The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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| 1. | The First Part. |
| 2. |
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
1. The First Part.
Shou'd we believe there cou'd a Monster be
Confirm'd at Heart there was no Deity,
(Thô Epicurus, who did furthest go,
Taught GOD, but careless of Affairs below;)
We cannot yet this Impious Wretch suppose
In scarce so Damnable a State as those
Who a Supreme Eternal BEING own,
But Live as if they did believe in None.
Confirm'd at Heart there was no Deity,
(Thô Epicurus, who did furthest go,
Taught GOD, but careless of Affairs below;)
We cannot yet this Impious Wretch suppose
In scarce so Damnable a State as those
Who a Supreme Eternal BEING own,
But Live as if they did believe in None.
This Blacker Sort of Atheist of the two,
Is now the Draught intended for your View:
Nor care we who it galls, or gives Offence,
While we keep close to Honesty and Sense.
The rugged Lines a Satyr's Pencil draws,
Nor value Censure, or bespeak Applause:
Boldly we, then, will at their Image strike,
And tho' we take it Rough, we'll make it Like.
Is now the Draught intended for your View:
Nor care we who it galls, or gives Offence,
While we keep close to Honesty and Sense.
328
Nor value Censure, or bespeak Applause:
Boldly we, then, will at their Image strike,
And tho' we take it Rough, we'll make it Like.
Our Nobles first (for 'twill but Manners be
To pay the Deference due to Quality)
Them first we'll trace, who in all Crimes abound,
And walk for once their horrid Circle round.
To pay the Deference due to Quality)
Them first we'll trace, who in all Crimes abound,
And walk for once their horrid Circle round.
Imagine, then, the Man we'd here display,
Is once more favour'd with returning Day;
Which tho' in Mercy sent to make him mend,
He yet resolves flagitiously to spend.
Tir'd with the Drab, in whose Lascivious Arms
He pass'd the Night; and loathing now her Charms,
To get her secret off is first his Care;
And Curses next supply the Place of Prayer.
The Contemplation that shou'd be employ'd
For Life continu'd, and in Health enjoy'd,
Is how again his Consort to deceive;
Forgetting Adam had his Match in Eve:
For let no Coxcomb think if Lewd he be,
But Madam Spouse will take that Liberty;
Meet fleshly Pleasure with as warm a Gust,
And make Revenge the Season to her Lust.
Is once more favour'd with returning Day;
Which tho' in Mercy sent to make him mend,
He yet resolves flagitiously to spend.
Tir'd with the Drab, in whose Lascivious Arms
He pass'd the Night; and loathing now her Charms,
To get her secret off is first his Care;
And Curses next supply the Place of Prayer.
The Contemplation that shou'd be employ'd
For Life continu'd, and in Health enjoy'd,
Is how again his Consort to deceive;
Forgetting Adam had his Match in Eve:
For let no Coxcomb think if Lewd he be,
But Madam Spouse will take that Liberty;
Meet fleshly Pleasure with as warm a Gust,
And make Revenge the Season to her Lust.
But now he rises with tumultuous Brains,
Last Night's Debauch in his Wan Look remains,
Shakes in his Nerves, and hisses in his Veins:
Hence his Attendants all are fau'ty found,
And with Eternal Dog saluted round;
Breathing himself with Kick and Cuff the while,
As others do with Tennis or the Foil:
Then of 'em feigns a Thousand Lies and Jears,
And so diverts his grinning Visiters;
Men of like Sallow Hue and Ritt'ling Size,
With no Pretence but laughing to be Wise;
Forgetting it was ne'er recorded yet,
Abusing Servants shew'd a Master's Wit.
Ev'n to our Beasts w'are Mercy bid to show,
And Balaam's Ass reprov'd the Angry Blow;
That Nobler Creature, whom we here disgrace,
Describing this Descendant of his Race:
For Proof that less Sagaciously he hears,
Nothing in Nature more does grate his Ears,
Than to be minded of his own Affairs:
Busi'ness if his, he mortally does hate,
So leaves his Spouse to manage his Estate.
Wo to the Subjects govern'd by the Sword,
And Tenants, where the Lady is the Lord:
Audacious! at the Helm she does appear,
Racking the Needy without Shame or Fear
Of Hell hereafter, or Dishonour here:
Whole Families relentless are undone,
That she may Splendidly Confound her Own.
But there's no tracing thro' so vile a Life,
Nor must I lose the Husband in the Wife.
Last Night's Debauch in his Wan Look remains,
Shakes in his Nerves, and hisses in his Veins:
Hence his Attendants all are fau'ty found,
And with Eternal Dog saluted round;
Breathing himself with Kick and Cuff the while,
As others do with Tennis or the Foil:
Then of 'em feigns a Thousand Lies and Jears,
And so diverts his grinning Visiters;
329
With no Pretence but laughing to be Wise;
Forgetting it was ne'er recorded yet,
Abusing Servants shew'd a Master's Wit.
Ev'n to our Beasts w'are Mercy bid to show,
And Balaam's Ass reprov'd the Angry Blow;
That Nobler Creature, whom we here disgrace,
Describing this Descendant of his Race:
For Proof that less Sagaciously he hears,
Nothing in Nature more does grate his Ears,
Than to be minded of his own Affairs:
Busi'ness if his, he mortally does hate,
So leaves his Spouse to manage his Estate.
Wo to the Subjects govern'd by the Sword,
And Tenants, where the Lady is the Lord:
Audacious! at the Helm she does appear,
Racking the Needy without Shame or Fear
Of Hell hereafter, or Dishonour here:
Whole Families relentless are undone,
That she may Splendidly Confound her Own.
But there's no tracing thro' so vile a Life,
Nor must I lose the Husband in the Wife.
In Dressing next three Precious Hours are spent,
Which just make up the Ladies Complement:
Were you to see him shod, and shav'd and Wigg'd
You'd Swear the Sover'eign might as soon be Rigg'd.
And (did but ev'ry Man his Part perform)
Need fewer Hands to wether out a Storm.
Trick'd up at last, their Wretched Service done,
His Slaves avoid, and leave the Fop alone:
Where, fonder than the Self-enamor'd Ass,
His full half-hour he does with Rapture pass,
In Turns and Windings made before his Glass:
Now back he on himself does Smiling leer,
Now he bows low, as bending to the Fair;
His Hat in Feathers hid, his Face Immers'd in Hair;
Thro' which he ev'ry thing so darkly spies,
He first must shake his Ears to find his Eyes:
Safely he may th'adjusting Manage use,
And toss a Head that has no Brains to lose:
Before all soil'd with Snuff; with like Design,
Behind He's puff'd and Powder'd to the Chine.
So once a Lady, fond to be embrac'd,
Left half her Face unpainted in her hast;
And went abroad into the Envious Light
With one Cheek Fillamort, and t'other White.
And yet ev'n this Unlucky Curtezan
Was much less fau'ty than our Female Man.
No more we'll bring their Washes to our view,
Our Fop that way is perfect Woman too;
Does Patch and Paint, and like the Nicest Fair,
Less fear Damnation than a hazy Air.
