 | Miscellanies In Prose And Verse |  |
321
AN EPISTLE TO Mr. P---.
323
Disdain not P---, my Verse to hear,
Nor let low Doggrel shock your Ear;
Such Music's suited to our Times,
As Dutchmen love the Din of Chimes.
Let formal Fools, their Wisdom boast,
And talk like Hamlet to the Ghost;
'Tis ours to sing, and dress, and dance,
And in her Follies out-do France.
What tho' John Trot, at first appears
But awkward in his foreign Geers?
Tho' Solitaire, and Bag, and Cue ,
With milk-white Hose, and picked Shoe,
As ill his native Stiffness fit,
As Birth-day Suit some clumsy Cit?
Here's a mere Milk-sop, that's afraid
T'appear in modish Masquerade.
Old Britons knew nor Silk, nor Stuff,
And yet the Fops would paint their Buff;
Tho' not, as now the modern Trade is,
For Men to love to look like Ladies;
But 'twas to make the World afraid;
As some wear Broad-sword and Cockade.
Nor let low Doggrel shock your Ear;
Such Music's suited to our Times,
As Dutchmen love the Din of Chimes.
Let formal Fools, their Wisdom boast,
And talk like Hamlet to the Ghost;
'Tis ours to sing, and dress, and dance,
And in her Follies out-do France.
What tho' John Trot, at first appears
But awkward in his foreign Geers?
Tho' Solitaire, and Bag, and Cue ,
With milk-white Hose, and picked Shoe,
324
As Birth-day Suit some clumsy Cit?
Here's a mere Milk-sop, that's afraid
T'appear in modish Masquerade.
Old Britons knew nor Silk, nor Stuff,
And yet the Fops would paint their Buff;
Tho' not, as now the modern Trade is,
For Men to love to look like Ladies;
But 'twas to make the World afraid;
As some wear Broad-sword and Cockade.
From hence to me it seems most plain,
That Man was ever mighty Vain:
The Diff'rence lies but in the Ways,
How he shall quench his Thirst of Praise.
'Tis certain, what we Glory call,
Is mere Imagination all;
'Tis just as Times of Humours vary,
Now one thing, and then quite contrary.
When our Eighth Harry rul'd the Nation,
And Cudgel-playing was in Fashion:
'Twas Matter of most high Renown
To meet, and knock each other down:
And he was then esteem'd well-bred,
Who valu'd not a Broken-head.
Oh! what a Glory to that Land,
Whose King could best a Drubbing stand!
The Ladies doated on a Beau,
Clad in bright Steel, from Top to Toe:
How happy each to see her Knight
Return, half crippled from the Fight?
That Man was ever mighty Vain:
The Diff'rence lies but in the Ways,
How he shall quench his Thirst of Praise.
'Tis certain, what we Glory call,
Is mere Imagination all;
'Tis just as Times of Humours vary,
Now one thing, and then quite contrary.
When our Eighth Harry rul'd the Nation,
And Cudgel-playing was in Fashion:
'Twas Matter of most high Renown
To meet, and knock each other down:
And he was then esteem'd well-bred,
Who valu'd not a Broken-head.
Oh! what a Glory to that Land,
Whose King could best a Drubbing stand!
325
Clad in bright Steel, from Top to Toe:
How happy each to see her Knight
Return, half crippled from the Fight?
In pious Mary's righteous Days,
No more of those Bear-Garden Ways.
Religious Zeal at once surpriz'd us,
And Fire and Faggot civiliz'd us:
'Till good Elizabeth came in,
And brought us to our Wits again.
Then Essexes and Raleighs shone,
And Merit was well look'd upon.
Wise Burleigh showr'd his Plenty down,
And Arts and Arms adorn'd the Crown:
Ador'd at Home, Abroad rever'd,
At once both courted, lov'd and fear'd.
No more of those Bear-Garden Ways.
Religious Zeal at once surpriz'd us,
And Fire and Faggot civiliz'd us:
'Till good Elizabeth came in,
And brought us to our Wits again.
Then Essexes and Raleighs shone,
And Merit was well look'd upon.
