University of Virginia Library

On these occasions, all the proud Compeers
Paid for the feast that fed their hungry ears;
Our Hostess only paid for show, and shine,
More than dumb idols rang'd around her shrine;
Except some tasteful incidental cost,
Which Art contrived should ne'er be fully lost;
For kind allusions courtly Wit would raise
In Flattery's incense, or fresh sprigs of praise;
While smiling tributes, from two hundred eyes,
O'erpaid all trouble with tumultuous joys—
But if her ear could catch some courtly sound,
From Dilettanti tongues, thus whispering round,
“What perfect elegance! What matchless taste!
“How fine the furniture! How aptly plac'd!
“How richly group'd the lights! How clear they shine!
“It's quite enchanting! magical! divine!”
Such tuneful accents, thrilling thro' her Soul,
With purest raptures recompenc'd the Whole—
Gave more delight, thus dropping from their tongue
Than all sweet Texier said, or Mara sung!

Some small disbursements hung on Rabble-routs,
More than fine Readings, or full fiddling-bouts—
To grace the triumph, and augment the State,
Each opening portal held a Magistrate,
To stop clandestine Guests, who might intrude,
And check the choice yet motley Multitude—
Quell clownish riot, silence noisey laugh,
With look demure, and talismanic staff,
Whose hieroglyphics pictur'd pow'r and law,
To keep the liveried Charioteers in awe;
While with stern mien, and magisterial tone,
Restrain wild tumults, which were never known—
Plac'd in full Office, to prevent offence,
And crown the whole with airs of consequence.

To give more grandeur to the high intent,
Just at the summit of proud stairs' ascent,
With dainty dress, and much superior mien,
Above the party-colour'd crew, was seen
A Mercenary, hack'd thro' various places,
Well-knowing fashionable names, and faces—
Well-skill'd to take off Lady's muff, or cloak;
And tell how titles were distinctly spoke;
Lest loss of Honours, not pronounc'd aright,
Might rob the Rich of titular delight;
And help that order of domestic Elves,
Who purchase gaudy outside garb themselves;
Banded with household Slaves, above—below,
To help the bustle, and enhance the show.
A motley troop, all intermix'd, attends,
Of liveried Vassals, levied from her Friends;
Who swell the pageant, and the pomp enlarge,
With small addition to the moderate charge,
While nappy porter pays the humble Host,
A gold, or silver, piece, each higher post.

Near the bleak door 'twas Crispin's doom to stand,
Encompass'd, deeply, by the rainbow'd Band,
All influx and all efflux to controul;
And parts inspect, while watching o'er the Whole—
To keep each party in its proper place
Lest Girls confront my Lady—or her Grace—
Lest liveried Clowns might crowd Peers' noble path,
And rouse their Lordships' honourable wrath—
Or cross rich Commons' ambling modish airs,
Athwart the Hall, or up and down the Stairs—
To mind each Name be bawl'd, distinct and clear;
With all their titled adjuncts—held so dear!
Their tones articulated full, and loud,
Each accent echoing thro' the clamorous Crowd.
For what would kingly courtesies avail,
Could Clowns each lordly adjective curtail?
Or what the privilege of noble birth,
Were Slaves e'er suffer'd to withold its worth.
There Crispin was compell'd to fry and freeze
With hot buzaglo, and East's icey breeze;
The dread alternative each way he turn'd,
One half wind blasting while the other burn'd
The quivered winds, that shot their arrows round,
His tender bosom struck with many a wound;
And colds, and coughs, and hoarsenesses, entail'd,
Till tepid Spring, with balmy breath, prevail'd;
Whose genial pow'r, his faded frame imprest,
And push'd fresh spirit thro' his throbbing breast.

Humanity might hope in these extremes,
Benevolence would shoot some shining beams,
By sympathy to make that bosom bound,
Which, in such service, lost its vocal sound.
But he, alas! no tenderness could boast
From Pride which doom'd him to the dangerous post!
No kind enquiry sooth'd the sufferer's pains,
Or pour'd soft influence thro' his feverish veins,
Nor could all Fancy's pow'rs one look apply,
One cordial anodyne from Pity's eye!

