Occasional Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

In those blest Days of Jubilee,
When Pious Charles set England free
From Canting, and Hypocrisy;
Most graciously, to all restoring
Their antient Privilege, of Whoring;
There liv'd, but 'tis no matter where,
The Son of an old Cavalier:
Of antient Lineage was the Squire,
A Man of mettle, and of fire;
Clean-shap'd, well-limb'd, black-ey'd, and tall,
Made a good Figure at a Ball,
And only wanted Wherewithal.

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His Pension was ill-paid, and strait,
Full many a Loyal Hero's Fate:
Often half starv'd, and often out
At Elbows, an hard Case, no doubt.
Sometimes perhaps a lucky Main
Prudently manag'd in Long-Lane,
Repair'd the thred-bare Beau again;
And now and then some secret Favours,
The kind Returns of pious Labours,
Enrich'd the strong, and vig'rous Lover,
His Honour liv'd a while in Clover.
For (to say truth) it is but just,
Where all things are decay'd but Lust,
That Ladys of maturer Ages,
Give Citron Water, and good Wages.

Thus far Tom Wild had made a shift,
And got good Helps at a dead lift;
But John, his humble meagre Slave,
One Foot already in the Grave,

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Hide-bound as one of Pharaoh's Kine,
With good Duke Numps was forc'd to dine:
Yet still the thoughtful serious Elf,
Wou'd not be wanting to himself;
Bore up against both Tide and Wind,
Turn'd ev'ry Project in his Mind,
And each Expedient weigh'd, to find
A Remedy in this Distress.
Some God, (nay Sir, suppose no less,
For in this hard and knotty Case,
T'employ a God is no Disgrace;
Tho' Mercury be sent from Jove,
Or Iris wing it from above)
Some God, I say, inspir'd the Knave,
His Master and himself to save.

As both went supperless to Bed
One Night (first scratching of his Head)
“Alas! (quoth John) Sir, 'tis hard Fare
“To suck one's Thumbs, and live on Air;

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“To reel from Pillar unto Post,
“An empty Shade, a walking Ghost;
“To hear one's Guts make piteous Moan,
“Those worst of Duns, and yet not one,
“One mouldy Scrap to satisfy
“Their craving Importunity.
“Nay—Good your Honour please to hear,
(And then the Varlet drop'd a Tear)
“A Project form'd in this dull Brain,
“Shall set us all a-drift again;
“A Project, Sir, nay, let me tell ye,
“Shall fill your Pockets, and my Belly.
“Know then, Old Gripe is dead of late,
“Who purchas'd at an easy Rate,
“Your Mannor-House, and fine Estate.
“Nay, stare not, Sir—by—'tis true
“The Devil for once has got his due:
“The Rascal has left ev'ry Penny,
“To his old Maiden Sister Jenny;

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“Go, clasp the Doudy in your Arms,
“Nor want you Bread, tho' she want Charms:
“Cajole the dirty Drab, and then
“The Man shall have his Mare again;
“Clod-Hall is yours, your House, your Rents,
“And all your Lands, and Tenements.
“Faith, John, (said he) (then lick'd his Chops)
“This Project gives indeed some Hopes:
“But cursed hard the Terms, to marry,
“To stick to one, and never vary;
“And that One old, and ugly too,
“Frail Mortals tell me what to do?
“For that (said John) trust me, my Treat
“Shan't be one ill-dress'd Dish of Meat;
“Let but your Honour be my Guest,
“Variety shall crown the Feast.
“'Tis done, (reply'd Tom Wild) 'tis done,
“The Flag hangs out, the Fort is won;

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“Ne'er doubt my vigorous Attacks,
“Come to my Arms, my Sycorax;
“Bold in thy Right we mount our Throne,
“And all the Island is our own.

Well—forth they rode both Squire and John;
Here might a florid Bard make known,
His Horse's Virtues, and his own;
A thousand Prodigies advance,
Retailing every Circumstance.
But I, who am not over-nice,
And always love to be concise,
Shall let the courteous Reader guess
The Squire's Accoutrements, and Dress.

Suppose we then, the gentle Youth
Laid at her Feet, all Love, all Truth;

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Haranguing it, in Verse and Prose,
A Mount her Forehead white with Snows,
Her Cheeks the Lilly, and the Rose;
Her Iv'ry Teeth, her Coral Lips
Her well-turn'd Ears, whose Ruby Tips
Afford a thousand Compliments,
Which he, fond Youth, profusely vents:
The pretty Dimple in her Chin,
The Den of Love, who lurks within.
But oh! the Lustre of her Eyes,
Nor Stars, nor Moon, nor Sun suffice,
He vows, protests, raves, sinks, and dies.
Much of her Breasts he spoke, and Hair,
In Terms most elegant, and rare;
Call'd her the Goddess he ador'd,
And in Heroick Fustian soar'd.
For tho' the Youth cou'd well explain
His Mind, in a more humble Strain;

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Yet Ovid, and the Wits agree,
That a true Lover's Speech shou'd be
In Rapture, and in Simile.
Imagine now, all Points put right,
The Fiddles, and the Wedding-Night;
Each noisy Steeple rock'd with Glee,
And ev'ry Bard sung merrily:
Gay Pleasure wanton'd unconfin'd,
The Men all drunk, the Women kind;
Clod-Hall did ne'er so fine appear,
Floating in Posset, and Strong Beer.