No more their Triple Tow'rs shall be our Scorn,
When for one Wigg by our Sir Courtly worn,
A dozen Country Strammels must be shorn.
In after Times with Horror be it read,
The very Flou'r that's perfum'd for the Head
Is half enough to make a Dearth of Bread.
Which just make up the Ladies Complement:
Were you to see him shod, and shav'd and Wigg'd
You'd Swear the Sover'eign might as soon be Rigg'd.
And (did but ev'ry Man his Part perform)
Need fewer Hands to wether out a Storm.
Trick'd up at last, their Wretched Service done,
His Slaves avoid, and leave the Fop alone:
Where, fonder than the Self-enamor'd Ass,
His full half-hour he does with Rapture pass,
In Turns and Windings made before his Glass:
330
Now he bows low, as bending to the Fair;
His Hat in Feathers hid, his Face Immers'd in Hair;
Thro' which he ev'ry thing so darkly spies,
He first must shake his Ears to find his Eyes:
Safely he may th'adjusting Manage use,
And toss a Head that has no Brains to lose:
Before all soil'd with Snuff; with like Design,
Behind He's puff'd and Powder'd to the Chine.
So once a Lady, fond to be embrac'd,
Left half her Face unpainted in her hast;
And went abroad into the Envious Light
With one Cheek Fillamort, and t'other White.
And yet ev'n this Unlucky Curtezan
Was much less fau'ty than our Female Man.
No more we'll bring their Washes to our view,
Our Fop that way is perfect Woman too;
Does Patch and Paint, and like the Nicest Fair,
Less fear Damnation than a hazy Air.
No more their Triple Tow'rs shall be our Scorn,
When for one Wigg by our Sir Courtly worn,
A dozen Country Strammels must be shorn.
In after Times with Horror be it read,
The very Flou'r that's perfum'd for the Head
Is half enough to make a Dearth of Bread.
But now down Stairs the Hero whiffling runs,
Where He's encounter'd with a Troop of Duns,
Thro' whom Courageously he makes his Way,
With many a bitter Curse instead of Pay;
Wond'ring (as if his Peerage was unknown)
That e'er such Rogues shou'd ask him for their Own.
Mean while the Wretches Pocket up their Bills,
Just like our Modern Leacher swallowing Pills,
With Jaws distorted, and with Faces wry,
And—Lord deliver us from Quality!
This was (They cry) his own appointed Day
The very Hour he set and Swore to pay
His Honour pawn'd we shou'd no longer stay.
Mistaken Men! who have no Eyes to see
That Honour must be One with Honesty;
As steadily endeavou'ring to encrease
In War our Glory, and our Trade in Peace:
Like Light'ning swift our Properties to save
When Crowds wou'd Rule, or Lawless Pow'r enslave;
And not, as now, it self the Fool and Knave.
Who does descend to ev'ry mean Trapan
So kindly as our Honourable Man?
In all our Dealings sure to be deceiv'd
His Peerage trusted, or his Word believ'd.
He Swears, but lets his Oath regardless go
As if it were the meanest Tye below.
Not Samson from his Bands got easier free
Than Conscience does, in such, from Equity.
Not GOD himself his Blamsphemy does spare;
Tho' he might meet ev'n with Conviction there
For nothing, less than Infinite, such Insolence cou'd bear.
With him the Holiest are the vilest Race,
And Meekness only Sanctity of Face:
Religion but the Polity of Law,
To sham the Good, and keep the Bad in awe:
The Gospel all a Cant; and Moses, too,
The Ancient Cheat, as CHRIST has been the New.
Thus deals the Sceptick his Prophaneness round;
From Earth to Heav'n the Impi'ous Notes rebound,
And frighted MERCY Sicken at the Sound!
Mean while he Honour to the Sky extols,
And leaves Religion for the Bait of Fools.—
Where He's encounter'd with a Troop of Duns,
Thro' whom Courageously he makes his Way,
With many a bitter Curse instead of Pay;
Wond'ring (as if his Peerage was unknown)
That e'er such Rogues shou'd ask him for their Own.
Mean while the Wretches Pocket up their Bills,
Just like our Modern Leacher swallowing Pills,
With Jaws distorted, and with Faces wry,
And—Lord deliver us from Quality!
331
The very Hour he set and Swore to pay
His Honour pawn'd we shou'd no longer stay.
Mistaken Men! who have no Eyes to see
That Honour must be One with Honesty;
As steadily endeavou'ring to encrease
In War our Glory, and our Trade in Peace:
Like Light'ning swift our Properties to save
When Crowds wou'd Rule, or Lawless Pow'r enslave;
And not, as now, it self the Fool and Knave.
Who does descend to ev'ry mean Trapan
So kindly as our Honourable Man?
In all our Dealings sure to be deceiv'd
His Peerage trusted, or his Word believ'd.
He Swears, but lets his Oath regardless go
As if it were the meanest Tye below.
Not Samson from his Bands got easier free
Than Conscience does, in such, from Equity.
Not GOD himself his Blamsphemy does spare;
Tho' he might meet ev'n with Conviction there
For nothing, less than Infinite, such Insolence cou'd bear.
With him the Holiest are the vilest Race,
And Meekness only Sanctity of Face:
Religion but the Polity of Law,
To sham the Good, and keep the Bad in awe:
The Gospel all a Cant; and Moses, too,
The Ancient Cheat, as CHRIST has been the New.
Thus deals the Sceptick his Prophaneness round;
From Earth to Heav'n the Impi'ous Notes rebound,
And frighted MERCY Sicken at the Sound!
Mean while he Honour to the Sky extols,
And leaves Religion for the Bait of Fools.—
But let 'em both Impartially be shown:
Religion an Omniscient GOD does own,
But Honour—Modern Honour—says there's None.
Religion at no smallest Thought connives
Where Lust resides; but Honour forward drives,
Promiscuously debauching Matrons, Maids and Wives.
Religion Ven'erates ev'ry Worthy Name,
And Honour has no Joy but to defame.
Religion flies from Debt as if 'twere Sin,
And Honour's never but when once 'tis in.
Religion, tho' from Little, largely gives,
And Honour Ruins more than That relieves.
Religion to no Privilege aspires
Of doing all a Lawless Will requires;
Or takes a Monster, by Oppression rear'd;
Call'd—Scandalum Magnatum for a Guard.
In short, if there is less of Worth and Sense
In such than others, how is there Pretence
To Honour more?—if such a Conduct's Fame,
Hewson himself had once a Noble Name.
In vain their Idle Boasts of Indian Earth,
Their Tinsel Trappings, and Superiour Birth,
If Merit's wanting that shou'd make it shine,
And Rapin only does support the Line.
Ay—but a thousand Years (You'll say) are ran
Since first his Noble Pedigree began:
No more?—then that no least Advantage is,
I'm of a Line more Ancient, so, than His.
Nor does his vast Possessions clear the Case,
The Cits are then the most Illustrious Race;
A Hundred of 'em, pick'd and cull'd, wou'd buy
More than the Treble Tale of Quality.
