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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, English Satires, by Various, et al, Edited by
+William Henry Oliphant Smeaton
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: English Satires
+
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: William Henry Oliphant Smeaton
+
+Release Date: June 24, 2005  [eBook #16126]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH SATIRES***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Lynn Bornath and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+ENGLISH SATIRES
+
+With an Introduction by
+
+OLIPHANT SMEATON
+
+London
+The Gresham Publishing Company
+34 Southampton Street
+Strand
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO THE MEMORY OF
+
+ALEXANDER BALLOCH GROSART
+D.D., LL.D., F.S.A.
+
+
+WITH A GRATEFUL SENSE OF ALL IT OWES TO HIS TEACHING
+THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+In the compilation of this volume my aim has been to furnish a work
+that would be representative in character rather than exhaustive. The
+restrictions of space imposed by the limits of such a series as this
+have necessitated the omission of many pieces that readers might expect
+to see included. As far as possible, however, the most typical satires
+of the successive eras have been selected, so as to throw into relief
+the special literary characteristics of each, and to manifest the trend
+of satiric development during the centuries elapsing between Langland
+and Lowell.
+
+Acknowledgment is due, and is gratefully rendered, to Mrs. C.S.
+Calverley for permission to print the verses which close this book; and
+to Messrs. Macmillan & Co. for permission to print A.H. Clough's
+"Spectator ab Extra".
+
+To Professor C.H. Herford my warmest thanks are due for his careful
+revision of the Introduction, and for many valuable hints which have
+been adopted in the course of the work; also to Mr. W. Keith Leask,
+M.A.(Oxon.), and the librarians of the Edinburgh University and
+Advocates' Libraries.
+
+OLIPHANT SMEATON.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                           Page
+INTRODUCTION                                               xiii
+
+WILLIAM LANGLAND
+      I. Pilgrimage in Search of Do-well                      1
+
+GEOFFREY CHAUCER
+II. III. The Monk and the Friar                               6
+
+JOHN LYDGATE
+     IV. The London Lackpenny                                10
+
+WILLIAM DUNBAR
+      V. The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins                  14
+
+SIR DAVID LYNDSAY
+     VI. Satire on the Syde Taillis--Ane Supplicatioun
+         directit to the Kingis Grace--1538                  19
+
+BISHOP JOSEPH HALL
+    VII. On Simony                                           22
+   VIII. The Domestic Tutor's Position                       23
+     IX. The Impecunious Fop                                 24
+
+GEORGE CHAPMAN
+      X. An Invective written by Mr. George Chapman
+         against Mr. Ben Jonson                              26
+
+JOHN DONNE
+     XI. The Character of the Bore                           29
+
+BEN JONSON
+    XII. The New Cry                                         34
+   XIII. On Don Surly                                        35
+
+SAMUEL BUTLER
+    XIV. The Character of Hudibras                           36
+     XV. The Character of a Small Poet                       43
+
+ANDREW MARVELL
+    XVI. Nostradamus's Prophecy                              45
+
+JOHN CLEIVELAND
+   XVII. The Scots Apostasie                                 47
+
+JOHN DRYDEN
+  XVIII. Satire on the Dutch                                 49
+    XIX. MacFlecknoe                                         50
+     XX. Epistle to the Whigs                                57
+
+DANIEL DEFOE
+    XXI. Introduction to the True born Englishman            63
+
+THE EARL OF DORSET
+   XXII. Satire on a Conceited Playwright                    65
+
+JOHN ARBUTHNOT
+  XXIII. Preface to John Bull and his Law suit               66
+   XXIV. The History of John Bull                            70
+    XXV. Epitaph upon Colonel Chartres                       76
+
+JONATHAN SWIFT
+   XXVI. Mrs Frances Harris' Petition                        77
+  XXVII. Elegy on Partridge                                  81
+ XXVIII. A Meditation upon a Broom stick                     85
+   XXIX. The Relations of Booksellers and Authors            86
+    XXX. The Epistle Dedicatory to His Royal Highness
+         Prince Posterity                                    91
+
+SIR RICHARD STEELE
+   XXXI. The Commonwealth of Lunatics                        97
+
+JOSEPH ADDISON
+  XXXII. Sir Roger de Coverley's Sunday                     101
+
+EDWARD YOUNG
+ XXXIII. To the Right Hon. Mr. Dodington                    105
+
+JOHN GAY
+  XXXIV. The Quidnunckis                                    112
+
+ALEXANDER POPE
+   XXXV. The Dunciad--The Description of Dulness            114
+  XXXVI. Sandys' Ghost; or, a proper new ballad of
+         the New Ovid's Metamorphoses, as it was
+         intended to be translated by persons of
+         quality                                            120
+ XXXVII. Satire on the Whig Poets                           122
+XXXVIII. Epilogue to the Satires                            131
+
+SAMUEL JOHNSON
+  XXXIX. The Vanity of Human Wishes                         136
+     XL. Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield                 147
+
+OLIVER GOLDSMITH
+    XLI. The Retaliation                                    149
+   XLII. The Logicians Refuted                              154
+  XLIII. Beau Tibbs, his Character and Family               156
+
+CHARLES CHURCHILL
+   XLIV. The Journey                                        160
+
+JUNIUS
+    XLV. To the King                                        164
+
+ROBERT BURNS
+   XLVI. Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly
+         Righteous                                          180
+  XLVII. Holy Willie's Prayer                               182
+
+CHARLES LAMB
+ XLVIII. A Farewell to Tobacco                              186
+
+THOMAS MOORE
+   XLIX. Lines on Leigh Hunt                                191
+
+GEORGE CANNING
+      L. Epistle from Lord Boringdon to Lord Granville      192
+     LI. Reformation of the Knave of Hearts                 194
+
+POETRY OF THE ANTI JACOBIN
+    LII. The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder       203
+   LIII. Song by Rogero the Captive                         205
+
+COLERIDGE AND SOUTHEY
+    LIV. The Devil's Walk                                   206
+
+SYDNEY SMITH
+     LV. The Letters of Peter Plymley--on "No
+         Popery"                                            208
+
+JAMES SMITH
+    LVI. The Poet of Fashion                                216
+
+WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR
+   LVII. Bossuet and the Duchess of Fontanges               218
+
+LORD BYRON
+  LVIII. The Vision of Judgment                             226
+    LIX. The Waltz                                          236
+     LX. "The Dedication" in Don Juan                       243
+
+THOMAS HOOD
+    LXI. Cockle _v._ Cackle                                 249
+
+LORD MACAULAY
+   LXII. The Country Clergyman's Trip to Cambridge          253
+
+WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED
+  LXIII. The Red Fisherman; or, The Devil's Decoy           257
+   LXIV. Mad--Quite Mad                                     264
+
+BENJAMIN DISRAELI (LORD BEACONSFIELD)
+    LXV. Popanilla on Man                                   270
+
+ROBERT BROWNING
+   LXVI. Cristina                                           277
+  LXVII. The Lost Leader                                    280
+
+WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
+ LXVIII. Piscator and Piscatrix                             281
+   LXIX. On a Hundred Years Hence                           283
+
+ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH
+    LXX. Spectator Ab Extra                                 292
+
+C.S. CALVERLEY
+   LXXI. "Hic Vir, Hic Est"                                 296
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+Satire and the satirist have been in evidence in well-nigh all ages of
+the world's history. The chief instruments of the satirist's equipment
+are irony, sarcasm, invective, wit, and humour. The satiric
+denunciation of a writer burning with indignation at some social wrong
+or abuse, is capable of reaching the very highest level of literature.
+The writings of a satirist of this type, and to some extent of every
+satirist who touches on the social aspects of life, present a picture
+more or less vivid, though not of course complete and impartial, of the
+age to which he belongs, of the men, their manners, fashions, tastes,
+and prevalent opinions. Thus they have a historical as well as a
+literary and an ethical value. And Thackeray, in speaking of the office
+of the humorist or satirist, for to him they were one, says, "He
+professes to awaken and direct your love, your pity, your kindness,
+your scorn for untruth, pretension, imposture, your tenderness for the
+weak, the poor, the oppressed, the unhappy. To the best of his means
+and ability he comments on all the ordinary actions and passions of
+life almost."[1]
+
+Satire has, in consequence, always ranked as one of the cardinal
+divisions of literature. Its position as such, however, is due rather
+to the fact of it having been so regarded among the Romans, than from
+its own intrinsic importance among us to-day. Until the closing decades
+of the eighteenth century--so long, in fact, as the classics were
+esteemed of paramount authority as models--satire proper was accorded a
+definite place in letters, and was distinctively cultivated by men of
+genius as a branch of literature. But with the rise of the true
+_national_ spirit in the various literatures of Europe, and notably in
+that of England, satire has gradually given place to other types of
+composition. Slowly but surely it has been edged out of its prominent
+position as a separate department, and has been relegated to the
+position of a _quality of style_, important, beyond doubt, yet no
+longer to be considered as a prime division of letters.[2]
+
+Rome rather than Greece must be esteemed the home of ancient satire.
+Quintilian, indeed, claims it altogether for his countrymen in the
+words, _Satira tota nostra est_; while Horace styles it _Graecis
+intactum carmen_. But this claim must be accepted with many
+reservations. It does not imply that we do not discover the existence
+of satire, together with favourable examples of it, long anterior to
+the oldest extant works in either Grecian or Latin literature. The use
+of what are called "personalities" in everyday speech was the probable
+origin of satire. Conversely, also, satire, in the majority of those
+earlier types current at various periods in the history of literature,
+has shown an inclination to be personal in its character. De Quincey,
+accordingly, has argued that the more personal it became in its
+allusions, the more it fulfilled its specific function. But such a view
+is based on the supposition that satire has no other mission than to
+lash the vices of our neighbours, without recalling the fact that the
+satirist has a reformative as well as a punitive duty to discharge. The
+further we revert into the "deep backward and abysm of time" towards
+the early history of the world, the more pronounced and overt is this
+indulgence in broad personal invective and sarcastic strictures.
+
+The earliest cultivators of the art were probably the men with a
+grievance, or, as Dr. Garnett says, "the carpers and fault-finders of
+the clan". Their first attempts were, as has been conjectured, merely
+personal lampoons against those they disliked or differed from, and
+were perhaps of a type cognate with the Homeric _Margites_. Homer's
+character of Thersites is mayhap a lifelike portrait of some
+contemporary satirist who made himself dreaded by his personalities.
+But even in Thersites we see the germs of transition from merely
+personal invective to satire directed against a class; and Greek
+satire, though on the whole more personal than Roman, achieved
+brilliant results. It is enough to name Archilochus, whom Mahaffy terms
+the Swift of Greek Literature, Simonides of Amorgos (circ. 660 B.C.),
+the author of the famous _Satire on Women_, and Hipponax of Ephesus,
+reputed the inventor of the Scazon or halting iambic.
+
+But the lasting significance of Greek satire is mainly derived from
+its surpassing distinction in two domains--in the comico-satiric drama
+of Aristophanes, and in the _Beast Fables_ of 'AEsop'. In later Greek
+literature it lost its robustness and became trivial and effeminate
+through expending itself on unworthy objects.
+
+It is amongst the Romans, with their deeper ethical convictions and
+more powerful social sense, that we must look for the true home of
+ancient satire. The germ of Roman satire is undoubtedly to be found in
+the rude Fescennine verses, the rough and licentious jests and
+buffoonery of the harvest-home and the vintage thrown into
+quasi-lyrical form. These songs gradually developed a concomitant form
+of dialogue styled saturae, a term denoting "miscellany", and derived
+perhaps from the _Satura lanx_, a charger filled with the first-fruits
+of the year's produce, which was offered to Bacchus and Ceres.[3] In
+Ennius, the "father of Roman satire", and Varro, the word still
+retained this old Roman sense.
+
+Lucilius was the first Roman writer who made "censorious criticism" the
+prevailing tone of satire, and his work, the parent of the satire of
+Horace, of Persius, of Juvenal, and through that of the poetical satire
+of modern times, was the principal agent in fixing its present
+polemical and urban associations upon a term originally steeped in the
+savour of rustic revelry. In the hands of Horace, Roman satire was to
+be moulded into a new type that was not only to be a thing of beauty,
+but, as far as one can yet see, to remain a joy for ever. The great
+Venusian, as he informs us, set before himself the task of adapting the
+satire of Lucilius to the special circumstances, the manners, the
+literary modes and tastes of the Augustan age. Horace's Satires conform
+to Addison's great rule, which he lays down in the _Spectator_, that
+the satire which only seeks to wound is as dangerous as arrows that fly
+in the dark. There is always an ethical undercurrent running beneath
+the polished raillery and the good-natured satire. His genial
+_bonhomie_ prevents him from ever becoming ill-natured in his
+animadversions.
+
+Of those manifold, kaleidoscopically-varied types of human nature which
+in the Augustan age flocked to Rome as the centre of the known world,
+he was a keen and a close observer. Jealously he noted the
+deteriorating influence these foreign elements were exercising on the
+grand old Roman character, and some of the bitterest home-thrusts he
+ever delivered were directed against this alien invasion.[4] In those
+brilliant pictures wherewith his satires are replete, Horace finds a
+place for all. Sometimes he criticises as a far-off observer, gazing
+with a sort of cynical amusement at this human raree-show; at others he
+speaks as though he himself were in the very midst of the bustling
+frivolity of the Roman Vanity Fair, and a sufferer from its follies.
+Then his tone seems to deepen into a grave intensity of remonstrance,
+as he exposes its hollowness, its heartlessness, and its blindness to
+the absorbing problems of existence.
+
+After the death of Horace (B.C. 8) no names of note occur in the
+domain of satire until we reach that famous trio, contemporary with one
+another, who adorned the concluding half of the first century of our
+era, viz.:--Juvenal, Persius, and Martial. They are severally
+representative of distinct modes or types of satire. Juvenal
+illustrates rhetorical or tragic satire, of which he is at once the
+inventor and the most distinguished master--that form of composition,
+in other words, which attacks vice, wrongs, or abuses in a high-pitched
+strain of impassioned, declamatory eloquence. In this type of satire,
+evil is designedly painted in exaggerated colours, that disgust may
+more readily be aroused by the loathsomeness of the picture. As a
+natural consequence, sobriety, moderation, and truth to nature no
+longer are esteemed so indispensable. In this style Juvenal has had
+many imitators, but no superiors. His satires represent the final
+development the form underwent in achieving the definite purpose of
+exposing and chastising in a systematic manner the entire catalogue of
+vices, public and private, which were assailing the welfare of the
+state. They constitute luridly powerful pictures of a debased and
+shamelessly corrupt condition of society. Keen contemptuous ridicule, a
+sardonic irony that held nothing in reverence, a caustic sarcasm that
+burned like an acid, and a vituperative invective that ransacked the
+language for phrases of opprobrium--these were the agents enlisted by
+Juvenal into the service of purging society of its evil.
+
+Persius, on the other hand, was the philosophic satirist, whose
+devotion to Stoicism caused him to see in it a panacea for all the
+evils which Nero brought on the empire. The shortness of his life, his
+studious tastes, and his exceptional moral purity all contributed to
+keep him ignorant of that world of evil which, as Professor Sellar has
+pithily remarked, it is the business of the satirist to know. Hence he
+is purely a philosophic or didactic satirist. Only one of his poems,
+the first, fulfils the special end of satire by representing any phase
+whatever of the life of his time, and pointing its moral.
+
+Finally, Martial exchanged the epic tirade for the epigram as the
+vehicle of his satire, and handled this lighter missile with
+unsurpassed brilliance and _verve_. Despite his sycophancy and his
+fulsome flattery of prospective benefactors, he displays more of the
+sober moderation and sane common-sense of Horace than either of his
+contemporaries. There are few better satirists of social and literary
+pretenders either in ancient or modern times. No ancient has more
+vividly painted the manners of antiquity. If Juvenal enforces the
+lesson of that time, and has penetrated more deeply into the heart of
+society, Martial has sketched its external aspect with a much fairer
+pencil, and from a much more intimate contact with it.
+
+In the first and second centuries of our era two other forms of satire
+took their rise, viz.:--the Milesian or "Satiric Tale" of Petronius and
+Apuleius, and the "Satiric Dialogue" of Lucian. Both are admirable
+pictures of their respective periods. The _Tales_ of the two first are
+conceived with great force of imagination, and executed with a happy
+blending of humour, wit, and cynical irony that suggests Gil Blas or
+Barry Lyndon. _The Supper of Trimalchio_, by Petronius, reproduces with
+unsparing hand the gluttony and the blatant vice of the Neronic epoch.
+_The Golden Ass_ of Apuleius is a clever sketch of contemporary manners
+in the second century, painting in vivid colours the reaction that had
+set in against scepticism, and the general appetite that prevailed for
+miracles and magic.
+
+Finally, ancient satire may be said to close with the famous
+_Dialogues_ of Lucian, which, although written in Greek, exhibited all
+the best features of Roman satire. Certainly the ethical purpose and
+the reformative element are rather implied than insistently expressed
+in Lucian; but he affords in his satiric sketches a capital glimpse of
+the ludicrous perplexity into which the pagan mind was plunged when it
+had lost faith in its mythology, and when a callous indifference
+towards the Pantheon left the Roman world literally without a rational
+creed. As a satire on the old Hellenic religion nothing could be racier
+than _The Dialogues of the Gods_ and _The Dialogues of the Dead_.
+
+It is impossible in this brief survey to discuss at large the vast
+chaotic epoch in the history of satire which lies between the end of
+the ancient world and the dawn of humanism. For satire, as a literary
+genre, belongs to these two. The mediaeval world, inexhaustible in its
+capacity and relish for abuse, full of rude laughter and drastic
+humour--prompt, for all its superstition, to make a jest of the priest,
+and, for all its chivalry, to catalogue the foibles of women--had the
+satirical animus in abundance, and satirical songs, visions, fables,
+fabliaux, ballads, epics, in legion, but no definite and recognised
+school of satire. It is sufficient to name, as examples of the
+extraordinary range of the mediaeval satiric genius, the farce of
+_Pathelin_, the beast-epic of _Renart_, the rhymes of Walter Map, and
+the _Inferno_ of Dante.
+
+Of these satirists before the rise of "satire", mediaeval England
+produced two great examples in Chaucer and Langland. They typify at the
+outset the two classes into which Dryden divided English satirists--the
+followers of Horace's way and the followers of Juvenal's--the men of
+the world, who assail the enemies of common-sense with the weapons of
+humour and sarcasm; and the prophets, who assail vice and crime with
+passionate indignation and invective scorn. Since Dryden's time neither
+line has died out, and it is still possible, with all reserves, to
+recognise the two strains through the whole course of English
+literature: the one represented in Chaucer, Donne, Marvell, Addison,
+Arbuthnot, Swift, Young, Goldsmith, Canning, Thackeray, and Tennyson;
+the others in Langland, Skelton, Lyndsay, Nash, Marston, Dryden, Pope,
+Churchill, Johnson, Junius, Burns, and Browning.
+
+Langland was a naive mediaeval Juvenal. The sad-visaged, world-weary
+dreamer of the Malvern hills, sorrowing over the vice, the abuses, and
+the social misery of his time, finding, as he tells us, no comfort in
+any of the established institutions of his day, because confronted with
+the fraud and falsehood that infected them all, is one of the most
+pathetic figures in literature. As Skeat suggests, the object of his
+great poem was to secure, through the latitude afforded by allegory,
+opportunities of describing the life and manners of the poorer classes,
+of inveighing against clerical abuses and the rapacity of the friars,
+of representing the miseries caused by the great pestilences then
+prevalent, and by the hasty and ill-advised marriages consequent
+thereon; of denouncing lazy workmen and sham beggars, the corruption
+and bribery then too common in the law-courts--in a word, to lash all
+the numerous forms of falsehood, which are at all times the fit
+subjects for satire and indignant exposure. Amid many essential
+differences, is there not here a striking likeness to the work of the
+Roman Juvenal? Langland's satire is not so fiery nor so rhetorically
+intense as that of his prototype, but it is less profoundly despairing.
+He satirizes evil rather by exposing it and contrasting it with good,
+than by vehemently denouncing it. The colours of the pictures are
+sombre, and the gloom is almost overwhelming, but still it is illumined
+from time to time with the hope of coming amendment, when the great
+reformer Piers the Plowman, by which is typified Christ,[5] should
+appear, who was to remedy all abuses and restore the world to a right
+condition. In this sustaining hope he differs from Juvenal, the
+funereal gloom of whose satires is relieved by no gleam of hope for the
+future.
+
+Contrast with this the humorous brightness, the laughter, and the light
+of the surroundings associated with his great contemporary, Geoffrey
+Chaucer. His very satire is kindly and quaint, like that of Horace,
+rather than bitterly acidulous. He raps his age over the knuckles, it
+is true, for its faults and foibles, but the censor's face wears a
+genial smile. One of his chief attractions for us lies in his bright
+objectivity. He never wears his heart on his sleeve like Langland. He
+has touches of rare and profound pathos, but these notes of pain are
+only like undertones of discord to throw the harmony into stronger
+relief, only like little cloudlets momentarily flitting across the
+golden sunshine of his humour.
+
+We read Chaucer, as we read Horace, from love of his piquant
+Epicureanism, and the scintillating satire wherewith he enlivens those
+matchless pictures of his epoch which he has handed down to us.
+Chaucer, as Professor Minto puts it, wrote largely for the court
+circle. His verses were first read in tapestried chambers, and to the
+gracious ear of stately lords and ladies. It was because he wrote for
+such an audience that he avoids the introduction of any discordant
+element in the shape of the deeper and darker social problems of the
+time. The same reticence occurs in Horace, writing as he did for the
+ear of Augustus and Maecenas, and of the fashionable circle thronging
+the great palace of his patron on the Esquiline. Is not the historic
+parallel between the two pairs of writers still further verified?
+Chaucer wisely chose the epic form for his greatest poem, because he
+could introduce thereinto so many distinct qualities of composition,
+and the woof of racy humour as well as of sprightly satire which he
+introduces with such consummate art into the texture of his verse is of
+as fine a character as any in our literature. In Langland's great
+allegory, the satire is earnest, grave and solemn, as though with a
+sense of deep responsibility; that in Chaucer's _Canterbury
+Tales_--nay, in all his poems--is genial, laughing, and good-natured;
+tolerant, like Horace's of human weaknesses, because the author is so
+keenly conscious of his own.
+
+Langland and Chaucer both died about the beginning of the fifteenth
+century. But from that date until 1576--when Gascoigne's _Steel Glass_,
+the first verse satire of the Elizabethan age, was published--we must
+look mainly to Scotland and the poems of William Dunbar, Sir David
+Lyndsay, and others, to preserve the apostolic succession of satire.
+William Dunbar is one of the greatest of British satirists. His _Dance
+of the Seven Deadly Sins_, in which the popular poetic form of the
+age--allegory--is utilized with remarkable skill as the vehicle for a
+scathing satire on the headlong sensuality of his time, produces by its
+startling realism and terrible intensity an effect not unlike that
+exercised by the overpowering creations of Salvator Rosa. The poem is a
+bitter indictment of the utter corruption of all classes in the society
+of his period. Like Juvenal, to whose school he belongs, he softens
+nothing, tones down nothing. The evil is presented in all its native
+hideousness. Lyndsay, on the other hand, would have been more vigorous
+had he been less diffuse, and used the pruning-knife more unsparingly.
+His finest satiric pictures often lose their point by verbosity and
+tediousness. Brevity is the soul of satire as well as of wit.
+
+The most vigorous English satire of this entire period was that which
+we owe to the scurrilous pen of Skelton and the provocative personality
+of Wolsey. With his work may be mentioned the rude and unpolished, yet
+vigorous, piece bearing the rhyming title,
+
+     "Rede me and be nott wrothe,
+      For I saye no thing but trothe",
+
+written by two English Observantine Franciscan friars, William Roy and
+Jerome Barlowe;[6] a satire which stung the great cardinal so sharply
+that he commissioned Hermann Rynck to buy up every available copy.
+Alexander Barclay's imitation, in his _Ship of Fools_, of Sebastian
+Brandt's _Narrenschiff_, was only remarkable for the novel satirical
+device of the plan.
+
+Bishop Latimer in his sermons is a vigorous satirist, particularly in
+that discourse upon "The Ploughers" (1547). His fearlessness is very
+conspicuous, and his attacks on the bishops who proved untrue to their
+trust and allowed their dioceses to go to wreck and ruin, are outspoken
+and trenchant:
+
+    "They that be lords will ill go to plough. It is no meet office for
+    them. It is not seeming for their state. Thus came up lording
+    loiterers; Thus crept in unprechinge prelates, and so have they
+    long continued. For how many unlearned prelates have we now at this
+    day? And no marvel; For if the ploughmen that now be, were made
+    lordes, they would clean give over ploughing, they would leave of
+    theyr labour and fall to lording outright and let the plough
+    stand. For ever since the Prelates were made lords and nobles, the
+    plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve. They
+    hawke, they hunte, they carde, they dyce, they pastime in their
+    prelacies with galaunt gentlemen, with their dauncing minions, and
+    with their freshe companions, so that ploughing is set aside."[7]
+
+But after Gascoigne's _Steel Glass_ was published, which professed to
+hold a mirror or "steel glass" up to the vices of the age, we reach
+that wonderful outburst of satiric, epigrammatic, and humorous
+composition which was one of the characteristics, and certainly not the
+least important, of the Elizabethan epoch. Lodge's _Fig for Momus_
+(1593) contains certain satires which rank with Gascoigne's work as the
+earliest compositions of that type belonging to the period. That they
+were of no mean reputation in their own day is evident from the
+testimony of Meres,[8] who says, "As Horace, Lucilius, Juvenal,
+Persius, and Lucullus are the best for satire among the Latins, so with
+us, in the same faculty, these are chiefe, Piers Plowman, Lodge, Hall
+of Emanuel College, Cambridge, the author of _Pygmalion's Image and
+Certain Satires_[9] and the author of _Skialethea_". This contemporary
+opinion regarding the fact that _The Vision of Piers Plowman_ was
+esteemed a satire of outstanding merit in those days, is a curious
+commentary on Hall's boastful couplet describing himself as the
+earliest English satirist.
+
+To name all the writers who, in this fruitful epoch of our literature,
+devoted themselves to this kind of composition would be impossible.
+From 1598 until the death of James I. upwards of one hundred separate
+satirists can be named, both in verse and prose. Of these Bishop Hall
+is one of the greatest, and I have chosen him as the leading
+representative of the period. To the study of Horace and Juvenal he had
+devoted many years of his early manhood, and his imitation of these two
+great Romans is close and consistent. Therefore, for vigour, grave
+dignity, and incisiveness of thought, united to graphic pictures of his
+age, Hall is undeniably the most important name in the history of the
+Elizabethan satire, strictly so called. His exposures of the follies of
+his age were largely couched in the form, so much affected by Horace,
+of a familiar commentary on certain occurrences, addressed apparently
+to an anonymous correspondent.
+
+Contemporary with Hall was Thomas Nash, whose _Pierce Penilesse's
+Supplication to the Devil_ was one of the most extraordinary onslaughts
+on the social vices of the metropolis that the period produced. Written
+in close imitation of Juvenal's earlier satires, he frequently
+approaches the standard of his master in graphic power of description,
+in scathing invective, and ironical mockery. In _Have with you to
+Saffron Walden_ he lashed Gabriel Harvey for his unworthy conduct
+towards the memory of Robert Greene. Both satires are written in prose,
+as indeed are nearly all his works, inasmuch as Nash was more of a
+pamphleteer than anything else. Other contemporaries of Hall were
+Thomas Dekker, whose fame as a dramatist has eclipsed his reputation
+as a satirist, but whose _Bachelor's Banquet--pleasantly discoursing
+the variable humours of Women, their quickness of wits and unsearchable
+deceits_, is a sarcastic impeachment of the gentler sex, while his
+_Gull's Hornbook_ must be ranked with Nash's work as one of the most
+unsparing castigations of social life in London. The latter is a volume
+of fictitious maxims for the use of youths desirous of being considered
+"pretty fellows". Other contemporaries were John Donne, John Marston,
+Jonson, George Chapman, and Nicholas Breton--all names of men who were
+conspicuous inheritors of the true Elizabethan spirit, and who united
+virility of thought to robustness and trenchancy of sarcasm.
+
+Marston and Breton were amongst the best of the group, though they are
+not represented in these pages owing to the unsuitability of their
+writings for extract. Here is a picture from one of the satires of
+Marston which is instinct with satiric power. It is a portrait of a
+love-sick swain, and runs as follows:--
+
+     "For when my ears received a fearful sound
+      That he was sick, I went, and there I found,
+      Him laid of love and newly brought to bed
+      Of monstrous folly, and a franticke head:
+      His chamber hanged about with elegies,
+      With sad complaints of his love's miseries,
+      His windows strow'd with sonnets and the glasse
+      Drawn full of love-knots. I approach'd the asse,
+      And straight he weepes, and sighes some Sonnet out
+      To his fair love! and then he goes about,
+      For to perfume her rare perfection,
+      With some sweet smelling pink epitheton.
+      Then with a melting looke he writhes his head,
+      And straight in passion, riseth in his bed,
+      And having kist his hand, strok'd up his haire,
+      Made a French _conge_, cryes 'O cruall Faire!'
+      To th' antique bed-post."[10]
+
+Marston manifests more vigour and nervous force in his satires than
+Hall, but exhibits less elegance and ease in versification. In Charles
+Fitz-geoffrey's _Affaniae_, a set of Latin epigrams, printed at Oxford
+in 1601, Marston is complimented as the "Second English Satirist", or
+rather as dividing the palm of priority and excellence in English
+satire with Hall. The individual characteristics of the various leading
+Elizabethan satirists,--the vitriolic bitterness of Nash, the
+sententious profundity of Donne, the happy-go-lucky "slogging" of
+genial Dekker, the sledge-hammer blows of Jonson, the turgid
+malevolence of Chapman, and the stiletto-like thrusts of George
+Buchanan are worthy of closer and more detailed study than can be
+devoted to them in a sketch such as this. I regret that Nicolas
+Breton's _Pasquil's Madcappe_ proved too long for quotation in its
+entirety,[11] but the man who could pen such lines as these was, of a
+truth, a satirist of a high order:--
+
+      But what availes unto the world to talke?
+      Wealth is a witch that hath a wicked charme,
+      That in the minds of wicked men doth walke,
+      Unto the heart and Soule's eternal harme,
+      Which is not kept by the Almighty arme:
+      O,'tis the strongest instrument of ill
+      That ere was known to work the devill's will.
+
+      An honest man is held a good poore soule,
+      And kindnesse counted but a weake conceite,
+      And love writte up but in the woodcocke's soule,
+      While thriving _Wat_ doth but on Wealth await:
+      He is a fore horse that goes ever streight:
+      And he but held a foole for all his Wit,
+      That guides his braines but with a golden bit.
+
+      A virgin is a vertuous kind of creature,
+      But doth not coin command Virginitie?
+      And beautie hath a strange bewitching feature,
+      But gold reads so much world's divinitie,
+      As with the Heavens hath no affinitie:
+      So that where Beauty doth with vertue dwell,
+      If it want money, yet it will not sell.
+
+Of the satiric forms peculiar to the Elizabethan epoch there is no
+great variety. The _Characters_ of Theophrastus supplied a model to
+some of the writers. The close adherence also which the majority of
+them manifest to the broadly marked types of "Horatian" and
+"Juvenalian" satire, both in matter and manner, is not a little
+remarkable. The genius for selecting from the classics those forms both
+of composition and metre best suited to become vehicles for satire, and
+adapting them thereto, did not begin to manifest itself in so
+pronounced a manner until after the Restoration. The Elizabethan
+mind--using the phrase of course in its broad sense as inclusive of the
+Jacobean and the early Caroline epochs--was more engrossed with the
+matter than the manner of satire. Perhaps the finest satire which
+distinguished this wonderful era was the _Argenis_ of John Barclay, a
+politico-satiric romance, or, in other words, the adaptation of the
+"Milesian tale" of Petronius to state affairs.
+
+During the Parliamentary War, satire was the only species of
+composition which did not suffer more or less eclipse, but its
+character underwent change. It became to a large extent a medium for
+sectarian bitterness. It lost its catholicity, and degenerated in great
+measure into the instrument of partisan antagonism, and a means of
+impaling the folly or fanaticism, real or imagined, of special
+individuals among the Cavaliers and Roundheads.[12] Of such a character
+was the bulk of the satires produced at that time. In a few instances,
+however, a higher note was struck, as, for example, when "dignified
+political satire", in the hands of Andrew Marvell, was utilized to
+fight the battle of freedom of conscience in the matter of the
+observances of external religion. _The Rehearsal Transposed, Mr.
+Smirke, or the Divine in Mode, and his Political Satires_ are
+masterpieces of lofty indignation mingled with grave and ironical
+banter. Among many others Edmund Waller showed himself an apt disciple
+of Horace, and produced charming social satires marked by delicate wit
+and raillery in the true Horatian mode; while the Duke of Buckingham,
+in the _Rehearsal_, utilized the dramatic parody to travesty the plays
+of Dryden. Abraham Cowley, in the _Mistress_, also imitated Horace, and
+in his play _Cutter of Coleman Street_ satirized the Puritans'
+affectation of superior sanctity and their affected style of
+conversation. Then came John Oldham and John Cleiveland, who both
+accepted Juvenal as their model. Cleiveland's antipathy towards
+Cromwell and the Scots was on a par with that of John Wilkes towards
+the latter, and was just as unreasonable, while the language he
+employed in his diatribes against both was so extravagant as to lose
+its sarcastic point in mere vulgar abuse. In like manner Oldham's
+_Satires on the Jesuits_ afford as disgraceful a specimen of sectarian
+bigotry as the language contains. Only their pungency and wit render
+them readable. He displays Juvenal's violence of invective without his
+other redeeming qualities. All these, however, were entirely eclipsed
+in reputation by a writer who made the mock-epic the medium through
+which the bitterest onslaught on the anti-royalist party and its
+principles was delivered by one who, as a "king's man", was almost as
+extreme a bigot as those he satirized. The _Hudibras_ of Samuel Butler,
+in its mingling of broad, almost extravagant, humour and sneering
+mockery has no parallel in our literature. Butler's characters are
+rather mere "humours" or _qualities_ than real personages. There is no
+attempt made to observe the modesty of nature. _Hudibras_, therefore,
+is an example not so much of satire, though satire is present in rich
+measure also, as of burlesque. The poem is genuinely satirical only in
+those parts where the author steps in as the chorus, so to speak, and
+offers pithy moralizings on what is taking place in the action of the
+story. There is visible throughout the poem, however, a lack of
+restraint that causes him to overdo his part. Were _Hudibras_ shorter,
+the satire would be more effective. Though in parts often as terse in
+style as Pope's best work, still the poem is too long, and it undoes
+the force of its attack on the Puritans by its exaggeration.
+
+All these writers, even Butler himself, simply prepared the way for the
+man who is justly regarded as England's greatest satirist. The epoch of
+John Dryden has been fittingly styled the "Golden Age of English
+Satire".[13] To warrant this description, however, it must be held to
+include the writers of the reign of Queen Anne. The Elizabethan period
+was perhaps richer, numerically speaking, in representatives of certain
+types of satirical composition, but the true perfection, the
+efflorescence of the long-growing plant, was reached in that era which
+extended from the publication of Dryden's _Absalom and Achitophel_
+(Part I.) in 1681 to the issue of Pope's _Dunciad_ in its final form in
+1742. During these sixty years appeared the choicest of English
+satires, to wit, all Dryden's finest pieces, the _Medal_,
+_MacFlecknoe_, and _Absalom and Achitophel_, Swift's _Tale of a Tub_,
+and his _Miscellanies_--among which his best metrical satires appeared;
+all Defoe's work, too, as well as Steele's in the _Tatler_, and
+Addison's in the _Spectator_, Arbuthnot's _History of John Bull_,
+Churchill's _Rosciad_, and finally all Pope's poems, including the
+famous "Prologue" as well as the "Epilogue" to the _Satires_. It is
+curious to note how the satirical succession (if the phrase be
+permitted) is maintained uninterruptedly from Bishop Hall down to the
+death of Pope--nay, we may even say down to the age of Byron, to whose
+epoch one may trace something like a continuous tradition. Hall did
+not die until Dryden was twenty-seven years of age. Pope delighted to
+record that, when a boy of twelve years of age, he had met "Glorious
+John", though the succession could be passed on otherwise through
+Congreve, one of the most polished of English satirical writers, whom
+Dryden complimented as "one whom every muse and grace adorn", while to
+him also Pope dedicated his translation of the _Iliad_.[14] Bolingbroke,
+furthermore, was the friend and patron of Pope, while the witty St.
+John, in turn, was bound by ties of friendship to Mallet, who passed on
+the succession to Goldsmith, Sheridan, Ellis, Canning, Moore, and
+Byron. Thereafter satire begins to fall upon evil days, and the
+tradition cannot be so clearly traced.
+
+But satire, during this "succession", did not remain absolutely the
+same. She changed her garb with her epoch. Thus the robust bludgeoning
+of Dryden and Shadwell, of Defoe, Steele, D'Urfey, and Tom Brown, gave
+place to the sardonic ridicule of Swift, the polished raillery of
+Arbuthnot, and the double-distilled essence of acidulous sarcasm
+present in the _Satires_ of Pope. There is as marked a difference
+between the Drydenic and the Swiftian types of satire, between that of
+Cleiveland and that of Pope, as between the diverse schools known as
+the "Horatian" and the "Juvenalian". The cause of this, over and above
+the effect produced by prolonged study of these two classical models,
+was the overwhelming influence exercised on his age by the great French
+critic and satirist, Boileau. Difficult indeed it is for us at the
+present day to understand the European homage paid to Boileau. As
+Hannay says, "He was a dignified classic figure supposed to be the
+model of fine taste",[15] His word was law in the realm of criticism,
+and for many years he was known, not alone in France, but throughout a
+large portion of Europe, as "The Lawgiver of Parnassus". Prof. Dowden,
+referring to his critical authority, remarks:--
+
+    "The genius of Boileau was in a high degree intellectual, animated
+    by ideas. As a moralist he is not searching or profound; he saw too
+    little of the inner world of the heart, and knew too imperfectly
+    its agitations. When, however, he deals with literature--and a just
+    judgment in letters may almost be called an element in morals--all
+    his penetration and power become apparent. To clear the ground for
+    the new school of nature, truth, and reason was Boileau's first
+    task. It was a task which called for courage and skill ... he
+    struck at the follies and affectations of the world of letters, and
+    he struck with force. It was a needful duty, and one most
+    effectively performed.... Boileau's influence as a critic of
+    literature can hardly be overrated; it has much in common with the
+    influence of Pope on English literature, beneficial as regards his
+    own time, somewhat restrictive and even tyrannical upon later
+    generations."[16]
+
+Owing to the predominance of French literary modes in England, this was
+the man whose influence, until nearly the close of last century, was
+paramount in England even when it was most bitterly disclaimed.
+Boileau's _Satires_ were published during 1660-70, and he himself died
+in 1711; but, though dead, he still ruled for many a decade to come.
+This then was the literary censor to whom English satire of the
+post-Drydenic epochs owed so much. Neither Swift nor Pope was ashamed
+to confess his literary indebtedness to the great Frenchman; nay,
+Dryden himself has confessed his obligations to Boileau, and in his
+_Discourse on Satire_ has quoted his authority as absolute. Before
+pointing out the differences between the Drydenic and post-Drydenic
+satire let us note very briefly the special characteristics of the
+former. Apart from the "matter" of his satire, Dryden laid this
+department of letters under a mighty obligation through the splendid
+service he rendered by the first successful application of the heroic
+couplet to satire. Of itself this was a great boon; but his good deeds
+as regards the "matter" of satiric composition have entirely obscured
+the benefit he conferred on its manner or technical form. Dryden's four
+great satires, _Absalom and Achitophel_, _The Medal_, _MacFlecknoe_,
+and the _Hind and the Panther_, each exemplify a distinct and important
+type of satire. The first named is the classical instance of the use of
+"historic parallels" as applied to the impeachment of the vices or
+abuses of any age. With matchless skill the story of Absalom is
+employed not merely to typify, but actually to represent, the designs
+of Monmouth and his Achitophel--Shaftesbury. _The Medal_ reverts to the
+type of the classic satire of the Juvenalian order. It is slightly more
+rhetorical in style, and is partly devoted to a bitter invective
+against Shaftesbury, partly to an argument as to the unfitness of
+republican institutions for England, partly to a satiric address to
+the Whigs. The third of the great series, _MacFlecknoe_, is Dryden's
+masterpiece of satiric irony; a purely personal attack upon his rival,
+Shadwell, "Crowned King of Dulness, and in all the realms of nonsense
+absolute". Finally, the _Hind and the Panther_ represents a new
+development of the "satiric fable". Dryden gave to British satire the
+impulse towards that final form of development which it received from
+the great satirists of the next century. There is little that appears
+in Swift, Addison, Arbuthnot, Pope, or even Byron, for which the way
+was not prepared by the genius of "Glorious John".
+
+Of the famous group which adorned the reign of Queen Anne, Steele lives
+above all in his Isaac Bickerstaff Essays, the vehicle of admirably
+pithy and trenchant prose satire upon current political abuses. But,
+unfortunately for his own fame, his lot was to be associated with the
+greatest master of this form of composition that has appeared in
+literature, and the celebrity of the greater writer dimmed that of the
+lesser. Addison in his papers in the _Tatler_ and the _Spectator_ has
+brought what may be styled the Essay of Satiric Portraiture--in after
+days to be developed along other lines by Praed, Charles Lamb, Leigh
+Hunt, and R.L. Stevenson--to an unsurpassed standard of excellence.
+Such character studies as those of Sir Roger de Coverley, his household
+and friends, Will Honeycomb, Sir Andrew Freeport, Ned Softly, and
+others, possess an endless charm for us in the sobriety and moderation
+of the colours, the truth to nature, the delicate raillery, and the
+polished sarcasm of their satiric animadversions. Addison has studied
+his Horace to advantage, and to the great Roman's attributes has added
+other virtues distinctly English.
+
+Arbuthnot, the celebrated physician of Queen Anne, takes rank among the
+best of English satirists by virtue of his famous work _The History of
+John Bull_. The special mode or type employed was the "allegorical
+political tale", of which the plot was the historic sequence of events
+in connection with the war with Louis XIV. of France. The object of the
+fictitious narrative was to throw ridicule on the Duke of Marlborough,
+and to excite among the people a feeling of disgust at the protracted
+hostilities. The nations involved are represented as tradesmen
+implicated in a lawsuit, the origin of the dispute being traced to
+their narrow and selfish views. The national characteristics of each
+individual are skilfully hit off, and the various events of the war,
+with the accompanying political intrigues, are symbolized by the stages
+in the progress of the suit, the tricks of the lawyers, and the devices
+of the principal attorney, Humphrey Hocus (Marlborough), to prolong the
+struggle. His _Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus_--a satire on the abuses
+of human learning,--in which the type of the fictitious biography is
+adopted, is exceedingly clever.
+
+Finally, we reach the pair of satirists who, next to Dryden, must be
+regarded as the writers whose influence has been greatest in
+determining the character of British satire. Pope is the disciple of
+Dryden, and the best qualities of the Drydenic satire, in both form and
+matter, are reproduced in his works accompanied by special attributes
+of his own. Owing to the extravagant admiration professed by Byron for
+the author of the _Rape of the Lock_, and his repeated assurances of
+his literary indebtedness to him, we are apt to overlook the fact that
+the noble lord was under obligations to Dryden of a character quite as
+weighty as those he was so ready to acknowledge to Pope. But the
+latter, like Shakespeare, so improved all he borrowed that he has in
+some instances actually received credit for inventing what he only took
+from his great master. Pope was more of a refiner and polisher of
+telling satiric forms which Dryden had in the first instance employed,
+than an original inventor.
+
+To mention all the types of satire affected by this marvellously acute
+and variously cultured poet would be a task of some difficulty. There
+are few amongst the principal forms which he has not essayed. In spirit
+he is more pungent and sarcastic, more acidulous and malicious, than
+the large-hearted and generous-souled Dryden. Into his satire,
+therefore, enters a greater amount of the element of personal dislike
+and contempt than in the case of the other. While satire is present
+more or less in nearly all Pope's verse, there are certain compositions
+where it may be said to be the outstanding quality. These are his
+_Satires_, among which should of course be included "The Prologue" and
+"The Epilogue" to them, as well as the _Moral Essays_, and finally the
+_Dunciad_. These comprise the best of his professed satires. His
+_Satires and Epistles of Horace Imitated_ are just what they claim to
+be--an adaptation to English scenes, sympathies, sentiments, and
+surroundings of the Roman poet's characteristic style. Though Pope has
+quite as many points of affinity with Juvenal as with Horace, the
+adaptation and transference of the local atmosphere from Tiber to
+Thames is managed with extraordinary skill. The historic parallels,
+too, of the personages in the respective poems are made to accord and
+harmonize with the spirit of the time. The _Satires_ are written from
+the point of view of opposition to Sir Robert Walpole, the great Whig
+minister. They display the concentrated essence of bitterness towards
+the ministerial policy. As Minto tersely puts it, we see gathered up in
+them the worst that was thought and said about the government and court
+party when men's minds were heated almost to the point of civil war.[17]
+In the "Prologue" and the "Epilogue" are contained some of the most
+finished satiric portraits drawn by Pope in any of his works. For
+caustic bitterness, sustained but polished irony, and merciless
+sarcastic malice, the characters of Atticus (Addison), Bufo, and Sporus
+have never been surpassed in the literature of political or social
+criticism.[18]
+
+The _Dunciad_ is an instance of the mock-epic utilized for the purposes
+of satire. Here Pope, as regards theme, possibly had the idea suggested
+to him by Dryden's _MacFlecknoe_, but undoubtedly the heroic couplet,
+which the latter had first applied to satire and used with such
+conspicuous success, was still further polished and improved by Pope
+until, as Mr. Courthope says, "it became in his hands a rapier of
+perfect flexibility and temper". From the time of Pope until that of
+Byron this stately measure has been regarded as the metre best suited
+_par excellence_ for the display of satiric point and brilliancy, and
+as the medium best calculated to confer dignity on political satire.
+The _Dunciad_, while personal malice enters into it, must not be
+regarded as, properly speaking, a malicious satire. From a literary
+censor's point of view almost every lash Pope administered was richly
+deserved. In this respect Pope has all Horace's fairness and
+moderation, while at the same time he exhibits not a little of
+Juvenal's depth of conviction that desperate diseases demand radical
+remedies.[19]
+
+By the side of Pope stands an impressive but a mournful figure, one of
+the most tragic in our literature, to think of whom, as Thackeray says,
+"is like thinking of the ruin of a great empire". As an all-round
+satirist Jonathan Swift has no superior save Dryden, and he only by
+virtue of his broader human sympathies. In the works of the great Dean
+we have many distinct forms of satire. Scarce anything he wrote, with
+the exception of his unfortunate _History of the Last Four Years of
+Queen Anne_, but is marked by satiric touches that relieve the tedium
+of even its dullest pages. He has utilized nearly all the recognized
+modes of satiric composition throughout the range of his long list of
+works. In the _Tale of a Tub_ he employed the vehicle of the satiric
+tale to lash the Dissenters, the Papists, and even the Church of
+England; in a word, the cant of religion as well as the pretensions of
+letters and the shams of the world. In the _Battle of the Books_ the
+parody or travesty of the Romances of Chivalry is used to ridicule the
+controversy raging between Temple, Wotton, Boyle, and Bentley,
+regarding the comparative merits of ancient and modern writers. In
+_Gulliver's Travels_ the fictitious narrative or mock journal is
+impressed into the service, the method consisting in adopting an absurd
+supposition at the outset and then gravely deducing the logical effects
+which follow. These three form the trio of great prose satires which
+from the epoch of their publication until now have remained the wonder
+and the delight of successive generations. Their realism, humorous
+invention, ready wit, unsparing irony, and keen ridicule have exercised
+as potent an attraction as their gloomy misanthropy has repelled. Among
+minor satires are his scathing attacks in prose and verse on the war
+party as a ring of Whig stock-jobbers, such as _Advice to the October
+Club_, _Public Spirit of the Whigs, &c._, the _Virtues of Sid Hamet_,
+_The Magician's Wand_ (directed against Godolphin); his _Polite
+Conversations_ and _Directions to Servants_ are savage attacks on the
+inanity of society small-talk and the greed of the menials of the
+period. But why prolong the list? From the _Drapier's Letters_,
+directed against a supposed fraudulent introduction of a copper
+currency known as "Wood's Halfpence", to his skit on _The Furniture of
+a Woman's Mind_, there were few topics current in his day, whether in
+politics, theology, economics, or social gossip, which he did not
+attack with the artillery of his wit and satire. Had he been less
+sardonic, had he possessed even a modicum of the _bonhomie_ of his
+friend Arbuthnot, Swift's satire would have exercised even more potent
+an influence than it has been its fortune to achieve.
+
+Pope died in 1744, Swift in 1745. During their last years there were
+signs that the literary modes of the epoch of Queen Anne, which had
+maintained their ascendency so long, were rapidly losing their hold on
+the popular mind. A new literary period was about to open wherein new
+literary ideals and new models would prevail. Satire, in common with
+literature as a whole, felt the influence of the transitional era. As
+we have seen, it concerned itself largely with ridiculing the follies
+and eccentricities of men of letters and foolish pretenders to the
+title; also in lashing social vices and abuses. The political enmity
+existing between the Jacobites and the Hanoverians continued to afford
+occasion for the exchange of party squibs and lampoons. The lengthened
+popularity of Gay's _Beggars' Opera_, a composition wherein a new mode
+was created, viz. the satiric opera (the prototype of the comic opera
+of later days), affords an index to the temper of the time. It was the
+age of England's lethargy.
+
+After the defeat of Culloden, satire languished for a while, to revive
+again during the ministry of the Earl of Bute, when everything Scots
+came in for condemnation, and when Smollett and John Wilkes belaboured
+each other in the _Briton_ and the _North Briton_, in pamphlet,
+pasquinade, and parody, until at last Lord Bute withdrew from the
+contest in disgust, and suspended the organ over which the author of
+_Roderick Random_ presided. The satirical effusions of this epoch are
+almost entirely worthless, the only redeeming feature being the fact
+that Goldsmith was at that very moment engaged in throwing off those
+delicious _morceaux_ of social satire contained in _The Citizen of the
+World_. Johnson, a few years before, had set the fashion for some time
+with his two satires written in free imitation of Juvenal--_London_,
+and _The Vanity of Human Wishes_. But from 1760 onward until the close
+of the century, when Ellis, Canning, and Frere opened what may be
+termed the modern epoch of satire, the influence paramount was that of
+Goldsmith. Fielding and Smollett were both satirists of powerful and
+original stamp, but they were so much else besides that their influence
+was lost in that of the genial author of the _Deserted Village_ and
+_Retaliation_. His _Vicar of Wakefield_ is a satire, upon sober,
+moderate principles, against the vice of the upper classes, as typified
+in the character of Mr. Thornhill, while the sketch of Beau Tibbs in
+_The Citizen of the World_ is a racy picture of the out-at-elbows,
+would-be man of fashion, who seeks to pose as a social leader and
+arbiter of taste when he had better have been following a trade.
+
+The next revival of the popularity of satire takes place towards the
+commencement of the third last decade of the eighteenth century, when,
+using the vehicle of the epistolary mode, an anonymous writer, whose
+identity is still in dispute, attacked the monarch, the government,
+and the judicature of the country, in a series of letters in which
+scathing invective, merciless ridicule, and lofty scorn were united to
+vigour and polish of style, as well as undeniable literary taste.
+
+After the appearance of the _Letters of Junius_, which, perhaps, have
+owed the permanence of their popularity as much to the interest
+attaching to the mystery of their authorship as to their intrinsic
+merits, political satire may be said to have once more slumbered
+awhile. The impression produced by the studied malice of the _Letters_,
+and the epigrammatic suggestiveness which appeared to leave as much
+unsaid as was said, was enormous, yet, strangely enough, they were
+unable to check the growing influence of the school of satire whereof
+Goldsmith was the chief founder, and from which the fashionable _jeux
+d'esprit_, the sparkling _persiflage_ of the society _flaneurs_ of the
+nineteenth century are the legitimate descendants.[20] The decade
+1768-78, therefore--that decade when the plays of Goldsmith and
+Sheridan were appearing,--witnessed the rise and the development of
+that genial, humorous raillery, in prose and verse, of personal foibles
+and of social abuses, of which the _Retaliation_ and the Beau Tibbs
+papers are favourable examples. These were the distinguishing
+characteristics of our satiric literature during the closing decade of
+the eighteenth century until the horrors of the French Revolution, and
+the sympathy with it which was apparently being aroused in England,
+called political satire into requisition once more. Party feeling ran
+high with regard to the principles enunciated by the so-called "friends
+of freedom". The sentiments of the "Constitutional Tories" found
+expression in the bitter, sardonic, vitriolic mockery visible in the
+pages of the _Anti-Jacobin_,[21] which did more to check the progress of
+nascent Radicalism and the movement in favour of political reform than
+any other means employed. Chief-justice Mansfield's strictures and Lord
+Braxfield's diatribes alike paled into insignificance beside these
+deadly, scorching bombs of Juvenal-like vituperation, which have
+remained unapproached in their specific line. As an example take
+Ellis's _Ode to Jacobinism_, of which I quote two stanzas:--
+
+     "Daughter of Hell, insatiate power!
+      Destroyer of the human race,
+      Whose iron scourge and maddening hour
+      Exalt the bad, the good debase;
+      When first to scourge the sons of earth,
+      Thy sire his darling child designed,
+      Gallia received the monstrous birth,
+      Voltaire informed thine infant mind.
+      Well-chosen nurse, his sophist lore,
+      He bade thee many a year explore,
+      He marked thy progress firm though slow,
+      And statesmen, princes, leagued with their inveterate foe.
+      Scared at thy frown terrific, fly
+      The morals (antiquated brood),
+      Domestic virtue, social joy,
+      And faith that has for ages stood;
+      Swift they disperse and with them go
+      The friend sincere, the generous foe--
+      Traitors to God, to man avowed,
+      By thee now raised aloft, now crushed beneath the crowd."
+
+Space only remains for a single word upon the satire of the nineteenth
+century. In this category would be included the _Baeviad_ and the
+_Maeviad_ by William Gifford (editor of the _Anti-Jacobin_), which,
+though first printed in the closing years of the eighteenth century,
+were issued in volume form in 1800. Written as they are in avowed
+imitation of Juvenal, Persius, and Horace, they out-Juvenal Juvenal by
+the violence of the language, besides descending to a depth of personal
+scurrility as foreign to the nature of true satire as abuse is alien to
+wit. They have long since been consigned to merited oblivion, though in
+their day, from the useful and able work done by their author in other
+fields of literature, they enjoyed no inconsiderable amount of fame.
+Two or three lines from the _Baeviad_ will give a specimen of its
+quality:--
+
+     "For mark, to what 'tis given, and then declare,
+      Mean though I am, if it be worth my care.
+      Is it not given to Este's unmeaning dash,
+      To Topham's fustian, Reynold's flippant trash,
+      To Andrews' doggerel where three wits combine,
+      To Morton's catchword, Greathead's idiot line,
+      And Holcroft's Shug-lane cant and Merry's Moorfields Whine?"[22]
+
+The early years of the present century still felt the influence of the
+sardonic ridicule which prevailed during the closing years of the
+previous one, and the satirists who appeared during the first decades
+of the former belonged to the robust or energetic order. Their names
+and their works are well-nigh forgotten.
+
+We now reach the last of the greater satirists that have adorned our
+literature, one who is in many respects a worthy peer of Dryden, Swift,
+and Pope. Lord Byron's fame as a satirist rests on three great works,
+each of them illustrative of a distinct type of composition. Other
+satires he has written, nay, the satiric quality is present more or
+less in nearly all he produced; but _The Vision of Judgment_, _Beppo_,
+and _Don Juan_ are his three masterpieces in this style of literature.
+They are wonderful compositions in every sense of the word. The
+sparkling wit, the ready raillery, the cutting irony, the biting
+sarcasm, and the sardonic cynicism which characterize almost every line
+of them are united to a brilliancy of imagination, a swiftness as well
+as a felicity of thought, and an epigrammatic terseness of phrase which
+even Byron himself has equalled nowhere else in his works. _The Vision
+of Judgment_ is an example in the first instance of parody, and, in the
+second, but not by any means so distinctly, of allegory. Its savage
+ferocity of sarcasm crucified Southey upon the cross of scornful
+contempt. Byron is not as good a metrist as a satirist, and the _Ottava
+rima_ in his hands sometimes halts a little; still, the poem is a
+notable example of a satiric parody written with such distinguished
+success in a measure of great technical difficulty.
+
+It is somewhat curious that all three of Byron's great satiric poems
+should be written in the same measure. Yet so it is, for the poet,
+having become enamoured of the metre after reading Frere's clever
+satire, _Whistlecraft_, ever afterwards had a peculiar fondness for
+it. Both _Beppo_ and _Don Juan_ are also excellent examples of the
+metrical "satiric tale". The former, being the earlier satire of the
+two, was Byron's first essay in this new type of satiric composition.
+His success therein stimulated him to attempt another "tale" which in
+some respects presents features that ally it to the mock-epic. _Beppo_
+is a perfect storehouse of well-rounded satirical phrases that cleave
+to the memory, such as "the deep damnation of his 'bah'" and the
+description of the "budding miss",
+
+     "So much alarmed that she is quite alarming,
+      All giggle, blush, half pertness and half pout".
+
+_Beppo_ leads up to _Don Juan_, and it is hard to say which is the
+cleverer satire of the two. In both, the wit is so unforced and
+natural, the fun so sparkling, the banter and the persiflage so bright
+and scintillating, that they seem, as Sir Walter Scott said, to be the
+natural outflow from the fountain of humour. Byron's earliest satire,
+_English Bards and Scots Reviewers_, is a clever piece of work, but
+compared with the great trio above-named is a production of his nonage.
+
+Byron was succeeded by Praed, whose social pictures are instinct with
+the most refined and polished raillery, with the true Attic salt of wit
+united to a metrical deftness as graceful as it was artistic. During
+Praed's lifetime, Lamb with his inimitable _Essays of Elia_, Southey,
+Barham with the ever-popular _Ingoldsby Legends_, James and Horace
+Smith with the _Rejected Addresses_, Disraeli, Leigh Hunt, Tom Hood,
+and Landor had been winning laurels in various branches of social
+satire which, consequent upon the influence of Byron and then of his
+disciple, Praed, became the current mode. A favourable example of that
+style is found in Leigh Hunt's _Feast of the Poets_ and in Edward
+Fitz-Gerald's _Chivalry at a Discount_. Other writers of satire in the
+earlier decades of the present century were Peacock, who in his novels
+(_Crotchet Castle_, &c.) evolved an original type of satire based upon
+the Athenian New Comedy. Miss Austen in her English novels and Miss
+Edgeworth in her Irish tales employed satire to impeach certain crying
+social abuses, as also did Dickens in _Oliver Twist_ and others of his
+books. Douglas Jerrold's comedies and sketches are full of titbits of
+gay and brilliant banter and biting irony. If _Sartor Resartus_ could
+be regarded as a satire, as Dr. Garnett says, Carlyle would be the
+first of satirists, with his thundering invective, grand rhetoric,
+indignant scorn, grim humour, and satiric gloom in denouncing the shams
+of human society and of human nature. An admirable American school of
+satire was founded by Washington Irving, of which Judge Haliburton (Sam
+Slick), Paulding, Holmes, Artemus Ward, and Dudley Warner are the chief
+names.