Wise Burleigh showr'd his Plenty down,
And Arts and Arms adorn'd the Crown:
Ador'd at Home, Abroad rever'd,
At once both courted, lov'd and fear'd.
What Pity, that so bright a Day
Should see obscur'd her parting Ray!
But selfish Arts and Court-like Guile,
The common Nuisance of our Isle,
Did then, and will for ever show,
Some Weeds in best-till'd Lands will grow.
Should see obscur'd her parting Ray!
But selfish Arts and Court-like Guile,
The common Nuisance of our Isle,
Did then, and will for ever show,
Some Weeds in best-till'd Lands will grow.
Pacific James next trod the Stage,
To act the Sol'mon of the Age.
Oh! how well fitted for his Part,
Hung 'round with Logic King-craft Art,
And such like Implements of State,
Cut out to make a Nation Great!
Sagacious to look thro' Mankind,
And hidden Excellencies find;
So closely hid, none else saw any
In virtuous Car, or handsome Stenny!
But James, who to the Bottom sifted,
Cou'd soon find out how each was gifted.
Assisted by such Heads as these,
And safely lock'd within our Seas,
How he advanc'd Old Albion's Glory,
May easily be seen from Story:
Where you will find he was most great in
The Science of negotiating.
To act the Sol'mon of the Age.
326
Hung 'round with Logic King-craft Art,
And such like Implements of State,
Cut out to make a Nation Great!
Sagacious to look thro' Mankind,
And hidden Excellencies find;
So closely hid, none else saw any
In virtuous Car, or handsome Stenny!
But James, who to the Bottom sifted,
Cou'd soon find out how each was gifted.
Assisted by such Heads as these,
And safely lock'd within our Seas,
How he advanc'd Old Albion's Glory,
May easily be seen from Story:
Where you will find he was most great in
The Science of negotiating.
Of Charles's Times, least said is best,
All Politicks became a Jest:
While some for Kirk fight, some for Church,
Both Sides leave Morals in the Lurch,
And make Religion's grave Pretence,
A Cloak for want of common Sense:
'Till tir'd of Plund'ring, Canting, Praying,
Each Party still their Friends betraying;
Call home the murder'd Father's Son,
And end just where they first begun;
There, for a while, stock-still remain,
Till the old Game begins again.
What to infer from all these Rumbles,
These Follies, Skirmishes, and Jumbles,
But that Mankind a little varies,
Just from Vagaries to Vagaries?
Thus, Whims of Dress, and Whims of State
Possess, by Turns, the empty Pate;
And both from this, one Cause arise,
The Lust of seeming Fine, or Wise.
All Politicks became a Jest:
While some for Kirk fight, some for Church,
Both Sides leave Morals in the Lurch,
And make Religion's grave Pretence,
A Cloak for want of common Sense:
'Till tir'd of Plund'ring, Canting, Praying,
Each Party still their Friends betraying;
Call home the murder'd Father's Son,
And end just where they first begun;
327
Till the old Game begins again.
What to infer from all these Rumbles,
These Follies, Skirmishes, and Jumbles,
But that Mankind a little varies,
Just from Vagaries to Vagaries?
Thus, Whims of Dress, and Whims of State
Possess, by Turns, the empty Pate;
And both from this, one Cause arise,
The Lust of seeming Fine, or Wise.
The Bravo, of Romantick Taste,
Almanzor-like, lays Countries waste;
And hopes the World will be so civil,
Once more to deify the Devil.
True, he is mad, and does not know it;
But thinks it very fine, to shew it;
Proud, by as mighty Mischiefs done,
To rival Ammon's crack-brain'd Son:
And is he then less odd a Creature,
With Hero Airs, and Coward Nature?
Pleas'd to put in (so wise his Aim)
To Fool and Madman equal Claim;
Tho' he's at best but Sancho Pancha,
The 'Squire of Quixote de la Mancha.
Almanzor-like, lays Countries waste;
And hopes the World will be so civil,
Once more to deify the Devil.
True, he is mad, and does not know it;
But thinks it very fine, to shew it;
Proud, by as mighty Mischiefs done,
To rival Ammon's crack-brain'd Son:
And is he then less odd a Creature,
With Hero Airs, and Coward Nature?