Well—but his ANCESTORS in War have done
Prodigious things, and endless Glory won.
'Tis rare indeed!—but where's the Five by Name
Whose Great Fore-Fathers were such Sons of Fame?
Some few we grant the British Annals shew,
And Talbots Glory shall be ever New:
His Gallick Victories nobly yet appear;
But Ah! he fell and left his Genius there
And we are now too like to see them Conq'rours Here.
With Him we lost all we had there Acquir'd,
And France reviv'd as soon as he Expir'd.
First in the Roll of Peerage high he shines;
And what e'er Muse a Deathless Name designs,
Repeating his, may chase Oblivion from her Lines.
Nor less Propitious Shrewsbury does appear,
Nor moves he in a less Illustrious Sphere:
A Torrent of Renown the Sire begun,
And his Descendent keeps it rowling on:
Alike his Breast a Generous Spirit warms,
Alike he keeps us safe from Foreign harms;
In Council This as great as That in Arms.
But what were Nine tenth-Parts of all the rest
Of Ancient Peerage, and produce the Best?
Progenitors that never saw a Fight
But rais'd, as now, like Mushrooms in a Night:
That to our Bounds no least Enlargement made,
But set aloft by Flatt'ry, Law, or Trade.
Nay if our Rolls to Dignity are true,
To Purchase it was then the Method too;
So like the Ancient Honour's to the New.
How many Thousands in Oblivion lye
As undistinguish'd as the Vulgar Fry,
Not in the least to following Ages known,
Nor, but for their Debauches, to their Own?
Alike, our Modern Lords, by Means and Ways
Exactly Parallel, their Fame and Praise
As carefully secure to After Days.
Th'Encrease of 'em is now advanc'd so high,
The Court, the Parks, the Plays in swarms they ply,
A very Rabble of Nobility!
Got to the top of Pow'r by Guilt and Crimes
Unknown to Minions of the former Times.
(For Justice to Antiquity be done,
Of all the Ways to rise we find not Pimping one;
Or that the Barons, for precarious Pay,
Turn'd Advocates for Arbitrary Sway.)
Deduc'd from former Times, 'tis scarce a blame
T'express a Defe'rence to an Ancient Name
There's sometimes an Implicit Faith in Fame:
But to this Rout what Rever'ence can belong?
Plebeian witted, and Plebeian sprung:
A Subject that does make ev'n Dulness keen,
The Rabble's Laughter, and the Satyr's Grin.
Desertless Dignity we all reject,
Nor can the Mind be forc'd into Respect.
Religion an Omniscient GOD does own,
But Honour—Modern Honour—says there's None.
332
Where Lust resides; but Honour forward drives,
Promiscuously debauching Matrons, Maids and Wives.
Religion Ven'erates ev'ry Worthy Name,
And Honour has no Joy but to defame.
Religion flies from Debt as if 'twere Sin,
And Honour's never but when once 'tis in.
Religion, tho' from Little, largely gives,
And Honour Ruins more than That relieves.
Religion to no Privilege aspires
Of doing all a Lawless Will requires;
Or takes a Monster, by Oppression rear'd;
Call'd—Scandalum Magnatum for a Guard.
In short, if there is less of Worth and Sense
In such than others, how is there Pretence
To Honour more?—if such a Conduct's Fame,
Hewson himself had once a Noble Name.
In vain their Idle Boasts of Indian Earth,
Their Tinsel Trappings, and Superiour Birth,
If Merit's wanting that shou'd make it shine,
And Rapin only does support the Line.
Ay—but a thousand Years (You'll say) are ran
Since first his Noble Pedigree began:
No more?—then that no least Advantage is,
I'm of a Line more Ancient, so, than His.
Nor does his vast Possessions clear the Case,
The Cits are then the most Illustrious Race;
A Hundred of 'em, pick'd and cull'd, wou'd buy
More than the Treble Tale of Quality.
Well—but his ANCESTORS in War have done
Prodigious things, and endless Glory won.
'Tis rare indeed!—but where's the Five by Name
Whose Great Fore-Fathers were such Sons of Fame?
Some few we grant the British Annals shew,
And Talbots Glory shall be ever New:
333
But Ah! he fell and left his Genius there
And we are now too like to see them Conq'rours Here.
With Him we lost all we had there Acquir'd,
And France reviv'd as soon as he Expir'd.
First in the Roll of Peerage high he shines;
And what e'er Muse a Deathless Name designs,
Repeating his, may chase Oblivion from her Lines.
Nor less Propitious Shrewsbury does appear,
Nor moves he in a less Illustrious Sphere:
A Torrent of Renown the Sire begun,
And his Descendent keeps it rowling on:
Alike his Breast a Generous Spirit warms,
Alike he keeps us safe from Foreign harms;
In Council This as great as That in Arms.
But what were Nine tenth-Parts of all the rest
Of Ancient Peerage, and produce the Best?
Progenitors that never saw a Fight
But rais'd, as now, like Mushrooms in a Night:
That to our Bounds no least Enlargement made,
But set aloft by Flatt'ry, Law, or Trade.
Nay if our Rolls to Dignity are true,
To Purchase it was then the Method too;
So like the Ancient Honour's to the New.
How many Thousands in Oblivion lye
As undistinguish'd as the Vulgar Fry,
Not in the least to following Ages known,
Nor, but for their Debauches, to their Own?
Alike, our Modern Lords, by Means and Ways
Exactly Parallel, their Fame and Praise
As carefully secure to After Days.
Th'Encrease of 'em is now advanc'd so high,
The Court, the Parks, the Plays in swarms they ply,
A very Rabble of Nobility!
Got to the top of Pow'r by Guilt and Crimes
Unknown to Minions of the former Times.
334
Of all the Ways to rise we find not Pimping one;
Or that the Barons, for precarious Pay,
Turn'd Advocates for Arbitrary Sway.)
Deduc'd from former Times, 'tis scarce a blame
T'express a Defe'rence to an Ancient Name
There's sometimes an Implicit Faith in Fame:
But to this Rout what Rever'ence can belong?
Plebeian witted, and Plebeian sprung:
A Subject that does make ev'n Dulness keen,
The Rabble's Laughter, and the Satyr's Grin.
Desertless Dignity we all reject,
Nor can the Mind be forc'd into Respect.
A Country Spaniard, with upright Design,
Did use to Offer at Saint Nichola's Shrine:
The hearty Vot'ary never miss'd a Day
T'invoke the Image, and to Praise, or Pray:
The Priest he honour'd (as is there the Rule)
With all the ardor of a finish'd Fool;
But in Process of Time, it came to pass
The second self of good Saint Nicholas
By chance was broken, or with Age decay'd,
And of the poor Man's Plumb-Tree a new Image made.
But never after was he seen t'adore,
Or pay the least Devotion, as before.
Complain'd of to the Priest his want of Grace,
Thus Honestly he pleaded to the Case.
