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.