+
+Since the third and fourth decades of our century, in other words,
+since the epoch of the Reform Bill and the Chartist agitation, satire
+has more and more tended to lose its acid and its venom, to slough the
+dark sardonic sarcasm of past days and to don the light sportive garb
+of the social humorist and epigrammist. Robustious bludgeoning has gone
+out of fashion, and in its place we have the playful satiric wit,
+sparkling as of well-drawn Moet or Clicquot, of Mortimer Collins, H.S.
+Leigh, Arthur Locker and Frederick Locker-Lampson, W.S. Gilbert, Austin
+Dobson, Bret Harte, F. Anstey, Dr. Walter C. Smith, and many other
+graceful and delightful social satirists whose verses are household
+words amongst us. From week to week also there appear in the pages of
+that trenchant social censor, _Punch_, and the other high-class
+comico-satiric journals, many pieces of genuine and witty social
+satire. Every year the demand seems increasing, and yet the supply
+shows no signs of running dry.
+
+Political satire, in its metrical form, has had from time to time a
+temporary revival of popularity in such compositions as James Russell
+Lowell's inimitable _Biglow Papers_, as well as in more recent volumes,
+of which Mr. Owen Seaman's verse is an example; while are not its prose
+forms legion in the pages of our periodical press? It has, however, now
+lost that vitriolic quality which made it so scorching and offensively
+personal. The man who wrote nowadays as did Dryden, and Junius, and
+Canning, or, in social satire, as did Peter Pindar and Byron, would be
+forthwith ostracized from literary fellowship.
+
+But what more need be said of an introductory character to these
+selections that are now placed before the reader? English satire,
+though perhaps less in evidence to-day as a separate department in
+letters, is still as cardinal a quality as ever in the productions of
+our leading authors. If satires are no longer in fashion, satire is
+perennial as an attribute in literature, and we have every reason to
+cherish it and welcome it as warmly as of old. The novels of Thackeray,
+as I have already said, contain some of the most delicately incisive
+shafts of satire that have been barbed by any writer of the present
+century. "George Eliot", also, though in a less degree, has shown
+herself a satirist of much power and pungency, while others of our
+latter-day novelists manifest themselves as possessed of a faculty of
+satire both virile and trenchant. It is one of the indispensable
+qualities of a great writer's style, because its quarry is one of the
+most widely diffused of existing things on the face of the globe. There
+is no age without its folly, no epoch without its faults. So long,
+therefore, as man and his works are imperfect, so long shall there be
+existent among us abuses, social, political, professional, and
+ecclesiastical, and so long, too, shall it be the province and the
+privilege of those who feel themselves called upon to play the
+difficult part of _censor morum_, to prick the bubbles of falsehood,
+vanity, and vice with the shafts of ridicule and raillery.
+
+[Footnote 1: _The English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century_.]
+
+[Footnote 2: Cf. Lenient, _History of French Satire_.]
+
+[Footnote 3: Thomson's _Ante-Augustan Latin Poetry_.]
+
+[Footnote 4: Cf. Mackail; Paten, _Etudes sur la Poesie latine_.]
+
+[Footnote 5: See Skeat's "Langland" in _Encyclop. Brit._]
+
+[Footnote 6: See Arber's Reprints for 1868.]
+
+[Footnote 7: Arber's Select Reprints.]
+
+[Footnote 8: _Palladis Tamia: Wits Treasury_.]
+
+[Footnote 9: This, of course, was Marston.]
+
+[Footnote 10: From the Fifth Satire in _The Metamorphosis of
+Pygmalion's Image and Certain Satyres_, by John Marston. 1598.]
+
+[Footnote 11: _Pasquil's Madcappe: Thrown at the Corruption of these
+Times_--1626. Breton, to be read at all, ought to be studied in the two
+noble volumes edited by Dr. A.B. Grosart. From his edition I quote.]
+
+[Footnote 12: _English Literature_, by Prof. Craik. Hannay's _Satires
+and Satirists_.]
+
+[Footnote 13: _Life of Dryden_, by Sir Walter Scott. Saintsbury's _Life
+of Dryden_.]
+
+[Footnote 14: Thackeray's _English Humorists_. Hannay's _Satires and
+Satirists_.]
+
+[Footnote 15: _Satire and Satirists_, by James Hannay. Lecture III.]
+
+[Footnote 16: Dowden's _French Literature_.]
+
+[Footnote 17: Minto's _Characteristics of English Poets_.]
+
+[Footnote 18: Cf. Saintsbury's _Life of Dryden_.]
+
+[Footnote 19: Cf. Gosse, _Eighteenth Century Literature_.]
+
+[Footnote 20: Thackeray's _English Humorists_.]
+
+[Footnote 21: _The Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin_--Carisbrooke Library,
+1890.]
+
+[Footnote 22: _The Baeviad and the Maeviad_, by W. Gifford, Esq., 1800.]
+
+
+
+
+ENGLISH SATIRES.
+
+
+WILLIAM LANGLAND.
+
+(1330?-1400?)
+
+
+I. PILGRIMAGE IN SEARCH OF DO-WELL.
+
+    This opening satire constitutes the whole of the Eighth _Passus_ of
+    _Piers Plowman's Vision_ and the First of Do-Wel. The "Dreamer"
+    here sets off on a new pilgrimage in search of a person who has not
+    appeared in the poem before--Do-Well. The following is the argument
+    of the _Passus_.--"All Piers Plowman's inquiries after Do-Well are
+    fruitless. Even the friars to whom he addresses himself give but a
+    confused account; and weary with wandering about, the dreamer is
+    again overtaken by slumber. Thought now appears to him, and
+    recommends him to Wit, who describes to him the residence of
+    Do-Well, Do-Bet, Do-Best, and enumerates their companions and
+    attendants."
+
+
+  Thus y-robed in russet . romed I aboute
+  Al in a somer seson . for to seke Do-wel;
+  And frayned[23] full ofte . of folk that I mette
+  If any wight wiste . wher Do-wel was at inne;
+  And what man he myghte be . of many man I asked.
+  Was nevere wight, as I wente . that me wisse kouthe[24]
+  Where this leode lenged,[25] . lasse ne moore.[26]
+  Til it bifel on a Friday . two freres I mette
+  Maisters of the Menours[27] . men of grete witte.
+  I hailsed them hendely,[28] . as I hadde y-lerned.
+  And preede them par charite, . er thei passed ferther,
+  If thei knew any contree . or costes as thei wente,
+  "Where that Do-wel dwelleth . dooth me to witene".
+  For thei be men of this moolde . that moost wide walken,
+  And knowen contrees and courtes, . and many kynnes places,
+  Bothe princes paleises . and povere mennes cotes,[29]
+  And Do-wel and Do-yvele . where thei dwelle bothe.
+  "Amonges us" quod the Menours, . "that man is dwellynge,
+  And evere hath as I hope, . and evere shal herafter."
+  "_Contra_", quod I as a clerc, . and comsed to disputen,
+  And seide hem soothly, . "_Septies in die cadit justus_".
+  "Sevene sithes,[30] seeth the book . synneth the rightfulle;
+  And who so synneth," I seide, . "dooth yvele, as me thynketh;
+  And Do-wel and Do-yvele . mowe noght dwelle togideres.
+  Ergo he nis noght alway . among you freres:
+  He is outher while ellis where . to wisse the peple."
+  "I shal seye thee, my sone" . seide the frere thanne,
+  "How seven sithes the sadde man, . on a day synneth;
+  By a forbisne"[31] quod the frere, . "I shal thee faire showe.
+  Lat brynge a man in a boot, . amydde the brode watre;
+  The wynd and the water . and the boot waggyng,
+  Maketh the man many a tyme . to falle and to stonde;
+  For stonde he never so stif, . he stumbleth if he meve,
+  Ac yet is he saaf and sound, . and so hym bihoveth;
+  For if he ne arise the rather, . and raughte to the steere,
+  The wynd wolde with the water . the boot over throwe;
+  And thanne were his lif lost, . thorough lackesse of hymselve[32].
+  And thus it falleth," quod the frere, . "by folk here on erthe;
+  The water is likned to the world . that wanyeth and wexeth;
+  The goodes of this grounde arn like . to the grete wawes,
+  That as wyndes and wedres . walketh aboute;
+  The boot is likned to oure body . that brotel[33] is of kynde,
+  That thorough the fend and the flesshe . and the frele worlde
+  Synneth the sadde man . a day seven sithes.
+  Ac[34] dedly synne doth he noght, . for Do-wel hym kepeth;
+  And that is Charite the champion, . chief help ayein Synne;
+  For he strengtheth men to stonde, . and steereth mannes soule,
+  And though the body bowe . as boot dooth in the watre,
+  Ay is thi soul saaf, . but if thou wole thiselve
+  Do a deedly synne, . and drenche so thi soule,
+  God wole suffre wel thi sleuthe[35] . if thiself liketh.
+  For he yaf thee a yeres-gyve,[36] . to yeme[37] wel thiselve,
+  And that is wit and free-wil, . to every wight a porcion,
+  To fleynge foweles, . to fisshes and to beastes:
+  Ac man hath moost thereof, . and moost is to blame,
+  But if he werch wel therwith, . as Do-wel hym techeth."
+  "I have no kynde knowyng,"[38] quod I, . "to conceyven alle your wordes:
+  Ac if I may lyve and loke, . I shall go lerne bettre."
+  "I bikenne thee Christ,"[39] quod he, . "that on cros deyde!"
+  And I seide "the same . save you fro myschaunce,
+  And gyve you grace on this grounde . goode men to worthe!"[40]
+  And thus I wente wide wher . walkyng myn one,[41]
+  By a wilderness, . and by a wodes side:
+  Blisse of the briddes.[42] . Broughte me a-slepe,
+  And under a lynde upon a launde[43] . lened I a stounde[44],
+  To lythe the layes . the lovely foweles made,
+  Murthe of hire mowthes . made me ther to slepe;
+  The merveillouseste metels[45] . mette me[46] thanne
+  That ever dremed wight . in worlde, as I wene.
+  A muche man, as me thoughte . and like to myselve,
+  Cam and called me . by my kynde name.
+  "What artow," quod I tho, . "that thow my name knowest."
+  "That woost wel," quod he, . "and no wight bettre."
+  "Woot I what thou art?" . "Thought," seide he thanne;
+  "I have sued[47] thee this seven yeer, . seye[48] thou me no rather."[49]
+  "Artow Thought," quod I thoo, . "thow koudest me wisse,
+  Where that Do-wel dwelleth, . and do me that to knowe."
+  "Do-wel and Do-bet, . and Do-best the thridde," quod he,
+  "Arn thre fair vertues, . and ben noght fer to fynde.
+  Who so is trewe of his tunge, . and of his two handes,
+  And thorugh his labour or thorugh his land, . his liflode wynneth,[50]
+  And is trusty of his tailende, . taketh but his owene,
+  And is noght dronklewe[51] ne dedeynous,[52] . Do-wel hym folweth.
+  Do-bet dooth ryght thus; . ac he dooth much more;
+  He is as lowe as a lomb, . and lovelich of speche,
+  And helpeth alle men . after that hem nedeth.
+  The bagges and the bigirdles, . he hath to-broke hem alle
+  That the Erl Avarous . heeld and hise heires.
+  And thus with Mammonaes moneie . he hath maad hym frendes,
+  And is ronne to religion, . and hath rendred the Bible,
+  And precheth to the peple . Seint Poules wordes:
+  _Libenter suffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes_:
+  'And suffreth the unwise' . with you for to libbe
+  And with glad will dooth hem good . and so God you hoteth.
+  Do-best is above bothe, . and bereth a bisshopes crosse,
+  Is hoked on that oon ende . to halie men fro helle;
+  A pik is on that potente,[53] . to putte a-down the wikked
+  That waiten any wikkednesse . Do-wel to tene.[54]
+  And Do-wel and Do-bet . amonges hem han ordeyned,
+  To crowne oon to be kyng . to rulen hem bothe;
+  That if Do-wel or Do-bet . dide ayein Do-best,
+  Thanne shal the kyng come . and casten hem in irens,
+  And but if Do-best bede[55] for hem, . thei to be there for evere.
+  Thus Do-wel and Do-bet, . and Do-best the thridde,
+  Crouned oon to the kyng . to kepen hem alle,
+  And to rule the reme . by hire thre wittes,
+  And noon oother wise, . but as thei thre assented."
+  I thonked Thoght tho, . that he me thus taughte.
+  "Ac yet savoreth me noght thi seying. . I coveit to lerne
+  How Do-wel, Do-bet, and Do-best . doon among the peple."
+  "But Wit konne wisse thee," quod Thoght, . "Where tho thre dwelle,
+  Ellis woot I noon that kan . that now is alyve."
+  Thoght and I thus . thre daies we yeden,[56]
+  Disputyng upon Do-wel . day after oother;
+  And er we were war, . with Wit gonne we mete.[57]
+  He was long and lene, . lik to noon other;
+  Was no pride on his apparaille . ne poverte neither;
+  Sad of his semblaunt, . and of softe chere,
+  I dorste meve no matere . to maken hym to jangle,
+  But as I bad Thoght thoo . be mene bitwene,
+  And pute forth som purpos . to preven his wittes,
+  What was Do-wel fro Do-bet, . and Do-best from hem bothe.
+  Thanne Thoght in that tyme . seide these wordes:
+  "Where Do-wel, Do-bet, . and Do-best ben in londe,
+  Here is Wil wolde wite, . if Wit koude teche him;
+  And whether he be man or woman . this man fayn wolde aspie,
+  And werchen[58] as thei thre wolde, . thus is his entente"
+
+[Footnote 23: questioned.]
+
+[Footnote 24: could tell me.]
+
+[Footnote 25: Where this man dwelt.]
+
+[Footnote 26: mean or gentle.]
+
+[Footnote 27: of the Minorite order.]
+
+[Footnote 28: I saluted them courteously.]
+
+[Footnote 29: and poor men's cots.]
+
+[Footnote 30: times.]
+
+[Footnote 31: example.]
+
+[Footnote 32: through his own negligence.]
+
+[Footnote 33: weak, unstable.]
+
+[Footnote 34: But.]
+
+[Footnote 35: sloth.]
+
+[Footnote 36: a year's-gift.]
+
+[Footnote 37: to rule, guide, govern.]
+
+[Footnote 38: mother-wit.]
+
+[Footnote 39: I commit thee to Christ.]
+
+[Footnote 40: to become.]
+
+[Footnote 41: by myself.]
+
+[Footnote 42: The charm of the birds.]
+
+[Footnote 43: under a linden-tree on a plain.]
+
+[Footnote 44: a short time.]
+
+[Footnote 45: a most wonderful dream.]
+
+[Footnote 46: I dreamed.]
+
+[Footnote 47: followed.]
+
+[Footnote 48: sawest.]
+
+[Footnote 49: sooner.]
+
+[Footnote 50: gains his livelihood.]
+
+[Footnote 51: drunken.]
+
+[Footnote 52: disdainful.]
+
+[Footnote 53: club staff.]
+
+[Footnote 54: to injure.]
+
+[Footnote 55: pray.]
+
+[Footnote 56: journeyed.]
+
+[Footnote 57: we met Wit.]
+
+[Footnote 58: work.]
+
+
+
+
+GEOFFREY CHAUCER.
+
+(1340?-1400.)
+
+
+PORTRAITS FROM THE CANTERBURY TALES.
+
+II. AND III. THE MONK AND THE FRIAR.
+
+
+    The following complete portraits of two of the characters in
+    Chaucer's matchless picture of the Canterbury Pilgrims are taken
+    from the Prologue to the _Canterbury Tales_.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  A monk ther was, a fayre for the maistrie,[59]
+  An outrider, that loved venerie;[60]
+  A manly man, to ben an abbot able.
+  Ful many a deinte[61] hors hadde he in stable:
+  And whan he rode, men might his bridel here
+  Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere,
+  And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle,
+  Ther as this lord was keeper of the celle.
+    The reule of Seint Maure and of Seint Beneit,
+  Because that it was olde and somdele streit,
+  This ilke monk lette olde thinges pace,[62]
+  And held after the newe world the space.
+  He yaf not of the text a pulled hen,[63]
+  That saith, that hunters ben not holy men;
+  Ne that a monk, whan he is reckeles,[64]
+  Is like to a fish that is waterles;
+  That is to say, a monk out of his cloistre.
+  This ilke text held he not worth an oistre.
+  And I say his opinion was good.
+  What? shulde he studie, and make himselven wood[65]
+  Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore,
+  Or swinken[66] with his hondes, and laboure,
+  As Austin bit?[67] how shal the world be served?
+  Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.
+  Therfore he was a prickasoure[68] a right:
+  Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight:
+  Of pricking[69] and of hunting for the hare
+  Was all his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
+    I saw his sleves purfiled[70] at the hond
+  With gris,[71] and that the finest of the lond.
+  And for to fasten his hood under his chinne,
+  He hadde of gold ywrought a curious pinne;
+  A love-knotte in the greter end ther was.
+  His hed was balled,[72] and shone as any glas,
+  And eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint.
+  He was a lord ful fat and in good point.
+  His eyen stepe,[73] and rolling in his hed,
+  That stemed as a forneis of led.[74]
+  His bootes souple, his hors in gret estat:
+  Now certainly he was a fayre prelat.
+  He was not pale as a forpined[75] gost.
+  A fat swan loved he best of any rost,
+  His palfrey was as broune as is a bery.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  A Frere[76] ther was, a wanton and a mery,
+  A Limitour,[77] a ful solempne man.
+  In all the ordres foure is none that can
+  So muche of daliance and fayre langage.
+  He hadde ymade ful many a mariage
+  Of yonge wimmen, at his owen cost.
+  Until[78] his ordre he was a noble post.
+  Ful wel beloved, and familier was he
+  With frankeleins[79] over all in his contree,
+  And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun:
+  For he had power of confessioun,
+  As saide himselfe, more than a curat,
+  For of his ordre he was a licenciat.
+  Ful swetely herde he confession,
+  And plesant was his absolution.
+  He was an esy man to give penaunce,
+  Ther as he wiste[80] to han[81] a good pitaunce:
+  For unto a poure[82] ordre for to give
+  Is signe that a man is wel yshrive.[83]
+  For if he gaf, he dorste make avaunt,[84]
+  He wiste that a man was repentaunt.
+  For many a man so hard is of his herte,
+  He may not wepe although him sore smerte.
+  Therfore in stede of weping and praieres,
+  Men mote[85] give silver to the poure freres.
+    His tippet was ay farsed[86] ful of knives,
+  And pinnes, for to given fayre wives.
+  And certainly he hadde a mery note.
+  Wel coude he singe and plaien on a rote.[87]
+  Of yeddinges[88] he bar utterly the pris.
+  His nekke was white as the flour de lis.
+  Therto he strong was as a champioun,
+  And knew wel the tavernes in every toun,
+  And every hosteler and tappestere,
+  Better than a lazar or a beggestere,
+  For unto swiche a worthy man as he
+  Accordeth not, as by his faculte,
+  To haven[89] with sike lazars acquaintance.
+  It is not honest, it may not avance,[90]
+  As for to delen with no swiche pouraille,[91]
+  But all with riche, and sellers of vitaille.
+  And over all, ther as profit shuld arise,
+  Curteis he was, and lowly of servise.
+  Ther nas no man no wher so vertuous.
+  He was the beste begger in his hous:
+  [And gave a certain ferme[92] for the grant,
+  Non of his bretheren came in his haunt.]
+  For though a widewe hadde but a shoo,
+  (So plesant was his _in principio_)
+  Yet wold he have a ferthing or[93] he went.
+  His pourchas was wel better than his rent.[94]
+  And rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp,
+  In lovedayes,[95] ther coude he mochel help.
+  For ther he was nat like a cloisterere,
+  With thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere,
+  But he was like a maister or a pope.
+  Of double worsted was his semicope,[96]
+  That round was as a belle out of the presse.
+  Somwhat he lisped, for his wantonnesse,
+  To make his English swete upon his tonge;
+  And in his harping, whan that he hadde songe,
+  His eyen twinkeled in his hed aright,
+  As don the sterres in a frosty night.
+  This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd.
+
+[Footnote 59: a fair one for the mastership.]
+
+[Footnote 60: hunting.]
+
+[Footnote 61: dainty.]
+
+[Footnote 62: pass.]
+
+[Footnote 63: did not care a plucked hen for the text.]
+
+[Footnote 64: careless; removed from the restraints of his order and
+vows.]
+
+[Footnote 65: mad.]
+
+[Footnote 66: toil.]
+
+[Footnote 67: biddeth.]
+
+[Footnote 68: hard rider.]
+
+[Footnote 69: spurring.]
+
+[Footnote 70: wrought on the edge.]
+
+[Footnote 71: a fine kind of fur.]
+
+[Footnote 72: bald.]
+
+[Footnote 73: bright.]
+
+[Footnote 74: Shone like a furnace under a cauldron.]
+
+[Footnote 75: tormented.]
+
+[Footnote 76: Friar.]
+
+[Footnote 77: A friar with a licence to beg within certain limits.]
+
+[Footnote 78: Unto.]
+
+[Footnote 79: country gentlemen.]
+
+[Footnote 80: knew.]
+
+[Footnote 81: have.]
+
+[Footnote 82: poor.]
+
+[Footnote 83: shriven.]
+
+[Footnote 84: durst make a boast.]
+
+[Footnote 85: must.]
+
+[Footnote 86: stuffed.]
+
+[Footnote 87: a stringed instrument.]
+
+[Footnote 88: story telling.]
+
+[Footnote 89: have.]
+
+[Footnote 90: profit.]
+
+[Footnote 91: poor people.]
+
+[Footnote 92: farm. This couplet only appears in the Hengwrt MS. As Mr.
+Pollard says, it is probably Chaucer's, but may have been omitted by
+him as it interrupts the sentence. Cf. _Globe_ Chaucer.]
+
+[Footnote 93: ere.]
+
+[Footnote 94: The proceeds of his begging exceeded his fixed income.]
+
+[Footnote 95: Days appointed for the amicable settlement of
+differences.]
+
+[Footnote 96: half cloak.]
+
+
+
+
+JOHN LYDGATE.
+
+(1373?-1460.)
+
+
+IV. THE LONDON LACKPENNY.
+
+
+    This is an admirable picture of London life early in the fifteenth
+    century. The poem first appeared among Lydgate's fugitive pieces,
+    and has been preserved in the Harleian MSS.
+
+
+  To London once my steps I bent,
+  Where truth in no wise should be faint;
+  To Westminster-ward I forthwith went,
+  To a man of Law to make complaint.
+  I said, "For Mary's love, that holy saint,
+  Pity the poor that would proceed!"[97]
+  But for lack of money, I could not speed.
+
+  And, as I thrust the press among,
+  By froward chance my hood was gone;
+  Yet for all that I stayed not long
+  Till to the King's Bench I was come.
+  Before the Judge I kneeled anon
+  And prayed him for God's sake take heed.
+  But for lack of money, I might not speed.
+
+  Beneath them sat clerks a great rout,[98]
+  Which fast did write by one assent;
+  There stood up one and cried about
+  "Richard, Robert, and John of Kent!"
+  I wist not well what this man meant,
+  He cried so thickly there indeed.
+  But he that lacked money might not speed.
+
+  To the Common Pleas I yode tho,[99]
+  There sat one with a silken hood:
+  I 'gan him reverence for to do,
+  And told my case as well as I could;
+  How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood;
+  I got not a mum of his mouth for my meed,[100]
+  And for lack of money I might not speed.
+
+  Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence,
+  Before the clerks of the Chancery;
+  Where many I found earning of pence;
+  But none at all once regarded me.
+  I gave them my plaint upon my knee;
+  They liked it well when they had it read;
+  But, lacking money, I could not be sped.
+
+  In Westminster Hall I found out one,
+  Which went in a long gown of ray;[101]
+  I crouched and knelt before him; anon,
+  For Mary's love, for help I him pray.
+  "I wot not what thou mean'st", 'gan he say;
+  To get me thence he did me bid,
+  For lack of money I could not speed.
+
+  Within this Hall, neither rich nor yet poor
+  Would do for me aught although I should die;
+  Which seing, I gat me out of the door;
+  Where Flemings began on me for to cry,--
+  "Master, what will you copen[102] or buy?
+  Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?
+  Lay down your silver, and here you may speed."
+
+  To Westminster Gate I presently went,
+  When the sun was at high prime;
+  Cooks to me they took good intent,[103]
+  And proffered me bread, with ale and wine,
+  Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine;
+  A faire cloth they 'gan for to spread,
+  But, wanting money, I might not then speed.
+
+  Then unto London I did me hie,
+  Of all the land it beareth the prize;
+  "Hot peascodes!" one began to cry;
+  "Strawberries ripe!" and "Cherries in the rise!"[104]
+  One bade me come near and buy some spice;
+  Pepper and saffrone they 'gan me bede;[105]
+  But, for lack of money, I might not speed.
+
+  Then to the Cheap I 'gan me drawn,[106]
+  Where much people I saw for to stand;
+  One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn;
+  Another he taketh me by the hand,
+  "Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land";
+  I never was used to such things indeed;
+  And, wanting money, I might not speed.
+
+  Then went I forth by London stone,
+  Throughout all the Canwick Street;
+  Drapers much cloth me offered anon;
+  Then comes me one cried, "Hot sheep's feet!"
+  One cried, "Mackarel!" "Rushes green!" another 'gan greet;[107]
+  One bade me buy a hood to cover my head;
+  But for want of money I might not be sped.
+
+  Then I hied me into East Cheap:
+  One cries "Ribs of beef and many a pie!"
+  Pewter pots they clattered on a heap;
+  There was harpe, pipe, and minstrelsy:
+  "Yea, by cock!" "Nay, by cock!" some began cry;
+  Some sung of "Jenkin and Julian" for their meed;
+  But, for lack of money, I might not speed.
+
+  Then into Cornhill anon I yode
+  Where there was much stolen gear among;
+  I saw where hung my owne hood,
+  That I had lost among the throng:
+  To buy my own hood I thought it wrong;
+  I knew it as well as I did my creed;
+  But, for lack of money, I could not speed.
+
+  The Taverner took me by the sleeve;
+  "Sir," saith he, "will you our wine assay?"
+  I answered, "That cannot much me grieve;
+  A penny can do no more than it may."
+  I drank a pint, and for it did pay;
+  Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede;
+  And, wanting money, I could not speed.
+
+  Then hied I me to Billings-gate,
+  And one cried, "Ho! go we hence!"
+  I prayed a bargeman, for God's sake,
+  That he would spare me my expense.
+  "Thou 'scap'st not here," quoth he, "under twopence;
+  I list not yet bestow any almsdeed."
+  Thus, lacking money, I could not speed.
+
+  Then I conveyed me into Kent;
+  For of the law would I meddle no more.
+  Because no man to me took intent,
+  I dight[108] me to do as I did before.
+  Now Jesus that in Bethlehem was bore[109],
+  Save London and send true lawyers their meed!
+  For whoso wants money with them shall not speed.
+
+
+[Footnote 97: go to law.]
+
+[Footnote 98: crowd.]
+
+[Footnote 99: went then.]
+
+[Footnote 100: reward.]
+
+[Footnote 101: striped stuff.]
+
+[Footnote 102: exchange.]
+
+[Footnote 103: notice.]
+
+[Footnote 104: on the bough.]
+
+[Footnote 105: offer.]
+
+[Footnote 106: approach.]
+
+[Footnote 107: call.]
+
+[Footnote 108: set.]
+
+[Footnote 109: born.]
+
+
+
+
+WILLIAM DUNBAR.
+
+(1460-1520?)
+
+
+V. THE DANCE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS.
+
+    One of Dunbar's most telling satires, as well as one of the most
+    powerful in the language.
+
+
+  I.
+
+  Of Februar the fiftene nicht
+  Full lang before the dayis licht
+  I lay intill a trance
+  And then I saw baith Heaven and Hell
+  Me thocht, amang the fiendis fell
+  Mahoun gart cry ane dance
+  Of shrews that were never shriven,[110]
+  Agains the feast of Fastern's even,[111]
+    To mak their observance.
+  He bad gallants gae graith a gyis,[112]
+  And cast up gamountis[113] in the skies,
+    As varlets do in France.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  Helie harlots on hawtane wise,[114]
+  Come in with mony sundry guise,
+    But yet leuch never Mahoun,
+  While priests come in with bare shaven necks;
+  Then all the fiends leuch, and made gecks,
+    Black-Belly and Bawsy Brown.[115]
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Let see, quoth he, now wha begins:
+  With that the foul Seven Deadly Sins
+    Begoud to leap at anis.
+  And first of all in Dance was Pride,
+  With hair wyld back, and bonnet on side,
+    Like to make vaistie wanis;[116]
+  And round about him, as a wheel,
+  Hang all in rumples to the heel
+    His kethat for the nanis:[117]
+  Mony proud trumpour[118] with him trippit;
+  Through scalding fire, aye as they skippit
+    They girned with hideous granis.[119]
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  Then Ire came in with sturt and strife;
+  His hand was aye upon his knife,
+    He brandished like a beir:[120]
+  Boasters, braggars, and bargainers,[121]
+  After him passit in to pairs,
+    All bodin in feir of weir;[122]
+  In jacks, and scryppis, and bonnets of steel,
+  Their legs were chainit to the heel,[123]
+    Frawart was their affeir:[124]
+  Some upon other with brands beft,[125]
+  Some jaggit others to the heft,
+    With knives that sharp could shear.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  Next in the Dance followit Envy,
+  Filled full of feud and felony,
+    Hid malice and despite:
+  For privy hatred that traitor tremlit;
+  Him followit mony freik dissemlit,[126]
+    With fenyeit wordis quhyte:[127]
+  And flatterers in to men's faces;
+  And backbiters in secret places,
+    To lie that had delight;
+  And rownaris of false lesings,[128]
+  Alace! that courts of noble kings
+    Of them can never be quit.
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  Next him in Dance came Covetyce,
+  Root of all evil, and ground of vice,
+    That never could be content:
+  Catives, wretches, and ockeraris,[129]
+  Hudpikes,[130] hoarders, gatheraris,
+    All with that warlock went:
+  Out of their throats they shot on other
+  Het, molten gold, me thocht, a futher[131]
+    As fire-flaucht maist fervent;
+  Aye as they toomit them of shot,
+  Fiends filled them new up to the throat
+    With gold of all kind prent.[132]
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  Syne Sweirness, at the second bidding,
+  Came like a sow out of a midding,
+    Full sleepy was his grunyie:[133]
+  Mony swear bumbard belly huddroun,[134]
+  Mony slut, daw, and sleepy duddroun,
+    Him servit aye with sonnyie;[135]
+  He drew them furth intill a chain,
+  And Belial with a bridle rein
+    Ever lashed them on the lunyie:[136]
+  In Daunce they were so slaw of feet,
+  They gave them in the fire a heat,
+    And made them quicker of cunyie.[137]
+
+
+  VIII.
+
+  Then Lechery, that laithly corpse,
+  Came berand like ane baggit horse,[138]
+    And Idleness did him lead;
+  There was with him ane ugly sort,
+  And mony stinking foul tramort,[139]
+    That had in sin been dead:
+  When they were enterit in the Dance,
+  They were full strange of countenance,
+    Like torches burning red.
+
+
+  IX.
+
+  Then the foul monster, Gluttony,
+  Of wame insatiable and greedy,
+    To Dance he did him dress:
+  Him followit mony foul drunkart,
+  With can and collop, cup and quart,
+    In surfit and excess;
+  Full mony a waistless wally-drag,
+  With wames unweildable, did furth wag,
+    In creesh[140] that did incress:
+  Drink! aye they cried, with mony a gaip,
+  The fiends gave them het lead to laip,
+    Their leveray was na less.[141]
+
+
+  X.
+
+  Nae minstrels played to them but doubt,[142]
+  For gleemen there were halden out,
+    Be day, and eke by nicht;
+  Except a minstrel that slew a man,
+  So to his heritage he wan,
+    And enterit by brieve of richt.[143]
+  Then cried Mahoun for a Hieland Padyane:[144]
+  Syne ran a fiend to fetch Makfadyane,
+    Far northwast in a neuck;
+  Be he the coronach[145] had done shout,
+  Ersche men so gatherit him about,
+    In hell great room they took:
+  Thae tarmigants, with tag and tatter,
+  Full loud in Ersche begoud to clatter,
+  And roup like raven and rook.[146]
+  The Devil sae deaved[147] was with their yell;
+  That in the deepest pot of hell
+  He smorit[148] them with smoke!
+
+[Footnote 110: Mahoun, or the devil, proclaimed a dance of sinners that
+had not received absolution.]
+
+[Footnote 111: The evening before Lent, usually a festival at the
+Scottish court.]
+
+[Footnote 112: go prepare a show in character.]
+
+[Footnote 113: gambols.]
+
+[Footnote 114: Holy harlots (hypocrites), in a haughty manner. The term
+harlot was applied indiscriminately to both sexes.]
+
+[Footnote 115: Names of spirits, like Robin Goodfellow in England, and
+Brownie in Scotland.]
+
+[Footnote 116: Pride, with hair artfully put back, and bonnet on side:
+"vaistie wanis" is now unintelligible; some interpret the phrase as
+meaning "wasteful wants", but this seems improbable, considering the
+locality or scene of the poem.]
+
+[Footnote 117: His cassock for the nonce or occasion.]
+
+[Footnote 118: a cheat or impostor.]
+
+[Footnote 119: groans.]
+
+[Footnote 120: bear.]
+
+[Footnote 121: Boasters, braggarts, and bullies.]
+
+[Footnote 122: Arrayed in the accoutrements of war.]
+
+[Footnote 123: In coats of armour, and covered with iron network to the
+heel.]
+
+[Footnote 124: Wild was their aspect.]
+
+[Footnote 125: brands beat.]
+
+[Footnote 126: many strong dissemblers.]
+
+[Footnote 127: With feigned words fair or white.]
+
+[Footnote 128: spreaders of false reports.]
+
+[Footnote 129: usurers.]
+
+[Footnote 130: Misers.]
+
+[Footnote 131: a great quantity.]
+
+[Footnote 132: gold of every coinage.]
+
+[Footnote 133: his grunt.]
+
+[Footnote 134: Many a lazy glutton.]
+
+[Footnote 135: served with care.]
+
+[Footnote 136: loins.]
+
+[Footnote 137: quicker of apprehension.]
+
+[Footnote 138: neighing like an entire horse.]
+
+[Footnote 139: corpse.]
+
+[Footnote 140: grease.]
+
+[Footnote 141: Their reward, or their desire not diminished.]
+
+[Footnote 142: No minstrels without doubt--a compliment to the poetical
+profession: there were no gleemen or minstrels in the infernal
+regions.]
+
+[Footnote 143: letter of right.]
+
+[Footnote 144: Pageant.]
+
+[Footnote 145: By the time he had done shouting the coronach or cry of
+help, the Highlanders speaking Erse or Gaelic gathered about him.]
+
+[Footnote 146: croaked like ravens and rooks.]
+
+[Footnote 147: deafened.]
+
+[Footnote 148: smothered.]
+
+
+
+
+SIR DAVID LYNDSAY.
+
+(1490-1555.)
+
+
+VI. SATIRE ON THE SYDE TAILLIS--ANE SUPPLICATIOUN DIRECTIT TO THE KINGIS
+GRACE--1538.
+
+    The specimen of Lyndsay cited below--this satire on long trains--is
+    by no means the most favourable that could be desired, but it is
+    the only one that lent itself readily to quotation. The archaic
+    spelling is slightly modernized.
+
+
+  Schir! though your Grace has put gret order
+  Baith in the Hieland and the Border
+  Yet mak I supplicatioun
+  Till have some reformatioun
+  Of ane small falt, whilk is nocht treason
+  Though it be contrarie to reason.
+  Because the matter been so vile,
+  It may nocht have ane ornate style;
+  Wherefore I pray your Excellence
+  To hear me with great patience:
+  Of stinking weedis maculate
+  No man nay mak ane rose-chaplet.
+  Sovereign, I mean of thir syde tails,
+  Whilk through the dust and dubis trails
+  Three quarters lang behind their heels,
+  Express again' all commonweals.
+  Though bishops, in their pontificals,
+  Have men for to bear up their tails,
+  For dignity of their office;
+  Richt so ane queen or ane empress;
+  Howbeit they use sic gravity,
+  Conformand to their majesty,
+  Though their robe-royals be upborne,
+  I think it is ane very scorn,
+  That every lady of the land
+  Should have her tail so syde trailand;
+  Howbeit they been of high estate,
+  The queen they should nocht counterfeit.
+
+  Wherever they may go it may be seen
+  How kirk and causay they soop[149] clean.
+  The images into the kirk
+  May think of their syde taillis irk;[150]
+  For when the weather been maist fair,
+  The dust flies highest in the air,
+  And all their faces does begarie.
+  Gif they could speak, they wald them warie...[151]
+  But I have maist into despite
+  Poor claggocks[152] clad in raploch-white,
+  Whilk has scant twa merks for their fees,
+  Will have twa ells beneath their knees.
+  Kittock that cleckit[153] was yestreen,
+  The morn, will counterfeit the queen:
+  And Moorland Meg, that milked the yowes,
+  Claggit with clay aboon the hows,[154]
+  In barn nor byre she will not bide,
+  Without her kirtle tail be syde.
+  In burghs, wanton burgess wives
+  Wha may have sydest tailis strives,
+  Weel bordered with velvet fine,
+  But followand them it is ane pyne:
+  In summer, when the streetis dries,
+  They raise the dust aboon the skies;
+  Nane may gae near them at their ease,
+  Without they cover mouth and neese...
+  I think maist pane after ane rain,
+  To see them tuckit up again;
+  Then when they step furth through the street,
+  Their fauldings flaps about their feet;
+  They waste mair claith, within few years,
+  Nor wald cleid fifty score of freirs...
+  Of tails I will no more indite,
+  For dread some duddron[155] me despite:
+  Notwithstanding, I will conclude,
+  That of syde tails can come nae gude,
+  Sider nor may their ankles hide,
+  The remanent proceeds of pride,
+  And pride proceeds of the devil,
+  Thus alway they proceed of evil.
+
+  Ane other fault, sir, may be seen--
+  They hide their face all but the een;
+  When gentlemen bid them gude-day,
+  Without reverence they slide away...
+  Without their faults be soon amended,
+  My flyting,[156] sir, shall never be ended;
+  But wald your Grace my counsel tak,
+  Ane proclamation ye should mak,
+  Baith through the land and burrowstouns,[157]
+  To shaw their face and cut their gowns.
+
+  Women will say this is nae bourds,[158]
+  To write sic vile and filthy words.
+  But wald they clenge[159] their filthy tails
+  Whilk over the mires and middens trails,
+  Then should my writing clengit be;
+  None other mends they get of me.
+
+[Footnote 149: sweep.]
+
+[Footnote 150: be annoyed.]
+
+[Footnote 151: curse or cry out.]
+
+[Footnote 152: draggle-tails.]
+
+[Footnote 153: hatched.]
+
+[Footnote 154: houghs.]
+
+[Footnote 155: slut.]
+
+[Footnote 156: scolding, brawling.]
+
+[Footnote 157: burgh towns.]
+
+[Footnote 158: scoffs.]
+
+[Footnote 159: cleanse.]
+
+
+
+
+BISHOP JOSEPH HALL.
+
+(1574-1656.)
+
+
+VII. ON SIMONY.
+
+    This satire levels a rebuke at the Simoniacal traffic in livings,
+    then openly practised by public advertisement affixed to the door
+    of St. Paul's. "Si Quis" (if anyone) was the first word of these
+    advertisements. Dekker, in the _Gull's Hornbook_, speaks of the
+    "Siquis door of Paules", and in Wroth's _Epigrams_ (1620) we read,
+    "A Merry Greek set up a _Siquis_ late". This satire forms the Fifth
+    of the Second Book of the _Virgidemiarum_.
+
+
+  Saw'st thou ever Siquis patcht on Pauls Church door
+  To seek some vacant vicarage before?
+  Who wants a churchman that can service say,
+  Read fast and fair his monthly homily?
+  And wed and bury and make Christen-souls?[160]
+  Come to the left-side alley of St. Paules.
+  Thou servile fool, why could'st thou not repair
+  To buy a benefice at Steeple-Fair?
+  There moughtest thou, for but a slendid price,
+  Advowson thee with some fat benefice:
+  Or if thee list not wait for dead mens shoon,
+  Nor pray each morn the incumbents days were doone:
+  A thousand patrons thither ready bring,
+  Their new-fall'n[161] churches, to the chaffering;
+  Stake three years stipend: no man asketh more.
+  Go, take possession of the Church porch door,
+  And ring thy bells; luck stroken in thy fist
+  The parsonage is thine, or ere thou wist.
+  Saint Fool's of Gotam[162] mought thy parish be
+  For this thy base and servile Simony.
+
+[Footnote 160: baptize.]
+
+[Footnote 161: newly fallen in, through the death of the incumbent.]
+
+[Footnote 162: Referring to Andrew Borde's book, _The Merry Tales of
+the Mad Men of Gotham_.]
+
+
+
+VIII. THE DOMESTIC TUTOR'S POSITION.
+
+    This satire forms the Sixth of Book II. of the _Virgidemiarum_, and
+    is regarded as one of Bishop Hall's best. See the _Return from
+    Parnassus_ and Parrot's _Springes for Woodcocks_ (1613) for
+    analogous references to those occurring in this piece.
+
+
+  A gentle squire would gladly entertain
+  Into his house some trencher chapelain;
+  Some willing man that might instruct his sons,
+  And that would stand to good conditions.
+  First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed
+  Whiles his young master lieth o'er his head.
+  Second that he do on no default
+  Ever presume to sit above the salt.
+  Third that he never change his trencher twice.
+  Fourth that he use all common courtesies:
+  Sit bare at meals and one half rise and wait.
+  Last, that he never his young master beat,
+  But he must ask his mother to define,
+  How many jerks she would his breech should line.
+  All these observed, he could contented be,
+  To give five marks and winter livery.
+
+
+
+IX. THE IMPECUNIOUS FOP.
+
+    This satire constitutes Satire Seven of Book III. The phrase of
+    dining with Duke Humphrey, which is still occasionally heard,
+    originated in the following manner:--In the body of old St. Paul's
+    was a huge and conspicuous monument of Sir John Beauchamp, buried
+    in 1358, son of Guy, and brother of Thomas, Earl of Warwick. This
+    by vulgar mistake was called the tomb of Humphrey, Duke of
+    Gloucester, who was really buried at St. Alban's. The middle aisle
+    of St. Paul's was therefore called "The Duke's Gallery". In
+    Dekker's _Dead Terme_ we have the phrase used and a full
+    explanation of it given; also in Sam Speed's _Legend of His Grace
+    Humphrey, Duke of St. Paul's Cathedral Walk_ (1674).
+
+
+  See'st thou how gaily my young master goes,
+  Vaunting himself upon his rising toes;
+  And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side;
+  And picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide?
+  'Tis Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dined to-day?
+  In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humphrey.
+  Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer,
+  Keeps he for every straggling cavalier;
+  An open house, haunted with great resort;
+  Long service mixt with musical disport.
+  Many fair younker with a feathered crest,
+  Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest,
+  To fare so freely with so little cost,
+  Than stake his twelvepence to a meaner host.
+  Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say
+  He touched no meat of all this livelong day;
+  For sure methought, yet that was but a guess,
+  His eyes seemed sunk for very hollowness,
+  But could he have--as I did it mistake--
+  So little in his purse, so much upon his back?
+  So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt
+  That his gaunt gut no too much stuffing felt.
+  See'st thou how side[163] it hangs beneath his hip?
+  Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip.
+  Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by,
+  All trapped in the new-found bravery.
+  The nuns of new-won Calais his bonnet lent,
+  In lieu of their so kind a conquerment.
+  What needed he fetch that from farthest Spain,
+  His grandame could have lent with lesser pain?
+  Though he perhaps ne'er passed the English shore,
+  Yet fain would counted be a conqueror.
+  His hair, French-like, stares on his frighted head,
+  One lock[164] Amazon-like dishevelled,
+  As if he meant to wear a native cord,
+  If chance his fates should him that bane afford.
+  All British bare upon the bristled skin,
+  Close notched is his beard, both lip and chin;
+  His linen collar labyrinthian set,
+  Whose thousand double turnings never met:
+  His sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings,
+  As if he meant to fly with linen wings.
+  But when I look, and cast mine eyes below,
+  What monster meets mine eyes in human show?
+  So slender waist with such an abbot's loin,
+  Did never sober nature sure conjoin.
+  Lik'st a strawn scarecrow in a new-sown field,
+  Reared on some stick, the tender corn to shield,
+  Or, if that semblance suit not every deal,
+  Like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel.
+  Despised nature suit them once aright,
+  Their body to their coat both now disdight.
+  Their body to their clothes might shapen be,
+  That will their clothes shape to their bodie.
+  Meanwhile I wonder at so proud a back,
+  Whiles the empty guts loud rumblen for long lack.
+
+[Footnote 163: long.]
+
+[Footnote 164: the love-locks which were so condemned by the Puritan
+Prynne. Cf. Lyly's _Midas_ and Sir John Davies' Epigram 22, _In
+Ciprum_.]
+
+
+
+
+GEORGE CHAPMAN.
+
+(1559-1634.)
+
+
+X. AN INVECTIVE WRITTEN BY MR. GEORGE CHAPMAN AGAINST MR. BEN JONSON.
+
+    This satire was discovered in a "Common-place Book" belonging to
+    Chapman, preserved among the Ashmole MSS. in the Bodleian Library,
+    Oxford.
+
+
+  Great, learned, witty Ben, be pleased to light
+  The world with that three-forked fire; nor fright
+  All us, thy sublearned, with luciferous boast
+  That thou art most great, most learn'd, witty most
+  Of all the kingdom, nay of all the earth;
+  As being a thing betwixt a human birth
+  And an infernal; no humanity
+  Of the divine soul shewing man in thee.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Though thy play genius hang his broken wings
+  Full of sick feathers, and with forced things,
+  Imp thy scenes, labour'd and unnatural,
+  And nothing good comes with thy thrice-vex'd call,
+  Comest thou not yet, nor yet? O no, nor yet;
+  Yet are thy learn'd admirers so deep set
+  In thy preferment above all that cite
+  The sun in challenge for the heat and light
+  Of heaven's influences which of you two knew
+  And have most power in them; Great Ben, 'tis you.
+  Examine him, some truly-judging spirit,
+  That pride nor fortune hath to blind his merit,
+  He match'd with all book-fires, he ever read
+  His dusk poor candle-rents; his own fat head
+  With all the learn'd world's, Alexander's flame
+  That Caesar's conquest cow'd, and stript his fame,
+  He shames not to give reckoning in with his;
+  As if the king pardoning his petulancies
+  Should pay his huge loss too in such a score
+  As all earth's learned fires he gather'd for.
+  What think'st thou, just friend? equall'd not this pride
+  All yet that ever Hell or Heaven defied?
+  And yet for all this, this club will inflict
+  His faultful pain, and him enough convict
+  He only reading show'd; learning, nor wit;
+  Only Dame Gilian's fire his desk will fit.
+  But for his shift by fire to save the loss
+  Of his vast learning, this may prove it gross:
+  True Muses ever vent breaths mixt with fire
+  Which, form'd in numbers, they in flames expire
+  Not only flames kindled with their own bless'd breath
+  That gave th' unborn life, and eternize death.
+  Great Ben, I know that this is in thy hand
+  And how thou fix'd in heaven's fix'd star dost stand
+  In all men's admirations and command;
+  For all that can be scribbled 'gainst the sorter
+  Of thy dead repercussions and reporter.
+  The kingdom yields not such another man;
+  Wonder of men he is; the player can
+  And bookseller prove true, if they could know
+  Only one drop, that drives in such a flow.
+  Are they not learned beasts, the better far
+  Their drossy exhalations a star
+  Their brainless admirations may render;
+  For learning in the wise sort is but lender
+  Of men's prime notion's doctrine; their own way
+  Of all skills' perceptible forms a key
+  Forging to wealth, and honour-soothed sense,
+  Never exploring truth or consequence,
+  Informing any virtue or good life;
+  And therefore Player, Bookseller, or Wife
+  Of either, (needing no such curious key)
+  All men and things, may know their own rude way.
+  Imagination and our appetite
+  Forming our speech no easier than they light
+  All letterless companions; t' all they know
+  Here or hereafter that like earth's sons plough
+  All under-worlds and ever downwards grow,
+  Nor let your learning think, egregious Ben,
+  These letterless companions are not men
+  With all the arts and sciences indued,
+  If of man's true and worthiest knowledge rude,
+  Which is to know and be one complete man,
+  And that not all the swelling ocean
+  Of arts and sciences, can pour both in:
+  If that brave skill then when thou didst begin
+  To study letters, thy great wit had plied,
+  Freely and only thy disease of pride
+  In vulgar praise had never bound thy [hide].
+
+
+
+
+JOHN DONNE.
+
+(1573-1631.)
+
+
+XI. THE CHARACTER OF THE BORE.
+
+    From Donne's _Satires_, No. IV.; first published in the quarto
+    edition of the "Poems" in 1633. See Dr. Grosart's interesting Essay
+    on the Life and Writings of Donne, prefixed to Vol. II. of that
+    scholar's excellent edition.
+
+
+  Well; I may now receive and die. My sin
+  Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
+  A purgatory, such as fear'd hell is
+  A recreation, and scant map of this.
+  My mind neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath been
+  Poison'd with love to see or to be seen.
+  I had no suit there, nor new suit to shew,
+  Yet went to court: but as Glare, which did go
+  To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse
+  The hundred marks, which is the statute's curse,
+  Before he 'scap'd; so't pleas'd my Destiny
+  (Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
+  As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
+  Ful, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt,
+  As vain, as witless, and as false as they
+  Which dwell in court, for once going that way,
+  Therefore I suffer'd this: Towards me did run
+  A thing more strange than on Nile's slime the sun
+  E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came;
+  A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name:
+  Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies,
+  Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities;
+  Stranger than strangers; one who for a Dane
+  In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain,
+  If he had liv'd then, and without help dies
+  When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise;
+  One whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by;
+  One t' whom th' examining justice sure would cry,
+  Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are.
+  His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare;
+  Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
+  Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen)
+  Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall
+  See it plain rash a while, then nought at all.
+  The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all tongues,
+  And only knoweth what t' all states belongs.
+  Made of th' accents and best phrase of all these,
+  He speaks one language. If strange meats displease,
+  Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste;
+  But pedant's motley tongue, soldier's bombast,
+  Mountebank's drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
+  Are strong enough preparatives to draw
+  Me to hear this, yet I must be content
+  With his tongue, in his tongue call'd Compliment;
+  In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
+  Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores,
+  Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
+  Jovius or Surius, or both together.
+  He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God!
+  How have I sinn'd, that thy wrath's furious rod,
+  This fellow, chooseth me? He saith, Sir,
+  I love your judgment; whom do you prefer
+  For the best linguist? and I sillily
+  Said, that I thought Calepine's Dictionary.
+  Nay, but of men? Most sweet Sir! Beza, then
+  Some Jesuits, and two reverend men
+  Of our two academies, I nam'd. Here
+  He stopt me, and said; Nay, your apostles were
+  Good pretty linguists; so Panurgus was,
+  Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass
+  By travel. Then, as if he would have sold
+  His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told,
+  That I was fain to say, If you had liv'd, Sir,
+  Time enough to have been interpreter
+  To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.
+  He adds, If of court-life you knew the good,
+  You would leave loneness. I said, Not alone
+  My loneness is, but Spartan's fashion,
+  To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last
+  Now; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;
+  No more can princes' courts, though there be few
+  Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue.
+  He, like to a high-stretch'd lute-string, squeakt, O, Sir!
+  'Tis sweet to talk of kings! At Westminster,
+  Said I, the man that keeps the Abbey-tombs,
+  And for his price doth, with who ever comes,
+  Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk,
+  From king to king, and all their kin can walk:
+  Your ears shall hear naught but kings; your eyes meet
+  Kings only; the way to it is King's street.
+  He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, mechanic coarse;
+  So're all our Englishmen in their discourse.
+  Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine, eyes you see,
+  I have but one, Sir; look, he follows me.
+  Certes, they're neatly cloth'd. I of this mind am,
+  Your only wearing is your grogaram.
+  Not so, Sir; I have more. Under this pitch
+  He would not fly. I chaf'd him; but as itch
+  Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground
+  Into an edge, hurts worse; so I (fool!) found
+  Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness,
+  He to another key his style doth dress,
+  And asks, What news? I tell him of new plays:
+  He takes my hand, and, as a still which stays
+  A semibrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly
+  As loth to enrich me, so tells many a lie,
+  More than ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stows,
+  Of trivial household trash he knows. He knows
+  When the queen frown'd or smil'd; and he knows what
+  A subtile statesman may gather of that:
+  He knows who loves whom, and who by poison
+  Hastes to an office's reversion;
+  He knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg
+  A license old iron, boots, shoes, and egg-
+  Shells to transport. Shortly boys shall not play
+  At span-counter, or blow-point, but shall play
+  Toll to some courtier; and, wiser than us all,
+  He knows what lady is not painted. Thus
+  He with home-meats cloys me. I belch, spue, spit,
+  Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet
+  He thrusts on more; and as he had undertook
+  To say Gallo-Belgicus without book,
+  Speaks of all states and deeds that have been since
+  The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amyens.
+  Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat,
+  Ready to travail, so I sigh and sweat
+  To hear this makaron[165] talk in vain; for yet,
+  Either my humour or his own to fit,
+  He, like a privileg'd spy, whom nothing can
+  Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man:
+  He names a price for every office paid:
+  He saith, Our wars thrive ill, because delay'd;
+  That offices are entail'd, and that there are
+  Perpetuities of them lasting as far
+  As the last day; and that great officers
+  Do with the pirates share and Dunkirkers.
+  Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes;
+  Who loves whores, who boys, and who goats.
+  I, more amaz'd than Circe's prisoners, when
+  They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then
+  Becoming traitor, and methought I saw
+  One of our giant statues ope his jaw
+  To suck me in for hearing him: I found
+  That as burnt venomous leachers do grow sound
+  By giving others their sores, I might grow
+  Guilty, and be free; therefore I did show
+  All signs of loathing; but since I am in,
+  I must pay mine and my forefathers' sin
+  To the last farthing: therefore to my power
+  Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross; but th' hour
+  Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring
+  Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing,
+  And says, Sir, can you spare me? I said, Willingly.
+  Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown? Thankfully I
+  Gave it as ransom. But as fiddlers still,
+  Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
+  Thrust one more jigg upon you; so did he
+  With his long complimented thanks vex me.
+  But he is gone, thanks to his needy want,
+  And the prerogative of my crown. Scant
+  His thanks were ended when I (which did see
+  All the court fill'd with such strange things as he)
+  Ran from thence with such or more haste than one
+  Who fears more actions doth haste from prison.
+  At home in wholesome solitariness
+  My piteous soul began the wretchedness
+  Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance
+  Like his who dreamt he saw hell did advance
+  Itself o'er me: such men as he saw there
+  I saw at court, and worse, and more. Low fear
+  Becomes the guilty, not th' accuser; then
+  Shall I, none's slave, of high born or rais'd men
+  Fear frowns, and my mistress, Truth! betray thee
+  To th' huffing braggart, puft nobility?
+  No, no; thou which since yesterday hast been
+  Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen,
+  O Sun! in all thy journey vanity
+  Such as swells the bladder of our court? I
+  Think he which made your waxen garden, and
+  Transported it from Italy, to stand
+  With us at London, flouts our courtiers; for
+  Just such gay painted things, which no sap nor
+  Taste have in them, ours are!
+
+[Footnote 165: fop, early form of macaroni.]
+
+
+
+
+BEN JONSON.
+
+(1573-1637.)
+
+    These two pieces are taken from Jonson's _Epigrams_. The first of
+    them was exceedingly popular in the poet's own lifetime.
+
+
+XII. THE NEW CRY.
+
+  Ere cherries ripe, and strawberries be gone;
+    Unto the cries of London I'll add one;
+  Ripe statesmen, ripe: they grow in ev'ry street;
+    At six-and-twenty, ripe. You shall 'em meet,
+  And have him yield no favour, but of state.
+    Ripe are their ruffs, their cuffs, their beards, their gate,
+  And grave as ripe, like mellow as their faces.
+    They know the states of Christendom, not the places:
+  Yet have they seen the maps, and bought 'em too,
+    And understand 'em, as most chapmen do.
+  The counsels, projects, practices they know,
+    And what each prince doth for intelligence owe,
+  And unto whom; they are the almanacks
+    For twelve years yet to come, what each state lacks.
+  They carry in their pockets Tacitus,
+    And the Gazetti, or Gallo-Belgicus:
+  And talk reserv'd, lock'd up, and full of fear;
+    Nay, ask you how the day goes, in your ear.
+  Keep a Star-chamber sentence close twelve days:
+    And whisper what a Proclamation says.
+  They meet in sixes, and at ev'ry mart,
+    Are sure to con the catalogue by heart;
+  Or ev'ry day, some one at Rimee's looks,
+    Or bills, and there he buys the name of books.
+  They all get Porta, for the sundry ways
+    To write in cypher, and the several keys,
+  To ope the character. They've found the slight
+    With juice of lemons, onions, piss, to write;
+  To break up seals and close 'em. And they know,
+    If the states make peace, how it will go
+  With England. All forbidden books they get,
+    And of the powder-plot, they will talk yet.
+  At naming the French king, their heads they shake,
+    And at the Pope, and Spain, slight faces make.
+  Or 'gainst the bishops, for the brethren rail
+    Much like those brethren; thinking to prevail
+  With ignorance on us, as they have done
+    On them: and therefore do not only shun
+  Others more modest, but contemn us too,
+    That know not so much state, wrong, as they do.
+
+
+
+XIII. ON DON SURLY.
+
+  Don Surly to aspire the glorious name
+    Of a great man, and to be thought the same,
+  Makes serious use of all great trade he knows.
+    He speaks to men with a rhinocerote's nose,
+  Which he thinks great; and so reads verses too:
+    And that is done, as he saw great men do.
+  He has tympanies of business, in his face,
+    And can forget men's names, with a great grace.
+  He will both argue, and discourse in oaths,
+    Both which are great. And laugh at ill-made clothes;
+  That's greater yet: to cry his own up neat.
+    He doth, at meals, alone his pheasant eat,
+  Which is main greatness. And, at his still board,
+    He drinks to no man: that's, too, like a lord.
+  He keeps another's wife, which is a spice
+    Of solemn greatness. And he dares, at dice,
+  Blaspheme God greatly. Or some poor hind beat,
+    That breathes in his dog's way: and this is great.
+  Nay more, for greatness' sake, he will be one
+    May hear my epigrams, but like of none.
+  Surly, use other arts, these only can
+    Style thee a most great fool, but no great man.
+
+
+
+
+SAMUEL BUTLER.
+
+(1612-1680.)
+
+
+XIV. THE CHARACTER OF HUDIBRAS.
+
+    This extract is taken from the first canto of Hudibras, and
+    contains the complete portrait of the Knight, Butler's aim in the
+    presentation of this character being to satirize those fanatics and
+    pretenders to religion who flourished during the Commonwealth.
