men who they dye,
At Death the moſt happy look glum;
At our Entrance and Exit we equally cry,
Which proves our Life's plainly a Hum.
[223]IV.
Law and Phyſic you ſee will make ſure of the fee,
What advice to you gratis will come;
If poor, you are loſt, tho' merit you boaſt,
For Worth without Wealth is a Hum.
V.
Acquaintance pretend that your fortunes they'll mend,
And vow to your ſervice they'll come;
But be you in need, and you'll find that indeed,
Modern Friendſhip is merely a Hum.
VI.
When ſome Ladies kneel, ſmall devotion they feel
(But let us be modeſt and mum)
At the altar they bow, but 'tis only for ſhew,
Religion with them is a Hum.
VII.
We are hum'd from our birth, till we're hum'd into earth,
To an end of our jokes then we come:
Take your Glaſs my briſk brother, and I'll take another,
And thus make the moſt of a Hum, a Hum,
And let's make the moſt of a Hum.
SONG CXXIII. SELF.
[224]Tune, — I met with a Maiden one day at the Fair.
I.
SAYS I to my Tutor, Sir, what ſhall I do,
Shall I think to accumulate pelf?
Or Learning or Glory, which muſt I purſue?
Converſe, quoth the Put, with yourſelf.
II.
Myſelf I addreſs'd, but Self ſeem'd in a huff,
Replying, we ne'er ſhall agree,
For Drinking and Cards, Folly, Shame, and ſuch ſtuff,
Had charg'd all their Odiums on me.
III.
Non eſt factum, ſays I, and reſolv'd to be try'd,
Conceit bid me hope for ſome ſport;
To Seſſions I ran, I had Laugh on my ſide,
Intending to hum the whole Court.
IV.
But Reflection, a wretch who had no bus'neſs there,
Nor Memory, yet wou'd come in;
Repentance bid Pleaſure deſcend from the Chair,
And order'd the Cauſe to begin.
V.
I begg'd a permiſſion to call in my friends
To prove the defence I ſhou'd make;
Quoth Self as to Friendſhip he ſerv'd his own ends,
And only did things for my ſake.
[225]VI.
For his Miſtreſs in Gaiety I was maintain'd,
For me he a Madman has prov'd;
Tho' he may to hundreds affection have feign'd,
Yet me, and me only he lov'd.
VII.
In a pet I reſolv'd not a Witneſs to call,
The general Iſſue my Plea;
But challeng'd the Court, Judge and Jury, and all,
That they were as guilty as me.
VIII.
'Tis the Loadſtone of Life, to that point the world turns,
For Man is a miſerly Elf,
Who cries and laughs, loves and hates, flatters and ſcorns,
As Intereſt acts upon Self.
IX.
But now I'm awake—I that Logic deny,
Which proves Self the ruler of Man;
To a Heart that can feel, weeping Beauty apply,
Let him think then of Self if he can.
X.
'Till WOMAN has civiliz'd ſavage mankind,
We cannot ſuſceptible prove;
But when her perfections have beam'd on our mind
We're brighten'd to Wiſdom and Love.
XI.
Ye Scoffers begone, ye ridiculous baſe—
To Gratitude firſt be my Toaſt;
May Merit meet always with Friendſhip's embrace,
And each in each other be loſt.
SONG CXXIV. THE POINT.
[226]Tune, — I will tell you what, Friend.
I.
SINCE at laſt I am FREE,
Contented I'll be,
O'er briars barefooted to go;
Or loſt in the rain,
Upon Sal'ſbury Plain,
Or left without cloaths in the ſnow.
II.
Or if I ſhou'd perch
On top of Paul's Church,
The hotteſt day, juſt about noon,
Aſtride the croſs ſat,
Without hood, or hat,
I'd whiſtle off pain with a Tune.
III.
For now I am FREE,
No low ſpirits for me,
I laugh at all Croſſes I find;
I think as I pleaſe,
And reflect at my eaſe,
For Liberty i [...]les in the mind.
IV.
To my Fancy I live,
And what Fancy can give,
I enjoy, tho' it is but a dream;
Obſerve the world through,
Do others purſue
Ought elſe than a fanciful ſcheme?
