That that worthy member who spoke last must give
The freedom to him, humbly most, to conceive
That his sentiment on this affair isn't right;
That he mightily wonders which way he came by't:
That, for his part, God knows, he does such things disown;
And so, having convinc'd him, he most humbly sits down.
For these, and more reasons, which perhaps you may hear,
Pounds hundred this night, and one hundred this year,
And so on we are forced, though we sweat out our blood,
To make these walls pay for poor Hoppy's good;
To supply with rare diet his pot and his spit;
Add with richest Margoux to wash down a tit-bit.
To wash oft his fine linen, so clean and so neat,
And to buy him much linen, to fence against sweat:
All which he deserves; for although all the day
He ofttimes is heavy, yet all night he's gay;
And if he rise early to watch for the state,
To keep up his spouts he'll sit up as late.
Thus, for these and more reasons, as before I did say,
Hop has got all the money for our acting this play,
Which makes us poor actors look je ne sais quoi.
THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.
LOGICIANS have but ill defined
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius,
By ratiocinations specious,
Have strove to prove, with great precision,
With definition and division,
Homo est ratione præditum;
But for my soul I cannot credit 'em,
And must in spite of them maintain
That man and all his ways are vain;
And that this boasted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature;
That instinct is a surer guide
Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;
And that brute beasts are far before 'em.
Deus est anima brutorum.
Whoever knew an honest brute
At law his neighbor prosecute,
Bring action for assault or battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O'er plains they ramble unconfined,
No politics disturb their mind;
They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court.
They never to the levee go
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place:
Nor undertake a dirty job
Nor draw the quill to write for Bob.
Fraught with invective, they ne'er go
To folks at Paternoster row.
No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,
No pickpockets, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupeds:
No single brute his fellow leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each other's throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape;
Like man, he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his lurking passion:
But, both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape surpasses.
Behold him, humbly cringing, wait
Upon the ministers of state;
View him soon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of superiors ;
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
Ile in his turn finds imitators,
At court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters,
Their masters' manner still contract,
And footmen, lords, and dukes can act.
Thus, at the court, both great and small
Behave alike, for all ape all.
OR THE PARLIAMENT-MAN.
Written many years since; taken from Coke's Institutes.
ERE bribes convince you whom to choose,
The precepts of lord Coke peruse.
Observe an elephant, says he,
And let like him your member be:
First take a man that's free from gall,
For elephants have none at all;
In flocks or parties he must keep,
For elephants live just like sheep;
Stubborn in honor he must be,
For elephants ne'er bend the knee.
Last, let his memory be sound,
In which your elephant's profound;
That old examples from the wise
May prompt him in his noes and ayes.
Thus the lord Coke hath gravely writ,
And then, with Latin and all that,
Shows the comparison is pat.
Yet in some points my lord is wrong,
One's teeth are sold, and t'other's tongue:
Now, men of parliament, God knows,
Are more like elephants of shows;
Whose docile memory and sense
Are turn'd to trick, to gather pence;
To get their master half-a-crown,
They spread their flag, or lay it down;
Those who bear bulwarks on their backs,
And guarded nations from attacks,
Now practise every pliant gesture,
Opening their trunk for every tester.
Siam, for elephants so famed,
Is not with England to be named:
Their elephants by men are sold;
Ours sell themselves, and take the gold.
THE SWAN TRIPE CLUB IN DUBLIN.
Dedicated to all those who are true friends to her present majesty and her government, to the church of England, and the succession as by law established; and who gratefully acknowledge the preservation of their religion, rights, and liberties, due to the late king William, of ever glorious and immortal memory.
Difficile est satyram non scribere.
How this fantastic world is changed of late!
Sure some full moon has work'd upon the state.
Time was when it was questioned much in story,
Which was the worst, the Devil or a Tory;
But now, alas! those happy times are o'er;
The rampant things are couchant now no more,
But trump up Tories, who were Whigs before.
There was a time when fair Hibernia lay
Dissolved in ease, and, with a gentle sway,
Enjoy'd the blessings of a halcyon day.
Pleased with the bliss their friendly union made,
Beneath her bending fig-tree's peaceful shade,
Careless and free, her happy sons were laid.