Pleas'd to put in (so wise his Aim)
To Fool and Madman equal Claim;
Tho' he's at best but Sancho Pancha,
The 'Squire of Quixote de la Mancha.
328
The Knave profess'd, who laughs at all
That Stuff, which Blockheads Honour call,
Allows no other Good but Pelf,
And knows no Publick but himself;
Admiring Nature's wise Decree,
That all her Sons may plunder free:
Yet, when by pilf'ring all he can,
He comes to be a weighty Man,
He deems the World (so just his Pride is)
Must own him for an Aristides;
No Questions, Doubts, or Jokes can bear,
But keeps his Flatt'rers by the Year.
That Stuff, which Blockheads Honour call,
Allows no other Good but Pelf,
And knows no Publick but himself;
Admiring Nature's wise Decree,
That all her Sons may plunder free:
Yet, when by pilf'ring all he can,
He comes to be a weighty Man,
He deems the World (so just his Pride is)
Must own him for an Aristides;
No Questions, Doubts, or Jokes can bear,
But keeps his Flatt'rers by the Year.
They merit Fame, who highest prize it;
Such sure is he, who dearly buys it:
Did ever tawdry Suits sit ill
On one, who paid the Taylor's Bill?
Corruption is a venal Sin,
That kindly take Associates in;
And Bribery becomes deserving,
When it keeps honest Men from starving.
Then, what is all that mighty Stir,
About the Thing, call'd Character?
Since good or bad, 'tis much the same,
For some must praise, whilst others blame;
And he who pays to be commended,
Will always be the best attended.
So Faggots, at a Muster, tell,
Tho' they mayn't battle quite so well:
Most Things are just but as you take 'em,
And Good or Bad, as Customs make 'em.
In Rome's first Days, when paltry Huts
For Houses pass'd, with queer old Puts,
Roots, Nuts, and Acorns grac'd the Boards
Of Savages, call'd Roman Lords;
And Element, most pure and fine,
Was tip'd off clean, like good French Wine.
What wonder such poor Souls as these,
Ne'r dreamt of Life's Conveniencies;
Desir'd not Wealth, they never knew,
Nor spoke a Word, but what was true;
Return'd with Joy, when Wars were ended,
And till'd the Lands they late defended?
Such sure is he, who dearly buys it:
Did ever tawdry Suits sit ill
On one, who paid the Taylor's Bill?
Corruption is a venal Sin,
That kindly take Associates in;
And Bribery becomes deserving,
When it keeps honest Men from starving.
Then, what is all that mighty Stir,
About the Thing, call'd Character?
Since good or bad, 'tis much the same,
For some must praise, whilst others blame;
And he who pays to be commended,
Will always be the best attended.
329
Tho' they mayn't battle quite so well:
Most Things are just but as you take 'em,
And Good or Bad, as Customs make 'em.
In Rome's first Days, when paltry Huts
For Houses pass'd, with queer old Puts,
Roots, Nuts, and Acorns grac'd the Boards
Of Savages, call'd Roman Lords;
And Element, most pure and fine,
Was tip'd off clean, like good French Wine.
What wonder such poor Souls as these,
Ne'r dreamt of Life's Conveniencies;
Desir'd not Wealth, they never knew,
Nor spoke a Word, but what was true;
Return'd with Joy, when Wars were ended,
And till'd the Lands they late defended?
But had they liv'd in better Times,
To taste the Sweets of modern Crimes;
Had they but felt that Lust of Pow'r,
Like Thirst, increasing ev'ry Hour;
Or known the magick Force of Gold,
By which the World is bought and sold;
They had been wiser far, I trow,
And acted much as we do now.
How curious 'tis to see all Ages,
Produce their diff'rent Kind of Sages!
Philosophers, with Beards depending,
Their Lives in Search of Flea-traps spending:
And then again, the jovial Race
Of those, who think, and live apace;
Pursuing, with an equal Zeal,
The Welfare of the Common Weal;
Wrapt up in Visions, Whims, and Fancies,
All Heroes of their own Romances!
