 | Free-Thinkers |  |
As Atheism is in all Respects hatefull, so in this, that it depriveth
Human Nature of the means to exalt it self above Human Frailty.
Sir Fra. Bacon's Essay XVI. of Atheism.
3
FREE-THINKERS.
A Dialogue at a Tavern, Between Jack, Tom, and Sir Plyant.
Jack,Friend! if I'm late, excuse the failing,
And think, that Reasons much prevailing,
Have kept me, for an hour, or better
(Since I receiv'd your tempting Letter)
From this dear Scene, of Joy, and Drinking,
And ev'ry Licence of Free-thinking.
But, tell me, who's this rustick Fellow (sees Plyant)
That looks as Spleenatick, and yellow,
As if his Rev'rend Parson aw'd him,
And with Ten Precepts weekly claw'd him?
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With Men like us! to share a Supper,
To hear all Beings, prov'd Mechanick,
And Nature, rescu'd from the Panick?
Tom.
Be easy, Jack, and you, this Bumpkin
Shall quickly find, is good for something,
Who may be moulded to our wishes,
By Wine, and Wit, and sav'ry Dishes;
And, if he's Plyant, as his Name is,
Well worth the chase, you'll find the Game is.
In Youth, Pedantick Tutors, bred him,
And with half Notions, crudely fed him,
The Town, as he'll inform you, fully,
Next, turn'd him to a Rake, and Bully;
The Country, since, has been his Station,
Where he's a Patriot out of Fashion;
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With all, that on Religion borders,
On which, so shrewdly he Discourses,
He Mawls sometimes, our new rais'd Forces;
But we're uncivil—here's your Health Sir,
A whisper, now and then by stealth, Sir,
'Tis hop'd you'll pardon, we Free-thinkers
Are unconfin'd, and lawless Drinkers,
And whatsoever suits, or pleases,
Or for our Profit, or our Ease is,
We never baulk it, nor ill breeding
Is now esteem'd, this Frank proceeding,
Plyant.
I thank you, Sir, for this Instruction,
Which did not need an Introduction,
For all, that I shall see you practise
I will conclude, still, most exact is;
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With Bully-Rocks, and bilking Scorers,
Was us'd to Herd, and call'd a Ranter,
And in the Pit, cou'd Vizars banter,
But since, reflecting on that Folly,
I can no more be loud, and jolly;
But for the time to come, shall spend it
Like one, that knows, he soon must end it;
Yet, real Wit, that's Chast, and Sober,
Heighten'd a little with October,
Whether express'd, in Words, or Writing,
Will to my Death-Bed be delighting.
Tom.
Champaigne, will surely raise it faster,
Believe me, who have been your Taster,
A Flask of this, for your half Guinea,
Will stir up all, that's bright within ye,
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And teach you Pleasure! and Free-thinking?
Ply.
Why Sir, my thoughts were never bounded
But still, have all the Globe surrounded,
Recall'd the past, and reach'd the future,
Unhelp'd by such a costly Tutor;
But this Free-thinking, pray what is it?
If Wit, methinks I would not miss it,
Or see again, my Native Mansion,
Unlearn'd, in any new Invention;
And sure, a Cant, will bear rehearsal,
Which is become so universal,
That even the Drawer, (to my admiring
Answer'd me, when for you inquiring,
You wou'd be here, I need not doubt yo
Free-thinkers, cou'd not live without yo
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He always sits at th'upper end on't,
And talks such wonders, to the Youngsters,
They know not if they're Men, or Monsters,
But yet, of this, (so clear 'tis stated)
They're sure, they never were Created,
[illeg.] first sprung up, they know not where,
[illeg.] when, nor how. 'Twill make you stare
[illeg.] hear him, (whilst they do adore him)
[illeg.] Fools of all, that went before him.