[227]V.
Some fancy the Court,
Some fancy Field-ſport,
The Chace of a Beauty ſome chuſe;
The Topers with Wine,
The Miſers with Coin,
And Poets are pleas'd with their Muſe.
VI.
La Mancha's mad Knight,
With Wind-mills wou'd ſight,
Like him our attempts are a jeſt;
With envy inſane,
And with projects ſo vain,
Each ſneers at the ſchemes of the reſt.
VII.
This Extravagancy
On Folly or Fancy,
Appears to be rather too long;
With ſomething that's ſhrewd,
I wiſh to conclude,
And make this an Epigram Song.
VIII.
In a Point it muſt end,
On a Point I depend,
And like a ſtaunch Pointer I'll ſtand;
I appoint you to ſing,
I appoint you to ring,
And a Scotch Pint of Claret command.
SONG CXXV. TOM O' BEDLAM.
[228]Tune,—Young Jockey be courted ſweet Mogg the Brunette.
I.
BARE-FOOT and Head-bare, his Blanket tight ſkewer'd,
Tom o' Bedlam paraded, erect as my Lord;
The Boys left their play, at his raggedneſs ſcar'd,
The Mob pity ſtruck, at his miſery ſtar'd.
Girls laugh'd, and the Fops, faſhion form'd for the day,
Shrill ſcreaming on tiptoe ſtole trembling away;
While Infants crept cloſe, in their mothers arms hid,
Tom, Beauty-like mov'd, heedleſs what harm he did.
II.
Where's the Devil? quoth Tom, where's the Devil I ſay?
Good folks have you not ſeen the Devil to-day?
A Brother, juſt cur'd, cries — "Where Old Nick does dwell,
"Come hither, I'll ſhew you;—look, there is his Hell.
"Behold thoſe round Pillars with Ram's-horns on top,
"A Palace ſome call it, I ſay 'tis his Shop.
"Attendance, Dependance, there move round and round,
"And where ſuch a Dance is, the Damn'd muſt be found.
III.
"The Fiend of Revenge this vile torment made out,
"'Twixt Hope and Deſpair, to hang ſouls up in doubt.
"Expectation indeed may fill Vanity's head,
"But poor muſt we live when by Promiſes fed.
[229]"I honour the Great, who dare greatly behave,
"I diſſent not from Pique, nor aſſent as a Slave,
"For Engliſhmen ſcorn baſe earn'd bread to receive,"
Such a damn'd life, quoth Tom, I'll be damn'd if I live.
IV.
That moment a Methodiſt came to the place,
Hair tuck'd behind ears, and Zeal's cant on his face;
He threaten'd, he groan'd, he grimac'd, and he whin'd,
The Mad Fellows mounted and ſeiz'd him behind.
The Multitude queſtion'd why he was us'd thus;
He has broke out, quoth Tom,—he's, you ſee, one of us.
To their Hoſpital dragg'd him, he there was unloos'd,
Tom cry'd out—At Bedlam is Madneſs refus'd?
V.
His Comate reply'd—Brother Tom do not fret,
The World only works now for what it can get;
Such ſad objects as we are, it cares not about,
What has Intereſt to do, with us two, in or out?
But this a Decoy Duck, who brings in great gains,
And tunnels his hearers by turning their brains.
If he's ſtopp'd, folks will follow ſome miſchief as bad,
For one way or other, the World will be mad.
VI.
Here's a Bumber, my Boys, may we ſtill find the way,
To ſpeak what we know, and to know what we ſay.
Ye big Wigs of Greſham ſome Noſtrum compound,
To keep our Heads clear and preſerve our Hearts ſound.
May Greatneſs and Goodneſs as partners agree,
May our ſons, like ourſelves, ſocial ſing, WE ARE FREE!
And may we, ſelf conſcious, preſumption deſpiſe,
Nor e'er be ſo mad as to think ourſelves wiſe.
SONG CXXVI. SEMELE.
[230]Tune, — Hang whining and pining, lay hold of your Glaſs.
I.