+
+
+  When civil dudgeon first grew high,
+  And men fell out they knew not why;
+  When hard words, jealousies and fears,
+  Set folks together by the ears,
+  And made them fight like mad or drunk,
+  For Dame Religion as for punk:
+  Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
+  Though not a man of them knew wherefore:
+  When gospel-trumpeter surrounded
+  With long-ear'd rout to battle sounded,
+  And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
+  Was beat with fist, instead of a stick:
+  Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
+  And out he rode a-colonelling,
+    A wight he was, whose very sight wou'd
+  Intitle him, _Mirrour of Knighthood_;
+  That never bow'd his stubborn knee
+  To any thing but chivalry;
+  Nor put up blow, but that which laid
+  Right Worshipful on shoulder-blade:
+  Chief of domestic knights and errant,
+  Either for chartel or for warrant:
+  Great in the bench, great in the saddle,
+  That could as well bind o'er as swaddle:
+  Mighty he was at both of these,
+  And styl'd of _war_, as well as _peace_,
+  (So some rats, of amphibious nature,
+  Are either for the land or water).
+  But here our authors make a doubt,
+  Whether he were more wise or stout.
+  Some hold the one, and some the other:
+  But howsoe'er they make a pother,
+  The diff'rence was so small his brain
+  Outweigh'd his rage but half a grain;
+  Which made some take him for a tool
+  That knaves do work with, call'd a _fool_.
+  For 't has been held by many, that
+  As Montaigne, playing with his cat,
+  Complains she thought him but an ass,
+  Much more she would Sir Hudibras,
+  (For that the name our valiant Knight
+  To all his challenges did write)
+  But they're mistaken very much,
+  'Tis plain enough he was no such.
+  We grant although he had much wit,
+  H' was very shy of using it;
+  As being loth to wear it out,
+  And therefore bore it not about
+  Unless on holidays, or so,
+  As men their best apparel do.
+  Besides, 'tis known he could speak Greek
+  As naturally as pigs squeak:
+  That Latin was no more difficile,
+  Than for a blackbird 'tis to whistle.
+  B'ing rich in both, he never scanted
+  His bounty unto such as wanted;
+  But much of either would afford
+  To many that had not one word.
+  For Hebrew roots, although they're found
+  To flourish most in barren ground,
+  He had such plenty as suffic'd
+  To make some think him circumcis'd:
+  And truly so he was, perhaps,
+  Not as a proselyte, but for claps,
+    He was in logic a great critic,
+  Profoundly skill'd in analytic;
+  He could distinguish, and divide
+  A hair 'twixt south and south west side;
+  On either which he could dispute,
+  Confute, change hands, and still confute;
+  He'd undertake to prove by force
+  Of argument, a man's no horse;
+  He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
+  And that a lord may be an owl;
+  A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
+  And rooks committee-men and trustees,
+  He'd run in debt by disputation,
+  And pay with ratiocination:
+  All this by syllogism, true
+  In mood and figure, he would do.
+    For rhetoric, he could not ope
+  His mouth, but out there flew a trope;
+  And when he happened to break off
+  I' th' middle of his speech, or cough,
+  H' had hard words, ready to show why,
+  And tell what rules he did it by:
+  Else when with greatest art he spoke,
+  You'd think he talk'd like other folk,
+  For all a rhetorician's rules
+  Teach nothing but to name his tools.
+  But, when he pleas'd to show't his speech
+  In loftiness of sound was rich;
+  A Babylonish dialect,
+  Which learned pedants much affect:
+  It was a party-coloured dress
+  Of patch'd and pye-ball'd languages;
+  'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
+  Like fustian heretofore on satin.
+  It had an odd promiscuous tone,
+  As if h' had talk'd three parts in one;
+  Which made some think when he did gabble,
+  Th' had heard three labourers of Babel;
+  Or Cerberus himself pronounce
+  A leash of languages at once.
+  This he as volubly would vent
+  As if his stock would ne'er be spent;
+  And truly, to support that charge,
+  He had supplies as vast as large:
+  For he could coin or counterfeit
+  New words with little or no wit:
+  Words so debas'd and hard, no stone
+  Was hard enough to touch them on:
+  And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,
+  The ignorant for current took 'em,
+  That had the orator who once
+  Did fill his mouth with pebble-stones
+  When he harangu'd but known his phrase,
+  He would have us'd no other ways.
+  In mathematics he was greater
+  Then Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater:
+  For he, by geometric scale,
+  Could take the size of pots of ale;
+  Resolve by sines and tangents, straight,
+  If bread and butter wanted weight;
+  And wisely tell what hour o' th' day
+  The clock does strike by algebra.
+  Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher,
+  And had read ev'ry text and gloss over;
+  Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath,
+  He understood b' implicit faith:
+  Whatever sceptic could inquire for,
+  For every _why_ he had a _wherefore_,
+  Knew more than forty of them do,
+  As far as words and terms could go.
+  All which he understood by rote,
+  And as occasion serv'd, would quote:
+  No matter whether right or wrong,
+  They must be either said or sung.
+  His notions fitted things so well,
+  That which was which he could not tell;
+  But oftentimes mistook the one
+  For th' other, as great clerks have done.
+  He cou'd reduce all things to acts,
+  And knew their natures by abstracts;
+  Where entity and quiddity,
+  The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly;
+  Where Truth in persons does appear,
+  Like words congeal'd in northern air.
+  He knew what's what, and that's as high
+  As metaphysic wit can fly.
+  In school divinity as able,
+  As he that hight, Irrefragable;
+  A second Thomas, or at once
+  To name them all, another Duns:
+  Profound in all the Nominal
+  And Real ways beyond them all;
+  For he a rope of sand could twist
+  As tough as learned Sorbonist:
+  And weave fine cobwebs, fit for scull;
+  That's empty when the moon is full:
+  Such as lodgings in a head
+  That's to be let unfurnished.
+  He could raise scruples dark and nice,
+  And after solve 'em in a trice,
+  As if divinity had catch'd
+  The itch, on purpose to be scratch'd;
+  Or, like a mountebank, did wound
+  And stab herself with doubts profound,
+  Only to show with how small pain
+  The sores of faith are cur'd again;
+  Although by woful proof we find,
+  They always leave a scar behind.
+  He knew the seat of paradise,
+  Cou'd tell in what degree it lies;
+  And, as he was dispos'd could prove it,
+  Below the moon, or else above it.
+  What Adam dream'd of when his bride
+  Came from her closet in his side;
+  Whether the devil tempted her
+  By a High-Dutch interpreter;
+  If either of them had a navel;
+  Who first made music malleable;
+  Whether the serpent, at the fall,
+  Had cloven feet, or none at all;
+  All this without a gloss or comment,
+  He could unriddle in a moment,
+  In proper terms such as men smatter,
+  When they throw out and miss the matter.
+    For his religion it was fit
+  To match his learning and his wit;
+  'Twas Presbyterian true blue,
+  For he was of that stubborn crew
+  Of errant saints, whom all men grant
+  To be the true church militant:
+  Such as do build their faith upon
+  The holy text of pike and gun;
+  Decide all controversies by
+  Infallible artillery;
+  And prove their doctrine orthodox
+  By apostolic blows and knocks;
+  Call fire, and sword, and desolation,
+  A godly thorough reformation,
+  Which always must be carried on,
+  And still be doing, never done:
+  As if religion were intended
+  For nothing else but to be mended.
+  A sect whose chief devotion lies
+  In odd perverse antipathies:
+  In falling out with that or this,
+  And finding somewhat still amiss
+  More peevish, cross, and splenetic,
+  Than dog distract, or monkey sick
+  That with more care keep holiday
+  The wrong, than others the right way:
+  Compound for sins they are inclin'd to,
+  By damning those they have no mind to.
+  Still so perverse and opposite,
+  As if they worshipp'd God for spite.
+  The self-same thing they will abhor
+  One way, and long another for.
+  Free-will they one way disavow,
+  Another, nothing else allow.
+
+
+
+XV. THE CHARACTER OF A SMALL POET.
+
+    From Butler's "Characters", a series of satirical portraits akin to
+    those of Theophrastus.
+
+
+The Small Poet is one that would fain make himself that which nature
+never meant him; like a fanatic that inspires himself with his own
+whimsies. He sets up haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small
+stock and no credit. He believes it is invention enough to find out
+other men's wit; and whatsoever he lights upon, either in books or
+company, he makes bold with as his own. This he puts together so
+untowardly, that you may perceive his own wit as the rickets, by the
+swelling disproportion of the joints. You may know his wit not to be
+natural, 'tis so unquiet and troublesome in him: for as those that have
+money but seldom, are always shaking their pockets when they have it,
+so does he, when he thinks he has got something that will make him
+appear witty. He is a perpetual talker; and you may know by the freedom
+of his discourse that he came lightly by it, as thieves spend freely
+what they get. He is like an Italian thief, that never robs but he
+murders, to prevent discovery; so sure is he to cry down the man from
+whom he purloins, that his petty larceny of wit may pass unsuspected.
+He appears so over-concerned in all men's wits, as if they were but
+disparagements of his own; and cries down all they do, as if they were
+encroachments upon him. He takes jests from the owners and breaks them,
+as justices do false weights, and pots that want measure. When he meets
+with anything that is very good, he changes it into small money, like
+three groats for a shilling, to serve several occasions. He disclaims
+study, pretends to take things in motion, and to shoot flying, which
+appears to be very true, by his often missing of his mark. As for
+epithets, he always avoids those that are near akin to the sense. Such
+matches are unlawful and not fit to be made by a Christian poet; and
+therefore all his care is to choose out such as will serve, like a
+wooden leg, to piece out a maimed verse that wants a foot or two, and
+if they will but rhyme now and then into the bargain, or run upon a
+letter, it is a work of supererogation. For similitudes, he likes the
+hardest and most obscure best; for as ladies wear black patches to make
+their complexions seem fairer than they are, so when an illustration is
+more obscure than the sense that went before it, it must of necessity
+make it appear clearer than it did; for contraries are best set off
+with contraries. He has found out a new sort of poetical Georgics--a
+trick of sowing wit like clover-grass on barren subjects, which would
+yield nothing before. This is very useful for the times, wherein, some
+men say, there is no room left for new invention. He will take three
+grains of wit like the elixir, and, projecting it upon the iron age,
+turn it immediately into gold. All the business of mankind has
+presently vanished, the whole world has kept holiday; there has been no
+men but heroes and poets, no women but nymphs and shepherdesses: trees
+have borne fritters, and rivers flowed plum-porridge. When he writes,
+he commonly steers the sense of his lines by the rhyme that is at the
+end of them, as butchers do calves by the tail. For when he has made
+one line, which is easy enough, and has found out some sturdy hard word
+that will but rhyme, he will hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of
+hot iron upon an anvil, into what form he pleases. There is no art in
+the world so rich in terms as poetry; a whole dictionary is scarce able
+to contain them; for there is hardly a pond, a sheep-walk, or a
+gravel-pit in all Greece, but the ancient name of it is become a term
+of art in poetry. By this means, small poets have such a stock of able
+hard words lying by them, as dryades, hamadryades, aoenides, fauni,
+nymphae, sylvani, &c. that signify nothing at all; and such a world of
+pedantic terms of the same kind, as may serve to furnish all the new
+inventions and "thorough reformations" that can happen between this and
+Plato's great year.
+
+
+
+
+ANDREW MARVELL.
+
+(1621-1678.)
+
+
+XVI. NOSTRADAMUS'S PROPHECY.
+
+    From _Political Satires and other Pieces_. It is curious to note
+    how much of the prophecy was actually fulfilled.
+
+
+  For faults and follies London's doom shall fix,
+  And she must sink in flames in "sixty-six";
+  Fire-balls shall fly, but few shall see the train,
+  As far as from Whitehall to Pudding-Lane;
+  To burn the city, which again shall rise,
+  Beyond all hopes aspiring to the skies,
+  Where vengeance dwells. But there is one thing more
+  (Tho' its walls stand) shall bring the city low'r;
+  When legislators shall their trust betray,
+  Saving their own, shall give the rest away;
+  And those false men by th' easy people sent,
+  Give taxes to the King by Parliament;
+  When barefaced villains shall not blush to cheat
+  And chequer doors shall shut up Lombard Street.
+  When players come to act the part of queens,
+  Within the curtains, and behind the scenes:
+  When no man knows in whom to put his trust,
+  And e'en to rob the chequer shall be just,
+  When declarations, lies and every oath
+  Shall be in use at court, but faith and troth.
+  When two good kings shall be at Brentford town,
+  And when in London there shall not be one:
+  When the seat's given to a talking fool,
+  Whom wise men laugh at, and whom women rule;
+  A minister able only in his tongue
+  To make harsh empty speeches two hours long
+  When an old Scots Covenanter shall be
+  The champion for the English hierarchy:
+  When bishops shall lay all religion by,
+  And strive by law to establish tyranny,
+  When a lean treasurer shall in one year
+  Make himself fat, his King and people bare:
+  When the English Prince shall Englishmen despise,
+  And think French only loyal, Irish wise;
+  When wooden shoon shall be the English wear
+  And Magna Charta shall no more appear:
+  Then the English shall a greater tyrant know,
+  Than either Greek or Latin story show:
+  Their wives to 's lust exposed, their wealth to 's spoil,
+  With groans to fill his treasury they toil;
+  But like the Bellides must sigh in vain
+  For that still fill'd flows out as fast again;
+  Then they with envious eyes shall Belgium see,
+  And wish in vain Venetian liberty.
+  The frogs too late grown weary of their pain,
+  Shall pray to Jove to take him back again.
+
+
+
+
+JOHN CLEIVELAND.
+
+(1613-1658.)
+
+
+XVII. THE SCOTS APOSTASIE.
+
+    From _Poems and Satires_, posthumously published in 1662.
+
+
+  Is't come to this? What shall the cheeks of fame
+  Stretch'd with the breath of learned Loudon's name,
+  Be flogg'd again? And that great piece of sense,
+  As rich in loyalty and eloquence,
+  Brought to the test be found a trick of state,
+  Like chemist's tinctures, proved adulterate;
+  The devil sure such language did achieve,
+  To cheat our unforewarned grand-dam Eve,
+  As this imposture found out to be sot
+  The experienced English to believe a Scot,
+  Who reconciled the Covenant's doubtful sense,
+  The Commons argument, or the City's pence?
+  Or did you doubt persistence in one good,
+  Would spoil the fabric of your brotherhood,
+  Projected first in such a forge of sin,
+  Was fit for the grand devil's hammering?
+  Or was't ambition that this damned fact
+  Should tell the world you know the sins you act?
+  The infamy this super-treason brings.
+  Blasts more than murders of your sixty kings;
+  A crime so black, as being advisedly done,
+  Those hold with these no competition.
+  Kings only suffered then; in this doth lie
+  The assassination of monarchy,
+  Beyond this sin no one step can be trod.
+  If not to attempt deposing of your God.
+  O, were you so engaged, that we might see
+  Heav'ns angry lightning 'bout your ears to flee,
+  Till you were shrivell'd to dust, and your cold land
+  Parch't to a drought beyond the Libyan sand!
+  But 'tis reserv'd till Heaven plague you worse;
+  The objects of an epidemic curse,
+  First, may your brethren, to whose viler ends
+  Your power hath bawded, cease to be your friends;
+  And prompted by the dictate of their reason;
+  And may their jealousies increase and breed
+  Till they confine your steps beyond the Tweed.
+  In foreign nations may your loathed name be
+  A stigmatizing brand of infamy;
+  Till forced by general hate you cease to roam
+  The world, and for a plague live at home:
+  Till you resume your poverty, and be
+  Reduced to beg where none can be so free
+  To grant: and may your scabby land be all
+  Translated to a generall hospital.
+  Let not the sun afford one gentle ray,
+  To give you comfort of a summer's day;
+  But, as a guerdon for your traitorous war,
+  Love cherished only by the northern star.
+  No stranger deign to visit your rude coast,
+  And be, to all but banisht men, as lost.
+  And such in heightening of the indiction due
+  Let provok'd princes send them all to you.
+  Your State a chaos be, where not the law,
+  But power, your lives and liberties may give.
+  No subject 'mongst you keep a quiet breast
+  But each man strive through blood to be the best;
+  Till, for those miseries on us you've brought
+  By your own sword our just revenge be wrought.
+  To sum up all ... let your religion be
+  As your allegiance--maskt hypocrisie
+  Until when Charles shall be composed in dust
+  Perfum'd with epithets of good and just.
+  He saved--incensed Heaven may have forgot--
+  To afford one act of mercy to a Scot:
+  Unless that Scot deny himself and do
+  What's easier far--Renounce his nation too.
+
+
+
+
+JOHN DRYDEN.
+
+(1631-1700.)
+
+
+XVIII. SATIRE ON THE DUTCH.
+
+    Originally printed in broadside form, being written in the year
+    1662. It was bitterly resented by the Dutch.
+
+
+  As needy gallants, in the scriv'ner's hands,
+  Court the rich knaves that gripe their mortgag'd lands;
+  The first fat buck of all the season'd sent,
+  And keeper takes no fee in compliment;
+  The dotage of some Englishmen is such,
+  To fawn on those, who ruin them, the Dutch.
+  They shall have all, rather than make a war
+  With those, who of the same religion are.
+  The Straits, the Guinea-trade, the herrings too;
+  Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you.
+  Some are resolv'd, not to find out the cheat,
+  But, cuckold-like, love them that do the feat.
+  What injuries soe'er upon us fall,
+  Yet still the same religion answers all.
+  Religion wheedl'd us to civil war,
+  Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now wou'd spare.
+  Be gull'd no longer; for you'll find it true,
+  They have no more religion, faith! than you.
+  Int'rest's the God they worship in their state,
+  And we, I take it, have not much of that.
+  Well monarchies may own religion's name,
+  But states are atheists in their very frame.
+  They share a sin; and such proportions fall,
+  That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all.
+  Think on their rapine, falsehood, cruelty,
+  And that what once they were, they still wou'd be.
+  To one well-born th' affront is worse and more,
+  When he's abus'd and baffl'd by a boor.
+  With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do;
+  They've both ill nature and ill manners too.
+  Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation;
+  For they were bred ere manners were in fashion:
+  And their new commonwealth has set them free
+  Only from honour and civility.
+  Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,
+  Than did their lubber state mankind bestride.
+  Their sway became 'em with as ill a mien,
+  As their own paunches swell above their chin.
+  Yet is their empire no true growth but humour,
+  And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour.
+  As Cato did in Africk fruits display;
+  Let us before our eyes their Indies lay:
+  All loyal English will like him conclude;
+  Let Caesar live, and Carthage be subdu'd.
+
+
+
+XIX. MACFLECKNOE.
+
+    This satire was written in reply to a savage poem by the dramatist,
+    Thomas Shadwell, entitled "The Medal of John Dayes". Dryden and
+    Shadwell had been friends, but the enmity begotten of political
+    opposition had separated them. Flecknoe, who gives the name to this
+    poem, and of whom Shadwell is treated as the son and heir, was a
+    dull poet who had always laid himself open to ridicule. It is not
+    known (says W.D. Christie in the _Globe_ Dryden) whether he had
+    ever given Dryden offence, but it is certain that his "Epigrams",
+    published in 1670, contain some lines addressed to Dryden of a
+    complimentary character.
+
+
+  All human things are subject to decay,
+  And, when fate summons, monarchs must obey;
+  This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
+  Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long;
+  In prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute,
+  Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute
+  This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
+  And blest with issue of a large increase;
+  Worn out with business, did at length debate
+  To settle the succession of the state:
+  And, pond'ring, which of all his sons was fit
+  To reign, and wage immortal war with wit,
+  Cry'd, "'Tis resolv'd; for Nature pleads, that he
+  Should only rule, who most resembles me.
+  Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
+  Mature in dulness from his tender years:
+  Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he,
+  Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity.
+  The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
+  But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
+  Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
+  Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
+  But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
+  His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
+  Besides, his goodly fabrick fills the eye,
+  And seems design'd for thoughtless majesty:
+  Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain
+  And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.
+  Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee,
+  Thou last great prophet of tautology.
+  Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,
+  Was sent before but to prepare thy way;
+  And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came
+  To teach the nations in thy greater name.
+  My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung,
+  When to King John of Portugal I sung,
+  Was but the prelude to that glorious day,
+  When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way,
+  With well-tim'd oars before the royal barge.
+  Swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge;
+  And big with hymn, commander of an host,
+  The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets tost.
+  Methinks I see the new Arion fail,
+  The lute still trembling underneath thy nail.
+  At thy well-sharpened thumb, from shore to shore,
+  The trebles squeak with fear, the basses roar:
+  Echoes from Pissing-Alley Shadwell call,
+  And Shadwell they resound from Aston-Hall.
+  About thy boat the little fishes throng
+  As at the morning toast, that floats along.
+  Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band,
+  Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand.
+  St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time,
+  Not ev'n the feet of thy own Psyche's rime:
+  Though they in number as in sense excel;
+  So just, so like tautology, they fell,
+  That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore
+  The lute and sword which he in triumph bore,
+  And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more."
+    Here stopt the good old sire, and wept for joy,
+  In silent raptures of the hopeful boy.
+  All arguments, but most his plays, persuade,
+  That for anointed dulness he was made.
+    Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind,
+  (The fair Augusta much to fears inclin'd)
+  An ancient fabric, rais'd t' inform the sight
+  There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight:
+  A watch-tower once; but now so fate ordains,
+  Of all the pile an empty name remains:
+  From its old ruins brothel-houses rise,
+  Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys,
+  Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets keep,
+  And, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep.
+  Near these a nursery erects its head
+  Where queens are form'd, and future heroes bred;
+  Where unfledg'd actors learn to laugh and cry,
+  Where infant punks their tender voices try,
+  And little Maximins the gods defy.
+  Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here,
+  Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear;
+  But gentle Simkin just reception finds
+  Amidst this monument of vanish'd minds:
+  Poor clinches the suburbian Muse affords,
+  And Panton waging harmless war with words.
+  Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known,
+  Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne.
+  For ancient Dekker prophesy'd long since,
+  That in this pile should reign a mighty prince,
+  Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense:
+  To whom true dulness should some Psyches owe,
+  But worlds of misers from his pen should flow;
+  Humorists and hypocrites it should produce,
+  Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce.
+    Now Empress Fame had publish'd the renown
+  Of Shadwell's coronation through the town.
+  Rous'd by report of fame, the nations meet,
+  From near Bunhill, and distant Watling-street.
+  No Persian carpets spread th' imperial way,
+  But scatter'd limbs of mangled Poets lay;
+  From dusty shops neglected authors come,
+  Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum.
+  Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby there lay,
+  But loads of Shadwell almost chok'd the way.
+  Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepar'd,
+  And Herringman was captain of the guard.
+  The hoary prince in majesty appear'd,
+  High on a throne of his own labours rear'd.
+  At his right hand our young Ascanius sate,
+  Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state.
+  His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace,
+  And lambent dulness play'd around his face.
+  As Hannibal did to the altars come,
+  Swore by his sire a mortal foe to Rome;
+  So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain,
+  That he till death true dulness would maintain;
+  And, in his father's right, and realm's defence,
+  Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense.
+  The king himself the sacred unction made,
+  As king by office, and as priest by trade.
+  In his sinister hand, instead of ball,
+  He plac'd a mighty mug of potent ale;
+  Love's kingdom to his right he did convey,
+  At once his sceptre, and his rule of sway;
+  Whose righteous lore the prince had practis'd young,
+  And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung.
+  His temples, last, with poppies were o'erspread
+  That nodding seem'd to consecrate his head.
+  Just at the point of time, if Fame not lie,
+  On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly.
+  So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook,
+  Presage of sway from twice six vultures took.
+  Th' admiring throng loud acclamations make,
+  And omens of his future empire take.
+  The sire then shook the honours of his head,
+  And from his brows damps of oblivion shed
+  Full on the filial dulness: Long he stood,
+  Repelling from his breast the raging god:
+  At length burst out in this prophetic mood.
+    "Heav'ns! bless my son! from Ireland let him reign
+  To far Barbadoes on the western main;
+  Of his dominion may no end be known,
+  And greater than his father's be his throne;
+  Beyond Love's kingdom let him stretch his pen!--"
+  He paus'd, and all the people cry'd "Amen".
+  Then thus continu'd he: "My son, advance
+  Still in new impudence, new ignorance.
+  Success let others teach, learn thou from me
+  Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry.
+  Let Virtuosos in five years be writ;
+  Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit.
+  Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage,
+  Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage;
+  Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit,
+  And in their folly show the writer's wit.
+  Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence,
+  And justify their authors' want of sense.
+  Let 'em be all by thy own model made
+  Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid;
+  That they to future ages may be known,
+  Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own.
+  Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same,
+  All full of thee, and diff'ring but in name.
+  But let no alien Sedley interpose,
+  To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.
+  And when false flowers of rhetorick thou would'st cull,
+  Trust Nature, do not labour to be dull;
+  But write thy best, and top; and, in each line,
+  Sir Formal's oratory will be thine:
+  Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill,
+  And does thy Northern Dedications fill.
+  Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame,
+  By arrogating Jonson's hostile name.
+  Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise,
+  And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise.
+  Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part:
+  What share have we in Nature or in Art?
+  Where did his wit on learning fix a brand,
+  And rail at arts he did not understand?
+  Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein,
+  Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain?
+  Where sold he bargains, whip-stitch, kiss my arse,
+  Promis'd a play, and dwindled to a farce?
+  When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin,
+  As thou whole Eth'ridge dost transfuse to thine?
+  But so transfus'd, as oil and waters flow,
+  His always floats above, thine sinks below.
+  This is thy province, this thy wondrous way,
+  New humours to invent for each new play:
+  This is that boasted bias of thy mind,
+  By which, one way, to dulness 'tis inclin'd:
+  Which makes thy writings lean on one side still,
+  And, in all changes, that way bends thy will.
+  Nor let thy mountain-belly make pretence
+  Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense.
+  A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ,
+  But sure thou'rt but a kilderkin of wit.
+  Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep;
+  Thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep.
+  With whate'er gall thou set'st thyself to write,
+  Thy inoffensive satires never bite.
+  In thy felonious heart though venom lies,
+  It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.
+  Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame
+  In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram.
+  Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command
+  Some peaceful province in acrostic land,
+  There thou may'st wings display and altars raise,
+  And torture one poor word ten thousand ways.
+  Or if thou would'st thy different talents suit,
+  Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute."
+    He said: But his last words were scarcely heard:
+  For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepar'd,
+  And down they sent the yet declaiming bard.
+  Sinking he left his drugget robe behind,
+  Borne upwards by a subterranean wind.
+  The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,
+  With double portion of his father's art.
+
+
+
+XX. EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS.
+
+    This excellent specimen of Dryden's prose satire was prefixed to
+    his satiric poem "The Medal", published in March, 1682. It was
+    inspired by the striking of a medal to commemorate the rejection by
+    the London Grand Jury, on November 24, 1681, of a Bill of High
+    Treason presented against Lord Shaftesbury. This event had been a
+    great victory for the Whigs and a discomfiture for the Court.
+
+
+For to whom can I dedicate this poem, with so much justice, as to you?
+'Tis the representation of your own hero: 'Tis the picture drawn at
+length, which you admire and prize so much in little. None of your
+ornaments are wanting; neither the landscape of the tower, nor the
+rising sun; nor the Anno Domini of your new sovereign's coronation.
+This must needs be a grateful undertaking to your whole party;
+especially to those who have not been so happy as to purchase the
+original. I hear the graver has made a good market of it: all his Kings
+are bought up already; or the value of the remainder so enhanced, that
+many a poor Polander, who would be glad to worship the image, is not
+able to go to the cost of him; but must be content to see him here. I
+must confess, I am no great artist; but sign-post-painting will serve
+the turn to remember a friend by, especially when better is not to be
+had. Yet, for your comfort, the lineaments are true: and though he sat
+not five times to me, as he did to B. yet I have consulted history; as
+the Italian painters do, when they would draw a Nero or a Caligula;
+though they have not seen the man, they can help their imagination by a
+statue of him, and find out the colouring from Suetonius and Tacitus.
+Truth is, you might have spared one side of your medal: the head would
+be seen to more advantage, if it were placed on a spike of the tower; a
+little nearer to the sun; which would then break out to better purpose.
+You tell us, in your preface to the _No-Protestant Plot_, that you
+shall be forced hereafter to leave off your modesty. I suppose you mean
+that little, which is left you: for it was worn to rags when you put
+out this medal. Never was there practised such a piece of notorious
+impudence in the face of an established Government. I believe, when he
+is dead, you will wear him in thumb-rings, as the Turks did Scanderbeg;
+as if there were virtue in his bones to preserve you against monarchy.
+Yet all this while, you pretend not only zeal for the public good, but
+a due veneration for the person of the king. But all men, who can see
+an inch before them, may easily detect those gross fallacies. That it
+is necessary for men in your circumstances to pretend both, is granted
+you; for without them there could be no ground to raise a faction. But
+I would ask you one civil question: What right has any man among you,
+or any association of men (to come nearer to you) who, out of
+Parliament cannot be consider'd in a public capacity, to meet, as you
+daily do, in factious clubs, to vilify the Government in your
+discourses, and to libel it in all your writings? Who made you judges
+in Israel? Or how is it consistent with your zeal for the public
+welfare, to promote sedition? Does your definition of _loyal_, which is
+to serve the King according to the laws, allow you the licence of
+traducing the executive power, with which you own he is invested? You
+complain, that his Majesty has lost the love and confidence of his
+people; and, by your very urging it, you endeavour, what in you lies,
+to make him lose them. All good subjects abhor the thought of
+arbitrary power, whether it be in one or many; if you were the patriots
+you would seem, you would not at this rate incense the multitude to
+assume it; for no sober man can fear it, either from the King's
+disposition or his practice; or even, where you would odiously lay it,
+from his ministers. Give us leave to enjoy the Government, and the
+benefit of laws, under which we were born, and which we desire to
+transmit to our posterity. You are not the trustees of the public
+liberty; and if you have not right to petition in a crowd, much less
+have you to intermeddle in the management of affairs, or to arraign
+what you do not like; which in effect is everything that is done by the
+King and Council. Can you imagine, that any reasonable man will believe
+you respect the person of his Majesty, when 'tis apparent that your
+seditious pamphlets are stuffed with particular reflections on him? If
+you have the confidence to deny this, 'tis easy to be evinced from a
+thousand passages, which I only forbear to quote because I desire they
+should die and be forgotten. I have perused many of your papers; and to
+show you that I have, the third part of your _No-Protestant Plot_ is
+much of it stolen from your dead author's pamphlet called the _Growth
+of Popery_; as manifestly as Milton's defence of the English people is
+from Buchanan, _de jure regni apud Scotos_; or your first covenant, and
+new association, from the holy league of the French Guisards. Anyone,
+who reads Davila, may trace your practices all along. There were the
+same pretences for reformation and loyalty, the same aspersions of the
+King, and the same grounds of a rebellion. I know not whether you will
+take the historian's word, who says, it was reported, that Poltrot a
+Huguenot murder'd Francis Duke of Guise, by the instigations of
+Theodore Beza; or that it was a Huguenot minister, otherwise called a
+Presbyterian (for our Church abhors so devilish a tenet) who first
+writ a treatise of the lawfulness of deposing and murdering Kings, of a
+different persuasion in religion. But I am able to prove from the
+doctrine of Calvin, and principles of Buchanan, that they set the
+people above the magistrate; which, if I mistake not, is your own
+fundamental; and which carries your loyalty no farther than your
+liking. When a vote of the House of Commons goes on your side, you are
+as ready to observe it, as if it were passed into a law: but when you
+are pinch'd with any former, and yet unrepealed, Act of Parliament, you
+declare that in some cases you will not be obliged by it. The passage
+is in the same third part of the _No-Protestant Plot_; and is too plain
+to be denied. The late copy of your intended association you neither
+wholly justify nor condemn: but as the Papists, when they are
+unoppos'd, fly out into all the pageantries of worship, but, in times
+of war, when they are hard pressed by arguments, lie close intrenched
+behind the Council of Trent; so, now, when your affairs are in a low
+condition, you dare not pretend that to be a legal combination; but
+whensover you are afloat, I doubt not but it will be maintained and
+justified to purpose. For indeed there is nothing to defend it but the
+sword: 'Tis the proper time to say anything, when men have all things
+in their power.
+
+In the meantime, you would fain be nibbling at a parallel betwixt this
+association, and that in the time of Queen Elizabeth. But there is this
+small difference betwixt them, that the ends of the one are directly
+opposite to the other: one with the Queen's approbation and
+conjunction, as head of it; the other, without either the consent or
+knowledge of the King, against whose authority it is manifestly
+design'd. Therefore you do well to have recourse to your last evasion,
+that it was contriv'd by your enemies, and shuffled into the papers
+that were seized; which yet you see the nation is not so easy to
+believe, as your own jury. But the matter is not difficult, to find
+twelve men in Newgate, who would acquit a malefactor.
+
+I have one only favour to desire of you at parting; that, when you
+think of answering this poem, you would employ the same pens against
+it, who have combated with so much success against Absalom and
+Achitophel: for then you may assure yourselves of a clear victory,
+without the least reply. Rail at me abundantly; and, not to break a
+custom, do it without wit. By this method you will gain a considerable
+point, which is, wholly to waive the answer of my argument. Never own
+the bottom of your principles, for fear they should be treason. Fall
+severely on the miscarriages of Government; for if scandal be not
+allowed, you are no free-born subjects. If GOD has not blessed you with
+the talent of rhyming, make use of my poor stock and welcome; let your
+verses run upon my feet: and for the utmost refuge of notorious
+blockheads, reduced to the last extremity of sense, turn my own lines
+upon me, and, in utter despair of your own satire, make me satirize
+myself. Some of you have been driven to this bay already; but above all
+the rest, commend me to the Non-conformist parson, who writ _The Whip
+and Key_. I am afraid it is not read so much as the piece deserves,
+because the bookseller is every week crying Help, at the end of his
+Gazette, to get it off. You see I am charitable enough to do him a
+kindness, that it may be published as well as printed; and that so much
+skill in Hebrew derivations may not lie for waste-paper in the shop.
+Yet I half suspect he went no farther for his learning, than the index
+of Hebrew names and etymologies, which is printed at the end of some
+English bibles. If Achitophel signify the brother of a fool, the author
+of that poem will pass with his readers for the next of kin. And,
+perhaps, 'tis the relation that makes the kindness. Whatever the verses
+are, buy them up, I beseech you, out of pity; for I hear the
+conventicle is shut up, and the brother of Achitophel out of service.
+
+Now footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a purse, for a
+member of their society, who has had his livery pulled over his ears:
+and even Protestant flocks are brought up among you, out of veneration
+to the name. A dissenter in poetry from sense and English, will make as
+good a Protestant rhymer, as a dissenter from the Church of England a
+Protestant parson. Besides, if you encourage a young beginner, who
+knows but he may elevate his style a little, above the vulgar epithets
+of profane and saucy Jack, and atheistic scribbler, with which he
+treats me, when the fit of enthusiasm is strong upon him? By which
+well-manner'd and charitable expressions, I was certain of his sect,
+before I knew his name. What would you have more of a man? He has
+damned me in your cause from Genesis to the Revelations; and has half
+the texts of both the Testaments against me, if you will be so civil to
+yourselves as to take him for your interpreter, and not to take them
+for Irish witnesses. After all, perhaps, you will tell me, that you
+retained him only for the opening of your cause, and that your main
+lawyer is yet behind. Now, if it so happen he meet with no more reply
+than his predecessors, you may either conclude, that I trust to the
+goodness of my cause, or fear my adversary, or disdain him, or what you
+please; for the short on it is, it is indifferent to your humble
+servant, whatever your party says or thinks of him.
+
+
+
+
+DANIEL DEFOE.
+
+(1661-1734)
+
+
+XXI. INTRODUCTION TO THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN.
+
+    "The True-born Englishman" was a metrical satire designed to defend
+    the king, William III., against the attacks made upon him over the
+    admission of foreigners into public offices and posts of
+    responsibility.
+
+
+  Speak, satire; for there's none can tell like thee
+  Whether 'tis folly, pride, or knavery
+  That makes this discontented land appear
+  Less happy now in times of peace than war?
+  Why civil feuds disturb the nation more
+  Than all our bloody wars have done before?
+    Fools out of favour grudge at knaves in place,
+  And men are always honest in disgrace;
+  The court preferments make men knaves in course,
+  But they which would be in them would be worse.
+  'Tis not at foreigners that we repine,
+  Would foreigners their perquisites resign:
+  The grand contention's plainly to be seen,
+  To get some men put out, and some put in.
+  For this our senators make long harangues,
+  And florid members whet their polished tongues.
+  Statesmen are always sick of one disease,
+  And a good pension gives them present ease:
+  That's the specific makes them all content
+  With any king and any government.
+  Good patriots at court abuses rail,
+  And all the nation's grievances bewail;
+  But when the sovereign's balsam's once applied,
+  The zealot never fails to change his side;
+  And when he must the golden key resign,
+  The railing spirit comes about again.
+    Who shall this bubbled nation disabuse,
+  While they their own felicities refuse,
+  Who the wars have made such mighty pother,
+  And now are falling out with one another:
+  With needless fears the jealous nation fill,
+  And always have been saved against their will:
+  Who fifty millions sterling have disbursed,
+  To be with peace and too much plenty cursed:
+  Who their old monarch eagerly undo,
+  And yet uneasily obey the new?
+  Search, satire, search; a deep incision make;
+  The poison's strong, the antidote's too weak.
+  'Tis pointed truth must manage this dispute,
+  And downright English, Englishmen confute.
+    Whet thy just anger at the nation's pride,
+  And with keen phrase repel the vicious tide;
+  To Englishmen their own beginnings show,
+  And ask them why they slight their neighbours so.
+  Go back to elder times and ages past,
+  And nations into long oblivion cast;
+  To old Britannia's youthful days retire,
+  And there for true-born Englishmen inquire.
+  Britannia freely will disown the name,
+  And hardly knows herself from whence they came:
+  Wonders that they of all men should pretend
+  To birth and blood, and for a name contend.
+  Go back to causes where our follies dwell,
+  And fetch the dark original from hell:
+  Speak, satire, for there's none like thee can tell.
+
+
+
+
+THE EARL OF DORSET.
+
+(1637-1705.)
+
+
+XXII. SATIRE ON A CONCEITED PLAYWRIGHT.
+
+    The person against whom this attack was directed was Edward Howard,
+    author of _The British Princess_.
+
+
+  Thou damn'd antipodes to common-sense,
+  Thou foil to Flecknoe, pr'ythee tell from whence
+  Does all this mighty stock of dulness spring?
+  Is it thy own, or hast it from Snow-hill,
+  Assisted by some ballad-making quill?
+  No, they fly higher yet, thy plays are such,
+  I'd swear they were translated out of Dutch.
+  Fain would I know what diet thou dost keep,
+  If thou dost always, or dost never sleep?
+  Sure hasty-pudding is thy chiefest dish,
+  With bullock's liver, or some stinking fish:
+  Garbage, ox-cheeks, and tripes, do feast thy brain,
+  Which nobly pays this tribute back again.
+  With daisy-roots thy dwarfish Muse is fed,
+  A giant's body with a pigmy's head.
+  Canst thou not find, among thy numerous race
+  Of kindred, one to tell thee that thy plays
+  Are laught at by the pit, box, galleries, nay, stage?
+  Think on't a while, and thou wilt quickly find
+  Thy body made for labour, not thy mind.
+  No other use of paper thou shouldst make
+  Than carrying loads and reams upon thy back.
+  Carry vast burdens till thy shoulders shrink,
+  But curst be he that gives thee pen and ink:
+  Such dangerous weapons should be kept from fools,
+  As nurses from their children keep edg'd tools:
+  For thy dull fancy a muckinder is fit
+  To wipe the slobberings of thy snotty wit:
+  And though 'tis late, if justice could be found,
+  Thy plays like blind-born puppies should be drown'd.
+  For were it not that we respect afford
+  Unto the son of an heroic lord,
+  Thine in the ducking-stool should take her seat,
+  Drest like herself in a great chair of state;
+  Where like a Muse of quality she'd die,
+  And thou thyself shalt make her elegy,
+  In the same strain thou writ'st thy comedy.
+
+
+
+
+JOHN ARBUTHNOT.
+
+(1667-1735.)
+
+
+XXIII. PREFACE TO JOHN BULL AND HIS LAW-SUIT.
+
+    First published as a political pamphlet, this piece had an
+    extraordinary run of popularity. It was originally issued in four
+    parts, but these afterwards were reduced to two, without any
+    omission, however, of matter. They appeared during the years
+    1712-13, and the satire was finally published in book form in 1714.
+    The author was the intimate friend of Swift, Pope, and Gay. The
+    volume was exceedingly popular in Tory circles. The examples I have
+    selected are "The Preface" and also the opening chapters of the
+    history, which I have made to run on without breaking them up into
+    the short divisions of the text.
+
+
+When I was first called to the office of historiographer to John Bull,
+he expressed himself to this purpose: "Sir Humphrey Polesworth[166], I
+know you are a plain dealer; it is for that reason I have chosen you
+for this important trust; speak the truth and spare not". That I might
+fulfil those his honourable intentions, I obtained leave to repair to,
+and attend him in his most secret retirements; and I put the journals
+of all transactions into a strong box, to be opened at a fitting
+occasion, after the manner of the historiographers of some eastern
+monarchs: this I thought was the safest way; though I declare I was
+never afraid to be chopped[167] by my master for telling of truth. It
+is from those journals that my memoirs are compiled: therefore let not
+posterity a thousand years hence look for truth in the voluminous
+annals of pedants, who are entirely ignorant of the secret springs of
+great actions; if they do, let me tell them they will be nebused.[168]
+
+With incredible pains have I endeavoured to copy the several beauties
+of the ancient and modern historians; the impartial temper of
+Herodotus, the gravity, austerity, and strict morals of Thucydides, the
+extensive knowledge of Xenophon, the sublimity and grandeur of Titus
+Livius; and to avoid the careless style of Polybius, I have borrowed
+considerable ornaments from Dionysius Halicarnasseus, and Diodorus
+Siculus. The specious gilding of Tacitus I have endeavoured to shun.
+Mariana, Davila, and Fra. Paulo, are those amongst the moderns whom I
+thought most worthy of imitation; but I cannot be so disingenuous, as
+not to own the infinite obligations I have to the _Pilgrim's Progress_
+of John Bunyan, and the _Tenter Belly_ of the Reverend Joseph Hall.
+
+From such encouragement and helps, it is easy to guess to what a degree
+of perfection I might have brought this great work, had it not been
+nipped in the bud by some illiterate people in both Houses of
+Parliament, who envying the great figure I was to make in future ages,
+under pretence of raising money for the war,[169] have padlocked all
+those very pens that were to celebrate the actions of their heroes, by
+silencing at once the whole university of Grub Street. I am persuaded
+that nothing but the prospect of an approaching peace could have
+encouraged them to make so bold a step. But suffer me, in the name of
+the rest of the matriculates of that famous university, to ask them
+some plain questions: Do they think that peace will bring along with it
+the golden age? Will there be never a dying speech of a traitor? Are
+Cethegus and Catiline turned so tame, that there will be no opportunity
+to cry about the streets, "A Dangerous Plot"? Will peace bring such
+plenty that no gentleman will have occasion to go upon the highway, or
+break into a house? I am sorry that the world should be so much imposed
+upon by the dreams of a false prophet, as to imagine the Millennium is
+at hand. O Grub Street! thou fruitful nursery of towering geniuses! How
+do I lament thy downfall? Thy ruin could never be meditated by any who
+meant well to English liberty. No modern lyceum will ever equal thy
+glory: whether in soft pastorals thou didst sing the flames of pampered
+apprentices and coy cook-maids; or mournful ditties of departing
+lovers; or if to Maeonian strains thou raisedst thy voice, to record the
+stratagems, the arduous exploits, and the nocturnal scalade of needy
+heroes, the terror of your peaceful citizens, describing the powerful
+Betty or the artful Picklock, or the secret caverns and grottoes of
+Vulcan sweating at his forge, and stamping the queen's image on viler
+metals which he retails for beef and pots of ale; or if thou wert
+content in simple narrative, to relate the cruel acts of implacable
+revenge, or the complaint of ravished virgins blushing to tell their
+adventures before the listening crowd of city damsels, whilst in thy
+faithful history thou intermingledst the gravest counsels and the
+purest morals. Nor less acute and piercing wert thou in thy search and
+pompous descriptions of the works of nature; whether in proper and
+emphatic terms thou didst paint the blazing comet's fiery tail, the
+stupendous force of dreadful thunder and earthquakes, and the
+unrelenting inundations. Sometimes, with Machiavelian sagacity, thou
+unravelledst intrigues of state, and the traitorous conspiracies of
+rebels, giving wise counsel to monarchs. How didst thou move our terror
+and our pity with thy passionate scenes between Jack Catch and the
+heroes of the Old Bailey? How didst thou describe their intrepid march
+up Holborn Hill? Nor didst thou shine less in thy theological capacity,
+when thou gavest ghostly counsels to dying felons, and didst record the
+guilty pangs of Sabbath-breakers. How will the noble arts of John
+Overton's[170] painting and sculpture now languish? where rich
+invention, proper expression, correct design, divine attitudes, and
+artful contrast, heightened with the beauties of clar. obscur.,
+embellished thy celebrated pieces, to the delight and astonishment of
+the judicious multitude! Adieu, persuasive eloquence! the quaint
+metaphor, the poignant irony, the proper epithet, and the lively
+simile, are fled for ever! Instead of these, we shall have, I know not
+what! The illiterate will tell the rest with pleasure.
+
+I hope the reader will excuse this digression, due by way of condolence
+to my worthy brethren of Grub Street, for the approaching barbarity
+that is likely to overspread all its regions by this oppressive and
+exorbitant tax. It has been my good fortune to receive my education
+there; and so long as I preserved some figure and rank amongst the
+learned of that society, I scorned to take my degree either at Utrecht
+or Leyden, though I was offered it gratis by the professors in those
+universities.
+
+And now that posterity may not be ignorant in what age so excellent a
+history was written (which would otherwise, no doubt, be the subject
+of its inquiries), I think it proper to inform the learned of future
+times, that it was compiled when Louis XIV. was King of France, and
+Philip, his grandson, of Spain; when England and Holland, in
+conjunction with the Emperor and the Allies, entered into a war against
+these two princes, which lasted ten years under the management of the
+Duke of Marlborough, and was put to a conclusion by the Treaty of
+Utrecht, under the ministry of the Earl of Oxford, in the year 1713.
+
+Many at that time did imagine the history of John Bull, and the
+personages mentioned in it, to be allegorical, which the author would
+never own. Notwithstanding, to indulge the reader's fancy and
+curiosity, I have printed at the bottom of the page the supposed
+allusions of the most obscure parts of the story.
+
+[Footnote 166: A Member of Parliament, eminent for a certain cant in
+his conversation, of which there is a good deal in this book.]
+
+[Footnote 167: A cant word of Sir Humphrey's.]
+
+[Footnote 168: Another cant word, signifying deceived.]
+
+[Footnote 169: Act restraining the liberty of the press, &c.]
+
+[Footnote 170: The engraver of the cuts before the Grub Street papers.]
+
+
+
+XXIV. THE HISTORY OF JOHN BULL.
+
+    The Occasion of the Law-suit.
+
+
+I need not tell you of the great quarrels that have happened in our
+neighbourhood since the death of the late Lord Strutt[171]; how the
+parson[172] and a cunning attorney got him to settle his estate upon
+his cousin Philip Baboon, to the great disappointment of his cousin
+Esquire South. Some stick not to say that the parson and the attorney
+forged a will; for which they were well paid by the family of the
+Baboons. Let that be as it will, it is matter of fact that the honour
+and estate have continued ever since in the person of Philip Baboon.
+
+You know that the Lord Strutts have for many years been possessed of a
+very great landed estate, well-conditioned, wooded, watered, with coal,
+salt, tin, copper, iron, &c., all within themselves; that it has been
+the misfortune of that family to be the property of their stewards,
+tradesmen, and inferior servants, which has brought great incumbrances
+upon them; at the same time, their not abating of their expensive way
+of living has forced them to mortgage their best manors. It is credibly
+reported that the butcher's and baker's bill of a Lord Strutt that
+lived two hundred years ago are not yet paid.
+
+When Philip Baboon came first to the possession of the Lord Strutt's
+estate, his tradesmen,[173] as is usual upon such occasion, waited upon
+him to wish him joy and bespeak his custom. The two chief were John
+Bull,[174] the clothier, and Nic. Frog,[175] the linen-draper. They
+told him that the Bulls and Frogs had served the Lord Strutts with
+drapery-ware for many years; that they were honest and fair dealers;
+that their bills had never been questioned, that the Lord Strutts lived
+generously, and never used to dirty their fingers with pen, ink, and
+counters; that his lordship might depend upon their honesty that they
+would use him as kindly as they had done his predecessors. The young
+lord seemed to take all in good part, and dismissed them with a deal of
+seeming content, assuring them he did not intend to change any of the
+honourable maxims of his predecessors.
+
+
+
+    How Bull and Frog grew jealous that the Lord Strutt intended to
+    give all his custom to his grandfather, Lewis Baboon.
+
+
+It happened unfortunately for the peace of our neighbourhood that
+this young lord had an old cunning rogue, or, as the Scots call it,
+a false loon of a grandfather, that one might justly call a
+Jack-of-all-Trades.[176] Sometimes you would see him behind his
+counter selling broadcloth, sometimes measuring linen; next day he
+would be dealing in mercery-ware. High heads, ribbons, gloves, fans,
+and lace he understood to a nicety. Charles Mather could not bubble a
+young beau better with a toy; nay, he would descend even to the selling
+of tape, garters, and shoe-buckles. When shop was shut up he would go
+about the neighbourhood and earn half-a-crown by teaching the young men
+and maids to dance. By these methods he had acquired immense riches,
+which he used to squander[177] away at back-sword, quarter-staff, and
+cudgel-play, in which he took great pleasure, and challenged all the
+country. You will say it is no wonder if Bull and Frog should be
+jealous of this fellow. "It is not impossible," says Frog to Bull, "but
+this old rogue will take the management of the young lord's business
+into his hands; besides, the rascal has good ware, and will serve him
+as cheap as anybody. In that case, I leave you to judge what must
+become of us and our families; we must starve, or turn journeyman to
+old Lewis Baboon. Therefore, neighbour, I hold it advisable that we
+write to young Lord Strutt to know the bottom of this matter."
+
+
+
+    A Copy of Bull and Frog's Letter to Lord Strutt.
+
+
+My Lord,--I suppose your lordship knows that the Bulls and the Frogs
+have served the Lord Strutts with all sorts of drapery-ware time out of
+mind. And whereas we are jealous, not without reason, that your
+lordship intends henceforth to buy of your grandsire old Lewis Baboon,
+this is to inform your lordship that this proceeding does not suit with
+the circumstances of our families, who have lived and made a good
+figure in the world by the generosity of the Lord Strutts. Therefore we
+think fit to acquaint your lordship that you must find sufficient
+security to us, our heirs, and assigns that you will not employ Lewis
+Baboon, or else we will take our remedy at law, clap an action upon you
+of L20,000 for old debts, seize and distrain your goods and chattels,
+which, considering your lordship's circumstances, will plunge you into
+difficulties, from which it will not be easy to extricate yourself.
+Therefore we hope, when your lordship has better considered on it, you
+will comply with the desire of
+
+Your loving friends,
+
+JOHN BULL.
+NIC. FROG.
+
+
+Some of Bull's friends advised him to take gentler methods with the
+young lord, but John naturally loved rough play. It is impossible to
+express the surprise of the Lord Strutt upon the receipt of this
+letter. He was not flush in ready money either to go to law or clear
+old debts, neither could he find good bail. He offered to bring matters
+to a friendly accommodation, and promised, upon his word of honour,
+that he would not change his drapers; but all to no purpose, for Bull
+and Frog saw clearly that old Lewis would have the cheating of him.
+
+
+
+    How Bull and Frog went to law with Lord Strutt about the premises,
+    and were joined by the rest of the tradesmen.
+
+
+All endeavours of accommodation between Lord Strutt and his drapers
+proved vain. Jealousies increased, and, indeed, it was rumoured abroad
+that Lord Strutt had bespoke his new liveries of old Lewis Baboon. This
+coming to Mrs. Bull's ears, when John Bull came home, he found all his
+family in an uproar. Mrs. Bull, you must know, was very apt to be
+choleric. "You sot," says she, "you loiter about ale-houses and
+taverns, spend your time at billiards, ninepins, or puppet-shows, or
+flaunt about the streets in your new gilt chariot, never minding me nor
+your numerous family. Don't you hear how Lord Strutt has bespoke his
+liveries at Lewis Baboon's shop? Don't you see how that old fox steals
+away your customers, and turns you out of your business every day, and
+you sit like an idle drone, with your hands in your pockets? Fie upon
+it. Up, man, rouse thyself; I'll sell to my shift before I'll be so
+used by that knave."[178] You must think Mrs. Bull had been pretty well
+tuned up by Frog, who chimed in with her learned harangue. No further
+delay now, but to counsel learned in the law they go, who unanimously
+assured them both of justice and infallible success of their lawsuit.
+
+I told you before that old Lewis Baboon was a sort of a
+Jack-of-all-trades, which made the rest of the tradesmen jealous, as
+well as Bull and Frog; they, hearing of the quarrel, were glad of an
+opportunity of joining against old Lewis Baboon, provided that Bull and
+Frog would bear the charges of the suit. Even lying Ned, the
+chimney-sweeper of Savoy, and Tom, the Portugal dustman, put in their
+claims, and the cause was put into the hands of Humphry Hocus, the
+attorney.
+
+A declaration was drawn up to show "That Bull and Frog had undoubted
+right by prescription to be drapers to the Lord Strutts; that there
+were several old contracts to that purpose; that Lewis Baboon had taken
+up the trade of clothier and draper without serving his time or
+purchasing his freedom; that he sold goods that were not marketable
+without the stamp; that he himself was more fit for a bully than a
+tradesman, and went about through all the country fairs challenging
+people to fight prizes, wrestling and cudgel-play, and abundance more
+to this purpose".
+
+
+
+    The true characters of John Bull, Nic. Frog, and Hocus.[179]
+
+
+For the better understanding the following history the reader ought to
+know that Bull, in the main, was an honest, plain-dealing fellow,
+choleric, bold, and of a very unconstant temper; he dreaded not old
+Lewis either at back-sword, single falchion, or cudgel-play; but then
+he was very apt to quarrel with his best friends, especially if they
+pretended to govern him. If you flattered him you might lead him like a
+child. John's temper depended very much upon the air; his spirits rose
+and fell with the weather-glass. John was quick, and understood his
+business very well, but no man alive was more careless in looking into
+his accounts, or more cheated by partners, apprentices, and servants.
+This was occasioned by his being a boon companion, loving his bottle
+and his diversion; for, to say truth, no man kept a better house than
+John, nor spent his money more generously. By plain and fair dealing
+John had acquired some plums, and might have kept them had it not been
+for his unhappy lawsuit.
+
+Nic. Frog was a cunning, sly fellow, quite the reverse of John in many
+particulars; covetous, frugal, minded domestic affairs, would pinch his
+belly to save his pocket, never lost a farthing by careless servants or
+bad debtors. He did not care much for any sort of diversion, except
+tricks of high German artists and legerdemain. No man exceeded Nic. in
+these; yet it must be owned that Nic. was a fair dealer, and in that
+way acquired immense riches.
+
+Hocus was an old cunning attorney, and though this was the first
+considerable suit that ever he was engaged in, he showed himself
+superior in address to most of his profession. He kept always good
+clerks, he loved money, was smooth-tongued, gave good words, and seldom
+lost his temper. He was not worse than an infidel, for he provided
+plentifully for his family, but he loved himself better than them all.
+The neighbours reported that he was henpecked, which was impossible, by
+such a mild-spirited woman as his wife was.
+
+[Footnote 171: late King of Spain.]
+
+[Footnote 172: Cardinal Portocarero.]
+
+[Footnote 173: The first letters of congratulation from King William
+and the States of Holland upon King Philip's accession to the crown of
+Spain.]
+
+[Footnote 174: The English.]
+
+[Footnote 175: The Dutch.]
+
+[Footnote 176: The character and trade of the French nation.]
+
+[Footnote 177: The King's disposition to war.]
+
+[Footnote 178: The sentiments and addresses of the Parliament at that
+time.]
+
+[Footnote 179: Characters of the English and Dutch, and the General,
+Duke of Marlborough.]
+
+
+
+XXV. EPITAPH UPON COLONEL CHARTRES.
+
+    Swift was reported to have had a hand in this piece, and indeed for
+    some time it was ascribed to him. But there is now no doubt that it
+    was entirely the work of Arbuthnot.
+
+
+Here continueth to rot the body of Francis Chartres; who, with an
+inflexible constancy and inimitable uniformity of life, persisted, in
+spite of age and infirmities, in the practice of every human vice
+excepting prodigality and hypocrisy: his insatiable avarice exempted
+him from the first, his matchless impudence from the second.
+
+Nor was he more singular in the undeviating pravity of his manners,
+than successful in accumulating wealth.
+
+For, without trade or profession, without trust of public money, and
+without bribe-worthy service, he acquired, or more properly created, a
+ministerial estate.
+
+He was the only person of his time who could cheat without the mask of
+honesty, retain his primeval meanness when possessed of ten thousand a
+year; and, having daily deserved the gibbet for what he did, was at
+last condemned to it for what he could not do.
+
+O indignant reader, think not his life useless to mankind, providence
+connived at his execrable designs, to give to after-ages a conspicuous
+proof and example of how small estimation is exorbitant wealth in the
+sight of God, by his bestowing it on the most unworthy of all mortals.
+
+      _Joannes jacet hic Mirandula--caetera norunt
+      Et Tagus et Ganges forsan et Antipodes_.
+
+                Applied to F. C.
+
+      Here Francis Chartres lies--be civil!
+      The rest God knows--perhaps the devil.
+
+
+
+
+JONATHAN SWIFT.
+
+(1667-1745.)
+
+
+XXVI. MRS. FRANCES HARRIS' PETITION.
+
+    Written in the year 1701. The Lord Justices addressed were the
+    Earls of Berkeley and of Galway. The "Lady Betty" mentioned in the
+    piece was the Lady Betty Berkeley. "Lord Dromedary", the Earl of
+    Drogheda, and "The Chaplain", Swift himself. The author was at the
+    time smarting under a sense of disappointment over the failure of
+    his request to Lord Berkeley for preferment to the rich deanery of
+    Derry.
+
+
+TO THEIR EXCELLENCIES THE LORD JUSTICES OF IRELAND. THE HUMBLE PETITION
+OF FRANCES HARRIS, WHO MUST STARVE, AND DIE A MAID, IF IT MISCARRIES.
+HUMBLY SHOWETH,
+
+  That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's chamber, because I was cold,
+  And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence,
+          besides farthings, in money and gold:
+  So, because I had been buying things for my lady last night,
+  I was resolved to tell my money, and see if it was right.
+  Now you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock,
+  Therefore all the money I have, which God knows, is a very small stock,
+  I keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next my smock.
+  So, when I went to put up my purse, as luck would have it,
+          my smock was unript,
+  And instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipt:
+  Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady to bed;
+  And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my stupid head!
+  So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light:
+  But when I search'd and miss'd my purse, law! I thought I should have
+          sunk outright.
