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Had I Mouths a whole Hundred, an Hundred loud Tongues,
Or the Voice of the Warrior, or Vol's Iron Lungs;
Yet I could not unerring the Beauties recite,
Who in Bumpers were crown'd—happy Toasts of this Night.

To my Aid learned Ottor! thy Eloquence bring,
To support a weak Goth, and assist him to sing.
Long ago thy great Talents from far I discerned:
Let it profit me something to say, Thou art learned.
Let me change into Rhyme thy mellifluous Prose,
Which thou usest in Senates to silence thy Foes:
Which thy Table supplies with new Quirks and old Jests,
To instruct or divert thy good Clients and Guests.
Yet alas! who, that saw me in illis diebus,
At a Banquet with Clio and Bacchus and Phœbus,
And beheld thee in Brogues at the Feet of thy Sire,
With a Bowl of Skim-milk, by a smoaky Turf fire,
Could without some horoscopal Knowledge divine,
That the Bard should drink Water, when thou should'st drink Wine?
That the Fates should chip out, not regarding the Stock,
Both a Doctor and Judge from a Carpenter's Block?

And, O thou, great Iocco, whose Logic I dread,
Who canst make an Ass speak, or perplex a God's Head,
Since alas! by thy Counsel I'm plunder'd and Ousted,
Be appeas'd; and insult me no more in the Frow's stead.
Nor my Incense disdain, while I'm bowing so low;
Nor refuse a good Fee, tho' Sir Piercy's my Foe.
Nor demur to my Song, or declare me unjust,
Or aver that I've taken my Tale upon Trust;
Nor implead an old Bard, whom a King has respected;
Nor defend an old Toast, whom the Gods have rejected.
So Ierne's rich Suitors shall ever supply thee;
And allow thee those Talents, which Britain's deny thee.
Till embarrass'd no more by the Length of a Brief,
Thou impurpled sit high, and be titled a Chief:
Or increasing in Wealth, and unaw'd by Appeals,
Be prefer'd to the Prime, and succeed to the Seals.
Then the Donnybrook Naiads thy Temples shall grace;
And shall lengthen thy Wig, and thy Words, and thy Face:
While the Birds of Minerva resound thy Success;
And, to please thee, ev'n I Interline an Address.

Now the Glasses were match'd to the Breadth of an Hair,
That the Gods might be just to themselves and the Fair;
They began (as 'twas meet) with the Houshold of Jove;
With the Goddesses all, and Court Ladies above.
But they hail'd the great Queen, who gives Charms to the rest,
Still Herself of all Beings the Fairest confest.
Then to Thetis they fill'd, and the Nymphs of her Train,
Who inchant with their Voices, and smooth the rough Main;
Merry Nereids, by Venus well fashion'd to please:
For the Goddess remembers she sprung from the Seas.
Next are toasted the Naiads, who murmuring glide,
Or in Rivers roll rapid, where Urn Gods reside.
Then the tall Hamadryads, who sport in the Groves:
Nor the Eyes of the Sun can discover their Loves.
Then the little bright Donnas, who flit thro' the Air:
Not a Silph was forgot, who was deem'd to be fair.
Then in order they drink all the Muses and Graces,
And the Dames of their Court, who had Shapes and young Faces.
A Dispute here arose, if they should not pass by
Both the Virgins of Vesta, and Damsels of Dy;
Of a Converse too chaste to allow a small hint;
And wou'd kill a poor Man for but looking asquint.
But the Doubt was soon clear'd. Mars swore they were Prudes;
Nor so squeamish were found, when alone in the Woods:
That he knew, the pale Goddess, so modest, and nice,
Ev'ry Night to Endymion stole down in Disguise.

Thus the merry Gods quaff'd, much commending the Wine;
And debating with Freedom of Females divine.
Till at length having number'd high Dames of this sort all,
They vouchsaf'd to descend unto Toasts that were Mortal.
For (as Ovid records) they are often so good,
To impress their own Image on plain Flesh and Blood.
O'er the Earth they range wide, ev'ry Country and Town,
All Assemblies and Temples, and Baths of Renown;
Great Seraglios, ungallant, impervious Abodes,
For a Tyrant reserv'd—or invisible Gods;
Where the Flowers of Beauty ungather'd decay,
And the fairest of Mortals are kill'd by delay;
Or alas! with one Man Joys indelicate prove,
Unexperienc'd in Friendship, unpractis'd in Love.
But the Topers dwell long in the Courts of the West;
Which are sacred to Venus, by Venus are blest.
Here her Younker his Train of Artillery brings,
To demolish the Pride of uncircumcis'd Kings:
Nor is Youth unemploy'd, nor of Beauty is waste,
Nor are here Great Sultanas compell'd to be Chaste.

