University of Virginia Library

The Argument to the First Canto.

The injur'd Fidler humbly tries,
To lay before the Great and Wise,
Some Specimens of R---g---rys;
In humble Hopes the Good and Great,
Will well weigh and commiserate
The Fidler's hard Fare—and hard Fate.
And when the Truth be brought to light,
They'll please to interpose their Might,
To help the Fidler to his Right:
By making Those, upon the Place,
That plunder'd Him, by Means so base,
Restore his Fiddle, and the Case.

The Fidler h's lost his Fiddle,—Hoe,
And whence it was it happen'd so,
Enquire at L---, you may know:
“But think before you point your Course,
“Scandalum Magnatum's still in force;
“Take care, my Chap—don't make bad worse.
Whence have you This you say's so true?
“See there-'s the Tale and Tale's-man too,
“K--- G---'s Fidler told me so.
K--- G---'s Fidler!—“Who is he?
Well,—by your Leave, Sir, you shall see.
Why, Who is he?—upon my Word then,
A Pen-and-Ink-Man—and no Swordsman.
Yet, if he must be forc'd to fight,
He slays—as Judges—to do Right:
And that's the best, most think the worst,
He never fights—but when he's forc'd.
He holds, “a Soul's not to be lost
“For Trifles—whate'er Rakes may boast.
That “Bully-Valour's but Pretence
To Bravery,—for want of Sense:
And frequently's found all a Cheat,
When Bully Airs won't do the Feat,
(For Bullys don't love to be beat:)
But brave Men know what 'tis to fight,
In earnest—and know what's got by't;
Thence they'll avoid it, if they can,
Not for Fear of—but Love to—Man:
E'en in the Height of Mortal Fray,
They'll scorn to kill Man, when they may,
So they can spare him, any way:
While their own Lives—and Honour—are
Not too much risqu'd by such their Care.
Besides—What Glory is't to kill
A conquer'd Foe,—because you will?
Yet must we ne'er forget this Theme
(Nor pass it—as an idle Dream)
“Sound Charity begins at Home:
For—slighting 't has been Death to some.
Lest, while we gen'rous Pity show,
We fall—by our first conquer'd Foe.
This Caution's indispensable,
Yet—Brav'ry h's no pretence to Ill:
For Bully-Valour's all a Jest,
As, in all: Armys, still the best
And bravest Soldier's civilest:
While sawcy blustring Hectors are
Found to be Run-aways in War;
Poltroons, instead of Men of Fire,
Tho' to be thought brave—all aspire:
And tho' it be so much a Trade
To sham the Brave—by Fanfarade.
For come it once to fight or die,
The Hector's Hope is still to flie;
While brave Men once drawn into Fight,
When Mischief must be, for their Right,
Stand, and oft kill:—yet void of Spight.
For, Self-preserving Principle
Defends to th'Death,—yet does no Ill;
More than do Judges—when they kill.
“A Pen-and-Ink-Man-Fidler,
“That's—as a Judge—a Man-slayer:
All this, methinks, sounds very queer.
It may be so, Sir,—but, an't please
Your Honour,—may I tell the Case
As short as may be—(not to add
One Syllable to make it bad:)
I'm sure, I need n't, if I wou'd,
For Volumes ne'er can make it good;
“The Case is known—and 'tis the Truth
“That I'll defend 'gainst Foes and Death.
That's fighting Fidler then the first,
Well—But he ne'er fights till he's forc'd;
And surely first can be no Slur,
To th'quiet Fidler's Character,
Because so honourable—Sir.
The great, the good King George the First,
That's dead—and lives—and rules in Dust,
No less a Man (you see)'s call'd first;
Whose Maxims politick (no doubt)
Are daily bringing Things about;
And such—whereby the earthly Globe
Moves,—and as sure as I'm a Job,
Most potent Prince, and vastly good,
All Understanding understood,
Belov'd of all the Wise and Good;
Whose envy'd Subjects were so blest,
That on his Cares they took their Rest.
Thriving in Plenty, Peace and Pleasure,
Honour, and Safety—(there's the Treasure.)
When British Happiness was grown
The Envy of each foreign Crown,
All Countries wishing it their own;
Whose weighty Counsels daily made,
All the World jealous and afraid
Of British Power, and British Trade;
Whose other Subjects daily strove,
T'outrival Britons in their Love,
But yet—they ne'er cou'd do't—by Jove.
For Britons hold so great a Mortal,
In glorious Memory Immortal,
(Whose Parliament will answer for't all.)
The Fidler cry's too, ('mongst the rest,)
“Loquuntur Facta: “Probatum est.
And hearing such a mighty Noise
From Men, and Wives, and Girls, and Boys.
Of their King George, and his King too,
Fid had a Month's Mind, once to go
To Court—to learn what he could know,
And took with him, to grace him there,
A Virgin innocent and fair,
In Coach and, not Six—but, a Pair.
A very pretty Girl He know'd,
As said—“The King was very good:
When (to express the Sense she bore,
Of that grand Prince she went before,
A Thousand Pounds-worth she put on
O'th' finest Diamonds—all her own,
That made Fid strut—like great Don John.
For Miss had got you (in a Word)
A clever Spark, without a Sword;
Beau nice enough—but yet a Tradesman,
A Merchant—and a bashful Maidsman.
So sweet a Girl, so fine in Dress,
And fam'd, for Wealth, and Prettyness,
Sure, ne'er cou'd want a Beau—you'll guess.
No—she h'd that Year had half a Dozen
More Sparks—(upon the Counter-cozen)
Knights, Burgesses, and Gentlemen,
That courted Miss in a high Strain:
For nothing less than Coach and Six
(Where Dad approv'd) her Love must fix,
And Settlement and Ladyship:
(And Stuff, wou'd give you all the Hip)
Because she wa'n't to be in Love,
But where Papa shou'd first approve;
(A wise Injunction this—by Jove)
To bring her home smart Beaus to court her,
And yet forbid Love to transport her.
So 'mongst her Choice, she pitch'd upon
A Fidler—for her Gentleman-
Usher—to usher her to Court;
And said, “She had good Reason for't.
Then, so it was,—to Court we went,
And saw Things to our Heart's Content.
The King, soon snapping up my Fair,
Comes strait in royal Pleasure near,
And soon made good Place for us there;
Which happ'd so very pat, in Season,
For th'Honour—and for other Reasons:
It seem'd as if 't had been combin'd,
That K---g shou'd grant—what Fid design'd;
For, got i'th' Center of the Ring,
(Thus plac'd, and grac'd,) Fid saw the King,
And lik'd his Looks—like any Thing:
Where standing close, and prying sharp,
He mark'd the King's Words—and his Garb;
Particularly, watch'd his Eyes,
And saw wrote “MAJESTY the Wise.
All plain his Garb, nor lac'd nor wrought,
And truly Fid was sorry for 't,
(So then (you know) he lik'd it not)
