THE School of Politicks: OR, THE HUMOURS OF A COFFEE-HOUSE.
A POEM.
Tantumne ab re tua otii est, aliena ut cures?
Terent.
The Second Edition Corrected and much Enlarged by the Author.
LONDON, Printed, and are to be Sold by R. Baldwin, at the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-Lane, 1691.
THE
School of Politicks: OR, THE HUMOURS OF A COFFEE-HOUSE.
ODES.
I.
'TWAS
Claret that we drank, and 'twas as fine,
As ever yet deserv'd the name of
Wine;
Each Man his
Flask we thought a mod'rate Dose,
When just as we were giving o'er,
Comes in our honest
Landlord in the Close,
Protesting we should drink his
Bottle more:
Which done, and all our
Reck'ning paid,
Each did a sev'ral way repair;
Some went
to walk, and some
to bed:
But I, who had an hour to spare,
Went to a neighb'ring
Coffee-House, and there
With sober Liquor to refine my Head.
II.
What e'er th' occasion was I cannot tell,
Whether the
Wine had discompos'd my
Mind,
Or some false
Medium did my
Reason blind,
But so it was, I took the
Place for
Hell;
The
Master of the House with
fiery Face,
Did like insulting
Pluto seem,
Whilst all his
Guests he did condemn
To drink a
Liquor of infernal Race,
Black, scalding, and of most offensive smell:
Trembling and pale, I cross'd my self all o'er,
And mumbled
Ave-Maries by the score.
At length, by strange insensible degrees,
My fears all vanish'd, and my Mind found ease,
My scatter'd Reason re-assum'd its place,
And I perceiv'd with
whom, and
where I was.
III.
The murmuring
Buzz which through the Room was sent,
Did
Bee-hives noise exactly represent;
And like a
Bee-hive too 'twas fill'd, and thick,
All tasting of the
Honey Politick,
Call'd
News, which they as greedily suck'd in,
As Nurses Milk young Babes were ever seen.
The various
Tones and different noise of
Tongues,
From lofty sounding
Dutch and
German Lungs,
Together with the soft melodious Notes,
Of
Spaniards, Frenchmen, and
Italian Throats,
Who met in this
State-Conventicle,
Compos'd a kind of
Harmony,
Which did in Concord disagree;
Nay, even
Babel's fatal Overthrow,
More sorts of
Languages did never know,
Nor were they half so various, and so fickle.
IV.
The place no manner of distinction knew,
'Twixt
Christian, Heathen, Turk, or
Jew,
The
Fool and the
Philospher
Sate close by one another here,
And Quality no more was understood
Than
Mathematicks were before the Floud.
Here sate a
Knight, by him a
rugged Sailer;
Next him a Son of
Mars,
Adorn'd with honourable Scars;
By them a
Courtier, and a
Woman's
Taylor:
A
Barber and a
Barister at Law,
Who ne'er before each other saw,
Were hotly
prating I assure ye
Of Kings
de facto and
de jure.
A
Tradesman and a
grave Divine,
Sate talking of Affairs beyond the
Line;
Whilst in a Corner of the Room
Sate a fat
Quack, the fam'd
Poetick Tom,
Pleas'd to hear
Advertisements read,
Where 'mongst lost Dogs, and other fav'rite Breed,
His famous
Pills were chronicled:
The half Box eighteen Pills for eighteen Pence,
Though 'tis too cheap in any Man's own Sense.
Lawyers and
Clients, Sharpers and their
Cullies,
Quakers, Pimps, Atheists, Mountebanks and
Bullies,
Clean or unclean, if here they call,
The place, like
Noah's Ark, receives 'em all.
V.
Had
Lilbourn been alive to see
This
Hotch-potch of
Society,
Some other
measures he had ta'en,
When he the Work of
Levelling began;
For
All here stand on equal ground.
As I have seen in
Storms at
Sea,
For common safety all are willing found
To hawl a
Cable, guide an
Oar,
To stem the
Tide, and bring the
Ship to Shoar;
So in this
School of
Polity,
Each thinks
himself as much concern'd as
they
Who sit in
Council Chamber ev'ry day;
And all their
Maxims have a share
Of the
Professions which their
Masters are.
The
quick-eye'd Sectary pretends to see
Under
Lawn Sleeves the growth of
Popery.