Thus enquiring, they toasted all Names they could hit on,
From remotest Japan to the Isles of Great Britain.
And as dignify'd thus were the Daughters of Earth,
So the Gods they inspir'd, and enliven'd their Mirth.

But unjustly lest proud Hypercriticks accuse,
Or untruths indecorous impute to the Muse;
(For so much cou'd three Gods; or for Gods was it fitting,
Thus to drink all the Toasts of two Worlds at a Sitting?)
Be my Patrons absolv'd; yet my Song be unfeign'd,
While Calliope tells, how their Choice was restrain'd.

With unanimous Voice they establish'd this Rule,
To allow of no Beauty, which cover'd a Fool:
Yet so carnal were minded no Dame to admit,
Who was only adorn'd with the Charms of her Wit.
They excepted all Blacks, as offending the Sight;
And no Wonder, since Females Divine are all White:
All with Austrian-made Lips, Shapes and Udders Teutonic,
Noses Flat, or high-Roman, Chins Downy or Conic,
Danish Legs, and Dutch Feet; (such howe'er wou'd not please,
As are moulded by Nurse for the noble Chinese:)
All above Venus' Standard, and all under Size:
All who wore yellow Locks, or who wanted black Eyes.
Hence infer, ye old Bards, that your Strokes are too bold,
Which have drawn the fair Paphian with Tresses of Gold.
Nor is Homer's Report of Minerva more true,
That her Eyes, which contended for Beauty were Blue.

They rejected the Jilt, the Coquet, and the Prude;
And the Nymphs, who took Money, or who were too lewd:
Pretty Cloe had sold herself twice to the Jews,
And Corinna had often been seen in the Stews.

They excepted more justly all Nations of Picts,
Who supply by Machin'ry their various Defects.
Not a Counterfeit Belle cou'd their prying escape,
Who had made a new Face, or had mended her Shape.
One was censur'd for combing her Eye-brows with Lead,
And another for spreading a Grain of French Red.
Little Ali, whom erst I invok'd for my Goddess,
Now alas! was untoasted for wearing steel Bodice.

Yet the Dames, who pollute their own Sex, they lik'd worse,
And the Tribads were all set aside with a Curse:
Nor a Sappho, says Phœbus, shall please with her Songs;
Nor Homassa, cries Vol, would I touch with my Tongs.