But when he saw his Houshold had
Gorgeous Apparel on, indeed,
It made him half-blind, and quite mad;
Till he thought on that noble Roman,
That for his Grandeur wou'd squeeze no Man;
Nor did he care to wear fine Cloaths,
Yet kept Command o'er all the Beaus.
Still all-majestick Man and Mien,
In all King said, and did, was seen.
Fid saw so grand a Prince so humble,
It made him think, and think, and tremble:
Oft mark'd the well-turn'd honest Face,
And all the Marks of Royal Grace,
(Strong Emblems of a glorious Race:)
This was the great King that is gone
To God;—that gave to us his Son:
But talk of HIM—we'll ne'er have done.
For what's above Capacitys
T'admire—the best Encomium is;
While we declare such Excellencies
Above the Reach of Words and Senses:
Yet, this we'll say, (and go no farther;)
He sways his Scepter like his Father:
And He that rules in Love, and Reason,
Need fear no Traytors—nor no Treason.
But then comes Train of Majesty,
Fam'd for the Gloss of Family,
As old as Paul's—in Pedigree
(Nay—as the Stones are, we there see,)
And yet, for Youth and Beauty, so
Splendid—They shine all Stars (below
The Starry Hemisphere above)
All Emblems of Joy, Grace, and Love.
First comes Queen Caroline the first,
As an Exempt to Eve—uncurst;
For all the World knows how she's blest,
But th'Fidler's Country Men know best;
That on her Arms behold her Crest:
The Royal Buds of Royal Charms,
Babes Royal—in Imperial Arms.
This is the Queen—of Hearts, I mean—
That lord's it o'er the Hearts of Men,
British and Hanoverien.
All-Nations-Judges too—beside
That see her—feel HER—by their Side
Cujus laudantur simili
Pulchrâ Prole Puerperæ.
Then come their high-born Loftinesses
The Glorious Princes and Princesses,
The Quintessence of Prettynesses;
Strong Instances of Royal Blood,
Presaging Britain's future Good,
Strict Justice, Honour, Happiness,
And but to the whole World Success,
Beyond what Language can express:
Made to make Mortals rise and fall,
To wound, and heal, and kill and all
The Royal Cupids with their Arms,
The Royal Venus's with Charms.
This is the Lustre—these the Rays
Of our coæval Halcyon-Days,
(Here's Work—for everlasting Lays.)
Eternal Happiness have at you;
Rex, Grex, Regina, sint beati:
And should you hear Tools chance to hate you
“In Fornace (let me say't' you)
“Chalybs & Aurum sunt probati.
At last comes up the present Tense
NOW Fid would tell their Wit and Sense,
But that they're not of's Acq---t---nce.
—Thus then it was he knew the Truth,
Whate'er was strew'd about, forsooth;
And, as he took a hearty Liking,
Thus to his mighty and his high King,
When he got merry ever after
(Whether 'twas with, or without Laughter,)
All-fir'd with Loyalty—He'd swear
“He was K--- G---'s Fidler.
This is the Man that told me—Sir.
Tho' to his hard Fate it was so,
The K---g the Fidler did not know,
Or, Things had ne'er gone with him so.
But poor Fid never would intrude,
He cou'd n't be so vain and rude,
As to petition his great King,
(Tho' of his Goodness Annals ring)
“That He'd most graciously bestow
“A Fidlership on him—or so.
Yet loyal Zeal to serve his Prince,
So fam'd for Merit—and for Sense,
So far inflam'd him with Desire,
That to some Post he would aspire,
And (tho' at Cat-Gut but a Pidler)
He dubb'd himself—K--- G---'s Fiddler;
Resolving on a Nominal
Post,—rather than have none at all;
And, nolus bolus, wou'd be so,
And swore “He wou'd be't gratis too;
As he'd no Money for the Patent,
Nor hearty Friends to try t'obtain't,
So vow'd his K---g the Compliment;
(But this thus understood,—in Case
A Fidlership be Patent-Place.)
Yet Fid for want of wish'd Assistance,
Was made do Duty at a distance,
That baulk'd of his intended Boon,
He ne'er could give his K---g a Tune,
—Then he would go to seek his Fortune,
And, sometimes thought upon Hog's Norton,
Where Folks say Pigs play on the Organs,
As wou'd just suit Fid's Fidling-Jargons;
But tho' his Fortune was forlorn,
Taking so mean a Thought in scorn,
As Fortune-Hunting was his Bent,
All in a Pet—the Fidler went,
From one End of the World to t'other,
To find the Fidler's younger Brother;
Tho' the Proverb urges—“such are born
“To Elder-Brothers as a Scorn;
“Born to good Fortune—(as they say)
And thus they bear the Bell away.
For Folks will ha' 't (do what you can)
“The Youngest's the best Gentleman,
But, let 'em prove it—if they can.
—However Fid thought “if his Brother
“Had half of what Folks make a Pother,
(Or like it—any thing at all)
“He'd made himself for Good and All.
By going to Him—just to borrow
A Thousand Guineas—(to Fid's sorrow)
Not doubting in the least, He wou'd
Lend Him the Guineas—(for he cou'd)
To help Him soon into the World,
That out o' 't had so long been hurl'd;
Bury'd alive for many Years
Broke, and obscur'd by Wants and Fears,
And Fidler turn'd—to sooth his Cares.
(For, what you'll e'er object to Us,
“Cor consolatur Auribus.)
Fond then of's Project—take's a Cup,
“To th'setting of the Fidler up.
And, t'lose no Time i'th' Execution;
Come's quickly to this Resolution,
“To drop a Set of Honourable
“That honour'd Fid much—at their Table.
A Company so happy that
A gen'rous Grace amongst 'em sat
That had got Fid a double Post;
(Munificence well worth a Boast:)
And yet he fondly whip's away,
Designing justly all to pay
(That's when He cou'd)—another Day,
Fid's Brother then was found—and so
They met,—and Fid said, “How d' you do?
The younger makes a kind Return;
And both the Brothers Bowels yearn.
There then—(with now and then a Thank)
Fid liv'd in more than Fidler's Rank.
Great Dons attend the Fidler's Levy,
And Presents come in—thick, and heavy;
With Spanish-Gravity and Grandure,
And realy more—than Fid could endure.
From Bishops,—Governors,—and Citys,
And Cloisters,—(with their artful Dittys)
From Spanish Ladys—high-fam'd Wits,
That serenaded Fid, by Fits;
Plays, Consorts, Balls,—in Compliment,
With Loads of Presents—daily sent,
Shew'd th'Honour, they the Fidler meant.
By Ringing Bells—where he came through,
And Orders given for it, too:
Then—(to confirm kind Disposition,)
Kind Visits—from the Inquisition.
And th'Fidler's Friends, the Jesuits,
Fid ever found—well in their Wits,
That help'd Him out—at some dead Lifts;
These formal Honours—(tho' vain Stuff)
Made Fid like's Quarters well enough.
Receiv'd then so compleat in Querpo,
The Spaniards made the Fidler smirk-Hoe.