The
Smith upon the Anvil of his Brain
Forms a new
Commonwealth again.
The
Carpenter in his projecting Pate
Makes Props t'uphold the
tott'ring State:
The
Quack too, with his
Close-stool Face,
Does with his senseless Reasons urge,
The
British Islands want a
Purge:
And
Ah! — Were he but once in Place,
He'd — but there stops, and thinks the Age not fit
To know the Wonders of his mighty Wit.
VI.
But the
chief Scene was yet to come,
Which was to hear the various Argument
Which fill'd all corners of the Room,
Concerning the Affairs of
Christendom.
I being seated to content
List'ned with most profound attention to
One of the loudest of the
prating Crew,
Who after spitting thrice began,
Stroaking his Beard,— Quoth he,
Here sits the Man
Who Thirty
several Compaigns
has seen,
At five
and forty Sieges
been,
And in both foreign
and domestick
Wars
Receiv'd as many Scars,
As I upon my Head have Hairs.
You prate, continued he,
to make you merry,
Of Sligo,
and of Bellishannon,
Of Carickfergus
and Dundalk,
And of the thund'ring Bombs
and Cannon,
Were us'd as Siege of London-derry;
Mere stuff,
and nothing else but Talk.
Now if the Wars
you would delight in,
And see the very Soul
of Fighting,
Go but this Spring to Flanders,
Flanders
the Scene of Action, where
Death
keeps his Revels
all the Year:
There are no Petticoat Commanders,
Things clad in red,
which have no braver Souls
Than Parrots, Apes,
or Owls;
But hardy Youths,— so us'd to lye ruff,
That their own Skins
become a nat'ral Buff:
These are the Lads,—
and I was one,
Although I say't my self,— have often gone,
Through thickest Squadrons of the Horse,
And with my single force,
Made a whole Troop
retire in haste:
This good old Blade
which by my Side I wear,
Assisted by my Arm,
I swear,
Has kill'd a dozen Men
before I broke my fast;
Nor living is that daring He,
Who but provokes this trusty Sword,
But shall—
— At speaking of which
word,
Two
Serjeants came and laid
Their
Paws upon this
daring Blade;
Upon an
Action of poor
Hostess
(Living not far from where Blew-Post is,)
For fowling Linnen half a Year,
Then sneaking off and never pay'r.
But so submissive, and so tame,
Was this courageous
Son of Fame!
The Company with Laughter let him pass
To
Prison, for a most
vainglorious Ass.
VII.
Scarce was this
Son of Thunder gone,
Who tir'd the Ears of every one,
Yet with his
blust'ring Language warm,
But new Discourse began,
Talk understood by every one
Concerning the late
dreadful Storm.
Lord! Neighbour, did you ever hear
(Says one)
so terrible a Wind?
I that have liv'd this threescore Years,
The like could never find,
How Sir, (replied his Friend,) —
have you forgot
That blust'ring Night that Noll th'Usurper
died?
When all the Winds
in order tried,
Who should blow hardest on the Spot,
A Storm
so dreadful that 'twas thought
About by Witchcraft
brought;
When trembling Atheists
went to Prayer,
Thinking the Day
of Judgment
near;
And Fear
appear'd in ev'ry Face.
Pish, (cries his Friend,) —
what that time was,
I well remember, but, alas!
To the late Wind
it was no more,
Than farting
of a Cloud,
or shrieking
of a Door.
I'll tell you: There was lately sent
To me a Letter out of Kent,
Which says, it blew the Devil
's Drop
(
A Rock
by Dover
seen)
Along the Shoar,
as if't had been
A School-boy's Gig
or Top,
And plac'd it on this side the Hope,
And that was strange.—
—
But not by half,
So wonderful (another speaks,)
as that
I now am going to relate:
Grazing it to an Essex
Calf,
Near to the Shoar,
and blew him cross the River.
Quite into Kent,
where the poor thing
remains
As sound
and well
as ever.
This caus'd the
Company to laugh out-right:
Which
Mirth t'increase a jolly
Sailer swore,
That on that ne'er to be forgotten Night,
(Though to preserve-her they had spar'd no pains,)
Their goodly Ship
was stranded near the Shoar,
Laden with Claret
from Bourdeaux
she came;
The Vessel
dash'd to pieces, every Man
Nimbly to save himself began;
I, for my part, seeing a Hogshead
float,
Quickly astride upon it got,
And, Faith, I think I was not much to blame,
My drunken Friend
and I
got safe to Land,
Where in requital of the good
He did me, caus'd his dearest Bloud
To issue
from him upon my command,
My Friends
and I
were merry at his death,
And I shall ne'er forget him
while I've breath.
