University of Virginia Library

My jolly Muse describe that drunken Scene,
A Tavern, where so often thou hast been;
Set forth that tempting Paradice of Fools,
Where cringing Slaves obey and Bacchus rules;
No matter what gay Sign adorns the Walls,
Or whether near St Michael or St Pauls;
For next the Church of God, we always find
The Devil builds a Chappel to his Mind;
What if the Front does for distinction wear
The King, the Pope, the Devil or the Bear,
Be't what it will, within there's Potent Wine
Will make a Man the likeness of the Sign,
Great as a Prince, or beastly as a Swine.
No Monster can their bungling Dawbers frame,
But Man, when drunk, will sometimes be the same;
Therefore the Pendant Scutcheon, tho a Beast,
Is but by turns the Picture of the Guest;
And by its wav'ring motion, does denote
The tottering Posture of a reeling Sot,
The painted Bush that dangles in the Air,
Adorn'd with Golden Jimcracks here and there,
On top of which the drunken God bestrides,
A little Hogshead and in Triumph rides,
Altho of late so artfully contriv'd,
From May-pole Garland 'twas at first deriv'd,
Where Country Clowns and Milkmaids us'd to meet,
And to the Bagpipe shake their clumsy Feet,
Till verdant Circles, by their constant Tread,
Altho manur'd with Sweat, were barren made.

But the fine Gugaw which at first was wove,
With Greens and Flowers from each Mead and Grove,
Advanc'd aloft on Flora's joyful day,
In honour to the Pagan Queen of May;
Is now, alass, for vicious ends, abus'd,
And as a drunken Sign by Christians us'd;
If Vintners (who to all Religion's Shame
Poison our Bodies and our Heads inflame)
Can Merit that blest Character or Name.

When with no small Amusement I had view'd
The noble Front that like a Palace stood,
Where curling Irons and the costly Sign
Were Emblems of th'extravagance within,
Which Fools commit when over powr'd with Wine;
For no such outward Vanity is shown,
By any but the Vintners Trade alone;
I bolted in, where in the Bar there stood
A lovely Piece of tempting Flesh and Blood,
Beauteous by Nature, but by Art improv'd,
Drest with design to be admir'd and lov'd.
About she rowl'd her Eyes when I appear'd,
And when a jilting Glance she had conferr'd
Upon me at my Entrance, she began
To summons with her Bell, the servile Train,
And with her Syren's shril enchanting Voice,
To sing the Names of all her Men and Boys,
Here Bacchus, Fenwick, Alexander, Tom
Where are you? Show the Gentleman a Room.
Said I, I'm single, have no Friends to meet,
Shew me some little Box that's next the Street,
Where I may sit and for a while employ
My Pipe, and by my self my self enjoy.
With that the Drawer congey'd with a Grace,
And led me to a snug convenient Place,
Where, thro a Casement I could gaze about,
And ogle who came in and who went out;
I pull'd a Chair, sat down and gave the Word
For the best Sack the Cellar could afford,
Such as our upright Fathers drank of old,
When Virtue scorn'd to be debauch'd by Gold,
And Conscience arm'd with Justice would disdain
To change its ground for either Fear or Gain,
Such as our antient Poets chose to drink,
Who did not only write and Rhime but think,
That Mortals might behold in e'ery Line,
Such charming Force in melting numbers shine,
As shew'd each powerful Thought refresh'd with Wine
The Drawer bowing, on his Word profest
He'd peg a Flower and bring me up the best;
But first there's Sixpence for your self, said I,
I only bribe you 'cause you shou'd not lye;
Thank you kind Sir, the fawning Slave reply'd,
I'll bring you Wine no Tavern draws beside.
Then nimbly as a Mercury he springs,
The Token, tho 'twas little, gave him Wings;
Money with speed makes all Men go and come,
The Noble flies to meet the greater Sum;
The nicest Lady 'twill alas bewitch,
Raise but the Bribe above her Virtues pitch,
Nay F--- and S---, tho so grave and wise,
Who o'er offending Mortals Tyranize,
If they the Golden tempting Bait deny,
And on the cringing Donor look awry,
'Tis only 'cause the Present does not bear
A due Proportion with the Robes they wear,
For Gifts and Bribes must always suited be
To the Receiver's Post and Quality,
A piercing Judgment is required to know
How much we ought exactly to bestow,
If too profuse, we're by our selves abus'd,
And if too nigardly, the Bribe's refus'd,
So to the Courtier I the medium leave
Who by consulting with the Knave in's Sleeve,
Knows better what to take and how to give.

By that time these digressive Thoughts were spent,
For Thought sometimes will be impertinent,
The Draw'r whose Absence I a while had mourn'd,
Was from the Cellar with the Wine return'd;
With elevated Hand he fill'd the Glass,
Whilst the brisk Attoms sparkl'd in my Face,
That by its lively Looks I understood,
Fenwick was honest and the Wine was good,
Thus prepossess'd I tasted of the Juice,
And found the Nectar free from all abuse,
So quick, so rich, so noble and divine,
So powerful, so angellically fine,
That it deserv'd some greater Name than Wine.