+  "Lawk, madam," says Mary, "how d'ye do?" "Indeed," says I, "never worse:
+  But pray, Mary, can you tell what I've done with my purse?"
+  "Lawk, help me!" said Mary; "I never stirred out of this place:"
+  "Nay," said I, "I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain case."
+  So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm:
+  However, she stole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm.
+  So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very well think,
+  But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink.
+  So I was a-dream'd, methought, that I went and search'd the folks round,
+  And in a corner of Mrs. Dukes's box, tied in a rag the money was found.
+  So next morning we told Whittle, and he fell a-swearing:
+  Then my dame Wadger came: and she, you know, is thick of hearing:
+  "Dame," said I, as loud as I could bawl, "do you know what a loss
+          I have had?"
+  "Nay," said she, "my Lord Colway's folks are all very sad;
+  For my Lord Dromedary comes a Tuesday without fail."
+  "Pugh!" said I, "but that's not the business that I ail."
+  Says Cary, says he, "I've been a servant this five-and-twenty years
+          come spring,
+  And in all the places I lived I never heard of such a thing."
+  "Yes," says the Steward, "I remember, when I was at my Lady Shrewsbury's,
+  Such a thing as this happen'd, just about the time of gooseberries."
+  So I went to the party suspected, and I found her full of grief,
+  (Now, you must know, of all things in the world I hate a thief,)
+  However, I was resolved to bring the discourse slily about:
+  "Mrs. Dukes," said I, "here's an ugly accident has happen'd out:
+  'Tis not that I value the money three skips of a mouse;
+  But the thing I stand upon is the credit of the house.
+  'Tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, makes a
+          great hole in my wages:
+  Besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in these ages.
+  Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and everybody understands,
+  That tho' 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go without hands."
+  "The devil take me," said she (blessing herself), "if ever I saw't!"
+  So she roar'd like a Bedlam, as tho' I had called her all to nought.
+  So you know, what could I say to her any more?
+  I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was before.
+  Well; but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man:
+  "No," said I, "'tis the same thing, the chaplain will be here anon."
+  So the chaplain came in. Now the servants say he is my sweetheart,
+  Because he's always in my chamber, and I always take his part.
+  So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware, out I blunder'd,
+  "Parson," said I, "can you cast a nativity when a body's plunder'd?"
+  (Now you must know, he hates to be called _parson_, like the devil.)
+  "Truly," says he, "Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil;
+  If your money be gone, as a learned divine says, d'ye see:
+  You are no text for my handling; so take that from me:
+  I was never taken for a conjuror before, I'd have you to know."
+  "Law!" said I, "don't be angry, I am sure I never thought you so;
+  You know I honour the cloth; I design to be a parson's wife,
+  I never took one in your coat for a conjuror in all my life."
+  With that, he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say,
+  "Now you may go hang yourself for me!" and so went away.
+  Well: I thought I should have swoon'd, "Law!" said I, "what shall I do?
+  I have lost my money, and shall lose my true love too!"
+  Then my Lord called me: "Harry," said my Lord, "don't cry,
+  I'll give you something towards your loss;" and, says my Lady,
+          "so will I."
+  "O, but," said I, "what if, after all, the chaplain won't come to?"
+  For that, he said, (an't please your Excellencies), I must petition you.
+  The premises tenderly consider'd, I desire your Excellencies' protection,
+  And that I may have a share in next Sunday's collection:
+  And, over and above, that I may have your Excellencies' letter,
+  With an order for the chaplain aforesaid, or, instead of him, a better:
+  And then your poor petitioner both night and day,
+  Or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound, shall ever pray.
+
+
+
+XXVII. ELEGY ON PARTRIDGE.
+
+    This was written to satirize the superstitious faith placed in the
+    predictions of the almanac-makers of the period. Partridge was the
+    name of one of them--a cobbler by profession. Fielding also
+    satirized the folly in _Tom Jones_. The elegy is upon "his
+    supposed death", which drew from Partridge an indignant denial.
+
+
+  Well; 'tis as Bickerstaff has guess'd,
+  Though we all took it for a jest:
+  Partridge is dead; nay more, he died
+  Ere he could prove the good 'squire lied.
+  Strange, an astrologer should die
+  Without one wonder in the sky!
+  Not one of his crony stars
+  To pay their duty at his hearse!
+  No meteor, no eclipse appear'd!
+  No comet with a flaming beard!
+  The sun has rose, and gone to bed,
+  Just as if Partridge were not dead;
+  Nor hid himself behind the moon
+  To make a dreadful night at noon.
+  He at fit periods walks through Aries,
+  Howe'er our earthly motion varies;
+  And twice a year he'll cut the equator,
+  As if there had been no such matter.
+    Some wits have wonder'd what analogy
+  There is 'twixt cobbling and astrology;
+  How Partridge made his optics rise
+  From a shoe-sole to reach the skies.
+    A list the cobbler's temples ties,
+  To keep the hair out of his eyes;
+  From whence 'tis plain, the diadem
+  That princes wear derives from them:
+  And therefore crowns are nowadays
+  Adorn'd with golden stars and rays:
+  Which plainly shows the near alliance
+  'Twixt cobbling and the planets science.
+    Besides, that slow-pac'd sign Bootes,
+  As 'tis miscall'd, we know not who 'tis:
+  But Partridge ended all disputes;
+  He knew his trade, and call'd it boots.
+    The horned moon, which heretofore
+  Upon their shoes the Romans wore,
+  Whose wideness kept their toes from corns,
+  And whence we claim our shoeing-horns,
+  Shows how the art of cobbling bears
+  A near resemblance to the spheres.
+    A scrap of parchment hung by geometry
+  (A great refinement in barometry)
+  Can, like the stars, foretell the weather;
+  And what is parchment else but leather?
+  Which an astrologer might use
+  Either for almanacs or shoes.
+    Thus Partridge by his wit and parts
+  At once did practise both these arts:
+  And as the boding owl (or rather
+  The bat, because her wings are leather)
+  Steals from her private cell by night,
+  And flies about the candle-light;
+  So learned Partridge could as well
+  Creep in the dark from leathern cell,
+  And in his fancy fly as far
+  To peep upon a twinkling star.
+    Besides, he could confound the spheres,
+  And set the planets by the ears;
+  To show his skill, he Mars could join
+  To Venus in aspect malign;
+  Then call in Mercury for aid,
+  And cure the wounds that Venus made.
+    Great scholars have in Lucian read,
+  When Philip king of Greece was dead,
+  His soul and spirit did divide,
+  And each part took a different side:
+  One rose a star; the other fell
+  Beneath, and mended shoes in hell.
+    Thus Partridge still shines in each art,
+  The cobbling and star-gazing part,
+  And is install'd as good a star
+  As any of the Caesars are.
+    Triumphant star! some pity show
+  On cobblers militant below,
+  Whom roguish boys in stormy nights
+  Torment by pissing out their lights,
+  Or thro' a chink convey their smoke
+  Inclos'd artificers to choke.
+    Thou, high exalted in thy sphere,
+  May'st follow still thy calling there.
+  To thee the Bull will lend his hide,
+  By Phoebus newly tann'd and dry'd:
+  For thee they Argo's hulk will tax,
+  And scrape her pitchy sides for wax;
+  Then Ariadne kindly lends
+  Her braided hair to make thee ends;
+  The point of Sagittarius' dart
+  Turns to an awl by heav'nly art;
+  And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife,
+  Will forge for thee a paring-knife.
+  For want of room by Virgo's side,
+  She'll strain a point, and sit astride,
+  To take thee kindly in between;
+  And then the signs will be thirteen.
+
+
+  THE EPITAPH.
+
+  Here, five foot deep, lies on his back
+  A cobbler, star-monger, and quack;
+  Who to the stars in pure good-will
+  Does to his best look upward still.
+  Weep, all you customers that use
+  His pills, his almanacs, or shoes:
+  And you that did your fortunes seek,
+  Step to his grave but once a week:
+  This earth, which bears his body's print,
+  You'll find has so much virtue in't,
+  That I durst pawn my ears 't will tell
+  Whate'er concerns you full as well,
+  In physic, stolen goods, or love,
+  As he himself could, when above.
+
+
+
+XXVIII. A MEDITATION UPON A BROOM-STICK.
+
+    The remainder of the title is "According to the Style and Manner of
+    the Honourable Robert Boyle's _Meditations_", and is intended as a
+    satire on the style of that philosopher's lucubrations.
+
+
+This single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that
+neglected corner, I once knew in a nourishing state in a forest: it was
+full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs: but now, in vain does
+the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying that withered
+bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk. 'Tis now at best but the reverse
+of what it was, a tree turned upside down, the branches on the earth,
+and the root in the air: 'tis now handled by every dirty wench,
+condemned to do her drudgery, and, by a capricious kind of fate,
+destined to make other things clean, and be nasty itself. At length,
+worn to the stumps in the service of the maids, 'tis either thrown out
+of doors, or condemned to the last use of kindling a fire. When I
+beheld this, I sighed and said within myself, surely mortal man is a
+broom-stick; nature sent him into the world strong and lusty, in a
+thriving condition, wearing his own hair on his head, the proper
+branches of this reasoning vegetable, till the axe of intemperance has
+lopped off his green boughs, and left him a withered trunk. He then
+flies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon an unnatural
+bundle of hairs, all covered with powder, that never grew on his head.
+But now should this our broomstick pretend to enter the scene, proud of
+those birchen spoils it never bore, and all covered with dust, though
+the sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, we should be apt to
+ridicule and despise its vanity. Partial judges that we are of our own
+excellencies, and other men's defaults!
+
+But a broom-stick, perhaps you will say, is an emblem of a tree
+standing on its head; and pray what is man, but a topsy-turvy creature,
+his animal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head
+where his heels should be, grovelling on the earth! And yet, with all
+his faults, he sets up to be an universal reformer and corrector of
+abuses, a remover of grievances, rakes into every sluts' corner of
+nature, bringing hidden corruptions to the light, and raises a mighty
+dust where there was none before, sharing deeply all the while in the
+very same pollutions he pretends to sweep away. His last days are spent
+in slavery to women, and generally the least deserving; till, worn to
+the stumps, like his brother bezom, he is either kicked out of doors,
+or made use of to kindle flames, for others to warm themselves by.
+
+
+
+XXIX. THE RELATIONS OF BOOKSELLERS AND AUTHORS.
+
+    This piece constitutes Section X. of _The Tale of a Tub_.
+
+
+It is an unanswerable argument of a very refined age the wonderful
+civilities that have passed of late years between the nation of authors
+and that of readers. There can hardly pop out a play, a pamphlet, or a
+poem, without a preface full of acknowledgments to the world for the
+general reception and applause they have given it, which the Lord knows
+where, or when, or how, or from whom it received. In due deference to
+so laudable a custom, I do here return my humble thanks to His Majesty
+and both Houses of Parliament, to the Lords of the King's most
+honourable Privy Council, to the reverend the Judges, to the Clergy,
+and Gentry, and Yeomanry of this land: but in a more especial manner to
+my worthy brethren and friends at Will's Coffee-house, and Gresham
+College, and Warwick Lane, and Moorfields, and Scotland Yard, and
+Westminster Hall, and Guildhall; in short, to all inhabitants and
+retainers whatsoever, either in court, or church, or camp, or city, or
+country, for their generosity and universal acceptance of this divine
+treatise. I accept their approbation and good opinion with extreme
+gratitude, and to the utmost of my poor capacity shall take hold of all
+opportunities to return the obligation.
+
+I am also happy that fate has flung me into so blessed an age for the
+mutual felicity of booksellers and authors, whom I may safely affirm to
+be at this day the two only satisfied parties in England. Ask an author
+how his last piece has succeeded, "Why, truly he thanks his stars the
+world has been very favourable, and he has not the least reason to
+complain". And yet he wrote it in a week at bits and starts, when he
+could steal an hour from his urgent affairs, as it is a hundred to one
+you may see further in the preface, to which he refers you, and for the
+rest to the bookseller. There you go as a customer, and make the same
+question, "He blesses his God the thing takes wonderful; he is just
+printing a second edition, and has but three left in his shop". You
+beat down the price; "Sir, we shall not differ", and in hopes of your
+custom another time, lets you have it as reasonable as you please; "And
+pray send as many of your acquaintance as you will; I shall upon your
+account furnish them all at the same rate".
+
+Now it is not well enough considered to what accidents and occasions
+the world is indebted for the greatest part of those noble writings
+which hourly start up to entertain it. If it were not for a rainy day,
+a drunken vigil, a fit of the spleen, a course of physic, a sleepy
+Sunday, an ill run at dice, a long tailor's bill, a beggar's purse, a
+factious head, a hot sun, costive diet, want of books, and a just
+contempt of learning,--but for these events, I say, and some others too
+long to recite (especially a prudent neglect of taking brimstone
+inwardly), I doubt the number of authors and of writings would dwindle
+away to a degree most woeful to behold. To confirm this opinion, hear
+the words of the famous troglodyte philosopher. "It is certain," said
+he, "some grains of folly are of course annexed as part in the
+composition of human nature; only the choice is left us whether we
+please to wear them inlaid or embossed, and we need not go very far to
+seek how that is usually determined, when we remember it is with human
+faculties as with liquors, the lightest will be ever at the top."
+
+There is in this famous island of Britain a certain paltry scribbler,
+very voluminous, whose character the reader cannot wholly be a stranger
+to. He deals in a pernicious kind of writings called "Second Parts",
+and usually passes under the name of "The Author of the First". I
+easily foresee that as soon as I lay down my pen this nimble operator
+will have stole it, and treat me as inhumanly as he has already done
+Dr. Blackmore, Lestrange, and many others who shall here be nameless. I
+therefore fly for justice and relief into the hands of that great
+rectifier of saddles and lover of mankind, Dr. Bentley, begging he will
+take this enormous grievance into his most modern consideration; and if
+it should so happen that the furniture of an ass in the shape of a
+second part must for my sins be clapped, by mistake, upon my back, that
+he will immediately please, in the presence of the world, to lighten me
+of the burden, and take it home to his own house till the true beast
+thinks fit to call for it.
+
+In the meantime, I do here give this public notice that my resolutions
+are to circumscribe within this discourse the whole stock of matter I
+have been so many years providing. Since my vein is once opened, I am
+content to exhaust it all at a running, for the peculiar advantage of
+my dear country, and for the universal benefit of mankind. Therefore,
+hospitably considering the number of my guests, they shall have my
+whole entertainment at a meal, and I scorn to set up the leavings in
+the cupboard. What the guests cannot eat may be given to the poor, and
+the dogs under the table may gnaw the bones.[180] This I understand for
+a more generous proceeding than to turn the company's stomachs by
+inviting them again to-morrow to a scurvy meal of scraps.
+
+If the reader fairly considers the strength of what I have advanced in
+the foregoing section, I am convinced it will produce a wonderful
+revolution in his notions and opinions, and he will be abundantly
+better prepared to receive and to relish the concluding part of this
+miraculous treatise. Readers may be divided into three classes, the
+superficial, the ignorant, and the learned, and I have with much
+felicity fitted my pen to the genius and advantage of each. The
+superficial reader will be strangely provoked to laughter, which clears
+the breast and the lungs, is sovereign against the spleen, and the most
+innocent of all diuretics. The ignorant reader (between whom and the
+former the distinction is extremely nice) will find himself disposed to
+stare, which is an admirable remedy for ill eyes, serves to raise and
+enliven the spirits, and wonderfully helps perspiration. But the reader
+truly learned, chiefly for whose benefit I wake when others sleep, and
+sleep when others wake, will here find sufficient matter to employ his
+speculations for the rest of his life. It were much to be wished, and I
+do here humbly propose for an experiment, that every prince in
+Christendom will take seven of the deepest scholars in his dominions
+and shut them up close for seven years in seven chambers, with a
+command to write seven ample commentaries on this comprehensive
+discourse. I shall venture to affirm that, whatever difference may be
+found in their several conjectures, they will be all, without the
+least distortion, manifestly deducible from the text. Meantime it is my
+earnest request that so useful an undertaking may be entered upon (if
+their Majesties please) with all convenient speed, because I have a
+strong inclination before I leave the world to taste a blessing which
+we mysterious writers can seldom reach till we have got into our
+graves, whether it is that fame being a fruit grafted on the body, can
+hardly grow and much less ripen till the stock is in the earth, or
+whether she be a bird of prey, and is lured among the rest to pursue
+after the scent of a carcass, or whether she conceives her trumpet
+sounds best and farthest when she stands on a tomb, by the advantage of
+a rising ground and the echo of a hollow vault.
+
+It is true, indeed, the republic of dark authors, after they once found
+out this excellent expedient of dying, have been peculiarly happy in
+the variety as well as extent of their reputation. For night being the
+universal mother of things, wise philosophers hold all writings to be
+fruitful in the proportion they are dark, and therefore the true
+illuminated (that is to say, the darkest of all) have met with such
+numberless commentators, whose scholiastic midwifery hath delivered
+them of meanings that the authors themselves perhaps never conceived,
+and yet may very justly be allowed the lawful parents of them, the
+words of such writers being like seed, which, however scattered at
+random, when they light upon a fruitful ground, will multiply far
+beyond either the hopes or imagination of the sower.
+
+And therefore, in order to promote so useful a work, I will here take
+leave to glance a few innuendos that may be of great assistance to
+those sublime spirits who shall be appointed to labour in a universal
+comment upon this wonderful discourse. And first, I have couched a very
+profound mystery in the number of o's multiplied by seven and divided
+by nine. Also, if a devout brother of the Rosy Cross will pray
+fervently for sixty-three mornings with a lively faith, and then
+transpose certain letters and syllables according to prescription, in
+the second and fifth section they will certainly reveal into a full
+receipt of the _opus magnum_. Lastly, whoever will be at the pains to
+calculate the whole number of each letter in this treatise, and sum up
+the difference exactly between the several numbers, assigning the true
+natural cause for every such difference, the discoveries in the product
+will plentifully reward his labour. But then he must beware of Bythus
+and Sige, and be sure not to forget the qualities of Acamoth; _a cujus
+lacrymis humecta prodit substantia, a risu lucida, a tristitia solida,
+et a timore mobilis_, wherein Eugenius Philalethes[181] hath committed
+an unpardonable mistake.
+
+[Footnote 180: The bad critics.]
+
+[Footnote 181: A name under which Thomas Vaughan wrote.]
+
+
+
+XXX. THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE POSTERITY.
+
+    The following is the famous dedication of _The Tale of a Tub_. The
+    description of "the tyranny of Time" was regarded by Goethe as one
+    of the finest passages in Swift's works.
+
+
+SIR,
+
+I here present your Highness with the fruits of a very few leisure
+hours, stolen from the short intervals of a world of business, and of
+an employment quite alien from such amusements as this; the poor
+production of that refuse of time which has lain heavy upon my hands
+during a long prorogation of Parliament, a great dearth of foreign
+news, and a tedious fit of rainy weather. For which, and other reasons,
+it cannot choose extremely to deserve such a patronage as that of your
+Highness, whose numberless virtues in so few years, make the world look
+upon you as the future example to all princes. For although your
+Highness is hardly got clear of infancy, yet has the universal learned
+world already resolved upon appealing to your future dictates with the
+lowest and most resigned submission, fate having decreed you sole
+arbiter of the productions of human wit in this polite and most
+accomplished age. Methinks the number of appellants were enough to
+shock and startle any judge of a genius less unlimited than yours; but
+in order to prevent such glorious trials, the person, it seems, to
+whose care the education of your Highness is committed, has resolved,
+as I am told, to keep you in almost an universal ignorance of our
+studies, which it is your inherent birthright to inspect.
+
+It is amazing to me that this person should have assurance, in the face
+of the sun, to go about persuading your Highness that our age is almost
+wholly illiterate and has hardly produced one writer upon any subject.
+I know very well that when your Highness shall come to riper years, and
+have gone through the learning of antiquity, you will be too curious to
+neglect inquiring into the authors of the very age before you; and to
+think that this insolent, in the account he is preparing for your view,
+designs to reduce them to a number so insignificant as I am ashamed to
+mention; it moves my zeal and my spleen for the honour and interest of
+our vast flourishing body, as well as of myself, for whom I know by
+long experience he has professed, and still continues, a peculiar
+malice.
+
+It is not unlikely that, when your Highness will one day peruse what I
+am now writing, you may be ready to expostulate with your governor upon
+the credit of what I here affirm, and command him to show you some of
+our productions. To which he will answer--for I am well informed of
+his designs--by asking your Highness where they are, and what is become
+of them? and pretend it a demonstration that there never were any,
+because they are not then to be found. Not to be found! Who has mislaid
+them? Are they sunk in the abyss of things? It is certain that in their
+own nature they were light enough to swim upon the surface for all
+eternity; therefore, the fault is in him who tied weights so heavy to
+their heels as to depress them to the centre. Is their very essence
+destroyed? Who has annihilated them? Were they drowned by purges or
+martyred by pipes? Who administered them to the posteriors of ----. But
+that it may no longer be a doubt with your Highness who is to be the
+author of this universal ruin, I beseech you to observe that large and
+terrible scythe which your governor affects to bear continually about
+him. Be pleased to remark the length and strength, the sharpness and
+hardness, of his nails and teeth; consider his baneful, abominable
+breath, enemy to life and matter, infectious and corrupting, and then
+reflect whether it be possible for any mortal ink and paper of this
+generation to make a suitable resistance. Oh, that your Highness would
+one day resolve to disarm this usurping _maitre de palais_ of his
+furious engines, and bring your empire _hors du page_!
+
+It were endless to recount the several methods of tyranny and
+destruction which your governor is pleased to practise upon this
+occasion. His inveterate malice is such to the writings of our age,
+that, of several thousands produced yearly from this renowned city,
+before the next revolution of the sun there is not one to be heard of.
+Unhappy infants! many of them barbarously destroyed before they have so
+much as learnt their mother-tongue to beg for pity. Some he stifles in
+their cradles, others he frights into convulsions, whereof they
+suddenly die, some he flays alive, others he tears limb from limb,
+great numbers are offered to Moloch, and the rest, tainted by his
+breath, die of a languishing consumption.
+
+But the concern I have most at heart is for our Corporation of Poets,
+from whom I am preparing a petition to your Highness, to be subscribed
+with the names of one hundred and thirty-six of the first race, but
+whose immortal productions are never likely to reach your eyes, though
+each of them is now an humble and an earnest appellant for the laurel,
+and has large comely volumes ready to show for a support to his
+pretensions. The never-dying works of these illustrious persons your
+governor, sir, has devoted to unavoidable death, and your Highness is
+to be made believe that our age has never arrived at the honour to
+produce one single poet.
+
+We confess immortality to be a great and powerful goddess, but in vain
+we offer up to her our devotions and our sacrifices if your Highness's
+governor, who has usurped the priesthood, must, by an unparalled
+ambition and avarice, wholly intercept and devour them.
+
+To affirm that our age is altogether unlearned and devoid of writers in
+any kind, seems to be an assertion so bold and so false, that I have
+been sometimes thinking the contrary may almost be proved by
+uncontrollable demonstration. It is true, indeed, that although their
+numbers be vast and their productions numerous in proportion, yet are
+they hurried so hastily off the scene that they escape our memory and
+delude our sight. When I first thought of this address, I had prepared
+a copious list of titles to present your Highness as an undisputed
+argument for what I affirm. The originals were posted fresh upon all
+gates and corners of streets; but returning in a very few hours to take
+a review, they were all torn down and fresh ones in their places. I
+inquired after them among readers and booksellers, but I inquired in
+vain; the memorial of them was lost among men, their place was no more
+to be found; and I was laughed to scorn for a clown and a pedant,
+devoid of all taste and refinement, little versed in the course of
+present affairs, and that knew nothing of what had passed in the best
+companies of court and town. So that I can only avow in general to your
+Highness that we do abound in learning and wit, but to fix upon
+particulars is a task too slippery for my slender abilities. If I
+should venture, in a windy day, to affirm to your Highness that there
+is a large cloud near the horizon in the form of a bear, another in the
+zenith with the head of an ass, a third to the westward with claws like
+a dragon; and your Highness should in a few minutes think fit to
+examine the truth, it is certain they would be all changed in figure
+and position, new ones would arise, and all we could agree upon would
+be, that clouds there were, but that I was grossly mistaken in the
+zoography and topography of them.
+
+But your governor, perhaps, may still insist, and put the question,
+What is then become of those immense bales of paper which must needs
+have been employed in such numbers of books? Can these also be wholly
+annihilated, and so of a sudden, as I pretend? What shall I say in
+return of so invidious an objection? It ill befits the distance between
+your Highness and me to send you for ocular conviction to a jakes or an
+oven, to the windows of a bawdyhouse, or to a sordid lantern. Books,
+like men their authors, have no more than one way of coming into the
+world, but there are ten thousand to go out of it and return no more.
+
+I profess to your Highness, in the integrity of my heart, that what I
+am going to say is literally true this minute I am writing; what
+revolutions may happen before it shall be ready for your perusal I can
+by no means warrant; however, I beg you to accept it as a specimen of
+our learning, our politeness, and our wit. I do therefore affirm, upon
+the word of a sincere man, that there is now actually in being a
+certain poet called John Dryden, whose translation of Virgil was lately
+printed in large folio, well bound, and if diligent search were made,
+for aught I know, is yet to be seen. There is another called Nahum
+Tate, who is ready to make oath that he has caused many reams of verse
+to be published, whereof both himself and his bookseller, if lawfully
+required, can still produce authentic copies, and therefore wonders why
+the world is pleased to make such a secret of it. There is a third,
+known by the name of Tom Durfey, a poet of a vast comprehension, an
+universal genius, and most profound learning. There are also one Mr.
+Rymer and one Mr. Dennis, most profound critics. There is a person
+styled Dr. Bentley, who has wrote near a thousand pages of immense
+erudition, giving a full and true account of a certain squabble of
+wonderful importance between himself and a bookseller; he is a writer
+of infinite wit and humour, no man rallies with a better grace and in
+more sprightly turns. Further, I avow to your Highness that with these
+eyes I have beheld the person of William Wotton, B.D., who has written
+a good-sized volume against a friend of your governor, from whom, alas!
+he must therefore look for little favour, in a most gentlemanly style,
+adorned with utmost politeness and civility, replete with discoveries
+equally valuable for their novelty and use, and embellished with traits
+of wit so poignant and so apposite, that he is a worthy yoke-mate to
+his fore-mentioned friend.
+
+Why should I go upon farther particulars, which might fill a volume
+with the just eulogies of my contemporary brethren? I shall bequeath
+this piece of justice to a larger work, wherein I intend to write a
+character of the present set of wits in our nation; their persons I
+shall describe particularly and at length, their genius and
+understandings in miniature.
+
+In the meantime, I do here make bold to present your Highness with a
+faithful abstract drawn from the universal body of all arts and
+sciences, intended wholly for your service and instruction. Nor do I
+doubt in the least, but your Highness will peruse it as carefully and
+make as considerable improvements as other young princes have already
+done by the many volumes of late years written for a help to their
+studies.
+
+That your Highness may advance in wisdom and virtue, as well as years,
+and at last outshine all your royal ancestors, shall be the daily
+prayer of,
+
+Sir,
+Your Highness's most devoted, &c.
+_Decem_. 1697.
+
+
+
+
+SIR RICHARD STEELE.
+
+(1672-1729.)
+
+
+XXXI. THE COMMONWEALTH OF LUNATICS.
+
+    This paper forms No. 125 of _The Tatler_, January 26th, 1709.
+
+
+From my own apartment, _January_ 25.
+
+There is a sect of ancient philosophers, who, I think, have left more
+volumes behind them, and those better written, than any other of the
+fraternities in philosophy. It was a maxim of this sect, that all those
+who do not live up to the principles of reason and virtue are madmen.
+Everyone who governs himself by these rules is allowed the title of
+wise, and reputed to be in his senses: and everyone, in proportion as
+he deviates from them, is pronounced frantic and distracted. Cicero,
+having chosen this maxim for his theme, takes occasion to argue from
+it very agreeably with Clodius, his implacable adversary, who had
+procured his banishment. A city, says he, is an assembly distinguished
+into bodies of men, who are in possession of their respective rights
+and privileges, cast under proper subordinations, and in all its parts
+obedient to the rules of law and equity. He then represents the
+government from whence he was banished, at a time when the consul,
+senate, and laws had lost their authority, as a commonwealth of
+lunatics. For this reason he regards his expulsion from Rome as a man
+would being turned out of Bedlam, if the inhabitants of it should drive
+him out of their walls as a person unfit for their community. We are
+therefore to look upon every man's brain to be touched, however he may
+appear in the general conduct of his life, if he has an unjustifiable
+singularity in any part of his conversation or behaviour; or if he
+swerves from right reason, however common his kind of madness may be,
+we shall not excuse him for its being epidemical; it being our present
+design to clap up all such as have the marks of madness upon them, who
+are now permitted to go about the streets for no other reason but
+because they do no mischief in their fits. Abundance of imaginary great
+men are put in straw to bring them to a right sense of themselves. And
+is it not altogether as reasonable, that an insignificant man, who has
+an immoderate opinion of his merits, and a quite different notion of
+his own abilities from what the rest of the world entertain, should
+have the same care taken of him as a beggar who fancies himself a duke
+or a prince? Or why should a man who starves in the midst of plenty be
+trusted with himself more than he who fancies he is an emperor in the
+midst of poverty? I have several women of quality in my thoughts who
+set so exorbitant a value upon themselves that I have often most
+heartily pitied them, and wished them for their recovery under the same
+discipline with the pewterer's wife. I find by several hints in ancient
+authors that when the Romans were in the height of power and luxury
+they assigned out of their vast dominions an island called Anticyra as
+an habitation for madmen. This was the Bedlam of the Roman empire,
+whither all persons who had lost their wits used to resort from all
+parts of the world in quest of them. Several of the Roman emperors were
+advised to repair to this island: but most of them, instead of
+listening to such sober counsels, gave way to their distraction, until
+the people knocked them on the head as despairing of their cure. In
+short, it was as usual for men of distempered brains to take a voyage
+to Anticyra in those days as it is in ours for persons who have a
+disorder in their lungs to go to Montpellier.
+
+The prodigious crops of hellebore with which this whole island abounded
+did not only furnish them with incomparable tea, snuff, and Hungary
+water, but impregnated the air of the country with such sober and
+salutiferous steams as very much comforted the heads and refreshed the
+senses of all that breathed in it. A discarded statesman that, at his
+first landing, appeared stark, staring mad, would become calm in a
+week's time, and upon his return home live easy and satisfied in his
+retirement. A moping lover would grow a pleasant fellow by that time he
+had rid thrice about the island: and a hair-brained rake, after a short
+stay in the country, go home again a composed, grave, worthy gentleman.
+
+I have premised these particulars before I enter on the main design of
+this paper, because I would not be thought altogether notional in what
+I have to say, and pass only for a projector in morality. I could quote
+Horace and Seneca and some other ancient writers of good repute upon
+the same occasion, and make out by their testimony that our streets are
+filled with distracted persons; that our shops and taverns, private and
+public houses, swarm with them; and that it is very hard to make up a
+tolerable assembly without a majority of them. But what I have already
+said is, I hope, sufficient to justify the ensuing project, which I
+shall therefore give some account of without any further preface.
+
+1. It is humbly proposed, That a proper receptacle or habitation be
+forthwith erected for all such persons as, upon due trial and
+examination, shall appear to be out of their wits.
+
+2. That, to serve the present exigency, the college in Moorfields be
+very much extended at both ends; and that it be converted into a
+square, by adding three other sides to it.
+
+3. That nobody be admitted into these three additional sides but such
+whose frenzy can lay no claim to any apartment in that row of building
+which is already erected.
+
+4. That the architect, physician, apothecary, surgeon, keepers, nurses,
+and porters be all and each of them cracked, provided that their frenzy
+does not lie in the profession or employment to which they shall
+severally and respectively be assigned.
+
+_N.B._ It is thought fit to give the foregoing notice, that none may
+present himself here for any post of honour or profit who is not duly
+qualified.
+
+5. That over all the gates of the additional buildings there be figures
+placed in the same manner as over the entrance of the edifice already
+erected, provided they represent such distractions only as are proper
+for those additional buildings; as of an envious man gnawing his own
+flesh; a gamester pulling himself by the ears and knocking his head
+against a marble pillar; a covetous man warming himself over a heap of
+gold; a coward flying from his own shadow, and the like.
+
+Having laid down this general scheme of my design, I do hereby invite
+all persons who are willing to encourage so public-spirited a project
+to bring in their contributions as soon as possible; and to apprehend
+forthwith any politician whom they shall catch raving in a
+coffee-house, or any free-thinker whom they shall find publishing his
+deliriums, or any other person who shall give the like manifest signs
+of a crazed imagination. And I do at the same time give this public
+notice to all the madmen about this great city, that they may return to
+their senses with all imaginable expedition, lest, if they should come
+into my hands, I should put them into a regimen which they would not
+like; for if I find any one of them persist in his frantic behaviour I
+will make him in a month's time as famous as ever Oliver's porter was.
+
+
+
+
+JOSEPH ADDISON.
+
+(1672-1719.)
+
+
+XXXII. SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY'S SUNDAY.
+
+    This piece represents the complete paper, No. 112 of _The
+    Spectator_, July 9th, 1711.
+
+
+I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, if
+keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it would be
+the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and
+civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country people would soon
+degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such
+frequent returns of a stated time in which the whole village meet
+together with their best faces and in their cleanliest habits to
+converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties
+explained to them, and join together in adoration of the supreme Being.
+Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes
+in their minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes
+upon appearing in their most agreeable forms and exerting all such
+qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A
+country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard as a
+citizen does upon the Change, the whole parish politics being generally
+discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings.
+
+My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beautified the inside
+of his church with several texts of his own choosing; he has likewise
+given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion table at his
+own expense. He has often told me that at his coming to his estate he
+found his parishioners very irregular; and that in order to make them
+kneel and join in the responses he gave every one of them a hassock and
+a common-prayer book: and at the same time employed an itinerant
+singing-master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to
+instruct them rightly in the tunes of the psalms, upon which they now
+very much value themselves, and indeed out-do most of the country
+churches that I have ever heard.
+
+As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in
+very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides himself;
+for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon
+recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees
+anybody else nodding either wakes them himself or sends his servants to
+them. Several other of the old knight's particularities break out upon
+these occasions: sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the
+singing-psalms half a minute after the rest of the congregation have
+done with it: sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his
+devotion, he pronounces Amen three or four times to the same prayer;
+and sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to
+count the congregation or see if any of his tenants are missing.
+
+I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst
+of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was
+about and not disturb the congregation. This John Matthews it seems is
+remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his
+heels for his diversion. This authority of the knight, though exerted
+in that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances of life,
+has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to
+see anything ridiculous in his behaviour; besides that the general good
+sense and worthiness of his character makes his friends observe these
+little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good
+qualities.
+
+As soon as the sermon is finished nobody presumes to stir till Sir
+Roger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down from his seat in
+the chancel between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing to
+him on each side; and every now and then inquires how such an one's
+wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church,
+which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent.
+
+The chaplain has often told me that upon a catechizing day, when Sir
+Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a
+Bible to be given him next day for his encouragement; and sometimes
+accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has
+likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place; and that he may
+encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the church
+service, has promised upon the death of the present incumbent, who is
+very old, to bestow it according to merit.
+
+The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his chaplain, and their
+mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable because the
+very next village is famous for the differences and contentions that
+rise between the parson and the squire, who live in a perpetual state
+of war. The parson is always preaching at the squire, and the squire to
+be revenged on the parson never comes to church. The squire has made
+all his tenants atheists and tithe-stealers; while the parson instructs
+them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and insinuates to them
+in almost every sermon that he is a better man than his patron. In
+short, matters are come to such an extremity that the squire has not
+said his prayers either in public or private this half year; and that
+the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for
+him in the face of the whole congregation.
+
+Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are very
+fatal to the ordinary people, who are so used to be dazzled with riches
+that they pay as much deference to the understanding of a man of an
+estate as of a man of learning, and are very hardly brought to regard
+any truth, how important soever it may be, that is preached to them
+when they know there are several men of five hundred a year who do not
+believe it.
+
+
+
+
+EDWARD YOUNG.
+
+(1681-1765.)
+
+
+XXXIII. TO THE RIGHT HON. MR. DODINGTON.
+
+    This is justly regarded as one of the finest satires in the English
+    language. It is taken from Dr. Young's _Series of Satires_
+    published in collected form in 1750. Dodington was the famous "Bubb
+    Dodington", satirized as Bubo by Pope in the "Prologue to the
+    Satires".
+
+
+  Long, Dodington, in debt, I long have sought
+  To ease the burden of my graceful thought:
+  And now a poet's gratitude you see:
+  Grant him two favours, and he'll ask for three:
+  For whose the present glory, or the gain?
+  You give protection, I a worthless strain.
+  You love and feel the poet's sacred flame,
+  And know the basis of a solid fame;
+  Though prone to like, yet cautious to commend,
+  You read with all the malice of a friend;
+  Nor favour my attempts that way alone,
+  But, more to raise my verse, conceal your own.
+    An ill-tim'd modesty! turn ages o'er,
+  When wanted Britain bright examples more?
+  Her learning, and her genius too, decays;
+  And dark and cold are her declining days;
+  As if men now were of another cast,
+  They meanly live on alms of ages past,
+  Men still are men; and they who boldly dare,
+  Shall triumph o'er the sons of cold despair;
+  Or, if they fail, they justly still take place
+  Of such who run in debt for their disgrace;
+  Who borrow much, then fairly make it known,
+  And damn it with improvements of their own.
+  We bring some new materials, and what's old
+  New cast with care, and in no borrow'd mould;
+  Late times the verse may read, if these refuse;
+  And from sour critics vindicate the Muse.
+  "Your work is long", the critics cry. 'Tis true,
+  And lengthens still, to take in fools like you:
+  Shorten my labour, if its length you blame:
+  For, grow but wise, you rob me of my game;
+  As haunted hags, who, while the dogs pursue,
+  Renounce their four legs, and start up on two.
+
+    Like the bold bird upon the banks of Nile
+  That picks the teeth of the dire crocodile,
+  Will I enjoy (dread feast!) the critic's rage,
+  And with the fell destroyer feed my page.
+  For what ambitious fools are more to blame,
+  Than those who thunder in the critic's name?
+  Good authors damn'd, have their revenge in this,
+  To see what wretches gain the praise they miss.
+
+    Balbutius, muffled in his sable cloak,
+  Like an old Druid from his hollow oak,
+  As ravens solemn, and as boding, cries,
+  "Ten thousand worlds for the three unities!"
+  Ye doctors sage, who through Parnassus teach,
+  Or quit the tub, or practise what you preach.
+
+    One judges as the weather dictates; right
+  The poem is at noon, and wrong at night:
+  Another judges by a surer gage,
+  An author's principles, or parentage;
+  Since his great ancestors in Flanders fell,
+  The poem doubtless must be written well.
+  Another judges by the writer's look;
+  Another judges, for he bought the book:
+  Some judge, their knack of judging wrong to keep;
+  Some judge, because it is too soon to sleep.
+  Thus all will judge, and with one single aim,
+  To gain themselves, not give the writer, fame.
+  The very best ambitiously advise,
+  Half to serve you, and half to pass for wise.
+
+    Critics on verse, as squibs on triumphs wait,
+  Proclaim the glory, and augment the state;
+  Hot, envious, noisy, proud, the scribbling fry
+  Burn, hiss, and bounce, waste paper, stink, and die.
+  Rail on, my friends! what more my verse can crown
+  Than Compton's smile, and your obliging frown?
+
+    Not all on books their criticism waste:
+  The genius of a dish some justly taste,
+  And eat their way to fame; with anxious thought
+  The salmon is refus'd, the turbot bought.
+  Impatient art rebukes the sun's delay
+  And bids December yield the fruits of May;
+  Their various cares in one great point combine
+  The business of their lives, that is--to dine.
+  Half of their precious day they give the feast;
+  And to a kind digestion spare the rest.
+  Apicius, here, the taster of the town,
+  Feeds twice a week, to settle their renown.
+
+    These worthies of the palate guard with care
+  The sacred annals of their bills of fare;
+  In those choice books their panegyrics read,
+  And scorn the creatures that for hunger feed.
+  If man by feeding well commences great,
+  Much more the worm to whom that man is meat.
+
+    To glory some advance a lying claim,
+  Thieves of renown, and pilferers of fame:
+  Their front supplies what their ambition lacks;
+  They know a thousand lords, behind their backs.
+  Cottil is apt to wink upon a peer,
+  When turn'd away, with a familiar leer;
+  And Harvey's eyes, unmercifully keen,
+  Have murdered fops, by whom she ne'er was seen.
+  Niger adopts stray libels; wisely prone,
+  To cover shame still greater than his own.
+  Bathyllus, in the winter of threescore,
+  Belies his innocence, and keeps a ----.
+  Absence of mind Brabantio turns to fame,
+  Learns to mistake, nor knows his brother's name;
+  Has words and thoughts in nice disorder set,
+  And takes a memorandum to forget.
+  Thus vain, not knowing what adorns or blots
+  Men forge the patents that create them sots.
+
+    As love of pleasure into pain betrays,
+  So most grow infamous through love of praise.
+  But whence for praise can such an ardour rise,
+  When those, who bring that incense, we despise?
+  For such the vanity of great and small,
+  Contempt goes round, and all men laugh at all.
+  Nor can even satire blame them; for 'tis true,
+  They have most ample cause for what they do
+  O fruitful Britain! doubtless thou wast meant
+  A nurse of fools, to stock the continent.
+  Though Phoebus and the Nine for ever mow,
+  Rank folly underneath the scythe will grow
+  The plenteous harvest calls me forward still,
+  Till I surpass in length my lawyer's bill;
+  A Welsh descent, which well-paid heralds damn;
+  Or, longer still, a Dutchman's epigram.
+  When, cloy'd, in fury I throw down my pen,
+  In comes a coxcomb, and I write again.
+
+    See Tityrus, with merriment possest,
+  Is burst with laughter, ere he hears the jest:
+  What need he stay? for when the jest is o'er,
+  His teeth will be no whiter than before.
+  Is there of thee, ye fair! so great a dearth,
+  That you need purchase monkeys for your mirth!
+
+    Some, vain of paintings, bid the world admire;
+  Of houses some; nay, houses that they hire:
+  Some (perfect wisdom!) of a beauteous wife;
+  And boast, like Cordeliers, a scourge for life.
+
+    Sometimes, through pride, the sexes change their airs;
+  My lord has vapours, and my lady swears;
+  Then, stranger still! on turning of the wind,
+  My lord wears breeches, and my lady's kind.
+
+    To show the strength, and infamy of pride,
+  By all 'tis follow'd, and by all denied.
+  What numbers are there, which at once pursue,
+  Praise, and the glory to contemn it, too?
+  Vincenna knows self-praise betrays to shame,
+  And therefore lays a stratagem for fame;
+  Makes his approach in modesty's disguise,
+  To win applause; and takes it by surprise.
+  "To err," says he, "in small things, is my fate."
+  You know your answer, "he's exact in great".
+  "My style", says he, "is rude and full of faults."
+  "But oh! what sense! what energy of thoughts!"
+  That he wants algebra, he must confess;
+  "But not a soul to give our arms success".
+  "Ah! that's an hit indeed," Vincenna cries;
+  "But who in heat of blood was ever wise?
+  I own 'twas wrong, when thousands called me back
+  To make that hopeless, ill-advised attack;
+  All say, 'twas madness; nor dare I deny;
+  Sure never fool so well deserved to die."
+  Could this deceive in others to be free,
+  It ne'er, Vincenna, could deceive in thee!
+  Whose conduct is a comment to thy tongue,
+  So clear, the dullest cannot take thee wrong.
+  Thou on one sleeve wilt thy revenues wear;
+  And haunt the court, without a prospect there.
+  Are these expedients for renown? Confess
+  Thy little self, that I may scorn thee less.
+
+    Be wise, Vincenna, and the court forsake;
+  Our fortunes there, nor thou, nor I, shall make.
+  Even men of merit, ere their point they gain,
+  In hardy service make a long campaign;
+  Most manfully besiege the patron's gate,
+  And oft repulsed, as oft attack the great
+  With painful art, and application warm.
+  And take, at last, some little place by storm;
+  Enough to keep two shoes on Sunday clean,
+  And starve upon discreetly, in Sheer-Lane.
+  Already this thy fortune can afford;
+  Then starve without the favour of my lord.
+  'Tis true, great fortunes some great men confer,
+  But often, even in doing right, they err:
+  From caprice, not from choice, their favours come:
+  They give, but think it toil to know to whom:
+  The man that's nearest, yawning, they advance:
+  'Tis inhumanity to bless by chance.
+  If merit sues, and greatness is so loth
+  To break its downy trance, I pity both.
+
+    Behold the masquerade's fantastic scene!
+  The Legislature join'd with Drury-Lane!
+  When Britain calls, th' embroider'd patriots run,
+  And serve their country--if the dance is done.
+  "Are we not then allow'd to be polite?"
+  Yes, doubtless; but first set your notions right.
+  Worth, of politeness is the needful ground;
+  Where that is wanting, this can ne'er be found.
+  Triflers not even in trifles can excel;
+  'Tis solid bodies only polish well.
+
+    Great, chosen prophet! for these latter days,
+  To turn a willing world from righteous ways!
+  Well, Heydegger, dost thou thy master serve;
+  Well has he seen his servant should not starve,
+  Thou to his name hast splendid temples raised
+  In various forms of worship seen him prais'd,
+  Gaudy devotion, like a Roman, shown,
+  And sung sweet anthems in a tongue unknown.
+  Inferior offerings to thy god of vice
+  Are duly paid, in fiddles, cards, and dice;
+  Thy sacrifice supreme, an hundred maids!
+  That solemn rite of midnight masquerades!
+
+    Though bold these truths, thou, Muse, with truths like these,
+  Wilt none offend, whom 'tis a praise to please;
+  Let others flatter to be flatter'd, thou
+  Like just tribunals, bend an awful brow.
+  How terrible it were to common-sense,
+  To write a satire, which gave none offence!
+  And, since from life I take the draughts you see.
+  If men dislike them, do they censure me?
+  The fool, and knave, 'tis glorious to offend,
+  And Godlike an attempt the world to mend,
+  The world, where lucky throws to blockheads fall,
+  Knaves know the game, and honest men pay all.
+    How hard for real worth to gain its price!
+  A man shall make his fortune in a trice,
+  If blest with pliant, though but slender, sense,
+  Feign'd modesty, and real impudence:
+  A supple knee, smooth tongue, an easy grace.
+  A curse within, a smile upon his face;
+  A beauteous sister, or convenient wife,
+  Are prizes in the lottery of life;
+  Genius and Virtue they will soon defeat,
+  And lodge you in the bosom of the great.
+  To merit, is but to provide a pain
+  For men's refusing what you ought to gain.
+
+    May, Dodington, this maxim fail in you,
+  Whom my presaging thoughts already view
+  By Walpole's conduct fired, and friendship grac'd,
+  Still higher in your Prince's favour plac'd:
+  And lending, here, those awful councils aid,
+  Which you, abroad, with such success obey'd!
+  Bear this from one, who holds your friendship dear;
+  What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
+
+
+
+
+JOHN GAY.
+
+(1685-1732.)
+
+
+XXXIV. THE QUIDNUNCKIS.
+
+    The following piece was originally claimed for Swift in the edition
+    of his works published in 1749. But it was undoubtedly written by
+    Gay, being only sent to Swift for perusal. This explains the fact
+    of its being found amongst the papers of the latter. The poem is
+    suggested by the death of the Duke Regent of France.
+
+
+  How vain are mortal man's endeavours?
+  (Said, at dame Elleot's,[182] master Travers)
+  Good Orleans dead! in truth 'tis hard:
+  Oh! may all statesmen die prepar'd!
+  I do foresee (and for foreseeing
+  He equals any man in being)
+  The army ne'er can be disbanded.
+  --I with the king was safely landed.
+  Ah friends! great changes threat the land!
+  All France and England at a stand!
+  There's Meroweis--mark! strange work!
+  And there's the Czar, and there's the Turk--
+  The Pope--An India-merchant by
+  Cut short the speech with this reply:
+    All at a stand? you see great changes?
+  Ah, sir! you never saw the Ganges:
+  There dwells the nation of Quidnunckis
+  (So Monomotapa calls monkeys:)
+  On either bank from bough to bough,
+  They meet and chat (as we may now):
+  Whispers go round, they grin, they shrug,
+  They bow, they snarl, they scratch, they hug;
+  And, just as chance or whim provoke them,
+  They either bite their friends, or stroke them.
+    There have I seen some active prig,
+  To show his parts, bestride a twig:
+  Lord! how the chatt'ring tribe admire!
+  Not that he's wiser, but he's higher:
+  All long to try the vent'rous thing,
+  (For power is but to have one's swing).
+  From side to side he springs, he spurns,
+  And bangs his foes and friends by turns.
+  Thus as in giddy freaks he bounces,
+  Crack goes the twig, and in he flounces!
+  Down the swift stream the wretch is borne;
+  Never, ah never, to return!
+    Zounds! what a fall had our dear brother!
+  Morbleu! cries one; and damme, t'other.
+  The nation gives a general screech;
+  None cocks his tail, none claws his breech;
+  Each trembles for the public weal,
+  And for a while forgets to steal.
+    Awhile all eyes intent and steady
+  Pursue him whirling down the eddy:
+  But, out of mind when out of view,
+  Some other mounts the twig anew;
+  And business on each monkey shore
+  Runs the same track it ran before.
+
+[Footnote 182: Coffee-house near St. James's.]
+
+
+
+
+ALEXANDER POPE.
+
+(1688-1744.)
+
+
+XXXV. THE DUNCIAD--THE DESCRIPTION OF DULNESS.
+
+    One of the most scathing satires in the history of literature. Pope
+    in the latest editions of it rather spoilt its point by
+    substituting Colley Gibber for Theobald as the "hero" of it. Our
+    text is from the edition of 1743. The satire first appeared in
+    1728, and other editions, greatly altered, were issued in 1729,
+    1742, 1743.
+
+
+  The mighty mother, and her son, who brings
+  The Smithfield muses[183] to the ear of kings,
+  I sing. Say you, her instruments the great!
+  Called to this work by Dulness, Jove, and fate:
+  You by whose care, in vain decried and curst,
+  Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first;
+  Say, how the goddess bade Britannia sleep,
+  And poured her spirit o'er the land and deep.
+    In eldest time, ere mortals writ or read,
+  Ere Pallas issued from the Thunderer's head,
+  Dulness o'er all possessed her ancient right,
+  Daughter of chaos and eternal night:
+  Fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave,
+  Gross as her sire, and as her mother grave
+  Laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind,
+  She ruled, in native anarchy, the mind.
+    Still her old empire to restore she tries,
+  For, born a goddess, Dulness never dies.
+  O thou! whatever title please thine ear,
+  Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver!
+  Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air,
+  Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy chair,
+  Or praise the court, or magnify mankind,[184]
+  Or thy grieved country's copper chains unbind;
+  From thy Boeotia though her power retires,
+  Mourn not, my Swift, at aught our realm acquires,
+  Here pleased behold her mighty wings outspread
+  To hatch a new Saturnian age of lead.
+    Close to those walls where folly holds her throne,
+  And laughs to think Monroe would take her down,
+  Where o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand,[185]
+  Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand;
+  One cell there is, concealed from vulgar eye,
+  The cave of poverty and poetry,
+  Keen, hollow winds howl through the bleak recess,
+  Emblem of music caused by emptiness.
+  Hence bards, like Proteus long in vain tied down,
+  Escape in monsters, and amaze the town.
+  Hence miscellanies spring, the weekly boast
+  Of Curll's chaste press, and Lintot's rubric post:[186]
+  Hence hymning Tyburn's elegiac lines,[187]
+  Hence journals, medleys, mercuries, magazines;
+  Sepulchral lies, our holy walls to grace,
+  And new-year odes,[188] and all the Grub Street race.
+    In clouded majesty here Dulness shone;
+  Four guardian virtues, round, support her throne:
+  Fierce champion fortitude, that knows no fears
+  Of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears:
+  Calm temperance, whose blessings those partake
+  Who hunger, and who thirst for scribbling sake:
+  Prudence, whose glass presents the approaching jail:
+  Poetic justice, with her lifted scale,
+  Where, in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs,
+  And solid pudding against empty praise.
+    Here she beholds the chaos dark and deep,
+  Where nameless somethings in their causes sleep,
+  Till genial Jacob,[189] or a warm third day,
+  Call forth each mass, a poem, or a play:
+  How hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie,
+  How new-born nonsense first is taught to cry,
+  Maggots half-formed in rhyme exactly meet,
+  And learn to crawl upon poetic feet.
+  Here one poor word an hundred clenches makes,
+  And ductile dulness new meanders takes
+  There motley images her fancy strike,
+  Figures ill paired, and similes unlike.
+  She sees a mob of metaphors advance,
+  Pleased with the madness of the mazy dance;
+  How tragedy and comedy embrace;
+  How farce and epic get a jumbled race;
+  How Time himself[190] stands still at her command,
+  Realms shift their place, and ocean turns to land.
+  Here gay description Egypt glads with showers,
+  Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flowers;
+  Glittering with ice here hoary hills are seen,
+  There painted valleys of eternal green;
+  In cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
+  And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.
+    All these and more the cloud-compelling queen
+  Beholds through fogs, that magnify the scene.
+  She, tinselled o'er in robes of varying hues,
+  With self-applause her wild creation views;
+  Sees momentary monsters rise and fall,
+  And with her own fools-colours gilds them all.
+    'Twas on the day when Thorold rich and grave,[191]
+  Like Cimon, triumphed both on land and wave:
+  (Pomps without guilt, of bloodless swords and maces,
+  Glad chains, warm furs, broad banners, and broad faces)
+  Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er,
+  But lived in Settle's numbers one day more.[192]
+  Now mayors and shrieves all hushed and satiate lay,
+  Yet ate, in dreams, the custard of the day;
+  While pensive poets painful vigils keep,
+  Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.
+  Much to the mindful queen the feast recalls
+  What city swans once sung within the walls;
+  Much she revolves their arts, their ancient praise,
+  And sure succession down from Heywood's[193] days.
+  She saw, with joy, the line immortal run,
+  Each sire impressed, and glaring in his son:
+  So watchful Bruin forms, with plastic care,
+  Each growing lump, and brings it to a bear.
+  She saw old Prynne in restless Daniel[194] shine,
+  And Eusden eke out[195] Blackmore's endless line;
+  She saw slow Philips creep like Tate's poor page,
+  And all the mighty mad[196] in Dennis rage.
+    In each she marks her image full exprest,
+  But chief in Bays's monster-breeding breast,
+  Bays, formed by nature stage and town to bless,
+  And act, and be, a coxcomb with success.
+  Dulness, with transport eyes the lively dunce,
+  Remembering she herself was pertness once.
+  Now (shame to fortune!) an ill run at play
+  Blanked his bold visage, and a thin third day:
+  Swearing and supperless the hero sate,
+  Blasphemed his gods, the dice, and damned his fate;
+  Then gnawed his pen, then dashed it on the ground,
+  Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound!
+  Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there;
+  Yet wrote and floundered on in mere despair.
+  Round him much embryo, much abortion lay,
+  Much future ode, and abdicated play;
+  Nonsense precipitate, like running lead,
+  That slipped through cracks and zigzags of the head;
+  All that on folly frenzy could beget,
+  Fruits of dull heat, and sooterkins of wit,
+  Next, o'er his books his eyes began to roll,
+  In pleasing memory of all he stole,
+  How here he sipped, how there he plundered snug,
+  And sucked all o'er, like an industrious bug.
+  Here lay poor Fletcher's half-eat scenes, and here
+  The frippery of crucified Moliere;
+  There hapless Shakespeare, yet of Tibbald sore,
+  Wished he had blotted for himself before.
+  The rest on outside merit but presume,
+  Or serve (like other fools) to fill a room;
+  Such with their shelves as due proportion hold,
+  Or their fond parents dressed in red and gold;
+  Or where the pictures for the page atone,
+  And Quarles is saved by beauties not his own.
+  Here swells the shelf with Ogilby the great;
+  There, stamped with arms, Newcastle shines complete:
+  Here all his suffering brotherhood retire,
+  And 'scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire:
+  A Gothic library! of Greece and Rome
+  Well purged, and worthy Settle, Banks, and Broome.
+
+[Footnote 183: Smithfield is the place where Bartholomew Fair was kept,
+whose shows and dramatical entertainments were, by the hero of this
+poem and others of equal genius, brought to the theatres of Covent
+Garden, Lincolns-Inn-Fields, and the Haymarket, to be the reigning
+pleasures of the court and town. This happened in the reigns of King
+George I. and II.]
+
+[Footnote 184: _Ironice_, alluding to Gulliver's representations of
+both.--The next line relates to the papers of the Drapier against the
+currency of Wood's copper coin in Ireland, which, upon the great
+discontent of the people, his majesty was graciously pleased to
+recall.]
+
+[Footnote 185: Mr. Caius Gabriel Cibber, father of the poet laureate.
+The two statues of the lunatics over the gates of Bedlam Hospital were
+done by him, and (as the son justly says of them) are no ill monuments
+of his fame as an artist.]
+
+[Footnote 186: Two booksellers. The former was fined by the Court of
+King's Bench for publishing obscene books; the latter usually adorned
+his shop with titles in red letters.]
+
+[Footnote 187: It was an ancient English custom for the malefactors to
+sing a psalm at their execution at Tyburn; and no less customary to
+print elegies on their deaths, at the same time or before.]
+
+[Footnote 188: Made by the poet laureate for the time being, to be sung
+at court on every New Year's Day.]
+
+[Footnote 189: Jacob Tonson the bookseller.]
+
+[Footnote 190: Alluding to the transgressions of the unities in the
+plays of such poets.]
+
+[Footnote 191: Sir George Thorold, Lord Mayor of London in the year
+1720. The procession of a Lord Mayor was made partly by land, and
+partly by water.--Cimon, the famous Athenian general, obtained a
+victory by sea, and another by land, on the same day, over the Persians
+and barbarians.]
+
+[Footnote 192: Settle was poet to the city of London. His office was to
+compose yearly panegyrics upon the Lord Mayors, and verses to be spoken
+in the pageants: but that part of the shows being at length abolished,
+the employment of the city poet ceased; so that upon Settle's death
+there was no successor appointed to that place.]
+
+[Footnote 193: John Heywood, whose "Interludes" were printed in the
+time of Henry VIII.]
+
+[Footnote 194: The first edition had it,--
+
+     "She saw in Norton all his father shine":
+
+Daniel Defoe was a genius, but Norton Defoe was a wretched writer, and
+never attempted poetry. Much more justly is Daniel himself made
+successor to W. Pryn, both of whom wrote verses as well as politics.
+And both these authors had a semblance in their fates as well as
+writings, having been alike sentenced to the pillory.]
+
+[Footnote 195: Laurence Eusden, poet laureate before Gibber. We have
+the names of only a few of his works, which were very numerous.
+
+Nahum Tate was poet laureate, a poor writer, of no invention; but who
+sometimes translated tolerably when assisted by Dryden. In the second
+part of Absalom and Achitophel there are about two hundred lines in all
+by Dryden which contrast strongly with the insipidity of the rest.]
+
+[Footnote 196: John Dennis was the son of a saddler in London, born in
+1657. He paid court to Dryden; and having obtained some correspondence
+with Wycherley and Congreve he immediately made public their letters.]