As for th'Old Image, Sacred long to Fame,
I knew not what it was, or whence it came:
My Adoration there my Conscience bid,
I thought it just to do as others did;
And meant sincerely while the Fraud was hid.
But, for my Heart, I cannot worship this,
Because I know 'tis only but a Piece
Of my own Plumb-Tree;—a Descent but bad,
What e'er Original the other had.
Did use to Offer at Saint Nichola's Shrine:
The hearty Vot'ary never miss'd a Day
T'invoke the Image, and to Praise, or Pray:
The Priest he honour'd (as is there the Rule)
With all the ardor of a finish'd Fool;
But in Process of Time, it came to pass
The second self of good Saint Nicholas
By chance was broken, or with Age decay'd,
And of the poor Man's Plumb-Tree a new Image made.
But never after was he seen t'adore,
Or pay the least Devotion, as before.
Complain'd of to the Priest his want of Grace,
Thus Honestly he pleaded to the Case.
As for th'Old Image, Sacred long to Fame,
I knew not what it was, or whence it came:
My Adoration there my Conscience bid,
I thought it just to do as others did;
And meant sincerely while the Fraud was hid.
But, for my Heart, I cannot worship this,
Because I know 'tis only but a Piece
335
What e'er Original the other had.
In short, set by some few Superi'our Men
That I'll not Name,—nor can I name You Ten,
What Work is there a foot for an Historian's Pen?
What is there but their Vanities and Crimes
To be deliver'd down to Future Times?
Ev'n Gaveston, methinks, this Ditty sings,
Which Haughtier Buckingham yet lower brings;
What Monsters are we Favorites of Kings?
The Man of Title not sincerely Good,
Is but th'Attaintor of Illustri'ous Blood;
So much its nobler for a Fool to get
A Man of Courage, Honesty and Wit,
Than 'tis for Hero's to begin a Race,
Their Founder's shame, and known to their Disgrace.
But granting to 'em all they can pretend,
Or hope to have; that we must humbly bend
And lick the Dust before 'em, to a Name
At best reflected from their Father's Fame;
That tho' the Substance long ago is fled,
The Shadow now must govern in its stead:
Insist on such a Distance ne'er so long,
No Privilege can justifie a Wrong.
Not Guillim can with all his Colours save
Th'unhonest P---r from being thought a Knave,
And blaz'd abroad by an Impartial Pen;
How e'er their Pow'r may awe precari'ous Men.
In vain You urge, Prescriptions on their Side.
That Veil's to thin the specio'us Fraud to hide:
In our own Constitution we may see
That wrong in Law, that's right in Equity,
Be on their Side, then, Laws perverted Pow'rs,
'Tis more to us w'ave Truth and Sense on Ours.—
Thus from the Ass the Lion's Trapping torn,
And leaving Honour to the Publick Scorn,
We'll back to it's Practitioner return.
That I'll not Name,—nor can I name You Ten,
What Work is there a foot for an Historian's Pen?
What is there but their Vanities and Crimes
To be deliver'd down to Future Times?
Ev'n Gaveston, methinks, this Ditty sings,
Which Haughtier Buckingham yet lower brings;
What Monsters are we Favorites of Kings?
The Man of Title not sincerely Good,
Is but th'Attaintor of Illustri'ous Blood;
So much its nobler for a Fool to get
A Man of Courage, Honesty and Wit,
Than 'tis for Hero's to begin a Race,
Their Founder's shame, and known to their Disgrace.
But granting to 'em all they can pretend,
Or hope to have; that we must humbly bend
And lick the Dust before 'em, to a Name
At best reflected from their Father's Fame;
That tho' the Substance long ago is fled,
The Shadow now must govern in its stead:
Insist on such a Distance ne'er so long,
No Privilege can justifie a Wrong.
Not Guillim can with all his Colours save
Th'unhonest P---r from being thought a Knave,
And blaz'd abroad by an Impartial Pen;
How e'er their Pow'r may awe precari'ous Men.
In vain You urge, Prescriptions on their Side.
That Veil's to thin the specio'us Fraud to hide:
In our own Constitution we may see
That wrong in Law, that's right in Equity,
Be on their Side, then, Laws perverted Pow'rs,
'Tis more to us w'ave Truth and Sense on Ours.—
336
And leaving Honour to the Publick Scorn,
We'll back to it's Practitioner return.
Who by this time, in private Hackney Coach'd,
Has reach'd the Lodgings of his last Debauch'd.—
O Fruitful Theme! and when shall I have done
If one Digression calls another on?
For here, my Muse, with fresh Recruits of Rage,
Lance deep a Vice that half confounds the Age:
Tho' most it reigns among the Great and Fair,
Give it no Quarter, but ev'n stab it there;
When Beauty errs we must not Beauty spare.
Curse Women first that Wit and Merit flee,
And rather than be Wives of low degree,
Will lower fall, and Whore with Quality.
With Love o'ercome we something kind cou'd say,
The Mold is soft, and Nature marks the way;
But shew no Mercy where they're Punks for Pay:
For Monarch's Drabs, degraded by their Lives,
Are yet beneath the meanest Vertu'ous Wives.
But more severely yet their Tempters curse,
That strive to make a Race so wicked, worse.
As who the Sinner to Repentance wins
'Tis said—shall hide a multitude of Sins;
So splits our Fop on the reverted Shelf,
And by seducing others damns himself.
But let me not the Beaute'ous Sex debase,
When there's so many merit endless Praise:
Among 'em Modesty erects her Throne,
Peace in their Eyes, and Sweetness all their own!
Whatever Vertue here can make us be,
In them we at its full Resplendence see.
Cou'd but the Chast of either Sex be shown,
(And we may nearly guess by what is known,)
The odds wou'd soon be on their Side confess'd,
And there worst Vertue far Surmount our best.
But Ah! Perfection we in vain pursue!
The Angels fell,—and so may Women too.
This Maxim's by the Vitious Man maintain'd,
Unless a Lucrece there's no Conquest gain'd;
Vainly believing She'll be less unjust
Than Common Traders in Promiscuous Lust.
Fool! not to know if once the Female fall,
She thinks no more on what we Honour call;
A Whore to One is next a Whore to All.
But here, You'll say, the Censure bears too hard;
A Vertuous Woman's constant to her Guard,
And all Access, with such Intention, barr'd.
True:—but with Billets first the Fair he plies,
And Ladies, if not blind, will use their Eyes.
She reads, and reads; and, tho' 'tis all a Cheat,
'Tis something to be Courted by the Great.
His next Efforts and interview to gain,
And low beneath her Feet declare his Pain.
A Thousand Oaths he Impiously lets fly,
Then calls on Heav'n to Witness Perjury.
But still She does resist his lewd intent
Forwarn'd by many a dismal Precedent.
With Songs he next a closer Siege does lay
And there comes off, too, hopeless of the Day:
But when the Chariot richly lin'd appears,
New Harness, and a Brace of Flanders Mares,
And shews her, she at Parks and Plays may vie
With Strumpets of Superiour Dignity,
She can no more resist; but takes the Bait,
And turns a Whore to Equipage and State.