By Exceptions so nice, such severe Regulation,
Scarce suffic'd the whole Globe for one Night's Compotation.
Tho' so cautious, their Godships, as Beauties grew scant,
Often laps'd—but were never asham'd to recant.
Thus it happen'd, that Phœbus was so much put to it,
He attempted to borrow a Toast from a Poet.
“Have we so long neglected a Nymph of great Fame,
“Or is Myra forgot! Be immortal the Name!
“Let the Glasses resound it!” Tho' serious he spoke,
You'd have thought Vol and Mars never heard such a Joke.
Follow'd such a loud Laugh, such a Hoop, and a Hollow,
That it shook the whole House, and confounded Apollo:
So astounding the Roar, and their Sides were so try'd;
'Tis agreed, if they had not been Gods, they had dy'd.—
“Pray excuse us, quoth Mars: for by Venus' bright Eyes,
“By the Horrors of Styx, you had caus'd less Surprise,
“Had your Godship propos'd one of Pluto's Hag-Ghosts:
“Nor Alecto wou'd thus have dishonour'd our Toasts.
“Tho' so famous is Myra in quaint Roundelay,
“Twenty Winters have seen her deep Wrinkled and Grey.
“When afraid of a Man—if she e'er was afraid;
“When she bloom'd a young Maid—if she e'er was a Maid;
“Even then, if I guess Phœbus' manner of thinking,
“Tho' so dull my own Fancy, she was not worth drinking.
“Did you mark a huge Matron, ybent like a Bow,
“In the Circle o'ershad'wing a little Dutch Frow,
“Ogling all Men of Might, and of Appetites keen,
“Talking loud, and unseemly directing Vice-Queen?
“But has Momus not told you, that this is the Dame,
“Who has ruin'd my Fortune, and injur'd my Fame;
“Who has caus'd all my Projects on Earth to miscarry;
“Whom the Caitif young Hymen entic'd me to marry?
“'Tis the same, whom before me two Mortals had wedded;
“And (if Fame does her Justice) two hundred had bedded.
“But her various Amours never gave me great Pain;
“Things unpractis'd perhaps in old Saturn's cold Reign.
“Well I wot, modern Wives are refin'd in their Taste:
“Who pretends, since th'Accession of Jove, to be chaste?
“But the Matter, which made the poor Husband repent,
“Was the State she assum'd, and the Money she spent.
“For she now would be worship'd (a Goddess by Marriage!)
“Rich, as Juno's her Dress, and as haughty her Carriage;
“With Contempt looking down on simple Mortality,
“What an Havock she made to support her new Quality!
“All my Jewels, and Plate, all my Goods, and my Chattels,
“All the Pay, and the Presents I got by my Battles;
“All I gain'd by exporting War-Horses to Gallia,
“She accounted Para-(what d'ye call 'em?)-phernalia.
“Nor my Jewels, or Chattels, or Pay would suffice:
“Ev'ry Banker was wheedled to furnish Supplies.
“As my Debts thus encreas'd, she enlarg'd her Demands;
“Till I sold my fine Stud; and then mortgag'd my Lands.
“Nor the Pistoles she spar'd, when I beg'd for the Few,
“Which remain'd—My dear Mars, there are more in Peru:
“Canst not thou here import 'em by Magic Divine?
“Or else open on Bellewstown Hills a Gold Mine?
“But to this I objected—I live here Incog,
“And derive no more Pow'r from above than King Log.
“I'm Chevalier, 'tis true: But alas! modern Knight-
“Hood's become a mere Jest, and there's nothing got by't.
“And your Highness would want a plain Dinner, and Dwelling,
“In my Youth had I not understood Colonelling.
“But if thus you make waste, I must hide my old Head,
“Or sollicit the Sutler to trust us for Bread.—
“Sudden answer'd the Dame:—Unabash'd who can hear
“The renown'd God of Battle expressing such Fear;
“With his own loving Wife Money Matters disputing:
“Is the Genius of Mars thus unskill'd in Recruiting?
“For Subsistence, to whom need a Soldier owe Thanks,
“Where a King has Exchequers, and Subjects have Banks?
“Could I wear your bold Front, and your Breeches, would I go
“Into Flanders, and plunder, as you did at Vigo.
“Modern Knighthood, I ween, much Relief may afford,
“If, instead of a Muff, you would wield a Broad Sword.
“Is not he a mere Rec'rant, whose Wife is unfed,
“When by storming a Windmill he's sure to get Bread?
“Thus reproaching she fir'd me. I sold my Debentures;
“And equipt, like St. George, went in quest of Adventures:
“Having first swore by Styx not to Borrow, or Pay;
“Or to bow at the Castle, or sweat on the Quay;
“Till that I, by my Prowess, a Kingdom had won;
“Or had forc'd from great Chymists Philosopher's Stone.
“While I thus form the Hero of future Romances;
“Lo! a dire Disaster ruins all my gay Fancies.
“For Minerva, that Prude, on a silly Pretence,
“That my Actions on Earth gave her Highness Offence,
“Here incites a young Squire, by my Presence unaw'd,
“To revile me in Publick—and Cudgel a God!
“Nor so great the Affront, so malicious the Trick,
“Which she serv'd me at Troy in defending the Greek;
“For the Wound that was giv'n me by Diomed's Spear,
“Was a Mark of my Courage—Fortune de la Guerre!
“But a curs'd Bastinado imprints such Disgrace,
“As my Merit can't cover, nor Time can efface.
“Nor if you, Sir, or Jove should be stain'd with this Blot,
“And ye both were to die, would it e'er be forgot.”
Here Apollo enquir'd, “Why he did not oppose
“All his Force to revenge, or to parry the Blows?—
Thus the Knight answer'd shrugging:—“Nor could I oppose;
“Or had Force to revenge, or to parry the Blows.
“When I fell from Olympus (unjust was my Doom!)
“For my Safety compel'd human Form to assume;
“Well compacted, and nervous, becoming a God, I
“To Prometheus gave Orders to make me a Body.
“But my Grinders excepted, a little fine Blood,
“And a favourite Member, that whilom was good;
“He has work'd up my Carcase with very coarse Paste;
“Or 'tis else some old Stuff, which the Knave has new cast.
“As you see, I'm Wrong-headed: Too thick is my Scull,
“With a deep Pia Mater, that is not half full.
“I've within a white Liver, o'erflow'd with black Gall,
“And a hollow false Heart, very hard, and too Small.
“Pray observe my soft Look, and how supple my Face;
“(Tho' the Rascal pretends there's a Mixture of Brass)
“How my Ears are the same, you bestow'd on the King;
“Him I mean, who deny'd, that Apollo could sing.
“That, my Breath, and my Features are vastly too strong;
“Full of Evil my Tongue, and three Inches too long.
“But behold these curs'd Members, the Source of my Harms,
“Inoffensive weak Hands, and unmuscular Arms;
“Vilest Parts, unendu'd with a Power elastic,
“That insensible suffer the Pressures of a Stick!
“Yet the Cudgel unseen, and the Foe at a Distance;
“How they brandish a Weapon, and feign a Resistance!
“Better form'd was Sir Hudi—and eke his low Squire;
“More robust in their Limbs (tho' they wanted my Fire)
“Which undaunted have oft a dry Basting withstood;
“Tho' afraid of cold Iron, durst rise against Wood.
“Now so weak in the Flesh, yet, by Jupiter, I am
“In my Spirit, as brave, as when we fought for Priam.
“Vol, who knows all my Thoughts, if he pleases, can tell you,
“Many times, in my Mind, I have kill'd that Jack Bellew.
Vol attested the Fact, swearing hard, “That he knew,
“All his Brother had urg'd, to a tittle was true.—
(If the Knight's at a Loss, Vol unfolds the Affair,
Ever ready, when Seconds are wanting, to swear.)
And he added,—“Hard Fate! that so gallant a Mind
“Should be thus to a vile Habitation confin'd.
“How Heroic his Thoughts, tho' his Figure is mean!
“How his Spirit would shine, if it could but be seen!
“His Assassins thus hide in dark Lanterns their Light:
“Thus his Scabbard, tho' rusty; his Sword, it is bright.
“But be just, O ye Gods! Let his Talents be known;
“And the Conquests he makes, when the Chieftain's alone!
“Let his mental Atchievements, which Quixot's surpass,
“Or be writ in Gold Letters, or graven on Brass!
“Or to me lend thy Pipe, and Poetical Power;
“And an Iliad I'll frame—with the Acts of one Hour.
“While my Works in full Brightness his Spirit produce;
“Tho' you fancy at present 'tis fit for no Use:
“As you see me extract a bright Flame from a Flint,
“When perhaps not a Spark to your thinking is in't.
“Well, O Vol, hast thou spoke, said Apollo, and smil'd:
“Yet be not by false Fire, or thy Genius beguil'd!
“Nor can I tune thy Voice, or instruct thee to play:
“For attempting to chaunt, I'm afraid, thou would'st bray.
“If an Iliad you want, and are truly inclin'd
“To extol the bold Knight, and to image his Mind;
“Go address the great Bard, whom I've chosen to sing;
“To exalt Men of Merit, but flatter no King.
“Lilliputians who feign'd, pretty Pygmy Dwarf People;
“And the Brob-dig-nag Giants built high as a Steeple.
“Who repell'd the Brass Thunder, by darting his own;
“And, destroying Salmoneus, preserv'd the poor Town.
“How facetious he'll tell the great Deeds, you have thought; To Mars.