+
+
+
+XXXVI. SANDYS' GHOST; OR, A PROPER NEW BALLAD OF THE NEW OVID'S
+METAMORPHOSES, AS IT WAS INTENDED TO BE TRANSLATED BY PERSONS OF QUALITY.
+
+    This satire owed its origin to the fact that Sir Samuel Garth was
+    about to publish a new translation of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_.
+    George Sandys--the old translator--died in 1643.
+
+
+  Ye Lords and Commons, men of wit,
+    And pleasure about town;
+  Read this ere you translate one bit
+    Of books of high renown.
+
+  Beware of Latin authors all!
+    Nor think your verses sterling,
+  Though with a golden pen you scrawl,
+    And scribble in a Berlin:
+
+  For not the desk with silver nails,
+    Nor bureau of expense,
+  Nor standish well japanned avails
+    To writing of good sense.
+
+  Hear how a ghost in dead of night,
+    With saucer eyes of fire,
+  In woeful wise did sore affright
+    A wit and courtly squire.
+
+  Rare Imp of Phoebus, hopeful youth,
+    Like puppy tame that uses
+  To fetch and carry, in his mouth,
+    The works of all the Muses.
+
+  Ah! why did he write poetry
+    That hereto was so civil;
+  And sell his soul for vanity,
+    To rhyming and the devil?
+
+  A desk he had of curious work,
+    With glittering studs about;
+  Within the same did Sandys lurk,
+    Though Ovid lay without.
+
+  Now as he scratched to fetch up thought,
+    Forth popped the sprite so thin;
+  And from the key-hole bolted out,
+    All upright as a pin.
+
+  With whiskers, band, and pantaloon,
+    And ruff composed most duly;
+  The squire he dropped his pen full soon,
+    While as the light burnt bluely.
+
+  "Ho! Master Sam," quoth Sandys' sprite,
+    "Write on, nor let me scare ye;
+  Forsooth, if rhymes fall in not right,
+    To Budgell seek, or Carey.
+
+  "I hear the beat of Jacob's drums,
+    Poor Ovid finds no quarter!
+  See first the merry P---- comes[197]
+    In haste, without his garter.
+
+  "Then lords and lordlings, squires and knights,
+    Wits, witlings, prigs, and peers!
+  Garth at St. James's, and at White's,
+    Beats up for volunteers.
+
+  "What Fenton will not do, nor Gay,
+    Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan,
+  Tom Burnett or Tom D'Urfey may,
+    John Dunton, Steele, or anyone.
+
+  "If Justice Philips' costive head
+    Some frigid rhymes disburses;
+  They shall like Persian tales be read,
+    And glad both babes and nurses.
+
+  "Let Warwick's muse with Ashurst join,
+    And Ozell's with Lord Hervey's:
+  Tickell and Addison combine,
+    And Pope translate with Jervas.
+
+  "Lansdowne himself, that lively lord,
+    Who bows to every lady,
+  Shall join with Frowde in one accord,
+    And be like Tate and Brady.
+
+  "Ye ladies too draw forth your pen,
+    I pray where can the hurt lie?
+  Since you have brains as well as men,
+    As witness Lady Wortley.
+
+  "Now, Tonson, 'list thy forces all,
+    Review them, and tell noses;
+  For to poor Ovid shall befall
+    A strange metamorphosis.
+
+  "A metamorphosis more strange
+    Than all his books can vapour;"
+  "To what" (quoth squire) "shall Ovid change?"
+    Quoth Sandys: "To waste paper".
+
+[Footnote 197: The Earl of Pembroke, probably.--_Roscoe_.]
+
+
+
+XXXVII. SATIRE ON THE WHIG POETS.
+
+    This is practically the whole of Pope's famous Epistle to
+    Arbuthnot, otherwise the _Prologue to the Satires_. The only
+    portion I have omitted, in order to include in this collection one
+    of the greatest of his satires, is the introductory lines, which
+    are frequently dropped, as the poem really begins with the line
+    wherewith it is represented as opening here.
+
+
+  Soft were my numbers; who could take offence,
+  While pure description held the place of sense?
+  Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme,
+  A painted mistress, or a purling stream.
+  Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill;--
+  I wished the man a dinner, and sat still.
+  Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret;
+  I never answered,--I was not in debt.
+  If want provoked, or madness made them print,
+  I waged no war with Bedlam or the Mint.
+    Did some more sober critic come abroad;
+  If wrong, I smiled; if right, I kissed the rod.
+  Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence,
+  And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense.
+  Commas and points they set exactly right,
+  And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite.
+  Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel graced these ribalds,
+  From slashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds:
+  Each wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells,
+  Each word-catcher, that lives on syllables,
+  Even such small critic some regard may claim,
+  Preserved in Milton's or in Shakespeare's name.
+  Pretty! in amber to observe the forms
+  Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms!
+  The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,
+  But wonder how the devil they got there.
+    Were others angry: I excused them too;
+  Well might they rage, I gave them but their due.
+  A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find;
+  But each man's secret standard in his mind,
+  That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness,
+  This, who can gratify? for who can guess?
+  The bard whom pilfered pastorals renown,
+  Who turns a Persian tale for half-a-crown,[198]
+  Just writes to make his barrenness appear,
+  And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a-year;
+  He, who still wanting, though he lives on theft,
+  Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:
+  And he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning,
+  Means not, but blunders round about a meaning:
+  And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad,
+  It is not poetry, but prose run mad:
+  All these, my modest satire bade translate,
+  And owned that nine such poets made a Tate.[199]
+  How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe!
+  And swear, not Addison himself was safe.
+    Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires
+  True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires;
+  Blest with each talent and each art to please,
+  And born to write, converse, and live with ease:
+  Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
+  Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.
+  View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
+  And hate for arts that caused himself to rise;
+  Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
+  And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
+  Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
+  Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
+  Alike reserved to blame, or to commend,
+  A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend;
+  Dreading even fools, by flatterers besieged,
+  And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged;
+  Like Cato, give his little senate laws,
+  And sit attentive to his own applause;
+  While wits and templars every sentence raise,
+  And wonder with a foolish face of praise:--
+  Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
+  Who would not weep, if Atticus[200] were he?
+    Who though my name stood rubric on the walls,
+  Or plaistered posts, with claps, in capitals?
+  Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers' load,
+  On wings of winds came flying all abroad?[201]
+  I sought no homage from the race that write;
+  I kept, like Asian monarchs, from their sight:
+  Poems I heeded (now be-rhymed so long)
+  No more than thou, great George! a birthday song.
+  I ne'er with wits or witlings passed my days,
+  To spread about the itch of verse and praise;
+  Nor like a puppy, daggled through the town,
+  To fetch and carry sing-song up and down;
+  Nor at rehearsals sweat, and mouthed, and cried,
+  With handkerchief and orange at my side;
+  But sick of fops, and poetry, and prate,
+  To Bufo left the whole Castillan state.
+    Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,
+  Sat full-blown Bufo, puffed by every quill;[202]
+  Fed with soft dedication all day long,
+  Horace and he went hand in hand in song.
+  His library (where busts of poets dead
+  And a true Pindar stood without a head),
+  Received of wits an undistinguished race,
+  Who first his judgment asked, and then a place:
+  Much they extolled his pictures, much his seat,
+  And flattered every day, and some days eat:
+  Till grown more frugal in his riper days,
+  He paid some bards with port, and some with praise
+  To some a dry rehearsal was assigned,
+  And others (harder still) he paid in kind,
+  Dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh,
+  Dryden alone escaped this judging eye:
+  But still the great have kindness in reserve,
+  He helped to bury whom he helped to starve.
+    May some choice patron bless each gray goose quill!
+  May every Bavias have his Bufo still!
+  So, when a statesman wants a day's defence,
+  Or envy holds a whole week's war with sense,
+  Or simple pride for flattery makes demands,
+  May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands!
+  Blest be the great! for those they take away,
+  And those they left me; for they left me Gay;
+  Left me to see neglected genius bloom,
+  Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb:
+  Of all thy blameless life the sole return
+  My verse, and Queensbury weeping o'er thy urn!
+    Oh, let me live my own, and die so too!
+  (To live and die is all I have to do:)
+  Maintain a poet's dignity and ease,
+  And see what friends, and read what books I please;
+  Above a patron, though I condescend
+  Sometimes to call a minister my friend.
+  I was not born for courts or great affairs;
+  I pay my debts, believe, and say my prayers;
+  Can sleep without a poem in my head;
+  Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead.
+    Why am I asked what next shall see the light?
+  Heavens! was I born for nothing but to write?
+  Has life no joys for me? or (to be grave)
+  Have I no friend to serve, no soul to save?
+  "I found him close with Swift"--"Indeed? no doubt,"
+  (Cries prating Balbus) "something will come out."
+  'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will.
+  No, such a genius never can lie still;
+  And then for mine obligingly mistakes
+  The first lampoon Sir Will,[203] or Bubo[204] makes.
+  Poor guiltless I! and can I choose but smile,
+  When every coxcomb knows me by my style?
+    Cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,
+  That tends to make one worthy man my foe,
+  Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear,
+  Or from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tear!
+  But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
+  Insults fallen worth, or beauty in distress,
+  Who loves a lie, lame slander helps about,
+  Who writes a libel, or who copies out:
+  That fop, whose pride affects a patron's name,
+  Yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame:
+  Who can your merit selfishly approve,
+  And show the sense of it without the love;
+  Who has the vanity to call you friend,
+  Yet wants the honour, injured, to defend;
+  Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say,
+  And, if he lie not, must at least betray:
+  Who to the Dean, and silver bell can swear,[205]
+  And sees at canons what was never there;
+  Who reads, but with a lust to misapply,
+  Make satire a lampoon, and fiction, lie.
+  A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,
+  But all such babbling blockheads in his stead.
+    Let Sporus[206] tremble--
+    _A_.                   What? that thing of silk,
+  Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk?
+  Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
+  Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
+    _P_. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
+  This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings;
+  Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
+  Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys:
+  So well-bred spaniels civilly delight
+  In mumbling of the game they dare not bite.
+  Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
+  As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
+  Whether in florid impotence he speaks,
+  And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks
+  Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad,
+  Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad,
+  In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies,
+  Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies.
+  His wit all see-saw, between that and this,
+  Now high, now low, now master up, now miss,
+  And he himself one vile antithesis.
+  Amphibious thing! that acting either part,
+  The trifling head or the corrupted heart,
+  Fop at the toilet, flatterer at the board,
+  Now trips a lady, and now struts a lord.
+  Eve's tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest,
+  A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest;
+  Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust;
+  Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
+    Not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool,
+  Not lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool,
+  Not proud, nor servile;--be one poet's praise,
+  That, if he pleased, he pleased by manly ways:
+  That flattery, even to kings, he held a shame,
+  And thought a lie in verse or prose the same.
+  That not in fancy's maze he wandered long,
+  But stooped to truth, and moralized his song:
+  That not for fame, but virtue's better end,
+  He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
+  The damning critic, half-approving wit,
+  The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
+  Laughed at the loss of friends he never had,
+  The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;
+  The distant threats of vengeance on his head,
+  The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
+  The tale revived, the lie so oft o'erthrown,
+  The imputed trash, and dulness not his own;
+  The morals blackened when the writings scape,
+  The libelled person, and the pictured shape;
+  Abuse, on all he loved, or loved him, spread,
+  A friend in exile, or a father, dead;
+  The whisper, that to greatness still too near,
+  Perhaps, yet vibrates on his sovereign's ear:--
+  Welcome for thee, fair virtue! all the past;
+  For thee, fair virtue! welcome even the last!
+    _A_. But why insult the poor, affront the great?
+    _P_. A knave's a knave, to me, in every state:
+  Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail,
+  Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail,
+  A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer,
+  Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire;
+  If on a pillory, or near a throne,
+  He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.
+    Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit,
+  Sappho can tell you how this man was bit;
+  This dreaded satirist Dennis will confess
+  Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress;
+  So humble, he has knocked at Tibbald's door,
+  Has drunk with Cibber, nay, has rhymed for Moore.
+  Full ten years slandered, did he once reply?
+  Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's lie.
+  To please a mistress one aspersed his life;
+  He lashed him not, but let her be his wife.
+  Let Budgel charge low Grub Street on his quill,
+  And write whate'er he pleased, except his will.
+  Let the two Curlls of town and court, abuse
+  His father, mother, body, soul, and muse
+  Yet why? that father held it for a rule,
+  It was a sin to call our neighbour fool:
+  That harmless mother thought no wife a whore:
+  Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore!
+  Unspotted names, and memorable long!
+  If there be force in virtue, or in song.
+    Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause,
+  While yet in Britain honour had applause)
+  Each parent sprung--
+    _A_.             What fortune, pray?--
+    _P_.                                 Their own,
+  And better got, than Bestia's from the throne.
+  Born to no pride, inheriting no strife,
+  Nor marrying discord in a noble wife,
+  Stranger to civil and religious rage,
+  The good man walked innoxious through his age,
+  No courts he saw, no suits would ever try,
+  Nor dared an oath, nor hazarded a lie.
+  Unlearned, he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
+  No language, but the language of the heart.
+  By nature honest, by experience wise,
+  Healthy by temperance, and by exercise;
+  His life, though long, to sickness passed unknown,
+  His death was instant, and without a groan.
+  O, grant me, thus to live, and thus to die!
+  Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.
+    O, friend! may each domestic bliss be thine!
+  Be no unpleasing melancholy mine:
+  Me, let the tender office long engage,
+  To rock the cradle of reposing age,
+  With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
+  Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death,
+  Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
+  And keep awhile one parent from the sky!
+  On cares like these if length of days attend,
+  May heaven, to bless those days, preserve my friend,
+  Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene,
+  And just as rich as when he served a queen.
+    _A_. Whether that blessing be denied or given,
+  Thus far was right, the rest belongs to heaven.
+
+[Footnote 198: Ambrose Philips translated a book called the _Persian
+Tales_.]
+
+[Footnote 199: Nahum Tate, the joint-author with Brady of the version
+of the Psalms.]
+
+[Footnote 200: Addison.]
+
+[Footnote 201: Hopkins, in the 104th Psalm.]
+
+[Footnote 202: Lord Halifax.]
+
+[Footnote 203: Sir William Yonge.]
+
+[Footnote 204: Bubb Dodington.]
+
+[Footnote 205: Meaning the man who would have persuaded the Duke of
+Chandos that Pope meant to ridicule him in the Epistle on _Taste_.]
+
+[Footnote 206: Lord Hervey.]
+
+
+
+XXXVIII. EPILOGUE TO THE SATIRES.
+
+    The following piece represents the first dialogue in the Epilogue
+    to the Satires. Huggins mentioned in the poem was the jailer of the
+    Fleet Prison, who had enriched himself by many exactions, for which
+    he was tried and expelled. Jekyl was Sir Joseph Jekyl, Master of
+    the Rolls, a man of great probity, who, though a Whig, frequently
+    voted against the Court, which drew on him the laugh here
+    described. Lyttleton was George Lyttleton, Secretary to the Prince
+    of Wales, distinguished for his writings in the cause of liberty.
+    Written in 1738, and first published in the following year.
+
+
+  _Fr_[_iend_]. Not twice a twelvemonth you appear in print,
+  And when it comes, the court see nothing in 't.
+  You grow correct, that once with rapture writ,
+  And are, besides, too moral for a wit.
+  Decay of parts, alas! we all must feel--
+  Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal?
+  'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye
+  Said, "Tories called him Whig, and Whigs a Tory";
+  And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
+  "To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter".
+    But Horace, sir, was delicate, was nice;
+  Bubo observes, he lashed no sort of vice:
+  Horace would say, Sir Billy served the crown,
+  Blunt could do business, Huggins knew the town;
+  In Sappho touch the failings of the sex,
+  In reverend bishops note some small neglects,
+  And own, the Spaniard did a waggish thing,
+  Who cropped our ears, and sent them to the king.
+  His sly, polite, insinuating style
+  Could please at court, and make Augustus smile:
+  An artful manager, that crept between
+  His friend and shame, and was a kind of screen.
+  But 'faith your very friends will soon be sore:
+  Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more--
+  And where's the glory? 'twill be only thought
+  The great man never offered you a groat.
+  Go see Sir Robert--
+    P[_ope_].       See Sir Robert!--hum--
+  And never laugh--for all my life to come?
+  Seen him I have, but in his happier hour
+  Of social pleasure, ill exchanged for power;
+  Seen him, uncumbered with the venal tribe,
+  Smile without art, and win without a bribe.
+  Would he oblige me? let me only find,
+  He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
+  Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt;
+  The only difference is, I dare laugh out.
+    _F_. Why yes: with Scripture still you may be free:
+  A horse-laugh, if you please, at honesty;
+  A joke on Jekyl, or some odd old Whig
+  Who never changed his principle or wig.
+  A patriot is a fool in every age,
+  Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the stage:
+  These nothing hurts; they keep their fashion still,
+  And wear their strange old virtue, as they will.
+  If any ask you, "Who's the man, so near
+  His prince, that writes in verse, and has his ear?"
+  Why, answer, Lyttleton, and I'll engage
+  The worthy youth shall ne'er be in a rage;
+  But were his verses vile, his whisper base,
+  You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's case.
+  Sejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest Fleury,[207]
+  But well may put some statesmen in a fury.
+    Laugh then at any, but at fools or foes;
+  These you but anger, and you mend not those.
+  Laugh at your friends, and, if your friends are sore,
+  So much the better, you may laugh the more.
+  To vice and folly to confine the jest,
+  Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest;
+  Did not the sneer of more impartial men
+  At sense and virtue, balance all again.
+  Judicious wits spread wide the ridicule,
+  And charitably comfort knave and fool.
+    _P_. Dear sir, forgive the prejudice of youth:
+  Adieu distinction, satire, warmth, and truth!
+  Come, harmless characters, that no one hit;
+  Come, Henley's oratory, Osborne's wit!
+  The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
+  The flowers of Bubo, and the flow of Yonge!
+  The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence,
+  And all the well-whipped cream of courtly sense,
+  That first was H----vy's, F----'s next, and then
+  The S----te's and then H----vy's once again.[208]
+  O come, that easy Ciceronian style,
+  So Latin, yet so English all the while,
+  As, though the pride of Middleton[209] and Bland,
+  All boys may read, and girls may understand!
+  Then might I sing, without the least offence,
+  And all I sung shall be the nation's sense;
+  Or teach the melancholy muse to mourn,
+  Hang the sad verse on Carolina's[210] urn,
+  And hail her passage to the realms of rest,
+  All parts performed, and all her children blest!
+  So--satire is no more--I feel it die--
+  No gazetteer more innocent than I--
+  And let, a' God's name, every fool and knave
+  Be graced through life, and flattered in his grave.
+    _F_. Why so? if satire knows its time and place,
+  You still may lash the greatest--in disgrace:
+  For merit will by turns forsake them all;
+  Would you know when? exactly when they fall.
+  But let all satire in all changes spare
+  Immortal Selkirk[211], and grave De----re.
+  Silent and soft, as saints remove to heaven,
+  All ties dissolved and every sin forgiven,
+  These may some gentle ministerial wing
+  Receive, and place for ever near a king!
+  There, where no passion, pride, or shame transport,
+  Lulled with the sweet nepenthe of a court;
+  There, where no father's, brother's, friend's disgrace
+  Once break their rest, or stir them from their place:
+  But passed the sense of human miseries,
+  All tears are wiped for ever from all eyes;
+  No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,
+  Save when they lose a question, or a job.
+    _P_. Good heaven forbid, that I should blast their glory,
+  Who know how like Whig ministers to Tory,
+  And, when three sovereigns died, could scarce be vext,
+  Considering what a gracious prince was next.
+  Have I, in silent wonder, seen such things
+  As pride in slaves, and avarice in kings;
+  And at a peer, or peeress, shall I fret,
+  Who starves a sister, or forswears a debt?[212]
+  Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
+  But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
+  Ye gods! shall Gibber's son, without rebuke,
+  Swear like a lord, or Rich out-whore a duke?
+  A favourite's porter with his master vie,
+  Be bribed as often, and as often lie?
+  Shall Ward draw contracts with a statesman's skill?
+  Or Japhet pocket, like his grace, a will?
+  Is it for Bond, or Peter (paltry things),
+  To pay their debts, or keep their faith, like kings?
+  If Blount dispatched himself, he played the man,
+  And so mayest thou, illustrious Passeran!
+  But shall a printer, weary of his life,
+  Learn, from their books, to hang himself and wife?
+  This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear;
+  Vice thus abused, demands a nation's care;
+  This calls the Church to deprecate our sin,
+  And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin.
+    Let modest Foster, if he will, excel
+  Ten metropolitans in preaching well;
+  A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,
+  Outdo Llandaff in doctrine,--yea in life:
+  Let humble Allen, with an awkward shame,
+  Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
+  Virtue may choose the high or low degree,
+  'Tis just alike to virtue, and to me;
+  Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,
+  She's still the same, beloved, contented thing.
+  Vice is undone, if she forgets her birth,
+  And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth:
+  But 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore;
+  Let greatness own her, and she's mean no more;
+  Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess;
+  Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless;
+  In golden chains the willing world she draws,
+  And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws,
+  Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,
+  And sees pale virtue carted in her stead.
+  Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
+  Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
+  Dragged in the dust! his arms hang idly round,
+  His flag inverted trails along the ground!
+  Our youth, all liveried o'er with foreign gold,
+  Before her dance: behind her crawl the old!
+  See thronging millions to the Pagod run,
+  And offer country, parent, wife, or son!
+  Hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim,
+  That not to be corrupted is the shame.
+  In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in power,
+  'Tis avarice all, ambition is no more!
+  See, all our nobles begging to be slaves!
+  See, all our fools aspiring to be knaves!
+  The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore,
+  Are what ten thousand envy and adore;
+  All, all look up, with reverential awe,
+  At crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law;
+  While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry--
+  "Nothing is sacred now but villainy ".
+    Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)
+  Show, there was one who held it in disdain.
+
+[Footnote 207: Cardinal: and Minister to Louis XV.]
+
+[Footnote 208: This couplet alludes to the preachers of some recent
+Court Sermons of a florid panegyrical character; also to some speeches
+of a like kind, some parts of both of which were afterwards
+incorporated in an address to the monarch.]
+
+[Footnote 209: Dr. Conyers Middleton, author of the _Life of Cicero_.]
+
+[Footnote 210: Queen Consort to King George II. She died in 1737.]
+
+[Footnote 211: A title given to Lord Selkirk by King James II. He was
+Gentleman of the Bed-chamber to William III., to George I., and to
+George II. He was proficient in all the forms of the House, in which he
+comported himself with great dignity.]
+
+[Footnote 212: Referring to Lady M.W. Montagu and her sister, the
+Countess of Mar.]
+
+
+
+
+SAMUEL JOHNSON.
+
+(1709-1784.)
+
+
+XXXIX. THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.
+
+    Published in January, 1749, in order, as was reported, to excite
+    interest in the author's tragedy of _Irene_. The poem is written in
+    imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal.
+
+
+  Let observation, with extensive view,
+  Survey mankind from China to Peru;
+  Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
+  And watch the busy scenes of crowded life;
+  Then say, how hope and fear, desire and hate,
+  O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
+  Where way'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride,
+  To tread the dreary paths without a guide,
+  As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
+  Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good;
+  How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
+  Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice;
+  How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd,
+  When Vengeance listens to the fool's request.
+  Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart,
+  Each gift of nature, and each grace of art;
+  With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
+  With fatal sweetness elocution flows;
+  Impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rful breath,
+  And restless fire precipitates on death.
+    But, scarce observ'd, the knowing and the bold
+  Fall in the gen'ral massacre of gold;
+  Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfin'd,
+  And crowds with crimes the records of mankind:
+  For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
+  For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws:
+  Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
+  The dangers gather as the treasures rise.
+    Let Hist'ry tell where rival kings command,
+  And dubious title shakes the madded land.
+  When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,
+  How much more safe the vassal than the lord;
+  Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of power,
+  And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower,
+  Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound,
+  Though Confiscation's vultures hover round.
+    The needy traveller, serene and gay,
+  Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.
+  Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy;
+  Increase his riches, and his peace destroy;
+  Now fears in dire vicissitude invade,
+  The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade;
+  Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief,
+  One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief.
+    Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails,
+  And pain and grandeur load the tainted gales;
+  Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care,
+  Th' insidious rival and the gaping heir.
+    Once more, Democritus, arise on earth,
+  With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth,
+  See motley life in modern trappings dress'd,
+  And feed with varied fools th' eternal jest:
+  Thou who could'st laugh where want enchain'd caprice,
+  Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece;
+  Where wealth, unlov'd, without a mourner dy'd;
+  And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride;
+  Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate,
+  Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state;
+  Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws,
+  And senates heard before they judg'd a cause;
+  How would'st thou shake at Britain's modish tribe,
+  Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe?
+  Attentive truth and nature to descry,
+  And pierce each scene with philosophic eye,
+  To thee were solemn toys, or empty show,
+  The robes of pleasure and the veils of woe:
+  All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain,
+  Whose joys are causeless, and whose griefs are vain.
+    Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind,
+  Renew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind;
+  How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare,
+  Search ev'ry state, and canvass ev'ry pray'r:
+    Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's gate,
+  A thirst for wealth, and burning to be great;
+  Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant call,
+  They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.
+  On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend,
+  Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end.
+  Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door
+  Pours in the morning worshipper no more;
+  For growing names the weekly scribbler lies,
+  To growing wealth the dedicator flies,
+  From ev'ry room descends the painted face,
+  That hung the bright palladium of the place:
+  And, smok'd in kitchens, or in auctions sold,
+  To better features yields the frame of gold;
+  For now no more we trace in ev'ry line
+  Heroic worth, benevolence divine:
+  The form distorted, justifies the fall,
+  And detestation rides th' indignant wall.
+    But will not Britain hear the last appeal,
+  Sign her foes' doom, or guard her fav'rites' zeal?
+  Through Freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings,
+  Degrading nobles, and controlling kings;
+  Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats,
+  And ask no questions but the price of votes;
+  With weekly libels and septennial ale,
+  Their wish is full to riot and to rail.
+    In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand,
+  Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand:
+  To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign.
+  Through him the rays of regal bounty shine,
+  Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows,
+  His smile alone security bestows:
+  Still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r,
+  Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r:
+  Till conquest unresisted ceas'd to please,
+  And rights submitted, left him none to seize.
+  At length his sov'reign frowns--the train of state
+  Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate.
+  Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye,
+  His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;
+  Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
+  The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate,
+  The regal palace, the luxurious board,
+  The liv'ried army, and the menial lord.
+  With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd,
+  He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.
+  Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings,
+  And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.
+    Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine,
+  Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine?
+  Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content,
+  The wisest justice on the banks of Trent?
+  For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate,
+  On weak foundations raise th' enormous weight?
+  Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow,
+  With louder ruin to the gulfs below?
+    What gave great Villiers to th' assassin's knife,
+  And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life?
+  What murder'd Wentworth, and what exil'd Hyde,
+  By kings protected, and to kings ally'd?
+  What but their wish indulg'd in courts to shine,
+  And pow'r too great to keep, or to resign?
+    When first the college rolls receive his name,
+  The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame;
+  Resistless burns the fever of renown,
+  Caught from the strong contagion of the gown:
+  O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread,
+  And Bacon's mansion[213] trembles o'er his head.
+  Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth,
+  And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth!
+  Yet, should thy soul indulge the gen'rous heat
+  Till captive Science yields her last retreat;
+  Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray,
+  And pour on misty Doubt resistless day;
+  Should no false kindness lure to loose delight,
+  Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright;
+  Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain,
+  And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain;
+  Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,
+  Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart;
+  Should no disease thy torpid veins invade,
+  Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade;
+  Yet hope not life from grief or danger free,
+  Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee:
+  Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes,
+  And pause awhile from Letters, to be wise;
+  There mark what ills the scholar's life assail,
+  Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
+  See nations, slowly wise, and meanly just,
+  To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
+  If dreams yet flatter, once again attend,
+  Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end.
+    Nor deem, when Learning her last prize bestows,
+  The glitt'ring eminence exempt from woes;
+  See, when the vulgar 'scape, despis'd or aw'd,
+  Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud.
+  From meaner minds though smaller fines content,
+  The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent;
+  Mark'd out by dang'rous parts, he meets the shock,
+  And fatal Learning leads him to the block:
+  Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep,
+  But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and sleep.
+    The festal blazes, the triumphal show,
+  The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe,
+  The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale,
+  With force resistless o'er the brave prevail.
+  Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd,
+  For such the steady Romans shook the world;
+  For such in distant lands the Britons shine,
+  And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine;
+  This pow'r has praise that virtue scarce can warm,
+  Till fame supplies the universal charm.
+  Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game,
+  Where wasted nations raise a single name;
+  And mortgag'd states their grandsires' wreaths regret,
+  From age to age in everlasting debt;
+  Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey,
+  To rust on medals, or on stones decay.
+    On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,
+  How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide;
+  A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,
+  No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;
+  O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,
+  Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain;
+  No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,
+  War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;
+  Behold surrounding kings their pow'r combine,
+  And one capitulate, and one resign;
+  Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;
+  "Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain,
+  On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,
+  And all be mine beneath the polar sky".
+  The march begins in military state,
+  And nations on his eye suspended wait;
+  Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,
+  And Winter barricades the realm of Frost;
+  He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay;
+  Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day:
+  The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,
+  And shows his miseries in distant lands;
+  Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait,
+  While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.
+  But did not Chance at length her error mend?
+  Did no subverted empire mark his end?
+  Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
+  Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
+  His fall was destin'd to a barren strand,
+  A petty fortress, and a dubious hand;
+  He left the name, at which the world grew pale
+  To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
+    All times their scenes of pompous woes afford,
+  From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord.
+  In gay hostility and barb'rous pride,
+  With half mankind embattled at his side,
+  Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey
+  And starves exhausted regions in his way;
+  Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er,
+  Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more;
+  Fresh praise is try'd till madness fires his mind,
+  The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind,
+  New pow'rs are claim'd, new pow'rs are still bestow'd,
+  Till rude Resistance lops the spreading god;
+  The daring Greeks deride the martial show,
+  And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe;
+  Th' insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains,
+  A single skiff to speed his flight remains;
+  Th' incumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast,
+  Through purple billows and a floating host.
+    The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour,
+  Tries the dread summits of Caesarian pow'r,
+  With unexpected legions bursts away,
+  And sees defenceless realms receive his sway;
+  Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms,
+  The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms;
+  From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze
+  Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise;
+  The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar,
+  With all the sons of ravage crowd the war;
+  The baffled prince, in honour's flatt'ring bloom
+  Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom;
+  His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame,
+  And steals to death from anguish and from shame.
+    Enlarge my life with multitude of days!
+  In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays:
+  Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know,
+  That life protracted is protracted woe.
+  Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy,
+  And shuts up all the passages of joy:
+  In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour,
+  The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r;
+  With listless eyes the dotard views the store,
+  He views, and wonders that they please no more:
+  Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines,
+  And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns.
+  Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain,
+  Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain:
+  No sounds, alas! would touch th' impervious ear,
+  Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near;
+  Nor lute nor lyre his feeble pow'rs attend,
+  Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend;
+  But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue,
+  Perversely grave, or positively wrong.
+  The still returning tale, and ling'ring jest,
+  Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest.
+  While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring sneer,
+  And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear;
+  The watchful guests still hint the last offence;
+  The daughter's petulance the son's expense,
+  Improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill,
+  And mould his passions till they make his will.
+    Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade,
+  Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade;
+  But unextinguish'd Av'rice still remains,
+  And dreaded losses aggravate his pains;
+  He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands,
+  His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands;
+  Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes,
+  Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.
+    But grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime
+  Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;
+  An age that melts in unperceiv'd decay,
+  And glides in modest innocence away;
+  Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears,
+  Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers;
+  The gen'ral fav'rite as the gen'ral friend;
+  Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?
+    Yet ev'n on this her load Misfortune flings,
+  To press the weary minutes' flagging wings;
+  New sorrow rises as the day returns,
+  A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.
+  Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier,
+  Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear;
+  Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
+  Still drops some joy from with'ring life away;
+  New forms arise, and diff'rent views engage,
+  Superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage,
+  Till pitying Nature signs the last release,
+  And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.
+    But few there are whom hours like these await,
+  Who set unclouded in the gulfs of Fate.
+  From Lydia's monarch should the search descend,
+  By Solon caution'd to regard his end,
+  In life's last scene what prodigies surprise,
+  Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!
+  From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage flow,
+  And Swift expires a driv'ller and a show.
+    The teeming mother, anxious for her race,
+  Begs for each birth the fortune of a face;
+  Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring;
+  And Sedley curs'd the form that pleas'd a king.
+  Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes,
+  Whom Pleasure keeps too busy to be wise;
+  Whom joys with soft varieties invite,
+  By day the frolic, and the dance by night;
+  Who frown with vanity, who smile with art,
+  And ask the latent fashion of the heart;
+  What care, what rules, your heedless charms shall save,
+  Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave?
+  Against your fame with fondness hate combines,
+  The rival batters, and the lover mines.
+  With distant voice neglected Virtue calls,
+  Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls;
+  Tir'd with contempt, she quits the slipp'ry reign,
+  And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain.
+  In crowd at once, where none the pass defend,
+  The harmless freedom, and the private friend.
+  The guardians yield, by force superior ply'd,
+  To Int'rest, Prudence; and to Flatt'ry, Pride.
+  Here Beauty falls betray'd, despis'd, distress'd,
+  And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.
+    Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find?
+  Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?
+  Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
+  Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?
+  Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,
+  No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?
+  Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain
+  Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem Religion vain.
+  Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
+  But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice.
+  Safe in his pow'r, whose eyes discern afar
+  The secret ambush of a specious pray'r;
+  Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,
+  Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
+  Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires,
+  And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
+  Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
+  Obedient passions and a will resigned;
+  For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
+  For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill;
+  For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
+  Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat:
+  These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain,
+  These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain;
+  With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
+  And makes the happiness she does not find.
+
+[Footnote 213: There is a tradition, that the study of Friar Bacon,
+built on an arch over the bridge, will fall when a man greater than
+Bacon shall pass under it. To prevent so shocking an accident, it was
+pulled down many years since.]
+
+
+
+XL. LETTER TO THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.
+
+    Though perhaps scarcely a professedly satirical production in the
+    proper sense of the word, there are few more pungent satires than
+    the following letter. In Boswell's _Life of Johnson_ we read, "When
+    the Dictionary was on the eve of publication. Lord Chesterfield,
+    who, it is said, had flattered himself with expectations that
+    Johnson would dedicate the work to him, attempted in a courtly
+    manner to soothe and insinuate himself with the sage, conscious, as
+    it would seem, of the cold indifference with which he had treated
+    its learned author, and further attempted to conciliate him by
+    writing two papers in the _World_ in recommendation of the work....
+    This courtly device failed of its effect. Johnson despised the
+    honeyed words, and he states 'I wrote him a letter expressed in
+    civil terms, but such as might show him that I did not mind what he
+    said or wrote, and that I had done with him'."
+
+
+February 7, 1755.
+
+"MY LORD,
+
+"I have been lately informed by the proprietor of _The World_ that two
+papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the public, were
+written by your lordship. To be so distinguished is an honour which,
+being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well
+how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.
+
+"When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your lordship, I
+was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your
+address, and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself _Le
+vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre_;--that I might obtain that regard
+for which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so
+little encouraged that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to
+continue it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had
+exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar
+can possess. I had done all that I could; and no man is well pleased to
+have his all neglected, be it ever so little.
+
+"Seven years, my lord, have now past since I waited in your outward
+rooms or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been
+pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to
+complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication,
+without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile
+of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron
+before.
+
+"The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and found
+him a native of the rocks.
+
+"Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man
+struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached ground,
+encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take
+of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been
+delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary,
+and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is
+no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit
+has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider
+me as owing that to a patron which Providence has enabled me to do for
+myself.
+
+"Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any
+favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should
+conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have been long
+wakened from that dream of hope in which I once boasted myself with so
+much exultation.
+
+"MY LORD,
+
+"Your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant,
+
+"SAM JOHNSON."
+
+
+
+
+OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
+
+(1728-1774.)
+
+
+XLI. THE RETALIATION.
+
+    The origin of the following satire is told by Boswell (who was
+    prejudiced against Goldsmith) in this wise: "At a meeting of a
+    company of gentlemen who were well known to each other and
+    diverting themselves among other things with the peculiar oddities
+    of Dr. Goldsmith, who would never allow a superior in any art, from
+    writing poetry down to dancing a hornpipe, Goldsmith, with great
+    eagerness, insisted on matching his epigrammatic powers with
+    Garrick's. It was determined that each should write the other's
+    epitaph. Garrick immediately said his epitaph was finished, and
+    spoke the following distich extempore:
+
+         "'Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
+          Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll'.
+
+    "Goldsmith would not produce his at the time, but some weeks after,
+    read to the company this satire in which the characteristics of
+    them all were happily hit off."
+
+
+  Of old, when Scarron his companions invited,
+  Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united;
+  If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish,
+  Let each guest bring himself, and he brings a good dish:
+  Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains;
+  Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains;
+  Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour;
+  And Dick with his pepper shall heighten their savour;
+  Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall obtain,
+  And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain:
+  Our Garrick a salad, for in him we see
+  Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:
+  To make out the dinner, full certain I am
+  That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb;
+  That Hickey's a capon; and, by the same rule,
+  Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry-fool.
+    At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
+  Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last?
+  Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able,
+  Till all my companions sink under the table;
+  Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
+  Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.
+    Here lies the good Dean, reunited to earth,
+  Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth;
+  If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
+  At least in six weeks I could not find them out;
+  Yet some have declared, and it can't be denied them,
+  That Slyboots was cursedly cunning to hide them.
+    Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such,
+  We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;
+  Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind,
+  And to party gave up what was meant for mankind:
+  Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat
+  To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote:
+  Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
+  And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;
+  Tho' equal to all things, for all things unfit,
+  Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit;
+  For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient;
+  And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
+  In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd or in place, sir,
+  To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
+    Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint,
+  While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't;
+  The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,
+  His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;
+  Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
+  The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home:
+  Would you ask for his merits? alas, he had none!
+  What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own.
+    Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at,
+  Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet!
+  What spirits were his, what wit and what whim,
+  Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb!
+  Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball,
+  Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all!
+  In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
+  That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick,
+  But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
+  As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.
+    Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
+  The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
+  A flattering painter, who made it his care
+  To draw men as they ought to be, not what they are.
+  His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
+  And Comedy wonders at being so fine;
+  Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out,
+  Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
+  His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
+  Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud;
+  And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
+  Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own.
+  Say, where has our poet this malady caught?
+  Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?
+  Say, was it, that vainly directing his view
+  To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
+  Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
+  He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?
+    Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax,
+  The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks.
+  Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
+  Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines
+  When satire and censure encircled his throne,
+  I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own:
+  But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
+  Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall lecture;
+  Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style;
+  Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile;
+  New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over,
+  No countryman living their tricks to discover:
+  Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,
+  And Scotchman meet Scotchman and cheat in the dark.
+    Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can?
+  An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
+  As an actor, confessed without rival to shine;
+  As a wit, if not first, in the very first line;
+  Yet with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
+  The man had his failings, a dupe to his art;
+  Like an ill-judging beauty his colours he spread,
+  And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red.
+  On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting:
+  'Twas only that when he was off he was acting;
+  With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
+  He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:
+  Tho' secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick
+  If they were not his own by finessing and trick;
+  He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack,
+  For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.
+  Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
+  And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;
+  Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
+  Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.
+  But let us be candid, and speak out our mind:
+  If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
+  Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave,
+  What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave!
+  How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised,
+  When he was be-Roscius'd and you were bepraised!
+  But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,
+  To act as an angel, and mix with the skies!
+  Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill,
+  Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will;
+  Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love,
+  And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
+    Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature,
+  And Slander itself must allow him good-nature:
+  He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper:
+  Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.
+  Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser?
+  I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser.
+  Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
+  His very worst foe can't accuse him of that.
+  Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
+  And so was too foolishly honest? Ah no!
+  Then what was his failing? Come, tell it, and burn ye,--
+  He was, could he help it? a special attorney.
+    Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind,
+  He has not left a wiser or better behind:
+  His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand:
+  His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
+  Still born to improve us in every part,
+  His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
+  To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
+  When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing:
+  When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
+  He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.
+
+
+
+XLII. THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.
+
+    This piece was first printed in _The Busy Body_ in 1759, in direct
+    imitation of the style of Swift. It was, therefore, improperly
+    included in the Dublin edition of Swift's works, and in the edition
+    of Swift edited by Sir Walter Scott.
+
+
+  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 preditum_;
+  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_.
+  Who ever knew an honest brute
+  At law his neighbour prosecute.
+  Bring action for assault and battery,
+  Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
+  O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd.
+  No politics disturb the mind;
+  They eat their meals, and take their sport,
+  Nor know who's in or out at court;
+  They never to the levee go
+  To treat as dearest friend, a foe;
+  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 Pater-Noster Row:
+  No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,
+  No pickpockets, or poetasters,
+  Are known to honest quadrupeds,
+  No single brute his fellows 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 ruling passion;
+  But both in malice and grimaces,
+  A courtier any ape surpasses.
+  Behold him humbly cringing wait
+  Upon the minister of state;
+  View him soon after to inferiors
+  Aping the conduct of superiors:
+  He promises with equal air,
+  And to perform takes equal care.
+  He in his turn finds imitators,
+  At court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters,
+  Their master's manners still contract,
+  And footmen, lords and dukes can act,
+  Thus at the court both great and small
+  Behave alike, for all ape all.
+
+
+
+XLIII. BEAU TIBBS, HIS CHARACTER AND FAMILY.
+
+    Johnson always maintained that there was a great deal of
+    Goldsmith's own nature and eccentricities portrayed in the
+    character of Beau Tibbs. The following piece constitutes Letter 54
+    of the _Citizen of the World_.
+
+
+I am apt to fancy I have contracted a new acquaintance, whom it will be
+no easy matter to shake off. My little beau yesterday overtook me again
+in one of the public walks, and slapping me on the shoulder, saluted me
+with an air of the most perfect familiarity. His dress was the same as
+usual, except that he had more powder in his hair, wore a dirtier
+shirt, a pair of temple spectacles, and his hat under his arm.
+
+As I knew him to be an harmless, amusing little thing, I could not
+return his smiles with any degree of severity: so we walked forward on
+terms of the utmost intimacy, and in a few minutes discussed all the
+usual topics preliminary to particular conversation.
+
+The oddities that marked his character, however, soon began to appear;
+he bowed to several well-dressed persons, who, by their manner of
+returning the compliment, appeared perfect strangers. At intervals he
+drew out a pocket-book, seeming to take memorandums before all the
+company, with much importance and assiduity. In this manner he led me
+through the length of the whole walk, fretting at his absurdities, and
+fancying myself laughed at not less than him by every spectator.
+
+When we were got to the end of our procession, "Blast me," cries he,
+with an air of vivacity, "I never saw the park so thin in my life
+before; there's no company at all to-day; not a single face to be
+seen." "No company," interrupted I, peevishly; "no company where there
+is such a crowd! why man, there's too much. What are the thousands
+that have been laughing at us but company!" "Lard, my dear," returned
+he, with the utmost good-humour, "you seem immensely chagrined; but
+blast me, when the world laughs at me, I laugh at all the world, and so
+we are even. My Lord Trip, Bill Squash, the Creolian, and I sometimes
+make a party at being ridiculous; and so we say and do a thousand
+things for the joke. But I see you are grave, and if you are a fine
+grave sentimental companion, you shall dine with me and my wife to-day,
+I must insist on't; I'll introduce you to Mrs. Tibbs, a lady of as
+elegant qualifications as any in nature; she was bred, but that's
+between ourselves, under the inspection of the Countess of All-night. A
+charming body of voice, but no more of that, she will give us a song.
+You shall see my little girl too, Carolina Wilhelma Amelia Tibbs, a
+sweet pretty creature; I design her for my Lord Drumstick's eldest son,
+but that's in friendship, let it go no farther; she's but six years
+old, and yet she walks a minuet, and plays on the guitar immensely
+already. I intend she shall be as perfect as possible in every
+accomplishment. In the first place I'll make her a scholar; I'll teach
+her Greek myself, and learn that language purposely to instruct her;
+but let that be a secret."
+
+Thus saying, without waiting for a reply, he took me by the arm, and
+hauled me along. We passed through many dark alleys and winding ways;
+for, from some motives, to me unknown, he seemed to have a particular
+aversion to every frequented street; at last, however, we got to the
+door of a dismal-looking house in the outlets of the town, where he
+informed me he chose to reside for the benefit of the air.
+
+We entered the lower door, which ever seemed to lie most hospitably
+open, and I began to ascend an old and creaking staircase, when, as he
+mounted to show me the way, he demanded whether I delighted in
+prospects, to which answering in the affirmative, "Then," says he, "I
+shall show you one of the most charming in the world out of my windows;
+we shall see the ships sailing, and the whole country for twenty miles
+round, tip top, quite high. My Lord Swamp would give ten thousand
+guineas for such an one; but as I sometimes pleasantly tell him, I
+always love to keep my prospects at home, that my friends may see me
+the oftener."
+
+By this time we were arrived as high as the stairs would permit us to
+ascend, till we came to what he was facetiously pleased to call the
+first floor down the chimney; and knocking at the door, a voice from
+within demanded, who's there? My conductor answered that it was him.
+But this not satisfying the querist, the voice again repeated the
+demand: to which he answered louder than before; and now the door was
+opened by an old woman with cautious reluctance.
+
+When we were got in, he welcomed me to his house with great ceremony,
+and turning to the old woman, asked where was her lady? "Good troth,"
+replied she, in a peculiar dialect, "she's washing your two shirts at
+the next door, because they have taken an oath against lending out the
+tub any longer." "My two shirts," cries he in a tone that faltered with
+confusion, "what does the idiot mean!" "I ken what I mean well enough,"
+replied the other, "she's washing your two shirts at the next door,
+because--" "Fire and fury! no more of thy stupid explanations," cried
+he. "Go and inform her we have got company. Were that Scotch hag to be
+for ever in the family, she would never learn politeness, nor forget
+that absurd poisonous accent of hers, or testify the smallest specimen
+of breeding or high life; and yet it is very surprising too, as I had
+her from a parliament man, a friend of mine, from the highlands, one
+of the politest men in the world; but that's a secret."
+
+We waited some time for Mrs. Tibbs' arrival, during which interval I
+had a full opportunity of surveying the chamber and all its furniture;
+which consisted of four chairs with old wrought bottoms, that he
+assured me were his wife's embroidery; a square table that had been
+once japanned, a cradle in one corner, a lumbering cabinet in the
+other; a broken shepherdess, and a mandarin without a head, were stuck
+over the chimney; and round the walls several paltry, unframed
+pictures, which, he observed, were all his own drawing. "What do you
+think, sir, of that head in a corner, done in the manner of Grisoni?
+There's the true keeping in it; it's my own face, and though there
+happens to be no likeness, a countess offered me an hundred for its
+fellow. I refused her, for, hang it, that would be mechanical, you
+know."
+
+The wife at last made her appearance, at once a slattern and a
+coquette; much emaciated, but still carrying the remains of beauty. She
+made twenty apologies for being seen in such odious dishabille, but
+hoped to be excused, as she had stayed out all night at the gardens
+with the countess, who was excessively fond of the horns. "And, indeed,
+my dear," added she, turning to her husband, "his lordship drank your
+health in a bumper." "Poor Jack," cries he, "a dear good-natured
+creature, I know he loves me; but I hope, my dear, you have given
+orders for dinner; you need make no great preparations neither, there
+are but three of us, something elegant, and little will do; a turbot,
+an ortolan, or a--" "Or what do you think, my dear," interrupts the
+wife, "of a nice pretty bit of ox-cheek, piping hot, and dressed with a
+little of my own sauce."--"The very thing," replies he, "it will eat
+best with some smart bottled beer: but be sure to let's have the sauce
+his grace was so fond of. I hate your immense loads of meat, that is
+country all over; extreme disgusting to those who are in the least
+acquainted with high life."
+
+By this time my curiosity began to abate, and my appetite to increase;
+the company of fools may at first make us smile, but at last never
+fails of rendering us melancholy; I therefore pretended to recollect a
+prior engagement, and after having shown my respect to the house,
+according to the fashion of the English, by giving the old servant a
+piece of money at the door, I took my leave; Mr. Tibbs assuring me that
+dinner, if I stayed, would be ready at least in less than two hours.
+
+
+
+
+CHARLES CHURCHILL.
+
+(1731-1764.)
+
+
+XLIV. THE JOURNEY.
+
+    Churchill devoted himself principally to satirical attacks upon
+    actors and the stage as a whole. His _Rosciad_ created quite a
+    panic among the disciples of Thespis, even the mighty Garrick
+    courting this terrible _censor morum_. His own morals were but
+    indifferent.
+
+
+  Some of my friends (for friends I must suppose
+  All, who, not daring to appear my foes,
+  Feign great good-will, and not more full of spite
+  Than full of craft, under false colours fight)
+  Some of my friends (so lavishly I print)
+  As more in sorrow than in anger, hint
+  (Tho' that indeed will scarce admit a doubt)
+  That I shall run my stock of genius out,
+  My no great stock, and, publishing so fast,
+  Must needs become a bankrupt at the last.
+    Recover'd from the vanity of youth,
+  I feel, alas! this melancholy truth,
+  Thanks to each cordial, each advising friend,
+  And am, if not too late, resolv'd to mend,
+  Resolv'd to give some respite to my pen,
+  Apply myself once more to books and men,
+  View what is present, what is past review,
+  And my old stock exhausted, lay in new.
+  For twice six moons (let winds, turn'd porters, bear
+  This oath to Heav'n), for twice six moons, I swear,
+  No Muse shall tempt me with her siren lay,
+  Nor draw me from Improvement's thorny way;
+  Verse I abjure, nor will forgive that friend,
+  Who in my hearing shall a rhyme commend.
+    It cannot be--Whether I will, or no,
+  Such as they are, my thoughts in measure flow.
+  Convinc'd, determin'd, I in prose begin,
+  But ere I write one sentence, verse creeps in,
+  And taints me thro' and thro': by this good light,
+  In verse I talk by day, I dream by night;
+  If now and then I curse, my curses chime,
+  Nor can I pray, unless I pray in rhyme,
+  E'en now I err, in spite of common-sense,
+  And my confession doubles my offence.
+  Here is no lie, no gall, no art, no force;
+  Mean are the words, and such as come of course,
+  The subject not less simple than the lay;
+  A plain, unlabour'd Journey of a day.
+    Far from me now be ev'ry tuneful Maid,
+  I neither ask, nor can receive their aid.
+  Pegasus turn'd into a common hack,
+  Alone I jog, and keep the beaten track,
+  Nor would I have the Sisters of the Hill
+  Behold their bard in such a dishabille.
+  Absent, but only absent for a time,
+  Let them caress some dearer son of rhyme;
+  Let them, as far as decency permits,
+  Without suspicion, play the fool with wits,
+  'Gainst fools be guarded; 'tis a certain rule,
+  Wits are false things, there's danger in a fool.
+    Let them, tho' modest, Gray more modest woo;
+  Let them with Mason bleat, and bray, and coo;
+  Let them with Franklin, proud of some small Greek,
+  Make Sophocles disguis'd, in English speak;
+  Let them with Glover o'er Medea doze;
+  Let them with Dodsley wail Cleone's woes,
+  Whilst he, fine feeling creature, all in tears,
+  Melts, as they melt, and weeps with weeping peers;
+  Let them with simple Whitehead, taught to creep
+  Silent and soft, lay Fontenelle asleep;[214]
+  Let them with Browne contrive, to vulgar trick,
+  To cure the dead, and make the living sick;[215]
+  Let them in charity to Murphy give
+  Some old French piece, that he may steal and live;
+  Let them with antic Foote subscriptions get,
+  And advertise a Summer-house of Wit.
+    Thus, or in any better way they please,
+  With these great men, or with great men like these,
+  Let them their appetite for laughter feed;
+  I on my Journey all alone proceed.
+    If fashionable grown, and fond of pow'r,
+  With hum'rous Scots let them disport their hour:
+  Let them dance, fairy-like, round Ossian's tomb;
+  Let them forge lies, and histories for Hume;
+  Let them with Home, the very prince of verse,
+  Make something like a Tragedy in Erse;
+  Under dark Allegory's flimsy veil
+  Let them with Ogilvie spin out a tale
+  Of rueful length; Let them plain things obscure,
+  Debase what's truly rich, and what is poor
+  Make poorer still by jargon most uncouth;
+  With ev'ry pert, prim prettiness of youth
+  Born of false Taste, with Fancy (like a child
+  Not knowing what it cries for) running wild,
+  With bloated style, by affectation taught,
+  With much false colouring, and little thought,
+  With phrases strange, and dialect decreed
+  By reason never to have pass'd the Tweed,
+  With words which Nature meant each other's foe,
+  Forc'd to compound whether they will or no;
+  With such materials let them, if they will,
+  To prove at once their pleasantry and skill,
+  Build up a bard to war 'gainst Common-Sense,
+  By way of compliment to Providence;
+  Let them with Armstrong, taking leave of Sense,
+  Read musty lectures on Benevolence,
+  Or con the pages of his gaping Day,
+  Where all his former fame was thrown away,
+  Where all but barren labour was forgot,
+  And the vain stiffness of a letter'd Scot;
+  Let them with Armstrong pass the term of light,
+  But not one hour of darkness; when the night
+  Suspends this mortal coil, when Memory wakes,
+  When for our past misdoings Conscience takes
+  A deep revenge, when by Reflection led,
+  She draws his curtain, and looks Comfort dead,
+  Let ev'ry Muse be gone; in vain he turns
+  And tries to pray for sleep; an Etna burns,
+  A more than Etna in his coward breast,
+  And Guilt, with vengeance arm'd, forbids him rest:
+  Tho' soft as plumage from young zephyr's wing,
+  His couch seems hard, and no relief can bring.
+  Ingratitude hath planted daggers there,
+  No good man can deserve, no brave man bear.
+    Thus, or in any better way they please,
+  With these great men, or with great men like these,
+  Let them their appetite for laughter feed
+  I on my Journey all alone proceed.
+
+[Footnote 214: See _The School for Lovers_, by Mr. Whitehead, taken
+from Fontenelle.]
+
+[Footnote 215: See _The Cure of Saul_, by Dr. Browne.]
+
+
+
+
+JUNIUS.
+
+(1769-1770-1771.)
+
+
+XLV. TO THE KING.
+
+    The following is the famous letter which appeared in the _Public
+    Advertiser_ for December 20th, 1769. This is also the one on which
+    the advocates of the theory that George, Lord Sackville, was the
+    writer of the _Letters of Junius_ lay such stress.
+
+
+_To the Printer of the "Public Advertiser_".
+
+December 19, 1769.
+
+SIR,
+
+When the complaints of a brave and powerful people are observed to
+increase in proportion to the wrongs they have suffered, when, instead
+of sinking into submission, they are roused to resistance, the time
+will soon arrive at which every inferior consideration must yield to
+the security of the sovereign, and to the general safety of the state.
+There is a moment of difficulty and danger at which flattery and
+falsehood can no longer deceive, and simplicity itself can no longer be
+misled. Let us suppose it arrived; let us suppose a gracious,
+well-intentioned prince, made sensible at last of the great duty he
+owes to his people, and of his own disgraceful situation; that he looks
+round him for assistance, and asks for no advice but how to gratify the
+wishes and secure the happiness of his subjects. In these
+circumstances, it may be matter of curious _speculation_ to consider,
+if an honest man were permitted to approach a king, in what terms he
+would address himself to his sovereign. Let it be imagined, no matter
+how improbable, that the first prejudice against his character is
+removed; that the ceremonious difficulties of an audience are
+surmounted; that he feels himself animated by the purest and most
+honourable affections to his king and country; and that the great
+person whom he addresses has spirit enough to bid him speak freely, and
+understanding enough to listen to him with attention. Unacquainted with
+the vain impertinence of forms, he would deliver his sentiments with
+dignity and firmness, but not without respect.
+
+Sir,
+
+It is the misfortune of your life, and originally the cause of every
+reproach and distress which has attended your government, that you
+should never have been acquainted with the language of truth until you
+heard it in the complaints of your people. It is not, however, too late
+to correct the error of your education. We are still inclined to make
+an indulgent allowance for the pernicious lessons you received in your
+youth, and to form the most sanguine hopes from the natural benevolence
+of your disposition. We are far from thinking you capable of a direct,
+deliberate purpose to invade those original rights of your subjects on
+which all their civil and political liberties depend. Had it been
+possible for us to entertain a suspicion so dishonourable to your
+character, we should long since have adopted a style of remonstrance
+very distant from the humility of complaint. The doctrine inculcated by
+our laws, _That the king can do no-wrong_, is admitted without
+reluctance. We separate the amiable, good-natured prince from the folly
+and treachery of his servants, and the private virtues of the man from
+the vices of his government. Were it not for this just distinction, I
+know not whether your Majesty's condition, or that of the English
+nation, would deserve most to be lamented. I would prepare your mind
+for a favourable reception of truth by removing every painful,
+offensive idea of personal reproach. Your subjects, Sir, wish for
+nothing but that, as _they_ are reasonable and affectionate enough to
+separate your person from your government, so _you_, in your turn,
+should distinguish between the conduct which becomes the permanent
+dignity of a king and that which serves only to promote the temporary
+interest and miserable ambition of a minister.
+
+You ascended the throne with a declared--and, I doubt not, a
+sincere--resolution of giving universal satisfaction to your subjects.
+You found them pleased with the novelty of a young prince whose
+countenance promised even more than his words, and loyal to you, not
+only from principle, but passion. It was not a cold profession of
+allegiance to the first magistrate, but a partial, animated attachment
+to a favourite prince, the native of their country. They did not wait
+to examine your conduct nor to be determined by experience, but gave
+you a generous credit for the future blessings of your reign, and paid
+you in advance the dearest tribute of their affections. Such, Sir, was
+once the disposition of a people who now surround your throne with
+reproaches and complaints.--Do justice to yourself. Banish from your
+mind those unworthy opinions with which some interested persons have
+laboured to possess you.--Distrust the men who tell you that the
+English are naturally light and inconstant; that they complain without
+a cause. Withdraw your confidence equally from all parties--from
+ministers, favourites, and relations; and let there be one moment in
+your life in which you have consulted your own understanding.
+
+When you affectedly renounced the name of Englishman, believe me, Sir,
+you were persuaded to pay a very ill-judged compliment to one part of
+your subjects at the expense of another. While the natives of Scotland
+are not in actual rebellion, they are undoubtedly entitled to
+protection; nor do I mean to condemn the policy of giving some
+encouragement to the novelty of their affections for the House of
+Hanover. I am ready to hope for everything from their new-born zeal,
+and from the future steadiness of their allegiance, but hitherto they
+have no claim to your favour. To honour them with a determined
+predilection and confidence, in exclusion of your English subjects, who
+placed your family, and, in spite of treachery and rebellion, have
+supported it, upon the throne, is a mistake too gross even for the
+unsuspecting generosity of youth. In this error we see a capital
+violation of the most obvious rules of policy and prudence. We trace
+it, however, to an original bias in your education, and are ready to
+allow for your inexperience.
