Vulgus Britannicus :: :: University of Virginia Library

When the Rude Vulgi thus were met,
And e'ery Moment grew more Great;
Gath'ring fresh Succour to their Throng,
Like Snowballs when they're rowl'd along;
Among which never thinking Croud,
'Twas held a Vertue to be loud;
Whilst here a Shove, and there a Blow,
For Common Jests, pass'd to and fro;
So when the Horned Herd to feed,
Are turn'd into the Fertile Mead;
They Gallup, cock their Tails and Roar,
And growing wild each other Goar.

Now, at the Rabble's great Command,
Each Coach was forc'd to make a stand;
And many tho' of lofty Station,
Submit to their Examination;
And with the Patience of a Job,
Obey their S--- L--- the Mob;
Who now grown mad 'twixt Nob and Tipple;
Declar'd themselves to be the People,
Who had by Natures Law a Right,
To do whate'er themselves thought fit;
So Rebels, when successful grown,
Will Brave and Dare the very Throne;
And rigidly exert their Pow'r,
O'er those that govern'd them before.

As the Rude Rabble now encreas'd,
In various Raggs and Tatters Dress'd;
And tow'rds the Rooks Old College drew,
More Wild and Insolent they grew;
No Gang of Sailors stept on Shoar,
To see some strapping Wappen Whore,

Could in their Frantick Actions better
Express the Freaks of Savage Nature;
Than did the loud tremendous Brood,
Whose Bell'wings seldom bode much Good
Each frighted Dog their Fury felt,
With being either Dock'd or Gelt;
And stubborn Posts were made to Reel,
By Bangs and Knocks they could not feel.
So Men provok'd to Indignation,
By others who despise their Passion:
Discharge their Fury when they're Vex'd,
On Stocks or Stones or what comes next.

When thus the bold Infernal Swarm,
Were boiling-hot for any Harm;
'Twas then a certain Soul Physician,
Just fall'n into a bad Condition,
By vent'ring thro' his Over Zeal,
To probe a Wound he could not Heal;
Was therefore question'd if his Balsam,
Were Stale and Naught, or Good and Wholsome,

Which he'd apply'd so piping Hot,
To Brethren that approv'd it not.

It hap'ning that these weighty Matters,
Between the Doctor and his Betters;
By this time having spread among,
Th' Original of Pow'r the Throng:
To whom the Two Wise Observators,
Those grumbling Twins of Regulators;
And all the Saints of Modern date,
So often have appeal'd of late,
And made thereby, the Frantick Croud,
So Pert, so insolent and Proud;
That our new S--- L--- the Rabble,
Thought they'd a Native Right to Squabble
At all times, on behalf of those,
Their Zeal inclin'd them to espouse,
Believing they had Pow'r sufficient
Giv'n 'em long since by the Omniscient;
To rightly Judge without the Laws,
The Person, or his doubtful Cause:

And therefore might, when set upon't,
Their Lawful Governorus Confront.
These empty Notions and Conceits,
Quite turn'd the wav'ring Rabble's Wits;
And made the slaving useful Creatures,
Grow Proud and Saucy to their Betters;
So Mastiffs kept within our Yards,
Prove safe and serviceable Guards;
But if we suffer them to mount
The Pails, on e'ery light Account;
They'll grow too Headstrong by Degrees,
And Tare and Worry whom they please.

The Rabble, rather Brutes than Men,
Curs'd ab Origine from Cain;
B'ing thus assembl'd in the Street,
For any Sport or Mischief fit;
Whether by some obscure Direction,
Or guided by their own Affection;
The Giddy, Wild, Unthinking Herd,
Resolv'd to be the Doctor's Guard;

And headlong to his Levi Run,
Well arm'd with Club instead of Gun,
And there attended his approach;
T'Huzza him loudly to his Coach.

The Doctor much amaz'd to see,
The Rabble of their Love so free,
Well knowing such unwelcome Kindness,
Caus'd by intemp'rate Zeal or Blindness;
Or by some buisy Faction ment,
To Irritate the Government;
Gave to the Mob a sharp Reproof,
And wisely thought that Thanks enough;
For the Rude Hollows of a Rout,
He had much rather been without;
So forward Fools will Friendship offer,
To Persons that despise their Proffer
Thro' Prudence, not Ingratitude,
Because forc'd Kindnesses are rude.

However all the Rough Perswasions,
The soft Entreaties and Orations;

The Sober Arguments and Prayers,
That Man could use to Wilful Bears;
Could not prevail upon the Rout,
To stop their Course, and face about;
For Captain Tom of this Fam'd City,
Joyn'd with his Mob are High and Mighty;
Too Wise, too Headstrong, and too Bold,
To be Advis'd, or yet Controul'd;
And like stern Tyrants will Postpone,
All others Measures, to their own.
So Girls that lay their Baits to catch
Some Youth that's not a Proper Match;
If Friends will not their Choice approve,
The more they're Check'd the more they Love.