Come, Muse, thou slattern House-wife tell,
Where's our Friend John? I hope he's well;
Well! Ay, as any Man can be,
With Susan in the Gallery.
Su. was a Lass buxom, and tight,
The Chamber-Maid, and Favourite;
Juicy and young, just fit for Man,
Thus the sweet Dialogue began.

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“Lard Sir (quoth Su) how brisk, how gay,
“How spruce our Master look'd to-day?
“I'm sure no King was e'er so fine,
“No Sun more gloriously can shine.
“Alas (my Dear) all is not Gold
“That glisters, as I've read of old,
“And all the Wise and Learned say,
“The best is not without allay.
“Well, Master John, name if you can
“A more accomplish'd Gentleman.
“Beside (else may I never thrive)
“The best good-natur'd Squire alive.
John shrugg'd and shook his Head. “Nay sure
“You by your looking so demure
“Have learnt some secret Fault; if so,
“Tell me Good John, nay prithee do,
“Tell me I say, I long to know.
“Safe as thy Gold in thy strong Box,
“This Breast the dark Deposit locks,

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“These Lips no Secrets shall reveal.
“Well—let me first affix my Seal:
Then kiss'd the soft obliging Fair.
“But hold—now I must hear you swear,
“By all your Virgin Charms below,
“No Mortal e'er this Tale shall know.
She swore, then thus the cunning Knave,
With Look most politick, and grave
Proceeds. “Why—faith and troth, dear Su.
“This Jewel has a Flaw, 'tis true;
“My Master's gen'rous, and all that,
“Not faulty, but unfortunate.
“Why will you keep one in suspence?
“Why teaze one thus? Have Patience.
“The Youth has Failings, there's no doubt,
“And who (my Suky) is without?
“But shou'd you tell—nay that I dread—
“By Heav'n, and by my Maidenhead—
“Now speak, speak quick. He who denies,
“Those pouting Lips, those roguish Eyes,

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“Must sure be more than Man—then know,
“(My Dearest) since you'll have it so;
“My Master Wild not only talks
“Much in his Sleep, but also walks;
“Walks many a Winter Night alone,
“This way and that, up Stairs and down:
“Now if disturb'd, if by Surprize
“He's rouz'd, and Slumbers quit his Eyes;
“Lord, how I tremble! how I dread
“To speak it, thrice beneath the Bed,
“Alas! to save my Life I fled:
“And twice behind the Door I crept,
“And once out of the Window leapt.
“No raging Bedlam just got loose,
“Is half so mad, about the House
“Frantick he runs; each Eye-Ball glares,
“He raves, he foams, he wildly stares;
“The Family before him flies,
“Whoe'er is overtaken dies.

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“Opiates, and breathing of a Vein,
“Scarce settle his distemper'd Brain,
“And bring him to himself again.
“But if not cross'd, if let alone
“To take his Frolick, and be gone;
“Soon he returns from whence he came,
“No Lamb more innocent, and tame.

Thus having gain'd her Point, to bed
In haste the flick'ring Gipsy fled;
The pungent Secret in her Breast
Gave such sharp Pangs, she cou'd not rest:
Prime'd, charg'd, and cock'd, her next Desire
Was to present, and to give fire.
Sleepless the tortur'd Susan lay,
Tossing, and tumbling every way,
Impatient for the Dawn of Day.
So labours in the sacred Shade,
Full of the God, the Delphick Maid:

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So Wind in Hypocondries pent,
Struggles and heaves to find a Vent;
In Lab'rinths intricate it roars,
Now downward sinks, then upward soars;
Th' uneasy Patient groans in vain,
No Cordials can relieve his Pain;
'Till at the Postern Gate, enlarg'd,
The bursting Thunder is discharg'd.
At last the happy Hour was come,
When call'd into her Lady's Room;
Scarce three Pins stuck into her Gown,
But out it bolts, and all is known.
Nor idle long the Secret lies,
From Mouth to Mouth improv'd it flies,
And grows amain in Strength and Size:
For Fame at first of Pigmy Birth,
Walks cautiously on Mother Earth;
But soon (as antient Bards have said)
In Clouds the Gyant hides her Head.

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To Council now the Gossips went,
Madam herself was President;
Th' Affair is banded pro and con,
Much Breath is spent, few Conquests won.
At length Dame Hobb, to end the Strife,
And Madam Blouse the Parson's Wife,
In this with one Consent agree,
That since th' Effect was Lunacy
If wake'd, it were by much the best,
Not to disturb him in the least:
Ev'n let him ramble if he please,
Troth, 'tis a comical Disease;
The worst is to himself, when cold
And shiv'ring he returns, then fold
The Vagrant in your Arms; he'll rest
With Pleasure on your glowing Breast.
Madam approv'd of this Advice,
Issu'd her Orders in a trice;
That none henceforth presume to stir,
Or thwart th' unhappy Wanderer.