+
+To the same early influence we attribute it that you have descended to
+take a share, not only in the narrow views and interests of particular
+persons, but in the fatal malignity of their passions. At your
+accession to the throne the whole system of government was altered, not
+from wisdom or deliberation, but because it had been adopted by your
+predecessor. A little personal motive of pique and resentment was
+sufficient to remove the ablest servants of the Crown; but it is not in
+this country, Sir, that such men can be dishonoured by the frowns of a
+king. They were dismissed, but could not be disgraced. Without entering
+into a minuter discussion of the merits of the peace, we may observe,
+in the imprudent hurry with which the first overtures from France were
+accepted, in the conduct of the negotiation, and terms of the treaty,
+the strongest marks of that precipitate spirit of concession with which
+a certain part of your subjects have been at all times ready to
+purchase a peace with the natural enemies of this country. On _your_
+part we are satisfied that everything was honourable and sincere; and,
+if England was sold to France, we doubt not that your Majesty was
+equally betrayed. The conditions of the peace were matter of grief and
+surprise to your subjects, but not the immediate cause of their present
+discontent.
+
+Hitherto, Sir, you had been sacrificed to the prejudices and passions
+of others. With what firmness will you bear the mention of your own?
+
+A man, not very honourably distinguished in the world, commences a
+formal attack upon your favourite, considering nothing but how he might
+best expose his person and principles to detestation, and the national
+character of his countrymen to contempt. The natives of that country,
+Sir, are as much distinguished by a peculiar character as by your
+Majesty's favour. Like another chosen people, they have been conducted
+into the land of plenty, where they find themselves effectually marked
+and divided from mankind. There is hardly a period at which the most
+irregular character may not be redeemed. The mistakes of one sex find a
+retreat in patriotism, those of the other in devotion. Mr. Wilkes
+brought with him into politics the same liberal sentiments by which his
+private conduct had been directed, and seemed to think that, as there
+are few excesses in which an English gentleman may not be permitted to
+indulge, the same latitude was allowed him in the choice of his
+political principles, and in the spirit of maintaining them. I mean to
+state, not entirely to defend, his conduct. In the earnestness of his
+zeal he suffered some unwarrantable insinuations to escape him. He said
+more than moderate men would justify, but not enough to entitle him to
+the honour of your Majesty's personal resentment. The rays of royal
+indignation, collected upon him, served only to illuminate, and could
+not consume. Animated by the favour of the people on the one side, and
+heated by persecution on the other, his views and sentiments changed
+with his situation. Hardly serious at first, he is now an enthusiast.
+The coldest bodies warm with opposition, the hardest sparkle in
+collision.--There is a holy, mistaken zeal in politics as well as
+religion. By persuading others, we convince ourselves. The passions are
+engaged, and create a material affection in the mind, which forces us
+to love the cause for which we suffer. Is this a contention worthy of a
+king? Are you not sensible how much the meanness of the cause gives an
+air of ridicule to the serious difficulties into which you have been
+betrayed? The destruction of one man has been now, for many years, the
+sole object of your government; and, if there can be anything still
+more disgraceful, we have seen, for such an object, the utmost
+influence of the executive power, and every ministerial artifice,
+exerted without success. Nor can you ever succeed, unless he should be
+imprudent enough to forfeit the protection of those laws to which you
+owe your crown, or unless your minister should persuade you to make it
+a question of force alone, and try the whole strength of government in
+opposition to the people. The lessons he has received from experience
+will probably guard him from such excess of folly, and in your
+Majesty's virtues we find an unquestionable assurance that no illegal
+violence will be attempted.
+
+Far from suspecting you of so horrible a design, we would attribute his
+continued violation of the laws, and even the last enormous attack upon
+the vital principles of the constitution, to an ill-advised, unworthy,
+personal resentment. From one false step you have been betrayed into
+another, and, as the cause was unworthy of you, your ministers were
+determined that the prudence executed should correspond with the
+wisdom and dignity of the design. They have reduced you to the
+necessity of choosing out of a variety of difficulties; to a situation
+so unhappy that you can neither do wrong without ruin, nor right
+without affliction. These worthy servants have undoubtedly given you
+many singular proofs of their abilities. Not contented with making Mr.
+Wilkes a man of importance, they have judiciously transferred the
+question from the rights and interests of one man to the most important
+rights and interests of the people, and forced your subjects from
+wishing well to the cause of an individual to unite with him in their
+own. Let them proceed as they have begun, and your Majesty need not
+doubt that the catastrophe will do no dishonour to the conduct of the
+piece.
+
+The circumstances to which you are reduced will not admit of a
+compromise with the English nation. Undecisive, qualifying measures
+will disgrace your government still more than open violence, and,
+without satisfying the people, will excite their contempt. They have
+too much understanding and spirit to accept of an indirect satisfaction
+for a direct injury. Nothing less than a repeal, as formal as the
+resolution itself, can heal the wound which has been given to the
+constitution, nor will anything less be accepted. I can readily believe
+that there is an influence sufficient to recall that pernicious vote.
+The House of Commons undoubtedly consider their duty to the Crown as
+paramount to all other obligations. To us they are only indebted for an
+accidental existence, and have justly transferred their gratitude from
+their parents to their benefactors, from those who gave them birth to
+the minister from whose benevolence they derive the comforts and
+pleasure of their political life, who has taken the tenderest care of
+their infancy and relieves their necessities without offending their
+delicacy. But if it were possible for their integrity to be degraded
+to a condition so vile and abject that, compared with it, the present
+estimation they stand in is a state of honour and respect, consider,
+Sir, in what manner you will afterwards proceed. Can you conceive that
+the people of this country will long submit to be governed by so
+flexible a House of Commons? It is not in the nature of human society
+that any form of government, in such circumstances, can long be
+preserved. In ours, the general contempt of the people is as fatal as
+their detestation. Such, I am persuaded, would be the necessary effect
+of any base concession made by the present House of Commons, and, as a
+qualifying measure would not be accepted, it remains for you to decide
+whether you will, at any hazard, support a set of men who have reduced
+you to this unhappy dilemma, or whether you will gratify the united
+wishes of the whole people of England by dissolving the Parliament.
+
+Taking it for granted, as I do very sincerely, that you have personally
+no design against the constitution, nor any view inconsistent with the
+good of your subjects, I think you cannot hesitate long upon the choice
+which it equally concerns your interests and your honour to adopt. On
+one side you hazard the affection of all your English subjects, you
+relinquish every hope of repose to yourself, and you endanger the
+establishment of your family for ever. All this you venture for no
+object whatsoever, or for such an object as it would be an affront to
+you to name. Men of sense will examine your conduct with suspicion,
+while those who are incapable of comprehending to what degree they are
+injured afflict you with clamours equally insolent and unmeaning.
+Supposing it possible that no fatal struggle should ensue, you
+determine at once to be unhappy, without the hope of a compensation
+either from interest or ambition. If an English king be hated or
+despised, he _must_ be unhappy; and this, perhaps, is the only
+political truth which he ought to be convinced of without experiment.
+But if the English people should no longer confine their resentment to
+a submissive representation of their wrongs; if, following the glorious
+example of their ancestors, they should no longer appeal to the
+creature of the constitution, but to that high Being who gave them the
+rights of humanity, whose gifts it were sacrilege to surrender, let me
+ask you, Sir, upon what part of your subjects would you rely for
+assistance?
+
+The people of Ireland have been uniformly plundered and oppressed. In
+return they give you every day fresh marks of their resentment. They
+despise the miserable governor you have sent them, because he is the
+creature of Lord Bute, nor is it from any natural confusion in their
+ideas that they are so ready to confound the original of a king with
+the disgraceful representation of him.
+
+The distance of the colonies would make it impossible for them to take
+an active concern in your affairs, if they were as well affected to
+your government as they once pretended to be to your person. They were
+ready enough to distinguish between you and your ministers. They
+complained of an act of the legislature, but traced the origin of it no
+higher than to the servants of the Crown; they pleased themselves with
+the hope that their sovereign, if not favourable to their cause, at
+least was impartial. The decisive personal part you took against them
+has effectually banished that first distinction from their minds. They
+consider you as united with your servants against America, and know how
+to distinguish the sovereign and a venal parliament on one side from
+the real sentiments of the English people on the other. Looking forward
+to independence, they might possibly receive you for their king; but,
+if ever you retire to America, be assured they will give you such a
+covenant to digest as the presbytery of Scotland would have been
+ashamed to offer to Charles the Second. They left their native land in
+search of freedom, and found it in a desert. Divided as they are into a
+thousand forms of policy and religion, there is one point in which they
+all agree: they equally detest the pageantry of a king and the
+supercilious hypocrisy of a bishop.
+
+It is not, then, from the alienated affections of Ireland or America
+that you can reasonably look for assistance; still less from the people
+of England, who are actually contending for their rights, and in this
+great question are parties against you. You are not, however, destitute
+of every appearance of support: you have all the Jacobites, Non-jurors,
+Roman Catholics, and Tories of this country, and all Scotland, without
+exception. Considering from what family you are descended, the choice
+of your friends has been singularly directed; and truly, Sir, if you
+had not lost the Whig interest of England, I should admire your
+dexterity in turning the hearts of your enemies. Is it possible for you
+to place any confidence in men who, before they are faithful to you,
+must renounce every opinion and betray every principle, both in church
+and state, which they inherit from their ancestors and are confirmed in
+by their education; whose numbers are so inconsiderable that they have
+long since been obliged to give up the principles and language which
+distinguish them as a party, and to fight under the banners of their
+enemies? Their zeal begins with hypocrisy, and must conclude in
+treachery. At first they deceive, at last they betray.
+
+As to the Scotch, I must suppose your heart and understanding so
+biassed from your earliest infancy in their favour that nothing less
+than _your own_ misfortunes can undeceive you. You will not accept of
+the uniform experience of your ancestors; and, when once a man is
+determined to believe, the very absurdity of the doctrine confirms him
+in his faith. A bigoted understanding can draw a proof of attachment to
+the House of Hanover from a notorious zeal for the House of Stuart, and
+find an earnest of future loyalty in former rebellions. Appearances
+are, however, in their favour: so strongly, indeed, that one would
+think they had forgotten that you are their lawful king, and had
+mistaken you for a pretender to the crown. Let it be admitted, then,
+that the Scotch are as sincere in their present professions as if you
+were in reality, not an Englishman, but a Briton of the North. You
+would not be the first prince of their native country against whom they
+have rebelled, nor the first whom they have basely betrayed. Have you
+forgotten, Sir, or has your favourite concealed from you, that part of
+our history when the unhappy Charles (and he, too, had private virtues)
+fled from the open, avowed indignation of his English subjects, and
+surrendered himself at discretion to the good faith of his own
+countrymen? Without looking for support in their affections as
+subjects, he applied only to their honour as gentlemen for protection.
+They received him, as they would your Majesty, with bows and smiles and
+falsehood, and kept him until they had settled their bargain with the
+English parliament, then basely sold their native king to the vengeance
+of his enemies. This, Sir, was not the act of a few traitors, but the
+deliberate treachery of a Scotch parliament representing the nation. A
+wise prince might draw from it two lessons of equal utility to himself.
+On one side he might learn to dread the undisguised resentment of a
+generous people who dare openly assert their rights, and who in a just
+cause are ready to meet their sovereign in the field. On the other side
+he would be taught to apprehend something far more formidable: a
+fawning treachery against which no prudence can guard, no courage can
+defend. The insidious smile upon the cheek would warn him of the canker
+in the heart.
+
+From the uses to which one part of the army has been too frequently
+applied, you have some reason to expect that there are no services they
+would refuse. Here, too, we trace the partiality of your understanding.
+You take the sense of the army from the conduct of the guards, with the
+same justice with which you collect the sense of the people from the
+representations of the ministry. Your marching regiments, Sir, will not
+make the guards their example either as soldiers or subjects. They feel
+and resent, as they ought to do, that invariable, undistinguishing
+favour with which the guards are treated, while those gallant troops,
+by whom every hazardous, every laborious service is performed, are left
+to perish in garrisons abroad, or pine in quarters at home, neglected
+and forgotten. If they had no sense of the great original duty they owe
+their country, their resentment would operate like patriotism, and
+leave your cause to be defended by those on whom you have lavished the
+rewards and honours of their profession. The Praetorian bands, enervated
+and debauched as they were, had still strength enough to awe the Roman
+populace, but when the distant legions took the alarm they marched to
+Rome and gave away the empire.
+
+On this side, then, whichever way you turn your eyes, you see nothing
+but perplexity and distress. You may determine to support the very
+ministry who have reduced your affairs to this deplorable situation;
+you may shelter yourself under the forms of a parliament, and set the
+people at defiance; but be assured, Sir, that such a resolution would
+be as imprudent as it would be odious. If it did not immediately shake
+your establishment, it would rob you of your peace of mind for ever.
+
+On the other, how different is the prospect! How easy, how safe and
+honourable, is the path before you! The English nation declare they are
+grossly injured by their representatives, and solicit your Majesty to
+exert your lawful prerogative, and give them an opportunity of
+recalling a trust which they find has been scandalously abused. You are
+not to be told that the power of the House of Commons is not original,
+but delegated to them for the welfare of the people, from whom they
+received it. A question of right arises between the constituent and the
+representative body. By what authority shall it be decided? Will your
+Majesty interfere in a question in which you have, properly, no
+immediate concern? It would be a step equally odious and unnecessary.
+Shall the Lords be called upon to determine the rights and privileges
+of the Commons? They cannot do it without a flagrant breach of the
+constitution. Or will you refer it to the judges? They have often told
+your ancestors that the law of parliament is above them. What part then
+remains but to leave it to the people to determine for themselves? They
+alone are injured, and since there is no superior power to which the
+cause can be referred, they alone ought to determine.
+
+I do not mean to perplex you with a tedious argument upon a subject
+already so discussed that inspiration could hardly throw a new light
+upon it. There are, however, two points of view in which it
+particularly imports your Majesty to consider the late proceedings of
+the House of Commons. By depriving a subject of his birthright they
+have attributed to their own vote an authority equal to an act of the
+whole legislature, and, though perhaps not with the same motives, have
+strictly followed the example of the Long Parliament, which first
+declared the regal office useless, and soon after, with as little
+ceremony, dissolved the House of Lords. The same pretended power which
+robs an English subject of his birthright may rob an English king of
+his crown. In another view, the resolution of the House of Commons,
+apparently not so dangerous to your Majesty, is still more alarming to
+your people. Not contented with divesting one man of his right, they
+have arbitrarily conveyed that right to another. They have set aside a
+return as illegal, without daring to censure those officers who were
+particularly apprised of Mr. Wilkes' incapacity, not only by the
+declaration of the House, but expressly by the writ directed to them,
+and who, nevertheless, returned him as duly elected. They have rejected
+the majority of votes, the only criterion by which our laws judge of
+the sense of the people; they have transferred the right of election
+from the collective to the representative body; and by these acts,
+taken separately or together, they have essentially altered the
+original constitution of the House of Commons. Versed as your Majesty
+undoubtedly is in the English history, it cannot escape you how much it
+is your interest as well as your duty to prevent one of the three
+estates from encroaching upon the province of the other two, or
+assuming the authority of them all. When once they have departed from
+the great constitutional line by which all their proceedings should be
+directed, who will answer for their future moderation? Or what
+assurance will they give you that, when they have trampled upon their
+equals, they will submit to a superior? Your Majesty may learn
+hereafter how nearly the slave and tyrant are allied.
+
+Some of your council, more candid than the rest, admit the abandoned
+profligacy of the present House of Commons, but oppose their
+dissolution, upon an opinion, I confess, not very unwarrantable, that
+their successors would be equally at the disposal of the treasury. I
+cannot persuade myself that the nation will have profited so little by
+experience. But if that opinion were well founded, you might then
+gratify our wishes at an easy rate, and appease the present clamour
+against your government, without offering any material injury to the
+favourite cause of corruption.
+
+You have still an honourable part to act. The affections of your
+subjects may still be recovered. But before you subdue their hearts you
+must gain a noble victory over your own. Discard those little, personal
+resentments which have too long directed your public conduct. Pardon
+this man the remainder of his punishment; and, if resentment still
+prevails, make it what it should have been long since--an act, not of
+mercy, but of contempt. He will soon fall back into his natural
+station, a silent senator, and hardly supporting the weekly eloquence
+of a newspaper. The gentle breath of peace would leave him on the
+surface, neglected and unremoved. It is only the tempest that lifts him
+from his place.
+
+Without consulting your minister, call together your whole council. Let
+it appear to the public that you can determine and act for yourself.
+Come forward to your people. Lay aside the wretched formalities of a
+king, and speak to your subjects with the spirit of a man and in the
+language of a gentleman. Tell them you have been fatally deceived. The
+acknowledgment will be no disgrace, but rather an honour, to your
+understanding. Tell them you are determined to remove every cause of
+complaint against your government, that you will give your confidence
+to no man who does not possess the confidence of your subjects, and
+leave it to themselves to determine, by their conduct at a future
+election, whether or no it be in reality the general sense of the
+nation that their rights have been arbitrarily invaded by the present
+House of Commons, and the constitution betrayed. They will then do
+justice to their representatives and to themselves.
+
+These sentiments, Sir, and the style they are conveyed in, may be
+offensive, perhaps, because they are new to you. Accustomed to the
+language of courtiers, you measure their affections by the vehemence of
+their expressions, and when they only praise you indifferently, you
+admire their sincerity. But this is not a time to trifle with your
+fortune. They deceive you, Sir, who tell you that you have many
+friends, whose affections are founded upon a principle of personal
+attachment. The first foundation of friendship is not the power of
+conferring benefits, but the equality with which they are received and
+may be returned. The fortune which made you a king forbade you to have
+a friend. It is a law of nature which cannot be violated with impunity.
+The mistaken prince who looks for friendship will find a favourite, and
+in that favourite the ruin of his affairs.
+
+The people of England are loyal to the House of Hanover, not from a
+vain preference of one family to another, but from a conviction that
+the establishment of that family was necessary to the support of their
+civil and religious liberties. This, Sir, is a principle of allegiance
+equally solid and rational, fit for Englishmen to adopt, and well
+worthy of your Majesty's encouragement. We cannot long be deluded by
+nominal distinctions. The name of Stuart, of itself, is only
+contemptible; armed with the sovereign authority, their principles are
+formidable. The prince who imitates their conduct should be warned by
+their example, and, while he plumes himself upon the security of his
+title to the crown, should remember that, as it was acquired by one
+revolution, it may be lost by another.
+
+
+
+
+ROBERT BURNS.
+
+(1759-1796.)
+
+
+XLVI. ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS.
+
+        My son, these maxims make a rule,
+          And lump them aye thegither;
+        The Rigid Righteous is a fool,
+          The Rigid Wise anither;
+        The cleanest corn that ere was dight
+          May ha'e some pyles o' caff in;
+        So ne'er a fellow-creature slight
+          For random fits o' daffin'.--_Solomon_.--Eccles. vii. 16.
+
+    This undoubtedly ranks as one of the noblest satires in our
+    literature. It was first published as a broadside, and afterwards
+    incorporated in the Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions.
+
+
+  Oh ye wha are sae guid yoursel',
+    Sae pious an' sae holy,
+  Ye've nought to do but mark an' tell
+    Your neebour's fauts an' folly!
+  Whase life is like a weel-gaun[216] mill,
+    Supplied wi' store o' water,
+  The heaped happer's[217] ebbing still,
+    An' still the clap plays clatter.
+
+  Hear me, ye venerable core,
+    As counsel for poor mortals,
+  That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door,
+    For glaiket[218] Folly's portals;
+  I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
+    Would here propone defences,
+  Their donsie[219] tricks, their black mistakes
+    Their failings an' mischances.
+
+  Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,
+    An' shudder at the niffer[220],
+  But cast a moment's fair regard,
+    What mak's the mighty differ?
+  Discount what scant occasion gave
+    That purity ye pride in,
+  An' (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
+    Your better art o' hiding.
+
+  Think, when your castigated pulse
+    Gi'es now an' then a wallop,
+  What ragings must his veins convulse,
+    That still eternal gallop.
+  Wi' wind an' tide fair i' your tail,
+    Right on ye scud your sea-way;
+  But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
+    It makes an unco lee-way.
+
+  See social life an' glee sit down,
+    All joyous an' unthinking,
+  Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown
+    Debauchery an' drinking:
+  Oh would they stay to calculate
+    Th' eternal consequences;
+  Or your more dreaded hell to state,
+    Damnation of expenses!
+
+  Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
+    Tied up in godly laces,
+  Before ye gi'e poor frailty names,
+    Suppose a change o' cases;
+  A dear loved lad, convenience snug,
+    A treacherous inclination--
+  But, let me whisper i' your lug[221],
+    Ye'er aiblins[222] nae temptation.
+
+  Then gently scan your brother man,
+    Still gentler sister woman;
+  Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
+    To step aside is human:
+  One point must still be greatly dark,
+    The moving why they do it:
+  An' just as lamely can ye mark,
+    How far perhaps they rue it.
+
+  Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
+    Decidedly can try us,
+  He knows each chord--its various tone,
+    Each spring--its various bias:
+  Then at the balance let's be mute,
+    We never can adjust it;
+  What's done we partly may compute,
+    But know not what's resisted.
+
+[Footnote 216: well-going.]
+
+[Footnote 217: hopper.]
+
+[Footnote 218: idle.]
+
+[Footnote 219: unlucky.]
+
+[Footnote 220: exchange.]
+
+[Footnote 221: ear.]
+
+[Footnote 222: perhaps.]
+
+
+
+XLVII. HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.
+
+    The hero of this daring exposition of Calvinistic theology was
+    William Fisher, a farmer in the neighbourhood of Mauchline, and an
+    elder in Mr. Auld's session. He had signalized himself in the
+    prosecution of Mr. Hamilton, elsewhere alluded to; and Burns
+    appears to have written these verses in retribution of the rancour
+    he had displayed on that occasion. Fisher was afterwards convicted
+    of appropriating the money collected for the poor. Coming home one
+    night from market in a state of intoxication, he fell into a ditch,
+    where he was found dead next morning. The poem was first published
+    in 1801, along with the "Jolly Beggars".
+
+
+  Oh Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell,
+  Wha, as it pleases best thysel',
+  Sends ane to heaven, an' ten to hell,
+            A' for thy glory,
+  An' no for ony guid or ill
+            They've done afore thee!
+
+  I bless an' praise thy matchless might,
+  Whan thousands thou hast left in night,
+  That I am here afore thy sight,
+            For gifts an' grace
+  A burnin' and a shinin' light
+            To a' this place.
+
+  What was I, or my generation,
+  That I should get sic exaltation,
+  I wha deserve sic just damnation,
+            For broken laws,
+  Five thousand years 'fore my creation,
+            Thro' Adam's cause?
+
+  When frae my mither's womb I fell,
+  Thou might ha'e plunged me deep in hell,
+  To gnash my gums, to weep an' wail,
+            In burnin' lake,
+  Whare damned devils roar an' yell,
+            Chain'd to a stake.
+
+  Yet I am here, a chosen sample;
+  To show thy grace is great an' ample;
+  I'm here a pillar in thy temple,
+            Strong as a rock,
+  A guide, a buckler, an example,
+            To a' thy flock.
+
+  But yet, oh Lord! confess I must,
+  At times I'm fash'd[223] wi' fleshly lust;
+  An' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust,
+            Vile self gets in:
+  But Thou remembers we are dust,
+            Defil'd in sin.
+
+  Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn
+  Beset thy servant e'en an' morn
+  Lest he owre high an' proud should turn,
+            'Cause he's sae gifted;
+  If sae, Thy ban' maun e'en be borne,
+            Until Thou lift it.
+
+  Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
+  For here Thou hast a chosen race:
+  But God confound their stubborn face,
+            And blast their name,
+  Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
+            And public shame.
+
+  Lord, mind Cawn Hamilton's deserts,
+  He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes[224],
+  Yet has sae mony takin' arts,
+            Wi' grit an' sma'[225],
+  Frae God's ain priests the people's hearts
+            He steals awa'.
+
+  And whan we chasten'd him therefore,
+  Thou kens how he bred sic a splore[226],
+  As set the warld in a roar
+            O' laughin' at us,--
+  Curse Thou his basket and his store,
+            Kail and potatoes.
+
+  Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r
+  Against the Presbyt'ry of Ayr;
+  Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak' it bare
+            Upo' their heads,
+  Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare,
+            For their misdeeds.
+
+  Oh Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
+  My very heart and saul are quakin',
+  To think how we stood groanin', shakin',
+            And swat wi' dread,
+  While he wi' hingin' lips and snakin',
+            Held up his head.
+
+  Lord, in the day of vengeance try him,
+  Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
+  And pass not in thy mercy by 'em,
+            Nor hear their pray'r;
+  But for thy people's sake destroy 'em,
+            And dinna spare,
+
+  But, Lord, remember me and mine,
+  Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine,
+  That I for gear[227] and grace may shine,
+            Excell'd by nane,
+  And a' the glory shall be thine,
+            Amen, amen!
+
+
+EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.
+
+
+  Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay
+    Tak's up its last abode;
+  His saul has ta'en some ither way,
+    I fear the left-hand road.
+
+  Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
+    Poor, silly body, see him;
+  Nae wonder he's as black's the grun',
+    Observe wha's standing wi' him.
+
+  Your brunstane[228] devilship, I see,
+    Has got him there before ye;
+  But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
+    Till ance you've heard my story.
+
+  Your pity I will not implore,
+    For pity ye ha'e nane;
+  Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,
+    And mercy's day is gane.
+
+  But hear me, sir, de'il as ye are,
+    Look something to your credit;
+  A coof[229] like him wad stain your name,
+    If it were kent ye did it.
+
+[Footnote 223: troubled.]
+
+[Footnote 224: cards.]
+
+[Footnote 225: great and small.]
+
+[Footnote 226: row.]
+
+[Footnote 227: wealth.]
+
+[Footnote 228: brimstone.]
+
+[Footnote 229: fool.]
+
+
+
+
+CHARLES LAMB.
+
+(1775-1835.)
+
+
+XLVIII. A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.
+
+    Published originally in 1811 in _The Reflector_, No. 4. As Lamb
+    himself states, it was meditated for two years before it was
+    committed to paper in 1805, but not published until six years
+    afterwards.
+
+
+  May the Babylonish curse
+  Straight confound my stammering verse,
+  If I can a passage see
+  In this word-perplexity,
+  Or a fit expression find,
+  Or a language to my mind
+  (Still the phrase is wide or scant),
+  To take leave of thee, Great Plant!
+  Or in any terms relate
+  Half my love, or half my hate:
+  For I hate yet love thee so,
+  That, whichever thing I show,
+  The plain truth will seem to be
+  A constrained hyperbole,
+  And the passions to proceed
+  More from a mistress than a weed.
+
+  Sooty retainer to the vine,
+  Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;
+  Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon
+  Thy begrimed complexion,
+  And, for thy pernicious sake,
+  More and greater oaths to break
+  Than reclaimed lovers take
+  'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay
+  Much too in the female way,
+  While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath
+  Faster than kisses or than death.
+
+  Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,
+  That our worst foes cannot find us,
+  And ill fortune, that would thwart us,
+  Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;
+  While each man, through thy heightening steam,
+  Does like a smoking Etna seem,
+  And all about us does express
+  (Fancy and wit in richest dress)
+  A Sicilian fruitfulness
+
+  Thou through such a mist dost show us,
+  That our best friends do not know us,
+  And, for those allowed features,
+  Due to reasonable creatures,
+  Liken'st us to fell Chimeras--
+  Monsters that, who see us, fear us;
+  Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,
+  Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.
+
+  Bacchus we know, and we allow
+  His tipsy rites. But what art thou,
+  That but by reflex canst show
+  What his deity can do,
+  As the false Egyptian spell
+  Aped the true Hebrew miracle?
+  Some few vapours thou may'st raise,
+  The weak brain may serve to amaze.
+  But to the reins and nobler heart
+  Canst nor life nor heat impart.
+
+  Brother of Bacchus, later born,
+  The old world was sure forlorn
+  Wanting thee, that aidest more
+  The god's victories than before
+  All his panthers, and the brawls
+  Of his piping Bacchanals.
+  These, as stale, we disallow,
+  Or judge of _thee_ meant: only thou
+  His true Indian conquest art;
+  And, for ivy round his dart,
+  The reformed god now weaves
+  A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.
+
+  Scent to match thy rich perfume
+  Chemic art did ne'er presume
+  Through her quaint alembic strain,
+  None so sovereign to the brain.
+  Nature, that did in thee excel,
+  Framed again no second smell.
+  Roses, violets, but toys
+  For the smaller sort of boys,
+  Or for greener damsels meant;
+  Thou art the only manly scent.
+
+  Stinking'st of the stinking kind,
+  Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,
+  Africa, that brags her foison,
+  Breeds no such prodigious poison,
+  Henbane, nightshade, both together,
+  Hemlock, aconite--
+                    Nay, rather,
+  Plant divine, of rarest virtue;
+  Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.
+  'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee;
+  None e'er prospered who defamed thee;
+  Irony all, and feigned abuse,
+  Such as perplexed lovers use
+  At a need, when, in despair
+  To paint forth their fairest fair,
+  Or in part but to express
+  That exceeding comeliness
+  Which their fancies doth so strike,
+  They borrow language of dislike,
+  And, instead of Dearest Miss,
+  Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,
+  And those forms of old admiring,
+  Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
+  Basilisk, and all that's evil,
+  Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,
+  Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,
+  Monkey, Ape, and twenty more;
+  Friendly Trait'ress, Loving Foe,--
+  Not that she is truly so,
+  But no other way they know
+  A contentment to express,
+  Borders so upon excess,
+  That they do not rightly wot
+  Whether it be pain or not.
+
+  Or as men, constrained to part
+  With what's nearest to their heart,
+  While their sorrow's at the height,
+  Lose discrimination quite,
+  And their hasty wrath let fall,
+  To appease their frantic gall,
+  On the darling thing whatever
+  Whence they feel it death to sever,
+  Though it be, as they, perforce
+  Guiltless of the sad divorce.
+
+  For I must (nor let it grieve thee,
+  Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.
+  For thy sake, Tobacco, I
+  Would do anything but die,
+  And but seek to extend my days
+  Long enough to sing thy praise.
+  But, as she who once hath been
+  A king's consort is a queen
+  Ever after, nor will bate
+  Any title of her state,
+  Though a widow or divorced,
+  So I, from thy converse forced,
+  The old name and style retain,
+  A right Katherine of Spain;
+  And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys
+  Of the blest Tobacco Boys;
+  Where, though I, by sour physician,
+  Am debarred the full fruition
+  Of thy favours, I may catch
+  Some collateral sweets, and snatch
+  Sidelong odours, that give life
+  Like glances from a neighbour's wife;
+  And still live in the byplaces
+  And the suburbs of thy graces,
+  And in thy borders take delight,
+  An unconquered Canaanite.
+
+
+
+
+THOMAS MOORE.
+
+(1779-1852.)
+
+
+XLIX. LINES ON LEIGH HUNT.
+
+    Suggested by Hunt's _Byron and his Contemporaries_.
+
+
+  Next week will be published (as "Lives" are the rage)
+    The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange,
+  Of a small puppy-dog that lived once in the cage
+    Of the late noble lion at Exeter 'Change.
+
+  Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call "sad",
+    'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends;
+  And few dogs have such opportunities had
+    Of knowing how lions behave--among friends.
+
+  How that animal eats, how he moves, how he drinks,
+    Is all noted down by this Boswell so small;
+  And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks
+    That the lion was no such great things after all.
+
+  Though he roar'd pretty well--this the puppy allows--
+    It was all, he says, borrow'd--all second-hand roar;
+  And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows
+    To the loftiest war-note the lion could pour.
+
+  'Tis indeed as good fun as a cynic could ask,
+    To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits
+  Takes gravely the lord of the forest to task,
+    And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits.
+
+  Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case)
+    With sops every day from the lion's own pan,
+  He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcase,
+    And--does all a dog, so diminutive, can.
+
+  However the book's a good book, being rich in
+    Examples and warnings to lions high-bred,
+  How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen,
+    Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead.
+
+
+
+
+GEORGE CANNING.
+
+(1770-1827.)
+
+
+L. EPISTLE FROM LORD BORINGDON TO LORD GRANVILLE.
+
+    Published in _Fugitive Verses_, and thence included among Canning's
+    works.
+
+
+  Oft you have ask'd me, Granville, why
+  Of late I heave the frequent sigh?
+  Why, moping, melancholy, low,
+  From supper, commons, wine, I go?
+  Why bows my mind, by care oppress'd,
+  By day no peace, by night no rest?
+  Hear, then, my friend, and ne'er you knew
+  A tale so tender, and so true--
+  Hear what, tho' shame my tongue restrain,
+  My pen with freedom shall explain.
+    Say, Granville, do you not remember,
+  About the middle of November,
+  When Blenheim's hospitable lord
+  Received us at his cheerful board;
+  How fair the Ladies Spencer smiled,
+  Enchanting, witty, courteous, mild?
+  And mark'd you not, how many a glance
+  Across the table, shot by chance
+  From fair Eliza's graceful form,
+  Assail'd and took my heart by storm?
+  And mark'd you not, with earnest zeal,
+  I ask'd her, if she'd have some veal?
+  And how, when conversation's charms
+  Fresh vigour gave to love's alarms,
+  My heart was scorch'd, and burnt to tinder,
+  When talking to her at the _winder_?
+  These facts premised, you can't but guess
+  The cause of my uneasiness,
+  For you have heard, as well as I,
+  That she'll be married speedily;
+  And then--my grief more plain to tell--
+  Soft cares, sweet fears, fond hopes,--farewell!
+  But still, tho' false the fleeting dream,
+  Indulge awhile the tender theme,
+  And hear, had fortune yet been kind,
+  How bright the prospect of the mind.
+  O! had I had it in my power
+  To wed her--with a suited dower--
+  And proudly bear the beauteous maid
+  To Saltrum's venerable shade,--
+  Or if she liked not woods at Saltrum,
+  Why, nothing easier than to alter 'em,--
+  Then had I tasted bliss sincere,
+  And happy been from year to year.
+  How changed this scene! for now, my Granville,
+  Another match is on the anvil.
+  And I, a widow'd dove, complain,
+  And feel no refuge from my pain--
+  Save that of pitying Spencer's sister,
+  Who's lost a lord, and gained a Mister.
+
+
+
+LI. REFORMATION OF THE KNAVE OF HEARTS.
+
+    This is an exquisite satire on the attempts at criticism which were
+    current in _pre-Edinburgh Review_ days, when the majority of the
+    journals were mere touts for the booksellers. The papers in
+    question are taken from Nos. 11 and 12 of the _Microcosm_,
+    published on Monday, February 12th, 1787--when Canning was
+    seventeen years of age.
+
+
+The epic poem on which I shall ground my present critique has for its
+chief characteristics brevity and simplicity. The author--whose name I
+lament that I am, in some degree, prevented from consecrating to
+immortal fame, by not knowing what it is--the author, I say, has not
+branched his poem into excrescences of episode, or prolixities of
+digression; it is neither variegated with diversity of unmeaning
+similitudes, nor glaring with the varnish of unnatural metaphor. The
+whole is plain and uniform; so much so, indeed, that I should hardly be
+surprised if some morose readers were to conjecture that the poet had
+been thus simple rather from necessity than choice; that he had been
+restrained, not so much by chastity of judgment, as sterility of
+imagination.
+
+Nay, some there may be, perhaps, who will dispute his claim to the
+title of an epic poet, and will endeavour to degrade him even to the
+rank of a ballad-monger. But I, as his commentator, will contend for
+the dignity of my author, and will plainly demonstrate his poem to be
+an epic poem, agreeable to the example of all poets, and the consent of
+all critics heretofore.
+
+First, it is universally agreed that an epic poem should have three
+component parts--a beginning, a middle, and an end; secondly, it is
+allowed that it should have one grand action or main design, to the
+forwarding of which all the parts of it should directly or indirectly
+tend, and that this design should be in some measure consonant with,
+and conducive to, the purposes of morality; and thirdly, it is
+indisputably settled that it should have a hero. I trust that in none
+of these points the poem before us will be found deficient. There are
+other inferior properties which I shall consider in due order.
+
+Not to keep my readers longer in suspense, the subject of the poem is
+"The Reformation of the Knave of Hearts". It is not improbable that
+some may object to me that a knave is an unworthy hero for an epic
+poem--that a hero ought to be all that is great and good. The objection
+is frivolous. The greatest work of this kind that the world has ever
+produced has "the Devil" for its hero; and supported as my author is by
+so great a precedent, I contend that his hero is a very decent hero,
+and especially as he has the advantage of Milton's, by reforming, at
+the end, is evidently entitled to a competent share of celebrity.
+
+I shall now proceed to the more immediate examination of the poem in
+its different parts. The beginning, say the critics, ought to be plain
+and simple--neither embellished with the flowers of poetry, nor turgid
+with pomposity of diction. In this how exactly does our author conform
+to the established opinion! He begins thus:
+
+     "The Queen of Hearts
+      She made some tarts".
+
+Can anything be more clear! more natural! more agreeable to the true
+spirit of simplicity? Here are no tropes, no figurative expressions,
+not even so much as an invocation to the Muse. He does not detain his
+readers by any needless circumlocution, by unnecessarily informing them
+what he _is_ going to sing, or still more unnecessarily enumerating
+what he _is not_ going to sing; but, according to the precept of
+Horace:--
+
+                           _In medias res,
+      Non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit--_
+
+That is, he at once introduces us and sets us on the most easy and
+familiar footing imaginable with her Majesty of Hearts, and interests
+us deeply in her domestic concerns. But to proceed--
+
+     "The Queen of Hearts
+      She made some tarts,
+      All on a summer's day".
+
+Here indeed the prospect brightens, and we are led to expect some
+liveliness of imagery, some warmth of poetical colouring; but here is
+no such thing. There is no task more difficult to a poet than that of
+rejection. Ovid among the ancients, and Dryden among the moderns, were
+perhaps the most remarkable for the want of it. The latter, from the
+haste in which he generally produced his compositions, seldom paid much
+attention to the _limae labor_, "the labour of correction", and seldom,
+therefore, rejected the assistance of any idea that presented itself.
+Ovid, not content with catching the leading features of any scene or
+character, indulged himself in a thousand minutiae of description, a
+thousand puerile prettinesses, which were in themselves uninteresting,
+and took off greatly from the effect of the whole; as the numberless
+suckers and straggling branches of a fruit-tree, if permitted to shoot
+out unrestrained, while they are themselves barren and useless,
+diminish considerably the vigour of the parent stock. Ovid had more
+genius but less judgment than Virgil; Dryden more imagination but less
+correctness than Pope; had they not been deficient in these points the
+former would certainly have equalled, the latter infinitely outshone
+the merits of his countryman. Our author was undoubtedly possessed of
+that power which they wanted, and was cautious not to indulge too far
+the sallies of a lively imagination. Omitting, therefore, any mention
+of sultry Sirius, sylvan shade, sequestered glade, verdant hills,
+purling rills, mossy mountains, gurgling fountains, &c., he simply
+tells us that it was "All on a summer's day". For my own part I confess
+that I find myself rather flattered than disappointed, and consider the
+poet as rather paying a compliment to the abilities of his readers,
+than baulking their expectations. It is certainly a great pleasure to
+see a picture well painted; but it is a much greater to paint it well
+oneself. This, therefore, I look upon as a stroke of excellent
+management in the poet. Here every reader is at liberty to gratify his
+own taste, to design for himself just what sort of "summer's day" he
+likes best; to choose his own scenery, dispose his lights and shades as
+he pleases, to solace himself with a rivulet or a horse-pond, a shower
+or a sunbeam, a grove or a kitchen-garden, according to his fancy. How
+much more considerate this than if the poet had, from an affected
+accuracy of description, thrown us into an unmannerly perspiration by
+the heat of the atmosphere, forced us into a landscape of his own
+planning, with perhaps a paltry good-for-nothing zephyr or two, and a
+limited quantity of wood and water. All this Ovid would undoubtedly
+have done. Nay, to use the expression of a learned brother
+commentator--_quovis pignore decertem_, "I would lay any wager", that
+he would have gone so far as to tell us what the tarts were made of,
+and perhaps wandered into an episode on the art of preserving cherries.
+But _our_ poet, above such considerations, leaves every reader to
+choose his own ingredients, and sweeten them to his own liking; wisely
+foreseeing, no doubt, that the more palatable each had rendered them to
+his own taste, the more he would be affected at their approaching loss.
+
+     "All on a summer's day."
+
+I cannot leave this line without remarking that one of the Scribleri, a
+descendant of the famous Martinus, has expressed his suspicions of the
+text being corrupted here, and proposes instead of "all on" reading
+"alone", alleging, in favour of this alteration, the effect of solitude
+in raising the passions. But Hiccius Doctius, a high Dutch commentator,
+one nevertheless well versed in British literature, in a note of his
+usual length and learning, has confuted the arguments of Scriblerus. In
+support of the present reading he quotes a passage from a poem written
+about the same period with our author's, by the celebrated Johannes
+Pastor[230], intituled "An Elegiac Epistle to the Turnkey of Newgate",
+wherein the gentleman declares that, rather indeed in compliance with
+an old custom than to gratify any particular wish of his own, he is
+going--
+
+     "All hanged for to be
+      Upon that fatal Tyburn tree ".
+
+Now, as nothing throws greater light on an author than the concurrence
+of a contemporary writer, I am inclined to be of Hiccius' opinion, and
+to consider the "All" as an elegant expletive, or, as he more aptly
+phrases it _elegans expletivum_. The passage therefore must stand
+thus:--
+
+     "The Queen of Hearts
+      She made some tarts
+      All on a summer's day."
+
+And thus ends the first part, or beginning, which is simple and
+unembellished, opens the subject in a natural and easy manner, excites,
+but does not too far gratify our curiosity, for a reader of accurate
+observation may easily discover that the hero of the poem has not, as
+yet, made his appearance.
+
+I could not continue my examination at present through the whole of
+this poem without far exceeding the limits of a single paper. I have
+therefore divided it into two, but shall not delay the publication of
+the second to another week, as that, besides breaking the connection of
+criticism, would materially injure the unities of the poem.
+
+Having thus gone through the first part, or beginning of the poem, we
+may, naturally enough, proceed to the consideration of the second.
+
+The second part, or middle, is the proper place for bustle and
+business, for incident and adventure:--
+
+     "The Knave of Hearts
+      He stole those tarts".
+
+Here attention is awakened, and our whole souls are intent upon the
+first appearance of the hero. Some readers may perhaps be offended at
+his making his _entree_ in so disadvantageous a character as that of a
+thief. To this I plead precedent.
+
+The hero of the Iliad, as I observed in a former paper, is made to
+lament very pathetically that "life is not like all other possessions,
+to be acquired by theft". A reflection, in my opinion, evidently
+showing that, if he _did_ refrain from the practice of this ingenious
+art, it was not from want of an inclination that way. We may remember,
+too, that in Virgil's poem almost the first light in which the pious
+AEneas appears to us is a deer-stealer; nor is it much excuse for him
+that the deer were wandering without keepers, for however he might,
+from this circumstance, have been unable to ascertain whose property
+they were, he might, I think, have been pretty well assured that they
+were not his.
+
+Having thus acquitted our hero of misconduct, by the example of his
+betters, I proceed to what I think the master-stroke of the poet.
+
+     "The Knave of Hearts
+      He stole those tarts,
+   And--took them--quite away!!"
+
+Here, whoever has an ear for harmony and a heart for feeling must be
+touched! There is a desponding melancholy in the run of the last line!
+an air of tender regret in the addition of "quite away!" a something so
+expressive of irrecoverable loss! so forcibly intimating the _Ad
+nunquam reditura!_ "They never can return!" in short, such an union of
+sound and sense as we rarely, if ever, meet with in any author, ancient
+or modern. Our feelings are all alive, but the poet, wisely dreading
+that our sympathy with the injured Queen might alienate our affections
+from his hero, contrives immediately to awaken our fears for him by
+telling us that--
+
+     "The King of Hearts
+      Called for those tarts".
+
+We are all conscious of the fault of our hero, and all tremble with
+him, for the punishment which the enraged monarch may inflict:
+
+     "And beat the Knave full sore!"
+
+The fatal blow is struck! We cannot but rejoice that guilt is justly
+punished, though we sympathize with the guilty object of punishment.
+Here Scriblerus, who, by the by, is very fond of making unnecessary
+alterations, proposes reading "score" instead of "sore", meaning
+thereby to particularize that the beating bestowed by this monarch
+consisted of twenty stripes. But this proceeds from his ignorance of
+the genius of our language, which does not admit of such an expression
+as "full score", but would require the insertion of the particle "a",
+which cannot be, on account of the metre. And this is another great
+artifice of the poet. By leaving the quantity of beating indeterminate,
+he gives every reader the liberty to administer it, in exact proportion
+to the sum of indignation which he may have conceived against his hero,
+that by thus amply satisfying their resentment they may be the more
+easily reconciled to him afterwards.
+
+       "The King of Hearts
+        Called for those tarts,
+     And beat the Knave full sore."
+
+Here ends the second part, or middle of the poem, in which we see the
+character and exploits of the hero portrayed with the hand of a master.
+
+Nothing now remains to be examined but the third part, or end. In the
+end it is a rule pretty well established that the work should draw
+towards a conclusion, which our author manages thus:--
+
+     "The Knave of Hearts
+      Brought back those tarts".
+
+Here everything is at length settled; the theft is compensated, the
+tarts restored to their right owner, and poetical justice, in every
+respect, strictly and impartially administered.
+
+We may observe that there is nothing in which our poet has better
+succeeded than in keeping up an unremitted attention in his readers to
+the main instruments, the machinery of his poem, viz. the _tarts_;
+insomuch that the afore-mentioned Scriblerus has sagely observed that
+"he can't tell, but he doesn't know, but the tarts may be reckoned the
+heroes of the poem". Scriblerus, though a man of learning, and
+frequently right in his opinion, has here certainly hazarded a rash
+conjecture. His arguments are overthrown entirely by his great
+opponent, Hiccius, who concludes by triumphantly asking, "Had the tarts
+been eaten, how could the poet have compensated for the loss of his
+heroes?"
+
+We are now come to the _denouement_, the setting all to rights: and our
+poet, in the management of his moral, is certainly superior to his
+great ancient predecessors. The moral of their fables, if any they
+have, is so interwoven with the main body of their work, that in
+endeavouring to unravel it we should tear the whole. Our author has
+very properly preserved his whole and entire for the end of his poem,
+where he completes his main design, the reformation of his hero, thus--
+
+     "And vowed he'd steal no more".
+
+Having in the course of his work shown the bad effects arising from
+theft, he evidently means this last moral reflection to operate with
+his readers as a gentle and polite dissuasive from stealing.
+
+       "The Knave of Hearts
+        Brought back those tarts,
+      And vowed he'd steal no more!"
+
+Thus have I industriously gone through the several parts of this
+wonderful work, and clearly proved it, in every one of these parts, and
+in all of them together, to be a "due and proper epic poem", and to
+have as good a right to that title, from its adherence to prescribed
+rules, as any of the celebrated masterpieces of antiquity. And here I
+cannot help again lamenting that, by not knowing the name of the
+author, I am unable to twine our laurels together, and to transmit to
+posterity the mingled praises of genius and judgment, of the poet and
+his commentator.
+
+[Footnote 230: More commonly known, I believe, by the appellation of
+Jack Shepherd.]
+
+
+
+
+POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN.
+
+(1797-1798.)
+
+
+LII. THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.
+
+    The _Anti-Jacobin_ was planned by George Canning when he was
+    Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. He secured the
+    collaboration of George Ellis, John Hookham Frere, William Gifford,
+    and some others. The last-named was appointed working editor. The
+    first number appeared on the 20th November, 1797, with a notice
+    that "the publication would be continued every Monday during the
+    sitting of Parliament". A volume of the best pieces, entitled _The
+    Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin_, was published in 1800. It is almost
+    impossible to apportion accurately the various pieces to their
+    respective authors, though more than one attempt has been made so
+    to do. The following piece is designed to ridicule the extravagant
+    sympathy for the lower classes which was then the fashion.
+
+
+  _Friend of Humanity_.
+
+  Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going?
+  Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order--
+  Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't,
+                              So have your breeches!
+
+  Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
+  Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
+  Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, "Knives and
+                              Scissors to grind O!"
+
+  Tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
+  Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
+  Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
+                              Or the attorney?
+
+  Was it the squire for killing of his game? or
+  Covetous parson for his tithes distraining?
+  Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little
+                              All in a lawsuit?
+
+  (Have you not read the _Rights of Man_, by Tom Paine?)
+  Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
+  Ready to fall as soon as you have told your
+                              Pitiful story.
+
+  _Knife-grinder_.
+
+  Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
+  Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
+  This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
+                              Torn in the scuffle.
+
+  Constable came up for to take me into
+  Custody; they took me before the Justice,
+  Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish
+                              Stocks for a vagrant.
+
+  I should be glad to drink your honour's health in
+  A pot of beer, if you would give me sixpence;
+  But, for my part, I never love to meddle
+                              With politics, sir.
+
+  _Friend of Humanity_.
+
+  _I_ give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned first--
+  Wretch! whom no sense of wrong can rouse to vengeance--
+  Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
+                              Spiritless outcast!
+
+[_Kicks the knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport
+of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy_.]
+
+
+
+LIII. SONG BY ROGERO THE CAPTIVE.
+
+    This is a satirical imitation of many of the songs current in the
+    romantic dramas of the period. It is contained in the _Rovers, or
+    the Double Arrangement_, act i. sc. 2, a skit upon the dramatic
+    literature of the day.
+
+
+  Whene'er with haggard eyes I view
+    This dungeon, that I'm rotting in,
+  I think of those companions true
+  Who studied with me in the U-
+     -niversity of Gottingen--
+     -niversity of Gottingen.
+    [_Weeps, and pulls out a blue 'kerchief, with which
+      he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he
+      proceeds_.
+
+  Sweet 'kerchief check'd with heavenly blue,
+    Which once my love sat knotting in,
+  Alas, Matilda then was true,
+  At least I thought so at the U-
+     -niversity of Gottingen--
+     -niversity of Gottingen.
+    [_At the repetition of this line Rogero clanks
+      his chain in cadence_.
+
+  Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift ye flew,
+    Her neat post-waggon trotting in!
+  Ye bore Matilda from my view;
+  Forlorn I languish'd at the U-
+     -niversity of Gottingen--
+     -niversity of Gottingen.
+
+  This faded form! this pallid hue!
+    This blood my veins is clotting in,
+  My years are many--they were few
+  When I first entered at the U-
+     -niversity of Gottingen--
+     -niversity of Gottingen.
+
+
+  There first for thee my passion grew,
+    Sweet; sweet Matilda Pottingen!
+  Thou wast the daughter of my tutor,
+  Law Professor at the U-
+     -niversity of Gottingen--
+     -niversity of Gottingen
+
+  Sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu,
+    That kings and priests are plotting in;
+  Here doom'd to starve on water-gruel,
+  never shall I see the U-
+     -niversity of Gottingen!--
+     -niversity of Gottingen!
+
+    [_During the last stanza Rogero dashes his head
+      repeatedly against the walls of his prison;
+      and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible
+      contusion. He then throws himself on the
+      floor in an agony. The curtain drops--the
+      music still continuing to play till it is wholly
+      fallen_.
+
+
+
+
+COLERIDGE AND SOUTHEY.
+
+(1772-1834.)  (1774-1843.)
+
+
+LIV. THE DEVIL'S WALK.
+
+    Originally written in an album belonging to one of the Misses
+    Fricker, the ladies whom the two poets married. What was the extent
+    of the collaboration of the respective writers in the poem is
+    unknown, but the fact is beyond a doubt that it was written by them
+    in conjunction.
+
+
+  From his brimstone bed at break of day
+  A-walking the Devil is gone,
+  To visit his snug little farm upon earth,
+  And see how his stock goes on.
+
+  Over the hill and over the dale,
+  And he went over the plain,
+  And backward and forward he switched his long tail,
+  As a gentleman switches his cane.
+
+  And how, then, was the Devil drest?
+  Oh, he was in his Sunday best;
+  His jacket was red, and his breeches were blue,
+  And there was a hole where his tail came through.
+
+  He saw a lawyer killing a viper
+  On a dunghill hard by his own stable;
+  And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind
+  Of Cain and his brother Abel.
+
+  He saw an apothecary on a white horse
+  Ride by on his own vocations;
+  And the Devil thought of his old friend
+  Death in the Revelations.
+
+  He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,
+  A cottage of gentility;
+  And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin
+  Is the pride that apes humility.
+
+  He went into a rich bookseller's shop,
+  Quoth he! we are both of one college,
+  For I myself sate like a cormorant once,
+  Fast by the tree of knowledge.
+
+  Down the river there plied, with wind and tide,
+  A pig, with vast celerity,
+  And the Devil looked wise as he saw how the while
+  It cut its own throat. There! quoth he, with a smile,
+  Goes "England's commercial prosperity".
+
+  As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw
+  A solitary cell;
+  And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint
+  For improving his prisons in hell.
+
+  General Gascoigne's burning face
+  He saw with consternation;
+  And back to hell his way did take,
+  For the Devil thought by a slight mistake
+  It was a general conflagration.
+
+
+
+
+SYDNEY SMITH.
+
+(1771-1845.)
+
+
+LV. THE LETTERS OF PETER PLYMLEY--ON "NO POPERY".
+
+    In 1807 the _Letters of Peter Plymley_ to his brother Abraham on
+    the subject of the Irish Catholics were published. "The letters",
+    as Professor Henry Morley says, "fell like sparks on a heap of
+    gunpowder. All London, and soon all England, were alive to the
+    sound reason recommended by a lively wit." The example of his
+    satiric force and sarcastic ratiocination cited below is the Second
+    Letter in the Series.
+
+
+DEAR ABRAHAM,
+
+The Catholic not respect an oath! why not? What upon earth has kept him
+out of Parliament, or excluded him from all the offices whence he is
+excluded, but his respect for oaths? There is no law which prohibits a
+Catholic to sit in Parliament. There could be no such law; because it
+is impossible to find out what passes in the interior of any man's
+mind. Suppose it were in contemplation to exclude all men from certain
+offices who contended for the legality of taking tithes: the only mode
+of discovering that fervid love of decimation which I know you to
+possess would be to tender you an oath "against that damnable doctrine,
+that it is lawful for a spiritual man to take, abstract, appropriate,
+subduct, or lead away the tenth calf, sheep, lamb, ox, pigeon, duck",
+&c., and every other animal that ever existed, which of course the
+lawyers would take care to enumerate. Now this oath I am sure you would
+rather die than take; and so the Catholic is excluded from Parliament
+because he will not swear that he disbelieves the leading doctrines of
+his religion! The Catholic asks you to abolish some oaths which oppress
+him; your answer is that he does not respect oaths. Then why subject
+him to the test of oaths? The oaths keep him out of Parliament; why,
+then, he respects them. Turn which way you will, either your laws are
+nugatory, or the Catholic is bound by religious obligations as you are;
+but no eel in the well-sanded fist of a cook-maid, upon the eve of
+being skinned, ever twisted and writhed as an orthodox parson does when
+he is compelled by the gripe of reason to admit anything in favour of a
+dissenter.
+
+I will not dispute with you whether the Pope be or be not the Scarlet
+Lady of Babylon. I hope it is not so; because I am afraid it will
+induce His Majesty's Chancellor of the Exchequer to introduce several
+severe bills against popery, if that is the case; and though he will
+have the decency to appoint a previous committee of inquiry as to the
+fact, the committee will be garbled, and the report inflammatory.
+Leaving this to be settled as he pleases to settle it, I wish to inform
+you, that, previously to the bill last passed in favour of the
+Catholics, at the suggestion of Mr. Pitt, and for his satisfaction, the
+opinions of six of the most celebrated of the foreign Catholic
+universities were taken as to the right of the Pope to interfere in the
+temporal concerns of any country. The answer cannot possibly leave the
+shadow of a doubt, even in the mind of Baron Maseres; and Dr. Rennel
+would be compelled to admit it, if three Bishops lay dead at the very
+moment the question were put to him. To this answer might be added also
+the solemn declaration and signature of all the Catholics in Great
+Britain.
+
+I should perfectly agree with you, if the Catholics admitted such a
+dangerous dispensing power in the hands of the Pope; but they all deny
+it, and laugh at it, and are ready to abjure it in the most decided
+manner you can devise. They obey the Pope as the spiritual head of
+their Church; but are you really so foolish as to be imposed upon by
+mere names? What matters it the seven-thousandth part of a farthing who
+is the spiritual head of any Church? Is not Mr. Wilberforce at the head
+of the Church of Clapham? Is not Dr. Letsom at the head of the Quaker
+Church? Is not the General Assembly at the head of the Church of
+Scotland? How is the government disturbed by these many-headed
+Churches? or in what way is the power of the Crown augmented by this
+almost nominal dignity?
+
+The King appoints a fast-day once a year, and he makes the bishops: and
+if the government would take half the pains to keep the Catholics out
+of the arms of France that it does to widen Temple Bar, or improve Snow
+Hill, the King would get into his hands the appointments of the titular
+Bishops of Ireland. Both Mr. C----'s sisters enjoy pensions more than
+sufficient to place the two greatest dignitaries of the Irish Catholic
+Church entirely at the disposal of the Crown. Everybody who knows
+Ireland knows perfectly well that nothing would be easier, with the
+expenditure of a little money, than to preserve enough of the
+ostensible appointment in the hands of the Pope to satisfy the scruples
+of the Catholics, while the real nomination remained with the Crown.
+But, as I have before said, the moment the very name of Ireland is
+mentioned, the English seem to bid adieu to common feeling, common
+prudence, and common sense, and to act with the barbarity of tyrants
+and the fatuity of idiots.
+
+Whatever your opinion may be of the follies of the Roman Catholic
+religion, remember they are the follies of four millions of human
+beings, increasing rapidly in numbers, wealth, and intelligence, who,
+if firmly united with this country, would set at defiance the power of
+France, and if once wrested from their alliance with England, would in
+three years render its existence as an independent nation absolutely
+impossible. You speak of danger to the Establishment: I request to know
+when the Establishment was ever so much in danger as when Hoche was in
+Bantry Bay, and whether all the books of Bossuet, or the arts of the
+Jesuits, were half so terrible? Mr. Perceval and his parsons forget all
+this, in their horror lest twelve or fourteen old women may be
+converted to holy water and Catholic nonsense. They never see that,
+while they are saving these venerable ladies from perdition, Ireland
+may be lost, England broken down, and the Protestant Church, with all
+its deans, prebendaries, Percevals, and Rennels, be swept into the
+vortex of oblivion.
+
+Do not, I beseech you, ever mention to me again the name of Dr.
+Duigenan. I have been in every corner of Ireland, and have studied its
+present strength and condition with no common labour. Be assured
+Ireland does not contain at this moment less than 5,000,000 people.
+There were returned in the year 1791 to the hearth tax 701,000 houses,
+and there is no kind of question that there were about 50,000 houses
+omitted in that return. Taking, however, only the number returned for
+the tax, and allowing the average of six to a house (a very small
+average for a potato-fed people), this brings the population to
+4,200,000 people in the year 1791: and it can be shown from the
+clearest evidence (and Mr. Newenham in his book shows it), that Ireland
+for the last 50 years has increased in its population at the rate of
+50,000 or 60,000 per annum; which leaves the present population of
+Ireland at about 5,000,000, after every possible deduction for
+_existing circumstances, just and necessary wars, monstrous and
+unnatural rebellions_, and all other sources of human destruction. Of
+this population, two out of ten are Protestants; and the half of the
+Protestant population are dissenters, and as inimical to the Church as
+the Catholics themselves. In this state of things thumbscrews and
+whipping--admirable engines of policy as they must be considered to
+be--will not ultimately avail. The Catholics will hang over you; they
+will watch for the moment, and compel you hereafter to give them ten
+times as much, against your will, as they would now be contented with,
+if it were voluntarily surrendered. Remember what happened in the
+American war, when Ireland compelled you to give her everything she
+asked, and to renounce, in the most explicit manner, your claim of
+sovereignty over her. God Almighty grant the folly of these present men
+may not bring on such another crisis of public affairs!