But not alone his heavy-laden heart
Felt fierce Inclemency's corroding smart—
Not barely lungs keen persecution bore,
But mangled intellect was tortur'd more;
Subjected to confront the courtly fleer
Of supercilious Statesmen, stalking there—
The strong contempt the countenances cast,
On all Dependents, as they proudly past.
Nor was their wanton insolence the worst
That poor afflicted Crispin's feelings curs'd—
This might be borne—Plebeians must abide
Their bluff Superiors' overbearing pride,
And all the little, foolish, flippant, pranks,
Of pert associates, from inferior ranks—
Must bear each burden such small Despots bind,
To bend the Body and to bow the Mind,
When all their pow'rs are bought, by paltry bribes,
To serve as Vassals to those haughty Tribes;
But he by sad necessity was fix'd
Where ignorant Impudence with Mockery mix'd—
Expos'd to hear each silly, painful, sound,
Of all the liveried regiments muster'd round—
To all that hard effrontery of face
Whose skulk's deep scandal, and each smile's disgrace—
To mystic puns, each Myrmidon displays,
And jokes quite current in Dan Cromwel's days;
Vile jokes the joy of all such servile Hosts,
Mean puns, like those in all the Morning Posts.
Expos'd to puerile greetings—groveling speech—
St. Giles, or Billingsgate, can scarcely reach—
With such low cunning, and contentious wit,
For gambling-house, or brothel, barely, fit.
Ambiguous hints, impenetrably dark—
Gross innuendo, and obscene remark—
Each phrase so faulty—sombrous, or impure;
Sense could not scan, or Decency endure!
This was repugnant to pure Common-Sense,
And gave his Understanding strong offence;
But still more painful, more offensive, far,
Were taunts intemperate, and injurious jar—
Compounded curses, and audacious oaths—
Which Conscience combats, and Religion loaths—
Blaspheming that blest Pow'r, all Pow'rs above!
Whose curbs are Kindness, and whose Laws are Love!
Offering rewards, and promises, to win,
But threats and thunderings to deter from Sin.
Who, tho' His presence fills all Time and Space,
He marks the meanest of the human Race,
Whose greatest guilt makes no Perfection less,
Nor best obedience helps His Happiness;
His Nature subject to no change at all,
Tho' Saints apostalize, and Seraphs fall!
But vengeance waits on Angel, and on Man,
Whose black rebellion strives to spoil His plan—
All who despise His Love—His Laws profane,
And boldly dare to take His Name in vain!

When Luxury's costly Banquet was decreed,
And Titles—Ribbands—Stars—must richly feed—
When foreign Counts, and diplomatique Corps,
Must grace the gates, and dignify the doors;
And dainty Dames, with prodigal array
Wardrobes, and Caskets, wealthiest stores display
Their lengthen'd skirts, broad'ning like silken brooms,
Each carpet swept, when rustling round the rooms—
The richest odours fill'd their fragrant hair—
All faces look'd alike both fresh and fair;
And thus, while fond Gallants each Fair ador'd,
They perfume spread, and blush'd about the board.

Garrets, and Bookrooms, now, each bolt unlock,
Emancipating long-imprison'd stock—
Mutton and Veal completely tender grown,
And Poultry, long ago from perches flown—
Turkeys, oft cramm'd, but now had long kept Lent—
And Hares, tho' not pursued, improv'd in scent—
Pheasants, for weeks, of woods and brakes bereft,
Look'd grassy-green, with full effluvia left;
And Partridges, tho' thus from fields confin'd;
The Dog's nose must be dull which could not wind.

As chief Purveyor of the kitchen store
The cheapest market Crispin must explore—
Must stretch his legs, with long pedestrian toils,
About Sev'n Dials, and by broad St. Giles—
Must round St. Paul's remoter precincts roam,
To buy cheap bargains, dearer than at Home.
For not the ravin, only, but the rout
By Madam's Prudence must be pointed out,
He ne'er could hope to judge, with proper pow'r,
Whence Meats might come, which Deities devour.
No Chick would charm the taste, or please the eye,
Nor Guinea-fowl, but Brentford must supply—
Green Geese, young Ducklings, and the plump Poulard,
If not from Miles's were both tough, and hard;
Which Crispin found from Lead'nhall oft took flight,
Or neighb'ring Westminster, the former Night.
From Peto's barrell'd Oysters must be had—
All, in the vicinage were vilely bad.
No Fish was nice not purchased from afar,
From distant Billingsgate, or Temple Bar.
In Thames Street, Fruits, and Cheese, were cheapest bought—
And Groceries in the City must be sought;
Nor would one dainty thing, with gust, go down,
If oft procur'd from any place in Town.
Suspicion whisper'd Interest was at stake;
And Jealousy still kept her Mind awake,
Lest some sinister project should be play'd,
Betwixt base Steward and the Rogues of Trade—
Such plots to counteract, or circumvent,
And check the chousing Plan of Five per Cent.

'Twere wise and wholesome so to counteract
A venal Vassal's most immoral pact;
His vicious heart's cupidity controul,
And stop his perquisites to save his Soul.
But such was ne'er her Christian-like design
To save his Soul, but to secure her Coin.
So prompt, and selfish, was each secret plan
Which thro' her conduct, regularly, ran,
That Tradesmen from such practice were forbid,
And, when found guilty, oft severely chid;
Tho' if such pence had help'd the Servants' purse
Her Wealth had not been found one fig the worse;
Their laws, like Medes' and Persians', stablish bribes,
Betwixt the trading and the servile Tribes;
That if such vails no Vassals' cares requite
Employer profits not one single doit;
For, if the Servant must forego his claim,
The Tradesmen's items still will stand the same.

Fashion and Wealth, to help their shine, and show,
Contrive to keep each Scoundrels' stipends low,
And, with the same disbursements, as before,
Manage to hire one Mercenary more;
Each Wight oblig'd, but much against his Will,
From such resources fair finance to fill—
But Crispin ne'er partook such proffer'd pelf,
Till first encourag'd by her crafty Self;
And, frequent, after placed the poor amount,
With conscientious care, to her account;
Tho' he'd but little cause to boast the gains
Conferr'd on all his cares—and toils—and pains!
Had righteous Beings, of blest heavenly Race,
In her proud household, fill'd inferior place,
And pure Archangel had supreme controul,
Still dreams and doubts had harrow'd up her Soul,
Lest ev'n such sinless Spirits should purloin
Her Bread—Meat—Books—her Candles—Coals—or Coin.