EXtinguiſh the candles, give Phoebus fair play,
The ſhutters unbolt, let us honour the day;
My Lady Lucina we've drove from her poſt,
The Sun ſhines upon us, we'll give him a Toaſt.
II.
Says Caution, the neighbours are paſſing along,
They'll look thro' the ſaſhes, and tell us we're wrong:
Remonſtrance avaunt—what is all they can ſay?
But they've ſlept all night whilſt we drank it away.
III.
Ye Tutors, Diſputers, ye dignify'd Doctors,
Ye Majors, ye Minors, with Prebends and Proctors,
What Senſe is it, prithee, which tells us to think?
When all our ſeven Senſes declare we ſhou'd drink.
IV.
Our Patron is Bacchus, and Jove was his Sire,
He was born in a Burſt of Celeſtial Fire;
Mamma begg'd the God wou'd come worthy her charms,
The Light'ning of Love prov'd too much for her Arms.
V.
From her, in a moment, the Baby was ſnatch'd,
And into a Buck by Nurſe Jupiter hatch'd;
Th' Immortal to expiate Semele's Rape,
Beſtow'd on his Foundling the Gift of the Grape.
[231]VI.
Ye Love-ſick who live on the Shine of an Eye,
The Red of a Cheek, or the Tone of a Sigh;
Impreſs'd by the Smiles or the Frowns of a Fair,
As Weather-glaſs ſhews Variations of Air.
VII.
In Country or Town you have, ſeen without doubt,
A Dancing-Bear led by a ring in his ſnout;
While Pug plays his tricks if you ſhew him ſome fruit,
Theſe Emblems, ye Ladies, will moſt Lovers ſuit.
VIII.
If Girls won't comply why we never run mad,
But away to the next, as enough may be had;
If again we're repuls'd, we ne'er hang nor deſpair,
But in Wine comfort ſeek, we are ſure of it there.
IX.
Draw your Bows ye Crochetti in Muſic's defence,
With Sound I'm for having a portion of Senſe;
Give me a Bell's Tinkle, a fat Landlord's Roar,
With a good Fellow's Bellow,—Bring ſix Bottles more.
X.
Six Bottles! we'll have them, and bumper away,
We've drank up the Night and we'll drink down the Day;
Here's their Healths who to Wine and their Words will be juſt,
Here's the Girl that we love, and the Friend we can truſt.
SONG CXXVII. CONTENTMENT.
[232]Tune, — Ye Nobles who hurry thro' ev'ry gay Toil.
I.
THE Poachers for Fortune who Damſels enſnare,
With Dreſs and Addreſſes deceive;
To Laſſes of Wealth how thoſe Miſcreants ſwear,
And, alas! how the Laſſes believe.
II.
Nay, ſome Ladies ſeem to expect being loſt,
They truſt whom they know are forſworn,
They liſten to him who has ruin'd the moſt,
And hope to be ruin'd in turn.
III.
Can this be believ'd?—no!—the Song-maker jokes,
'Tis the tale of a ſlanderous crew;
A Sigh!—then I fear that there may be ſome folks
Who are ſorry to ſay it is true.
IV.
But when Love for Love is received on each ſide,
How Tenderneſs ſmiles on the pair;
This, this is a triumph, and this is my pride,
I enjoy ſuch a favourite Fair.
V.
No Paint in her Face,—no Art in her Mind,
Her Thoughts are explain'd by her Eyes;
From Principle faithful, from Gratitude kind,
And ſcorns the Deceit of Diſguiſe.
[233]VI.
All along on the Slope, by the ſide of a ſtream,
Our hours we happily paſs;
My Head on her Lap, while my Love is her Theme,
And my Looks I lift up to my Laſs.
VII.
Enjoying the Breeze from the fields of new hay,
We gather the Summer's ſweet pride;
Or point to the Brook where the ſmall Fiſhes play,
And count them beneath the clear tide.
VIII.
In Rooms rich embelliſh'd with Luxury's Store,
Let wealth pamper'd Indolence yawn;
Let Wantonneſs act her deliriums o'er,
'Till Dupes to her dungeon are drawn.