+
+What are your dangers which threaten the Establishment? Reduce this
+declamation to a point, and let us understand what you mean. The most
+ample allowance does not calculate that there would be more than twenty
+members who were Roman Catholics in one house, and ten in the other, if
+the Catholic emancipation were carried into effect. Do you mean that
+these thirty members would bring in a bill to take away the tithes from
+the Protestant, and to pay them to the Catholic clergy? Do you mean
+that a Catholic general would march his army into the House of Commons,
+and purge it of Mr. Perceval and Dr. Duigenan? or, that the
+theological writers would become all of a sudden more acute or more
+learned, if the present civil incapacities were removed? Do you fear
+for your tithes, or your doctrines, or your person, or the English
+Constitution? Every fear, taken separately, is so glaringly absurd,
+that no man has the folly or the boldness to state it. Everyone
+conceals his ignorance, or his baseness, in a stupid general panic,
+which, when called on, he is utterly incapable of explaining. Whatever
+you think of the Catholics, there they are--you cannot get rid of them;
+your alternative is to give them a lawful place for stating their
+grievances, or an unlawful one: if you do not admit them to the House
+of Commons, they will hold their parliament in Potatoe Place, Dublin,
+and be ten times as violent and inflammatory as they would be in
+Westminster. Nothing would give me such an idea of security as to see
+twenty or thirty Catholic gentlemen in Parliament, looked upon by all
+the Catholics as the fair and proper organ of their party. I should
+have thought it the height of good fortune that such a wish existed on
+their part, and the very essence of madness and ignorance to reject it.
+Can you murder the Catholics? Can you neglect them? They are too
+numerous for both these expedients. What remains to be done is obvious
+to every human being--but to that man who, instead of being a Methodist
+preacher, is, for the curse of us and our children, and for the ruin of
+Troy and the misery of good old Priam and his sons, become a legislator
+and a politician.
+
+A distinction, I perceive, is taken by one of the most feeble noblemen
+in Great Britain, between persecution and the deprivation of political
+power; whereas, there is no more distinction between these two things
+than there is between him who makes the distinction and a booby. If I
+strip off the relic-covered jacket of a Catholic, and give him twenty
+stripes ... I persecute; if I say, Everybody in the town where you live
+shall be a candidate for lucrative and honourable offices, but you, who
+are a Catholic ... I do not persecute! What barbarous nonsense is this!
+as if degradation was not as great an evil as bodily pain or as severe
+poverty: as if I could not be as great a tyrant by saying, You shall
+not enjoy--as by saying, You shall suffer. The English, I believe, are
+as truly religious as any nation in Europe; I know no greater blessing;
+but it carries with it this evil in its train, that any villain who
+will bawl out, "_The Church is in danger!_" may get a place and a good
+pension; and that any administration who will do the same thing may
+bring a set of men into power who, at a moment of stationary and
+passive piety, would be hooted by the very boys in the streets. But it
+is not all religion; it is, in great part, the narrow and exclusive
+spirit which delights to keep the common blessings of sun and air and
+freedom from other human beings. "Your religion has always been
+degraded; you are in the dust, and I will take care you never rise
+again. I should enjoy less the possession of an earthly good by every
+additional person to whom it was extended." You may not be aware of it
+yourself, most reverend Abraham, but you deny their freedom to the
+Catholics upon the same principle that Sarah, your wife, refuses to
+give the receipt for a ham or a gooseberry dumpling: she values her
+receipts, not because they secure to her a certain flavour, but because
+they remind her that her neighbours want it:--a feeling laughable in a
+priestess, shameful in a priest; venial when it withholds the blessings
+of a ham, tyrannical and execrable when it narrows the boon of
+religious freedom.
+
+You spend a great deal of ink about the character of the present prime
+minister. Grant you all that you write--I say, I fear he will ruin
+Ireland, and pursue a line of policy destructive to the true interest
+of his country: and then you tell me, he is faithful to Mrs. Perceval,
+and kind to the Master Percevals! These are, undoubtedly, the first
+qualifications to be looked to in a time of the most serious public
+danger; but somehow or another (if public and private virtues must
+always be incompatible), I should prefer that he destroyed the domestic
+happiness of Wood or Cockell, owed for the veal of the preceding year,
+whipped his boys, and saved his country.
+
+The late administration did not do right; they did not build their
+measures upon the solid basis of facts. They should have caused several
+Catholics to have been dissected after death by surgeons of either
+religion; and the report to have been published with accompanying
+plates. If the viscera, and other organs of life, had been found to be
+the same as in Protestant bodies; if the provisions of nerves,
+arteries, cerebrum, and cerebellum, had been the same as we are
+provided with, or as the dissenters are now known to possess; then,
+indeed, they might have met Mr. Perceval upon a proud eminence, and
+convinced the country at large of the strong probability that the
+Catholics are really human creatures, endowed with the feelings of men,
+and entitled to all their rights. But instead of this wise and prudent
+measure, Lord Howick, with his usual precipitation, brings forward a
+bill in their favour, without offering the slightest proof to the
+country that they were anything more than horses and oxen. The person
+who shows the lama at the corner of Piccadilly has the precaution to
+write up--_Allowed by Sir Joseph Banks to be a real quadruped_, so his
+Lordship might have said--_Allowed by the bench of Bishops to be real
+human creatures_.... I could write you twenty letters upon this
+subject; but I am tired, and so I suppose are you. Our friendship is
+now of forty years' standing; you know me to be a truly religious man;
+but I shudder to see religion treated like a cockade, or a pint of
+beer, and made the instrument of a party. I love the king, but I love
+the people as well as the king; and if I am sorry to see his old age
+molested, I am much more sorry to see four millions of Catholics
+baffled in their just expectations. If I love Lord Grenville and Lord
+Howick, it is because they love their country; if I abhor ... it is
+because I know there is but one man among them who is not laughing at
+the enormous folly and credulity of the country, and that he is an
+ignorant and mischievous bigot. As for the light and frivolous jester,
+of whom it is your misfortune to think so highly, learn, my dear
+Abraham, that this political Killigrew, just before the breaking up of
+the last administration, was in actual treaty with them for a place;
+and if they had survived twenty-four hours longer, he would have been
+now declaiming against the cry of No Popery! instead of inflaming it.
+With this practical comment on the baseness of human nature, I bid you
+adieu!
+
+
+
+
+JAMES SMITH.
+
+(1775-1839.)
+
+
+LVI. THE POET OF FASHION.
+
+    From the famous _Rejected Addresses_.
+
+
+  His book is successful, he's steeped in renown,
+  His lyric effusions have tickled the town;
+  Dukes, dowagers, dandies, are eager to trace
+  The fountain of verse in the verse-maker's face:
+  While, proud as Apollo, with peers _tete-a-tete_,
+  From Monday till Saturday dining off plate,
+  His heart full of hope, and his head full of gain,
+  The Poet of Fashion dines out in Park Lane.
+
+  Now lean-jointured widows who seldom draw corks,
+  Whose tea-spoons do duty for knives and for forks,
+  Send forth, vellum-covered, a six-o'clock card,
+  And get up a dinner to peep at the bard;
+  Veal, sweetbread, boiled chickens, and tongue crown the cloth,
+  And soup _a la reine_, little better than broth.
+  While, past his meridian, but still with some heat,
+  The Poet of Fashion dines out in Sloane Street,
+
+  Enrolled in the tribe who subsist by their wits,
+  Remember'd by starts, and forgotten by fits,
+  Now artists and actors, the bardling engage,
+  To squib in the journals, and write for the stage.
+  Now soup _a la reine_ bends the knee to ox-cheek,
+  And chickens and tongue bow to bubble-and-squeak.
+  While, still in translation employ'd by "the Row"
+  The Poet of Fashion dines out in Soho.
+
+  Pushed down from Parnassus to Phlegethon's brink,
+  Toss'd, torn, and trunk-lining, but still with some ink,
+  Now squat city misses their albums expand,
+  And woo the worn rhymer for "something off-hand";
+  No longer with stinted effrontery fraught,
+  Bucklersbury now seeks what St. James's once sought,
+  And (O, what a classical haunt for a bard!)
+  The Poet of Fashion dines out in Barge-yard.
+
+
+
+
+WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
+
+(1775-1864.)
+
+
+LVII. BOSSUET AND THE DUCHESS OF FONTANGES.
+
+    This is taken from Landor's _Imaginary Conversations_, and is one
+    of the best examples of his light, airy, satiric vein.
+
+
+_Bossuet_. Mademoiselle, it is the King's desire that I compliment you
+on the elevation you have attained.
+
+_Fontanges_, O monseigneur, I know very well what you mean. His Majesty
+is kind and polite to everybody. The last thing he said to me was,
+"Angelique! do not forget to compliment Monseigneur the Bishop on the
+dignity I have conferred upon him, of almoner to the Dauphiness. I
+desired the appointment for him only that he might be of rank
+sufficient to confess you, now you are Duchess. Let him be your
+confessor, my little girl."
+
+_Bossuet_. I dare not presume to ask you, mademoiselle, what was your
+gracious reply to the condescension of our royal master.
+
+_Fontanges_. Oh, yes! you may. I told him I was almost sure I should be
+ashamed of confessing such naughty things to a person of high rank, who
+writes like an angel.
+
+_Bossuet_. The observation was inspired, mademoiselle, by your goodness
+and modesty.
+
+_Fontanges_. You are so agreeable a man, monseigneur, I will confess to
+you, directly, if you like.
+
+_Bossuet_. Have you brought yourself to a proper frame of mind, young
+lady?
+
+_Fontanges_. What is that?
+
+_Bossuet_. Do you hate sin?
+
+_Fontanges_. Very much.
+
+_Bossuet_. Are you resolved to leave it off?
+
+_Fontanges_. I have left it off entirely since the King began to love
+me. I have never said a spiteful word of anybody since.
+
+_Bossuet_. In your opinion, mademoiselle, are there no other sins than
+malice?
+
+_Fontanges_. I never stole anything; I never committed adultery; I
+never coveted my neighbour's wife; I never killed any person, though
+several have told me they should die for me.
+
+_Bossuet_. Vain, idle talk! Did you listen to it?
+
+_Fontanges_. Indeed I did, with both ears; it seemed so funny.
+
+_Bossuet_. You have something to answer for, then?
+
+_Fontanges_. No, indeed, I have not, monseigneur. I have asked many
+times after them, and found they were all alive, which mortified me.
+
+_Bossuet_. So, then! you would really have them die for you?
+
+_Fontanges_. Oh, no, no! but I wanted to see whether they were in
+earnest, or told me fibs; for, if they told me fibs, I would never
+trust them again.
+
+_Bossuet_. Do you hate the world, mademoiselle?
+
+_Fontanges_. A good deal of it: all Picardy, for example, and all
+Sologne; nothing is uglier--and, oh my life! what frightful men and
+women!
+
+_Bossuet_. I would say, in plain language, do you hate the flesh and
+the devil?
+
+_Fontanges_. Who does not hate the devil? If you will hold my hand the
+while, I will tell him so.--I hate you, beast! There now. As for flesh,
+I never could bear a fat man. Such people can neither dance nor hunt,
+nor do anything that I know of.
+
+_Bossuet_. Mademoiselle Marie-Angelique de Scoraille de Rousille,
+Duchess de Fontanges! do you hate titles and dignities and yourself?
+
+_Fontanges_. Myself! does anyone hate me? Why should I be the first?
+Hatred is the worst thing in the world: it makes one so very ugly.
+
+_Bossuet_. To love God, we must hate ourselves. We must detest our
+bodies, if we would save our souls.
+
+_Fontanges_. That is hard: how can I do it? I see nothing so detestable
+in mine. Do you? To love is easier. I love God whenever I think of him,
+he has been so very good to me; but I cannot hate myself, if I would.
+As God hath not hated me, why should I? Beside, it was he who made the
+King to love me; for I heard you say in a sermon that the hearts of
+kings are in his rule and governance. As for titles and dignities, I do
+not care much about them while His Majesty loves me, and calls me his
+Angelique. They make people more civil about us; and therefore it must
+be a simpleton who hates or disregards them, and a hypocrite who
+pretends it. I am glad to be a duchess. Manon and Lizette have never
+tied my garter so as to hurt me since, nor has the mischievous old La
+Grange said anything cross or bold; on the contrary, she told me what a
+fine colour and what a plumpness it gave me. Would not you rather be a
+duchess than a waiting-maid or a nun, if the King gave you your choice?
+
+_Bossuet_. Pardon me, mademoiselle, I am confounded at the levity of
+your question.
+
+_Fontanges_. I am in earnest, as you see.
+
+_Bossuet_. Flattery will come before you in other and more dangerous
+forms: you will be commended for excellences which do not belong to
+you; and this you will find as injurious to your repose as to your
+virtue. An ingenuous mind feels in unmerited praise the bitterest
+reproof. If you reject it, you are unhappy; if you accept it, you are
+undone. The compliments of a king are of themselves sufficient to
+pervert your intellect.
+
+_Fontanges_. There you are mistaken twice over. It is not my person
+that pleases him so greatly: it is my spirit, my wit, my talents, my
+genius, and that very thing which you have mentioned--what was it? my
+intellect. He never complimented me the least upon my beauty. Others
+have said that I am the most beautiful young creature under heaven; a
+blossom of Paradise, a nymph, an angel; worth (let me whisper it in
+your ear--do I lean too hard?) a thousand Montespans. But His Majesty
+never said more on the occasion than that I was _imparagonable_! (what
+is that?) and that he adored me; holding my hand and sitting quite
+still, when he might have romped with me and kissed me.
+
+_Bossuet_. I would aspire to the glory of converting you.
+
+_Fontanges_. You may do anything with me but convert me: you must not
+do that; I am a Catholic born. M. de Turenne and Mademoiselle de Duras
+were heretics: you did right there. The King told the chancellor that
+he prepared them, that the business was arranged for you, and that you
+had nothing to do but get ready the arguments and responses, which you
+did gallantly--did not you? And yet Mademoiselle de Duras was very
+awkward for a long while afterwards in crossing herself, and was once
+remarked to beat her breast in the litany with the points of two
+fingers at a time, when everyone is taught to use only the second,
+whether it has a ring upon it or not. I am sorry she did so; for people
+might think her insincere in her conversion, and pretend that she kept
+a finger for each religion.
+
+_Bossuet_. It would be as uncharitable to doubt the conviction of
+Mademoiselle de Duras as that of M. le Marechali.
+
+_Fontanges_. I have heard some fine verses, I can assure you,
+monseigneur, in which you are called the conqueror of Turenne. I should
+like to have been his conqueror myself, he was so great a man. I
+understand that you have lately done a much more difficult thing.
+
+_Bossuet_. To what do you refer, mademoiselle?
+
+_Fontanges_. That you have overcome quietism. Now, in the name of
+wonder, how could you manage that?
+
+_Bossuet_. By the grace of God.
+
+_Fontanges_. Yes, indeed; but never until now did God give any preacher
+so much of his grace as to subdue this pest.
+
+_Bossuet_. It has appeared among us but lately.
+
+_Fontanges_. Oh, dear me! I have always been subject to it dreadfully,
+from a child.
+
+_Bossuet_. Really! I never heard so.
+
+_Fontanges_. I checked myself as well as I could, although they
+constantly told me I looked well in it.
+
+_Bossuet_. In what, mademoiselle?
+
+_Fontanges_. In quietism; that is, when I fell asleep at sermon-time. I
+am ashamed that such a learned and pious man as M. de Fenelon should
+incline to it, as they say he does.
+
+_Bossuet_. Mademoiselle, you quite mistake the matter.
+
+_Fontanges_. Is not then M. de Fenelon thought a very pious and learned
+person?
+
+_Bossuet_. And justly.
+
+_Fontanges_. I have read a great way in a romance he has begun, about a
+knight-errant in search of a father. The King says there are many such
+about his court; but I never saw them nor heard of them before. The
+Marchioness de la Motte, his relative, brought it to me, written out in
+a charming hand, as much as the copybook would hold; and I got through,
+I know not how far. If he had gone on with the nymphs in the grotto, I
+never should have been tired of him; but he quite forgot his own
+story, and left them at once: in a hurry (I suppose) to set out upon
+his mission to Saintonge in the _pays de d'Aunis_, where the King has
+promised him a famous _heretic-hunt_. He is, I do assure you, a
+wonderful creature: he understands so much Latin and Greek, and knows
+all the tricks of the sorceresses. Yet you keep him under.
+
+_Bossuet_. Mademoiselle, if you really have anything to confess, and if
+you desire that I should have the honour of absolving you, it would be
+better to proceed in it, than to oppress me with unmerited eulogies on
+my humble labours.
+
+_Fontanges_. You must first direct me, monseigneur: I have nothing
+particular. The King assures me there is no harm whatever in his love
+toward me.
+
+_Bossuet_. That depends on your thoughts at the moment. If you abstract
+the mind from the body, and turn your heart toward heaven--
+
+_Fontanges_. O monseigneur, I always did so--every time but once--you
+quite make me blush. Let us converse about something else, or I shall
+grow too serious, just as you made me the other day at the funeral
+sermon. And now let me tell you, my lord, you compose such pretty
+funeral sermons, I hope I shall have the pleasure of hearing you preach
+mine.
+
+_Bossuet_. Rather let us hope, mademoiselle, that the hour is yet far
+distant when so melancholy a service will be performed for you. May he
+who is unborn be the sad announcer of your departure hence![231] May he
+indicate to those around him many virtues not perhaps yet full-blown in
+you, and point triumphantly to many faults and foibles checked by you
+in their early growth, and lying dead on the open road you shall have
+left behind you! To me the painful duty will, I trust, be spared: I am
+advanced in age; you are a child.
+
+_Fontanges_. Oh, no! I am seventeen.
+
+_Bossuet_. I should have supposed you younger by two years at least.
+But do you collect nothing from your own reflection, which raises so
+many in my breast? You think it possible that I, aged as I am, may
+preach a sermon on your funeral. We say that our days are few; and
+saying it, we say too much. Marie Angelique, we have but one: the past
+are not ours, and who can promise us the future? This in which we live
+is ours only while we live in it; the next moment may strike it off
+from us; the next sentence I would utter may be broken and fall between
+us.[232] The beauty that has made a thousand hearts to beat at one
+instant, at the succeeding has been without pulse and colour, without
+admirer, friend, companion, follower. She by whose eyes the march of
+victory shall have been directed, whose name shall have animated armies
+at the extremities of the earth, drops into one of its crevices and
+mingles with its dust. Duchess de Fontanges! think on this! Lady! so
+live as to think on it undisturbed!
+
+_Fontanges_. O God! I am quite alarmed. Do not talk thus gravely. It is
+in vain that you speak to me in so sweet a voice. I am frightened even
+at the rattle of the beads about my neck: take them off, and let us
+talk on other things. What was it that dropped on the floor as you
+were speaking? It seemed to shake the room, though it sounded like a
+pin or button.
+
+_Bossuet_. Leave it there!
+
+_Fontanges_. Your ring fell from your hand, my Lord Bishop! How quick
+you are! Could not you have trusted me to pick it up?
+
+_Bossuet_. Madame is too condescending: had this happened, I should
+have been overwhelmed with confusion. My hand is shrivelled: the ring
+has ceased to fit it. A mere accident may draw us into perdition; a
+mere accident may bestow on us the means of grace. A pebble has moved
+you more than my words.
+
+_Fontanges_. It pleases me vastly: I admire rubies. I will ask the King
+for one exactly like it. This is the time he usually comes from the
+chase. I am sorry you cannot be present to hear how prettily I shall
+ask him: but that is impossible, you know; for I shall do it just when
+I am certain he would give me anything. He said so himself; he said but
+yesterday--
+
+     'Such a sweet creature is worth a world':
+
+and no actor on the stage was more like a king than His Majesty was
+when he spoke it, if he had but kept his wig and robe on. And yet you
+know he is rather stiff and wrinkled for so great a monarch; and his
+eyes, I am afraid, are beginning to fail him, he looks so close at
+things.
+
+_Bossuet_. Mademoiselle, such is the duty of a prince who desires to
+conciliate our regard and love.
+
+_Fontanges_. Well, I think so too, though I did not like it in him at
+first. I am sure he will order the ring for me, and I will confess to
+you with it upon my finger. But first I must be cautious and particular
+to know of him how much it is his royal will that I should say.
+
+[Footnote 231: Bossuet was in his fifty-fourth year; Mademoiselle de
+Fontanges died in child-bed the year following; he survived her
+twenty-three years.]
+
+[Footnote 232: Though Bossuet was capable of uttering and even of
+feeling such a sentiment, his conduct towards Fenelon, the fairest
+apparition that Christianity ever presented, was ungenerous and unjust.
+
+While the diocese of Cambray was ravaged by Louis, it was spared by
+Marlborough, who said to the Archbishop that, if he was sorry he had
+not taken Cambray, it was chiefly because he lost for a time the
+pleasure of visiting so great a man. Peterborough, the next of our
+generals in glory, paid his respects to him some years afterward.]
+
+
+
+
+GEORGE, LORD BYRON.
+
+(1788-1824.)
+
+
+LVIII. THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
+
+    _The Vision of Judgment_ appeared in 1822, and created a great
+    sensation owing to its terrible attack on George III., as well as
+    its ridicule of Southey, of whose long-forgotten _Vision of
+    Judgment_ this is a parody.
+
+
+  I.
+
+  Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate;
+    His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
+  So little trouble had been given of late:
+    Not that the place by any means was full,
+  But since the Gallic era "eighty-eight",
+    The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,
+  And "a pull all together", as they say
+  At sea--which drew most souls another way.
+
+  II.
+
+  The angels all were singing out of tune,
+    And hoarse with having little else to do,
+  Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
+    Or curb a runaway young star or two,
+  Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
+    Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue,
+  Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
+  As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.
+
+  III.
+
+  The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
+    Finding their charges past all care below;
+  Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
+    Save the recording angel's black bureau;
+  Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
+    With such rapidity of vice and woe,
+  That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
+  And yet was in arrear of human ills.
+
+  IV.
+
+  His business so augmented of late years,
+    That he was forced, against his will no doubt
+  (Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers),
+    For some resource to turn himself about,
+  And claim the help of his celestial peers,
+    To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
+  By the increased demand for his remarks:
+  Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.
+
+  V.
+
+  This was a handsome board--at least for heaven;
+    And yet they had even then enough to do,
+  So many conquerors' cars were daily driven,
+    So many kingdoms fitted up anew;
+  Each day, too, slew its thousands six or seven,
+    Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo,
+  They threw their pens down in divine disgust,
+  The page was so besmear'd with blood and dust.
+
+  VI.
+
+  This by the way; 'tis not mine to record
+    What angels shrink from: even the very devil
+  On this occasion his own work abhorr'd,
+    So surfeited with the infernal revel:
+  Though he himself had sharpen'd every sword,
+    It almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil.
+  (Here Satan's sole good work deserves insertion--
+  'Tis that he has both generals in reversion.)
+
+  VII.
+
+  Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace,
+    Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont,
+  And heaven none--they form the tyrant's lease,
+    With nothing but new names subscribed upon't:
+  'Twill one day finish: meantime they increase,
+    "With seven heads and ten horns", and all in front,
+  Like Saint John's foretold beast; but ours are born
+  Less formidable in the head than horn.
+
+  VIII.
+
+  In the first year of freedom's second dawn
+    Died George the Third; although no tyrant, one
+  Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn
+    Left him nor mental nor external sun:
+  A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn,
+    A worse king never left a realm undone!
+  He died--but left his subjects still behind,
+  One half as mad--and t'other no less blind.
+
+  IX.
+
+  He died! his death made no great stir on earth:
+    His burial made some pomp: there was profusion
+  Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth
+    Of aught but tears--save those shed by collusion.
+  For these things may be bought at their true worth;
+    Of elegy there was the due infusion--
+  Bought also; and the torches, cloaks, and banners,
+  Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners,
+
+  X.
+
+  Form'd a sepulchral melodrame. Of all
+    The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show,
+  Who cared about the corpse? The funeral
+    Made the attraction, and the black the woe,
+  There throbb'd not there a thought which pierced the pall;
+    And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low,
+  It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold
+  The rottenness of eighty years in gold.
+
+  XI.
+
+  So mix his body with the dust! It might
+    Return to what it _must_ far sooner, were
+  The natural compound left alone to fight
+    Its way back into earth, and fire, and air,
+  But the unnatural balsams merely blight
+    What nature made him at his birth, as bare
+  As the mere million's base unmummied clay--
+  Yet all his spices but prolong decay.
+
+  XII.
+
+  He's dead--and upper earth with him has done;
+    He's buried; save the undertaker's bill,
+  Or lapidary's scrawl, the world has gone
+    For him, unless he left a German will.
+  But where's the proctor who will ask his son?
+    In whom his qualities are reigning still,
+  Except that household virtue, most uncommon,
+  Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman.
+
+  XIII.
+
+  "God save the King!" It is a large economy
+    In God to save the like; but if He will
+  Be saving, all the better; for not one am I
+    Of those who think damnation better still;
+  I hardly know, too, if not quite alone am I
+    In this small hope of bettering future ill
+  By circumscribing, with some slight restriction,
+  The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction.
+
+  XIV.
+
+  I know this is unpopular; I know
+    'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn'd
+  For hoping no one else may e'er be so;
+    I know my catechism: I know we 're cramm'd
+  With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow;
+    I know that all save England's church have shamm'd;
+  And that the other twice two hundred churches
+  And synagogues have made a _damn'd_ bad purchase.
+
+  XV.
+
+  God help us all! God help me too! I am,
+    God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish,
+  And not a whit more difficult to damn,
+    Than is to bring to land a late-hooked fish,
+  Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb;
+    Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish,
+  As one day will be that immortal fry
+  Of almost everybody born to die.
+
+  XVI.
+
+  Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate,
+    And nodded o'er his keys; when lo! there came
+  A wondrous noise he had not heard of late--
+    A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame;
+  In short, a roar of things extremely great,
+    Which would have made all save a saint exclaim;
+  But he, with first a start and then a wink,
+  Said, "There's another star gone out, I think!"
+
+  XVII.
+
+  But ere he could return to his repose,
+    A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes--
+  At which Saint Peter yawn'd and rubb'd his nose;
+    "Saint porter," said the angel, "prithee rise!"
+  Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows
+    An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes;
+  To which the Saint replied, "Well, what's the matter?
+  Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?"
+
+  XVIII.
+
+  "No," quoth the cherub; "George the Third is dead."
+    "And who _is_ George the Third?" replied the apostle;
+  "_What George? What Third?_" "The King of England," said
+    The angel. "Well, he won't find kings to jostle
+  Him on his way; but does he wear his head?
+    Because the last we saw here had a tussle,
+  And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces,
+  Had he not flung his head in all our faces.
+
+  XIX.
+
+  "He was, if I remember, King of France,
+    That head of his, which could not keep a crown
+  On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance
+    A claim to those of martyrs--like my own.
+  If I had had my sword, as I had once
+    When I cut ears off, I had cut him down;
+  But having but my _keys_, and not my brand,
+  I only knock'd his head from out his hand.
+
+  XX.
+
+  "And then he set up such a headless howl,
+    That all the saints came out and took him in;
+  And there he sits by St. Paul, cheek by jowl;
+    That fellow Paul--the parvenu! The skin
+  Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl
+    In heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin
+  So as to make a martyr, never sped
+  Better than did that weak and wooden head.
+
+  XXI.
+
+  "But had it come up here upon its shoulders,
+    There would have been a different tale to tell;
+  The fellow-feeling in the saints' beholders
+    Seems to have acted on them like a spell;
+  And so this very foolish head heaven solders
+    Back on its trunk: it may be very well,
+  And seems the custom here to overthrow
+  Whatever has been wisely done below."
+
+  XXII.
+
+  The angel answer'd, "Peter! do not pout:
+    The king who comes has head and all entire,
+  And never knew much what it was about--
+    He did as doth the puppet--by its wire,
+  And will be judged like all the rest, no doubt:
+    My business and your own is not to inquire
+  Into such matters, but to mind our cue--
+  Which is to act as we are bid to do."
+
+  XXIII.
+
+  While thus they spake, the angelic caravan,
+    Arriving like a rush of mighty wind,
+  Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan
+    Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde,
+  Or Thames, or Tweed), and 'midst them an old man
+    With an old soul, and both extremely blind,
+  Halted before the gate, and in his shroud
+  Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud.
+
+  XXIV.
+
+  But bringing up the rear of this bright host,
+    A Spirit of a different aspect waved
+  His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast
+    Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved;
+  His brow was like the deep when tempest-toss'd;
+    Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved
+  Eternal wrath on his immortal face,
+  And _where_ he gazed, a gloom pervaded space.
+
+  XXV.
+
+  As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate
+    Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or Sin,
+  With such a glance of supernatural hate,
+    As made St. Peter wish himself within:
+  He patter'd with his keys at a great rate,
+    And sweated through his apostolic skin:
+  Of course his perspiration was but ichor,
+  Or some such other spiritual liquor.
+
+  XXVI.
+
+  The very cherubs huddled all together,
+    Like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt
+  A tingling to the tip of every feather,
+    And form'd a circle like Orion's belt
+  Around their poor old charge; who scarce knew whither
+    His guards had led him, though they gently dealt
+  With royal manes (for by many stories,
+  And true, we learn the angels all are Tories).
+
+  XXVII.
+
+  As things were in this posture, the gate flew
+    Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges
+  Flung over space an universal hue
+    Of many-color'd flame, until its tinges
+  Reach'd even our speck of earth, and made a new
+    Aurora Borealis spread its fringes
+  O'er the North Pole, the same seen, when ice-bound,
+  By Captain Perry's crew, in "Melville's Sound".
+
+  XXVIII.
+
+  And from the gate thrown open issued beaming
+    A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light,
+  Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming
+    Victorious from some world-o'erthrowing fight:
+  My poor comparisons must needs be teeming
+    With earthly likenesses, for here the night
+  Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving
+  Johanna Southcote, or Bob Southey raving.
+
+  XXIX.
+
+  'Twas the archangel Michael: all men know
+    The make of angels and archangels, since
+  There's scarce a scribbler has not one to show,
+    From the fiends' leader to the angels' prince.
+  There also are some altar-pieces, though
+    I really can't say that they much evince
+  One's inner notions of immortal spirits;
+  But let the connoisseurs explain _their_ merits.
+
+  XXX.
+
+  Michael flew forth in glory and in good,
+    A goodly work of Him from whom all glory
+  And good arise: the portal pass'd--he stood
+    Before him the young cherubs and saints hoary--
+  (I say _young_, begging to be understood
+    By looks, not years, and should be very sorry
+  To state, they were not older than St. Peter,
+  But merely that they seem'd a little sweeter).
+
+  XXXI.
+
+  The cherubs and the saints bow'd down before
+    That archangelic hierarch, the first
+  Of essences angelical, who wore
+    The aspect of a god; but this ne'er nursed
+  Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core
+    No thought, save for his Maker's service, durst
+  Intrude, however glorified and high;
+  He knew him but the viceroy of the sky.
+
+  XXXII.
+
+  He and the sombre silent Spirit met--
+    They knew each other both for good and ill;
+  Such was their power that neither could forget
+    His former friend and future foe; but still
+  There was a high, immortal, proud regret
+    In either's eye, as if't were less their will
+  Than destiny to make the eternal years
+  Their date of war, and their _champ clos_ the spheres.
+
+  XXXIII.
+
+  But here they were in neutral space: we know
+    From Job, that Satan hath the power to pay
+  A heavenly visit thrice a year or so;
+    And that "the sons of God", like those of clay,
+  Must keep him company; and we might show
+    From the same book, in how polite a way
+  The dialogue is held between the powers
+  Of Good and Evil--but 'twould take up hours.
+
+  XXXIV.
+
+  And this is not a theologic tract,
+    To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic,
+  If Job be allegory or a fact,
+    But a true narrative; and thus I pick
+  From out the whole but such and such an act,
+    As sets aside the slightest thought of trick.
+  'Tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion,
+  And accurate as any other vision.
+
+
+
+LIX. THE WALTZ.
+
+    Published in 1813 and described by its author as an "Apostrophic
+    Hymn".
+
+
+  Muse of the many-twinkling feet! whose charms
+  Are now extended up from legs to arms;
+  Terpsichore!--too long misdeem'd a maid--
+  Reproachful term--bestow'd but to upbraid--
+  Henceforth in all the bronze of brightness shine,
+  The least a vestal of the virgin Nine.
+  Far be from thee and thine the name of prude;
+  Mock'd, yet triumphant; sneer'd at, unsubdued;
+  Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly,
+  If but thy coats are reasonably high;
+  Thy breast, if bare enough, requires no shield:
+  Dance forth--_sans armour_ thou shalt take the field,
+  And own--impregnable to _most_ assaults,
+  Thy not too lawfully begotten "Waltz".
+
+  Hail, nimble nymph! to whom the young huzzar,
+  The whisker'd votary of waltz and war,
+  His night devotes, despite of spurs and boots;
+  A sight unmatch'd since Orpheus and his brutes:
+  Hail, spirit-stirring Waltz! beneath whose banners
+  A modern hero fought for modish manners;
+  On Hounslow's heath to rival Wellesley's fame,
+  Cock'd, fired, and miss'd his man--but gain'd his aim:
+  Hail, moving muse! to whom the fair one's breast
+  Gives all it can, and bids us take the rest.
+  Oh, for the flow of Busby or of Fitz,
+  The latter's loyalty, the former's wits,
+  To "energize the object I pursue",
+  And give both Belial and his dance their due!
+
+  Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine
+  (Famed for the growth of pedigree and wine),
+  Long be thine import from all duty free,
+  And hock itself be less esteem'd than thee;
+  In some few qualities alike--for hock
+  Improves our cellar--_thou_ our living stock.
+  The head to hock belongs--thy subtler art
+  Intoxicates alone the heedless heart:
+  Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims,
+  And wakes to wantonness the willing limbs.
+
+  O Germany! how much to thee we owe,
+  As heaven-born Pitt can testify below.
+  Ere cursed confederation made thee France's,
+  And only left us thy d--d debts and dances!
+  Of subsidies and Hanover bereft,
+  We bless thee still--for George the Third is left!
+  Of kings the best, and last not least in worth,
+  For graciously begetting George the Fourth.
+  To Germany, and highnesses serene,
+  Who owe us millions--don't we owe the queen?
+  To Germany, what owe we not besides?
+  So oft bestowing Brunswickers and brides:
+  Who paid for vulgar, with her royal blood,
+  Drawn from the stem of each Teutonic stud;
+  Who sent us--so be pardon'd all our faults--
+  A dozen dukes, some kings, a queen--and Waltz.
+
+  But peace to her, her emperor and diet,
+  Though now transferr'd to Bonaparte's "fiat!"
+  Back to thy theme--O Muse of motion! say,
+  How first to Albion found thy Waltz her way?
+
+  Borne on thy breath of hyperborean gales
+  From Hamburg's port (while Hamburg yet had _mails_),
+  Ere yet unlucky Fame, compelled to creep
+  To snowy Gottenburg was chill'd to sleep;
+  Or, starting from her slumbers, deign'd arise,
+  Heligoland, to stock thy mart with lies;
+  While unburnt Moscow yet had news to send,
+  Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend.
+  She came--Waltz came--and with her certain sets
+  Of true despatches, and as true gazettes:
+  Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch,
+  Which _Moniteur_ nor _Morning Post_ can match;
+  And, almost crush'd beneath the glorious news,
+  Ten plays, and forty tales of Kotzebue's;
+  One envoy's letters, six composers' airs,
+  And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsic fairs:
+  Meiner's four volumes upon womankind,
+  Like Lapland witches to ensure a wind;
+  Brunck's heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it,
+  Of Heyne, such as should not sink the packet.
+
+  Fraught with this cargo, and her fairest freight,
+  Delightful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate,
+  The welcome vessel reach'd the genial strand,
+  And round her flock'd the daughters of the land.
+  Not decent David, when, before the ark,
+  His grand _pas-seul_ excited some remark,
+  Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought
+  The knight's fandango friskier than it ought;
+  Not soft Herodias, when, with winning tread,
+  Her nimble feet danced off another's head;
+  Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck,
+  Display'd so much of _leg_, or more of _neck_,
+  Than thou ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon
+  Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune!
+
+  To you, ye husbands of ten years whose brows
+  Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse;
+  To you of nine years less, who only bear
+  The budding sprouts of those that you _shall_ wear,
+  With added ornaments around them roll'd
+  Of native brass, or law-awarded gold:
+  To you, ye matrons, ever on the watch
+  To mar a son's, or make a daughter's match;
+  To you, ye children of--whom chance accords--
+  _Always_ the ladies, and _sometimes_ their lords;
+  To you, ye single gentlemen, who seek
+  Torments for life, or pleasures for a week;
+  As Love or Hymen your endeavours guide,
+  To gain your own, or snatch another's bride;--
+  To one and all the lovely stranger came,
+  And every ball-room echoes with her name.
+
+  Endearing Waltz! to thy more melting tune
+  Bow Irish jig and ancient rigadoon.
+  Scotch reels, avaunt! and country dance forego
+  Your future claims to each fantastic toe!
+  Waltz, Waltz alone, both legs and arms demands,
+  Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands;
+  Hands which may freely range in public sight
+  Where ne'er before--but--pray "put out the light".
+  Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier
+  Shines much too far, or I am much too near;
+  And true, though strange, Waltz whispers this remark,
+  "My slippery steps are safest in the dark!"
+  But here the Muse with due decorum halts,
+  And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz.
+
+  Observant travellers of every time!
+  Ye quartos publish'd upon every clime!
+  Oh, say, shall dull Romaika's heavy round,
+  Fandango's wriggle, or Bolero's bound;
+  Can Egypt's Almas--tantalizing group--
+  Columbia's caperers to the warlike whoop--
+  Can aught from cold Kamschatka to Cape Horn
+  With Waltz compare, or after Waltz be borne?
+  Ah, no! from Morier's pages down to Galt's,
+  Each tourist pens a paragraph for "Waltz".
+
+  Shades of those belles whose reign began of yore,
+  With George the Third's--and ended long before!--
+  Though in your daughters' daughters yet you thrive,
+  Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive!
+  Back to the ball-room speed your spectred host;
+  Fools' Paradise is dull to that you lost.
+  No treacherous powder bids conjecture quake;
+  No stiff-starch'd stays make meddling fingers ache
+  (Transferr'd to those ambiguous things that ape
+  Goats in their visage, women in their shape):
+  No damsel faints when rather closely press'd,
+  But more caressing seems when most caress'd;
+  Superfluous hartshorn and reviving salts;
+  Both banished, by the sovereign cordial, "Waltz".
+
+  Seductive Waltz!--though on thy native shore
+  Even Werter's self proclaim'd thee half a whore:
+  Werter--to decent vice though much inclined,
+  Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind--
+  Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stael,
+  Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball;
+  The fashion hails--from countesses to queens,
+  And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes;
+  Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads,
+  And turns--if nothing else--at least our _heads_;
+  With thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce,
+  And cockneys practise what they can't pronounce.
+  Gods! how the glorious theme my strain exalts,
+  And rhyme finds partner rhyme in praise of "Waltz!"
+
+  Blest was the time Waltz chose for her _debut_:
+  The court, the Regent, like herself, were new,
+  New face for friends, for foes some new rewards;
+  New ornaments for black and royal guards;
+  New laws to hang the rogues that roar'd for bread;
+  New coins (most new) to follow those that fled;
+  New victories--nor can we prize them less,
+  Though Jenky wonders at his own success;
+  New wars, because the old succeed so well,
+  That most survivors envy those who fell;
+  New mistresses--no, old--and yet 'tis true,
+  Though they be _old_, the _thing_ is something new;
+  Each new, quite new--(except some ancient tricks),
+  New white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom-sticks, all new sticks!
+  With vests or ribbons, deck'd alike in hue,
+  New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue;
+  So saith the muse! my ----, what say you?
+  Such was the time when Waltz might best maintain
+  Her new preferments in this novel reign;
+  Such was the time, nor ever yet was such:
+  Hoops are _no more_, and petticoats _not much_:
+  Morals and minuets, virtue and her stays,
+  And tell-tale powder--all have had their days.
+  The ball begins--the honours of the house
+  First duly done by daughter or by spouse,
+  Some potentate--or royal or serene--
+  With Kent's gay grace, or sapient Glo'ster's mien,
+  Leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush
+  Might once have been mistaken for a blush,
+  From where the garb just leaves the bosom free,
+  That spot where hearts were once supposed to be;
+  Round all the confines of the yielded waist,
+  The stranger's hand may wander undisplaced;
+  The lady's in return may grasp as much
+  As princely paunches offer to her touch.
+  Pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip,
+  One hand reposing on the royal hip:
+  The other to the shoulder no less royal
+  Ascending with affection truly loyal!
+  Thus front to front the partners move or stand,
+  The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand;
+  And all in turn may follow in their rank,
+  The Earl of--Asterisk--and Lady--Blank;
+  Sir--Such-a-one--with those of fashion's host,
+  For whose blest surnames--_vide Morning Post_
+  (Or if for that impartial print too late,
+  Search Doctors' Commons six months from my date)--
+  Thus all and each, in movement swift or slow,
+  The genial contact gently undergo;
+  Till some might marvel, with the modest Turk,
+  If "nothing follows all this palming work".
+  True, honest Mirza!--you may trust my rhyme--
+  Something does follow at a fitter time;
+  The breast thus publicly resign'd to man
+  In private may resist him--if it can.
+
+  O ye who loved our grandmothers of yore,
+  Fitzpatrick, Sheridan, and many more!
+  And thou, my prince! whose sovereign taste and will
+  It is to love the lovely beldames still!
+  Thou ghost of Queensbury! whose judging sprite
+  Satan may spare to peep a single night,
+  Pronounce--if ever in your days of bliss
+  Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this;
+  To teach the young ideas how to rise,
+  Flush in the cheek, and languish in the eyes;
+  Rush to the heart, and lighten through the frame,
+  With half-told wish and ill-dissembled flame;
+  For prurient nature still will storm the breast--
+  _Who_, tempted thus, can answer for the rest?
+
+  But ye, who never felt a single thought,
+  For what our morals are to be, or ought;
+  Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap,
+  Say--would you make those beauties quite so cheap?
+  Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
+  Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side,
+  Where were the rapture then to clasp the form
+  From this lewd grasp and lawless contact warm?
+  At once love's most endearing thought resign,
+  To press the hand so press'd by none but thine;
+  To gaze upon that eye which never met
+  Another's ardent look without regret;
+  Approach the lip which all, without restraint,
+  Come near enough--if not to touch--to taint;
+  If such thou lovest--love her then no more,
+  Or give--like her--caresses to a score;
+  Her mind with these is gone, and with it go
+  The little left behind it to bestow.
+
+  Voluptuous Waltz! and dare I thus blaspheme?
+  The bard forgot thy praises were his theme.
+  Terpsichore, forgive!--at every ball
+  My wife _now_ waltzes--and my daughters _shall_;
+  _My_ son--(or stop--'tis needless to inquire--
+  These little accidents should ne'er transpire;
+  Some ages hence our genealogic tree
+  Will wear as green a bough for him as me)--
+  Waltzing shall rear, to make our name amends,
+  Grandsons for me--in heirs to all his friends.
+
+
+
+LX. "THE DEDICATION" IN DON JUAN.
+
+    Southey as Poet Laureate was a favourite target for satirical quips
+    and cranks on the part of Byron. This "Dedication" was not
+    published until after the author's death.
+
+
+  I.
+
+  Bob Southey! You're a poet--Poet-laureate,
+    And representative of all the race;
+  Although 'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory
+    Last--yours has lately been a common case--
+  And now, my Epic Renegade! what are ye at?
+    With all the Lakers, in and out of place?
+  A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye
+  Like "four-and-twenty Blackbirds in a pie;
+
+  II.
+
+  "Which pie being open'd they began to sing"
+    (This old song and new simile holds good),
+  "A dainty dish to set before the King",
+    Or Regent, who admires such kind of food--
+  And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing,
+    But like a hawk encumber'd with his hood--
+  Explaining metaphysics to the nation--
+  I wish he would explain his Explanation.
+
+  III.
+
+  You, Bob, are rather insolent, you know
+    At being disappointed in your wish
+  To supersede all warblers here below,
+    And be the only blackbird in the dish;
+  And then you overstrain yourself, or so,
+    And tumble downward like the flying fish
+  Gasping on deck, because you soar too high, Bob,
+  And fall, for lack of moisture quite a-dry, Bob!
+
+  IV.
+
+  And Wordsworth, in a rather long "Excursion"
+    (I think the quarto holds five hundred pages),
+  Has given a sample from the vasty version
+    Of his new system to perplex the sages;
+  'Tis poetry--at least by his assertion,
+    And may appear so when the dog-star rages--
+  And he who understands it would be able
+  To add a story to the Tower of Babel.
+
+  V.
+
+  You--Gentlemen! by dint of long seclusion
+    From better company, have kept your own
+  At Keswick, and, through still continued fusion
+    Of one another's minds, at last have grown
+  To deem as a most logical conclusion,
+    That Poesy has wreaths for you alone;
+  There is a narrowness in such a notion,
+  Which makes me wish you'd change your lakes for ocean.
+
+  VI.
+
+  I would not imitate the petty thought,
+    Nor coin my self-love to so base a vice,
+  For all the glory your conversion brought,
+    Since gold alone should not have been its price,
+  You have your salary; was't for that you wrought?
+    And Wordsworth has his place in the Excise!
+  You're shabby fellows--true--but poets still,
+  And duly seated on the immortal hill.
+
+  VII.
+
+  Your bays may hide the baldness of your brows--
+    Perhaps some virtuous blushes, let them go--
+  To you I envy neither fruit nor boughs,
+    And for the fame you would engross below,
+  The field is universal, and allows
+    Scope to all such as feel the inherent glow;
+  Scott, Rogers, Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe, will try
+  'Gainst you the question with posterity.
+
+  VIII.
+
+  For me, who, wandering with pedestrian Muses,
+    Contend not with you on the winged steed,
+  I wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses,
+    The fame you envy and the skill you need;
+  And recollect a poet nothing loses
+    In giving to his brethren their full meed
+  Of merit, and complaint of present days
+  Is not the certain path to future praise.
+
+  IX.
+
+  He that reserves his laurels for posterity
+    (Who does not often claim the bright reversion)
+  Has generally no great crop to spare it, he
+    Being only injured by his own assertion;
+  And although here and there some glorious rarity
+    Arise like Titan from the sea's immersion,
+  The major part of such appellants go
+  To--God knows where--for no one else can know.
+
+  X.
+
+  If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues,
+    Milton appealed to the Avenger, Time,
+  If Time, the Avenger, execrates his wrongs,
+    And makes the word "Miltonic" mean "_sublime_",
+  _He_ deign'd not to belie his soul in songs,
+    Nor turn his very talent to a crime;
+  _He_ did not loathe the sire to laud the son,
+  But closed the tyrant-hater he begun.
+
+  XI.
+
+  Think'st thou, could he--the blind old man--arise,
+    Like Samuel from the grave, to freeze once more
+  The blood of monarchs with his prophecies,
+    Or be alive again--again all hoar
+  With time and trials, and those helpless eyes,
+    And heartless daughters--worn--and pale--and poor:
+  Would _he_ adore a sultan? _he_ obey
+  The intellectual eunuch Castlereagh?
+
+  XII.
+
+  Cold-blooded, smooth-faced, placid miscreant!
+    Dabbling its sleek young hands in Erin's gore,
+  And thus for wider carnage taught to pant,
+    Transferr'd to gorge upon a sister shore,
+  The vulgarest tool that Tyranny could want,
+    With just enough of talent, and no more,
+  To lengthen fetters by another fix'd.
+  And offer poison long already mix'd.
+
+  XIII.
+
+  An orator of such set trash of phrase
+    Ineffably--legitimately vile,
+  That even its grossest flatterers dare not praise,
+    Nor foes--all nations--condescend to smile;
+  Not even a sprightly blunder's spark can blaze
+    From that Ixion grindstone's ceaseless toil,
+  That turns and turns to give the world a notion
+  Of endless torments and perpetual motion.
+
+  XIV.
+
+  A bungler even in its disgusting trade,
+    And botching, patching, leaving still behind
+  Something of which its masters are afraid,
+    States to be curb'd, and thoughts to be confined,
+  Conspiracy or Congress to be made--
+    Cobbling at manacles for all mankind--
+  A tinkering slave-maker, who mends old chains,
+  With God and man's abhorrence for its gains.
+
+  XV.
+
+  If we may judge of matter by the mind,
+    Emasculated to the marrow _It_
+  Hath but two objects, how to serve, and bind,
+    Deeming the chain it wears even men may fit,
+  Eutropius of its many masters,--blind
+    To worth as freedom, wisdom as to wit,
+  Fearless--because _no_ feeling dwells in ice,
+  Its very courage stagnates to a vice.
+
+  XVI.
+
+  Where shall I turn me not to _view_ its bonds,
+    For I will never _feel_ them:--Italy!
+  Thy late reviving Roman soul desponds
+    Beneath the lie this State-thing breathed o'er thee--
+  Thy clanking chain, and Erin's yet green wounds,
+    Have voices--tongues to cry aloud for me.
+  Europe has slaves--allies--kings--armies still,
+  And Southey lives to sing them very ill.
+
+  XVII.
+
+  Meantime, Sir Laureate, I proceed to dedicate,
+    In honest simple verse, this song to you.
+  And if in flattering strains I do not predicate,
+    'Tis that I still retain my "buff and blue";
+  My politics as yet are all to educate:
+    Apostasy's so fashionable, too,
+  To keep _one_ creed's a task grown quite Herculean:
+  Is it not so, my Tory, Ultra-Julian?
+
+VENICE, September 16, 1818.
+
+
+
+
+THOMAS HOOD.
+
+(1798-1845.)
+
+
+LXI. COCKLE _v_. CACKLE.
+
+    This is not meant as a "cut" at that standard medicine named
+    therein which has wrought such good in its day; but is a satire on
+    quack advertising generally. The more worthless the nostrum, the
+    more universal the advertising of it, such is the moral of Hood's
+    satire.
+
+
+  Those who much read advertisements and bills,
+  Must have seen puffs of Cockle's Pills,
+      Call'd Anti-bilious--
+  Which some physicians sneer at, supercilious,
+  But which we are assured, if timely taken,
+      May save your liver and bacon;
+  Whether or not they really give one ease,
+      I, who have never tried,
+      Will not decide;
+  But no two things in union go like these--
+  Viz.--quacks and pills--save ducks and pease.
+  Now Mrs. W. was getting sallow,
+  Her lilies not of the white kind, but yellow,
+  And friends portended was preparing for
+      A human pate perigord;
+  She was, indeed, so very far from well,
+  Her son, in filial fear, procured a box
+  Of those said pellets to resist bile's shocks,
+  And--tho' upon the ear it strangely knocks--
+  To save her by a Cockle from a shell!
+  But Mrs. W., just like Macbeth,
+  Who very vehemently bids us "throw
+  Bark to the Bow-wows", hated physic so,
+  It seem'd to share "the bitterness of Death":
+  Rhubarb--Magnesia--Jalap, and the kind--
+  Senna--Steel--Assa-foetida, and Squills--
+  Powder or Draught--but least her throat inclined
+  To give a course to boluses or pills;
+  No--not to save her life, in lung or lobe,
+  For all her lights' or all her liver's sake,
+  Would her convulsive thorax undertake,
+  Only one little uncelestial globe!
+
+  'Tis not to wonder at, in such a case,
+  If she put by the pill-box in a place
+  For linen rather than for drugs intended--
+  Yet for the credit of the pills let's say
+      After they thus were stow'd away,
+      Some of the linen mended;
+  But Mrs. W. by disease's dint,
+  Kept getting still more yellow in her tint,
+  When lo! her second son, like elder brother,
+  Marking the hue on the parental gills,
+  Brought a new charge of Anti-tumeric Pills,
+  To bleach the jaundiced visage of his mother--
+  Who took them--in her cupboard--like the other.
+
+      "Deeper and deeper still", of course,
+      The fatal colour daily grew in force;
+  Till daughter W. newly come from Rome,
+  Acting the self-same filial, pillial, part,
+  To cure Mamma, another dose brought home
+  Of Cockles;--not the Cockles of her heart!
+      These going where the others went before,
+      Of course she had a very pretty store;
+  And then--some hue of health her cheek adorning,
+      The medicine so good must be,
+      They brought her dose on dose, which she
+  Gave to the up-stairs cupboard, "night and morning".
+  Till wanting room at last, for other stocks,
+  Out of the window one fine day she pitch'd
+  The pillage of each box, and quite enrich'd
+  The feed of Mister Burrell's hens and cocks,--
+      A little Barber of a by-gone day,
+      Over the way
+  Whose stock in trade, to keep the least of shops,
+  Was one great head of Kemble,--that is, John,
+  Staring in plaster, with a Brutus on,
+  And twenty little Bantam fowls--with crops.
+  Little Dame W. thought when through the sash
+      She gave the physic wings,
+      To find the very things
+  So good for bile, so bad for chicken rash,
+  For thoughtless cock, and unreflecting pullet!
+  But while they gathered up the nauseous nubbles,
+  Each peck'd itself into a peck of troubles,
+  And brought the hand of Death upon its gullet.
+  They might as well have addled been, or ratted,
+  For long before the night--ah woe betide
+  The Pills! each suicidal Bantam died
+      Unfatted!
+
+      Think of poor Burrel's shock,
+  Of Nature's debt to see his hens all payers,
+  And laid in death as Everlasting Layers,
+  With Bantam's small Ex-Emperor, the Cock,
+  In ruffled plumage and funereal hackle,
+  Giving, undone by Cockle, a last Cackle!
+  To see as stiff as stone, his un'live stock,
+  It really was enough to move his block.
+  Down on the floor he dash'd, with horror big,
+  Mr. Bell's third wife's mother's coachman's wig;
+  And with a tragic stare like his own Kemble,
+  Burst out with natural emphasis enough,
+      And voice that grief made tremble,
+  Into that very speech of sad Macduff--
+  "What!--all my pretty chickens and their dam,
+      At one fell swoop!--
+      Just when I'd bought a coop
+  To see the poor lamented creatures cram!"
+
+      After a little of this mood,
+      And brooding over the departed brood,
+  With razor he began to ope each craw,
+  Already turning black, as black as coals;
+  When lo! the undigested cause he saw--
+      "Pison'd by goles!"
+
+  To Mrs. W.'s luck a contradiction,
+  Her window still stood open to conviction;
+  And by short course of circumstantial labour,
+  He fix'd the guilt upon his adverse neighbour;--
+  Lord! how he rail'd at her: declaring how,
+  He'd bring an action ere next Term of Hilary,
+  Then, in another moment, swore a vow,
+  He'd make her do pill-penance in the pillory!
+  She, meanwhile distant from the dimmest dream
+  Of combating with guilt, yard-arm or arm-yard,
+  Lapp'd in a paradise of tea and cream;
+  When up ran Betty with a dismal scream--
+  "Here's Mr. Burrell, ma'am, with all his farmyard!"
+  Straight in he came, unbowing and unbending,
+      With all the warmth that iron and a barbe
+      Can harbour;
+  To dress the head and front of her offending,
+  The fuming phial of his wrath uncorking;
+  In short, he made her pay him altogether,
+  In hard cash, very _hard_, for ev'ry feather,
+  Charging of course, each Bantam as a Dorking;
+  Nothing could move him, nothing make him supple,
+  So the sad dame unpocketing her loss,
+  Had nothing left but to sit hands across,
+  And see her poultry "going down ten couple".
+
+  Now birds by poison slain,
+  As venom'd dart from Indian's hollow cane,
+  Are edible; and Mrs. W.'s thrift,--
+  She had a thrifty vein,--
+  Destined one pair for supper to make shift,--
+  Supper as usual at the hour of ten:
+  But ten o'clock arrived and quickly pass'd,
+  Eleven--twelve--and one o'clock at last,
+  Without a sign of supper even then!
+  At length the speed of cookery to quicken,
+  Betty was called, and with reluctant feet,
+      Came up at a white heat--
+  "Well, never I see chicken like them chicken!
+  My saucepans, they have been a pretty while in 'em!
+  Enough to stew them, if it comes to that,
+  To flesh and bones, and perfect rags; but drat
+  Those Anti-biling Pills! there is no bile in 'em!"
+
+
+
+
+LORD MACAULAY.
+
+(1800-1859.)
+
+
+LXII. THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN'S TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE.
+
+    This is one of the numerous _jeux d'esprit_ in which Macaulay, in
+    his earlier years, indulged at election times. It was written in
+    1827.
+
+
+  As I sate down to breakfast in state,
+    At my living of Tithing-cum-Boring,
+  With Betty beside me to wait,
+    Came a rap that almost beat the door in.
+  I laid down my basin of tea,
+    And Betty ceased spreading the toast,
+  "As sure as a gun, sir," said she,
+    "That must be the knock of the Post".
+
+  A letter--and free--bring it here,
+    I have no correspondent who franks.
+  No! yes! can it be? Why, my dear,
+    'Tis our glorious, our Protestant Bankes.
+  "Dear sir, as I know you desire
+    That the Church should receive due protection
+  I humbly presume to require
+    Your aid at the Cambridge election.
+
+  "It has lately been brought to my knowledge,
+    That the Ministers fully design
+  To suppress each cathedral and college,
+    And eject every learned divine.
+  To assist this detestable scheme
+    Three nuncios from Rome are come over;
+  They left Calais on Monday by steam,
+    And landed to dinner at Dover.
+
+  "An army of grim Cordeliers,
+    Well furnish'd with relics and vermin,
+  Will follow, Lord Westmoreland fears,
+    To effect what their chiefs may determine.
+  Lollards' tower, good authorities say,
+    Is again fitting up as a prison;
+  And a wood-merchant told me to-day
+    'Tis a wonder how faggots have risen.
+
+  "The finance-scheme of Canning contains
+    A new Easter-offering tax:
+  And he means to devote all the gains
+    To a bounty on thumb-screws and racks.
+  Your living, so neat and compact--
+    Pray, don't let the news give you pain?
+  Is promised, I know for a fact,
+    To an olive-faced padre from Spain."
+
+  I read, and I felt my heart bleed,
+    Sore wounded with horror and pity;
+  So I flew, with all possible speed,
+    To our Protestant champion's committee.
+  True gentlemen, kind and well bred!
+    No fleering! no distance! no scorn!
+  They asked after my wife who is dead,
+    And my children who never were born.
+
+  They then, like high-principled Tories,
+    Called our Sovereign unjust and unsteady,
+  And assailed him with scandalous stories,
+    Till the coach for the voters was ready.
+  That coach might be well called a casket
+    Of learning and brotherly love:
+  There were parsons in boot and in basket;
+    There were parsons below and above.
+
+  There were Sneaker and Griper, a pair
+    Who stick to Lord Mulesby like leeches;
+  A smug chaplain of plausible air,
+    Who writes my Lord Goslingham's speeches.