And from so great Civility
Shewn with a Face of Amity,
(Provided—Spaniards be sincere)
Fid cou'd have willingly staid there,
Or 'mongst such Spaniards—any where.
Where most uncommon Libertys
Allow'd—cou'd not but highly please;
(So friendly were th'Indulgencys.)
But yet—“To give no Jealousy
“To'n honourable Company,
Was a sly Bait flung out, that took;
And, all the while too, hid the Hook
Design'd to hold the Fidler fast
From growing Great—in too much haste:
For Brother F---ct---r, in a Ferment,
Dreaded,—of all Things,—Fid's Preferment;
So plys his Int'rest, Might and Main,
“To get the Fidler home again;
And so work'd up his Emissaries
They funn'd Fid's Br---r with Vagaries;
All joining—in a formal Story,
“'Twas for Fid's Int'rest—and's own Glory,
“To settle Him—at some good distance,
“Not to offend—by such Assistance;
“To give no Umbrage—from two Brothers
“Settling in Trade—near one another:
Thus chouc'd Him thence—with Promises,
(And more than Spanish Gravitys)
“That Counsellors mought chouce—at Ease.
Trusting whereto—The Fidler jog's
Into the Country of the Frogs;
Where—(at too great a Distance, still,)
He fiddle-faddl'd, 'gainst his Will;
When,—to divert his Melancholy,
“Perceiving Fortune-Hunting Folly:
He thought to sooth all growing Cares,
By magical melodious Airs.
And mighty hot He was on't, when
The Folks cry'd ev'ry now and then,
“De Koninck Joris kom't, haast, over
“Op Reyse, door Hollant,—na Hanover.
Whereat the Fidler instantly,
O'erjoy'd to think his King so nigh,
Boldly struck up—as if He'd make
The Houses fall, and Churches shake;
As if resolv'd to make his King
Hear ev'ry Twang, of ev'ry String;
Where e'er he was;—or far or near:
Tho' th'King, where he was, was not there.
“For Raptures, by their magick Force,
“Make Folks outdo Themselves of Course.
But, Extacy will not be lasting;
For, keener Joys are sooner wasting.
So, tho' the Fidler little thought
His zealous Joy w'd so soon be baulkt;
Yet,—so it was,—(now you shall hear,
(And now I'll make you shed a Tear:)
Just then come's Death—and gives the Blow,
That parted K---g and Fidler—so
As Britain and Hanover too,
And all the World both feel and know.
The Swan his Breath in Song resigns,
But who can fathom Fate's Designs?
Yet—had the Fidler Power given
By God's Vice-gerent—that's from Heaven;
And whom GOD has in his Place given:
Sorrow wou'd be the Sops of Those,
That plunder'd poor Fid of his Cloaths,
His Books, his Bed, his Liberty,
Distorting Laws,—and Equity
“Till They deep-stain'd Humanity:
Yet “Nil conscire sibi,—sure,
“T'a wounded Conscience is a Cure:
(Tho' 't were ------ of an Emb---ss---d---r.)
However,—had the Fidler Power,
He'd quickly make some rue some Hour;
He'd make 'em feel the Fidler's Wrath,
And He can do it;—Faith and Troth.
Soon wou'd He make 'em cringe and cry
“Peccavi;—and that heartily:
He w'd fagg 'm else most d---n---bly.
Tho' first—He'd Lecture 'em, with Rubs
Verbal;—if humble:—but with Drubs,
If rusty still:—He'd make 'em know,
“What 'twas to serve K---g's Fidler so.
Give Him a Bang,—and Him a Kick,
“And work 'em tumbling to Old Nick;
“Like Dust from Fidler's Fiddle-Stick:
—And this He'll do,—when Time shall serve,
As sure,—as God shall Him preserve;
Tho' but K---'s Fidler Nominal:
What wou'd He do, then—was He't real?
Was He once d---b'd that glorious Thing
“Frank, Friend, and Fidler—to the K---g!
(For 'n honest Fidler is a Man
Better than any Rogue in Grain,
For all a Fidler sounds' so mean.)
D---gs! To make Fid's Cash run away,
And now He's come to look for't,—say
“The Fidler's self is run away,
Frighting plain honest People by
Teazing 'em with a hellish L---.
“You've lost your Money;—now 'tis plain;
“You'll never see one Cross again;
But They're All d---n---bly mista'en.
For here's the Sweet of Innocence,
“The God of Gods is its Defence.
And had poor Fid but one good Grace,
To get Him proper Friends, and Place;
The good World wou'd resent his Case.
And, might he choose—He w'd pitch upon
A Darling to King Solomon;
Augustus and Mecænas in one Man:
That 'mongst great Patrons leads the Van,
And makes his Servants;—to a Man.
We mean all Those—whose Happiness
Has made 'em well known to his Grace;
Those,—whom his good Sense has observ'd,
To be Men fit to be preferr'd;
Men of Integrity and Parts,
Of able Heads,—and honest Hearts.
With requisite Qualifications
(To make 'em Darlings to wise Nations)
For here ---'s the Glory of his Grace,
“To brag of Those he put's in Place;
(When 'tis, he hears, the publick-Voice,
Extols the Prudence of his Choice.)
Which plainly shew's his noble Soul
And Principle,—beyond Controul:
“That He h's the publick Good at Heart,
“By choosing Men with so much Art.
Thus (daily singling from the Crowd,
Men—with stanch Principles endow'd;
Devoted to the publick Good.)
—'Tis as the Business of his Grace
T'augment the publick Happiness,
“By putting worthy, Men, in Place.
But yet,—(tho' He's so generous;)
Fid fare's nor better, nor the worse:
And why?—Because that “Onbekent
(As Dutch Men hold) “maak't onbemint.
He swears—“He's sure—that's all that's in't,
“For Characters at second Hand,
“Impose on all Peers in the Land,
And poor Fid having that hard Fate
Not to be known—or known too late,
(And only, from Tradition,—That:)
While's Grace diffuses Honours on
Heaps of Wealth,—on every one;
Poor Fid's (as 't were) forgot alone.
“So good a Lord, so good a Friend,
“He loses by's his being onbekenn'd;
But, wou'd kind Stars once bring to Light
The naked Truth; (chance) his Grace might
Be pleas'd to help Fid to his Right:
And if his good K---g wou'd n't think
The Fidler mad—or else in Drink.
He'd try t'obtain his free Permission,
To lay his Case before the N---t---n.
And as learn'd Counsel may consent,
To Petition the P---m---t,
For Books, for Bed, for Liberty,
That all the World might plainly see,
Some Engines of arch V---ll---ny;
Which (well examin'd) might disc---ver
Great Truths—that some Folks strive to sm---ther;
And such as might, bring out a String
Of R---g---rys;—and that's a Thing,
Might vastly serve both St---te and K---g.
For that bold Generosity.
“To right the Wrong'd,—must surely be
A Splendor e'en to Maj---sty;
Then greater Subjects wou'd n't dare
For Lust, t'oppress the Less;—for Fear:
When Kings, the Fathers of their People,
Wou'd crush 'em That the Poor would cripple.