IX.
Let common-place Fondneſs her blandiſhments ſpread,
And tempt by the Toilet's parade;
The Squeeze, the ſoft Sigh, wanton Glance, and ſly Tread,
Are Pantomine Tricks of her Trade.
X.
I have try'd, and can tell,—I have frolick'd away,
And follow'd the faſhion of Fun;
The ſame Farce have acted that's play'd at this day,
And while the World wheels will be done.
SONG CXXVIII. GIVE THE DEVIL HIS DUE.
[234]Tune, — To take in good part the ſoft Squeeze, &c.
I.
THERE is one thing, my Friends, I muſt offer to you,
'Tis, Give to Old Nick what to Old Nick is due;
What he owes to us I can venture to ſay.
Like a Daemon of Rank, upon Honour he'll pay.
II.
Tho' you ſmile at my Syſtem, and ſneer at my Song,
His Worſhip's allow'd to be Prince of Bon Ton;
Now thus lies the bus'neſs, Sirs, as we're polite,
And practiſe good manners, pray what is his Right?
III.
The Devil is in you's a phraſe daily us'd,
Yet oft, by ſuch language the Devil's abus'd.
Tho' ſome hollow Hearts may have much room to ſpare,
The Devil himſelf wou'd not chuſe to dwell there.
IV.
Some People affect with this World to be ſick,
And give themſelves up in a pet to Old Nick;
Devil fetch me! they cry, but if SATAN they knew,
His Honour has much better bus'neſs to do.
V.
Tho' of Darkneſs he's King, he's a Prince of the Air,
And with his Infernalſhip we ſhou'd deal fair;
The chearful Day's rul'd by the Angel of Light,
And the Devil (Lord bleſs us) is Monarch of Night.
[235]VI.
His torturing ſpirits around him await,
As Watchmen attend on the Conſtable's ſtate;
Thoſe Imps of Authority ſally in ſhoals,
And pennyleſs Strumpets drag in as damn'd Souls.
VII.
The Hell upon Earth, and Life's Dev'liſh Diſeaſe,
Is Poverty ſinning, and ſeiz'd on for Fees;
Deep in Darkneſs that Droſs we call Money was hid,
A proof that the Uſe on't to us was forbid.
VIII.
But Pluto, the Devil's old heatheniſh name,
Brought it forth from below, as a Varniſh for Shame.
Perſuaſion, Temptation, attended the Gold,
'Till all have been bid for, and few are unſold.
IX.
We are Dev'liſhly odd, in a Dev'liſh odd Way,
Since Bribe as Bribe can, there's the Devil to pay;
The Devil of Party makes damnable rout,
Tho' the Devil a bit can we tell what about.
X.
May Satan ſeize thoſe who by purchaſe deceive,
May they take the ſame Road who ſuch things receive;
But may we preſerve HONEST Men, tho' they're few,
Export all the reſt, give the Devil his Due.
SONG CXXIX. PRESENT TASTE.
[236]Tune,—Laſt Night, in my Dream, I beheld a brown Laſs.
I.
ONE day meeting Momus, it was upon 'Change,
Accoſting the Droll with—What News?
By the Foot of Alcides (quoth he) it is ſtrange,
That the Engliſh ſhou'd England abuſe.
As Locuſts, in ſwarms croſs the ſeas for their prey,
As Woodcocks firſt fleſhleſs appear,
So ſhoals of imported Illib'rals this day,
(Neceſſity's Troop) landed here.
II.
Not a Stroller from France, not a Vagrant from Rome,
Not a Swiſs with a Marmozet Shew,
But here Men of Science and Breeding become,
Outlandiſh Folks ev'ry thing know.
The Rich will receive them as Flattery's Imps,
Servility grins in their looks,
And Britiſh-born Artiſts are elbow'd by Pimps,
By Hair-Dreſſers, Dancers, and Cooks.
III.
Engliſh Merit, in vain, may attempt at the lead,
All the Wit in the world we may waſte;
But Things from beyond Sea are ſure to ſucceed
They hit the high faſhion of Taſte.
To Taſte and to Honour who has not a claim?