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John, when his Master's Knock he heard,
Soon in the Dressing-Room appear'd,
Archly he look'd, and slily leer'd.
What Game? (says Wild) Oh! never more,
Pheasants, and Partridge in great store;
I wish your Ammunition last:
And then reveal'd how all had pass'd.
Next thought it proper to explain
His Plot, and how he laid his Train:
The Coast is clear, Sir, go in Peace,
No Dragon guards the Golden Fleece.
Here, Muse, let sable Night advance,
Describe her State with Elegance;
Around her dark Pavilion spread
The Clouds, with Poppies crown her Head:
Note well her Owls, and Batts obscene,
Call her an Æthiopian Queen;
Or if you think 'twill mend my Tale,
Call her a Widow with her Veil:

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Of Specters, and Hobgoblins tell,
Or say 'twas Midnight, 'tis as well.
Well then—'twas Midnight, as was said,
When Wild starts upright in his Bed,
Leaps out, and without more ado,
Takes in his Room a turn or two;
Opening the Door, soon out he stalks,
And to the next Apartment walks;
Where on her Back there lay poor Su.
Alas! Friend John, she dreamt of you.
Wake'd with the Noise, her Master known,
By Moon-Light, and his Brocade Gown,
Frighted she dares not scream, in Bed
She sinks, and down she pops her Head;
The Curtains gently drawn, he springs
Between the Sheets, then closely clings.
Now Muse, relate what there he did;
Hold, Impudence—it must be hid—
He did—as any Man wou'd do
In such a Case—Did he not, Su?

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Then up into the Garret flies,
Where Joan, and Dol, and Betty lies;
A Leash of Lasses all together,
And in the Dog-Days—in hot Weather;
Why Faith 'twas hard—he did his best,
And left to Providence the rest.
Content the passive Creatures lie,
For who in Duty cou'd deny?
Was Non-Resistance ever thought
By modern Casuists a Fault?
Were not her Orders strict and plain?
All strugg'ling, dangerous and vain?
Well, down our Younker trips again;
Much wishing, as he reel'd along,
For some rich Cordial warm and strong.
In Bed he quickly tumbled then,
Nor wake'd next Morn till after Ten.
Thus Night by Night, he led his Life,
Blessing all Females but his Wife;

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Much Work upon his hands there lay,
More Bills were drawn than he cou'd pay;
No Lawyer drudg'd so hard as he,
In Easter Term, or Hillary;
But Lawyers labour for their Fee:
There no Self-Interest or Gain,
The Pleasure ballances the Pain.
So the Great Sultan walks among
His Troop of Lasses Fair, and Young:
So the Town-Bull in Opentide,
His lowing Lovers by his side,
Revels at large in Nature's Right,
Curb'd by no Law, but Appetite;
Frisking his Tail, he 'roves at pleasure,
And knows no Stint, and keeps no Measure.

But now the ninth revolving Moon,
(Alas! it came an Age too soon;
Curse on each hasty fleeting Night)
Some odd Discoveries brought to light.

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Strange Timpanies the Women seize,
An Epidemical Disease;
Madam herself with these might pass
For a clean shape'd, and taper Lass.
'Twas vain to hide th' apparent Load,
For Hoops were not then A-la-mode;
Su. being question'd, and hard press'd,
Blubb'ring the naked Truth confess'd:
Were not your Orders most severe,
That none shou'd stop his Night-Career?
And who durst wake him? Troth not I,
I was not then prepar'd to die.
Well Su. (said she) thou shalt have Grace,
But then this Night, I take thy Place,
Thou mine, my Night-Clothes on thy Head,
Soon shall he leave thee safe in Bed:
Lie still, and stir not on thy Life,
But do the Pennance of a Wife;
Much Pleasure hast thou had, at last
'Tis proper for thy Sins to fast.

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This Point agreed, to Bed she went,
And Su. crept in, but ill-content:
Soon as th' accustom'd Hour was come,
The Younker sally'd from his Room,
To Su's Apartment whipt away,
And like a Lion seiz'd his Prey;
She clasp'd him in her longing Arms,
Sharp-set, she feasted on his Charms.
He did whate'er he cou'd, but more
Was yet to do, encore, encore!
Fain wou'd he now elope, she claspt
Him still, no Burr e'er stuck so fast.
At length the Morn with envious Light
Discover'd all, in what sad Plight
Poor Man he lay! abash'd, for shame
He cou'd not speak, not ev'n one lame
Excuse was left. She with a Grace
That gave new Beauties to her Face;

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And with a kind obliging Air,
(Always successful in the Fair)
Thus soon reliev'd him from Despair.
Ah! gen'rous Youth, pardon a Fault,
No foolish Jealousy has taught;
'Tis your own Crime, open as Day,
To your Conviction paves the Way.
Oh! might this Stratagem regain
Your Love! let me not plead in vain;
Something to Gratitude is due,
Have I not given All to you?
Tom star'd, look'd pale, then in great haste
Slipp'd on his Gown; yet thus at last
Spoke faintly, as amaz'd he stood,
I will (my Dear) be very Good.

Whoever has read Dryden's Tempest, alter'd from Shakespear, will need no Comment here.