No feuds, no groundless jealousies appear,
To rouse their rage, or wake them into fear:
With pity they beheld Britannia's state,
Toss'd by the tempest of a stormy fate;
Wild frenzy through her blasted borders pass'd,
Whilst noisy faction drove the furious blast,
Calm and serene we heard the tempest roar,
Thus blest, we slumbered in a downy trance,
Happy, like Eden, in mild ignorance;
Till Discord, like the wily serpent, found
Th' unguarded path to the forbidden ground;
Show'd us the tree, the tempting tree, which stood
The fairest, but most fatal, of the wood;
And where (as hanging on the golden bough)
The glittering fruit look'd smiling to the view.
"Taste, and be wise," the sly provoker said;
And see the platform of your ruin laid:
Rouse from the dulness ye too long have shown,
And view your church's danger and your own.
Thus at superior wit we catch'd in haste,
Which mock'd the approach of our deluded taste.
And now
Imaginary schemes we seem to spy,
And search for dangers with a curious eye;
From thought to thought we roll and rack our sense,
To obviate mischiefs in the future tense:
Strange plots in embryo from the Lord we fear;
And dream of mighty ills, the Lord knows where!
Wretchedly wise, we curse our present store,
But bless the witless age we knew before.
Near that famed place where slender wights resort,
And gay Pulvilio keeps his scented court;
Where exiled wit ne'er shows its hated face,
But happier nonsense fills the thoughtless place;
Where sucking beaux, our future hopes, are bred,
The sharping gamester, and the bully red,
O'erstock'd with fame, but indigent of bread;
There stands a modern dome2 of vast renown,
For a plump cook and plumper reck'nings known:
Raised high, the fair inviting bird you see,
In all his milky plumes and feather'd lechery;
In whose soft down immortal Jove was dress'd
When the fair nymph the wily god possess'd;
Still in which shape he stands to mortal view,
Patron of whoring and of toping too.
Here gravely meet the worthy sons of zeal,
To wet their pious clay, and decently to rail:
Immortal courage from the claret springs,
To censure heroes and the acts of kings:
Young doctors of the gown here shrewdly show
How grace divine can ebb, and spleen can flow;
The pious red-coat most devoutly swears,
Drinks to the church, but ticks on his arrears;
The gentle beau, too, joins in wise debate,
Adjusts his cravat, and reforms the state.
As when the sun, on a returning flood,
Warms into life the animated mud,
Strange wondrous insects on the shore remain,
And a new race of vermin fills the plain;
So from the excrement of zeal we find
A slimy race, but of the modish kind,
Crawl from the filth, and, kindled into man,
Make up the members of the sage divan.
Of these the famed Borachio is the chief,
A son of pudding and eternal beef.
The jovial god, with all-inspiring grace,
Sits on the scarlet honors of his face;
His happy face, from rigid wisdom free,
Securely smiles in thoughtless majesty ;
His own tithe-geese not half so plump as he.
Wild notions flow from his immoderate head,
And statutes quoted, moderately read;
Whole floods of words his moderate wit reveal,
Yet the good man's immoderate in zeal.
How can his fluent tongue and thought keep touch,
Who thinks too little, but who talks too much?
When peaceful tars with Gallic navies meet,
And lose their honor to preserve the fleet,
This wondrous man alone shall conquest boast,
And win the battles which the heroes lost.
When just esteem he would of William raise,
He damns the glories which he means to praise;
The poor encomium, so thinly spread,
Lampoons the injured ashes of the dead;
Though for the orator, 'tis said withal,
He meant to praise him, if he meant at all.
Egregious Magpie charms the listening throng,
Whilst inoffensive satire tips his tongue;
Grey politics adorn the beardless chit,
Of foreign manners but of native wit;
Scarce wean'd from diddy of his Alma Mater,
The cocking thing steps forth the church's Erra Pater;
High-flying thoughts his moderate size supply,
And wing the towering puppet to the sky;
On brazen wings beat out from native stock,
He mounts, and rides upon the weathercock;
From whence the dull Hibernian isle he views;
The dull Hibernian isle he sees, and spews;
He mourns the talent of his wisdom, lost
On such a dry inhospitable coast.
Thus daws, when perched upon a steeple's top,
With Oxford strut and pride superior hop;
And, whilst on earth their haughty glances throw,
Take humble curates, but for daws below.
Firedrake, a senator of awkward grace,
But famed for matchless modesty and face,
With christian clamor fills the deafen'd room,
And prophesies of wondrous ills to come.
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