Finding this
dull Romantick strain,
Amongst that
Company to reign,
Whose
Talk was nothing else but
Fable,
I, leaving
them, went to another Table.
VIII.
At which by accident (no doubt) were got
Demurely
grave of
Citizens a knot,
With shaking
Heads and lift up
Eyes,
Discoursing upon
Prodigies.
Ah Friends! the Times (says one)
are very sad,
Although the Wicked
still remain as bad
As if all things were setled—T'other Night,
As very late by Westminster
I came,
Methought the Element
was all on flame,
And one of th' Heads
upon the Iron Spire
Over the Hall,
distinctly cried out Fire:
Nay, I a while ago was told,
That, at Noon, day,
the Horse
which stands
In the Stocks-Market
neigh'd aloud
For Provender,
while the affrighted Croud
Stood shivering both with Fear and Cold:
Now when Vice
grows so strong,
and Faith
so weak,
No wonder 'tis the very Stones
should speak:
What these unlucky Signs
portend
I must confess I cannot comprehend;
Let God (and then he'd'off his Hat)
In his good time discover that.
Why, Neighbour, (says his Elbow-Friend,)
For certain 'tis, you cannot be
So blind as not to see,
The Head
which cried out Fire
denotes
A disagreement in the Senate
's Votes;
But Heav'n
avert the Prodigy;
And th' Horses Neighing
speaks as plain
This Summer
's scarcity of Grain:
But I'm no Prophet,
if I were,
Events more wonderful I'd shew,
Than ever Gadbury
or Lilly
knew,
Events
should make the Nation
stare;
What pity 'tis that Prophecy
is ceas'd!
What pity 'tis, (thought I) thou are not plac'd
In
Bedlam, where there cannot be
One half so
Lunatick as thee:
Darkness, fresh Straw, and
slender Diet,
And
shaving th' Hair from thy
thick Skull,
May make thy
Brains and
Tongue more
quiet;
But leaving this so very
dull,
Most
whimsical, and
senseless Crew,
I foftly to another place withdrew.
IX.
Where
six raw
Country Fellows sate
To hear an
empty Wittal prate:
They to no Sermon in their Lives
Did ever such attention lend,
And each one by his
grinning strives
Who most shall his
Discourse commend:
One whisp'ring t'other in the Ear,
E'fack, Ned,
did you ever hear
(Says he)
such Stories from our silly Vicar,
O'er Whitson Ale,
or Christmass Liquor?
No, Vaith, Tom, (answers he,)
in all my born
I ne'er heard sike an ean, who does not scorn
To tell us all the News; he should, I'm zhure,
By's head-piece, be a Countseller.
By this time our
admired Wit
Had drank his Dish of
Tea, and then
Begins with—
—
Look ye, Gentlemen,
'Tis plain, the Emperour intends
To make a strict Alliance
with his Friends,
To pull down the Unchristian
Turk;
E'gad you'll see some curious Summers Work,
And if things do but hit,
(And I may live to see it,)
That Haughty Tyrant
tumble from his Throne,
And no his humble Marrow-bones,
Beg to b'admitted Groom
of th' Stable,
And eat Scraps
from the Servants Table:
When this is done, they will, I hope,
Have at his Holiness
the Pope,
With all his Scarlet Cardinals,
Who wait upon St. Peter
's Chair;
A Chair
has held this Sixteen hundred Year
Without being mended, as I hear.
The great Mogul
next to their Fury falls,
And when they've overcome the Cannibals
The Work is done, and we may live at peace,
Enjoy our Friends, and always be at ease.
Boy,
bring the Gazette.— Sir, 'tis not come in.
Pox take you, fetch it, for it has been seen
At Jonathan
's two hours ago—But, Sir,—
But, Puppy, What do I
come hither for,
To spend my time in this dull smoaky Room?
Pray be not angry, Sir, the
Gazette's come.
Here, Lad,
let's see't—So, so, here's tickling News,
Lost Dogs,
lost Horses, Soldiers
run away
Without their Wits,
and to avoid their Pay.