[illeg.] Dam'sel, next, both Young, and Pretty,
[illeg.] welcome Land-Lord to this City;
[illeg.] clapp'd me roundly on the Shoulder,
[illeg.] Army Trull, was ever bolder;
[illeg.] when I ask'd her, who had taught her
[illeg.] Impudence, and hither brought her,
[illeg.] answer'd (mincing in her manners)
[illeg.] thinkers, Sir! I thank their Honours;
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By every Rank, to be attended,
And your new Doctrine (Grave, or Frolick,)
Has spread, as if 'twere Apostolick.
Tom.
We have indeed, the World enlighten'd,
And Boys, and Girls, are not so frighten'd
With Good, and Evil, (taught at random
In Nurseries, by Palsied Grand-am)
As heretofore, were Men, and Matrons;
Free-thinking, Sir, has mighty Patrons.
Ply.
But may an honest Man relie on't?
Tom.
Jack, Here's a Health to Lady Plyant;
Methinks, she seldom comes to Town, Sir.
Ply.
Why, 'tis so hard, to get her down, Sir.
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For, if a Man should over strain it,
What seems at first, but Whim, and Notion,
May, Clash with Honour, and Devotion;
With Magna Charta, or Superiors,
And make us think, there's no Inferiors,
But all were born upon the Level,
And equally should sway, and Revel.
Jack.
Intolerable! Can you like him?
aside
Tom.
He'll soon be Drunk, and then we'll strike him,
Unfold our latitude Opinions,
And add him, to our large Dominions.
aside
Jack.
A mighty Triumph! As you will Sir,
aside
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But all this while, your Glass stands still Sir.
Ply.
Give me a Toast.—
Tom.
—Your Son, your Second,
He a Free-thinker has been reckon'd,
A Man of wond'rous Sense, and Mettal,
Fit to unhinge, and then resettle,
To lose the Bands, which Education
Imposes, on a free born Nation;
To show, how Life should slide along,
Unheeding what's to come, or gone;
How self! we always shou'd consider,
And follow still the fairest Bidder.
Snatch in the nick, the Good that's certain,
Nor mind, what's hid behind the Curtain.
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Why, if you mean young Richard Plyant,
He shall scale Heaven with any Gyant,
Who of Lycurgus talks, and Solon,
And is old Dog, at Hobbs and Toland;
Knows all Republican Defences,
And Raves on Cato Uticensis,
With t'other of that Name, and Brutus
He daily labours to confute us;
When Adam dug, and Eve set Onions,
He says, that all Men were Companions;
That Kings were made but for the People,
As for the Church was made the Steeple;
Which, tho' it highest stands, and fair is,
To make them meet, its only Care is;
And, whilst that Noise, and Pomp possesses,
The People 'tis, must lay the Cesses;
That 'tis, but as the People bawl,
Unto whose share, the Ropes should fall;
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The People, must erect another.
Tom.
Perfect Allusion! strong, and valid;
I ne'er heard Argument so solid,
Why here's a Lad, all Flame and Spirit,
Sir Disinherit! Disinherit!
Leave not the Eldest born, an Acre,
But raise this generous Undertaker;
In London let him still be gallant,
And much with us, to mend his Talent;
Encourag'd by our daring Papers,
And growling, talk of Spleen, and Vapors,
With Equipage, and Gold enough,
And let him be interr'd in Snuff;
The Smyrna for his House be noted,
And he, for early News, be quoted,
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Profusely big, confute th'Engager.
Ply.
How Dick! have all, has Giles offended
Tom.
No, but your Race will thus be mended
Hereditary, is a Jest Sir,
Right's in the strongest, and the Best Sir,
Let Dick ascend, or if the Females,
Do in your Line, outvalue the Males,
There, give the Land, and greatly match 'em.
Ply.
No, e'er I do, Old Nick shall fetch 'em.
Tho' Moll cou'd spend a mighty Fortune,
And for Supplies does still Importune;
Is grown a Writer and a Rattler,
And ev'ry Moment, quotes the Tattler;
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And midst her talking, Verses sputters;
And, when I bid her leave that Tone,
She sings, I'll live for you alone.
I tell her, that she goes too fine,
She sings, Oh! Nymph of Race Divine.