They are worn without any expence;
They are ſelf-beſtow'd Gifts, they're Egotiſts Fame,
They're Knav'ry and Dunces Defence.
[237]IV.
Engliſh might be allow'd in the rude days of yore,
Such Vulgars we caant now endure;
There is ſomething ſo ſoft in the ſound of Signior,
And immenſely polite in Meſſieur.
How coarſe ſounds the SANDBYS? in Merit indeed,
Thoſe Brothers embelliſh the age?
Can ſuch a rude name now as Rooker ſucceed?
Beſides he belongs to the Stage.
V.
All's vulgar and horrid, low, wretched, and flat,
Of us thus the Connoiſſieur ſpeaks;
But exquiſite fine, 'tis immenſe, and all that,
When he talks about Gothics and Greeks.
Perhaps my Addreſs a Preſumption may ſeem,
And receiv'd by the Rich as a Sneer;
But with all YOU are worth, to be worthy Eſteem,
Do JUSTICE TO GENIUS BORN HERE.
SONG CXXX. NOBODY AND NOTHING.
Tune, — Gee-ho Dobbin.
I.
A Story, or Song, you have left to my choice,
For one I've no Humour, for t'other no Voice;
In attempting a Tune I like Nobody bawl,
And as to a Mimic I'm nothing at all.
[238]II.
The wrinkl'd-cheek Critic, call'd 'Squire Syntaxis,
Pedantical Speaking wou'd bring into practice,
With Claſſical Gabble may wink and may ſneer,
And beg I wou'd make the thing Nothing appear.
III.
For Schoolmaſters conjugate derivate ſtuff,
I ſpeak to be underſtood, that is enough;
The Phraſe of like Nobody they may condemn,
But as I ſing nothing, 'tis nothing to them.
IV.
Now as to this Nobody I dare to ſay,
Altho' we ſee Somebody always in play;
And ſometimes that ſomething may ſomehow be ſhewn,
Yet Nobody only muſt many Things own.
V.
The Public is peſter'd with many gay forms,
Like Butterflies, ſpringing from Grubs and from Worms;
Thoſe well-dreſs'd Neceſſities daily we view,
In Nobody's bus'neſs with nothing to do.
VI.
They've nothing to think on, they've nothing to ſay,
Nobody's all night, and juſt nothing all day;
At nothing they laugh, and at nothing they cry,
And Nobody cares how they live or they dye.
VII.
'Tis Nobody only can gueſs the Game play'd,
When Nobody's by, betwixt Maſter and Maid;
Unleſs Indiſcretion ſhou'd alter their plan,
Nobody knows nothing 'twixt Miſtreſs and Man.
[239]VIII.
The Romp too ripe grown, unleſs gather'd a Spouſe,
Will fall, the firſt ſhake, from weak Chaſtity's boughs;
Dear Captain, ſhe whiſpers, ſomebody will hear us,
Dear Miſs, whiſpers he, there is Nobody near us.
IX.
But when ſhe's betray'd by her Paſſion, to Shame,
And Parents and Guardians begin with their blame;
Who, I Sir?—not I Sir!—no! Honour forbid it,
If I am with Child, it was NOBODY did it.
X.
The tread of Gallant by Cornuto is heard,
On tiptoe the Lover from rendezvous ſcar'd;
Who's there? ſtarts the Huſband, 'tis Thieves that I hear,
But Wife pats his cheek, and liſps, Nobody! dear.
XI.
Any-body may ſay, if they pleaſe, I am wrong,
Ev'ry-body find Fault, if they pleaſe, with my Song;
But careful leſt ſomebody we ſhou'd offend,
I with Nothing began, and with Nobody end.
SONG CXXXI. WATER.
Tune, — The big-belly'd Bottle.
I.
OUR Chorus to Bacchus, to Bacchus we'll raiſe,
Long Corks be my Garland inſtead of the Bays;
With Burgundy's Bleſſings my Temples anoint,
And toaſt the firſt Toper who drank a Half-pint.
[240]II.