+  Dr. Buzz, who alone is a host,
+    Who, with arguments weighty as lead,
+  Proves six times a week in the _Post_
+    That flesh somehow differs from bread.
+
+  Dr. Nimrod, whose orthodox toes
+    Are seldom withdrawn from the stirrup.
+  Dr. Humdrum, whose eloquence flows,
+    Like droppings of sweet poppy syrup;
+  Dr. Rosygill puffing and fanning,
+    And wiping away perspiration;
+  Dr. Humbug, who proved Mr. Canning
+    The beast in St. John's Revelation.
+
+  A layman can scarce form a notion
+    Of our wonderful talk on the road;
+  Of the learning, the wit, and devotion,
+    Which almost each syllable show'd:
+  Why, divided allegiance agrees
+    So ill with our free constitution;
+  How Catholics swear as they please,
+    In hope of the priest's absolution:
+
+  How the Bishop of Norwich had barter'd
+    His faith for a legate's commission;
+  How Lyndhurst, afraid to be martyr'd,
+    Had stooped to a base coalition;
+  How Papists are cased from compassion
+    By bigotry, stronger than steel;
+  How burning would soon come in fashion,
+    And how very bad it must feel.
+
+  We were all so much touched and excited
+    By a subject so direly sublime,
+  That the rules of politeness were slighted,
+    And we all of us talked at a time;
+  And in tones, which each moment grew louder,
+    Told how we should dress for the show,
+  And where we should fasten the powder,
+    And if we should bellow or no.
+
+  Thus from subject to subject we ran,
+    And the journey pass'd pleasantly o'er,
+  Till at last Dr. Humdrum began:
+    From that time I remember no more.
+  At Ware he commenced his prelection,
+    In the dullest of clerical drones:
+  And when next I regained recollection
+    We were rumbling o'er Trumpington stones.
+
+
+
+
+WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.
+
+(1802-1839.)
+
+
+LXIII. THE RED FISHERMAN; OR, THE DEVIL'S DECOY.
+
+    Published in Knight's _Annual_.
+
+
+  The Abbot arose, and closed his book,
+    And donned his sandal shoon,
+  And wandered forth alone, to look
+    Upon the summer moon:
+  A starlight sky was o'er his head,
+    A quiet breeze around;
+  And the flowers a thrilling fragrance shed
+    And the waves a soothing sound:
+  It was not an hour, nor a scene, for aught
+    But love and calm delight;
+  Yet the holy man had a cloud of thought
+    On his wrinkled brow that night.
+  He gazed on the river that gurgled by,
+    But he thought not of the reeds
+  He clasped his gilded rosary,
+    But he did not tell the beads;
+  If he looked to the heaven, 'twas not to invoke
+    The Spirit that dwelleth there;
+  If he opened his lips, the words they spoke
+    Had never the tone of prayer.
+  A pious priest might the Abbot seem,
+    He had swayed the crozier well;
+  But what was the theme of the Abbot's dream,
+    The Abbot were loth to tell.
+
+  Companionless, for a mile or more,
+  He traced the windings of the shore.
+  Oh beauteous is that river still,
+  As it winds by many a sloping hill,
+  And many a dim o'erarching grove,
+  And many a flat and sunny cove,
+  And terraced lawns, whose bright arcades
+  The honeysuckle sweetly shades,
+  And rocks, whose very crags seem bowers,
+  So gay they are with grass and flowers!
+  But the Abbot was thinking of scenery
+    About as much, in sooth,
+  As a lover thinks of constancy,
+    Or an advocate of truth.
+  He did not mark how the skies in wrath
+    Grew dark above his head;
+  He did not mark how the mossy path
+    Grew damp beneath his tread;
+  And nearer he came, and still more near,
+    To a pool, in whose recess
+  The water had slept for many a year,
+    Unchanged and motionless;
+  From the river stream it spread away
+    The space of half a rood;
+  The surface had the hue of clay
+    And the scent of human blood;
+  The trees and the herbs that round it grew
+    Were venomous and foul,
+  And the birds that through the bushes flew
+    Were the vulture and the owl;
+  The water was as dark and rank
+    As ever a Company pumped,
+  And the perch that was netted and laid on the bank
+    Grew rotten while it jumped;
+  And bold was he who thither came
+    At midnight, man or boy,
+  For the place was cursed with an evil name,
+    And that name was "The Devil's Decoy"!
+
+  The Abbot was weary as abbot could be,
+  And he sat down to rest on the stump of a tree:
+  When suddenly rose a dismal tone,--
+  Was it a song, or was it a moan?--
+          "O ho! O ho!
+          Above,--below,--
+  Lightly and brightly they glide and go!
+  The hungry and keen on the top are leaping,
+  The lazy and fat in the depths are sleeping;
+  Fishing is fine when the pool is muddy,
+  Broiling is rich when the coals are ruddy!"--
+  In a monstrous fright, by the murky light,
+  He looked to the left and he looked to the right;
+  And what was the vision close before him
+  That flung such a sudden stupor o'er him?
+  'Twas a sight to make the hair uprise,
+    And the life-blood colder run:
+  The startled Priest struck both his thigh,
+    And the abbey clock struck one!
+
+  All alone, by the side of the pool,
+  A tall man sat on a three-legged stool,
+  Kicking his heels on the dewy sod,
+  And putting in order his reel and rod;
+  Red were the rags his shoulders wore,
+  And a high red cap on his head he bore;
+  His arms and his legs were long and bare;
+  And two or three locks of long red hair
+  Were tossing about his scraggy neck,
+  Like a tattered flag o'er a splitting wreck.
+  It might be time, or it might be trouble,
+  Had bent that stout back nearly double,
+  Sunk in their deep and hollow sockets
+  That blazing couple of Congreve rockets,
+  And shrunk and shrivelled that tawny skin,
+  Till it hardly covered the bones within.
+  The line the Abbot saw him throw
+  Had been fashioned and formed long ages ago,
+  And the hands that worked his foreign vest
+  Long ages ago had gone to their rest:
+  You would have sworn, as you looked on them,
+  He had fished in the flood with Ham and Shem!
+
+  There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
+  As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
+  Minnow or gentle, worm or fly,--
+  It seemed not such to the Abbot's eye;
+  Gaily it glittered with jewel and jem,
+  And its shape was the shape of a diadem.
+  It was fastened a gleaming hook about
+  By a chain within and a chain without;
+  The Fisherman gave it a kick and a spin,
+  And the water fizzed as it tumbled in!
+
+  From the bowels of the earth,
+  Strange and varied sounds had birth;
+  Now the battle's bursting peal,
+  Neigh of steed, and clang of steel;
+  Now an old man's hollow groan
+  Echoed from the dungeon stone;
+  Now the weak and wailing cry
+  Of a stripling's agony!--
+  Cold by this was the midnight air;
+    But the Abbot's blood ran colder,
+  When he saw a gasping knight lie there,
+  With a gash beneath his clotted hair,
+    And a hump upon his shoulder.
+  And the loyal churchman strove in vain
+    To mutter a Pater Noster;
+  For he who writhed in mortal pain
+  Was camped that night on Bosworth plain--
+    The cruel Duke of Glo'ster!
+
+  There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
+  As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
+  It was a haunch of princely size,
+  Filling with fragrance earth and skies.
+  The corpulent Abbot knew full well
+  The swelling form, and the steaming smell;
+  Never a monk that wore a hood
+  Could better have guessed the very wood
+  Where the noble hart had stood at bay,
+  Weary and wounded, at close of day.
+
+  Sounded then the noisy glee
+  Of a revelling company,--
+  Sprightly story, wicked jest,
+  Rated servant, greeted guest,
+  Flow of wine, and flight of cork,
+  Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork:
+  But, where'er the board was spread,
+  Grace, I ween, was never said!--
+  Pulling and tugging the Fisherman sat;
+    And the Priest was ready to vomit,
+  When he hauled out a gentleman, fine and fat,
+  With a belly as big as a brimming vat,
+    And a nose as red as a comet.
+  "A capital stew," the Fisherman said,
+    "With cinnamon and sherry!"
+  And the Abbot turned away his head,
+  For his brother was lying before him dead,
+    The Mayor of St. Edmund's Bury!
+
+  There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
+  As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
+  It was a bundle of beautiful things,--
+  A peacock's tail and a butterfly's wings,
+  A scarlet slipper, an auburn curl,
+  A mantle of silk, and a bracelet of pearl,
+  And a packet of letters, from whose sweet fold
+  Such a stream of delicate odours rolled,
+  That the Abbot fell on his face, and fainted,
+  And deemed his spirit was half-way sainted.
+
+  Sounds seemed dropping from the skies,
+  Stifled whispers, smothered sighs,
+  And the breath of vernal gales,
+  And the voice of nightingales:
+  But the nightingales were mute,
+  Envious, when an unseen lute
+  Shaped the music of its chords
+  Into passion's thrilling words:
+  "Smile, Lady, smile!--I will not set
+  Upon my brow the coronet,
+  Till thou wilt gather roses white
+  To wear around its gems of light.
+  Smile, Lady, smile!--I will not see
+  Rivers and Hastings bend the knee,
+  Till those bewitching lips of thine
+  Will bid me rise in bliss from mine.
+  Smile, Lady, smile!--for who would win
+  A loveless throne through guilt and sin?
+  Or who would reign o'er vale and hill,
+  If woman's heart were rebel still?"
+
+  One jerk, and there a lady lay,
+    A lady wondrous fair;
+  But the rose of her lip had faded away,
+  And her cheek was as white and as cold as clay,
+    And torn was her raven hair.
+  "Ah ha!" said the Fisher, in merry guise,
+    "Her gallant was hooked before;"
+  And the Abbot heaved some piteous sighs,
+  For oft he had blessed those deep blue eyes,
+    The eyes of Mistress Shore!
+
+  There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
+  As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
+  Many the cunning sportsman tried,
+  Many he flung with a frown aside;
+  A minstrel's harp, and a miser's chest,
+  A hermit's cowl, and a baron's crest,
+  Jewels of lustre, robes of price,
+  Tomes of heresy, loaded dice,
+  And golden cups of the brightest wine
+  That ever was pressed from the Burgundy vine.
+  There was a perfume of sulphur and nitre
+  As he came at last to a bishop's mitre!
+
+  From top to toe the Abbot shook,
+  As the Fisherman armed his golden hook,
+  And awfully were his features wrought
+  By some dark dream or wakened thought.
+  Look how the fearful felon gazes
+  On the scaffold his country's vengeance raises,
+  When the lips are cracked and the jaws are dry
+  With the thirst which only in death shall die:
+  Mark the mariner's frenzied frown
+  As the swaling wherry settles down,
+  When peril has numbed the sense and will
+  Though the hand and the foot may struggle still:
+  Wilder far was the Abbot's glance,
+  Deeper far was the Abbot's trance:
+  Fixed as a monument, still as air,
+  He bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer
+  But he signed--he knew not why or how--
+  The sign of the Cross on his clammy brow.
+
+  There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
+  As he stalked away with his iron box.
+          "O ho! O ho!
+          The cock doth crow;
+  It is time for the Fisher to rise and go.
+  Fair luck to the Abbot, fair luck to the shrine!
+  He hath gnawed in twain my choicest line;
+  Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south,
+  The Abbot will carry my hook in his mouth!"
+
+  The Abbot had preached for many years
+    With as clear articulation
+  As ever was heard in the House of Peers
+    Against Emancipation;
+  His words had made battalions quake,
+    Had roused the zeal of martyrs,
+  Had kept the Court an hour awake
+    And the King himself three quarters:
+  But ever from that hour, 'tis said,
+    He stammered and he stuttered
+  As if an axe went through his head
+    With every word he uttered.
+  He stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered o'er ban,
+    He stuttered, drunk or dry;
+  And none but he and the Fisherman
+    Could tell the reason why!
+
+
+
+LXIV. MAD--QUITE MAD.
+
+    Originally published in the _Morning Post_ for 1834; afterwards
+    included in his _Essays_.
+
+
+      Great wits are sure to madness near allied.--_Dryden_.
+
+It has frequently been observed that genius and madness are nearly
+allied; that very great talents are seldom found unaccompanied by a
+touch of insanity, and that there are few Bedlamites who will not,
+upon a close examination, display symptoms of a powerful, though ruined
+intellect. According to this hypothesis, the flowers of Parnassus must
+be blended with the drugs of Anticyra; and the man who feels himself to
+be in possession of very brilliant wits may conclude that he is within
+an ace of running out of them. Whether this be true or false, we are
+not at present disposed to contradict the assertion. What we wish to
+notice is the pains which many young men take to qualify themselves for
+Bedlam, by hiding a good, sober, gentlemanlike understanding beneath an
+assumption of thoughtlessness and whim. It is the received opinion
+among many that a man's talents and abilities are to be rated by the
+quantity of nonsense he utters per diem, and the number of follies he
+runs into per annum. Against this idea we must enter our protest; if we
+concede that every real genius is more or less a madman, we must not be
+supposed to allow that every sham madman is more or less a genius.
+
+In the days of our ancestors, the hot-blooded youth who threw away his
+fortune at twenty-one, his character at twenty-two, and his life at
+twenty-three, was termed "a good fellow", "an honest fellow", "nobody's
+enemy but his own". In our time the name is altered; and the
+fashionable who squanders his father's estate, or murders his best
+friend--who breaks his wife's heart at the gaming-table, and his own
+neck at a steeple-chase--escapes the sentence which morality would pass
+upon him, by the plea of lunacy. "He was a rascal," says Common-Sense.
+"True," says the World; "but he was mad, you know--quite mad."
+
+We were lately in company with a knot of young men who were discussing
+the character and fortunes of one of their own body, who was, it seems,
+distinguished for his proficiency in the art of madness. "Harry," said
+a young sprig of nobility, "have you heard that Charles is in the
+King's Bench?" "I heard it this morning," drawled the Exquisite; "how
+distressing! I have not been so hurt since poor Angelica (his bay mare)
+broke down. Poor Charles has been too flighty." "His wings will be
+clipped for the future!" observed young Caustic. "He has been very
+imprudent," said young Candour.
+
+I inquired of whom they were speaking. "Don't you know Charles Gally?"
+said the Exquisite, endeavouring to turn in his collar. "Not know
+Charles Gally?" he repeated, with an expression of pity. "He is the
+best fellow breathing; only lives to laugh and make others laugh:
+drinks his two bottles with any man, and rides the finest mare I ever
+saw--next to my Angelica. Not know Charles Gally? Why, everybody knows
+him! He is so amusing! Ha! ha! And tells such admirable stories! Ha!
+ha! Often have they kept me awake"--a yawn--"when nothing else could."
+"Poor fellow!" said his lordship; "I understand he's done for ten
+thousand!" "I never believe more than half what the world says,"
+observed Candour. "He that has not a farthing," said Caustic, "cares
+little whether he owes ten thousand or five." "Thank Heaven!" said
+Candour, "that will never be the case with Charles: he has a fine
+estate in Leicestershire." "Mortgaged for half its value," said his
+lordship. "A large personal property!" "All gone in annuity bills,"
+said the Exquisite. "A rich uncle upwards of fourscore!" "He'll cut him
+off with a shilling," said Caustic.
+
+"Let us hope he may reform," sighed the Hypocrite; "and sell the pack,"
+added the Nobleman; "and marry," continued the Dandy. "Pshaw!" cried
+the Satirist, "he will never get rid of his habits, his hounds, or his
+horns." "But he has an excellent heart," said Candour. "Excellent,"
+repeated his lordship unthinkingly. "Excellent," lisped the Fop
+effeminately. "Excellent," exclaimed the Wit ironically. We took this
+opportunity to ask by what means so excellent a heart and so bright a
+genius had contrived to plunge him into these disasters. "He was my
+friend," replied his lordship, "and a man of large property; but he was
+mad--quite mad. I remember his leaping a lame pony over a stone wall,
+simply because Sir Marmaduke bet him a dozen that he broke his neck in
+the attempt; and sending a bullet through a poor pedlar's pack because
+Bob Darrell said the piece wouldn't carry so far." "Upon another
+occasion," began the Exquisite, in his turn, "he jumped into a
+horse-pond after dinner, in order to prove it was not six feet deep;
+and overturned a bottle of eau-de-cologne in Lady Emilia's face, to
+convince me that she was not painted. Poor fellow! The first experiment
+cost him a dress, and the second an heiress." "I have heard," resumed
+the Nobleman, "that he lost his election for ---- by lampooning the
+mayor; and was dismissed from his place in the Treasury for challenging
+Lord C----." "The last accounts I heard of him," said Caustic, "told me
+that Lady Tarrel had forbid him her house for driving a sucking-pig
+into her drawing-room; and that young Hawthorn had run him through for
+boasting of favours from his sister!" "These gentlemen are really too
+severe," remarked young Candour to us. "Not a jot," we said to
+ourselves.
+
+"This will be a terrible blow for his sister," said a young man who had
+been listening in silence. "A fine girl--a very fine girl," said the
+Exquisite. "And a fine fortune," said the Nobleman; "the mines of Peru
+are nothing to her." "Nothing at all," observed the Sneerer; "she has
+no property there. But I would not have you caught, Harry; her income
+was good, but is dipped, horribly dipped. Guineas melt very fast when
+the cards are put by them." "I was not aware Maria was a gambler,"
+said the young man, much alarmed. "Her brother is, sir," replied his
+informant. The querist looked sorry, but yet relieved. We could see
+that he was not quite disinterested in his inquiries. "However,"
+resumed the young Cynic, "his profusion has at least obtained him many
+noble and wealthy friends." He glanced at his hearers, and went on: "No
+one that knew him will hear of his distresses without being forward to
+relieve them. He will find interest for his money in the hearts of his
+friends." Nobility took snuff; Foppery played with his watch-chain;
+Hypocrisy looked grave. There was long silence. We ventured to regret
+the misuse of natural talents, which, if properly directed, might have
+rendered their possessor useful to the interests of society and
+celebrated in the records of his country. Everyone stared, as if we
+were talking Hebrew. "Very true," said his lordship, "he enjoys great
+talents. No man is a nicer judge of horseflesh. He beats me at
+billiards, and Harry at picquet; he's a dead shot at a button, and can
+drive his curricle-wheels over a brace of sovereigns." "Radicalism,"
+says Caustic, looking round for a laugh. "He is a great amateur of
+pictures," observed the Exquisite, "and is allowed to be quite a
+connoisseur in beauty; but there," simpering, "everyone must claim the
+privilege of judging for themselves." "Upon my word," said Candour,
+"you allow poor Charles too little. I have no doubt he has great
+courage--though, to be sure, there was a whisper that young Hawthorn
+found him rather shy; and I am convinced he is very generous, though I
+must confess that I have it from good authority that his younger
+brother was refused the loan of a hundred when Charles had pigeoned
+that fool of a nabob but the evening before. I would stake my existence
+that he is a man of unshaken honour--though, when he eased Lieutenant
+Hardy of his pay, there certainly was an awkward story about the
+transaction, which was never properly cleared up. I hope that when
+matters are properly investigated he will be liberated from all his
+embarrassments; though I am sorry to be compelled to believe that he
+has been spending double the amount of his income annually. But I trust
+that all will be adjusted. I have no doubt upon the subject." "Nor I,"
+said Caustic. "We shall miss him prodigiously at the Club," said the
+Dandy, with a slight shake of the head. "What a bore!" replied the
+Nobleman, with a long yawn. We could hardly venture to express
+compassion for a character so despicable. Our auditors, however,
+entertained very different opinions of right and wrong! "Poor fellow!
+he was much to be pitied: had done some very foolish things--to say the
+truth was a sad scoundrel--but then he was always so mad." And having
+come unanimously to this decision, the conclave dispersed.
+
+Charles gave an additional proof of his madness within a week after
+this discussion by swallowing laudanum. The verdict of the coroner's
+inquest confirmed the judgment of his four friends. For our own parts
+we must pause before we give in to so dangerous a doctrine. Here is a
+man who has outraged the laws of honour, the ties of relationship, and
+the duties of religion: he appears before us in the triple character of
+a libertine, a swindler, and a suicide. Yet his follies, his vices, his
+crimes, are all palliated or even applauded by this specious _facon de
+parler_--"He was mad--quite mad!"
+
+
+
+
+BENJAMIN DISRAELI (LORD BEACONSFIELD).
+
+(1805-1881.)
+
+
+LXV. POPANILLA ON MAN.
+
+    This racy piece of satire is taken from Lord Beaconsfield's
+    mock-heroic romance--written in imitation of _Gulliver's
+    Travels,--The Voyage of Captain Popanilla_, of which it forms the
+    fourth chapter.
+
+
+Six months had elapsed since the first chest of the cargo of Useful
+Knowledge destined for the fortunate Maldives had been digested by the
+recluse Popanilla; for a recluse he had now become. Great students are
+rather dull companions. Our Fantasian friend, during his first studies,
+was as moody, absent, and querulous as are most men of genius during
+that mystical period of life. He was consequently avoided by the men
+and quizzed by the women, and consoled himself for the neglect of the
+first and the taunts of the second by the indefinite sensation that he
+should, some day or other, turn out that little being called a great
+man. As for his mistress, she considered herself insulted by being
+addressed by a man who had lost her lock of hair. When the chest was
+exhausted, Popanilla was seized with a profound melancholy. Nothing
+depresses a man's spirits more completely than a self-conviction of
+self-conceit; and Popanilla, who had been accustomed to consider
+himself and his companions as the most elegant portion of the visible
+creation, now discovered, with dismay, that he and his fellow-islanders
+were nothing more than a horde of useless savages.
+
+This mortification, however, was soon succeeded by a proud
+consciousness that he, at any rate, was now civilized; and that proud
+consciousness by a fond hope that in a short time he might become a
+civilizer. Like all projectors, he was not of sanguine temperament; but
+he did trust that in the course of another season the Isle of Fantaisie
+might take its station among the nations. He was determined, however,
+not to be too rapid. It cannot be expected that ancient prejudices can
+in a moment be eradicated, and new modes of conduct instantaneously
+substituted and established. Popanilla, like a wise man, determined to
+conciliate. His views were to be as liberal as his principles were
+enlightened. Men should be forced to do nothing. Bigotry and
+intolerance and persecution were the objects of his decided
+disapprobation; resembling, in this particular, all the great and good
+men who have ever existed, who have invariably maintained this opinion
+so long as they have been in the minority.
+
+Popanilla appeared once more in the world.
+
+"Dear me! is that you, Pop?" exclaimed the ladies. "What have you been
+doing with yourself all this time? Travelling, I suppose. Everyone
+travels now. Really you travelled men get quite bores. And where did
+you get that coat, if it be a coat?"
+
+Such was the style in which the Fantasian females saluted the
+long-absent Popanilla; and really, when a man shuts himself up from the
+world for a considerable time, and fancies that in condescending to
+re-enter it he has surely the right to expect the homage due to a
+superior being, the salutations are awkward. The ladies of England
+peculiarly excel in this species of annihilation; and while they
+continue to drown puppies, as they daily do, in a sea of sarcasm, I
+think no true Englishman will hesitate one moment in giving them the
+preference for tact and manner over all the vivacious French, all the
+self-possessing Italian, and all the tolerant German women. This is a
+clap-trap, and I have no doubt will sell the book.
+
+Popanilla, however, had not re-entered society with the intention of
+subsiding into a nonentity, and he therefore took the opportunity, a
+few minutes after sunset, just as his companions were falling into the
+dance, to beg the favour of being allowed to address his sovereign only
+for one single moment.
+
+"Sire!" said he, in that mild tone of subdued superciliousness with
+which we should always address kings, and which, while it vindicates
+our dignity, satisfactorily proves that we are above the vulgar passion
+of envy. "Sire!" But let us not encourage that fatal faculty of oratory
+so dangerous to free states, and therefore let us give the "substance
+of Popanilla's speech".[233] He commenced his address in a manner
+somewhat resembling the initial observations of those pleasing
+pamphlets which are the fashion of the present hour, and which, being
+intended to diffuse information among those who have not enjoyed the
+opportunity and advantages of study, and are consequently of a gay and
+cheerful disposition, treat of light subjects in a light and polished
+style. Popanilla, therefore, spoke of man in a savage state, the origin
+of society, and the elements of the social compact, in sentences which
+would not have disgraced the mellifluous pen of Bentham. From these he
+naturally digressed into an agreeable disquisition on the Anglo-Saxons;
+and, after a little badinage on the Bill of Rights, flew off to an airy
+_apercu_ of the French Revolution. When he had arrived at the Isle of
+Fantaisie he begged to inform His Majesty that man was born for
+something else besides enjoying himself. It was, doubtless, extremely
+pleasant to dance and sing, to crown themselves with chaplets, and to
+drink wine; but he was "free to confess" that he did not imagine that
+the most barefaced hireling of corruption could for a moment presume to
+maintain that there was any utility in pleasure. If there were no
+utility in pleasure, it was quite clear that pleasure could profit no
+one. If, therefore, it were unprofitable, it was injurious, because
+that which does not produce a profit is equivalent to a loss; therefore
+pleasure is a losing business; consequently pleasure is not pleasant.
+
+He also showed that man was not born for himself, but for society; that
+the interests of the body are alone to be considered, and not those of
+the individual; and that a nation might be extremely happy, extremely
+powerful, and extremely rich, although every individual member of it
+might at the same time be miserable, dependent, and in debt. He
+regretted to observe that no one in the island seemed in the slightest
+degree conscious of the object of his being. Man is created for a
+purpose; the object of his existence is to perfect himself. Man is
+imperfect by nature, because if nature had made him perfect he would
+have had no wants; and it is only by supplying his wants that utility
+can be developed. The development of utility is therefore the object of
+our being, and the attainment of this great end the cause of our
+existence. This principle clears all doubts, and rationally accounts
+for a state of existence which has puzzled many pseudo-philosophers.
+
+Popanilla then went on to show that the hitherto received definitions
+of man were all erroneous; that man is neither a walking animal, nor a
+talking animal, nor a cooking animal, nor a lounging animal, nor a
+debt-incurring animal, nor a tax-paying animal, nor a printing animal,
+nor a puffing animal, but a _developing animal_. Development is the
+discovery of utility. By developing the water we get fish; by
+developing the earth we get corn, and cash, and cotton; by developing
+the air we get breath; by developing the fire we get heat. Thus the
+use of the elements is demonstrated to the meanest capacity. But it was
+not merely a material development to which he alluded; a moral
+development was equally indispensable. He showed that it was impossible
+for a nation either to think too much or to do too much. The life of
+man was therefore to be passed in a moral and material development
+until he had consummated his perfection. It was the opinion of
+Popanilla that this great result was by no means so near at hand as
+some philosophers flattered themselves, and that it might possibly
+require another half-century before even the most civilized nation
+could be said to have completed the destiny of the human race. At the
+same time, he intimated that there were various extraordinary means by
+which this rather desirable result might be facilitated; and there was
+no saying what the building of a new University might do, of which,
+when built, he had no objection to be appointed Principal.
+
+In answer to those who affect to admire that deficient system of
+existence which they style simplicity of manners, and who are
+perpetually committing the blunder of supposing that every advance
+towards perfection only withdraws man further from his primitive and
+proper condition, Popanilla triumphantly demonstrated that no such
+order as that which they associated with the phrase "state of nature"
+ever existed. "Man", said he, "is called the masterpiece of nature; and
+man is also, as we all know, the most curious of machines. Now, a
+machine is a work of art; consequently the masterpiece of nature is the
+masterpiece of art. The object of all mechanism is the attainment of
+utility; the object of man, who is the most perfect machine, is utility
+in the highest degree. Can we believe, therefore, that this machine was
+ever intended for a state which never could have called forth its
+powers, a state in which no utility could ever have been attained, a
+state in which there are no wants, consequently no demand, consequently
+no supply, consequently no competition, consequently no invention,
+consequently no profits; only one great pernicious monopoly of comfort
+and ease? Society without wants is like a world without winds. It is
+quite clear, therefore, that there is no such thing as Nature; Nature
+is Art, or Art is Nature; that which is most useful is most natural,
+because utility is the test of nature; therefore a steam-engine is in
+fact a much more natural production than a mountain.
+
+"You are convinced, therefore," he continued, "by these observations,
+that it is impossible for an individual or a nation to be too
+artificial in their manners, their ideas, their laws, or their general
+policy; because, in fact, the more artificial you become, the nearer
+you approach that state of nature of which you are so perpetually
+talking." Here observing that some of his audience appeared to be a
+little sceptical, perhaps only surprised, he told them that what he
+said must be true, because it entirely consisted of first principles.
+
+After having thus preliminarily descanted for about two hours,
+Popanilla informed His Majesty that he was unused to public speaking,
+and then proceeded to show that the grand characteristic of the social
+action of the Isle of Fantaisie was a total want of development. This
+he observed with equal sorrow and surprise; he respected the wisdom of
+their ancestors; at the same time, no one could deny that they were
+both barbarous and ignorant; he highly esteemed also the constitution,
+but regretted that it was not in the slightest degree adapted to the
+existing want of society; he was not for destroying any establishments,
+but, on the contrary, was for courteously affording them the
+opportunity of self-dissolution. He finished by re-urging, in strong
+terms, the immediate development of the island. In the first place, a
+great metropolis must be instantly built, because a great metropolis
+always produces a great demand; and, moreover, Popanilla had some legal
+doubts whether a country without a capital could in fact be considered
+a state. Apologizing for having so long trespassed upon the attention
+of the assembly, he begged distinctly to state that he had no wish to
+see His Majesty and his fellow-subjects adopt these new principles
+without examination and without experience. They might commence on a
+small scale; let them cut down their forests, and by turning them into
+ships and houses discover the utility of timber; let the whole island
+be dug up; let canals be cut, docks be built, and all the elephants be
+killed directly, that their teeth might yield an immediate article for
+exportation. A short time would afford a sufficient trial. In the
+meanwhile, they would not be pledged to further measures, and these
+might be considered "only as an experiment". Taking for granted that
+these principles would be acted on, and taking into consideration the
+site of the island in the map of the world, the nature and extent of
+its resources, its magnificent race of human beings, its varieties of
+the animal creation, its wonderfully fine timber, its undeveloped
+mineral treasures, the spaciousness of its harbours, and its various
+facilities for extended international communication, Popanilla had no
+hesitation in saying that a short time could not elapse ere, instead of
+passing their lives in a state of unprofitable ease and useless
+enjoyment, they might reasonably expect to be the terror and
+astonishment of the universe, and to be able to annoy every nation of
+any consequence.
+
+Here, observing a smile upon His Majesty's countenance, Popanilla told
+the king that he was only a chief magistrate, and he had no more right
+to laugh at him than a parish constable. He concluded by observing
+that although what he at present urged might appear strange,
+nevertheless, if the listeners had been acquainted with the characters
+and cases of Galileo and Turgot, they would then have seen, as a
+necessary consequence, that his system was perfectly correct, and he
+himself a man of extraordinary merit.
+
+Here the chief magistrate, no longer daring to smile, burst into a fit
+of laughter, and, turning to his courtiers, said: "I have not an idea
+what this man is talking about, but I know that he makes my head ache.
+Give me a cup of wine, and let us have a dance."
+
+All applauded the royal proposition; and pushing Popanilla from one to
+another, until he was fairly hustled to the brink of the lagoon, they
+soon forgot the existence of this bore; in one word, he was cut. When
+Popanillo found himself standing alone, and looking grave while all the
+rest were gay, he began to suspect that he was not so influential a
+personage as he previously imagined. Rather crestfallen, he sneaked
+home; and consoled himself for having nobody to speak to by reading
+some amusing "Conversations on Political Economy".
+
+[Footnote 233: _Substance of a speech_, in Parliamentary language,
+means a printed edition of an harangue which contains all that was
+uttered in the House, and about as much again.]
+
+
+
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+(1812-1890.)
+
+
+LXVI. CRISTINA.
+
+    From _Dramatic Lyrics_; written in 1842.
+
+
+  I.
+
+  She should never have looked at me if she meant I should not love her.
+  There are plenty ... men, you call such, I suppose ... she may discover.
+  All her soul to, if she pleases, and yet leave much as she found them;
+  But I'm not so, and she knew it when she fixed me, glancing round them.
+
+  II.
+
+  What? To fix me thus meant nothing? But I can't tell (there's my
+          weakness)
+  What her look said!--no vile cant, sure, about "need to strew the
+          bleakness
+  Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed, that the sea feels"--no
+          "strange yearning
+  That such souls have, most to lavish where there's chance of least
+          returning".
+
+  III.
+
+  Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows! but not quite so sunk that
+          moments,
+  Sure tho' seldom, are denied us, when the spirit's true endowments
+  Stand out plainly from its false ones, and apprise it if pursuing
+  Or the right way or the wrong way, to its triumph or undoing.
+
+  IV.
+
+  There are flashes struck from midnights, there are fire-flames
+          noondays kindle,
+  Whereby piled-up honours perish, whereby swollen ambitions dwindle,
+  While just this or that poor impulse, which for once had play unstifled,
+  Seems the sole work of a life-time that away the rest have trifled.
+
+  V.
+
+  Doubt you if, in some such moment, as she fixed me, she felt clearly,
+  Ages past the soul existed, here an age 'tis resting merely,
+  And hence fleets again for ages: while the true end, sole and single,
+  It stops here for is, this love-way, with some other soul to mingle?
+
+  VI.
+
+  Else it loses what it lived for, and eternally must lose it;
+  Better ends may be in prospect, deeper blisses (if you choose it),
+  But this life's end and this love-bliss have been lost here. Doubt you
+          whether
+  This she felt as, looking at me, mine and her souls rushed together?
+
+  VII.
+
+  Oh, observe! Of course, next moment, the world's honours, in derision,
+  Trampled out the light for ever. Never fear but there's provision
+  Of the devil's to quench knowledge, lest we walk the earth in rapture!
+  --Making those who catch God's secret, just so much more prize their
+          capture!
+
+  VIII.
+
+  Such am I: the secret's mine now! She has lost me, I have gained her;
+  Her soul's mine: and thus, grown perfect, I shall pass my life's
+          remainder.
+  Life will just hold out the proving both our powers, alone and blended:
+  And then, come next life quickly! This world's use will have been ended.
+
+
+
+LXVII. THE LOST LEADER.
+
+    From _Dramatic Lyrics_; written in 1845.
+
+
+  I.
+
+  Just for a handful of silver he left us,
+    Just for a riband to stick in his coat--
+  Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
+    Lost all the others, she lets us devote;
+  They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
+    So much was theirs who so little allowed:
+  How all our copper had gone for his service!
+    Rags--were they purple, his heart had been proud!
+  We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,
+    Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
+  Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,
+    Made him our pattern to live and to die?
+  Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,
+    Burns, Shelley, were with us,--they watch from their graves!
+  He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,
+    He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!
+
+  II.
+
+  We shall march prospering,--not thro' his presence;
+    Songs may inspirit us,--not from his lyre;
+  Deeds will be done,--while he boasts his quiescence,
+    Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.
+  Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
+    One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,
+  One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels,
+    One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
+  Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!
+    There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
+  Forced praise on our part--the glimmer of twilight,
+    Never glad confident morning again!
+  Best fight on well, for we taught him--strike gallantly,
+    Menace our heart ere we master his own;
+  Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us
+    Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!
+
+
+
+
+WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
+
+(1811-1863.)
+
+
+LXVIII. PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX.
+
+    Published among Thackeray's "Ballads" under the sub-heading "Lines
+    written to an Album Print".
+
+
+  As on this pictured page I look,
+  This pretty tale of line and hook,
+  As though it were a novel-book,
+    Amuses and engages:
+  I know them both, the boy and girl;
+  She is the daughter of the Earl,
+  The lad (that has his hair in curl)
+    My lord the County's page is.
+
+  A pleasant place for such a pair!
+  The fields lie basking in the glare;
+  No breath of wind the heavy air
+    Of lazy summer quickens.
+  Hard by you see the castle tall;
+  The village nestles round the wall,
+  As round about the hen its small
+    Young progeny of chickens.
+
+  It is too hot to pace the keep;
+  To climb the turret is too steep;
+  My lord the Earl is dozing deep,
+    His noonday dinner over:
+  The postern warder is asleep
+  (Perhaps they've bribed him not to peep):
+  And so from out the gate they creep;
+    And cross the fields of clover.
+
+  Their lines into the brook they launch;
+  He lays his cloak upon a branch,
+  To guarantee his Lady Blanche
+    's delicate complexion:
+  He takes his rapier from his haunch,
+  That beardless, doughty champion staunch;
+  He'd drill it through the rival's paunch
+    That question'd his affection!
+
+  O heedless pair of sportsmen slack!
+  You never mark, though trout or jack,
+  Or little foolish stickleback,
+    Your baited snares may capture.
+  What care has _she_ for line and hook?
+  She turns her back upon the brook,
+  Upon her lover's eyes to look
+    In sentimental rapture.
+
+  O loving pair! as thus I gaze
+  Upon the girl who smiles always,
+  The little hand that ever plays
+    Upon the lover's shoulder;
+  In looking at your pretty shapes,
+  A sort of envious wish escapes
+  (Such as the Fox had for the Grapes)
+    The Poet, your beholder.
+
+  To be brave, handsome, twenty-two;
+  With nothing else on earth to do,
+  But all day long to bill and coo:
+    It were a pleasant calling.
+  And had I such a partner sweet;
+  A tender heart for mine to beat,
+  A gentle hand my clasp to meet;--
+  I'd let the world flow at my feet,
+    And never heed its brawling.
+
+
+
+LXIX. ON A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE.
+
+    This is one of the most popular of the famous Roundabout Papers
+    written by Thackeray for the _Cornhill Magazine_, of which he was
+    the first editor.
+
+
+Where have I just read of a game played at a country house? The party
+assembles round a table with pens, ink, and paper. Some one narrates a
+tale containing more or less incidents and personages. Each person of
+the company then writes down, to the best of his memory and ability,
+the anecdote just narrated, and finally the papers are to be read out.
+I do not say I should like to play often at this game, which might
+possibly be a tedious and lengthy pastime, not by any means so amusing
+as smoking a cigar in the conservatory; or even listening to the young
+ladies playing their piano-pieces; or to Hobbs and Nobbs lingering
+round the bottle and talking over the morning's run with the hounds;
+but surely it is a moral and ingenious sport. They say the variety of
+narratives is often very odd and amusing. The original story becomes so
+changed and distorted that at the end of all the statements you are
+puzzled to know where the truth is at all. As time is of small
+importance to the cheerful persons engaged in this sport, perhaps a
+good way of playing it would be to spread it over a couple of years.
+Let the people who played the game in '60 all meet and play it once
+more in '61, and each write his story over again. Then bring out your
+original and compare notes. Not only will the stories differ from each
+other, but the writers will probably differ from themselves. In the
+course of the year the incidents will grow or will dwindle strangely.
+The least authentic of the statements will be so lively or so
+malicious, or so neatly put, that it will appear most like the truth. I
+like these tales and sportive exercises. I had begun a little print
+collection once. I had Addison in his nightgown in bed at Holland
+House, requesting young Lord Warwick to remark how a Christian should
+die. I had Cambronne clutching his cocked hat, and uttering the
+immortal _La Garde meurt et ne se rend pas_. I had the _Vengeur_ going
+down, and all the crew hurraying like madmen. I had Alfred toasting the
+muffin: Curtius (Haydon) jumping into the gulf; with extracts from
+Napoleon's bulletins, and a fine authentic portrait of Baron
+Munchausen.
+
+What man who has been before the public at all has not heard similar
+wonderful anecdotes regarding himself and his own history? In these
+humble essaykins I have taken leave to egotize. I cry out about the
+shoes which pinch me, and, as I fancy, more naturally and pathetically
+than if my neighbour's corns were trodden under foot. I prattle about
+the dish which I love, the wine which I like, the talk I heard
+yesterday--about Brown's absurd airs--Jones's ridiculous elation when
+he thinks he has caught me in a blunder (a part of the fun, you see, is
+that Jones will read this, and will perfectly well know that I mean
+him, and that we shall meet and grin at each other with entire
+politeness). This is not the highest kind of speculation, I confess,
+but it is a gossip which amuses some folks. A brisk and honest
+small-beer will refresh those who do not care for the frothy
+outpourings of heavier taps. A two of clubs may be a good handy little
+card sometimes, and able to tackle a king of diamonds, if it is a
+little trump. Some philosophers get their wisdom with deep thought, and
+out of ponderous libraries; I pick up my small crumbs of cogitation at
+a dinner-table; or from Mrs. Mary and Miss Louisa, as they are
+prattling over their five-o'clock tea.
+
+Well, yesterday at dinner, Jucundus was good enough to tell me a story
+about myself, which he had heard from a lady of his acquaintance, to
+whom I send my best compliments. The tale is this. At nine o'clock on
+the evening of the 31st of November last, just before sunset, I was
+seen leaving No. 96 Abbey Road, St. John's Wood, leading two little
+children by the hand, one of them in a nankeen pelisse, and the other
+having a mole on the third finger of his left hand (she thinks it was
+the third finger, but is quite sure it was the left hand). Thence I
+walked with them to Charles Boroughbridge's, pork and sausage man, No.
+29 Upper Theresa Road. Here, whilst I left the little girl innocently
+eating a polony in the front shop, I and Boroughbridge retired with the
+boy into the back parlour, where Mrs. Boroughbridge was playing
+cribbage. She put up the cards and boxes, took out a chopper and a
+napkin, and we cut the little boy's little throat (which he bore with
+great pluck and resolution), and made him into sausage-meat by the aid
+of Purkis's excellent sausage-machine. The little girl at first could
+not understand her brother's absence, but, under the pretence of taking
+her to see Mr. Fechter in _Hamlet_, I led her down to the New River at
+Sadler's Wells, where a body of a child in a nankeen pelisse was
+subsequently found, and has never been recognized to the present day.
+And this Mrs. Lynx can aver, because she saw the whole transaction with
+her own eyes, as she told Mr. Jucundus.
+
+I have altered the little details of the anecdote somewhat. But this
+story is, I vow and declare, as true as Mrs. Lynx's. Gracious goodness!
+how do lies begin? What are the averages of lying? Is the same amount
+of lies told about every man, and do we pretty much all tell the same
+amount of lies? Is the average greater in Ireland than in Scotland, or
+_vice versa_--among women than among men? Is this a lie I am telling
+now? If I am talking about you, the odds are, perhaps, that it is. I
+look back at some which have been told about me, and speculate on them
+with thanks and wonder. Dear friends have told them of me, have told
+them to me of myself. Have they not to and of you, dear friend? A
+friend of mine was dining at a large dinner of clergymen, and a story,
+as true as the sausage story above given, was told regarding me, by one
+of those reverend divines in whose frocks sit some anile chatterboxes,
+as any man who knows this world knows. They take the privilege of their
+gown. They cabal, and tattle, and hiss, and cackle comminations under
+their breath. I say the old women of the other sex are not more
+talkative or more mischievous than some of these. "Such a man ought not
+to be spoken to", says Gobemouche, narrating the story--and such a
+story! "And I am surprised he is admitted into society at all." Yes,
+dear Gobemouche, but the story wasn't true: and I had no more done the
+wicked deed in question than I had run away with the Queen of Sheba.
+
+I have always longed to know what that story was (or what collection of
+histories), which a lady had in her mind to whom a servant of mine
+applied for a place, when I was breaking up my establishment once, and
+going abroad. Brown went with a very good character from us, which,
+indeed, she fully deserved after several years' faithful service. But
+when Mrs. Jones read the name of the person out of whose employment
+Brown came, "That is quite sufficient", says Mrs. Jones. "You may go. I
+will never take a servant out of _that_ house." Ah, Mrs. Jones, how I
+should like to know what that crime was, or what that series of
+villainies, which made you determine never to take a servant out of my
+house! Do you believe in the story of the little boy and the sausages?
+Have you swallowed that little minced infant? Have you devoured that
+young Polonius? Upon my word you have maw enough. We somehow greedily
+gobble down all stories in which the characters of our friends are
+chopped up, and believe wrong of them without inquiry. In a late serial
+work written by this hand, I remember making some pathetic remarks
+about our propensity to believe ill of our neighbours--and I remember
+the remarks, not because they were valuable, or novel, or ingenious,
+but because, within three days after they had appeared in print, the
+moralist who wrote them, walking home with a friend, heard a story
+about another friend, which story he straightway believed, and which
+story was scarcely more true than that sausage fable which is here set
+down. _O mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!_ But though the preacher trips,
+shall not the doctrine be good? Yea, brethren! Here be the rods. Look
+you, here are the scourges. Choose me a nice, long, swishing, buddy
+one, light and well-poised in the handle, thick and bushy at the tail.
+Pick me out a whip-cord thong with some dainty knots in it--and now--we
+all deserve it--whish, whish, whish! Let us cut into each other all
+round.
+
+A favourite liar and servant of mine was a man I once had to drive a
+brougham. He never came to my house, except for orders, and once when
+he helped to wait at dinner, so clumsily that it was agreed we would
+dispense with his further efforts. The (job) brougham horse used to
+look dreadfully lean and tired, and the livery-stable keeper complained
+that we worked him too hard. Now, it turned out that there was a
+neighbouring butcher's lady who liked to ride in a brougham; and
+Tomkins lent her ours, drove her cheerfully to Richmond and Putney,
+and, I suppose, took out a payment in mutton-chops. We gave this good
+Tomkins wine and medicine for his family when sick--we supplied him
+with little comforts and extras which need not now be remembered--and
+the grateful creature rewarded us by informing some of our tradesmen
+whom he honoured with his custom, "Mr. Roundabout? Lor' bless you! I
+carry him up to bed drunk every night in the week". He, Tomkins, being
+a man of seven stone weight and five feet high; whereas his employer
+was--but here modesty interferes, and I decline to enter into the
+avoirdupois question.
+
+Now, what was Tomkin's motive for the utterance and dissemination of
+these lies? They could further no conceivable end or interest of his
+own. Had they been true stories, Tomkin's master would, and reasonably,
+have been still more angry than at the fables. It was but suicidal
+slander on the part of Tomkins--must come to a discovery--must end in a
+punishment. The poor wretch had got his place under, as it turned out,
+a fictitious character. He might have stayed in it, for of course
+Tomkins had a wife and poor innocent children. He might have had bread,
+beer, bed, character, coats, coals. He might have nestled in our little
+island, comfortably sheltered from the storms of life; but we were
+compelled to cast him out, and send him driving, lonely, perishing,
+tossing, starving, to sea--to drown. To drown? There be other modes of
+death whereby rogues die. Good-bye, Tomkins. And so the night-cap is
+put on, and the bolt is drawn for poor T.
+
+Suppose we were to invite volunteers amongst our respected readers to
+send in little statements of the lies which they know have been told
+about themselves: what a heap of correspondence, what an exaggeration
+of malignities, what a crackling bonfire of incendiary falsehoods,
+might we not gather together! And a lie once set going, having the
+breath of life breathed into it by the father of lying, and ordered to
+run its diabolical little course, lives with a prodigious vitality. You
+say, _Magna est veritas et proevalebit_. Psha! great lies are as great
+as great truths, and prevail constantly, and day after day. Take an
+instance or two out of my own little budget. I sit near a gentleman at
+dinner, and the conversation turns upon a certain anonymous literary
+performance which at the time is amusing the town. "Oh," says the
+gentleman, "everybody knows who wrote that paper: it is Momus's." I was
+a young author at the time, perhaps proud of my bantling: "I beg your
+pardon," I say, "it was written by your humble servant." "Indeed!" was
+all that the man replied, and he shrugged his shoulders, turned his
+back, and talked to his other neighbour. I never heard sarcastic
+incredulity more finely conveyed than by that "Indeed". "Impudent
+liar," the gentleman's face said, as clear as face could speak. Where
+was Magna Veritas, and how did she prevail then? She lifted up her
+voice, she made her appeal, and she was kicked out of court. In New
+York I read a newspaper criticism one day (by an exile from our shores
+who has taken up his abode in the Western Republic), commenting upon a
+letter of mine which had appeared in a contemporary volume, and wherein
+it was stated that the writer was a lad in such and such a year, and in
+point of fact, I was, at the period spoken of, nineteen years of age.
+"Falsehood, Mr. Roundabout," says the noble critic: "you were then not
+a lad; you were six-and-twenty years of age." You see he knew better
+than papa and mamma and parish register. It was easier for him to think
+and say I lied, on a twopenny matter connected with my own affairs,
+than to imagine he was mistaken. Years ago, in a time when we were very
+mad wags, Arcturus and myself met a gentleman from China who knew the
+language. We began to speak Chinese against him. We said we were born
+in China. We were two to one. We spoke the mandarin dialect with
+perfect fluency. We had the company with us; as in the old, old days,
+the squeak of the real pig was voted not to be so natural as the squeak
+of the sham pig. O Arcturus, the sham pig squeaks in our streets now to
+the applause of multitudes, and the real porker grunts unheeded in his
+sty!
+
+I once talked for some little time with an amiable lady: it was for the
+first time; and I saw an expression of surprise on her kind face which
+said as plainly as face could say, "Sir, do you know that up to this
+moment I have had a certain opinion of you, and that I begin to think I
+have been mistaken or misled?" I not only know that she had heard evil
+reports of me, but I know who told her--one of those acute fellows, my
+dear brethren, of whom we spoke in a previous sermon, who has found me
+out--found out actions which I never did, found out thoughts and
+sayings which I never spoke, and judged me accordingly. Ah, my lad!
+have I found _you_ out? _O risum teneatis_. Perhaps the person I am
+accusing is no more guilty than I.
+
+How comes it that the evil which men say spreads so widely and lasts so
+long, whilst our good kind words don't seem somehow to take root and
+bear blossom? Is it that in the stony hearts of mankind these pretty
+flowers can't find a place to grow? Certain it is that scandal is good
+brisk talk, whereas praise of one's neighbour is by no means lively
+hearing. An acquaintance grilled, scored, devilled, and served with
+mustard and cayenne pepper, excites the appetite; whereas a slice of
+cold friend with currant jelly is but a sickly, unrelishing meat.
+
+Now, such being the case, my dear worthy Mrs. Candour, in whom I know
+there are a hundred good and generous qualities: it being perfectly
+clear that the good things which we say of our neighbours don't
+fructify, but somehow perish in the ground where they are dropped,
+whilst the evil words are wafted by all the winds of scandal, take root
+in all soils, and flourish amazingly--seeing, I say, that this
+conversation does not give us a fair chance, suppose we give up
+censoriousness altogether, and decline uttering our opinions about
+Brown, Jones, and Robinson (and Mesdames B., J., and R.) at all. We may
+be mistaken about every one of them, as, please goodness, those
+anecdote-mongers against whom I have uttered my meek protest have been
+mistaken about me. We need not go to the extent of saying that Mrs.
+Manning was an amiable creature, much misunderstood; and Jack Thurtell
+a gallant unfortunate fellow, not near so black as he was painted; but
+we will try and avoid personalities altogether in talk, won't we? We
+will range the fields of science, dear madam, and communicate to each
+other the pleasing results of our studies. We will, if you please,
+examine the infinitesimal wonders of nature through the microscope. We
+will cultivate entomology. We will sit with our arms round each other's
+waists on the _pons asinorum_, and see the stream of mathematics flow
+beneath. We will take refuge in cards, and play at "beggar my
+neighbour", not abuse my neighbour. We will go to the Zoological
+Gardens and talk freely about the gorilla and his kindred, but not talk
+about people who can talk in their turn. Suppose we praise the High
+Church? we offend the Low Church. The Broad Church? High and Low are
+both offended. What do you think of Lord Derby as a politician? And
+what is your opinion of Lord Palmerston? If you please, will you play
+me those lovely variations of "In a cottage near a wood"? It is a
+charming air (you know it in French, I suppose? _Ah! te dirai-je,
+maman?_) and was a favourite with poor Marie Antoinette. I say "poor",
+because I have a right to speak with pity of a sovereign who was
+renowned for so much beauty and so much misfortune. But as for giving
+any opinion on her conduct, saying that she was good or bad, or
+indifferent, goodness forbid! We have agreed we will not be censorious.
+Let us have a game at cards--at _ecarte_, if you please. You deal. I
+ask for cards. I lead the deuce of clubs....
+
+What? there is no deuce! Deuce take it! What? People _will_ go on
+talking about their neighbours, and won't have their mouths stopped by
+cards, or ever so much microscopes and aquariums? Ah, my poor dear Mrs.
+Candour, I agree with you. By the way, did you ever see anything like
+Lady Godiva Trotter's dress last night? People _will_ go on chattering,
+although we hold our tongues; and, after all, my good soul, what will
+their scandal matter a hundred years hence?
+
+
+
+
+ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
+
+(1819-1861.)
+
+
+LXX. SPECTATOR AB EXTRA.
+
+  As I sat at the Cafe I said to myself,
+  They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
+  They may sneer as they like about eating and drinking,
+  But help it I cannot, I cannot help thinking
+      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      How pleasant it is to have money.
+
+  I sit at my table _en grand seigneur_,
+  And when I have done, throw a crust to the poor,
+  Not only the pleasure itself of good living,
+  But also the pleasure of now and then giving:
+      So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So pleasant it is to have money.
+
+  They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
+  And how one ought never to think of one's self,
+  How pleasures of thought surpass eating and drinking,
+  My pleasure of thought is the pleasure of thinking
+      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      How pleasant it is to have money.
+
+
+  LE DINER.
+
+  Come along, 'tis the time, ten or more minutes past,
+  And he who came first had to wait for the last;
+  The oysters ere this had been in and been out;
+  While I have been sitting and thinking about
+      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      How pleasant it is to have money.
+
+  A clear soup with eggs; _voila tout_; of the fish
+  The _filets de sole_ are a moderate dish
+  _A la Orly_, but you're for red mullet, you say:
+  By the gods of good fare, who can question to-day
+      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      How pleasant it is to have money.
+
+  After oysters, Sauterne; then Sherry; Champagne,
+  Ere one bottle goes, comes another again;
+  Fly up, thou bold cork, to the ceiling above,
+  And tell to our ears in the sound that we love
+      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      How pleasant it is to have money.
+
+  I've the simplest of palates; absurd it may be,
+  But I almost could dine on a _poulet-au-riz_,
+  Fish and soup and omelette and that--but the deuce--
+  There were to be woodcocks, and not _Charlotte Russe_!
+      So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So pleasant it is to have money.
+
+  Your Chablis is acid, away with the hock,
+  Give me the pure juice of the purple Medoc;
+  St. Peray is exquisite; but, if you please,
+  Some Burgundy just before tasting the cheese.
+      So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So pleasant it is to have money.
+
+  As for that, pass the bottle, and hang the expense--
+  I've seen it observed by a writer of sense,
+  That the labouring classes could scarce live a day,
+  If people like us didn't eat, drink, and pay.
+      So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So useful it is to have money.
+
+  One ought to be grateful, I quite apprehend,
+  Having dinner and supper and plenty to spend,
+  And so suppose now, while the things go away,
+  By way of a grace we all stand up and say
+      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      How pleasant it is to have money.
+
+
+  PARVENANT.
+
+  I cannot but ask, in the park and the streets,
+  When I look at the number of persons one meets,
+  Whate'er in the world the poor devils can do
+  Whose fathers and mothers can't give them a _sous_.
+      So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So needful it is to have money.
+
+  I ride, and I drive, and I care not a d--n,
+  The people look up and they ask who I am;
+  And if I should chance to run over a cad,
+  I can pay for the damage, if ever so bad.
+      So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So useful it is to have money.
+
+  It was but this winter I came up to town,
+  And already I'm gaining a sort of renown;
+  Find my way to good houses without much ado,
+  Am beginning to see the nobility too.
+      So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So useful it is to have money.
+
+  O dear what a pity they ever should lose it,
+  Since they are the people who know how to use it;
+  So easy, so stately, such manners, such dinners;
+  And yet, after all, it is we are the winners.
+      So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So needful it is to have money.
+
+  It is all very well to be handsome and tall,
+  Which certainly makes you look well at a ball,
+  It's all very well to be clever and witty.
+  But if you are poor, why it's only a pity.
+      So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So needful it is to have money.
+
+  There's something undoubtedly in a fine air,
+  To know how to smile and be able to stare,
+  High breeding is something, but well bred or not,
+  In the end the one question is, what have you got?
+      So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
+      So needful it is to have money.
+
+  And the angels in pink and the angels in blue,
+  In muslins and moires so lovely and new,
+  What is it they want, and so wish you to guess,
+  But if you have money, the answer is yes.
+      So needful, they tell you, is money, heigh-ho!
+      So needful it is to have money.
+
+
+
+
+C.S. CALVERLEY.
+
+(1831-1884.)
+
+
+LXXI. "HIC VIR, HIC EST."
+
+    The subtle mingling of pathos and satire in this poem evoked the
+    warm admiration of Mr. J. Russell Lowell. This is published by
+    special permission of Messrs. G. Bell & Sons, to whom thanks are
+    tendered.
+
+
+  Often, when o'er tree and turret,
+    Eve a dying radiance flings,
+  By that ancient pile I linger,
+    Known familiarly as "King's".
+  And the ghosts of days departed
+    Rise, and in my burning breast
+  All the undergraduate wakens,
+    And my spirit is at rest.
+
+  What, but a revolting fiction,
+    Seems the actual result
+  Of the Census's inquiries,
+    Made upon the 15th ult.?
+  Still my soul is in its boyhood;
+    Nor of year or changes recks,
+  Though my scalp is almost hairless,
+    And my figure grows convex.
+
+  Backward moves the kindly dial;
+    And I'm numbered once again
+  With those noblest of their species
+    Called emphatically "Men";
+  Loaf, as I have loafed aforetime,
+    Through the streets, with tranquil mind,
+  And a long-backed fancy-mongrel
+    Trailing casually behind.
+
+  Past the Senate-house I saunter,
+    Whistling with an easy grace;
+  Past the cabbage stalks that carpet
+    Still the beefy market-place;
+  Poising evermore the eye-glass
+    In the light sarcastic eye,
+  Lest, by chance, some breezy nursemaid
+    Pass, without a tribute, by.
+
+  Once, an unassuming Freshman,
+    Thro' these wilds I wandered on,
+  Seeing in each house a College,
+    Under every cap a Don;
+  Each perambulating infant
+    Had a magic in its squall,
+  For my eager eye detected
+    Senior Wranglers in them all.
+
+  By degrees my education
+    Grew, and I became as others;
+  Learned to blunt my moral feelings
+    By the aid of Bacon Brothers;
+  Bought me tiny boots of Mortlock,
+    And colossal prints of Roe;
+  And ignored the proposition,
+    That both time and money go.
+
+  Learned to work the wary dogcart,
+    Artfully thro' King's Parade;
+  Dress, and steer a boat, and sport with
+    Amaryllis in the shade:
+  Struck, at Brown's, the dashing hazard;
+    Or (more curious sport than that)
+  Dropped, at Callaby's, the terrier
+    Down upon the prisoned rat.
+
+  I have stood serene on Fenner's
+    Ground, indifferent to blisters,
+  While the Buttress of the period
+    Bowled me his peculiar twisters:
+  Sung, "We won't go home till morning";
+    Striven to part my backhair straight;
+  Drunk (not lavishly) of Miller's
+    Old dry wines at 78/:--
+
+  When within my veins the blood ran,
+    And the curls were on my brow,
+  I did, oh ye undergraduates,
+    Much as ye are doing now.
+  Wherefore bless ye, O beloved ones:--
+    Now into mine inn must I,
+  Your "poor moralist", betake me,
+    In my "solitary fly".
+
+
+
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