Thus far oblig'd, I with my self agreed
To wast one drouthy Pipe of Indian Weed,
And o'er my Wine in easy numbers draw
Familiar Pictures of what e'er I saw,
That common Opticks might behold each Part,
Free from the vain Imbellishments of Art,
Which, tho they add much Beauty to the Piece,
At the same time they make the Likeness less,
Do with lame Nature too far disagree,
And hide those naked truths the World should see.
Just so the flatt'ring Artist when he paints
The Picture of a Dame who Beauty wants,
With melting stroaks he smooths the dowdy Face,
And to each feature adds some charming Grace,
That who beholds the Piece can only see
Not what she is but what she fain would be.

Thus as I musing sate o'er Wine and Weed,
Like snarling Critick with a thoughtful Head,
Or that, like Timon, I'd abjur'd the base
And treach'rous Company of Humane Race,
To live abstracted from the Publick Stage,
And grin at all the Follies of the Age.
At last, I fix'd my volatile Conceits,
And tow'rds the present Subject bent my Wits;
Watching the Tavern Entry to descern
What Company came in, that I might learn
How fawning Sweet'ners get Estates by Wine,
Whilst gen'rous Souls in Circumstance decline,
Nay, whilst more Merit and Industry too,
Shall the same wealthy Ends in vain pursue;
Which shews that Fortune cares not to impart
Her Smiles to Men of Honesty or Art;
Vertue, on Earth, but seldom meets Reward,
'Tis Vice alone that swells the Miser's hoard,
Raises the Scoundrel to a Chair of State.
And makes the Fool diminitive, look great,
Improves the Vintner to a bulky Beast,
And gives him Pow'r to Lord it o'er his Guest,
But this can prove no Wonder to the Wise,
Who know 'tis natural for the Scum to rise.

No sooner had I drank a second Glass,
And tow'ards the Tavern Postern turn'd my Face,
But in their jostl'd an uncommon Crowd
Of Tradesmen, warmly talking very loud;
One with a Boatswain's Voice, above the rest,
His fiery Zeal most croakingly exprest:
Says he, they're Fools, I'll hold 'em two to one,
That at this time we're Masters of Toulon,
Has not Prince Eugene all along prevail'd,
In what Adventure has his Army fail'd?
The Glory is reserv'd for him alone,
To pull the Gallick Tyrant from his Throne,
You'll find in this Campaigne, that he'll do more
Than all the Vict'ries we have gain'd before.

Well said, thought I, a Man may easily read
Thou'rt a true Branch of the ingrateful Breed,
Who soon forgets the noble Actions done,
By Britain's Champion and the Battles won,
That brought such Triumphs to the English Throne.

But those Fanaticks that abhor the Name
Of Crown, take Pleasure to eclipse it's Fame,
And out of meer ill Nature and Disgust,
Bury those Glorious Actions in the Dust,
Perform'd by Kings tho ne'er so Great and Just.
Ring, ring, here Bacchus, crys the Lady fair,
Where are you, show the Tyger or the Bear,
Tho spoke by chance, it prov'd to me a Jest,
Both proper Rooms, thought I, for such a Guest,
Who by their brutish Rage and Fierceness shew
Themselves worse Creatures than the former two.

Next out of Coaches lighted at the Door,
A Wedding near in number half a Score;
In came the Bridegroom stepping with a Grace,
Mark'd with the signs of Cuckold in his Face,
If we by Features and by Lines can see
Men's Fortunes by their Phisiognomy;
Join'd to his dexter Hand, the wanton Bride,
Fine as a Queen, walk'd gigling by his side,
Wholly to Mirth resign'd, as if the Jade
Was pleas'd to think how she had noos'd the Blade,
Behind, each Brideman with his Maiden Dame,
Coupl'd like Doves, in loving Order came,
Throwing their am'rous Glances to and fro,
That their kind Looks might let each other know
They envy'd in their Hearts that sweet delight
The marry'd Pair were to enjoy at Night;
These were succeeded by some chosen Friends,
By whom perhaps the Bride obtaind her Ends,
For since, like Whoring, Wedlock's grown a Trade,
Few Matches are without Procurers made.

A Peal was now rung loudly at the Bar,
Run, Bacchus, run, crys Madam, to her Draw'r,
Down with the sliding Wainscot, help him Dick,
That parts the Greyhound and the Horns, quick, quick.
(The Bridegroom happ'ning to be tall and thin,
Long visag'd, slender back'd and very lean,
Seem'd by his Blushes to be much asham'd,
Because he was so like the Beast she'd nam'd)
Pray, Gentlemen and Ladies, walk up Stairs,
There's a large Room will answer your desires;
Here, Fenwick, Tom, Jo, Alexander, Harry,
Wherei'st you hide, a Pack of Sots where are ye?
Show up to the great Room, and pray take Care
(D'ye hear) that all things in good order are.
So up they mounted, airy, brisk and gay,
To jog their Tails and solemnize the Day,
And did their am'rous panting Hearts resign
To the kind Gods of Marriage, Mirth and Wine.