Had he then once Leave to pet---t---n,
Tho' 'twere done in a Fidler's Fashion;
Perhaps they'd find in Fid's Rel---t---n,
Something might TEND to serve the N---t---n,
For He'd e'en venture to be free,
In dutiful Humility,
And, Poz,—the Substance o' 't shou'd be.
“Poor Fid, by R---g---ues demolished,
“Beg's all Rogues be abolished;
“And something, (not forgot) for Bread.
(For He has got some hundred Guineas
Due t'Him, long since;—(and from so many:)
That,—without Them,—He'll ne'er get any.)
“Humbly subintelligitur;
(As strongest Phrases shortest are:)
But Truth's Truth—in Tetrameter.
(And Lyricks (chance) may make appear
Enough—to make some gr---t Folks swear.
Nay,—who knows but Petitions may
Be best,—that all in Motto say?
(I'm sure the H---s---e wou'd like that way.)
“For Brevity is very good,
“When w'are,—or are not—understood.

Hudib.

And telling Truth,—tho' as in jest,
May wipe as clean,—and Rogues infest,
As much as Truth with Anger prest.
Thus puny metrical Direction
May prove—to Knaves a full Detection;
And to plain Honesty—Protection.
Quæratur then—another Thing,
“If Fid's Foes be n't Foes to the K---g?
Quæratur item—if convenient,
“If not Foes—to K---g and P---li---m---t?
And after ripe Examinat---n
(To put the Case quite out of Question)
May they come to this Resolut---n,
“Foes! (—or “not Foes)—to th'Const---t---n!
And to each Friend that make's Effort,
For 't's safe and honourable Support,
(What e'er Inducements They have for't.)
No doubt there might be some—wou'd say,
“What vile Stuff---'s here!—Pish!—fling't away:
“What a bold-Busy Body's This?
“Here's neither Sence nor Substance:—Pish!
That's—(as I take't) Requ---st thrown out
“Res---lv'd—“HE's MAD:—(without a V---te.)
“A MADMAN, sure.—
But—“if he ben't,—“He may be said one,
And Tricks be try'd—to get him made One;
As REGISTERS can prove—at L---.
Well!—But, what's all This to the H---se,
Oh! That's a S---cr---t, inter N---s:
And (don't you fear;)—'twill have its Use.
As 't may be—many a Subject's Case;
May n't 't in P---l---m---t take Place?
So far—as to procure Redress?
To th'timely lopping R---g---sh---n---ss,
And aiding Virtue in Distress?
Where ev'ry individual Member
(Fid hope's—All Freemen will remember:)
By's being chose—“becomes A RECTOR,
“O'th' Const---t---t---n a Direct---r:
Whereby—“We put into his Hands
“Lives, Wives, and Children—and our Lands;
“And when He's not our Rights Protector,
“Depend on't,—“He's our State's Infector.
“Who—for R---gue P---ns---n (settl'd long since)
“Sells King,—and Country;—and his Conscience:
Or else—some easy Instrument
(T'wh'm Pow'r unhappily is lent)
That v---te's with Tr---trs vilely bent.
And sure 'tis high time to awake,
When p---bl---k L---b---ty 's at Stake,
And priv---t--- Prop---ty goes to Wreck,
(Where Privilege hold's Laws at Beck)
For Faction aim's at great Subversions,
(That's plain—from its so great Perversions:)
Making, in all Towns, such Divisions,
That R---ght and L---w 're become Derisions;
For where great Pow'r is in the Hand
Of perj---d Trayt---s to their Land,
They'll give to none—but Tools—Command;
Unless (by Chance) to Fools that may,
As Tools,—be Helps to 'm—in their Way;
And Blinds: (th'more to secure their Pay.)
Where then—of Justice there's that Lack,
No wonder R---ght goes so to Wreck;
And well-spread Factions do such Feats,
That national erumpent Heats,
Forebode great Storms—upon great St---tes.
And (as we fear) e'en to this Hour,
“Ce Mal se fortifie tous les Jours.
Then—from Resentments may we trace,
The Fidler's is no priv---te Case;
“For they'd serve's K--- so—if in's Place:
Cou'd They but get Him, once, secure,
(And cou'd n't bring Him to their Lure)
“They'd take Him under Hand to Cure;
And (by some Villain's Trick, or other,)
“Cure—by a Dose,—or else a Sm---th---r;
(Or any way,—that make's least Pother.)
Perhaps, kill as the Indians do,
Kill at a Distance—yet kill true.
At certain Times determin'd by
Their treach'r---s hellish Suttlety,
“For as they w---'d serve the Fidler—Hoe,
“They'd serve his K--- and C---try too;
And that you may believe 't—the rather,
“Think on the Death of our K---'s Father:
Which ha's some Circumstance so black,
It put's good Hearts,—and Brains o'th' Rack,
“Lest false Play carry'd the Attack.
This then is so much—to the Na---t---n,
“As useful Hints—from true Relat---n;
And tho' there may be Those will scorn,
A Fidler's Case—that's so forlorn;
Yet—grave, and great, and good, are there
That know Rogues—and how poor Folks fare,
And Those may chance—to speak it fair;
At least, not vile;—'cause “good Intention
“Is laudable:—“Howe'er's th'Invention.
—Then,—shou'd They slur—“He begs for Bread!
It's no more than what my L---d M---r did,
Last Week;—when, mumping up and down,
He went a begging through the Town:
(For all his Gold Chain and Furr-Gown.)
Then mayn't a Fidler follow th'Fashion,
(That's the best Branch of the Profession)
And beg (for Justice)—of his Na---tn,
Against a wanton Depredation:
(To th'Sc---nd---l—of a Christ---n Nat---n.)
Made on Him by a M---n ambitious,
Seemingly cruel and malitious;
(As glorying in being vitious:)
But—how much Glory can redound,
By making T---r---ny renown'd;
To th'Honour of a glorious Cr---n?
By having Subjects trampl'd on,
And ruin'd:—(by contriv'd Vexations,
Imprisonments;—and Devastations:)
'Gainst B---t---sh Laws,—and L---w of Nations!
“By th'cruel Usage—(Fid so chaff't at)
“To make his K--- and C---try laught at,
(Whatever Flatterers may say)
If any Man can prove,—HE MAY.
—Shall a good Subject be destroy'd,
(And Academicks ill imploy'd)
By those with the K---g's P---y upbuoy'd?
Must Man be made a Sacrifice,
To wrathful Lust (keen Avarice)
“Because a laudable Punctilio
's omitted?—(i'n't that more than silly Hoe?)
I'n't this despotick Ty---r---ny?
“That a good Subject's Life shou'd be
“At the Caprice of Vanity?
“That Pr---ces shou'd be so imp---s'd on,
To have their S---bj---cts so dispos'd on?
—“That Brother Subjects should become
“Dictators of their Fellow's Doom?
“So that—whene'er He will,—a Great One
“May, lawlesly, confine—and treat One
“Like Polyphemus,—“e'er He'd eat One.
“Torture and mangle—till He's cloy'd,
“E'er's by the Coup de Grace destroy'd;
“That Sov'---r---n's Ch---r---ct---r must be
“Strangely set off,—where M---n---try
“Dare blacken it with Ty---r---ny.
“Pray, what can Foreigners believe
“That Land to be—where They perceive,
“Oppressi---n to the last degree,
“Practis'd on Subjects born so free,
“(As Brit---ns brag of Liberty.)
“When they see R---ght so much distorted;
“And Wrong—by Ch---rc---tr supported?
“Tho' Freedom be so much reported.)
“Can they forbear to represent
“To all Lands—wheresoe'er they're sent,
“The M---s---ch---fs of such M---n---ge---m---t?
“And th'endless Dangers all must be
“Expos'd to—from such Ty---r---ny,
“(That Sc---nd---l to all M---y;)
“Whence glorious Pr---ces are b---tr---y'd
“And Ma---ty's a Jest of made.
Princes that mind such M---sters,
Will never want for Ratio Cur's.
Not but The Fidler has to fear
His having got his Prince's Ear;
But, Tho' He shou'd, Still there will lay
Right and Compassion in his Way:
(That with good Princes, bear great Sway.)
—A princely Personage indeed,
But yet A Squire that had no Need
To serve The Fidler as He did:
Ruin a Man—by being too kind!
And 'gainst his Will to cure his Mind!
(Concerted well primario,
Transacted secundario;
The Main-Spring snug incognito.)
Who really in his Person—and
His Carriage—shew's the Nobleman.
And Who (for all this mean Trick play'd;)
(T'insult a poor Man void of Aid!)
Is known, to all the World and Us,
To be of very noble House.
Then i'n't it strange! that such as HE
Shou'd so be flush'd with Vanity?
And stain'd with so much Ty---r---ny?
To act as if He'd made A VOW
The Man shall die; “No matter how:
Because The Fidler miss'd a Bow!
However, Sir, Thus far Wee'll clear YOU,
Th'Fidler will (If the K--- will) sp---re YOU;
Because “Humanum est errare.

Fairly to state the Case, we must
Tell you what 'twas gave that Disgust
That Th'Student into Limbo thrust.

Then, very far from being Mad,
It happen'd that The Fidler had
Seen a strange Vision, in his Bed:
And that's the Truth; what e're be said.

One Summer's Morning, as He lay;
His Eyes wide open and broad Day,
A lovely Youth with awful Mein
At the Bed's Foot by Him was seen
Smiling upon Him, as He lay,
As if He h'd something kind to say.

At that The Student, in a Maze,
Flung back his Curtains keen to gaze;
And saw a beauteous youthful Face,
With flowing Locks, and easy Grace:
Whose wishful Looks did represent,
The eager Message, Sure, He meant
And was on to The Fidler sent.

But while the Man, all terrify'd,
Shifted, and peer'd, from Side to Side,
The Youth gave an amazing Start
And darted on The Fidler's Heart.
But by a most stupendous Might
Was metamorphos'd in the Flight,
And, in a very Breath, became
A rapid Eagle:—if the same.
For, in the Twinkling of an Eye,
Like gushing Waters did He fly;
And pitch't an Eagle boldly chest,
Directly on The Student's Breast;
He fondly cover'd and caress't.

With hov'ring Wings, and wanton Head,
He turn'd thereon, and then He stay'd;
Sat calmly down, and rested there,
With a delightful comely Air;
Whose bright dunn Feathers lovely were.

Gracefully spreading then his Tail,
Strait it became a Coat of Mail;
Cov'ring The Fidler's Breast; Apparel
Made up of bright Steel Pistol-Barrels:
Like smaller Organ-Pipes so bold,
Polish't and glitt'ring above Gold:

Waving his Head, then, strait his Eye
Was sweetly fix't toward the Sky:
Then He The Fidler views; and then
His Eyes are upwards fix't again:
Then, with a couching fond Embrace,
He cover's Fid; Breast, Arms, and Face,
As if designing to adhort
The Man to make his best Effort,
To work his way up to the Skies,
By being bravely Good and Wise:
And, after Proofs of Virtue given,
To seek his chief Reward in Heaven.
A Sight so strange rais'd Jealousy
'Twixt Fear and Curiosity.

Whence Fid, with deep Ejaculations,
Amidst his awful Consternations,
Forcing the Curtains open wide
(That Truth or Fancy mought be try'd)
The more his Splendours He espy'd:
That King of Birds, gay as a Queen,
With a caressing comely Mein.

Whence, seiz'd with a deep panick Fear,
Feeling some ghostly Power near,
Fid, taking to extatick Prayer,
To rouse his Mind from Fears and Care
Sternly besought of God Relief
Sufficient to dispel his Grief.