I chanc'd to tread upon her Toe,
She singing, scream'd out, Cupid Oh!
Besides, the Charge each time she hears it,
Wou'd buy a Shift, her Mother swears it.
Jack.
She's a Free-thinker, I imagine,
And all that's witty does engage in,
But her last Fault you'll see amended,
For Opera's will soon be ended,
Since Ridicule, that's so subduing,
Has now contriv'd it's total Ruin;
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Of Bread and Butter round the Loaf;
And still kept Ground, before our Plays,
Though hack'd and hew'd, by Poet Bays,
A waggish Title now must blast it,
And Punch's Opera will cast it.
Ply.
I am glad 'twill down, but why that Tool,
Is reason, less then Ridicule,
Jack.
Oh Sir, by much! all Mortals fear it,
And neither Man, nor Brute can bear it,
When I've but thus my Finger pointed,
And with screw'd Looks my Face dis-jointed,
17
Tom.
Jack, you forget, he's a Machine
Aside.
Jack.
There is a Tract! I'll say no more,
But, had they Rally'd heretofore,
We had not been misled, and fetter'd,
Some Days kept plain, and some red Letter'd,
But, in full Liberty, had trod still,
Ply.
And Heathen Idols, been ours Gods still;
Yet, when lewd Wit, Thersites wasted,
All that he got, was to be basted,
Nor, wou'd the Greeks, have lost Elysium,
Shou'd he have held it in Derision,
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For smart Buffooning, all their Heaven.
Jack.
They had resign'd to Ridiculing;
Ply.
And wittily been damn'd, for fooling.
Jack.
Make that, the Subject of your Laughter,
There's nothing Sir to come hereafter.
Tom.
Free-thinking, rescues from that Error,
Which keeps you in this constant Terror.
Ply.
Why then, what you, Free-thinking call,
I find, is not to Think at all;
And Savages, through want of breeding,
Are what you grow, by dint of reading.
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And as to Earth, his Corps was carried,
Farewel quoth he, my good old Master,
You, and your Mare, who dyed last Easter,
Shall now, no more, know joys, or slashes,
But be, for ever, Dust and Ashes.
Tom.
Well said, brave Hobb! is such Free-thinking
Down, to the dull Plebean Sinking,
And do the Clowns, talk at this rate too?
Ply.
Then Fools, were Socrates, and Plato,
Though once esteem'd, both, wise and great,
For tracing out, a Future State.
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The notion, has been new, and witty,
'Tis now a Ruff—
Ply.
—The more's the pity,
Jack.
Wou'd you be still, then, so confin'd,
Nor free in Body, nor in Mind?
Ply.
Why Sir, were I all Air, or Fire,
What freedom more cou'd I desire?
Who'd not with others Rights make bold,
And what's my own, is all Free-hold.
Tom.
But, where's the Taste, in such possessing?
The Pleasure, sure, is in Transgressing,
In doing, what another dare not,
And showing, we, for Statutes care not;
21
I'd reap the Fruit, of all their Labours,
A Fellow, that with-held his Wife
'Cause by the Priest, bestow'd for Life,
Should instantly be sack'd, and plunder'd,
And us'd the worst, in all the Hundred;
Had I a Naboth, on each side me,
Who had a Field, or Grove, deny'd me,
In that, my Team, by force shou'd enter,
And this, shou'd warm my Hearth in Winter;
The Church, if to my House 'twas joyn'd,
Shou'd, with my Orange Trees, be lin'd,
The Parson, if he still wou'd keep it,
Should trim the Boughs, and dayly sweep it,
His Surplice, in true Blue being dy'd,
Shou'd Aprons for the Work provide.
22
Those Fellows, are indeed a burden,
And shou'd to Plough, or to the Garden,
Who 're always Preaching low Submission,
And clog the Paths, to bold Ambition.
Ply.
But, for this vigorous Employment,
This self providing, this Enjoyment,
I can discern no proper Season;
Unless brought in, by War, and Treason,
And, I have still, been wond'rous loath,
To violate the Allegiance Oath.