“And the Battles record, which your Fancy has fought!”
Ceas'd the God.—When, in Accents uncouth, Chevalier
Thus proceeds—and Apollo has Patience to hear.—
“This Mishap being past, I retreat to my House
“Much abash'd, and sore dreading the Taunts of my Spouse:
“But how great my Surprise, when I mark'd the Alarm,
“And the Footmen, and Women preparing to arm!
“When the Dame thus begun, looking piteous and sighing,
“(Nor she seem'd to grieve more, when her Monkey was dying)
“How uncertain is War, and how vain are our Cares!
“How the Fates have inverted all human Affairs!
“Since a saucy raw Squire may insult a good Knight;
“And a Col'nel be cudgel'd, and Jockeys dare fight.
“Yet 'tis some Consolation, and lessens my Pain,
“That you only were drubb'd—For you might have been slain.
“Then be cheary, my Mars! Be assur'd, at my suit
“That their High Excellencies shall end the Dispute;
“If you look not too fierce, or unaptly inter-
“Mix a martial long Speech—and refuse to refer.
“But as Cudgels are wont to change mortal Condition;
“I advise, 'tis expedient to sell your Commission.
“Go, and feign a Disgust, well dissembling your Fears,
“That Cadogan and Temple are made Brigadeers.
“Quit the Army in Ire, where you have not your Right:
“As Achilles be stout, and resolve—not to fight.—
“Thus she guileful bespoke me.—Again I believ'd,
“Tho' so oft by a Semblance of Kindness deceiv'd.
“Then the Staff of my Age and my Office I sold;
“And resign'd my last Stake, but my Wife seiz'd the Gold;
“Which one Winter consum'd, scarce supplying her Wants,
“To retain learned Pandars, and purchase Gallants;
“To adorn her for Birth-Nights, and furnish for Play;
“While I could not obtain her own Grenadier's Pay.