Books
sold at Tom
's by Auction—
once, twice, thrice,
The Hammer's down—he has you in a trice.
But, Sir, (says one,)
what kind of News is this?
For let me dye if I know what it is.
Oh, Sir, (replies the Spark)
I always read
Gazettes
as Witches pray; for they, 'tis said,
Do backwards mumble out their Pater Noster;
But now for News,
i'th' twinkling of an Oyster.
Reads.
Francfort, March 29. Several Boats arrive daily with Provisions that are ordered to be laid up here for the use of the Imperial Forces, which will now very quickly be in motion. The late Flouds have broke the Bridge of Boats at Philipsburg.
'Ditto, April. 2.—
Hold, Sir, (says one)
e'er farther you go on
Pray tell us where abouts does stand that Town
Call'd Ditto.—
—
Why, Sir, (answers he,)
it lies
Ʋpon the barb'rous Coast of Africa,
Snatch'd from the Moors
by mere surprize;
For on a very memorable day,
Or rather Night, as they were all employ'd
In gazing on the then Eclipsed Moon,
The Emp'rours Vessels, cruising near the Shoar,
Took the advantage of their busied sense,
And gain'd the Town:—Not many were destroy'd;
Fear bound the Hands of many, Wonder more;
So with small Bloudshed they were Captives soon.
The City's neatly built, and 'twas from thence
The German Balls,
so fam'd for cleaning Shoes,
First came.— I'd read some other News,
But I'm oblig'd by such an hour
To be at— Gentlemen, I am your
Most humble Servant.— Boy, here's for my Tea.
Then leaves the Room.-But, Lord! to hear the Praise
These Blockheads did to his bold Nonsense raise,
Would almost make a witty Man forswear
All Claim to Modesty and Sense,
Since the Accomplishments which bear
A Man through Life, are Ignorance and Impudence.
X.
The Lechery of talking what
Is meerly understood by rote,
Had to another Table drawn
A
Club of
Whigs and
Tory Spawn.
Things which like
Puppets only squeak,
What they sometimes hear
great ones speak:
One would affirm that no pretence
Could
Salus Populi make Sense;
T'other affirm'd the
Royal Line,
Could never be of
Right Divine;
And that it was an
Imposition,
Almost as bad as th'
Inquisition,
To tell the People that a
King
May by's own Power do any thing,
And that to
God he is alone
Accountable for what he's done:
Think you (continued he) that
Subjects come
Bridled and
Sadled to the
State,
And
Kings with
Boots and
Spurs come down
To ride them all at any rate?
And do you think, reply'd the other
That any
Prince on Earth can be
Safe on his
Throne while zealous Brother
Whose quick Eye-sight pretends to see
Some Blemishes in's Rule, shall think it fit
To instigate the Mobile
To force that Prince his Throne to quit,
And then cry out he—But 'tis late: Good Night
For should we talk till day of Doom
In hopes each other to 'orecome
You'd think me still i'th' wrong, as I you not i'th' right.
XI.
Loud Laughter heard, I went to know
The reason of that sudden Mirth,
And what it was that gave it Birth;
Which was a Sot would needs pretend to show
With Ale-drops spilt upon the Bench,
A New Invention to intrench;
Make a Quart-pot to represent a Town,
And then with Cannon of Tobacco-pipe,
Which shews he was invention-ripe,
The Pewter Cittadell beat down.
Then two large Streams together joyn
To represent the River
Boyne;
With broken Pipes then represent
How over it our Army went.
Then make both Armies to ingage
While Pipes still falling from the Table
Did shew the Flight of beaten Rabble:
And all this done with seeming rage,
So serious in his trifling was the Fool;
Pity to
France he is not sent,
Where he Preferment cannot want,
Or else be whipt and sent again to School.
XII.
In
close Cabal were in a Corner met;
A Knot of Men, whose Faces wore
The
Livery of
Discontent,
Sighs from their
Breasts incessantly were sent,
One by their
Looks might see their
Hearts did fret,
Like murmur'ing
Israelites of yore,
They
frown'd, they
stamp'd, they
bit their
Thumbs,
They
wink'd, they
nodded, nay, would sometimes
smil
When something did their airy hopes beguile,
Yet not a
Word between their
Lips there comes.