To taste the Sweets of modern Crimes;
Had they but felt that Lust of Pow'r,
Like Thirst, increasing ev'ry Hour;
Or known the magick Force of Gold,
By which the World is bought and sold;
They had been wiser far, I trow,
And acted much as we do now.
How curious 'tis to see all Ages,
Produce their diff'rent Kind of Sages!
330
Their Lives in Search of Flea-traps spending:
And then again, the jovial Race
Of those, who think, and live apace;
Pursuing, with an equal Zeal,
The Welfare of the Common Weal;
Wrapt up in Visions, Whims, and Fancies,
All Heroes of their own Romances!
The rough athletick Race of Tartars,
Who first eat up, then change, their Quarters,
Enjoy their Horse-Flesh, Dirt and Thieving,
As the politest Way of living:
Whilst Countries of a Taste refin'd,
To Arts of Peace and Sloth inclin'd;
In Pleasures spend their Days and Nights,
And live like arrant Sybarites.
Say, which is best then, you who can,
The savage or the polish'd Man;
Since Wisdom, Folly, Madness, Reason,
By Turns, are in, or out of Season?
I hold, that Logick best apply'd,
Which still maintains the strongest Side.
As Storms are said to clear the Air,
From noxious Vapours gathering there;
Why may not Scolding be as good,
To cleanse and purify the Blood?
And thus a little Alteration,
May serve as Physick to a Nation.
For should the World too well agree,
The Calm might turn to Lethargy.
Thus all Men first or last divide,
And every one must take his Side:
For as the Body's always best,
When not indulg'd in too much Rest:
So gentle stirring, still we find,
Is full as healthful to the Mind.
And happy 'tis, that Church and State,
Yield endless Matter of Debate;
And nothing e'er was yet so plain,
But may be argued o'er again.
Thus Arians, Sectaries, Socinians,
Are Football-players of Opinions;
Politic Schemes, and shrewd Conjectures,
Thus furnish Weekly useful Lectures;
And what to-day, seems past Dispute,
To-morrow, fails not to confute.
Who first eat up, then change, their Quarters,
Enjoy their Horse-Flesh, Dirt and Thieving,
As the politest Way of living:
Whilst Countries of a Taste refin'd,
To Arts of Peace and Sloth inclin'd;
In Pleasures spend their Days and Nights,
And live like arrant Sybarites.
Say, which is best then, you who can,
The savage or the polish'd Man;
Since Wisdom, Folly, Madness, Reason,
By Turns, are in, or out of Season?
I hold, that Logick best apply'd,
Which still maintains the strongest Side.
As Storms are said to clear the Air,
From noxious Vapours gathering there;
331
To cleanse and purify the Blood?
And thus a little Alteration,
May serve as Physick to a Nation.
For should the World too well agree,
The Calm might turn to Lethargy.
Thus all Men first or last divide,
And every one must take his Side:
For as the Body's always best,
When not indulg'd in too much Rest:
So gentle stirring, still we find,
Is full as healthful to the Mind.
And happy 'tis, that Church and State,
Yield endless Matter of Debate;
And nothing e'er was yet so plain,
But may be argued o'er again.
Thus Arians, Sectaries, Socinians,
Are Football-players of Opinions;
Politic Schemes, and shrewd Conjectures,
Thus furnish Weekly useful Lectures;
And what to-day, seems past Dispute,
To-morrow, fails not to confute.
Doubting is next to being Wise;
'Tis here, that all the Diff'rence lies,
Both are in Architecture skill'd,
One to pull down, and one to build:
But then there is more Art I own,
In building up, than pulling down:
So, where's the Wonder, if you find,
More Workmen of the latter Kind?
'Tis here, that all the Diff'rence lies,
Both are in Architecture skill'd,
One to pull down, and one to build:
332
In building up, than pulling down:
So, where's the Wonder, if you find,
More Workmen of the latter Kind?
Subjection never yet was good;
Too grating much to Flesh and Blood.
All Adam's Sons are born Coheirs,
And this round World in common theirs:
For whate'er human Laws pretend,
Nature's an universal Friend:
And as she makes Men Knaves, or Fools,
Leaves each to follow their own Rules;
Those still to cog, or filch, or flatter,
These to know nothing of the Matter;
Both happy, and alike conceited,
Of cheating, and of being cheated.