Then, starting up in's Bed, to try
What might be in this Prodigy,
His Eagle with a ghostly Might
First couching down, then rais'd upright
Like Lightning, flash'd away in Flight.

The Fidler now, tho' keen to gaze,
Saw Him no more:—But, in a Maze,
Sat ruminating, in a Fright,
The meaning of so strange a Sight.

So strange, tho' nothing understood,
The Thoughts on't fir'd The Fidler's Blood:
That, from that Hour without Controul,
He felt a strange Warmth through his Soul.

For, as He went, large Rays of Light
Seem'd always streaming from his Sight.

He saw, too, when He turn'd his Head
All that beheld Him seem'd afraid;
The keener Aspect of his Eyes
Striking Beholders with Surprize:
And these his præternatural Rays
Continued with Him many Days.

The Thoughts, Tho', of so strange a Sight,
Still kept The Fidler in a Fright,
And sorely pusled Day and Night.

While, many Nights, A certain Star
Pointed A famous Conqueror
So strong in's Thoughts, do what He cou'd,
It seem'd to call Him forth to Good;
And to trace Virtue:—tho' in Blood.

Affected thus with Apprehension
Of some strange Turn, from Fate's Intention:
Fid went to ask A clever Sir,
Cloath'd with a publick Character,
A Question (He own's very odd,
But yet He think's inspir'd by God)
Relating to his KING and LAND;
Ush'ring it in with A Demand:

Perhaps design'd, by bare Proposing,
(Altho' th'Occasion of Exposing
The Fidler to much Ridicule)
A Means to bring Him in To Rule,
Which shou'd it do,—'Tis probable
There may be strange Effects o' 't still:
(Tho' th'Answer and the Explication
Seem'd quite to dash Fid's Expectation:)
For what is in The Fidler's Heart
Pow'r and Time only can impart.
Because (To wave Bombast Rehearsal,)
He find's his Aims all Universal;
And He's the very Man He's quoted:
To Poor and Publick All-devoted.

For Ever was his Bent of Mind
Prone to the Wellfare of Mankind;
Nor did He ever find his Itches
Were after Power to get Riches;
But To do Justice:—and to put
A strict Distinction (as All ought)
Between what's Worthy and What's not.

Whence 'tis, He think's, his Question wa'n't
Prophane, Tho't seem extravagant.

Nor know's He why He singl'd out,
Of all Men, Him He did; Without
Some Secret Pow'r had urg'd Him to't.
Wherein He acted (if't can be
And ever Man did) passively.

'Tis true, H'expected from his strange
Vision a most surprising Change:
And that his Eagle did import,
His Risquing hard,—and Rising for't.
But when, or whence, He knew no more
Than He does yet,—now He's so poor;
Yet's in the same Mind as before.

For, Had this from Distemper been,
From th'Cause th'Effects wou'd have been seen;
And growing worse and worse, besure,
He h'd needed Med'cines for a Cure;
Whereas, He never took one Grain,
Wou'd Le---d---n Doctors ne're so fain.

No: Nor yet has He, to this Hour,
And yet's as well as e're before;
And was, before his Vision, too
As Compos Sui as Any of you.

That's—In a perfect State of Health,
Till Eagle-lanc'd by Ghostly Stealth.

Tho', Had it been some Visitation
From th'Hand of God,—for Castigation;
What Plea can be for sly Pretences
To ruin Folks for Loss of Senses?

Now, Be't as't will:—Fid's going thither
(By Choice, or Impulse, Choose You whether;)
Was, Quantum novimus, Th'Occasion
Of all that subsequent Invasion
Of British-Right, in Foreign Nation,
Enhaunc'd with grossest Aggravations,
Against the well-known Law of Nations.

For TH'COURTLY 'SQUIRE, to whom He went,
Not smoaking what The Student meant,
Resolv'd his Question to resent.

And b'cause The Fidler miss't a Bow,
So “Die He must,—no matter How.
For THAT was all the Reason why
There needed such Barbarity,
T'have Him so cruelly demolish'd:
(This comes of being too rough polish'd.)

But, sure, a Prince's Goodness is
Much stain'd by such like Blemishes,
Eclips't and lost where H's M---n---st---y
Dare wanton 't thus in Cruelty;
With a so scandalous Design,
Imperiously to undermine,
A Native's Right in Foreign Land,
As if done by his King's Command;
Whence King and Country are disgrac'd,
By wanton Tyranny barefac'd.
Thus practising Abominations,
To bring on needless Desolations,
To th'Scandal of all Christian Nations:
Inveighling Some To truck their Faith,
To mangle a poor Man to death,
To gratify a Wanton's Wrath.

No Fool in Politicks, perhaps,
Yet, sure, There may come After-Claps.

As there's a God above, that will,
Bring Him t'Account for all that Ill,
He h's caus'd—To gratify his Will.

'Tis true The 'Squire knew not the Reason
Why Th'Fidler did not bow in Season,
Yet,—sure, ill Breeding is no Treason;
And now We'll tell You whence it came,
Then judge if He's so much to blame,
That He, for seeming too unpolish'd,
Must be so cruelly demolish'd.

The Fidler, then, got int' a Palace,
Thought not of Compliment but Solace.

For's Head was full of mighty Things,
(As serving honest States and Kings:)
But all his Toes had lost their Skins.

Besides—He scarce cou'd fetch his Breath,
He felt such Throbbing: As if Death
Approach'd, Or, As if Life was struggling
To cure the treach'rous World of Jugling:
And, tho' so tir'd, and all in Sweat,
He ne're sat down, (To ease his Feet)
But, just one Moment,—To look Great.

But wheel'd and wheel'd about the Room,
Till Excellency there shou'd come:
Who', Tho' Fid ask'd for Board and Bed, Sir,
Found that He well knew what He said, Sir;
And gravely gave a handsome Answer,
As a good Statesman shou'd and can, Sir;
(And w'll own, herein, Fid's no Romancer.)

He ey'd the Sash about his Trunk,
And thought perhaps The Student Drunk;
Then Th'Book in's Breast: and chance, That mought
Confirm his Thoughts, beyond all Doubt;
And force Him to conclude, with Speed,
Sure! This Man's Drunk, or Mad indeed,
That comes Here with so little Heed.

And Thence it was, as We suppose,
The Student lost Beds, Books, and Cloaths.

For, Fid retiring, very lame,
No sooner to his Colledge came,
But He h'd a Pennance for the same.

And yet, Tho' He was haul'd about,
As if a Madman:—There's no doubt,
THE LORD'S WAYS ARE PAST FINDING OUT.

However, being deem'd so bad,
It was resolv'd, On's dying Mad,
Shou'd go Beds, Books, and all He had.

Because a Party then attack't,
And doom'd Him to be thus ransack't,
That have their Brains for ever rack't
To keep still working up Confusion,
Till proper Time for Blood-Effusion:

A PARTY ever glad to join
All British Rights to undermine:
(And with an Envoy too!—That's fine.

The Rights too of all freeborn Men,
TO BRING 'EM TO BE SLAVES AGAIN.
Sworn Enemies to Liberty,
Ever promoting Tyranny:

Whence, any Thing That best amuse's
The Publick, is much for their Uses.

Hence 'twas so readily They join'd
To help to cure a Student's Mind,
By's being ill us'd and confin'd:
That, with a Cloud of noisy Pother
About a Trifle, They mought smother,
And keep still darker, Their Design
Establishments to undermine.
This Party laugh's, The 'Squire pursue's
With Rigour his determin'd Views:
Eager upon demolishing
A Man, for want of Polishing:

Accordingly concert's his Measures,
With Help of Tr---trs and his Tr---sures,
To execute a Scheme They laid,
To have A Briton's Right betray'd:
(For which The Tr---trs well were paid.)

First, To report The Man for Mad:
And then aver his Case so bad,
That Th'Rector ought, To forecome Danger,
To tie Him up to Rack and Manger:

Then—Tho' not Mad, when once They'd said so,
To take Care that He shou'd be made so.

No sooner then The Plot's agreed,
But t'Execution They proceed:
When, like the grossest Villany,
All's to be done clandestinely:

And, First, They must (To break through Fences)
Hatch, for a Blind, some smooth Pretences,
To prove Their Student out of's Senses.