“Now forlorn and despis'd, when I had not a Friend,
“Who my Signet would trust, or a Moidore would lend;
“Brother Vol, (who has Skill to diversify Shapes,
“Nor so wily is Proteus, or boasts such Escapes,
“Who a Constable, Captain, or Treasurer shines,
“Or descends to blow Glass, or to delve in Coal Mines)
“Thus Uncol'nell'd, instructs me, to act a new Part,
“To pretend, I had learnt Cynogetical Art.
“And behold my Success! where so gross an Affront
“I had whilom receiv'd, I commenc'd the Chief Hunt.
“Well I wot, that above ye are most of Opinion,
“That we ought, who have over all Beasts the Dominion,
“Or to hunt the wild Boar, or to rouse the fierce Lion;
“But to leave fearful Bucks to the Handmaids of Dian.
“Yet the Youth of Ierne the Ranger revere,
“Who alone is intrusted to kill Royal Deer;
“Ever praising my Hounds: Nor a Pack of more speed
“Or thy Gratius has sung, or Britannia can breed.
“Dogs, you know, in my Glory were sacred to Mars;
“And are now the good Creatures, I chuse for Converse.
“Be recorded my Pets, all ye Nations Canine!
“Be your Manners, and Genius' the Emblems of mine!”
Here the Ranger concluded, and seem'd to wax wroth;
Mutter'd something, and trembling, turn'd white as the Cloth.
When Apollo rejoin'd.—(But the God first knock'd under;
And the Table resounded, as if it were Thunder.)
“Lo! I give up my Toast; and enough has been said,
“To convince me, your Consort's unworthy your Bed:
“I confess, I was dup'd by George G---n---lle's Report;
“Yet the Dame you describe, made a Figure at Court:
“In the Circle no Belle was so Gorgeous, and Gay;
“And, by Wax Light, she seem'd neither Wrinkled, nor Grey.
“Long ago we had heard your unmartial Exploit:
“But the Cause was unknown, why you're thus unadroit.
“I'm amaz'd the good Maid, rather apt to caress,
“Than insult an old Friend—or a Foe in Distress,
“Should a Stripling incite (horrid Deed!) to cudg-el you:
“If he is not a Greek, how could she know Jack Bellew?
“But hereafter be safe; eat and drink, live at Ease;
“And in spite of Minerva, act just as you please:
“While the Man-making Knave I reward for his Pains;
“For I'll send him a Vulture, and lay him in Chains.
“As for hunting the Buck, which you so much delight in,
“Tho' I think it low Game—yet 'tis better than fighting.
“But to make more important your Office of Ranger;
“And so bold since you ride, that you mayn't ride in Danger;
“I'll prevail on Lord John to salute you at Court,
“And I'll order my Sister to favour your Sport.”

The Debate was thus ended: New Toasts went about,
Till the Wine tasted flat, and their Wit was all out.
Mars began an old Tale of a little Welch Queen;
Of a Battle and Siege, which he never had seen:
Like a Tully he'd speech it!—like Phœbus he'd sing!—
And the World shall be mended—when he is a King!—
Vol, who likewise was tipsy, talk'd out of his Trade;
Of the Vows, and the Cures, and the Horns he had made:
He'd invent a new Crystal! and hammer his Glasses!
And his Mountains improve by a Stock of She Asses!—

Phœbus here, looking out, feign'd a sudden Surprise.—
“Oh! my Friends, see the Phosphor just ready to rise:
“Tho' I'm tipling with you so remote in the West,
“I must set out exactly at Six from the East:
“And besides—I have promis'd to call by the Way,
“With the Muses to chat, ere I open the Day.

So the God took his Leave, flying strait to Parnassus;
To the Lodge drove Sir Mars, and Vol trudg'd to his Glass-House.