What this
dumb Scene did represent,
Or what by
Signs and
Nods was meant,
Conjecture only gives us leave to guess:
They were no
Friends to th'
Government,
But there they met their
Thoughts to ease,
Which
Thoughts by
Words if they should dare t'express,
Their
Necks, or Purses at the least,
Might pay for th'
Tongue's untimely
Jest.
Self Preservation's first of Nature's Laws:
To be
Well-wishers they're content,
But care not to be
Martyrs for the
Cause.
XIII.
From this most
unintelligible Crew
I went, another
Scene to view,
If the forementioned were
reserv'd and
close,
These were more
open, and more
free,
For
Wine no secret ever knows,
And that these
Sparks had drank t'a large degree.
You Sirrah
Boy, (says one,)
go fetch m'a Whore,
A lusty strapping Bona Roba,
E'gad, I shall so jerk
her Toby,
I'd make her—But I'll say no more
At present.—Pox this Coffee
scalds my Throat,
(Another cries,)
'tis in all Sense too hot;
Prithee go fetch a Pair of Bellows
hither,
And make my Dish
know cooler weather:
That ever Man should be so great an Ass,
To suffer Wine
(that plaguy Thief) to pass
Between his Lips,
that slily did convey
His Sense,
his Reason,
and his Brains
away:
How happy those dull Nations
are,
That know no other Liquor
but Small-Beer!
You, Harry, (then there bawls a third,)
If of Sobriety
you speak one word,
By Jupiter,
and all the Heathen Gods
Your Sword
and mine shall be at mortal odds;
I for my part, without Reflections,
Against Small-Beer
have forty Actions;
They're to be tried next Term,
and if I cast it,
I'll make't High Treason
for my Friends to tast it,
Boy, bring m'a Glass of Usquebaugh,
By People nicknam'd Lill' bullero,
'Tis good against the Gripes,
they say,
My Humour's this—Dum spiro spero:
Come here's a Health
to th' King of Poland;
Well, here sit I, who though I've no Land,
Suppose my self as great as he,
Nay, as th' great Cham
of Tartary;
My Crown
's a fuddling Cap,
a Pipe
my Sceptre;
My Bottle
represents my Globe,
And any Cloaths
serve for a Regal Robe;
My Queen
my Mistress,
when I kept her.
Drawers
(or else 'tis very hard)
Will serve me for my Corps du Guard;
But when Incognito
I reel,
A Link-boy
serves the turn as well;
And, Gentlemen, to shew I'm yours,
Know you're my Privy Counsellours.
Well, we advise thee to go home,
(Says one,)
and try by Sleep
to overcome
This Humour.—
—
Well, for once it shall be said,
(Says he,)
That Counsel I obey'd;
Here, Boy,
your Money,—Gentlemen let's go,
E'gad methinks I tread on Wool,
or Snow,
My head's so light,—well, when I come again
I'll make new Orders in my drinking Reign.
XIV.
This
merry-Farce diverted all the Room:
These you may know had no design
The
Quiet of the
State to undermine;
He thinks no
Treason that's top-full of
Wine:
Men that sit
brooding o'er their
Fears at home,
Or else abroad in private Corners meet,
And there with
secret Whispers sit,
Are those disturb the
Peace of
Christendom:
The
Juice o'th' Grape may nurse an ill design,
But certain 't never was begot by
VVine.
XV.
Had any this new Figure seen,
Him Madman must have thought him been,
Who stroking up Mustachio's swore,
The King of
France his Master was,
The greatest Prince the Earth e're bore.
What glorious Conquests has he won?
What mighty Actions left undone,
To crown his Fame, and eternise his Race?
Rides he not Master of the British Seas?
Have not— Pray Sir, says one, take up a little,
Your Arguments so very brittle,
Indeed of Nonsense 'tis a finisht Piece.
What glorious Conquests has he won?
Yes, by Pistoles he much has done:
Did he at th' Head of Armies e're appear?
No, while they dealt in Blood and Wounds,
He lulls his Senses and his Soul confounds,
In the fair Lap of Madam
Maintenon.
His mighty Actions what are they,
But burning Towns and laying wast
Whole Provinces? and what I pray
Has his invincible
Armado done
Upon our Coast, but burnt a little Town?