Next, must the br---b'd and chief Aggressors,
Take Care to Hood-wink The Assessors:
All Those, at least, that wou'd n't join
A Stranger's Right to undermine;
And Student's Privilege:—when sold
For such a handsome dab of Gold.

These must be so impos'd upon
That They must never know what's done:
But from a close contriv'd Tradition,
Still bamm'd upon 'em, by Physician
More heathenish than old Magician.

Whence, To be sure, They w'd say and do,
What Th'Others wou'd persuade 'em to.

Thus joining R---ges implicitly
They mischief'd in Simplicity.

The Scheme then, thus far dress't, They thought
Time by The Fore-Lock must be caught:
And, That their Skits might not be blown,
They bang Reports about The Town
Their Student is a Madman grown:

When, To delude The Rabble-Rout,
And To remove all future Doubt,
They swear their Books all make it out.
Wherein no Man half so officious,
As young Professor lame and vicious.

Who, and the Rest so play'd their Game,
To Th'Student's Ears it never came,
Till He perceiv'd how He was snar'd:
(Anon you'll hear, too, how He far'd.)

The Vision, Tho',—e're since He saw't,
Had fill'd The Fidler full of Thought:
Whence, very pensive, and sedate,
He w'd walk Abroad, To ruminate,
And, when too hot, He w'd wipe his Pate.

This, by some sly Philosophers,
And br---b'd Time-serving Sophisters,
Was term'd all Frenzy and Delusion,
Certain Effects of an Illusion:

Who, from gross Self-Conceit maintain,
All They can't understand is vain:
Thus They're, by being blind, prophane:
Accounting thus for all They hint,
“Effects are to their Causes link't:
(While oft their Guess ha's nothing in't.)

For, Tho' that Axiom be most certain,
Their Inferences are uncertain:
When Low'ring Things to humane Sense,
(Because a Myst'ry give's Offence)
Bring's a fallacious Consequence;
And Premisses, when misapply'd,
By The Conclusions are deny'd:
However Sparks sophistical
Sneer at, and Jeer, Things mystical,
By Quirks and Turns atheistical.
Whence (By an awkard Application,
And positive Asseveration,)
They oft graft Errors upon Truth:
From Fancy, Pride, and Forms, forsooth.

Boasting their Learning comprehend's,
A Reason for what e're God send's:
(Thus blasphemous for lucrous Ends!)
That, What exceed's their haughty Reason,
Strait prompts 'em to atheistick Treason.

For They'll explode, or mutilate
To bring 't within Reach of their Pate;
As if Things extraordinary,
Must dwindle down, Or else must vary,
To fit a shallow School-Vagary.

Then stigmatise all That gainsay 'em,
As 'f Owning Truth was To betray 'em:
When after all their Pothers still,
Sure, Truth is Truth, tho' conceiv'd ill;
Tho' Mortals are so at a Loss
To strange Effects to find a Cause,
What's Fact is Truth—and will be Poz.

Sure then 'tis dangerously rash,
With Nick-Names barbarous and harsh,
To slur the signal Acts of God;
Because by Them not understood:
To God thus boldly give The Lie,
Because They ha'n't The Reason why:
What horrid arch Impiety!
But, Tho' They dare do so, Th'Effects,
Will shortly shew the vast Defects,
And Fondness of such Intellects:
When They with Shame must truckle, still,
And Arts resign to Th'Divine Will.

Learning and Reason then must bow,
The Will of God, They must allow,
Act's many Things They know not how.
And so it is infallibly,
If ever was a Mystery.
Eldad and Medad tho' They went
Not to the Tabernacle, tho' sent,
E'en in The Camp did prophesy:
And what but That the Reason why?
Let 'em tell What else (if They can)
Turn'd Saul into another Man?
And made all, irresistably,
Saul's Messengers thrice prophesy?

What else made Saul pull off his Cloaths,
And sacred Majesty expose,
To lay down naked, Day and Night,
In Samuel's and The Prophets Sight?

Dare They pronounce, Because unclad,
The Lord's Anointed to be mad?
Or call, from proud vain Inferences,
The King of Israel out of's Senses?
Or any Prophets of The Lord
B'cause naked, Mad? tho' inspir'd of God?

Can such account for any Vision,
From Causes and Effects Cohesion,
Better than by a bold Derision?

But, Not t'insist on Inspiration,
Know They the Reason o'th' Creation,
With all their Books and Observation?
Shall Such then censure The Creator,
That can't near comprehend The Creature?
How lamely do They All account
For many ('mongst the vast Amount)
Effects (tho' daily felt by all)
From Causes meerly Physical?

Instead of giving Satisfaction,
Their Guesses breed but more Distraction;
The Axiom's puzzl'd by fresh doubt,
The more They strive to make it out.

Can They explain what make's The Sun
When at the Solstice to return?
Or What 'tis give's that Paradox
'T always observe's at Th'Æquinox?
What Cause can They assign for 't, still,
More Than a Fidler at his Will?

Must They not end i'th' Will of God?
And when They come to That—'t's allow'd.

Are there not Mysteries of Nature
Found in each individual Creature?
So great, The Learned own, The more
They find The more They h've to explore:
(Matter ha's so much in her Store.)

And, if The Fidler shou'd n't know 'em,
Go, talk with BOERHAAVE—and He w'll show 'em:
He, without looking on his Book,
Will con You o'er Boyle, Liewen-Hoek,
Newton, Ruys, Derham, and The Rest,
That make God's Works more manifest:
And, Get but Once amongst his Store,
He w'll shew You Them and many more;
And (if You'll ask Him) reach their Book,
And shew You—if They have mistook.

Here shall You find a vast Amount
Of Things for which Man can't account;
More than by Owning “'Tis so—Because
“Th'Almighty ha's prescrib'd such Laws.

For, howsoe're They fain wou'd gloss,
They find Themselves still at a Loss,
And all their Learning but meer Dross:
Whene're They dare (To win Applause)
Assign for't any other Cause.

For much God Will's and Work's, no doubt,
By Ways beyond all finding out.

But, 'T's needless to attempt to show It,
For, Tho' Fools babble, Wise Men know It.

Since then most of God's Creature's can
Confound The Knowledge of vain Man,
How vastly arrogant are Those
That wou'd so saucily impose,
To reduce Acts spiritual
To Causes meerly natural?
Thus make a Myst'ry none, To mend it,
That Humane Sense may comprehend it.
Blaspheming Truths, if mystical,
By Quirks and Turns sophistical;
Or, what is worse, atheistical.

Altho' Th'Effect's more surely wrought,
By Ways above all Humane Thought,
When There's no Reason can be given,
More than That 'tis The Will of Heaven,
Than where Man ha's all Evidences
That can b'afforded by his Senses.

As He's incapable to know
What God can Work—and much more How.

Mortals may rack their foggy Brains,
But can't augment, with all their Pains;
Nor can all Universities
One Atom stretch their Faculties
Above their nat'ral Comprehension;
Because confin'd by God's Intention.

As Powers limited are given
To ev'ry Creature under Heaven.
Ay, And, Besure, 'tis so, likewise,
With ev'ry Creature 'bove The Skies,
According to Their Essences,
That God's Word rule's, as 't doe's The Seas:
Whose Limits all The Art of Man
Can't make 'em to surpass one Span.

Shall then poor Earth-Worm Mortals dare yet,
Deny The Effects of God's own Spirit?
And arrogantly forge a Cause
For all Effects, from Nature's Laws?
And fondly for't Themselves applause?
And then enlarge upon Th'Effects,
To brag of their fine Intellects?

Alas, These are but meer Pretences,
To gull The Publick of their Senses:

Just for a Blind, to serve a Turn,
That They, perhaps, more Br---bs may earn;
Oft terming Sacred Truths Distraction;
To serve some bold hot-headed Faction:
Was not Th'Apostle Paul, That acted
Such Wonders, said to be distracted?
Was not The Prince of Life, The Word,
The Son of God, Himself, our Lord,
Who by his Miracles confounded
All Philosoph's that then abounded,
E'en while by Their ownselves surrounded,
Term'd a Wine-Bibber, charg'd with Evil,
Said to be Mad—and have a Devil?
If Things are so then, as we say,
Truths bright and plain as the Noon-Day,
That Saints nor Atheists dare say nay:

Why, pray, shou'd Fid be thought to chatter,
Or inconsistently to smatter?
Since Spirit's so much above Matter.