Has reach'd the Lodgings of his last Debauch'd.—
O Fruitful Theme! and when shall I have done
If one Digression calls another on?
For here, my Muse, with fresh Recruits of Rage,
Lance deep a Vice that half confounds the Age:
Tho' most it reigns among the Great and Fair,
Give it no Quarter, but ev'n stab it there;
When Beauty errs we must not Beauty spare.
Curse Women first that Wit and Merit flee,
And rather than be Wives of low degree,
Will lower fall, and Whore with Quality.
With Love o'ercome we something kind cou'd say,
The Mold is soft, and Nature marks the way;
But shew no Mercy where they're Punks for Pay:
For Monarch's Drabs, degraded by their Lives,
Are yet beneath the meanest Vertu'ous Wives.
But more severely yet their Tempters curse,
That strive to make a Race so wicked, worse.
As who the Sinner to Repentance wins
'Tis said—shall hide a multitude of Sins;
So splits our Fop on the reverted Shelf,
And by seducing others damns himself.
But let me not the Beaute'ous Sex debase,
When there's so many merit endless Praise:
Among 'em Modesty erects her Throne,
Peace in their Eyes, and Sweetness all their own!
Whatever Vertue here can make us be,
In them we at its full Resplendence see.
Cou'd but the Chast of either Sex be shown,
(And we may nearly guess by what is known,)
337
And there worst Vertue far Surmount our best.
But Ah! Perfection we in vain pursue!
The Angels fell,—and so may Women too.
This Maxim's by the Vitious Man maintain'd,
Unless a Lucrece there's no Conquest gain'd;
Vainly believing She'll be less unjust
Than Common Traders in Promiscuous Lust.
Fool! not to know if once the Female fall,
She thinks no more on what we Honour call;
A Whore to One is next a Whore to All.
But here, You'll say, the Censure bears too hard;
A Vertuous Woman's constant to her Guard,
And all Access, with such Intention, barr'd.
True:—but with Billets first the Fair he plies,
And Ladies, if not blind, will use their Eyes.
She reads, and reads; and, tho' 'tis all a Cheat,
'Tis something to be Courted by the Great.
His next Efforts and interview to gain,
And low beneath her Feet declare his Pain.
A Thousand Oaths he Impiously lets fly,
Then calls on Heav'n to Witness Perjury.
But still She does resist his lewd intent
Forwarn'd by many a dismal Precedent.
With Songs he next a closer Siege does lay
And there comes off, too, hopeless of the Day:
But when the Chariot richly lin'd appears,
New Harness, and a Brace of Flanders Mares,
And shews her, she at Parks and Plays may vie
With Strumpets of Superiour Dignity,
She can no more resist; but takes the Bait,
And turns a Whore to Equipage and State.
Nor stops he here, but (easier far betray'd)
As well the Wife seduces as the Maid.
Warm from the Husband's Bed he does entice
The Punk to rise, and season'd for the Vice:
On to th'appointed Street she scours along;
Or if by dire Mistake she take the wrong,
Sagacious, when on Wickedness he's bent,
He winds the Foot, and traces by the Scent,
Return'd, her Husband (if she waking finds)
With Lust she softens, and with fondness blinds;
Th'Excuse is took; the Hony hides the Gall,
And Children not his own are Heirs of all:
Down the Transmitted wrong to Ages flows,
The Right Descent still robbing as it goes:
Till Providence, (as 'tis presum'd to do),
Cut off the Surreptitious Race to re-instate the True.
But now, too late, the Husband finds the Jilt;
The Lewdness less and less conceals the Guilt:
There's a Gradation in all Vices seen;
She that Adultery blushing does begin,
Will rise at last to Glory in the Sin.
Hence Parting, Ponyards, Poiso'ning came in play,
Pack'd from his Bed, or from the World away;—
For She must go, if He design to stay.
As well the Wife seduces as the Maid.
338
The Punk to rise, and season'd for the Vice:
On to th'appointed Street she scours along;
Or if by dire Mistake she take the wrong,
Sagacious, when on Wickedness he's bent,
He winds the Foot, and traces by the Scent,
Return'd, her Husband (if she waking finds)
With Lust she softens, and with fondness blinds;
Th'Excuse is took; the Hony hides the Gall,
And Children not his own are Heirs of all:
Down the Transmitted wrong to Ages flows,
The Right Descent still robbing as it goes:
Till Providence, (as 'tis presum'd to do),
Cut off the Surreptitious Race to re-instate the True.
But now, too late, the Husband finds the Jilt;
The Lewdness less and less conceals the Guilt:
There's a Gradation in all Vices seen;
She that Adultery blushing does begin,
Will rise at last to Glory in the Sin.
Hence Parting, Ponyards, Poiso'ning came in play,
Pack'd from his Bed, or from the World away;—
For She must go, if He design to stay.
Nor does a better Fate remain in Store
For the Young Nymph we mention'd just before.
A while, perhaps the Gaudy Thing does range,
Shine in the Ring and glare along the Change;
Till for some fresher Fair away She's thrown,
And to the Common Hackney Price brought down:
Diseas'd, despis'd, deserted, and disgrac'd,
And e'en Redu'd to ply the Streets at last,
She to some Suburb Bawdy-House retires,
Poxing and Pox'd, and in a Flux expires.
For the Young Nymph we mention'd just before.
A while, perhaps the Gaudy Thing does range,
Shine in the Ring and glare along the Change;
Till for some fresher Fair away She's thrown,
And to the Common Hackney Price brought down:
Diseas'd, despis'd, deserted, and disgrac'd,
And e'en Redu'd to ply the Streets at last,
She to some Suburb Bawdy-House retires,
Poxing and Pox'd, and in a Flux expires.
Mean while her Parents quite dissolve to Tears,
Robb'd of the Fruit of all their Cost and Cares:
To Years of Mutual Mourning they resign,
And all the Family in Concert joyn;
The Young bewail her Fate, the Old at Fate repine!
Nor can they reconcile with all their Sense,
Such Usage with the Care of Providence.
Ah Cruel Pow'rs! (methinks they Sighing say)
Was she not train'd in ev'ry Vertuous Way?
No Nicest Failing did escape our Sight,
For ever on the Watch to keep her right
And that She might not follow empty Lore,
(For Precept bids Example keep before)
We liv'd as we believ'd;—and cou'd we more!
Is this the Promis'd Recompence of Heav'n
For due Obedience to its Precepts giv'n!
Is this the Fate that Continence must share!
The meed of Vertue! and the end of Prayer!
O Sight that we with Blood-shot Eyes Survey!
O Blasted Promise of a shining Day!
We pleas'd our Selves she'd lead a Vertuous Life,
And make some Youth a dear and dutious Wife,
Conveying to all future Ages down
A Line of Worth, of Prudence and Renown;
When now she will but Propagate Disgrace,
A lewd Distemper, and a Bastard Race.
Robb'd of the Fruit of all their Cost and Cares:
339
And all the Family in Concert joyn;
The Young bewail her Fate, the Old at Fate repine!