Which Action in your Gazette not long past,
Is magnified as much or more,
As
Portsmouth Platform Castle were in's Power:
For shame leave off these State Romantick Lies,
And seem at least, if you will ne'er be wise.
XVI.
Th' Athenian Itch of hearing News,
Which does our Faith so oft abuse,
Made me inquisitive to know,
How matters did in
Piedmont go:
Piedmont the Place where not long since,
By order from th' most Christian Prince,
Whole Seas of Blood were spilt; but now
By a strange turn of Providence,
Become a shade to persecuted Innocence;
But what we most desire to know,
Does often cheat us with a show.—
The Opticks with which foreign News we view,
Are sometimes false and sometimes true.
One while the Duke of
Savoy has the better,
Then
Cattinat prevails with his Dragoons,
Then all's refuted in another Letter;
The Circling year has not so many Moons,
As from beyond the Seas to us they send
Their weekly Lies,—
We hope the best, but must our Faith suspend.
XVII.
Hearing loud
Talk and warm
Dispute,
I sate me down to listen to't:
A
Cluster were ingag'd, but chiefly
Two
Unsheath'd their
Arguments, and drew
In
Controversie's open Field;
He who did the
defensive Weapon yield
Was both to
Wit and
Sense allied,
Nay, more, the
Truth was on his side;
His
Habit rich, but modest,— t'other,
Yea plainly, a
dissenting Brother,
Who confidently would maintain,
The
Papists first the
War began,
In those sad Times when Jealousies and Fears
Set Folks together by the Ears;
Nay, more, that they the Persons were
Who brought the King into the
Snare,
And when they had him safely there,
Did, in the sight of all
Beholders,
Take off his
Head from off his
Shoulders.
(A
Lye so very gross like this,
What Hearer would not take amiss?)
This caus'd the
Gentleman to storm,
Already with his
Canting warm;
How, Sir, (says he,)
can you with any Face
Transfer the Guilt,
most justly yours,
(
I mean your Party's,)
on the Papists?
They,
'Tis own'd, are bad enough; but can you, 'pray,
Inform us who amongst those ruling Powers
That sate at Westminster
that fatal Day,
When Charles (
the Good, the Pious, and the Just,
Being from Kingdoms three
most basely thrust,)
Was tried, which of them all went to Mass?
What Roman Catholick
to sign was known
The Warrant
for his Execution?
Hold, Sir, (replies the other,)
not too fast:
Ʋpon the Stage
they did not much appear,
'Tis own'd, but they behind the Curtain
stood, and what,
Was ordered to be done was then effected.
Good Counsel ought not, Sir, to be rejected,
(Replies the other,)
but 'tis plain and clear,
The Guilt should only at your Doors be cast.—
At mine, Sir? Pray excuse me, I comply
With evry Government.—That's upper most you mean.
But, Sir, since you and I have been
Disputing thus, let me one Secret
tell.—
A Secret, (said I;)
no, 'tis known too well,
No Government
your Party
ever pleas'd;
And if that Miracles
had not been ceas'd,
Should Heaven
to humour you create
A Kingdom, Commonwealth,
or State,
Together with such wise and wholesome Laws,
Wherein sharp Criticks
could discern no flaws,
Yet you'd be still uneasie.—
—
Sir, too far
You stretch your Argument;
for are
We not as quiet
in the present Reign,
As those who stiffly Monarchy
maintain?
Yes, doubtless, you (replies the other)
can
Conform to all the Modes
which e'er
The Government
are ready to prepare;
But your Compliance
is but Masquerade,
Your Loyalty
s forc'd, your Faith
a Trade;
T'enjoy your Liberty
the State
thinks sit,
Pray Heav'n
you make good use of it;
Forbear your Canting, VVhining, idle Style,
VVith no amusements
see you do beguile
You Hearers;
strive but to be true;
Against the Laws
do you forget to rail,
And let but Sense
'gainst Bigotry
prevail;
And then—
—
Oh! Sir, we know what best to do,
VVe come not here to be inform'd by you.—
But Counsel
's cheap, Sir, I demand no Fees.—
But you may counsel others if you please.—
Nay, if you're angry, Sir, I'm gone;
This 'tis when good advice is thrown
Away on Men; but e'er your Company I leave,
Remember this, while vainly you believe
Others to cheat, you don't your selves deceive.
XVIII.