Tom.
Sir, I am much surpriz'd, at finding,
You think a trivial Oath, so binding,
Swearing in Taverns, or the Temple,
Differ but only in th'Example;
One leads the Mob, to soar, and Hector,
T'other, to sneak to some Protector;
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But, for the Countenance they lend it.
Ply.
Yet, in my Thoughts, there one thing more is,
Are you, Free-thinkers, Whiggs, or Tories?
Jack.
They steadily, indeed, are neither,
Occasionally, can be either;
Distinction, their large Aim, disgraces;
They're of no Party, but for Places;
Scorning all Ties, Divine or Civil.
Ply.
Why this Free-thinking is the Devil!
But yet I fear, that whilst I'm trying
With this new Scheme, to be complying,
I shall some Book, be turning over,
With Clasps, and Turky-Leather Cover,
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As 'tis Entitl'd in Gold Letters.
Jack.
You'll never stick at those Abuses,
We've put that Book, to such odd Uses,
That it has lost its ancient Credit,
Though few amongst us ever read it.
Ply.
Well Gentlemen, I must be trudging,
As far as Lombard Street's my Lodging,
Where I have plac'd Five Hundred Pounds,
The Product of my Pasture Ground,
And must make hast, so to dispose it,
That Bankrupts, may not sink, or lose it.
25
Tom: Now's the time!—
Aside.
Tom.
—It is, be silent;
Aside.
Jack.
But, I may beg the Fates to smile on't.
Aside.
Tom.
You're for the City, Sir too late,
They've long e're this, barr'd ev'ry Gate,
And are each Lane, and Passage guarding,
As safe, as if they fear'd Bombarding:
Let me, this Night, your Presence borrow?
Ply.
The Money must be had to morrow,
'Twixt Eight, and Nine, it is appointed.
Tom.
You are not with their Ways acquainted,
They'll make you wait till Twelve, or one,
Before this Business can be done;
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Give me your Letter of Attorney,
I'll take the Drudgery of staying,
And when 'tis ready for conveying,
Dispatch my Man, to give you warning,
Who may till then, sleep out the Morning;
Come, own the Truth, did not my Lady
Cry, be as careful Dear, as may be,
And, with her kind, controwling Powers,
Engage you to observe good Hours?
Then, since to night, you have transgress'd,
You must to morrow, take your rest,
Here's Pen, and Paper;—
Jack.
—Keep him waking,
Kind Fortune, and his Hand from shaking.
Ply.
There, 'tis perform'd, now I'll to Bed Sir,
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You have an able Hand, and Head Sir,
No Secretary e'er was quicker.
Ply.
Sir, I do best still in my Liquor.
Jack.
Waiter, a Coach! the Knight is winking,
He'll wake, instructed in Free-thinking.
Tom.
Why, if he thoroughly has learnt it,
The Summ is large, but we have earn'd it.
For he'll so fast his Stock be raising,
Beyond the ways, of Plough and Grazing,
That he'll have Cause to bless the Minute,
And those, who did inform him in it;
Mean while, towards Holland I'll be jogging.
Jack.
So you had need for fear of dogging,
Or being with that Toledo haunted,
Nay, prethee Thomas, be not daunted!
Tom.
Not daunted, when you talk of Murder,
What if in this we went no further.
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Not any thing, wou'd then, come of it
And the Attempt, without the Profit,
Wou'd wrong the Judgment of Free-thinkers.
Tom.
Great Wits, from Dangers, have been Shrinkers.
Therefore 'tis fix'd, I'll not pursue it,
Take you the Note, and boldly do it,
Who domineer, 'till shunn'd, and dreaded,
As if a Legion you had headed;
Then sure, you're Valiant at the bottom?
Jack.
I'll share the Pounds, when you have got 'em.
But all Free-thinkers in the Nation,
Know, our first Rule's Self-preservation,
For once our Life cut short below,
(Although we seem to brave it so)
You guess Friend Tom. where next we go.
FINIS.
| Free-Thinkers | |