Thus did the Priest in Triumph Ride,
With Legions shouting by his side;
Punish'd with the untimely Cry,
In spite of Low Church, High Church High;
Which startling Noise, like Winters Thunder,
Fill'd many List'ning Ears with Wonder;

So unexpectedly to find,
The S--- People thus unkind;
Who had so long been sooth'd and flatter'd,
H---ly'd, Review'd, and Observator'd,
And tempted by a Thousand Arts,
To stamp Mod'ration in their Hearts;
Yet that at last upon a Pinch,
They from their Good old Friends should flinch
Who us'd to treat them with whole Barrels
Of Ale, to back them in their Quarrels;
Encourage them long since to Swarm;
Round such that meant the Nation Harm;
And spur'd them on to stand by those,
Who durst to be their Monarch's Foes;
And that they now should hang an Arse,
Or vary from their wonted Course;
Forget Their Favours and Caresses,
Who, by Extreams, and warm Excesses;
Had brought their B---s to a C---s;
Such black Ingratitude must vex,
The G---y and their C---e perplex;

Provoke the mildest S--- to Swell,
And fret and fume like Bottle Ale.

But those who do alas depend,
Upon the Mob to stand their Friend;
And found Dominion not in Grace,
But in the wav'ring Populace;
Must find sometimes the giddy Swarm,
Instead of Good, will do 'em Harm,
And like the Snake exert their Pow'r,
On those that cherish'd them before;
So Rusty Guns if charg'd too high,
Recoil when fir'd, and backward fly,
On those who oft have kill'd their Game,
And sported freely with the same.

There's no Dependance on a Rude,
Destracted giddy Multitude;
Who to each Party's Mutual Sorrow,
Are high to Day, and low to Morrow;
And by an old Tumultuous sort
Of Justice, which they make their Sport.

Turn Foes to whom they have been Friends,
To make the suff'ring side amends;
That those who laugh'd aloud at first,
At last may chance to come by th' worst;
And those have vice versa next,
A turn to Laugh who first were vext;
Thus 'tis the mode in these our days,
To spit our Venom diff'rent ways;
And so by opposite Extreams,
Persuant to our Envious Whims;
Express, according to the Fashion,
Our Spite, by way of Moderation.

So the sweet Babe of Early Wit,
To please Mamma does Daddy beat,
Then lest the Dad the Brat should blame,
It stroaks Pappa, and beats the Man;
Thus are the Infant Rabble taught,
To vex this Party Humour that;
And learn from Father and from Mother,
To please all sides, one after t'other.

When these, the Dregs of Humane Race,
By Nature stubborn Fierce and Base,
Had forc'd themselves without Reward,
Or Thanks, to be the Doctor's Guard;
Attended on him all the Day,
And brought him back with loud Huzza;
Expressing their immod'rate Joys,
In Josles, Scuffles, Shouts and Cries,
And Resolutions to defend,
The Rev'rend Champion to the End;
Who was much troubl'd and surpiz'd,
But could not help what he despiz'd.

So brave Men oft are forc'd to bear,
Those Flatt'ries they abhor to hear;
And humour noisy Crouds they hate,
To back the Policy of State.

E'er Light was spent the Boist'rous Flock,
Convey'd the Pensive Shepherd back;

In such wild Pomp that was unknown,
To those who wear the Sacred Gown;
That no Heroick Royal Victor,
Usurper, Gen'ral or Protector;
Could e'er be plagu'd in their Processions,
With louder Shouts and Acclamations;
As if the loose unchristian Race,
Who'd long been destitute of Grace;
Were now reform'd, and would declare,
To all the Town what Church they were;
In hopes their sanctify'd Pretences,
Would Varnish o'er their Vile Offences;
Or that it might the better Skreen,
Some Mist'ry that was hid therein;
So Jilts wed those they ne'er affected,
Purely t'intrigue the less suspected;
And that the Spouse may bear the Blame,
Of what's transacted by his Dame.

As soon as the Promiscuous Rout,
Had giv'n the Priest a Parting Shout;

And lodg'd their Fav'rite, they withdrew,
Some new Adventure to Persue;
Leaving the Thoughtful Guide to Ponder;
On those Afflictions he was under;
When of that noisy Clamour eas'd,
With which he had so long been teas'd;
So when a Prince has done great Feats,
And rides in Triumph thro' the Streets;
Tho' Farthing Candles please his Sight,
And the loud Mob his Ears delight;
He's glad, when all the Pomp is past,
To find he's got safe Home at last.