 | The Character of a Covetous Citizen |  |
CANTO II.
Thus he plods on for Twenty Years, or more,Pays Scot and Lot to th'Parson and the Poor:
His Dealings large, extravagant his Gain,
Esteem'd a sharp, but very honest Man.
As for Religion, he concedes with two,
A Christian he's at Church, in Shop a Jew.
He twice each Sunday in Communion meets,
And Prays at Home as often as he Cheats.
Long-winded Graces at short Meals he makes,
And blesses every Morning's Toast he breaks.
Hears ev'ry Night his youngest Prentice read,
Some long hard Chapter e're he goes to Bed.
Whilst his own Thoughts are busi'd to out-wit
The World, which is the smoother Epithet,
Our well-bred City use instead of Cheat.
Thus with mild Terms they take away the Stain,
And call a Knave in Trade, a Cunning-Man.
Extravagance, like Popery, he hates,
And ne'er beyond a Dish of Coffee treats.
Will talk and wrangle, like the meanest Scrub,
Two Hours, to save a Farthing in his Club.
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And when he does, he ne'er exceeds a Jill,
Except some mighty Reason should induce
The Niggard, to debauch beyond his use;
As Loyalty; he alters then his stint,
And, on the King's Birth-Day, drinks half a Pint.
Which three Pence extraordinary spent,
Is a sure sign he loves the Government.
And that the World may see, by partial Fate,
He's destin'd to be Rich and Fortunate.
In this small tract of Time three Wives at least,
Are rescu'd from his mercenary Breast,
By that grim spright the wretched oft invoke,
To end their Cares and Miseries with a stroke.
Each Help-mate worth a Thousand Pounds or more,
Whose Portions much encrease the ill-got Store.
The Wife he minds not, but adores the Pence:
No Nights endearments does the Churl dispence.
But kills her with the want of due Benevolence.
Large Sums with Prentices his Bags enrich,
And help to flatter his insatiate Itch.
Some die, whilst others backward to obey,
Complaining of hard usage, run away.
Curse his thin Beer, and rail at Suffolk Cheese,
Forsake their Int'rest to pursue their Ease.
One Crop no sooner runs, but in his room,
A new comes laden with a welcome Sum.
Thus by good-luck, assisted with small Thought,
His thriving Pence to num'rous Pounds are brought.
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Climb the top Branches of her golden Tree;
There cull the precious Fruit, and with disdain,
Behold th'unlucky Gape below in vain.
He now looks big, and does to Pow'r incline,
Will no small Parish Office serve, but Fine.
The midnight King of Clubs he scorns to be,
And to some Barber leaves th'Authority.
Above his Neighbours he exalts his Horn,
And with impatience waits till chose Church-Ward'n;
Where Gain and Reputation jointly meet,
And Homage makes the Office still more sweet.
Of these two Compliments, there's none more sure,
Bows from the Rich, and Curses from the Poor.
He and the Parson now grow wondrous great,
And from the Paupers Box share many a Treat;
Whilst the starv'd Wretches, whose Relief they spend,
By shameful Wants are hasten'd to their End.
When thus elected Ward'n, the Church in hast,
Must be repair'd, or else the Bells new Cast,
A Gall'ry added, or an Organ rais'd,
That Heav'n, with Hearts more chearful, may be prais'd;
The Steeple mended, or the Dial gilt,
The Chancel painted, or a Porch new built,
Not thro' a Christian Zeal, or good Design,
To make the Temple of the Lord more fine,
But his own Bags with Parish Cash to fill,
By Coz'nage in the payment of each Bill,
With which the Workmen knavishly accord,
And make so large, they well may bate a third,
Then bids 'em write, receiv'd the full Contents,
And thus discov'ry of the Fraud prevents.
So those who did the Project first invent,
Of building Bedlam and the Monument,
Like good Trustees, the Orphans Bank ingross'd,
And sunk much more than both the Baubles cost.
If any curious Christian should desire,
To know who lin'd the Pews, or rais'd 'em high'r,
The World may read, inscrib'd upon a Stone,
John Sharp Church-Ward'n when these good things were done.
Will no small Parish Office serve, but Fine.
The midnight King of Clubs he scorns to be,
And to some Barber leaves th'Authority.
Above his Neighbours he exalts his Horn,
And with impatience waits till chose Church-Ward'n;
Where Gain and Reputation jointly meet,
And Homage makes the Office still more sweet.
Of these two Compliments, there's none more sure,
Bows from the Rich, and Curses from the Poor.
He and the Parson now grow wondrous great,
And from the Paupers Box share many a Treat;
Whilst the starv'd Wretches, whose Relief they spend,
By shameful Wants are hasten'd to their End.
When thus elected Ward'n, the Church in hast,
Must be repair'd, or else the Bells new Cast,
A Gall'ry added, or an Organ rais'd,
That Heav'n, with Hearts more chearful, may be prais'd;
The Steeple mended, or the Dial gilt,
The Chancel painted, or a Porch new built,
Not thro' a Christian Zeal, or good Design,
To make the Temple of the Lord more fine,
But his own Bags with Parish Cash to fill,
By Coz'nage in the payment of each Bill,
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And make so large, they well may bate a third,
Then bids 'em write, receiv'd the full Contents,
And thus discov'ry of the Fraud prevents.
So those who did the Project first invent,
Of building Bedlam and the Monument,
Like good Trustees, the Orphans Bank ingross'd,
And sunk much more than both the Baubles cost.
If any curious Christian should desire,
To know who lin'd the Pews, or rais'd 'em high'r,
The World may read, inscrib'd upon a Stone,
John Sharp Church-Ward'n when these good things were done.
His Word goes current now the City round,
Reported worth at least Ten Thousand Pound.
Great in his Company he's also grown,
Thro' ev'ry Station gradually has run,
And greedy of that honourable sway,
Is chosen Master next Election-Day:
Who in his Liv'ry-Gown and Band precise,
Looks very burly, and as gravely Wise;
At th'upper-end of th'upper Table sits,
And culls from ev'ry Dish his dainty Bits.
To th'Venson and the Fowl he gives applause,
And stoutly labours Knuckle-deep in Sauce.
At last the Custard sorely is opprest,
B'ing pleas'd, he with full Mouth commends the Feast,
And eats, by computation, seven Pound at least.
Long has the Pulpit labour'd hard to free
Reported worth at least Ten Thousand Pound.
Great in his Company he's also grown,
Thro' ev'ry Station gradually has run,
And greedy of that honourable sway,
Is chosen Master next Election-Day:
Who in his Liv'ry-Gown and Band precise,
Looks very burly, and as gravely Wise;
At th'upper-end of th'upper Table sits,
And culls from ev'ry Dish his dainty Bits.
To th'Venson and the Fowl he gives applause,
And stoutly labours Knuckle-deep in Sauce.
At last the Custard sorely is opprest,
B'ing pleas'd, he with full Mouth commends the Feast,
And eats, by computation, seven Pound at least.
The City, from the sin of Gluttonie;
But still her Sons Heav'ns plenteous Gifts prophane,
And Gormandize, like Beasts, not eat like Men.
| The Character of a Covetous Citizen | |