Since this is so, the Learned say,
'Tis arrant Nonsense to obey,
Unless the Jure be Divino,
Which best appear by Ready Rhino:
For tho' Men diff'rent Doctrines hold,
All own the Monarch on the Gold;
And many a Jack has left off snarling,
Convinc'd by Revolution Sterling.
What else is all Administration,
But being Steward to a Nation:
And Stewards, all good Men believe,
Should pay as fast as they receive:
For that's their Duty; Reason good;
Poundage being always understood.
Too grating much to Flesh and Blood.
All Adam's Sons are born Coheirs,
And this round World in common theirs:
For whate'er human Laws pretend,
Nature's an universal Friend:
And as she makes Men Knaves, or Fools,
Leaves each to follow their own Rules;
Those still to cog, or filch, or flatter,
These to know nothing of the Matter;
Both happy, and alike conceited,
Of cheating, and of being cheated.
Since this is so, the Learned say,
'Tis arrant Nonsense to obey,
Unless the Jure be Divino,
Which best appear by Ready Rhino:
For tho' Men diff'rent Doctrines hold,
All own the Monarch on the Gold;
And many a Jack has left off snarling,
Convinc'd by Revolution Sterling.
What else is all Administration,
But being Steward to a Nation:
333
Should pay as fast as they receive:
For that's their Duty; Reason good;
Poundage being always understood.
One Point in Life, all Diff'rence makes,
He that can give, and he that takes:
And he that gives, must be allow'd
Superior to the begging Crowd.
All other Merit, one may doubt of;
But those, one can get Money out of,
Are wise and good, as Man can be,
And prove it most demonstrably.
The surest Pledge of honest Dealing
'Twixt Friends, must be a Fellow-feeling:
And the best Way to understand,
Is by some Token in the Hand;
Which makes all Matters wond'rous clear,
Repeat it but four Times a Year.
He that can give, and he that takes:
And he that gives, must be allow'd
Superior to the begging Crowd.
All other Merit, one may doubt of;
But those, one can get Money out of,
Are wise and good, as Man can be,
And prove it most demonstrably.
The surest Pledge of honest Dealing
'Twixt Friends, must be a Fellow-feeling:
And the best Way to understand,
Is by some Token in the Hand;
Which makes all Matters wond'rous clear,
Repeat it but four Times a Year.
Of all the various Aims of Life,
Which set the busy World at Strife;
The End has still been much alike,
'Tis Grandeur, Pow'r, or Pence, that strike.
Our Age, to prudent Schemes inclin'd,
Has fix'd upon the golden Kind:
The rest are idle, fleeting Things;
Huzza's of Mobs, or Smiles of Kings.
But solid Gold, each Man confides in,
'Tis this alone can bring all Sides in.
Dispute and jangle, tho' you may,
First one Thing, then another say,
As either suits Occasion best;
Which brings in most, 'tis that's the Text.
For who but Fools e'er made a Pother;
Or talk'd of helping one another?
Stale Topicks fit for those alone,
Who have no better Doctrines known.
True Wisdom lies in Heaps of Pelf;
True social Love is Love of Self:
For, reason e'er so long, 'tis plain,
All modern Orthodoxy's vain.
Which set the busy World at Strife;
The End has still been much alike,
'Tis Grandeur, Pow'r, or Pence, that strike.
Our Age, to prudent Schemes inclin'd,
Has fix'd upon the golden Kind:
334
Huzza's of Mobs, or Smiles of Kings.
But solid Gold, each Man confides in,
'Tis this alone can bring all Sides in.
Dispute and jangle, tho' you may,
First one Thing, then another say,
As either suits Occasion best;
Which brings in most, 'tis that's the Text.
For who but Fools e'er made a Pother;
Or talk'd of helping one another?
Stale Topicks fit for those alone,
Who have no better Doctrines known.
True Wisdom lies in Heaps of Pelf;
True social Love is Love of Self:
For, reason e'er so long, 'tis plain,
All modern Orthodoxy's vain.
| Miscellanies In Prose And Verse | |