University of Virginia Library

CANTO III.

As there is something in a Face,
An Air, and a peculiar Grace,
Which boldest Painters cannot trace;
That more than Features, Shape, or Hair,
Distinguishes the happy Fair;
Strikes ev'ry Eye, and makes her known
A ruling Toast thro' all the Town:
So in each Action 'tis Success
That gives it all its Comeliness;
Guards it from Censure, and from Blame,
Brightens, and burnishes our Fame.
For what is Virtue, Courage, Wit,
In all Men, but a lucky Hit?
But, vice versâ, where this fails,
The wisest Conduct nought avails;
The Man of Merit, soon shall find
The World to prosp'rous Knaves inclin'd,
Himself the last of all Mankind.
Too true (poor Frank) this Thesis found,
Bankrupt, despoil'd, and run aground,
In Durance vile detain'd, and lost,
And all his mighty Projects crost:
With Grief and Shame at once opprest,
Tears swell his Eyes, and Sighs his Breast;
A poor, forlorn, abandon'd Rake,
Where shall he turn? what Measures take?
Betray'd, deceiv'd, and ruin'd quite,
By his own greedy Appetite;
He mourns his fatal Lust of Pelf,
And curses Fortune, and himself:
In Limbo pent would fain get free,
Importunate for Liberty.
So when the watchful hungry Mouse,
At midnight proling round the House,
Winds in a Corner toasted Cheese,
Glad the luxurious Prey to seize;
With Whiskers curl'd, and round black Eyes,
He meditates the luscious Prize,
Till caught, trapann'd, laments too late
The rigorous Decrees of Fate:
Restless his Freedom to regain,
He bites the Wire, and climbs in vain.
The wretched Captive thus distress'd,
His busy Thoughts allow no rest:
Fond on each Project to depend,
Kind Hope, his only Faithful Friend;
Odd Whimsys floating in his Brain,
He plots, contrives, but all in vain,
Approves, rejects, and thinks again.
As when the shipwreck'd Wretch is tost
From Wave to Wave, and almost lost,
Beat by the Billows from the Shore,
Returns half drown'd, and hugs once more
The friendly Plank he grasp'd before:
So Frank, when all Expedients fail,
To save his Carcase from the Jayl,
Eat up with Vermin, and with Care,
And almost sinking in Despair,
Resolves once more to make his Court
To his old Aunt, his last Resort:
Takes Pen in Hand, now writes, now tears,
Then blots his Paper with his Tears,
Ransacks his troubled Soul, to raise
Each tender Sentiment, and Phrase;
And ev'ry lame Excuse supplies
With artful Col'ring, and Disguise;
Kind to himself, lays all the blame
On Fortune, that Capricious Dame:
In short, informs her all was lost,
And sends it by the Penny-post.
Soon as the antient Nymph had read
The Fatal Scroll, she took her Bed,
Cold Palsies seize her trembling Head;
She groans, she sighs, she sobs, she smears
Her Spectacles, and Beard, with Tears;
Her Nose that wont to sympathize
With all th' O'erflowings of her Eyes,
Adown in Pearly Drops distils,
Th' united Stream each Chasm fills.
Geneva now, nor Nants will do,
Her Toothless Gums their hold let go;
And on the Ground, O fatal Stroke!
The short coæval Pipe is broke;
With Vapours choak'd, entranc'd she lies,
B---l---s, and prays, and f---ts, and dies.
But Sleep, that kind Restorative,
Recall'd her Soul, and bid her live;
With cooler Thoughts the Case she weigh'd,
And brought her Reason to her Aid.
Away she hobbles, and with speed
Resolves to see the Captive freed;
Wipe off this Stain, and foul Disgrace,
And vindicate her antient Race.
With her a Sage Director comes,
More weighty than a Brace of Plumbs,
A Good Man in the City Cant,
Where Cash, not Morals, makes the Saint.