Great News from Ireland, is heard at Door;
Which puts the
Audience to a stand,
To fetch it in there is command,
And one attempts to read it o'er
But interrupted by a
prating Fop.
You talk, (says he,)
I mean you hope
That Ireland
will this Summer
be reduc'd;
You may as well suppose
The Bay
of Biscay
will be froze;
No, no, with Stories
you're amus'd,
K. J—
's in Men and Money's not so poor,
And I pronounce him Son of 'Whore,
VVho wishes Him
or's Army
were confus'd.
This made the Company to stare:
At last one takes him up with—
Sir, I dare,
Though not to's Person,
yet to's Cause
VVish ruin;
and if any here
Do not the self-same thing aver,
He is without much Complement an Ass.
An Ass,
Sir, (cries the other,)
Faith, I don't
Much use to pocket up such an Affront;
You wear no Sword, I see, and 'twould be base
To draw upon a naked Man,
But here's my Dish of Coffee
in your Face.
T'other, though scalded, would not be
Behind-hand with him in Civility,
But flung a Glass of
Mum so pat,
It spoil'd both
Perriwig and Point
Cravat:
On this a Quarrel soon began,
Till
Constable with pacifying Staff,
Appeas'd the Fray, and the
Contenders have
Some respite, one his
Face to cure,
And t'other to refresh his
Garniture.
XIX.
The lately mention'd Sparks are hardly gone,
But out of Breath more Hawkers run,
With the good News of the intire defeat,
Perform'd by th' Arms and Conduct of the Great
Illustrious
William at the Famous
Boyne,
Where he like
Caesar crost the Rubicon.
The trembling Irish ran away like Hares,
And none to look behind him dares;
It might in every Face be read,
How each ones Heart affected stood;
And tho' Distinction's Politick I hate,
Yet by the Chearfulness which sate,
Upon the Brow of one while t'other shew'd,
A forc'd Complacence, nay, perhaps a Smile,
At reading of the News it was not hard,
To guess whose Interest was lov'd and fear'd.
XX.
Mean while the Tax Collectors enter in,
Demanding Money for the King,
At sight of which one who began to grin,
Did thus his most judicious Censures fling.
Cries on,
I think the Parliament
are mad
To tax us thus; we shall e'er long
Not know to whom our Souls
belong;
Nay 'tis reported they prepare
A Bill to regulate our Fare:
And none without accustom'd Fees
Shall eat of Licens'd Bread
and Cheese;
For—
—
Hold, Sir, cries another Man,
E'er farther in your Nonsense
you go on;
What to the Taxes
have you paid,
Or given to the Royal Aid?
If I mistake not, you're no more
Than Journeyman t'a Shoe-maker,
And yet your Little Worship must complain,
But 'twould, alas! be but in vain
To preach Sense to thy cloudy Brain;
Or else, 't might be evinc'd that none
In Europe
's large Dominions are so free
From griping Taxes
of the Purse as we;
Besides, what in that Nature's done,
Is the effect of meer Necessity,
Shall th' King
his Person for our sakes expose,
And we our little Aids refuse?
They're worse than Infidels
and Jews,
Who out of Complaisance to Purse,
Their future Happiness will lose,
And on Posterity
entail a Curse.
XXI.
Quite out of Breath comes bouncing to the Room
A Spark, as if for Mid wife sent,
Bawling aloud—
His Majesty is come;
The King our Royal Master is at home:
Shall we not drink his health to night,
Tho' some may pledge it out of spight;
E'gad I care not,—You Rogue, Sirrah, Boy,
Fetch me a Double Mug of Potent Beer
To make my Ʋnderstanding clear,
Or I shall else be drunk with Joy?
Are you all ready?—Gentlemen present,
Come here's the Brave King William
's Health,
A Thing I wish above all Earthly Wealth,
All at one pull on rep—so—Boy, another;
This Mug has got a younger Brother.
We must not sure forget the Queen,
No, no, my Lads, that were a Mortal Sin;
Nor must the Prince and Princess be forgot,
Boy, bring each man Mugs half a Dozen,
I'll no Man of his Liquor Cozen.
Now healths to the Nobility,
E'gad I'll drink while I can see,
You Zarrah—Boy—but now the Sot
With frequent Healths so drunk was got,
That leaving of the Publick Room,
Went very Loyal, very Tipsie home.
XXII.