And, If created Spirits are,
Say what God's Spirit is Who dare.

Wherefore Then shou'd The Student's Case
(Forlorn as 'tis) not find a Place,
'Mongst Men of Wisdom and of Grace?
And even yet—(For all 't's Suspence)
Why mayn't it have it's Consequence?

A Vision shou'd n't be conceal'd,
Where The Lord's Arm ha's been reveal'd.

However—Now, To let it go,
We'll e'en refer it to Time to show
If't ha's a Meaning to't or no.

And passing over many Things
Relating to Church, States, and Kings,
Hieroglyphickly transacted
In zealous Furys, term'd distracted,
While in The HAGUE The Fidler staid;
And how his Reck'ning there was paid:

(Including Glasses ten He broke,
As if with a prophetick Stroke)

And what by Impulse He perform'd,
At which The Landlord and 's Maid storm'd,
We now shall enter on the Story,
For Le---d---n Academy's Glory:
And the due Honour of that Rector
Of Students Then so great a Hector,
Instead of Privilege-Protector:
And tell How, there arriv'd, deceiv'd
And grand The Student was receiv'd.

This we'll attempt next To discuss,
Then Take 't as 't is—it follows thus.

Those that frequent Academies,
Ought well to learn Civilities,
That where high Favours are heap'd on 'em,
Their Donors may have Justice done 'em;
The Fidler-Student then, To try
A Quid pro Quo accordingly,
Own's Himself ready to acknowledge
The weighty Favours of The College:
And willingly to compensate
Good Offices, at any Rate,
Proportionally adequate.
But here's The Pussle now—To find
How Rog---sh---cruel can be kind:
Or can be thought so by Mankind.
Eúclid can never make it out,
But there will still remain a doubt;
And, till we know the Obligation,
How can w'adapt Retalliation?
But still, my Friends, pray let Us guess;
(And Gratitude be ne're the less.)
Designing, if we can hit on 'em,
All fav'ring Friends shall have Right done 'em.

What Thanks are due then to that Rector,
So much a Student's Health's Director,
As well as Privilege-Protector?

That send's a Doctor tacitly
To visit, and without a Fee,
A Student That's as well as He is?
(Such sure are rare Civilities.)

Or rather, what Returns are due
To Th'Rector, and The Doctor too?
Oh! Heer ALB---9---! is it YOU?

That come's, forsooth, Incognito,
And slyly hide's Himself below,
To kill—call'd cure One e're He go?

Who wou'd n't go To Study, Where
Students are treated with such Care?
And where so kind Professors are.

To come to Patients e're They're sent to,
And with so generous a Bent, too!

A Doctor, by The Rector's Orders,
Is sent to cure all the Disorders
Not of The Body only,—Gratis:
But of The Mind too.—Oh! plus Satis.
Sat, Satis, affatim, abundè!
Res inaudita aliundè!
And now t'have at the Fact—dull JEMMY:
(Not to wrong Thee—nor th'Academy.)
That Fact, That Prank, so vilely base,
Thou brazen'dst out with thy bold Face,
To th'deathless Scandal of the Place.
To lay a Student Neck and Heels,
To sooth a Lust a WANTON feel's
To show his cross-grain'd Politicks,
By putting Kn---ves and Fools on Tricks:
Keenly, at Once, To sacrifice
The Honour of Academies;
And Safety too:—to his device.
And That all grounded, as you know,
On Pride, and rank Injustice too!

But, still How much, and to how many
Like Members of that Academy,
Their Student is indebted for
Civility's He must abhor;
Their monstrous deal of Over-Care,
He w'll tell—when He know's Who They are:

And name 'em all, respectively,
(For th'Good of all Posterity;)
To their eternal Infamy.

Tho' 't may be, now, He know's so much
That They, by Chance, may have a Touch.

Dum interim, in General,
He give's his due Thanks to 'em all.
But how great Thanks Those ought to be,
You'll, in The Sequel, quickly see.

Then, For an Arch-R---g---e and Oppressor
Give me The lame and white Professor,
Since, For a smart seer'd Boutefeu,
D'ent're Tous il Me plait le Plus.
(As Fid love's Ingenuity,
Tho' in his greatest Enemy,
Even in Tricks of Roguery.)
But, for all this Ingenuousness,
He love's not Rogues for Roguishness,
But love's les Tours de leur Finesse.

And This was He—The Rector sent,
To tend his Student (for a Feint)
With a bamboosling Compliment.

For This came not, as, vulgarly
Do other Doctors:—(for a Fee;)
But Here's The Rogu'ry o'n't,—He w'd still
Came Gratis—'gainst his Patient's Will.

To make Folks think his Case was such
'T requir'd a Doctor very much.

Which so much favour'd their Report
Of's being Mad—It seem'd Proof for't.

Then Guarding Him still, Night and Day,
Made Folks believe what e're They w'd say;
And none suspect 'em of foul Play.

While, all this while, their Student was
As well in's Mind as ever, (Poz:)
Nor, as to's Body, cou'd He find
That was less healthful than his Mind;
(That all their Farce was but a Blind.
For This same very Man, when sent to,
Refus'd to come—to Th'Man He went to
Without his sending for Him;—Sure
The Doctor meant some private Cure,
Some quick Dispatch, or something Nought,
That gave The Patient such a Thought
It made Him take The Care He ought.

May then such Chaps have Thanks deserv'd:
Whose farther Favours be observ'd.

Fid then, return'd from's Expedition,
Soon was attended by Physician:
With proferr'd Services, and such
The Fidler did n't like too much.

For soon He found, from his fond Yearning,
He wanted to employ his Learning,
And, strait, to fall to Guinea-Earning.

So wav'd The Doctor's Courtesys,
Yet prais'd his Generositys:
To come—unsent for—without Fees.
Heer Doctor finding his Pretence
(For all his Cloaking) gave Offence,
Retire's, as modest Man of Sense.
Taking his Leave with Complaisance,
But faltring—as half in a Trance:
Thus, with a Counter-Compliment,
Away The balk'd Professor went.
Yet fill'd The Student with Suspicion
Some sent Him that wou'd pay th'Physician.
For, Through his Window, hush as Mouse,
Fid saw He daily came to th'House:
But slyly slipt in Holes, below,
That his poor Student might n't know;
Nor e'en suspect his great Pains-Taking
To prepare Him e'en Kookje-Bakking.

However, in a day or two
Up come's a Mongrel Boutefeu,
With a foul Dose in a fine Glass,
And Clack of Cant—To skreen what 'twas.

But Fid suspecting Treachery,
(Tho' He h'd not found it actually)
Wav'd his All-feign'd Civility.

Nor wou'd He, tho' press't o'er and o'er,
Once Taste it—upon any Score.

This Balking, in an unexpected
Manner, The Schemes They had erected,
The brisk Complotters much dejected.

But Fid's kind Doctor had the Hope, yet,
To coax Him—To take down his Opiate:
Cou'd it be done by some Deceit,
So finely palm'd Fid might not see't:
And given as a Compliment
Of Beer, a Present—to Him sent.

And, so 'twas down, without his Knowing,
'Twas to be told—(with Scrapes and Bowing)
“The Done was to the Doctor owing.
Who sent it by another Hand,
A R---g---e and Fool at his Command:
That brought it with a fawning Air,
“The greatest Rarity! He w'd Swear:
Nicknam'd, forsooth, “The finest Beer
“In all that Town, or any where;
“A Present sent Him (To coax faster)
“From his good Friend d'Heer Bourge-Meester.
“Which He, in meer kind Compliment,
“To's Friend The Fidler wou'd present:
“So brought Him o' 't, in friendly Haste,
“Of the first Bottle just a Taste.

“Not doubting that He wou'd approve
“Of what The Grandees All so love.

Thus ush'ring it, in a figur'd Glass,
With glib Harangue from Whom it was,
Back'd with arch Fibs and stiff Grimace;
The Puppy prest, with Affectation,
What Fid refus'd—for Preservation.