T'improve a Genius so polite,
The clumsy Thing was dubb'd a Knight:
Fortune's chief Confident, and Friend,
Grown fat by many a Dividend;
And still her Favour he retains,
By want of Merit, and of Brains;
On her top Spoke sublime he sits,
The Jest, and Theme of sneering Wits:
For Fools in Fortune's Pill'ry plac'd,
Are mounted to be more disgrac'd.
This rich old Hunks, as Woodcock wise,
Was call'd the Younker to advise:
“Young Man (said he) refrain from Tears,
“While joyful Tydings bless thine Ears;
“Up, and be doing, Boy, and try
“To conquer Fate by Industry;
“For know that all of Mortal Race,
“Are born to Losses and Disgrace:
“Ev'n I broke twice, I, heretofore
“A Taylor despicably poor,
“In ev'ry Hole for shelter crept,
“On the same Bulk, botch'd, lous'd, and slept,
“With scarce one Penny to prepare
“A friendly Halter in Despair;
“My Credit like my Garment torn,
“Thread bare, and ragged, over-worn:
“But soon I patch'd it up again,
“These busy Hands, this working Brain,
“Ne'er ceas'd from Labour, Pain and Sweat,
“'Till Fortune smil'd, and I was Great.
“Now at each pompous City Feast,
“Who but Sir Tristram? ev'ry Guest
“Respectful bows. In each Debate,
“My Nod must give the Sentence weight:
“On me prime Ministers attend,
“And --- and A---by's my Friend:
“In Embrio each bold Project lies,
“'Till my consenting Purse supplies.
“This Hand—nay, do not think me vain,
“Soften'd the Swede, and humbled Spain.
“To me, the Fair whom all adore,
“Address their Pray'rs, and own my Pow'r;
“When the poor Toast by Break of Day,
“Has punted all her Gold away,
“Undress'd, and in her native Charms,
“She flies to these indulgent Arms;
“She curls each Dimple in her Face
“To win the good Sir Tristram's Grace;
“Offers her Brilliants with a Smile,
“That might an Anchoret beguile,
“And when my potent Aid is lent,
“Away the Dear One wheels content.
“He that can Money get, my Boy,
“Shall ev'ry other Good enjoy;
“Be rich, and ev'ry Boon receive,
“That Man can wish, or Heav'n can give.
“Now to the means (dear Youth) attend,
“By which thy Sorrows soon shall end:
“Thy good old Aunt resolves to bail
“Her hopeful Godson out of Jayl;
“But what is Freedom to the Poor?
“The Man, who begs from Door to Door
“Is Free, in lazy Wretchedness
“He lives, 'till Heav'n his Substance bless;
“But having learnt to Cog, and Chouse,
“To cut a Purse, or break a House,
“Then soon he mends his old Apparel,
“Eats boil'd, and roast, and taps his Barrel;
“Drinks double Bub, with all his might,
“And hugs his Doxy ev'ry Night:
“Thy sprightly Genius ne'er shall lie
“Depress'd by Want, and Penury;
“Go, with a prosp'rous merry Gale,
“To the South Seas advent'rous sail;
“Fat Plenty dwells on those rich Shores,
“Abundance opens all her Stores;
“Ingots, and Pearls, for Beads are sold,
“And Rivers glide on Sands of Gold;
“Profit, and Pleasure, hand in hand,
“Smile on the Fields, and bless the Land;
“The Swains unlabour'd Harvests reap,
“Fountains run Wine, and Whores are cheap.
“Fortune is always true and kind,
“Nor veers, as here, with ev'ry Wind;
“Not as in these penurious Isles,
“Retails her Blessings, and her Smiles;
“But deals by wholesale with her Friends,
“And gluts them with her Dividends.
“Then haste, set sail, the Ship's unmoor'd
“And waits to take thee now on board.”
The Youth o'er-joy'd this Project hears,
From his Flock-Bed his Head he rears,
And waters all his Rags with Tears.
In short, he took his Friend's Advice,
Pack'd up his Baggage in a trice;
Dancing for Joy, on board he flew,
With all Potosi in his view.