The Company he left behind,
Wanted not twenty of the Game,
Some Loyalty, and some Beer inflame;
Nor were they always in a Mind:
One drank the King's Health, but without a Name.
Which his next Neighbour could not bear;
Sir, you're a
Jacobite I fear;
And were I sure to find one here
To shew how much I could be Civil,
I'd kick him headlong to the Devil.
A Mighty
Hero (cries the t'other)
You're surely
Garagantua's Brother,
Your Valour, or I miss my part,
Lies in your Tongue more than your heart.
You Scoundrel don't provoke me more,
For if you do, you Son of a Whore,
I'll make my Mug which now's so full,
Acquainted with thy Paper Skull;
This Language t'other could not bear,
But gives him a round box o'th' Ear;
That was with Interest paid agen:
Thus both provok'd and soundly vext,
Mugs, Dishes, or what e'er comes next,
Serv'd 'em wherewith to vent their Spleen,
But more than's us'd by Men of Worth;
Each had his second, third, and fourth,
And to't they fall with fighting Fury,
As if they'd been at pass of
Newry,
But parted, each to shew his spight,
Curses, instead of saying,—Good Night.
XXIII.
I having seen this furious Quarrel,
But too much influenc'd by the Barrel;
Thought that this vast Excess of Joy,
Did even the Soul of Loyalty destroy:
That Vertue lies not in an idle Vain,
Of drinking till my Reason stands
A Tiptoe in my Brain,
When so I may obey some rash Commands.
But calm and quiet always in the Breast,
Wherein true Loyalty does rest.
And sure we must it madness call,
Whilst in some Tavern of the Town,
Prostrate upon our Knees we'll fall,
And drinking others Healths to lose our own.
XXIV.
More various Scenes of Humour I might tell,
Which in my little stay befel;
Such as grave
Citts, who spending Farthings four,
Sit, smoke, and warm themselves an hour,
Of modish Town-sparks, drinking
Chocolate,
With
Bevir cockt, and laughing loud,
To be thought Wits amongst the Crow'd,
Or sipping
Tea, while they relate
Their Ev'ning's Frolick at the
Rose.
But now I think 'tis time to close,
Lest to my
Reader I should give offence,
And he be tir'd with mine,
As I was with their dull
Impertinence.
My Reck'ning paid, I left the Room,
And in my passage Home,
Reflected thus—Is this the much desir'd
Blessing of Life, which most unjustly we
Call
Regular Society?
Well, to my Closet I'll repair,
Past Times with present to compare,
My self to strictest Study I'll condemn,
And 'mongst some Authours wise and good,
Who Mankind best have understood,
My Weeks, Months, Years, endeavour to redeem.
Which vainly foolish, and unthinking I
Have spent in what we falsely call
Good Company.
THE END.
Books lately Printed and Sold, at the Ship in St. Paul's Church-Yard.
PLutarch's Morals, Translated from the Greek by several Hands, in 8vo. 5. Vol.
The Female Advocate, or an Answer to a late Satyr against the Pride, Lust, and Inconstancy of Women, in 4to.
Moral Essays and Discourses upon several Subjects, chiefly relating to the Present Times. By a Person of Honour, 8vo.
A New Method of Curing the French Pox, written by an Eminent French Author; Together with the Practice and Method of Monsieur Blanchard, as also, Dr. Sydenham's Judgment on the same: To which is added Annotations and Observations, by William Salmon Professor of Physick, in 12ves.
The Memoirs of Monsieur Deageant, containing the most secret Transactions and Affairs of France, from the Death of Henry IV, till the beginning of the Ministry of the Cardinal de Richelieu, to which is added a particular Relation of the Archbishop of Enbrun's Voyage into England, and of his Negociation for the Advancement of the Roman Catholick Religion here, together with the Duke of Buckingham's Letters to the said Archbishop about the Progress of that Affair, which happened the last Year of King James I. His Reign. Faithfully Translated out of the French Original, in 12ves.
A New and Easie Method to the Art of Dialling, containing 1. All Horizontal Dials, all Upright Dials, Reflecting Dials, Dials without Centre, Nocturnal Dials, upright Declining Dials, without knowing the Declination of the Place. 2. The most natural and easie Way of describing the Curious Lines of the Sun's Declination on any Place, by Thomas Strode Esq in 4to.