The Morning Whetters with their sparkling Eyes,
And flaming Noses, now began to rise
From their side Tables by the Kitchin Fire,
That publick Room which Trading Sots admire,
And thro the Entry slide by two and two,
Half drunk with White-wine and with Lisbon new,
Some reaching, poyson'd with their Breakfast Pipes,
Some with wry Looks complaining of the Gripes,
Whilst antient Sots with Gention Gills and Drams
Had numb'd their Noddles and relax'd their Hams,
That as along the crazy Sinners went,
They kindly paid a double Complement,
Nodded their Heads which with the Palsy shook,
And dropt a Cur'sy e'ery step they took,
Not thro good Nature, Breeding or Design,
But forc'd to't by the dint of Age and Wine,
Two pow'rful Foes, that all Men must allow
Will make the sturdy'st Hero yield and bow.

Now Merchants from the Change flock'd in to Dine,
All jabrieng about the grand Design,
Talking of what new Wagers they had laid
Of Letters, Mails, but not a Word of Trade,
As if their Fancies now were pall'd and tir'd
With that kind Mistress once so much admir'd,
And that they'd found some new Clandestine ways
To live without the wealthy Dame's Embrace.

Mob'd Ladies mask'd in Hackney Coaches came,
Each softly asking for her Cull by Name,
Some met their Sparks according to desire,
Who made 'em light in all their loose Attire,
Handing their lustful Paramours up Stairs,
To give the Rickets to the Tavern Chairs;
But first on some nice costly Dish to Dine,
And whet each others Appetite with Wine,
That soothing Bacchus might their Lust inflame,
Strengthen the Youth, exhilerate the Dame,
And make both wicked without Fear or Shame.
Others were disappointed by their Mates,
And so return'd confounding of their Fates,
Perhaps quite beggar'd by some late Debauch,
And wanted City Cull to pay the Coach,
So drove from Place to Place in hopes to find,
At last some gen'rous Coxcomb to their Mind,
Who thro Concern for their unhappy Case,
Would bleed profusely for a kind Embrace;
For Harlots when with Poverty opprest,
Always pursue those Fools that pay 'em best.

The House like Conventicle fill'd apace,
As if they sold not only Wine but Grace,
And that some Lab'rer in the holy Word,
With Tongue more hurtful than a two edg'd Sword,
In order to improve our Discontents,
Was preaching o'er his Liquor to his Saints,
Who always mix Religion with Design,
And edify the most when o'er their Wine.

Confusion hurry and incessant noise,
The tinkling Bar-bell and my Lady's Voice,
The Drawers crying Wines of e'ery sort,
From glorious Palm t'adulterated Port;
Some running up Stairs, others tumbling down,
All in a swift Carrier as if they'd flown;
Guest knocking with their Heels in sundry Rooms,
Some making exit to their Neighb'ring homes,
Some flocking in of e'ery Trade and Craft,
To occupy the Seats by others left,
Whisp'ring their gleanings of the freshest News,
Or the wise Comments of de Foe's Reviews,
That such a humm arose, as if the Guest,
Were buzzing Hornets and the House their Nest,

The bulky Vintner, who that Morn had been
With his fine Gelding, up at Hampstead Green,
To give his wheezing Corps upon the Heath,
The wholesome Benefit of Country Breath,
Was now return'd, and steping to the Barr,
Attempted to salute his Lady fair;
But dumpish Madam being vex'd and mad
That from his Bus'ness he so long had staid,
Leaving to her the Care of Barr and Book,
Refus'd the Kiss, which he in dudgeon took,
And flinging down the Keys, with Anger fir'd,
Scatter'd some bitter Words and so retir'd.
No sooner had the Buck possess'd the Barr,
And eas'd his Charming Helpmate of her Care,
But soon he made his roaring Voice proclaim
The Master rul'd the Barr and not his Dame;
Tho by Report, except the Fool's bely'd,
The weaker Vessel governs all beside;
But 'tis no wonder Women bear the Sway,
Since Men are grown such Blockheads to obey.

When I had thus beheld, as o'er my Wine,
What Crowds of Sots paid homage to the Vine,
What tipling Numbers their assistance gave,
To make a thankless Miser of a Slave:
I paid my Reck'ning, thinking it a Crime
To longer wast my Money and my time,
And thought it now no wonder to behold
Purse proud Vintner in a Chain of Gold,
Since e'ery painted Jackanapes and Bear
Does the same slavish Badge of Honour wear.