Nor can they reconcile with all their Sense,
Such Usage with the Care of Providence.
Ah Cruel Pow'rs! (methinks they Sighing say)
Was she not train'd in ev'ry Vertuous Way?
No Nicest Failing did escape our Sight,
For ever on the Watch to keep her right
And that She might not follow empty Lore,
(For Precept bids Example keep before)
We liv'd as we believ'd;—and cou'd we more!
Is this the Promis'd Recompence of Heav'n
For due Obedience to its Precepts giv'n!
Is this the Fate that Continence must share!
The meed of Vertue! and the end of Prayer!
O Sight that we with Blood-shot Eyes Survey!
O Blasted Promise of a shining Day!
We pleas'd our Selves she'd lead a Vertuous Life,
And make some Youth a dear and dutious Wife,
Conveying to all future Ages down
A Line of Worth, of Prudence and Renown;
When now she will but Propagate Disgrace,
A lewd Distemper, and a Bastard Race.
'Tis hard indeed! extremely hard to bear!
And it is what we can't Account for Here.
How e'er, thus far we may the Point debate,
It argues strongly for a Future State;
And that a Hand both Pow'rful and severe
Will reach the Crimes that are Exempted here:
There Mercy to the Tempted may be shown,
But Tempters, who are Devils, can have None.
And it is what we can't Account for Here.
How e'er, thus far we may the Point debate,
It argues strongly for a Future State;
And that a Hand both Pow'rful and severe
Will reach the Crimes that are Exempted here:
There Mercy to the Tempted may be shown,
But Tempters, who are Devils, can have None.
Or if from Sorrow disengag'd and free
You'd have Revenge, come on, and join with Me:
Revenge is here a Vertue; all your Woe
To Scorpions turn, and Sting 'em thro' and thro'.
The sharpest Human Sufferings be his Fate
That tempts a Virgin from her Vertu'ous State;
That with deliberate Lust and Hellish Joy,
Does Truth betray, and Chastity destroy.
Let his own Daughters his Disgrace begin,
And lay on him th'Affliction with the Sin.
His eldest Son be Fool, or Coward made;
His younger, Knaves of Law, or Slaves to Trade.
Distraction, Hate, and fierce Domestick Strife
Confound his Peace, and Plague him long with Life.
And as the Wives of others he betray'd,
Alike from His be still Reprisals made:
First, let 'em separate eat, then separate lie;
(For what can such a Husband signifie)
Till all her Sense of Shame and Honour past,
She come to separate Maintenance at last;
And, by his own Example taught, prefer
All Pimps to Him, as he all Punks to Her:
Nor longer then converse with one by one,
But ev'ry Act be cover'd by a Town.
In Death let him of Future Bliss despair,
At Death uncertain who begat his Heir,
Page, Porter, Pugg, or Coachman for his Fare.
You'd have Revenge, come on, and join with Me:
340
To Scorpions turn, and Sting 'em thro' and thro'.
The sharpest Human Sufferings be his Fate
That tempts a Virgin from her Vertu'ous State;
That with deliberate Lust and Hellish Joy,
Does Truth betray, and Chastity destroy.
Let his own Daughters his Disgrace begin,
And lay on him th'Affliction with the Sin.
His eldest Son be Fool, or Coward made;
His younger, Knaves of Law, or Slaves to Trade.
Distraction, Hate, and fierce Domestick Strife
Confound his Peace, and Plague him long with Life.
And as the Wives of others he betray'd,
Alike from His be still Reprisals made:
First, let 'em separate eat, then separate lie;
(For what can such a Husband signifie)
Till all her Sense of Shame and Honour past,
She come to separate Maintenance at last;
And, by his own Example taught, prefer
All Pimps to Him, as he all Punks to Her:
Nor longer then converse with one by one,
But ev'ry Act be cover'd by a Town.
In Death let him of Future Bliss despair,
At Death uncertain who begat his Heir,
Page, Porter, Pugg, or Coachman for his Fare.
'Tis done!—I see, by a Prophetick sight,
The Curses fix, as we have aim'd 'em, Right.
Thro' all Posterity the Doom is past,
No Whoring Lord shall have a Consort Chast.
But (what e'er Privilege he else may find)
Be sure to pay Adultery still in Kind.
Not Israel's King this Destiny cou'd Guard;
Such was his Crime, and such was his Reward.
If so he suffer'd, and the Fau't but one,
What may they fear by whom 'tis daily done!—
Yet fearless our Adulterous Peer keeps on!
Luxurious in his Lust, the daintiest Flesh
He picks and culls, and ev'ry Meal has Fresh;
As if, like Ven'son Women kept too long
Wou'd hoary grow, and have a tang too strong.
But notwithstanding all his Art and Care,
His Fate is oft to deal in tainted Ware:
Why should he Hummums, else, and Bagnio's need?
And why so often Physick, Cup and Bleed?
Why Salivate and Bath? (all over Pains,
Now of his Shoulders, now his Shins complains)
Were not his Bitches in his Bones and Veins?
The Curses fix, as we have aim'd 'em, Right.
Thro' all Posterity the Doom is past,
No Whoring Lord shall have a Consort Chast.
But (what e'er Privilege he else may find)
Be sure to pay Adultery still in Kind.
Not Israel's King this Destiny cou'd Guard;
Such was his Crime, and such was his Reward.
341
What may they fear by whom 'tis daily done!—
Yet fearless our Adulterous Peer keeps on!
Luxurious in his Lust, the daintiest Flesh
He picks and culls, and ev'ry Meal has Fresh;
As if, like Ven'son Women kept too long
Wou'd hoary grow, and have a tang too strong.
But notwithstanding all his Art and Care,
His Fate is oft to deal in tainted Ware:
Why should he Hummums, else, and Bagnio's need?
And why so often Physick, Cup and Bleed?
Why Salivate and Bath? (all over Pains,
Now of his Shoulders, now his Shins complains)
Were not his Bitches in his Bones and Veins?
But now the Visit o'er, or Business feign'd,
Dinner supplies the Vigour Lust has drain'd.
And here, alas! a Graceless Scene appears,
Our own, and not the Vice of former Years:
The Poor Mechanick and Illiterate Clown,
With Eyes erected, thankfully sit down;
Tho' to so little that there's none to leave,
They render Praise for what they're to receive.
But our loose Libertine, our Modern Lord,
Claps down, Audacious, to a loaded Board
To all Variety that Man can Name
Of Earth and Sea, Fish, Flesh, and Fowl of Game,
Without a Thought from whence the Blessing came.
Dinner supplies the Vigour Lust has drain'd.
And here, alas! a Graceless Scene appears,
Our own, and not the Vice of former Years:
The Poor Mechanick and Illiterate Clown,
With Eyes erected, thankfully sit down;
Tho' to so little that there's none to leave,
They render Praise for what they're to receive.
But our loose Libertine, our Modern Lord,
Claps down, Audacious, to a loaded Board
To all Variety that Man can Name
Of Earth and Sea, Fish, Flesh, and Fowl of Game,
Without a Thought from whence the Blessing came.