My Song is to Bacchus, the God of the Vine,
The Engineer Artiſt to ſpring Beauty's Mine;
Without him Wit pines, and Love languidly fades,
Cold Water has kept the Nine Muſes old Maids.
III.
Quoth Temperance, WATER's the med'cine of health,
And Water, quoth Prudence, will win a man wealth;
Tho' odd it may ſeem, as the ſtory's not long,
Once Water help'd Bacchus, and thus ſays the Song.
IV.
"It was when his Harveſt rejoic'd the parch'd Earth,
"Beneath the firſt Vine, Love on Wit begot Mirth;
"Yet Hate rais'd ſome Rebels who broke from his ſway,
"And, drunk with his bounty, deny'd to obey.
V.
"He harneſs'd his Tygers, he marſhall'd his force,
"Silenus was Sutler, Lord Pan led the Horſe;
"The Ganges they croſs'd, came in front of the Foe,
"And ſtruck them all dead, without ſtriking a blow.
VI.
"'Twas Pan did the feat, caſt them into a fright,
"He crept, like a Fox, thro' their camp in the night;
"All the Wine he drew off, while theſe Ignorants ſnor'd,
"And into the Bottles foul Ditch Water pour'd.
VII.
Each Rebel, next morn, rais'd the Flaſk to his head,
But chill'd the firſt gulp, in an ague-fit fled;
Fled, trembling, from Monarch to meaneſt Mechanic,
From hence came the Phraſe, to put Men in a Paninic.
SONG CXXXII. MEDIOCRITY.
[241]Tune,—Attempt to be happy! but how can that be?
I.
IN a neighbourly way, with an honeſt man's fame,
Unoffending, I hope to ſucceed;
Attend if you pleaſe, if you're pleas'd with a name,
Imprimis, let Probity lead.
II.
Be careful to keep on Humility's ſide,
Nor ever loſe Gratitude's view;
Obey not the Envy of Pique nor of Pride,
Nor pilfer from Merit its due.
III.
Be aſſur'd that Eſteem is a noble Eſtate,—
Let not a fond ſmile make you proud;
Nor rail at Men merely becauſe they are Great,
Be not dup'd by the Roar of a Croud.
IV.
Shun Flattery's phraſe, let not Promiſe allure,
Nor dangle for Dinners in Taſte;
Forget not old Friends, tho' perhaps they are poor,
Nor make new Acquaintance in haſte.
[242]V.
Oh! ſuffer not Intereſt, Friendſhip to wean,
Accept not Servility's treat;
Nor ſilently witneſs Iniquity's ſcene,
But open at once on Deceit.
VI.
Remember Yourſelf, ſpare the ſhame of your Friend,
Nor carry your Wit to exceſs;
With Spirit the Cauſe of the Abſent defend,
And ſhrink not your arm from Diſtreſs.
VII.
Oppreſs not the Low, nor be High People's Slave,
Nor ever deſpair nor be vain;
Howe'er inconſiſtent the World may behave,
Mediocrity ever maintain.
VIII.
His views let Ambition extend o'er the State,
Let Avarice gluttonize Wealth;
No Nabobs I wiſh for, I wou'd not be great,
I only aſk humbly for Health.
IX.
How chearful, in Health, will my latter days paſs,
Unenvy'd, unenvying live;
With the Friends I have prov'd, and my fav'rite Laſs,
And PRACTICE THE PRECEPTS I GIVE.
SONG CXXXIII. THE SWEETHEARTS.
[243]Tune, — Derry Down.
I.
SINCE the World is ſo old, and the Times are ſo new,
And every thing talk'd of except what is true;
Among other ſtories my Fable may paſs,
Of four or five Sweethearts who courted a Laſs.
Derry Down, &c.
II.
The firſt was from France, a-là mode de Paris,
All faſhion, all feather, bien Monſieur poudrie;
He bow'd, he took ſnuff, cut a caper, and then
He bow'd, cut a caper, and took ſnuff agen.
III.
A Dutchman advanc'd, when the Lady he ſaw,
He dropp'd down his pipe, and he waddl'd [...]t yaw;
With hands hid in pocket, and unpoliſh'd leer,
As frogs ſing in courtſhip, ſo croak'd out Mynheer.