As He'd conceiv'd a just Suspicion,
From th'Slipping in of that Physician.

But—Had He chanc'd t'have seiz'd The Glass,
And so discover'd what it was,
While Listning to that Vill---n's Prate,
He h'd forc'd it through his saucy Pate:
For Telling Him such Lies to's Face,
With an Intent so vilely base.

That perjur'd Sc---d---rel, Mongrel Master,
That so work'd up Fid's (forg'd) Disaster;
And brought this Opiate—To kill faster.
Who by his Lies (call'd Deposition)
(And back'd therein by br---b'd Physician,)
With th'Help of Sets of many more,
(That lend a Hand, on any Score
Wherein their Party-Cause's concern'd;)
And Pens---n'rs, long since suborn'd,

Impos'd on honest Gentlemen;
That little thought They'd swear for Gain:
And prostitute their Consciences,
By Taking Br---b---s to swear Offences:
To blind the Just—by sham Pretences.

And that vile fulsome Slut his Wife,
(A Jade that match'd The R---g---e to th'Life)
Feeling the Pleasure of the Pence
Attainable by Impudence,
And a Case-hardn'd Conscience,
Resolving to earn B---tish Gold;
At Once in Perj---ry grew bold.
And outdid, in her Protestations,
All her Friend Lucifer's Relations.
Surpass'd the Beadles vile Directions:
So swell'd She with their G---ld-Infections.
For, full of venal Impudence,
She blasphem'd Truth, and choak't all Sense.
(Which She'll think on, when She goe's hence:)

Such Evidence as this, Then, (sure,)
Can swear a Madman want's a Cure;
And prove stark Madness where there's none.
For 'tis but swearing 't, and its done.

Thus R---gue Professors shew'd their Sense,
By Sets of ready Evidence,
On Oath at Will, to bring in Pence.
For such like Witnesses abound,
To serve Prof---s'rs so profound;
That work, like Moles, safe under Ground.

Whereby They'll make, As They h've design'd,
You're in, or else out of your Mind:
To have you, when They will, confin'd.

By which, and Privilege, They may
Plague Students—(and without Gainsay)
Till They've made any Man away.

Provided it be closely done:
(And, sure, such R---g---es know Tricks, or None.)

Nor can The Laws there interfere,
(However They may be severe,)
Will but the Rector once declare
His Student's under his own Care.

So b---be but well this frank't R---g---s Clan,
And you may take off any Man;
By Party-Ch---ts and close Chic---ne.
Ha's He been so impolitick
As to become Academick.
Whence, Inquisition-like, They skreen
All Evidence from being seen.

Whence, for all Mischief They'll have done,
They've Vouchers stanch, To bring it on:
Which once effected, They're conceal'd,
That to th'Accus'd They're ne're reveal'd.

Tho' legal Treatment and due Care
They'll fondly boast of ev'ry where:
While, any Day, for dirty Work
(That wou'd be scrupled by a Turk)
They're Sets of Evidence for Blinds;
(Dabs at Bamboosling honest Minds:)
To carry on their vile Designs.

This you may think, perhaps, a Fiction,
But We can give you, for Conviction;
The Student's Ruin and Affliction.

Ay, And we'll give you something more,
Th'Italians tell us on this Score:
“Che'l Ipocrita è Fratello
“Del lagrimoso Crocodillo;
“E dòve e lècito Amassàre
“V'e, Anchè, de Saccheggiàre.

This give's you whence These Chaps design'd
To plunder Goods To Cure a Mind.
For callous R---gues, thus prostituted,
(While They're for honest Men reputed,
Play Tricks in s'advantageôus Light,
That all The wrong They do's thought Right.
Whence Learning, e're so great, at best is
Thus misappli'd, but Magna Pestis;
Whereby They lead Folks by the Nose;
Passing for Friends to whom They're Foes:
(And sure These Chaps are some of Those.)

Thus They lay Th---ves behind The Hedge,
Yet Advocates for Privilege:
Whence They and all their impious Elves
Can still play Tricks, and skreen Themselves:
While Gold will make their Minds to bow,
As Fire doe's green Wood, any how.

That, fee 'em but, you may proceed
Just as you will—They'll give no Heed:
So, for Connivance you'll but bleed.

(And this is what The Fidler saw,
Long before e're He felt their Paw
Trampling on Students Right and Law.)

And all done by their Privileges,
That to their Roguerys are Hedges.
That skreen 'em from Examination,
On many a most just Occasion,
To th'Hazard and Shame of the Nation.
For, 'xempted from The civil Power,
They dare insult it ev'ry Hour:
Not openly, we own, but yet
They h've Ways are sure To do the Feat.
Tho' snug and close that Few may see't.
And so 't be done effectually
What Matter how clandestinely?

Nay, by their playing Tricks in Private,
They further much all Aims They drive at.

As Thus—(From a Mis-Calculation,)
There Strangers come for Education:
Supposing it a friendly Nation;
Till, by a Set of Partisans
They're deem'd Foes—both to Them and Clans;

But, fix't in Academick Roll,
(To Th'Fidler a most fatal Scroll:)
Find Themselves hamper'd to The Soul.
For Academick-Privilege
Ha's rotten Stakes through all The Hedge,
When Students want it for a Pledge.

For, while with Franchises They're flamm'd,
They're but Hood-wink't, and grosly bamm'd.
To have Excise-free Beer and Wine
Oh!—There's a Privilege!—That's fine.

But, while with Trifles They're trepann'd,
They loose th'Protection of the Land.

The Party then pick's up some Spark,
Too bright for Workers in the Dark:
That, for the Good of Common-Weal,
Divulge's Truths They wou'd conceal.
Secure's Him too before They bark,
Then fix Him; up a Party-Mark:
And truss Him up in any dark
Hen-Roost They please to pick out for Him:
That done—They value no Laws nor Him.

They h've Privilege enough to stand
Bluff,—and insult all Laws o'th' Land;
Because He's in the Rector's Hand.

Then, with due Secresy, with Ease
They can Dispatch Him as They please.

For Magistrates can't interfere
(Th'Acàdemy's ensconc'd so, Here)
With Students under Rector's Care:
Tho', same Time, Beadles Rectors are.

Here's The main Stake of all their Hedge:
They'll play the R---gue by Privilege.
Then, To detain Him,—Cry “He's mad:
“And that his Case is very bad;
“For which They're taking all due Care,
And, if They're question'd home, They'll swear:
Or (what's equivalent esteem'd,
From Men so consciencious deem'd)
They'll clap their Hands upon their Breast,
And roll their Eyes with, “I protest
“'Tis so:—Thus gravely palm their Jest.

Now, We say, “Who will swear will lie.
And then, The Fidler cant tell why
He that will poyson for a Bribe
Mayn't gulp an Oath, To save a Jibe.

To cast a Mist before their Eyes,
When Great Ones wou'd be made too wise
In Tricks They secretly devise.

When by an unsuspected Lie
He readily may fortify
Th'Opinion of's Integrity.

Their Student, then, if once decreed
To be Slam-clàm tipp't off with Speed;
(As being a Malignant found,
That blow's The Skits They're playing round:
(Purposely to corrupt The Sound.)
Must be confin'd:—on smooth Pretences,
That They may bring Him to his Senses.
By METHODS, and so well conceal'd,
They never are to be reveal'd:
Without eternal Loss of Credit
Among all Partisans that hear it.

As well as Loss of Br---bes and P---sions:
As no more fit for their Intentions.
Never hereafter To be trusted
By that grand Party They h've digusted.

(Because They'll soon blow up the Wicked
That can't do Mischief—and keep't Secret.)

There, Then He's kept till doctor'd Dead;
Fatigu'd to Death—Or p---soned.

Now What, in all This, can you find
But They can do,—when They've a Mind,
By any Student They may have?
(Howe're his Friends or He may rave.)
Then i'n't A STUDENT (pray) A SLAVE?

Burghers enjoy the Laws o'th' Land;
Students are in The Rector's Hand.

And, when Br---b---s blind Him and's Assessors,
There's a Monop'ly of Oppressors.
And then NO STUDENT's SAFE: You'll say Sirs.