In Ancient Times the Tables of the Great
Were the best Schools of Vertue; for the Meat,
'Twas the most slender part of all the Treat:
Moral Discourses with their Meals were joyn'd;
They fed the Body, but did feast the Mind.
Wit with their Wine they equally did prize;
But then no loose or trifling Talk did rise,
For He that will be Merry must be Wise.
They never met, but, different from the Throng,
Something was greatly Said, or greatly Sung,
And Learning gave the Ply to ev'ry Tongue.
Nothing was there advanc'd but things of Weight,
Or of the Present, or the Future State,
Love, Prescience, Will, Necessity and Fate.
And tho' their Reason gave 'em dubious Light,
They trim'd the Lamp, and kept the Goal in sight;
Adorning still Instruction with Delight.
Were the best Schools of Vertue; for the Meat,
'Twas the most slender part of all the Treat:
Moral Discourses with their Meals were joyn'd;
They fed the Body, but did feast the Mind.
342
But then no loose or trifling Talk did rise,
For He that will be Merry must be Wise.
They never met, but, different from the Throng,
Something was greatly Said, or greatly Sung,
And Learning gave the Ply to ev'ry Tongue.
Nothing was there advanc'd but things of Weight,
Or of the Present, or the Future State,
Love, Prescience, Will, Necessity and Fate.
And tho' their Reason gave 'em dubious Light,
They trim'd the Lamp, and kept the Goal in sight;
Adorning still Instruction with Delight.
But at his Lordship's Table you can hear
Nothing but Rack and Murder to the Ear.
Impiety at first begins the Game,
And then a List of Sins without a Name.
Now with some Beauteous Punk the Times beguil'd,
Where Lust is Prais'd, and Mutual Love revil'd.
Now at the Ministry his dirt he flings.
Traducing States and Vilifying Kings.
Now for a Common Wealth he'd all devour;
And now, prefer'd, damns all but Lawless Pow'r.
Now the whole Board at once invade your Ear,
And more than Ten shall talk for Two that hear.
A Serious look is deem'd a Monstrous Fault,
And Modesty meer Costiveness of Thought.
Religion, as they dress it, does appear
A thing we neither ought to Love, or Fear;
Only by Crowds with Adoration seen,
Or Pious Cowards troubled with the Spleen.
Mixt with this Chat, the Healths and Oaths go round
As thick as Hail; and no Decrease is found
Till Five a Clock does summon 'em away,
To wait the Fool of Honour to the Play.
Nothing but Rack and Murder to the Ear.
Impiety at first begins the Game,
And then a List of Sins without a Name.
Now with some Beauteous Punk the Times beguil'd,
Where Lust is Prais'd, and Mutual Love revil'd.
Now at the Ministry his dirt he flings.
Traducing States and Vilifying Kings.
Now for a Common Wealth he'd all devour;
And now, prefer'd, damns all but Lawless Pow'r.
Now the whole Board at once invade your Ear,
And more than Ten shall talk for Two that hear.
A Serious look is deem'd a Monstrous Fault,
And Modesty meer Costiveness of Thought.
Religion, as they dress it, does appear
A thing we neither ought to Love, or Fear;
Only by Crowds with Adoration seen,
Or Pious Cowards troubled with the Spleen.
Mixt with this Chat, the Healths and Oaths go round
As thick as Hail; and no Decrease is found
Till Five a Clock does summon 'em away,
To wait the Fool of Honour to the Play.
343
His Conduct there 'tis needless to recite,
Side-Box'd, and shown in all the Face of Light.
A thousand Witnesses his Folly see;
Fond to be known, tho' known for Infamy.
And tho' of Woman late he had his fill,
Exhausted quite, He's yet for Woman still.
Time will, he thinks, recruit the Vigor gone,
So he provides against the Hour comes on.
O needless and Ridiculous Excess,
To be bespoke for future Wickedness!
What Creature ever heard his Conscience say,
His Crimes were not Sufficient for the Day?
No matter this;—th'Assignation's set,
And he has pawn'd his very Soul to meet:
Tho' he shou'd here stand Honour'd on Record,
A very worthy and Illustrious Lord,
If here (and only here) he broke his Word:
But Fame, as Cray-fish walk, he backward seeks;
Bad Vows he follows, and the Good he breaks.
Side-Box'd, and shown in all the Face of Light.
A thousand Witnesses his Folly see;
Fond to be known, tho' known for Infamy.
And tho' of Woman late he had his fill,
Exhausted quite, He's yet for Woman still.
Time will, he thinks, recruit the Vigor gone,
So he provides against the Hour comes on.
O needless and Ridiculous Excess,
To be bespoke for future Wickedness!
What Creature ever heard his Conscience say,
His Crimes were not Sufficient for the Day?
No matter this;—th'Assignation's set,
And he has pawn'd his very Soul to meet:
Tho' he shou'd here stand Honour'd on Record,
A very worthy and Illustrious Lord,
If here (and only here) he broke his Word:
But Fame, as Cray-fish walk, he backward seeks;
Bad Vows he follows, and the Good he breaks.
Mean while the Play he lets regardless pass
Unless it shew some near resembling Ass
How e'er the Wits at Fopington revile,
He thinks him yet the Glory of the Isle
Soft in his Mein, and melting in his Stile
With secret Joy he sees him Court the Fair,
And Smiles to find his Senseless Image there:
Forgetting quite, the Poet only fits
His Coxcomb out to entertain the Wits.
Well may we doubt that Folly will endure
Which daily being laught at cannot cure:
Impenetrable to the Scoffs and Jears
Of being Cast in Publick by his Peers.
Thus resolute in Nonsense to abound,
And with a Crew of Flatterers compass'd round,
He to some Tavern from the Play retires;
Where Bacchus does infuse his Nobler Fires,
And hatter'd Venus for a while respires.
Unless it shew some near resembling Ass
How e'er the Wits at Fopington revile,
He thinks him yet the Glory of the Isle
Soft in his Mein, and melting in his Stile
With secret Joy he sees him Court the Fair,
And Smiles to find his Senseless Image there:
Forgetting quite, the Poet only fits
His Coxcomb out to entertain the Wits.
Well may we doubt that Folly will endure
Which daily being laught at cannot cure:
Impenetrable to the Scoffs and Jears
Of being Cast in Publick by his Peers.
Thus resolute in Nonsense to abound,
And with a Crew of Flatterers compass'd round,
344
Where Bacchus does infuse his Nobler Fires,
And hatter'd Venus for a while respires.
By this time Midnight's come; and now the Board
Is spread afresh for our Luxurious Lord:
At usual Times his Hunger to allay
He scorns at Heart; the nasty, Vulgar way!
So in the Ev'ning Dines, and Sups at Break of Day.
Preposterous Wretch! so tender of himself,
Yet in the midst of Surfeits hopes for Health.