IV.
From Connaught, itſelf, another Beau came,
Macfinnin Macgragh Ballinbrough was his name;
He bow'd to the Laſs, and he ſtar'd at Mounſeer,
Clapp'd hand on his ſword, and ſaid, Ah!—Arrah, my Dear!
[244]V.
The next a Meſs John, of rank Methodiſt Taint,
Who thought like a ſinner, but look'd like a ſaint,
Clos'd hands, twirl'd his thumbs, moving muckle his face,
Then turn'd up his eyes as about to ſay grace.
VI.
A neat Engliſh Sailor in holiday trim,
Who long lov'd the Laſs, and the Laſs had lov'd him,
Athawrt them all ſtept, under arm toſs'd his ſwitch,
Squar'd his hat, op'd his pouch, gave his trowſers a hitch.
VII.
He along-ſide her fell, and he grappl'd on board,
She ſtruck the firſt broadſide of kiſſes he pour'd;
Then he tow'd her to church, and as to the reſt,
What afterwards follow'd is eaſily gueſs'd.
Derry Down, &c.
SONG CXXXIV. A LESSON OF LOVE.
Tune, — Go on ye gay wantons, &c. &c.
I.
YE Lexicon Critics, whoſe claſſical pride,
Plain ſenſe and plain Engliſh, as moderns, deride;
Yet WOMAN, dear WOMAN! your minds could improve,
Turn Students to her, take a Leſſon of Love.
[245]II.
Ye Ruſtics who burſt from the arms of embrace,
To Beauty's prefer the rude joys of the chace,
So ſavage a practice no more you'll approve,
When once you have practis'd a Leſſon of Love.
III.
At Midnight, ye Topers, when bump'ring your toaſt,
Be careful of who, and to whom 'tis you boaſt;
If the tythe of thoſe joys you pretend ye cou'd prove,
Wine wou'd not have power to wean you from Love.
IV.
Ye Soldiers who ruſh thro' the rough-work of war,
As Stateſmen may ſcheme, or as Sovereigns jarr,
Engagements more glorious at home ye may prove,
So ſet up your ſtandards and liſt under Love.
V.
Ye Buſy in traffick, whoſe Cent. per Cent. lives,
Can eſtimate juſtly all worth—but your Wives;
While th' Intereſts of Trade you ſo anxious improve,
You neglect their demands and are bankrupts to Love.
VI.
The Life of a Man is Inquietude's reign,
Care, dullneſs, fatigue, diſappointment, and pain;
But claſp the fond Female, thoſe ills ſhe'll remove,
Such Witchcraft has Woman, ſuch Magic is Love.
SONG THE LAST; OR, EPILOGUE.
[246]Tune, — Laura's Song in the Chaplet.
I.
THE Wits were wont, in ancient times,
To eſtimate their Age by Rhimes,
A Ballad was their Schooling;
We Moderns may, perhaps be wrong,
If not likewiſe, alſo a Song
May fit us for our Fooling.
II.
Imprimis, there's the Men of State,
But, hold! I'll let alone the Great,
Leſt I ſhou'd gain a Schooling,
For Greatneſs was not form'd for ſport,
Tho' ſome folks greatly make their Court,
By greatly, greatly Fooling.
III.
We play the Fool, we act the Wiſe,
We bare-fac'd walk, or wear diſguiſe,
As Hopes and Fears are ruling;
And yet, with all our deep-laid wiles,
From John o' Nokes to Tom o' Stiles,
What is it all but Fooling?
[247]IV.
If Men will think, if Men will ſee,
That all this To, — or not to be,
Is as we're hot, or cooling;
To-day on Expectation's wing,
To-morrow off, 'tis not the Thing,
What is the Thing?—why Fooling.
V.
Fool on, Fool on, for Life at beſt,
Is but half-bred, 'twixt Cry and Jeſt,
As Chance, not Reaſon's ruling;
To Chance we owe our Rights and Wrongs,
To CHANCE I dedicate theſe Songs,
A Ballad-Maker's Fooling.
G. A. S.
FINIS.