For now the Glass must run a Brimming round,
Till Rage arises, and their Reason's drown'd:
So silly Flies their Danger make their Game,
Spread their thin Wings and Plunge into the Flame:
For Quarrels next, and Fighting come in Play;
When our fierce Hero (who began the Fray)
Is carry'd off, or from 'em private steals,
Nor thinks his safety in his Sword, but Heels:
Away he hies, and into Bed does get;
Ev'n then a Coward when he's most a Wit.
Mean while his Wretched Friends in Battle joyn,
Till they're, at last, as deep in Blood as Wine.
Is spread afresh for our Luxurious Lord:
At usual Times his Hunger to allay
He scorns at Heart; the nasty, Vulgar way!
So in the Ev'ning Dines, and Sups at Break of Day.
Preposterous Wretch! so tender of himself,
Yet in the midst of Surfeits hopes for Health.
For now the Glass must run a Brimming round,
Till Rage arises, and their Reason's drown'd:
So silly Flies their Danger make their Game,
Spread their thin Wings and Plunge into the Flame:
For Quarrels next, and Fighting come in Play;
When our fierce Hero (who began the Fray)
Is carry'd off, or from 'em private steals,
Nor thinks his safety in his Sword, but Heels:
Away he hies, and into Bed does get;
Ev'n then a Coward when he's most a Wit.
Mean while his Wretched Friends in Battle joyn,
Till they're, at last, as deep in Blood as Wine.
What difference is there, pray, between this bold
Bad Liver, and Pacuvius of old?
Who when h'had Whor'd, and Gormandiz'd and swill'd,
Three times been empty'd, and had thrice been fill'd,
Dead Drunk, in Publick still was born along,
His Servants Singing this Triumphant Song;
(As if the Abstemious only were deceiv'd)
Hey! Io Pæan Boys! h'has liv'd! h'has liv'd!
To Morrow Fortune may her Spite betray,
A Sudden Fate may snatch his Life away,
But He's beforehand! He has liv'd to Day!
H'has liv'd indeed;—but a most fearful End
Must soon such an Intemp'rate Beast attend.
Bad Liver, and Pacuvius of old?
Who when h'had Whor'd, and Gormandiz'd and swill'd,
Three times been empty'd, and had thrice been fill'd,
Dead Drunk, in Publick still was born along,
His Servants Singing this Triumphant Song;
(As if the Abstemious only were deceiv'd)
Hey! Io Pæan Boys! h'has liv'd! h'has liv'd!
To Morrow Fortune may her Spite betray,
A Sudden Fate may snatch his Life away,
But He's beforehand! He has liv'd to Day!
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Must soon such an Intemp'rate Beast attend.
Yet these are they who Imitation claim,
The Form by which we must our Converse Frame:
Our Buttocks, jutting, must like theirs be hung,
The Patterns of our Dress, and Standards of our Tongue.
O Contradiction! Manners to profess
Amidst their Brutal Riots, and Excess.
I have no Patience but in Rage am lost
When such of Breeding, Sense and Honour boast;
When Heaven's a Witness Earth does not contain
A thing beside so Wicked, and so vain.
A Man of Breeding! let him mark that hears;
Who had th'Advantage Pm---ke or his Bears?
A Man of Sense! it overturns our Rules;
Rid by his Drabs, and over-reach'd by Fools?
A Man of Honour! more prepost'rous yet!
And never feed the Poor, or pay a Debt?
To all Remains of Grace extinguish'd quite;
Truth his Contempt, and Falshood his Delight—
Away with such a Monster from our Sight!
The Earth ev'n groans beneath the Impious Freight!
Ah! let it not the Signal longer wait,
Nor Korah's better Tribe be single in their Fate.
The Form by which we must our Converse Frame:
Our Buttocks, jutting, must like theirs be hung,
The Patterns of our Dress, and Standards of our Tongue.
O Contradiction! Manners to profess
Amidst their Brutal Riots, and Excess.
I have no Patience but in Rage am lost
When such of Breeding, Sense and Honour boast;
When Heaven's a Witness Earth does not contain
A thing beside so Wicked, and so vain.
A Man of Breeding! let him mark that hears;
Who had th'Advantage Pm---ke or his Bears?
A Man of Sense! it overturns our Rules;
Rid by his Drabs, and over-reach'd by Fools?
A Man of Honour! more prepost'rous yet!
And never feed the Poor, or pay a Debt?
To all Remains of Grace extinguish'd quite;
Truth his Contempt, and Falshood his Delight—
Away with such a Monster from our Sight!
The Earth ev'n groans beneath the Impious Freight!
Ah! let it not the Signal longer wait,
Nor Korah's better Tribe be single in their Fate.
To Sum up all—what ever Fools have thought,
Blood gives no Honour, nor can Fame be bought;
The Fame I mean that does on Worth depend,
Which must be still acquir'd, and can't descend.
What e'er the Haughty urge for Birth and State,
Only the truely Good are truely Great.
Affluence of Fortune, and not Temp'rance there,
Their Gifts are Cheats, and Tables but a Snare,
Who wou'd for Riches, then, or Honours crave,
That see 'em of their Master make a Slave?
Expos'd by that, in broad apparent Light,
To ev'ry Passion, ev'ry Appetite;
Let it be Anger, Lucre, Lust or Pride,
There's none dismiss'd without being Gratify'd.
Not that 'tis want of Influence from above
Which makes 'em from the Paths of Vertue rove,
Or shuts their Eyes against a SAVIOUR's Love;
Nor yet that Conscience is remiss to tell,
By secret Checks, they are not doing well;
They better know; are certain of the way;
Yet knowing, err; and seeing, go astray.
Thus tho' a GOD his Lordship don't disown,
He lives as if there really were none.
Blood gives no Honour, nor can Fame be bought;
The Fame I mean that does on Worth depend,
Which must be still acquir'd, and can't descend.
What e'er the Haughty urge for Birth and State,
Only the truely Good are truely Great.
Affluence of Fortune, and not Temp'rance there,
Their Gifts are Cheats, and Tables but a Snare,
Who wou'd for Riches, then, or Honours crave,
That see 'em of their Master make a Slave?
346
To ev'ry Passion, ev'ry Appetite;
Let it be Anger, Lucre, Lust or Pride,
There's none dismiss'd without being Gratify'd.
Not that 'tis want of Influence from above
Which makes 'em from the Paths of Vertue rove,
Or shuts their Eyes against a SAVIOUR's Love;
Nor yet that Conscience is remiss to tell,
By secret Checks, they are not doing well;
They better know; are certain of the way;
Yet knowing, err; and seeing, go astray.
Thus tho' a GOD his Lordship don't disown,
He lives as if there really were none.
Thus far W'ave ventur'd to expose to shame
The base Perverters of a Noble Name:
But here we'll rest, some fresh Recruits to find,
And suit our Colours to the Crimes behind:
For what is drawn imploring no Excuse,
And painting what's to come for Common Use.
The base Perverters of a Noble Name:
But here we'll rest, some fresh Recruits to find,
And suit our Colours to the Crimes behind:
For what is drawn imploring no Excuse,
And painting what's to come for Common Use.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |