[1]Of Dr.King, who was "a tall, lean, well-looking man," there is a striking likeness inWorlidge'sView of the Installation of LordWestmorelandas chancellor ofOxfordin 1761. Some particulars of his life and writings may be seen in the "Anecdotes of Mr.Bowyer," p. 594.
[1]Of Dr.King, who was "a tall, lean, well-looking man," there is a striking likeness inWorlidge'sView of the Installation of LordWestmorelandas chancellor ofOxfordin 1761. Some particulars of his life and writings may be seen in the "Anecdotes of Mr.Bowyer," p. 594.
[2]Mr.Walpolehas honoured a passage in the first edition of this hasty work, with the following stricture: (see Anecdotes of Painting, vol. IV. p. 149)."I have been blamed for censuring the indelicacies ofFlemishandDutchpainters, by comparing them with thepurityofHogarth, against whom are produced many instances of indelicacy, and some repetitions of the same indelicacy. I will not defend myself by pleading that these instances are thinly scattered through a great number of his works, and that there is at least humour in most of the incidents quoted, and that they insinuate some reflection, which is never the case of the foreigners—but can I chuse but smile when one of the nastiest examples specified is from the burlesque ofPaulbeforeFelix, professedly in ridicule of the gross images of theDutch?"In consequence of private remarks from Mr.W.this questionable position, as well as a few others, had been obviated in my second impression of the trifling performance now offered to the public: but as our author cannotchuse but smile, when the occasion of his mirth was no longer meant to be in his way, I would ask, in defence of my former observation, if moralists usually attempt to reform profligates by writing treatises of profligacy? or, if painters have a right to chastise indelicacy, by exhibiting gross examples of it in their own performances? To become indecent ourselves, is an unwarrantable recipe for curing indecency in others. The obscenities ofJuvenalhave hitherto met with no very successful vindication: "Few are the convertsAretinehas made." According to our critic's mode of reasoning, a homicide might urge that the crime of which he stands accused was committed only as a salutary example of the guilt of murder; nay, thus indeed every human offence might be allowed to bring with it its own apology.—I forbear to proceed in this argument, or might observe in behalf of our "foreigners," that their incidents insinuate some reflections as well asHogarth's. The evacuations introduced inDutchpictures, most certainly inculcate the necessity of temperance, for those only who eat and drink too much at fairs, or in ale-houses, are liable to such public and unseemly accidents asHeemskirk, Ostade,andTeniers,have occasionally represented. If we are to look for "Sermons in stones, and good in everything," this inference is as fair as many which Mr.W.seems inclined to produce in honour of poorHogarth, who, likeShakspeare, often sought to entertain, without keeping any moral purpose in view. But was there either wit or morality inHogarth'sown evacuation against the door of a church, a circumstance recorded by Mr.Forrestin his MS. tour, though prudently suppressed in his printed copy of it? Perhaps, following UncleToby'sadvice, he had better have wiped the whole up, and said nothing about the matter. Our worthy Tour-writer, however, was by no means qualified to be the author of a Sentimental Journey. He rather (and purposely, as we are told) resemblesBen Jonson'scommunicative traveller, who says to his companion,——I went and paid a moccinigoFor mending my silk stockings; by the wayI cheapen'd sprats, and atSt. Mark'sI urin'd.Faith, these are politic notes!
[2]Mr.Walpolehas honoured a passage in the first edition of this hasty work, with the following stricture: (see Anecdotes of Painting, vol. IV. p. 149).
"I have been blamed for censuring the indelicacies ofFlemishandDutchpainters, by comparing them with thepurityofHogarth, against whom are produced many instances of indelicacy, and some repetitions of the same indelicacy. I will not defend myself by pleading that these instances are thinly scattered through a great number of his works, and that there is at least humour in most of the incidents quoted, and that they insinuate some reflection, which is never the case of the foreigners—but can I chuse but smile when one of the nastiest examples specified is from the burlesque ofPaulbeforeFelix, professedly in ridicule of the gross images of theDutch?"
In consequence of private remarks from Mr.W.this questionable position, as well as a few others, had been obviated in my second impression of the trifling performance now offered to the public: but as our author cannotchuse but smile, when the occasion of his mirth was no longer meant to be in his way, I would ask, in defence of my former observation, if moralists usually attempt to reform profligates by writing treatises of profligacy? or, if painters have a right to chastise indelicacy, by exhibiting gross examples of it in their own performances? To become indecent ourselves, is an unwarrantable recipe for curing indecency in others. The obscenities ofJuvenalhave hitherto met with no very successful vindication: "Few are the convertsAretinehas made." According to our critic's mode of reasoning, a homicide might urge that the crime of which he stands accused was committed only as a salutary example of the guilt of murder; nay, thus indeed every human offence might be allowed to bring with it its own apology.—I forbear to proceed in this argument, or might observe in behalf of our "foreigners," that their incidents insinuate some reflections as well asHogarth's. The evacuations introduced inDutchpictures, most certainly inculcate the necessity of temperance, for those only who eat and drink too much at fairs, or in ale-houses, are liable to such public and unseemly accidents asHeemskirk, Ostade,andTeniers,have occasionally represented. If we are to look for "Sermons in stones, and good in everything," this inference is as fair as many which Mr.W.seems inclined to produce in honour of poorHogarth, who, likeShakspeare, often sought to entertain, without keeping any moral purpose in view. But was there either wit or morality inHogarth'sown evacuation against the door of a church, a circumstance recorded by Mr.Forrestin his MS. tour, though prudently suppressed in his printed copy of it? Perhaps, following UncleToby'sadvice, he had better have wiped the whole up, and said nothing about the matter. Our worthy Tour-writer, however, was by no means qualified to be the author of a Sentimental Journey. He rather (and purposely, as we are told) resemblesBen Jonson'scommunicative traveller, who says to his companion,
——I went and paid a moccinigoFor mending my silk stockings; by the wayI cheapen'd sprats, and atSt. Mark'sI urin'd.Faith, these are politic notes!
——I went and paid a moccinigoFor mending my silk stockings; by the wayI cheapen'd sprats, and atSt. Mark'sI urin'd.Faith, these are politic notes!
1.PaulbeforeFelix, from the original painting inLincoln's-Inn Hall, painted byW. Hogarth."There is much less Dignity in this, than Wit in the preceding." Under the inscription to the first impressions of this plate is "PublishedFeb.5, 1752. Engraved byLuke Sullivan." To the second state of it was added the quotation which, in p.64, I have printed from Dr.Joseph Warton'sEssay on the Genius ofPope. It was covered with paper in the third impression, and entirely effaced in the fourth.
2. The same, "as first designed, but the wife ofFelixwas afterwards omitted, because St. Paul'shand was very improperly placed before her." I have seen a copy of it, on whichHogarthhad written, "A print off the plate that was set aside as insufficient. Engraved byW. H." On the appearance of Dr.Warton'scriticism on this plate,Hogarthcaused the whole of it to be engraved under both this and the next mentioned print, without any comment.
3.Mosesbrought toPharaoh'sdaughter, from a picture atThe Foundling Hospital. Engraved by W. Hogarth and Luke Sullivan.
In the early impressions from this plate (exclusive of its necessary and usual inscription) the words "PublishedFebruary5, 1752, according to Act of Parliament," and "W. Hogarth pinxit," are found. In subsequent copies they are obliterated; and we have only "Published as the Act directs" in their room. These were left out, however, only to make room for the quotation from Dr.Warton'sbook already mentioned.[1]
[1]It should here be remarked, that the heads of several of the figures in the original, differ widely from those in the engraving. The daughter of theEgyptianMonarch appears to more advantage in the print than on the canvas, for there she resembles a wanton under-actress, who, half-undrest, and waiting for her keeper, employs the interval of time in settling accounts with a washerwoman, who has her bastard at nurse, and has just brought him home to convince her that youngCurl-pated Hughhas no shoes to his feet. The colouring of this piece is beneath criticism. I have just been told the head ofPharaoh'sdaughter was copied from oneSeaton, a smock-faced youth of our artist's acquaintance: a proper model, no doubt, for anEasternPrincess!Hogarthcould not, likeGuido, draw aVenusfrom a common porter.
[1]It should here be remarked, that the heads of several of the figures in the original, differ widely from those in the engraving. The daughter of theEgyptianMonarch appears to more advantage in the print than on the canvas, for there she resembles a wanton under-actress, who, half-undrest, and waiting for her keeper, employs the interval of time in settling accounts with a washerwoman, who has her bastard at nurse, and has just brought him home to convince her that youngCurl-pated Hughhas no shoes to his feet. The colouring of this piece is beneath criticism. I have just been told the head ofPharaoh'sdaughter was copied from oneSeaton, a smock-faced youth of our artist's acquaintance: a proper model, no doubt, for anEasternPrincess!Hogarthcould not, likeGuido, draw aVenusfrom a common porter.
1.Columbusbreaking the egg. "The subscription-ticket to his Analysis." First payment 5s. Hogarthpublished this print as a sarcasm on those artists who had been inclined to laugh at his boasted line of beauty, as a discovery which every one might have made.
2. Analysis of Beauty. Two plates. Mr.Walpoleobserves, thatHogarth's"samples of grace in a young lord and lady are strikingly stiff and affected. They are aBathbeau and a county beauty." The print is found in three different states. "In the original plate the principal figure represented the present king, then prince, butHogarthwas desired to alter it. The present figure was taken from the last duke ofKingston; yet, though like him, is stiff, and far from graceful."[1]In Plate I. Fig. 19. the fat personage drest in aRomanhabit, and elevated on a pedestal, was designed, asHogarthhimself acknowledged, for a ridicule onQuinin the character ofCoriolanus. Essexthe dancing-master is also represented in the act of endeavouring to reduce the graceful attitude ofAntinousto modern stiffness. Fig. 20. was likewise meant for the celebratedDesnoyer, dancing in a grand ballet.
Dr.Beattie, speaking of the modes of combination, by which incongruous qualities may be presented to the eye, or the fancy, so as to provoke laughter, observes "A country dance of men and women, like those exhibited byHogarthin his Analysis of Beauty, could hardly fail to make a beholder merry, whether he believed their union to be the effect of design or accident. Most of those persons have incongruities of their own in their shape, dress, or attitude, and all of them are incongruous in respect of one another; thus far the assemblagedisplays contrariety or want of relation: and they are all united in the same dance; and thus far they are mutually related. And if we suppose the two elegant figures removed, which might be done without lessening the ridicule, we should not easily discern any contrast of dignity and meanness in the group that remains.
"Almost the same remarks might be made onThe Enraged Musician, another piece of the same great master, of which a witty author quaintly says, that it deafens one to look at it. This extraordinary group forms a very comical mixture of incongruity and relation; of incongruity, owing to the dissimilar employment and appearances of the several persons, and to the variety and dissonance of their respective noises; and of relation, owing to their being all united in the same place, and for the same purpose of tormenting the poor fidler. From the various sounds co-operating to this one end, the piece becomes more laughable, than if their meeting were conceived to be without any particular destination; for the greater number of relations, as well as of contrarieties, that take place in any ludicrous assembly, the more ludicrous it will generally appear. Yet, though this group comprehends not any mixture of meanness and dignity, it would, I think, be allowed to be laughable to a certain degree, merely from the juxta-position of the objects, even though it were supposed to be accidental." Essay on Laughter and Ludicrous Composition, 4to Edit. 608.
"I have no new books, alas! to amuse myself or you; so can only return yours ofHogarth'swith thanks. It surprized me agreeably; for I had conceived the performance to be a set of prints only, whereas I found a book which I did not imagineHogarthcapable of writing; for in his pencil I always confided, but never imagined his pen would have afforded me so much pleasure. As to his not fixingthe precise degree of obliquity, which constitutes beauty, I forgive him, because I think the task too hard to be performed literally: but yet he conveys an idea between his pencil and his pen, which makes one conceive his meaning pretty well." LadyLuxborough'sLetters, p. 380.
I shall here transcribe as much from theAnalysisas is necessary to communicate our artist's design relative to the various figures that compose the country-dance in the second plate. The reader who neither possesses the book, nor wishes to accompany the author throughout his technical explanations, may desire some intelligence concerning the present subject.
"CHAP. XIV.
"Of Attitude.
"—As two or three lines at first are sufficient to shew the intention of an attitude, I will take this opportunity of presenting my reader with the sketch of a country-dance, in the manner I began to set out the design; in order to shew how few lines are necessary to express the first thoughts as to differentattitudes [see fig. 71. T. p. 2.], which describe, in some measure, the several figures and actions, mostly of the ridiculous kind, that are represented in the chief part of plate II.
"The most amiable person may deform his general appearance by throwing his body and limbs into plain lines; but such lines appear still in a more disagreeable light in people of a particular make; I have therefore chose such figures as I thought would agree best with my first score of lines, fig. 71.
"The two parts of curves next to 71, served for the old woman and her partner at the farther end of the room. The curve and two strait lines at right angles gave the hint for the fat man's sprawling posture. I next resolved to keep a figure within the bounds of a circle, which produced the upper part of the fat woman between the fat man and the aukward one in a bag-wig, for whom I had made a sort of an X. The prim lady, his partner, in the riding habit, by pecking back her elbows, as they call it, from the waist upwards, made a tolerable D, with a straight line under it, to signify the scanty stiffness of her petticoat; and a Z stood for the singular position the body makes with the legs and thighs of the affected fellow in the tye-wig; the upper part of his plump partner was confined to an O, and this, changed into a P, served as a hint for the straight lines behind.[2]The uniform diamond of a card was filled by the flying dress, &c. of the little capering fellow in the Spencer wig; whilst a double L marked the parallel position of his poking partner's hands and arms [N. B. This figure was copied from that of an uncouth young female whomHogarthmet with atIsleworthassembly]: and, lastly, the two waving lines were drawn for the more genteel turns of the two figures at the hither end.
"The drawing-room is also ornamented purposely with such statues and pictures as may serve to a farther illustration.HenryVIII. [Fig. 72. P. 2] makes a perfect X with his legs and arms; and the position ofCharles[Fig. 51. P. 2.] is composed of less-varied lines than the statue ofEdwardVI. [Fig. 73. P. 2.]; and the medal over his head is in the like kind of lines; but that over Q.Elizabeth, as well as her figure, is in the contrary; so are also the two other wooden figures at the end. Likewise the comical posture of astonishment expressed by following the direction of one plain curve, as the dotted line in aFrenchprint ofSancho, where DonQuixotedemolishes the puppet-show [Fig. 75. R. P. 2], is a good contrast to the effect of the serpentine lines in the fine turn of theSamaritanwoman [Fig. 75. L. p. 2.] taken from one of the best picturesAnnibal Caracheever painted."
Respecting the plate numbered I. there are no variations. In its companion the changes repeatedlymade as to the two principal figures are more numerous than I had at first observed. It may, however, be sufficient for me to point out some single circumstance in each, that may serve as a mark of distinction. In the first, the principal female has scarce any string to her necklace; in the second it is lengthened; and still more considerably increased in the third. In the first and second editions also of this plate, between the young lord and his partner (and just under the figure of the man who is pointing out the stateliness of some of K.HenryVIIIth's proportions to a lady), is a vacant easy chair. In the third impression this chair is occupied by a person asleep. I have lately been assured that this country-dance was originally meant to have formed one of the scenes in theHappy Marriage. The old gentleman hastening away his daughter, while the servant is putting on his spatter-dashes, seems to countenance the supposition; and having since examined the original sketch in oil, which is in Mr.Ireland'spossession, I observe that the dancing-room is terminated by a large old-fashioned bow-window, a circumstance perfectly consistent with the scenery of the wedding described in p.46, &c.
I may add, that in this picture, the couple designed for specimens of grace, appear, not where they stand in the print, but at the upper end of the room: and so little versed was our painter in the etiquetteof a wedding-ball, that he has represented the bride dancing with the bridegroom.[3]
WhenHogarthshewed the original painting, from which this dance has been engraved, to my informant, he desired him to observe a pile of hats in the corner, all so characteristic of their respective owners, that they might with ease be picked out, and given to the parties for whom they were designed.
[1]Anecdotes of Painting, 8vo. vol. IV. p. 166.
[1]Anecdotes of Painting, 8vo. vol. IV. p. 166.
[2]The idea of making human figures conform to the shape of capital letters, is by no means new. Several alphabets of this kind were engraved above 150 years ago.
[2]The idea of making human figures conform to the shape of capital letters, is by no means new. Several alphabets of this kind were engraved above 150 years ago.
[3]As different fashions, however, prevail at different times, this observation may be wrong.
[3]As different fashions, however, prevail at different times, this observation may be wrong.
3. The Political Clyster.Nahtanoi Tfiws.[1]Dr. O'Gearth sculp. Nll Mrrg. Cht Nf. ndw Lps ec ple &c. &c. shd b. Prgd. See Gulliver's Speech to the Honble. House of Vulgaria in Lilliput.
This was originally published about 1727, or 1728, under the title of "The punishment inflicted onLemuel Gulliver, by applying aLilypucianFire Engine to his posteriors for his urinal profanation of the Royal Pallace atMildendo; which was intended as a Frontispiece to his first volume, but omitted.HogEarth sculp." The superiority of the impressions thus inscribed is considerable.[2]
More than the general idea of this print is stolen from another byHellish Breugel, whom I have already mentioned in a remark onBeer-street, andGin-lane. TheDutchmanhas represented a number of pigmiesdelivering a huge giant from a load of fæces. His postern is thrust out, like that ofGulliver, to favour their operations.Breugelhas no less than three prints on this subject, with considerable variations from each other.
"WhenHogarth'stopics were harmless," says Mr.Walpole, "all his touches were marked with pleasantry and fun. He never laughed, likeRabelais, at nonsense that he imposed for wit; but, likeSwift, combined incidents that divert one from their unexpected encounter, and illustrate the tale he means to tell. Such are the hens roosting on the upright waves in the scene of the Strollers, and the devils drinking porter on the altar." The print now before us is, however, no very happy exemplification of our critick's remark.
[1]Originally mistaken by Mr.Walpolefor the name of aLilliputianpainter, but put right in his new edition.
[1]Originally mistaken by Mr.Walpolefor the name of aLilliputianpainter, but put right in his new edition.
[2]The present unmeaning title of this plate, was bestowed on it by its owner, Mr.Sayer.
[2]The present unmeaning title of this plate, was bestowed on it by its owner, Mr.Sayer.
1. Crowns, mitres, maces, &c. A subscription-ticket for the Election entertainment. This print has been already described. See p.39. The engraved forms of a receipt annexed to it do not always agree. In one copy (which I suppose to be the eldest) it contains an acknowledgement for "Five Shillings, being the first payment for a print representing an Election Entertainment, which I promise to deliver, when finished, on the receipt of five shillings and sixpence more." The second is for "one guinea, being the first payment for four prints of an Election, which I promise, &c. on the receipt of one guinea more." The third for"fifteen shillings, being the first, &c. for three prints, &c. on the payment of sixteen shillings and sixpence more."
2. Frontispiece toKirby'sPerspective.[1]Engraved bySullivan. Satire on false perspective. Motto, "Whoever maketh a design without the knowledge of Perspective, will be liable to such absurdities as are shewn in this frontispiece." The occasion of engraving the plate arose from the mistakes of Sir E.Walpole, who was learning to draw without being taught perspective. To point out in a strong light the errors which would be likely to happen from the want of acquaintance with those principles, this design was produced. It was afterwards given toKirby, who dedicated Dr.Brook Taylor'sMethod of Perspective to Mr.Hogarth. The above anecdote is recorded on the authority of the gentleman already mentioned. The plate, after the first quantity of impressions had been taken from it, was retouched,but very little to its advantage. Mr.S. Irelandhas the original sketch.
[1]"This work is in quarto, containing 172 pages, and 51 plates, in the whole; with a frontispiece designed and drawn by Mr.Hogarth. 'Tis a humourous piece, shewing the absurdities a person may be liable to, who attempts to draw without having some knowledge in perspective. As the production of that great genius, it is entertaining; and, though abounding with the grossest absurdities possible, may pass and please; otherwise I think it is a palpable insult offered to common sense, and tacitly calling the artists a parcel of egregious blockheads. There is not a finished piece in the book, but the mason's yard and the landscapes; so that I question if the whole of the plates were forty pounds expence. It was first printed for himself atIpswich, dedicated to Mr.Hogarth, and published in the year 1754."Malton, Appendix to Treatise on Perspective, p. 106.
[1]"This work is in quarto, containing 172 pages, and 51 plates, in the whole; with a frontispiece designed and drawn by Mr.Hogarth. 'Tis a humourous piece, shewing the absurdities a person may be liable to, who attempts to draw without having some knowledge in perspective. As the production of that great genius, it is entertaining; and, though abounding with the grossest absurdities possible, may pass and please; otherwise I think it is a palpable insult offered to common sense, and tacitly calling the artists a parcel of egregious blockheads. There is not a finished piece in the book, but the mason's yard and the landscapes; so that I question if the whole of the plates were forty pounds expence. It was first printed for himself atIpswich, dedicated to Mr.Hogarth, and published in the year 1754."
Malton, Appendix to Treatise on Perspective, p. 106.
1. Four prints of an Election.[1]These, byHogarth, came out at different times,viz.Plate I.Feb.24, 1755 (inscribed to the Right Hon.Henry Fox); Plate II.Feb.20, 1757, (to his Excellency SirCharles Hanbury Williams, Ambassador to the Court ofRussia); Plate III.Feb.20, 1758, (to the Hon. SirEdward Walpole, Knight of the Bath); Plate IV.Jan.1, 1758, (to the Hon.George Hay,[2]one of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty).The original pictures are now in the possession of Mrs.Garrick, atHampton. The inscription on the banner, "Give us our eleven days," alludes to the alteration of the Style in 1752; in which year, from the 2d to the 14th ofSeptember, eleven days were not reckoned by act of parliament. In the election-dinner, Mr.Hogarthassured the writer of this paragraph, that there is but one at table intended for a real portrait and that is theIrishgentleman [the present SirJohn Parnell, nephew to the poet, and remarkable for a very flat nose], who is diverting the company by a face drawn with a burnt cork upon the back of his hand, while he is supposed to be singing—An old woman cloathed in grey. This gentleman (then an eminent attorney) begged it as a favour; declaring, at the same time, he was so generally known, that the introduction of his face would be of service to our artist in the sale of his prints atDublin. NotwithstandingHogarth'sassertion, the handsome candidate is pronounced to be the lateThomas Potter, esq. and the effigy, seen through the window, with the words "No Jews" about its neck, to be meant for the late Duke ofNewcastle. Of yet another real personage we receive notice, from a pamphlet intituled "The last Blow, or an unanswerable vindication of the Society ofExeter College, in reply to the Vice-chancellor Dr.King, and the writers ofThe London Evening Post." 4to. 1755. p. 21.—"The next character, to whose merits we would do justice, is the Rev. Dr.C—ff—t(Cofferat). But as it is very difficult to delineate this fellow in colours sufficiently strong and lively, it is fortunate for us and the Doctor, thatHogarthhas undertaken that task. In the print of an Election Entertainment, the publick will see the Doctor represented sitting among the freeholders, and zealously eating and drinking for the sake of the New Interest. His venerable and humane aspect will at once bespeak the dignity and benevolence of his heart. Never did alderman atGuildhalldevour custard with half such an appearance of love to his country, or swallow ale with so much the air of a patriot. These circumstances the pencil of Mr.Hogarthwill undoubtedly make manifest; but it is much to be lamented, that his words also cannot appear in this print, and that the artist cannot delineate that persuasive flow of eloquence which could prevail upon Copyholders to abjure their base tenures, and swear themselves Freeholders. But this oratory (far different from the balderdash ofTullyand Dr.King, concerning liberty and our country) as the genius of mild ale alone could inspire, this fellow alone could deliver."—The very paper of tobacco, inscribed "Kirton'sBest," has its peculiar significance. This man was a tobacconist by St.Dunstan'sChurch inFleet-street, and ruined his health and constitution, as well as impaired his circumstances, by being busy in theOxfordshireelection of 1754. Plate II. In the painted cloth depending from the sign-post, theheight ofThe Treasuryis contrasted with the squat solidity ofThe Horse-Guards, where the arch is so low, that the state-coachman cannot pass through it with his head on; and the turret on the top is so drawn as to resemble a beer-barrel.Warethe architect very gravely remarked, on this occasion, that the chief defect would have been sufficiently pointed out by making the coachman only stoop. He was hurt byHogarth'sstroke of satire. Money is likewise thrown fromThe Treasurywindows, to be put into a waggon, and carried into the country.George Alexander Stevens, in his celebrated "Lecture on Heads," exhibited the man with a pot of beer, explaining, with pieces of a tobacco-pipe, howPorto Bellowas taken with six ships only. In Plate III. Dr.Shebbeare, with fetters on, is prompting the idiot; and in Plate IV. the old Duke ofNewcastleappears at a window. A happy parody in the last of these plates may, perhaps, have escaped the notice of common observers.Le Brun, in his battle of theGranicus, has represented an eagle hovering above the laurel'd helmet ofAlexander. Hogarthhas painted a goose flying over the periwig'd head of the successful candidate. During the contestedOxfordshireelection in 1754, an outrageous mob in the Old Interest had surrounded a post-chaise, and was about to throw it into the river; when CaptainT——, within-side, shot a chimney-sweeper who was most active in the assault. The captain was tried and acquitted. To this factHogarthis supposed to alludein the Monkey riding on the Bear, with a cockade in his hat, and a carbine by his side, which goes off and kills the little sweep, who has clambered up on the wall. The member chaired is said to bear more than an accidental resemblance to Mr.Dodington, afterwards LordMelcombe.
In 1759 appeared "A Poetical Description of Mr.Hogarth'sElection Prints,[3]in four Cantos. Written under Mr.Hogarth'ssanction and inspection," which I shall with the less scruple transcribe at large below,[4]as it was originally introduced bythe following remarkable advertisement, datedCheapside, March1, 1759. "For the satisfaction of thereader, and in justice to the concealed author, I take the liberty, with the permission of Mr.Hogarth, to insert in this manner that gentleman'sopinion of the following Cantos, which is, 'That the thoughts entirely coincide with his own; thatthere is a well-adapted vein of humour preserved through the whole; and that, though some of hisworks have been formerly explained by other hands, yet none ever gave him so much satisfaction as the present performance.'John Smith."
In the second state of the first of these plates few variations are discoverable. The perspective inthe oval over the stag's horns is improved. A shadow on the wainscot, proceeding from a supposed windowon the left side, is effaced; the hand of the beldam kissing the young candidate, is removed fromunder her apron, and now dangles by her side: a saltseller is likewise missing from the table. In thefirst impression also, the butcher who is pouring gin on the broken head of another man, hasFor ourCountryon his cockade; in the second we findPro Patriain its stead. The lemons and oranges thatonce lay on a paper, by the tub in which the boy is making punch, are taken away; becauseHogarth,in all probability, had been informed that vitriol, or cream of tartar, is commonly used, instead of vegetableacids, when a great quantity of such liquor is prepared at public houses on public occasions. Inthe third impression a hat is added to those before on the ground, and another on the bench. The wholeplate has also lost much of its former clearness. The original inscription at one corner of it was—"Painted,andthe wholeengraved byWm. Hogarth."[5]The two Words inItalickswere afterwards effaced.
I may here observe, that this performance, in its original state, is by far the most finished and laboriousof allHogarth'sengravings. Having been two years on sale (from 1755 to 1757) it was considerablyworn before the publication of Plate the second; and was afterwards touched and retouched till almostall the original and finer traces of the burin were either obliterated or covered by succeeding ones.In short, there is the same difference between the earliest and latest impressions, as there was between the first and second state of SirJohn Cutler'sstockings, which, by frequent mending, from silk degenerated into worsted.
I learn also, on the best authority, that our artist, who was always fond of trying to do what no man had ventured to do before him, resolved to finish this plate without taking a single proof from it as he proceeded in his operation. The consequence of his temerity was, that he almost spoiled his performance. When he discovered his folly, he raved, stamped, and swore he was ruined, nor could be prevailed on to think otherwise, till his passion subsided, and a brother artist assisted him in his efforts to remedy the general defect occasioned by such an attempt to perform an impossibility.
In Plate II. we meet with a fresh proof of our artist's inattention to orthography;Party-tool(used as a proper name) being here spelt parti-tool. This plate was engraved byC. Grignion, and has been retouched, as the upper-row of the lion's teeth are quite obliterated in the second impression.
Plate III. The militia (or, asHogarthspells it, milicia) bill appearing out of the pocket of the maimed voter, is only found in the second impression. This print was engraved byHogarthandLe Cave.[6]
The dead man, whom they are bringing up as avoter, alludes to an event of the same kind that happened during the contested election betweenBosworthandSelwyn. "Why," says one of the clerks, "you have brought us here a dead man."—"Dead!" cries the bringer; "dead as you suppose him, you shall soon hear him vote forBosworth." On this, a thump was given to the body, which, being full of wind, emitted a sound that was immediately affirmed to be a distinct, audible, and good vote for the candidate already mentioned.—This circumstance, however, might have reference to the behaviour of the late Dr.Barrowby, who persuaded a dying patient he was so much better, that he might venture with him in his chariot to go and poll for SirGeorge VandeputinCovent-Garden. The unhappy voter took his physician's advice, but expired in an hour after his return from the hustings. "IfHogarth," says Mr.Walpole, "had an emblematic thought, he expressed it with wit, rather than by a symbol. Such is that of the whore setting fire to the world inThe Rake's Progress. Once indeed he descended to use an allegoric personage, and was not happy in it. In one of his Election prints [plate III.]Britannia'schariot breaks down, while the coachman and footman are playing at cards on the box."
In the second impressions of Plate IV.[7](which wasengraved byW. HogarthandF. Aviline) the shadow on the sun-dial, denoting the hour, and the word indintur (commonly spelt indenture) on the scroll hanging out at the attorney's window, are both added. The fire from the gun is also continued farther; the bars of the church-gate are darkened; and the upper sprigs of a tree, which were bare at first, are covered with leaves.
By these marks, the unskilful purchaser may distinguish the early from the later impressions. I forbear therefore to dwell on more minute variations. The ruined house adjoining to the attorney's, intimating that nothing can thrive in the neighbourhood of such vermin, is a stroke of satire that should not be overlooked.
The publick were so impatient for this set of prints, thatHogarthwas perpetually hastening his coadjutors, changing some, and quarrelling with others. Three of the plates therefore were slightly executed, and soon needed the reparations they have since received.
The following curious address appeared in thePublic AdvertiserofFeb.28, 1757.
"Mr.Hogarthis obliged to inform the subscribers to his Election Prints, that the three last cannot be published till aboutChristmasnext, which delay is entirely owing to the difficulties he has met with to procure able hands to engrave the plates; but that he neither may have any more apologies to make on such an account, nor trespass any furtheron the indulgence of the public by encreasing a collection already sufficiently large, he intends to employ the rest of his time in portrait-painting; chiefly this notice seems more necessary, as several spurious and scandalous prints[8]have lately been published in his name.
"All Mr.Hogarth'sengraved works are to be had at his house inLeicester-fields, separate or together; as also his Analysis of Beauty, in 4to. with two explanatory prints, price 15s.With which will be delivered gratis, an eighteen-penny pamphlet published byA. Miller, calledThe Investigator, written in opposition to the principles laid down in the above Analysis of Beauty, byA. R.,[9]a friend to Mr.Hogarth, an eminent portrait-painter now ofRome."
The foregoing advertisement appears to have been written during the influence of a fit of spleen or disappointment, for nothing else could have dictated to our artist so absurd a resolution as that of quitting a walk he had trod without a rival, to re-enter another in which he had by no means distinguished himself from the herd of common painters.
[1]I learn fromThe Grub-street JournalforJune13, 1734, that the same subject had been attempted by an earlier hand, under the title ofThe Humours of a Country Election. The description of some of the compartments of this work (which I have not seen) bears particular resemblance to the scenes represented byHogarth. "The candidates very complaisant to aCountry Clown, &c."—"The candidates making an entertainment for the electors and their wives.—At the upper end of the table theParsonof the Parish, &c."
[1]I learn fromThe Grub-street JournalforJune13, 1734, that the same subject had been attempted by an earlier hand, under the title ofThe Humours of a Country Election. The description of some of the compartments of this work (which I have not seen) bears particular resemblance to the scenes represented byHogarth. "The candidates very complaisant to aCountry Clown, &c."—"The candidates making an entertainment for the electors and their wives.—At the upper end of the table theParsonof the Parish, &c."
[2]The intimate friend ofHogarth, at that time a Commissioner of the Admiralty; afterwards SirGeorge Hay, knight, Dean of the Arches, Judge of the Prerogative Court, and also of the High Court of Admiralty, who diedOctober6, 1778, aged 63. He was possessed of several ofHogarth'spaintings, which are now the property of Mr.Edwards, and have been mentioned in p.98. Our honourable Judge has the following character in a work of great authority.On the trial of her Grace the Duchess ofKingston, for bigamy, before the House of Lords, inApril1776, the present Lord ChancellorThurlow(then Attorney-General) thus speaks of SirGeorgeas a judge:—"The most loose and unconsidered notion, escaping in any manner from that able and excellent judge, should be received with respect, and certainly will; if the question were my own, with the choice of my court, I should refer it to his decision." State Trials, XI. 221.
[2]The intimate friend ofHogarth, at that time a Commissioner of the Admiralty; afterwards SirGeorge Hay, knight, Dean of the Arches, Judge of the Prerogative Court, and also of the High Court of Admiralty, who diedOctober6, 1778, aged 63. He was possessed of several ofHogarth'spaintings, which are now the property of Mr.Edwards, and have been mentioned in p.98. Our honourable Judge has the following character in a work of great authority.
On the trial of her Grace the Duchess ofKingston, for bigamy, before the House of Lords, inApril1776, the present Lord ChancellorThurlow(then Attorney-General) thus speaks of SirGeorgeas a judge:—"The most loose and unconsidered notion, escaping in any manner from that able and excellent judge, should be received with respect, and certainly will; if the question were my own, with the choice of my court, I should refer it to his decision." State Trials, XI. 221.
[3]"Things unattempted yet in prose or rhime."Milton.
[3]"Things unattempted yet in prose or rhime."Milton.
[4]CANTO I.TheHumoursof anElection Entertainment.Oh, born our wonder to engage!Hogarth, thou mirror of the age!Permit a Bard, though screen'd his name,To court the sanction of your fame;Pursue your genius, taste, and art,And knowledge of the human heart:Just as your pencil, could my penBut trace the various ways of men;Express the tokens of the mind,The humours, follies, of mankind;Then might Thyself this verse regard,Nor deem beneath the task the bard:Yet, though unfit, perhaps unknown,I supplicate thy aid alone:Let others all the Nine inspire,Do Thou, OHogarth, tune my lyre!Let o'er my thoughts thy spirit shine,And thy vast fancy waken mine:I feel the genuine influence now!It glows!—my greatApolloThou!The Writs are issued:—to the TownThe future Members hasten down;The merry bells their welcome sound,And mirth and jollity abound,The gay retinue now comes in,The crouds, with emulative din,Proclaim th' arrival, rend the sky,AndCourtandCountry'sall the cry.Each joyous house, of free access,For patriot plebeians, more or less,Is now reveal'd, in printed bills;So quacks contrive to vend their pills.SoBayesmakes Earth, and Sun, and Moon,Discourse melodiously in tune;And, full of wit and complaisance,Cry, "First of all we'll have a dance!"So at Elections 'tis discreetStill first of all to have a treat;The pulse of every man to try,And learn what votes they needs mustbuy;No freeman well can tell his side,Unless his belly's satisfied.Behold the festive tables set,The Candidates, the Voters met!And lo, against the wainscot plac'd,Th' escutcheon, with three guineas grac'd,The motto and the crest explain,Which way the gilded bait to gain.ThereWilliam'smangled portrait tellsWhat rage in party bosoms dwells;And here the banner speaks the cryFor "Liberty and Loyalty."While scratches dignify his face,The tipsy Barber tells his case;How well he for his Honour fought!How many devilish knocks he got!While, forc'd to carry on the joke,The 'Squire's just blinded with the smoke;And gives his hand (for all are free)To one that's cunninger than he:With smart cockade, and waggish laugh,He thinks himself more wise by half.SeeCrispin, and his blouzyKate,Attack the other Candidate!What joy he feels her head to lug!"Well done, myKaty!coaxing pug!"But who is this pray?—Abel Squatt—What has the honest Quaker got?Why, presents for each voter's lady,To make their interest sure and steady:For right and well their Honours knowWhat things the Petticoat can do.Discordant sounds now grate the ear,For music's hir'd to raise the cheer;And fiddlingNanbrisk scrapes her strings,WhileThrumbo'sbass loud echoing rings,AndSawney'sbagpipes squeaking trill"God save the King," or what you will.Music can charm the savage breast,And lull the fiercest rage to rest;ButSawney'sface bespeaks it plain,That vermin don't regard the strain;A creature, well toScotchmenknown,Now nips him by the collar-bone:Ah, luckless louse! in ambush lie,Or, by St.Andrew, you must die!Ye vers'd in men and manners! tellWhy Parsons always eat so well!Catch they the spirit from the Gown,To cram so many plate-fulls down?The feast is o'er with all the rest,But Mayor and Parson still contest:I'll hold a thousand!—Lay the bett—The odds are on the Parson yet:Huzza! the Black-gown wins the day!—The Mayor with oysters dies away!—[A]But softly, don't exult so fast,His spirit's noble to the last;His mouth still waters at the dish;His hand still holds his favourite fish:Bleed him the Barber-surgeon wou'd;He breathes a vein, but where's the blood?No more it flows its wonted pace,And chilly dews spread o'er his face:The Parson sweats; but be it told,The sweat is more from heat than cold:"Bring me the chafing-dish!" he cries;'Tis brought; the savoury fumes arise:"My last tit-bit's delicious so;Can oysters vie with venison?"—No.Behold, through sympathy of face,(In life a very common case)His Lordship gives the fidler wine!"Come, brotherChinny!yours and mine:"And o'er a pretty girl confest,The Alderman, see! toasts "the best."Ye hearty cocks! who feel the gout,Yet briskly push the glass about,Observe, with crutch behind his chair,Your honest brotherChalkstonethere!His phiz declares he seems to strain;Perhaps the gravel gives him pain:But be it either that or this,One thing is certain—he's at * * * *,A wag, the merriest in the town,Whose face was never meant to frown,See, at his straining makes a scoff!And, singing, takes his features off;While clowns, with joy and wonder, stare,"Gad-zookers!Roger, look ye there!"The busy Clerk the Taylor plies,"Vote for his Honour, and be wise:These yellow-boys are all your own!"But he, with puritanic tone,Cries, "Satan!take thy bribes from me;Why this were downright perjury!"His wife, with all-sufficient tongue,For rage and scandal glibly hung,Replies, "Thou blockhead! gold refuse,When here's your child in want of shoes!"But hark! what uproar strikes the ear!Th' opposing mob, incens'd, draw near:Their waving tatter'd ensigns see!Here "Liberty and Property:"A label'dJewup-lifted high;There "Marry all, and multiply."These, these, are patrotic scenes!But not a man knows what he means.The jordan drives their zeal to cool,With added weight of three-legg'd stool;But all in vain; and who can't eat,Now sally out the foe to beat;For glory be the battle try'd;Huzza! my boys, theyellowside.Observe the loyal work begin,And stones and brick-bats enter in!That knocks a rustic veteran down;This cracks the Secretary's crown;His minute-book, of special note,For every sure, and doubtful vote,Now tumbles; ink the table dyes,And backward poor Pill-Garlick lies.The Butcher, one who ne'er knew dread,A Surgeon turns for t'other's head;His own already broke and bound,Yet withpro patriadecked around.Behold what wonders gin can do,External and internal too!He thinks a plaster but a jest;All cure with what they like the best:Pour'd on, it sooths the patient's pain;Pour'd in, it makes him fight again.His toes perchance pop out his shoe,Yet he's a patriot through and through;His lungs can for his party roar,As loud as twenty men, or more.Ye courtiers! give yourBroughtonpraise;The hero of your eleven days,'Tis his to trim th'opposers round,And bring their standard to the ground.The waiting-boy, astonish'd, eyesWhat gin the new-turn'd quack applies;And fills a tub, that glorious punchMay make amends for blow and hunch.But stop, my lad, put in no more,For t'other side are near the door;Nor will their conscience deem it sin,To guzzle all, if once they're in.Reader, perhaps thy peaceful mindIs not to noise or blood inclin'd;Then, lest some hurt should happen quick,For see a sword! and many a stick!We'll leave this inn, with all my heart,And hasten to the second part.CANTO II.CanvassingforVotes.Free'd from the madness of the throng,Now, gentle Reader, come along;A broken head's no clever joke—Sir, welcome toThe Royal Oak;Together let us look about——We'll find that Show-cloth's meaning out.Satire! 'tis thine, with keenest dart,To shoot the follies of the heart;And, issuing from the press or stage,Reclaim the vain, the culprit age!FromRich'sdome, of grand renown,To thatch-torn barn, in country town;FromGarrick, monarch of his art,ToPunch, so comical and smart;Satire delights, in every sphere,To make men laugh at what theyare:"Walk in, the only show in town;Punchcandidate forGuzzle-down!"There see the pile, in modern taste,On top with tub-like turret grac'd!Where the cramp'd entrance, like some shed,Knocks off the royal driver's head;Lives there a Wit but what will cry,"An arch solowis mightyhigh!"See from the Treasury flows the gold,To shew that those who'reboughtaresold!Come, Perjury, meet it on the road,'Tis all your own; a waggon-load.Ye party-tools, ye courtier-tribe,Who gain no vote without a bribe,Lavishly kind, yet insincere,Behold inPunchyourselves appear!And you, ye fools, who poll for pay,Ye little great men of a day;For whom your favourite will not care,Observe how much bewitch'd you are!Yet hush!—for see his Honour near;—Truly, a pretty amorous leer:The ladies both look pleasant too;"Purchase some trinkets of theJew."One points to what she'd have him buy;The other casts a longing eye;AndShylock, money-loving soul,Impatient waits to touch the cole:But here's a Porter; what's the news?—Ha, ha, a load of billet-doux!Humbly to sue th' Electors' favour,With vows ofCato-like behaviour;And how the Borough he'll espouse,When once a Member of the House:Though wiser folks will lay a bet,His promises he'll then forget.But pray your Honour condescendAn eye on kneelingWillto lend;Grant to the fair the toys they chuse,And what the letter says, peruse:"ToTimothy Parti-tool, Esquire."—Your title may in time be higher.Ha, who stands here?—'Tis FarmerRye,A man of cunning, by the bye;In times like this a mighty stirrer,—Of some small interest in the Borough.Which side? you ask—the question's well,But more, as yet, than he can tell.Thehostsof either party try;To both he casts aknowingeye."Sir, I'm commission'd by the 'Squire—Your company they all desire:My house contains near half the town—'Tis just at hand, Sir;—'tisThe Crown."Then t'other cries, "Sure I first spoke—This inn is mine!—The Royal Oak—Sir, here's his Honour's invitation;The greatest Patriot in the nation."Which party shall the voter take,Since both the same pretentions make?The same?—sure not—for see each hand!Aye, now he seems to understand:The CrownHost fees him o'er his arm;But t'other tips the stronger charm.One, two, three, four—the jobb is done—Troth, cunningFatty, you have won;Success in that sly glance is shown;The honest Farmer's all your own:But don't exult; for, being lothTo disoblige, he takes from both.Oh,Britain! favourite Isle of Heaven,When to thy Sons shall Peace be given?The treachery of theGallicshoreMakes even thy wooden lions roar.That royal beast, who many a leagueAt sea hath sail'd with vengeance big!And oft has scar'd the hostile coast,Tho' fix'd inInn-Yard, like a post,Still keeps his furious power in use;Devouring of theFlower-de-luce.How certain those expanded paws!How dreadful those extended jaws!Behind him sits the Hostess fair,Counting her cash with earned care;While at the door the GrenadierInspects her with a cunning leer;As who should say, "When we're alone,Some part of that will be my own!"But who are those two in the Bar?Guttlers I fancy—that they are;The fowl to Him's a noble feast;He sure makes mouths, to mock the beast;And t'other hopes to find relief,By eating half the round of beef.FromGeorge, who wears theBritishcrown,To the remotest country clown,The love of politics extends,And oft makes foes of nearest friends.The Cobler and the Barber there,That born to frown, and this to stare,Both positive, you need not doubt,Will argue till they both fall out."Well," says the Tonsor, "now we'll try,Who's in the right, yourself or I:One moment let your tongue be still,Or else be judg'd byJohnny Hill:Vernonhe thought a glorious fellow,Which made him put upPorto Bello.I'll teach you reason, if I can—I should though shave the Gentleman;But never mind it, let him wait;—These bits of pipe the case shall state"—"Drink," cries the Cobler, "I'm adry;Pshaw, damn your nonsense, what care I?I told you first, and all along,I'll lay this cole you're in the wrong;I hope his worship will excuse,I should, though, carry home his shoes.""Well, well," the Barber makes reply,"Election-time puts business by:Only six ships our Admiral had;A very slender force, egad;What then? our dumplings gave them sport:—Here stood one castle; there the fort."—"'Sblood," cries the Cobler, "go to school,You half-learn'd, half-starv'd, silly fool!I tell you, Barber, 'tis not true;Sure I can see as much as you."But hark, what noise our ears assails!A distant, loud huzza, prevails;Ha, ha, they're at their wonted sport;That was a gun, by the report:Behold the rabble atThe Crown!"Damn, damn, th' Excise; we'll have it down."And all the while, poor simple elves,They little think 'twill crush themselves.Danger again may wait our stay,So, courteous Reader, come away.CANTO III.Pollingat theHustings.Swift, reverend wag,Ierne'spride,Who lov'd the comic rein to guide,Has told us, "Gaolers, when they please,Let out their flock, to rob for fees."From this sage hint, in needful cases,The wights, who govern other places,Let out their crew, for private ends,Ergo, to serve themselves and friends.Behold, here gloriously inclin'd,The Sick, and Lame, the Halt, and Blind!From Workhouse, Gaol, and Hospital,Submiss they come, true Patriots all!But let's get nearer, while we stay,—Good Master Constable, make way!"Hoi! keep the passage clear and fair;—I'll break your shins!—stand backward there;What! won't you let the Pollers come:"—Reader, they think us so—butmum.Now praise and prejudice expand,In printed bills, from hand to hand;One tells, the 'Squire's a man of worth;Generous and noble from his birth:Another plainly makes appear,"Some circumstance, in such a year."The voice of Scandal's sure to wait,Or true, or false, each Candidate.Observe the waving flags applied,To let Free-holders know their side!Hark, at each vote exult the crew!"Yellow!Huzza!—Huzza! theBlue!"Whoe'er has walk'd throughChelseatown,Which Buns and Charity renown,Has many a College Veteran seen,With scar-seam'd face, and batter'd mien,But here's a theme for future story!Survey that Son ofMarsbefore ye!Was ever Pensioner like him?—What, almost robb'd of every limb!Only one arm, one leg, one thigh;Gods! was that man design'd to die?Inspect his ancient, war-like face!See, with what surly, manly grace,He gives the Clerk to understandHis meaning, with his wooden hand!Perhaps inAnna'sglorious days,His courage gain'd immortal praise:Britons, a people brave and rough,That time lov'd fighting well enough;And, glad their native land to aid,Leg-making was a thriving trade;But now we from ourselves depart,And war's conducted with new art;Our Admirals, Generals, learn to run,And Leg-makers are all undone.Still he's an open, hearty blade,Pleas'd with his sword, and gay cockade:Unbrib'd he votes; and 'tis his pride;He always chose the honest side.You think he seems of man but half,But, witty Clerk, suppress your laugh;His heart is in its usual place,And that same hook may claw your face.How learnedly that Lawyer pleads!"A vote like this, Sir, ne'er succeeds;The naked hand should touch the book;Observe h'as only got a hook.""Sir," cries the other, "that's his hand;"(Quibbles, like you, I understand)"And be it either flesh or wood,By Heavens! his vote is very good."Wise Counsellor! you reason right,You'll gain undoubted credit by't;But please to turn your head about,And find that Idiot's meaning out;Dismiss the Whisperer from his chair,'Tis quite illegal, quite unfair;Though shackles on his legs are hung,Those shackles can't confine his tongue;Methinks I hear him tell the Nisey,"Be sure to vote as I advise ye;My writings shew I'm always right;The nation sinks; we're ruin'd quiteAmerica'sentirely lost;TheFrenchinvade our native coast;Our Ministers won't keep us free;—-You know all this as well as me.All men of parts are out of place;'Tis mine, 'tis many a wise man's case;And though soCato-like I write,I ne'er shall get a farthing by't."Good Clerk, dispatch them quick, I pray:How easy fools are led astray!He thinks th' insinuation's true,As all the race of Idiots do.But who comes here? Ha, one just dead,Ravish'd from out th' infirmary's bed;Through racking follies sad and sick,Yet to the cause he'll ever stick;Tie the groat favour on his cap,And die True Blue, whate'er may hap.Oh, Vice! through life extends thy reign:When Custom fixes thy domain,NotWesley'scant, norWhitfield'sart,Can chace thee from th' envelop'd heart!Behold that wretch! whomVenusknowsHas in her revels lost his nose;Still with that season'd Nurse he toys;As erst indulges sensual joys;Can drink, and crack a bawdy joke,And still can quid, as well as smoke.But, Nurse, don't smile so in his face;Sure this is not a proper place;Take from your duggs his hand away,And mind your sick-charge better, pray;Consider, if his faithful sideShould hear that in their cause he died,They'd be so much enrag'd, I vow,They'd punish you!—the Lord knows how.Beside, you take up too much room,That boy-led Blind-man wants to come;And 'scap'd from wars, and foreign clutches,An Invalid's behind on crutches.The man whose fortune suits his wish,A glutton at each favourite dish;Who, when o'er venison, ne'er will spare it,And washes down some rounds with claret;That man will have a portly belly,And be of consequence, they tell ye;Grandeur shall 'tend his air and gait,And make him like—that Candidate:Observe him on the hustings sit!Fatigu'd, he sweats, or seems to sweat;Scratching his pate, with shook-back wig,And puffs, and blows, extremely big:Perhaps that paper hints aboutVotes, whose legality's a doubt;And will by scrutiny be try'd,Unless they're on the proper side.Stiff as ifRackstraw,[B]fam'd for skill,For genius, taste, or what you will,With temper'd plaister, stood in haste,From his set face to form the cast;Resting on oak-stick stedfastly,The other would-be Member see!Struck with his look, so fix'd and stout,That Wag resolves to sketch it out;Laughing, they view the pencil'd phiz.—"'Tis very like him—that it is."Hark to yon hawker with her songs!"The Gallows shall redress our wrongs!"I warrant, wrote in humourous style;The hearers laugh; the readers smile.And lo, although so thick the rout,They've room to push the glass about!Variety her province keeps;One Beadle watches; t'other sleeps.But see that chariot! who rides there?Britannia, Sir, a lady fair:To her celestial charms are given;Ador'd on earth, beloved in heaven;Her frown makes nations dread a fall;Her smile gives joy and life to all.Too generous, merciful, and kind;Her Servants won't their duty mind;Neither their Mistress' call regards;Their study's how to cheat at cards;The reins of power, oh, indiscreet!They trample, careless, under feet;Th' unguided coursers neigh and spurn,And ah, the car must overturn!Just gods, forbid!—there's comfort yet!For, lo, how near that savingPitt!Sure Heaven design'd her that resource,To stop her venal servants course;Her peace and safety to restore,And keep from dangers evermore.Ha! see, yon distant cavalcade!Exulting crowds, and flags display'd!Let's to the bridge our foot-steps bend—So cheek by jole, along, my friend.CANTO IV.ChairingtheMembers."Huzza! the Country! not the Court!"—.Your Honour can't have better sport;In old arm-chair aloft you soar—No Candidate can wish for more.Th' election's got, the day's your own,And be to all their member known!Ye Moths of an exalted size!Ye sage Historians, learn'd and wise!Who pore on leaves of old tradition;Vers'd in each prætor exhibition;Tell me if, 'midst the spoils of age,And relicks of the moulder'd page,You e'er found why this aukward stateMust 'tend the man who'd fain be great!WhenAlexander, Glory's son,Enter'd in triumphBabylon,Hear ancient annals make confession,How aggrandiz'd was his procession!But this isSkymington, I trow!——Yet Time proclaimsWe must[C]do so.It sure was meant to make folks stare,"Like cloths hung out at country fair:Where painted monsters rage and grin,To draw the gaping bumpkins in."[D]Minerva'ssacred bird's an owl;Our candidate's, behold, a fowl!From which we readily suppose(As now his generous Honour's chose)His voice he'll in the Senate use;And cackle, cackle, like—a goose.But, hark ye! you who bear this loadOf patriot worth along the road,Methinks you make his Honour lean;Be careful, Sirs!—Zounds! what d' ye mean?Off flies his hat, back leans his chair,And dread of falling makes him stare.His Lady, fond to see him ride,With Nurse andBlack-moorat her side,In church-yard stands to view the sight,And at his danger's in a fright."Alack, alack, she faints away!""The hartshorn,Ora—quick, I say!"See, at yon house th' opposing partyEnjoy the joke, with laughter hearty!"Well done, my boys—now let him fall;Here's gin and porter for you all!"But let's find whence this came about:Ha, lo, that Thresher bold and stout!How, like a hero, void of dread,He aims to crack that sailor's head!While, with the purchase of the stroke,Behind, the bearer's pate is broke:The sailor too resolves to drub,Wrathful he sways the ponderous club;Who to stir up his rage shall dare?He'll fight for ever—for his Bear.SirHudibrasagreed, Bear-baitingWas carnal, and of man's creating;But, had he like that Thresher done,I'll hold a wager, ten to one,His knighthood had not kept him safe;That Tar had trimm'd both him andRalph.In fightingGeorge'sglorious battles,To save our liberties and chattels;Commanded by some formerHowe,Ordain'd to make proudGalliabow,A cannon-ball took off his leg:What then? he scorns, like some, to beg;That muzzled beast is taught to dance,That Ape to ape the beaux ofFrance;The countryfolks admire the sport,And small collections pay him for't.Sailors and Soldiers ne'er agree;—There's difference twixt the Land and Sea;He, willing not a jest shall 'scape,In uniform riggs out his Ape:—From which we reasonably inferAn Ape may be an Officer.But, hey-day! more disasters still?Turn quick thy head, bold sailorWill.In vain that fellow, on his Ass,Attempts to Hogs at home to pass,The hungry Bear, who thinks no crimeTo feast on guts at any time,Arrests the garbage in the tub,And with his snout begins to grub.Pray is it friendly, honest brother,That one Ass thus should ride another?The beast seems wearied with his toil,And, like the bear, would munch a while.The good wife thought that every pigShould in the wash, then coming, swig;And went industriously to findHer family of the hoggish kind;But, oh, unhappy fate to tell!Behind the Thresher down she fell:Indeed the wonder were no more,Had she, by chance, fall'n down before:Away the sow affrighted runs,Attended by her little ones:Those gruntings to each other sounding;This squeaking shrill, through fear of drowning."The lamb thou doom'st to bleed to-day,Had he thy reason, wou'd he play?"[E]And did that Bear know he'd be beat,Would he from out that firkin eat?The Ass's rider lifts his stick;Take out your nose, oldBruin, quick;A grin of vengeance arms his face,Presaging torture, and disgrace.The Ape, who dearly loves to rideOnBruin'sback, in martial pride,Dejected at the sad occasion,Looks up, with soft commiseration;As if to speak, "Oh, spare my friend!Avert that blow you now intend!"'Tis complaisant, good-natur'd too;—Much more than many Apes would do.Observe the chimney-sweepers, there!On gate-post, how they laugh and stare;Those bones, and emblematic skull,Have no effect to make them dull;Pleas'd they adorn the death-like headWith spectacles of gingerbread.WhenLondoncity's bold train-band[F]March, to preserve their track of land,Each val'rous heart theFrenchdefying,While drums are beating, colours flying,How many accidents resoundFromTower-hillto th'Artillery-ground!Perhaps some hog, in frisky pranks,Unluckily breaks through their ranks,And makes the captain storm and swear,Toformtheir soldiers,as they were:Or else the wadding, which they ram,Pop into some one's ear they jam;Or not alert at gun and sword,When their commander gives the wordTo fire, amidst the dust and clamour,Forget to draw their desperate rammer;And one or two brave comrades hit,As cooks fix larks upon a spit.That Monkey's sure not of the reg'ment,Yet still his arms should have abridgement;The little, aukward, martial figure,Will wriggle till he pulls the trigger:'Tis done—and see the bullet fly!—Pop down, you rogue! or else you'll die.Survey, as merry as a grig,The Fiddler dancing to his jig!No goat, by good St.Davidrear'd,Could ever boast more length of beard:'Tis his to wait on MasterBruin,And tune away to all he's doing;You think this strange, but 'tis no more,ThanOrpheusdid in days of yore;With modern fiddlers so it fares;They often scratch to dancing-bears.He took to scraping in his prime,And plays in tune, as well as time;Elections cheer his merry heart;Sure always then toplayhispart:In toping healths as great a soakerAs executingAlly Croaker.Tho' some Musicians scarce can touchThe strings, if drunk a glass too much;Yet he'll tope ale, or stoutOctober,And scrape as well when drunk, as sober.Lo, on yon stone which shows the way.That travellers mayn't go astray;And tells how many miles they lag on,FromLondon, in the drawling waggon,A Soldier sits, in naked buff!In troth, Sir, this is odd enough!His head bound up, his sword-blade broken,And flesh with many a bloody token,Declare he fought extremely well;But which had best on't, who can tell?If he were victor, 'tis confest,To be so maul'd makes bad the best:What though he smart, he likes the jobb;'Tisgreatto head a party-mob.But what reward for all he did?—Oh, Sir, he'll never want a—quid.There's somewhat savory in the wind—Those Courtiers, Friend, have not yet din'd:Their true ally, gravePuzzle-cause,A man right learned in the laws,(Whose meagre clerk below can't venture,And wishes damn'd the long indenture),As custom bids, prepares the dinner,For, though they've lost, yet he's the winner.See, the domestic train appear!OldEnglandbringing up the rear!Curse on their stomachs, who can't brookGoodEnglishfare, fromEnglishcook!Observe lank Monsieur, in amaze,Upon the valiant soldier gaze!"Morbleu! you love de fight, ve see,But dat is no de dish for ve."Behold, above, that azure garter—Look, now he whispers, like a tartar;By button fast he holds the other,The lost election makes a pother."All this parade is idle stuff—We know our interest well enough—We still support what we espouse;We'll bring the matter in theHouse."Of some wise man, perhaps philosopher,(If not, it flings the vice a gloss over)I've read, who, Maudlin-like, would crySoon as he 'ad drunk his barrel dry:Yon fellow, certain as a gun,Of that Philosopher's a Son:Long as the pot the beer could scoop,He scorn'd, like swine, to trough to stoop;But, now 'tis shallow, kneels devout,Eager to suck the last drop out.Vociferous Loyalty's a-dry,And, lo, they bear a fresh supply!That all the mob may roar applause,And know they'll never starve the cause.When grey-mare proves the better horse,The man is mis'rable of course;That Taylor leads a precious life—Look at the termagant his wife,She pays him sweetly o'er the head;—"Get home, you dog, and get your bread;Shall I have nothing to appear in,While you get drunk electioneering?"See from the Town-hall press the crowd,While rustic Butchers ring aloud!There, lo, their cap of liberty!Here t'other side in effigy!A notable device, to callThe Courtier party blockheads all:Aloft True-Blue, their ensign, flies,And acclamations rend the skies.Reflect, my friend, and judge from thence.How idle this extreme expence;What mighty sums are thrown away,To be the pageant of the day!In vain Desert implores protections;The Rich are fonder of Elections.Th' ambitious Peer, the Knight, the 'Squire,Can buy the Borough they desire;Yet see, with unassisting eye,Arts fade away, and Genius die.Tir'd with the applauding, and the sneering,And all that's styl'd Electioneering,I think to take a little tour,And likely tow'rd theGallicshore;The Muse, to whom we bear no malice,Invites me to the Gate ofCalais.[G]That gate to which a knight of worth,'Yclep'dSir Loin, ofBritishbirth,Advanc'd, though not in hostile plight,And put their army in a fright.But more it fits not, here to tell,So, courteous Reader, fare thee well.[A]InThe European Magazinefor the month ofOct.1784, appears a letter on the subject of Painting, signed C. I. F. which contains the following extraordinary criticism on the circumstance here described."Our own inimitableHogarthhas, in some of his latter pieces, grossly violated this rule; and, for the sake of crowding his piece with incidents, has represented what could not happen at all."In his representation of an Election Feast, he has placed a man at the end of the table with an oyster still upon his fork, and his fork in his hand, though his coat must have been stripped up from his arm after he took it up, by the surgeon, who has made an ineffectual attempt to let him blood. Supposing gluttony to have so far absorbed all the persons present, even at the end of a feast, as that none of them should pay the least attention to this incident, which is, if not impossible, improbable in the highest degree, they must necessarily have been alarmed at another incident that is represented as taking place at the same moment: a great stone has just broke through the window, and knocked down one of the company, who is exhibited in the act of falling; yet every one is represented as pursuing his purpose with the utmost tranquillity."I must entreat my reader to examine the print, before I can expect belief, when I assure him, that for this criticism there is not the slightest foundation.—The magistrate is bled in the right arm, which is bared for that purpose, by stripping the coat-sleeve from it.—It is in his left hand that he holds the fork with the oyster on it, his coat-sleeve being all the while on his left arm.—As to the attention of the company, it is earnestly engaged by different objects; andHogarthperhaps designed to insinuate that accidents, arising from repletion or indigestion, are too common at election dinners to attract notice or excite solicitude.—The brickbat has not noisily forced its way through a window, but was thrown in at a casement already open; and a moment must have elapsed before an event so instantaneous could be perceived in an assembly, every individual of which had his distinct avocation. Of this moment our artist has availed himself. Till, therefore, the accident was discovered, he has, with the utmost propriety, left every person present to pursue his former train of thought or amusement.[B]The ingenious artist inFleet-street, well known to the learned and ingenious, by his excellence in taking Busts from the Life, and casts from Anatomical Dissections.[C]See the Dial in Plate IV.[D]See the Prologue to a farce called "The Male Coquette."[E]SeePope'sEssay on Man.[F]This passage will, perhaps, be better illustrated by the following paragraph, printed in a daily paper called "The Citizen:"—"Saturdaylast, being the first day ofAugustOld Stile, the Artillery Company marched according to custom once in three years (calledBarnes's March, by which they hold an estate): they went to SirGeorge Whitmore's, and took a dunghill. As they were marching throughBunhill-Row, a large hog ran between a woman's legs and threw her down, by which accident the ranks were broke, which put the army in the utmost confusion before they could recover."[G]See above, p.295.
[4]
CANTO I.TheHumoursof anElection Entertainment.Oh, born our wonder to engage!Hogarth, thou mirror of the age!Permit a Bard, though screen'd his name,To court the sanction of your fame;Pursue your genius, taste, and art,And knowledge of the human heart:Just as your pencil, could my penBut trace the various ways of men;Express the tokens of the mind,The humours, follies, of mankind;Then might Thyself this verse regard,Nor deem beneath the task the bard:Yet, though unfit, perhaps unknown,I supplicate thy aid alone:Let others all the Nine inspire,Do Thou, OHogarth, tune my lyre!Let o'er my thoughts thy spirit shine,And thy vast fancy waken mine:I feel the genuine influence now!It glows!—my greatApolloThou!The Writs are issued:—to the TownThe future Members hasten down;The merry bells their welcome sound,And mirth and jollity abound,The gay retinue now comes in,The crouds, with emulative din,Proclaim th' arrival, rend the sky,AndCourtandCountry'sall the cry.Each joyous house, of free access,For patriot plebeians, more or less,Is now reveal'd, in printed bills;So quacks contrive to vend their pills.SoBayesmakes Earth, and Sun, and Moon,Discourse melodiously in tune;And, full of wit and complaisance,Cry, "First of all we'll have a dance!"So at Elections 'tis discreetStill first of all to have a treat;The pulse of every man to try,And learn what votes they needs mustbuy;No freeman well can tell his side,Unless his belly's satisfied.Behold the festive tables set,The Candidates, the Voters met!And lo, against the wainscot plac'd,Th' escutcheon, with three guineas grac'd,The motto and the crest explain,Which way the gilded bait to gain.ThereWilliam'smangled portrait tellsWhat rage in party bosoms dwells;And here the banner speaks the cryFor "Liberty and Loyalty."While scratches dignify his face,The tipsy Barber tells his case;How well he for his Honour fought!How many devilish knocks he got!While, forc'd to carry on the joke,The 'Squire's just blinded with the smoke;And gives his hand (for all are free)To one that's cunninger than he:With smart cockade, and waggish laugh,He thinks himself more wise by half.SeeCrispin, and his blouzyKate,Attack the other Candidate!What joy he feels her head to lug!"Well done, myKaty!coaxing pug!"But who is this pray?—Abel Squatt—What has the honest Quaker got?Why, presents for each voter's lady,To make their interest sure and steady:For right and well their Honours knowWhat things the Petticoat can do.Discordant sounds now grate the ear,For music's hir'd to raise the cheer;And fiddlingNanbrisk scrapes her strings,WhileThrumbo'sbass loud echoing rings,AndSawney'sbagpipes squeaking trill"God save the King," or what you will.Music can charm the savage breast,And lull the fiercest rage to rest;ButSawney'sface bespeaks it plain,That vermin don't regard the strain;A creature, well toScotchmenknown,Now nips him by the collar-bone:Ah, luckless louse! in ambush lie,Or, by St.Andrew, you must die!Ye vers'd in men and manners! tellWhy Parsons always eat so well!Catch they the spirit from the Gown,To cram so many plate-fulls down?The feast is o'er with all the rest,But Mayor and Parson still contest:I'll hold a thousand!—Lay the bett—The odds are on the Parson yet:Huzza! the Black-gown wins the day!—The Mayor with oysters dies away!—[A]But softly, don't exult so fast,His spirit's noble to the last;His mouth still waters at the dish;His hand still holds his favourite fish:Bleed him the Barber-surgeon wou'd;He breathes a vein, but where's the blood?No more it flows its wonted pace,And chilly dews spread o'er his face:The Parson sweats; but be it told,The sweat is more from heat than cold:"Bring me the chafing-dish!" he cries;'Tis brought; the savoury fumes arise:"My last tit-bit's delicious so;Can oysters vie with venison?"—No.Behold, through sympathy of face,(In life a very common case)His Lordship gives the fidler wine!"Come, brotherChinny!yours and mine:"And o'er a pretty girl confest,The Alderman, see! toasts "the best."Ye hearty cocks! who feel the gout,Yet briskly push the glass about,Observe, with crutch behind his chair,Your honest brotherChalkstonethere!His phiz declares he seems to strain;Perhaps the gravel gives him pain:But be it either that or this,One thing is certain—he's at * * * *,A wag, the merriest in the town,Whose face was never meant to frown,See, at his straining makes a scoff!And, singing, takes his features off;While clowns, with joy and wonder, stare,"Gad-zookers!Roger, look ye there!"The busy Clerk the Taylor plies,"Vote for his Honour, and be wise:These yellow-boys are all your own!"But he, with puritanic tone,Cries, "Satan!take thy bribes from me;Why this were downright perjury!"His wife, with all-sufficient tongue,For rage and scandal glibly hung,Replies, "Thou blockhead! gold refuse,When here's your child in want of shoes!"But hark! what uproar strikes the ear!Th' opposing mob, incens'd, draw near:Their waving tatter'd ensigns see!Here "Liberty and Property:"A label'dJewup-lifted high;There "Marry all, and multiply."These, these, are patrotic scenes!But not a man knows what he means.The jordan drives their zeal to cool,With added weight of three-legg'd stool;But all in vain; and who can't eat,Now sally out the foe to beat;For glory be the battle try'd;Huzza! my boys, theyellowside.Observe the loyal work begin,And stones and brick-bats enter in!That knocks a rustic veteran down;This cracks the Secretary's crown;His minute-book, of special note,For every sure, and doubtful vote,Now tumbles; ink the table dyes,And backward poor Pill-Garlick lies.The Butcher, one who ne'er knew dread,A Surgeon turns for t'other's head;His own already broke and bound,Yet withpro patriadecked around.Behold what wonders gin can do,External and internal too!He thinks a plaster but a jest;All cure with what they like the best:Pour'd on, it sooths the patient's pain;Pour'd in, it makes him fight again.His toes perchance pop out his shoe,Yet he's a patriot through and through;His lungs can for his party roar,As loud as twenty men, or more.Ye courtiers! give yourBroughtonpraise;The hero of your eleven days,'Tis his to trim th'opposers round,And bring their standard to the ground.The waiting-boy, astonish'd, eyesWhat gin the new-turn'd quack applies;And fills a tub, that glorious punchMay make amends for blow and hunch.But stop, my lad, put in no more,For t'other side are near the door;Nor will their conscience deem it sin,To guzzle all, if once they're in.Reader, perhaps thy peaceful mindIs not to noise or blood inclin'd;Then, lest some hurt should happen quick,For see a sword! and many a stick!We'll leave this inn, with all my heart,And hasten to the second part.CANTO II.CanvassingforVotes.Free'd from the madness of the throng,Now, gentle Reader, come along;A broken head's no clever joke—Sir, welcome toThe Royal Oak;Together let us look about——We'll find that Show-cloth's meaning out.Satire! 'tis thine, with keenest dart,To shoot the follies of the heart;And, issuing from the press or stage,Reclaim the vain, the culprit age!FromRich'sdome, of grand renown,To thatch-torn barn, in country town;FromGarrick, monarch of his art,ToPunch, so comical and smart;Satire delights, in every sphere,To make men laugh at what theyare:"Walk in, the only show in town;Punchcandidate forGuzzle-down!"There see the pile, in modern taste,On top with tub-like turret grac'd!Where the cramp'd entrance, like some shed,Knocks off the royal driver's head;Lives there a Wit but what will cry,"An arch solowis mightyhigh!"See from the Treasury flows the gold,To shew that those who'reboughtaresold!Come, Perjury, meet it on the road,'Tis all your own; a waggon-load.Ye party-tools, ye courtier-tribe,Who gain no vote without a bribe,Lavishly kind, yet insincere,Behold inPunchyourselves appear!And you, ye fools, who poll for pay,Ye little great men of a day;For whom your favourite will not care,Observe how much bewitch'd you are!Yet hush!—for see his Honour near;—Truly, a pretty amorous leer:The ladies both look pleasant too;"Purchase some trinkets of theJew."One points to what she'd have him buy;The other casts a longing eye;AndShylock, money-loving soul,Impatient waits to touch the cole:But here's a Porter; what's the news?—Ha, ha, a load of billet-doux!Humbly to sue th' Electors' favour,With vows ofCato-like behaviour;And how the Borough he'll espouse,When once a Member of the House:Though wiser folks will lay a bet,His promises he'll then forget.But pray your Honour condescendAn eye on kneelingWillto lend;Grant to the fair the toys they chuse,And what the letter says, peruse:"ToTimothy Parti-tool, Esquire."—Your title may in time be higher.Ha, who stands here?—'Tis FarmerRye,A man of cunning, by the bye;In times like this a mighty stirrer,—Of some small interest in the Borough.Which side? you ask—the question's well,But more, as yet, than he can tell.Thehostsof either party try;To both he casts aknowingeye."Sir, I'm commission'd by the 'Squire—Your company they all desire:My house contains near half the town—'Tis just at hand, Sir;—'tisThe Crown."Then t'other cries, "Sure I first spoke—This inn is mine!—The Royal Oak—Sir, here's his Honour's invitation;The greatest Patriot in the nation."Which party shall the voter take,Since both the same pretentions make?The same?—sure not—for see each hand!Aye, now he seems to understand:The CrownHost fees him o'er his arm;But t'other tips the stronger charm.One, two, three, four—the jobb is done—Troth, cunningFatty, you have won;Success in that sly glance is shown;The honest Farmer's all your own:But don't exult; for, being lothTo disoblige, he takes from both.Oh,Britain! favourite Isle of Heaven,When to thy Sons shall Peace be given?The treachery of theGallicshoreMakes even thy wooden lions roar.That royal beast, who many a leagueAt sea hath sail'd with vengeance big!And oft has scar'd the hostile coast,Tho' fix'd inInn-Yard, like a post,Still keeps his furious power in use;Devouring of theFlower-de-luce.How certain those expanded paws!How dreadful those extended jaws!Behind him sits the Hostess fair,Counting her cash with earned care;While at the door the GrenadierInspects her with a cunning leer;As who should say, "When we're alone,Some part of that will be my own!"But who are those two in the Bar?Guttlers I fancy—that they are;The fowl to Him's a noble feast;He sure makes mouths, to mock the beast;And t'other hopes to find relief,By eating half the round of beef.FromGeorge, who wears theBritishcrown,To the remotest country clown,The love of politics extends,And oft makes foes of nearest friends.The Cobler and the Barber there,That born to frown, and this to stare,Both positive, you need not doubt,Will argue till they both fall out."Well," says the Tonsor, "now we'll try,Who's in the right, yourself or I:One moment let your tongue be still,Or else be judg'd byJohnny Hill:Vernonhe thought a glorious fellow,Which made him put upPorto Bello.I'll teach you reason, if I can—I should though shave the Gentleman;But never mind it, let him wait;—These bits of pipe the case shall state"—"Drink," cries the Cobler, "I'm adry;Pshaw, damn your nonsense, what care I?I told you first, and all along,I'll lay this cole you're in the wrong;I hope his worship will excuse,I should, though, carry home his shoes.""Well, well," the Barber makes reply,"Election-time puts business by:Only six ships our Admiral had;A very slender force, egad;What then? our dumplings gave them sport:—Here stood one castle; there the fort."—"'Sblood," cries the Cobler, "go to school,You half-learn'd, half-starv'd, silly fool!I tell you, Barber, 'tis not true;Sure I can see as much as you."But hark, what noise our ears assails!A distant, loud huzza, prevails;Ha, ha, they're at their wonted sport;That was a gun, by the report:Behold the rabble atThe Crown!"Damn, damn, th' Excise; we'll have it down."And all the while, poor simple elves,They little think 'twill crush themselves.Danger again may wait our stay,So, courteous Reader, come away.CANTO III.Pollingat theHustings.Swift, reverend wag,Ierne'spride,Who lov'd the comic rein to guide,Has told us, "Gaolers, when they please,Let out their flock, to rob for fees."From this sage hint, in needful cases,The wights, who govern other places,Let out their crew, for private ends,Ergo, to serve themselves and friends.Behold, here gloriously inclin'd,The Sick, and Lame, the Halt, and Blind!From Workhouse, Gaol, and Hospital,Submiss they come, true Patriots all!But let's get nearer, while we stay,—Good Master Constable, make way!"Hoi! keep the passage clear and fair;—I'll break your shins!—stand backward there;What! won't you let the Pollers come:"—Reader, they think us so—butmum.Now praise and prejudice expand,In printed bills, from hand to hand;One tells, the 'Squire's a man of worth;Generous and noble from his birth:Another plainly makes appear,"Some circumstance, in such a year."The voice of Scandal's sure to wait,Or true, or false, each Candidate.Observe the waving flags applied,To let Free-holders know their side!Hark, at each vote exult the crew!"Yellow!Huzza!—Huzza! theBlue!"Whoe'er has walk'd throughChelseatown,Which Buns and Charity renown,Has many a College Veteran seen,With scar-seam'd face, and batter'd mien,But here's a theme for future story!Survey that Son ofMarsbefore ye!Was ever Pensioner like him?—What, almost robb'd of every limb!Only one arm, one leg, one thigh;Gods! was that man design'd to die?Inspect his ancient, war-like face!See, with what surly, manly grace,He gives the Clerk to understandHis meaning, with his wooden hand!Perhaps inAnna'sglorious days,His courage gain'd immortal praise:Britons, a people brave and rough,That time lov'd fighting well enough;And, glad their native land to aid,Leg-making was a thriving trade;But now we from ourselves depart,And war's conducted with new art;Our Admirals, Generals, learn to run,And Leg-makers are all undone.Still he's an open, hearty blade,Pleas'd with his sword, and gay cockade:Unbrib'd he votes; and 'tis his pride;He always chose the honest side.You think he seems of man but half,But, witty Clerk, suppress your laugh;His heart is in its usual place,And that same hook may claw your face.How learnedly that Lawyer pleads!"A vote like this, Sir, ne'er succeeds;The naked hand should touch the book;Observe h'as only got a hook.""Sir," cries the other, "that's his hand;"(Quibbles, like you, I understand)"And be it either flesh or wood,By Heavens! his vote is very good."Wise Counsellor! you reason right,You'll gain undoubted credit by't;But please to turn your head about,And find that Idiot's meaning out;Dismiss the Whisperer from his chair,'Tis quite illegal, quite unfair;Though shackles on his legs are hung,Those shackles can't confine his tongue;Methinks I hear him tell the Nisey,"Be sure to vote as I advise ye;My writings shew I'm always right;The nation sinks; we're ruin'd quiteAmerica'sentirely lost;TheFrenchinvade our native coast;Our Ministers won't keep us free;—-You know all this as well as me.All men of parts are out of place;'Tis mine, 'tis many a wise man's case;And though soCato-like I write,I ne'er shall get a farthing by't."Good Clerk, dispatch them quick, I pray:How easy fools are led astray!He thinks th' insinuation's true,As all the race of Idiots do.But who comes here? Ha, one just dead,Ravish'd from out th' infirmary's bed;Through racking follies sad and sick,Yet to the cause he'll ever stick;Tie the groat favour on his cap,And die True Blue, whate'er may hap.Oh, Vice! through life extends thy reign:When Custom fixes thy domain,NotWesley'scant, norWhitfield'sart,Can chace thee from th' envelop'd heart!Behold that wretch! whomVenusknowsHas in her revels lost his nose;Still with that season'd Nurse he toys;As erst indulges sensual joys;Can drink, and crack a bawdy joke,And still can quid, as well as smoke.But, Nurse, don't smile so in his face;Sure this is not a proper place;Take from your duggs his hand away,And mind your sick-charge better, pray;Consider, if his faithful sideShould hear that in their cause he died,They'd be so much enrag'd, I vow,They'd punish you!—the Lord knows how.Beside, you take up too much room,That boy-led Blind-man wants to come;And 'scap'd from wars, and foreign clutches,An Invalid's behind on crutches.The man whose fortune suits his wish,A glutton at each favourite dish;Who, when o'er venison, ne'er will spare it,And washes down some rounds with claret;That man will have a portly belly,And be of consequence, they tell ye;Grandeur shall 'tend his air and gait,And make him like—that Candidate:Observe him on the hustings sit!Fatigu'd, he sweats, or seems to sweat;Scratching his pate, with shook-back wig,And puffs, and blows, extremely big:Perhaps that paper hints aboutVotes, whose legality's a doubt;And will by scrutiny be try'd,Unless they're on the proper side.Stiff as ifRackstraw,[B]fam'd for skill,For genius, taste, or what you will,With temper'd plaister, stood in haste,From his set face to form the cast;Resting on oak-stick stedfastly,The other would-be Member see!Struck with his look, so fix'd and stout,That Wag resolves to sketch it out;Laughing, they view the pencil'd phiz.—"'Tis very like him—that it is."Hark to yon hawker with her songs!"The Gallows shall redress our wrongs!"I warrant, wrote in humourous style;The hearers laugh; the readers smile.And lo, although so thick the rout,They've room to push the glass about!Variety her province keeps;One Beadle watches; t'other sleeps.But see that chariot! who rides there?Britannia, Sir, a lady fair:To her celestial charms are given;Ador'd on earth, beloved in heaven;Her frown makes nations dread a fall;Her smile gives joy and life to all.Too generous, merciful, and kind;Her Servants won't their duty mind;Neither their Mistress' call regards;Their study's how to cheat at cards;The reins of power, oh, indiscreet!They trample, careless, under feet;Th' unguided coursers neigh and spurn,And ah, the car must overturn!Just gods, forbid!—there's comfort yet!For, lo, how near that savingPitt!Sure Heaven design'd her that resource,To stop her venal servants course;Her peace and safety to restore,And keep from dangers evermore.Ha! see, yon distant cavalcade!Exulting crowds, and flags display'd!Let's to the bridge our foot-steps bend—So cheek by jole, along, my friend.CANTO IV.ChairingtheMembers."Huzza! the Country! not the Court!"—.Your Honour can't have better sport;In old arm-chair aloft you soar—No Candidate can wish for more.Th' election's got, the day's your own,And be to all their member known!Ye Moths of an exalted size!Ye sage Historians, learn'd and wise!Who pore on leaves of old tradition;Vers'd in each prætor exhibition;Tell me if, 'midst the spoils of age,And relicks of the moulder'd page,You e'er found why this aukward stateMust 'tend the man who'd fain be great!WhenAlexander, Glory's son,Enter'd in triumphBabylon,Hear ancient annals make confession,How aggrandiz'd was his procession!But this isSkymington, I trow!——Yet Time proclaimsWe must[C]do so.It sure was meant to make folks stare,"Like cloths hung out at country fair:Where painted monsters rage and grin,To draw the gaping bumpkins in."[D]Minerva'ssacred bird's an owl;Our candidate's, behold, a fowl!From which we readily suppose(As now his generous Honour's chose)His voice he'll in the Senate use;And cackle, cackle, like—a goose.But, hark ye! you who bear this loadOf patriot worth along the road,Methinks you make his Honour lean;Be careful, Sirs!—Zounds! what d' ye mean?Off flies his hat, back leans his chair,And dread of falling makes him stare.His Lady, fond to see him ride,With Nurse andBlack-moorat her side,In church-yard stands to view the sight,And at his danger's in a fright."Alack, alack, she faints away!""The hartshorn,Ora—quick, I say!"See, at yon house th' opposing partyEnjoy the joke, with laughter hearty!"Well done, my boys—now let him fall;Here's gin and porter for you all!"But let's find whence this came about:Ha, lo, that Thresher bold and stout!How, like a hero, void of dread,He aims to crack that sailor's head!While, with the purchase of the stroke,Behind, the bearer's pate is broke:The sailor too resolves to drub,Wrathful he sways the ponderous club;Who to stir up his rage shall dare?He'll fight for ever—for his Bear.SirHudibrasagreed, Bear-baitingWas carnal, and of man's creating;But, had he like that Thresher done,I'll hold a wager, ten to one,His knighthood had not kept him safe;That Tar had trimm'd both him andRalph.In fightingGeorge'sglorious battles,To save our liberties and chattels;Commanded by some formerHowe,Ordain'd to make proudGalliabow,A cannon-ball took off his leg:What then? he scorns, like some, to beg;That muzzled beast is taught to dance,That Ape to ape the beaux ofFrance;The countryfolks admire the sport,And small collections pay him for't.Sailors and Soldiers ne'er agree;—There's difference twixt the Land and Sea;He, willing not a jest shall 'scape,In uniform riggs out his Ape:—From which we reasonably inferAn Ape may be an Officer.But, hey-day! more disasters still?Turn quick thy head, bold sailorWill.In vain that fellow, on his Ass,Attempts to Hogs at home to pass,The hungry Bear, who thinks no crimeTo feast on guts at any time,Arrests the garbage in the tub,And with his snout begins to grub.Pray is it friendly, honest brother,That one Ass thus should ride another?The beast seems wearied with his toil,And, like the bear, would munch a while.The good wife thought that every pigShould in the wash, then coming, swig;And went industriously to findHer family of the hoggish kind;But, oh, unhappy fate to tell!Behind the Thresher down she fell:Indeed the wonder were no more,Had she, by chance, fall'n down before:Away the sow affrighted runs,Attended by her little ones:Those gruntings to each other sounding;This squeaking shrill, through fear of drowning."The lamb thou doom'st to bleed to-day,Had he thy reason, wou'd he play?"[E]And did that Bear know he'd be beat,Would he from out that firkin eat?The Ass's rider lifts his stick;Take out your nose, oldBruin, quick;A grin of vengeance arms his face,Presaging torture, and disgrace.The Ape, who dearly loves to rideOnBruin'sback, in martial pride,Dejected at the sad occasion,Looks up, with soft commiseration;As if to speak, "Oh, spare my friend!Avert that blow you now intend!"'Tis complaisant, good-natur'd too;—Much more than many Apes would do.Observe the chimney-sweepers, there!On gate-post, how they laugh and stare;Those bones, and emblematic skull,Have no effect to make them dull;Pleas'd they adorn the death-like headWith spectacles of gingerbread.WhenLondoncity's bold train-band[F]March, to preserve their track of land,Each val'rous heart theFrenchdefying,While drums are beating, colours flying,How many accidents resoundFromTower-hillto th'Artillery-ground!Perhaps some hog, in frisky pranks,Unluckily breaks through their ranks,And makes the captain storm and swear,Toformtheir soldiers,as they were:Or else the wadding, which they ram,Pop into some one's ear they jam;Or not alert at gun and sword,When their commander gives the wordTo fire, amidst the dust and clamour,Forget to draw their desperate rammer;And one or two brave comrades hit,As cooks fix larks upon a spit.That Monkey's sure not of the reg'ment,Yet still his arms should have abridgement;The little, aukward, martial figure,Will wriggle till he pulls the trigger:'Tis done—and see the bullet fly!—Pop down, you rogue! or else you'll die.Survey, as merry as a grig,The Fiddler dancing to his jig!No goat, by good St.Davidrear'd,Could ever boast more length of beard:'Tis his to wait on MasterBruin,And tune away to all he's doing;You think this strange, but 'tis no more,ThanOrpheusdid in days of yore;With modern fiddlers so it fares;They often scratch to dancing-bears.He took to scraping in his prime,And plays in tune, as well as time;Elections cheer his merry heart;Sure always then toplayhispart:In toping healths as great a soakerAs executingAlly Croaker.Tho' some Musicians scarce can touchThe strings, if drunk a glass too much;Yet he'll tope ale, or stoutOctober,And scrape as well when drunk, as sober.Lo, on yon stone which shows the way.That travellers mayn't go astray;And tells how many miles they lag on,FromLondon, in the drawling waggon,A Soldier sits, in naked buff!In troth, Sir, this is odd enough!His head bound up, his sword-blade broken,And flesh with many a bloody token,Declare he fought extremely well;But which had best on't, who can tell?If he were victor, 'tis confest,To be so maul'd makes bad the best:What though he smart, he likes the jobb;'Tisgreatto head a party-mob.But what reward for all he did?—Oh, Sir, he'll never want a—quid.There's somewhat savory in the wind—Those Courtiers, Friend, have not yet din'd:Their true ally, gravePuzzle-cause,A man right learned in the laws,(Whose meagre clerk below can't venture,And wishes damn'd the long indenture),As custom bids, prepares the dinner,For, though they've lost, yet he's the winner.See, the domestic train appear!OldEnglandbringing up the rear!Curse on their stomachs, who can't brookGoodEnglishfare, fromEnglishcook!Observe lank Monsieur, in amaze,Upon the valiant soldier gaze!"Morbleu! you love de fight, ve see,But dat is no de dish for ve."Behold, above, that azure garter—Look, now he whispers, like a tartar;By button fast he holds the other,The lost election makes a pother."All this parade is idle stuff—We know our interest well enough—We still support what we espouse;We'll bring the matter in theHouse."Of some wise man, perhaps philosopher,(If not, it flings the vice a gloss over)I've read, who, Maudlin-like, would crySoon as he 'ad drunk his barrel dry:Yon fellow, certain as a gun,Of that Philosopher's a Son:Long as the pot the beer could scoop,He scorn'd, like swine, to trough to stoop;But, now 'tis shallow, kneels devout,Eager to suck the last drop out.Vociferous Loyalty's a-dry,And, lo, they bear a fresh supply!That all the mob may roar applause,And know they'll never starve the cause.When grey-mare proves the better horse,The man is mis'rable of course;That Taylor leads a precious life—Look at the termagant his wife,She pays him sweetly o'er the head;—"Get home, you dog, and get your bread;Shall I have nothing to appear in,While you get drunk electioneering?"See from the Town-hall press the crowd,While rustic Butchers ring aloud!There, lo, their cap of liberty!Here t'other side in effigy!A notable device, to callThe Courtier party blockheads all:Aloft True-Blue, their ensign, flies,And acclamations rend the skies.Reflect, my friend, and judge from thence.How idle this extreme expence;What mighty sums are thrown away,To be the pageant of the day!In vain Desert implores protections;The Rich are fonder of Elections.Th' ambitious Peer, the Knight, the 'Squire,Can buy the Borough they desire;Yet see, with unassisting eye,Arts fade away, and Genius die.Tir'd with the applauding, and the sneering,And all that's styl'd Electioneering,I think to take a little tour,And likely tow'rd theGallicshore;The Muse, to whom we bear no malice,Invites me to the Gate ofCalais.[G]That gate to which a knight of worth,'Yclep'dSir Loin, ofBritishbirth,Advanc'd, though not in hostile plight,And put their army in a fright.But more it fits not, here to tell,So, courteous Reader, fare thee well.
CANTO I.TheHumoursof anElection Entertainment.Oh, born our wonder to engage!Hogarth, thou mirror of the age!Permit a Bard, though screen'd his name,To court the sanction of your fame;Pursue your genius, taste, and art,And knowledge of the human heart:Just as your pencil, could my penBut trace the various ways of men;Express the tokens of the mind,The humours, follies, of mankind;Then might Thyself this verse regard,Nor deem beneath the task the bard:Yet, though unfit, perhaps unknown,I supplicate thy aid alone:Let others all the Nine inspire,Do Thou, OHogarth, tune my lyre!Let o'er my thoughts thy spirit shine,And thy vast fancy waken mine:I feel the genuine influence now!It glows!—my greatApolloThou!The Writs are issued:—to the TownThe future Members hasten down;The merry bells their welcome sound,And mirth and jollity abound,The gay retinue now comes in,The crouds, with emulative din,Proclaim th' arrival, rend the sky,AndCourtandCountry'sall the cry.Each joyous house, of free access,For patriot plebeians, more or less,Is now reveal'd, in printed bills;So quacks contrive to vend their pills.SoBayesmakes Earth, and Sun, and Moon,Discourse melodiously in tune;And, full of wit and complaisance,Cry, "First of all we'll have a dance!"So at Elections 'tis discreetStill first of all to have a treat;The pulse of every man to try,And learn what votes they needs mustbuy;No freeman well can tell his side,Unless his belly's satisfied.Behold the festive tables set,The Candidates, the Voters met!And lo, against the wainscot plac'd,Th' escutcheon, with three guineas grac'd,The motto and the crest explain,Which way the gilded bait to gain.ThereWilliam'smangled portrait tellsWhat rage in party bosoms dwells;And here the banner speaks the cryFor "Liberty and Loyalty."While scratches dignify his face,The tipsy Barber tells his case;How well he for his Honour fought!How many devilish knocks he got!While, forc'd to carry on the joke,The 'Squire's just blinded with the smoke;And gives his hand (for all are free)To one that's cunninger than he:With smart cockade, and waggish laugh,He thinks himself more wise by half.SeeCrispin, and his blouzyKate,Attack the other Candidate!What joy he feels her head to lug!"Well done, myKaty!coaxing pug!"But who is this pray?—Abel Squatt—What has the honest Quaker got?Why, presents for each voter's lady,To make their interest sure and steady:For right and well their Honours knowWhat things the Petticoat can do.Discordant sounds now grate the ear,For music's hir'd to raise the cheer;And fiddlingNanbrisk scrapes her strings,WhileThrumbo'sbass loud echoing rings,AndSawney'sbagpipes squeaking trill"God save the King," or what you will.Music can charm the savage breast,And lull the fiercest rage to rest;ButSawney'sface bespeaks it plain,That vermin don't regard the strain;A creature, well toScotchmenknown,Now nips him by the collar-bone:Ah, luckless louse! in ambush lie,Or, by St.Andrew, you must die!Ye vers'd in men and manners! tellWhy Parsons always eat so well!Catch they the spirit from the Gown,To cram so many plate-fulls down?The feast is o'er with all the rest,But Mayor and Parson still contest:I'll hold a thousand!—Lay the bett—The odds are on the Parson yet:Huzza! the Black-gown wins the day!—The Mayor with oysters dies away!—[A]But softly, don't exult so fast,His spirit's noble to the last;His mouth still waters at the dish;His hand still holds his favourite fish:Bleed him the Barber-surgeon wou'd;He breathes a vein, but where's the blood?No more it flows its wonted pace,And chilly dews spread o'er his face:The Parson sweats; but be it told,The sweat is more from heat than cold:"Bring me the chafing-dish!" he cries;'Tis brought; the savoury fumes arise:"My last tit-bit's delicious so;Can oysters vie with venison?"—No.Behold, through sympathy of face,(In life a very common case)His Lordship gives the fidler wine!"Come, brotherChinny!yours and mine:"And o'er a pretty girl confest,The Alderman, see! toasts "the best."Ye hearty cocks! who feel the gout,Yet briskly push the glass about,Observe, with crutch behind his chair,Your honest brotherChalkstonethere!His phiz declares he seems to strain;Perhaps the gravel gives him pain:But be it either that or this,One thing is certain—he's at * * * *,A wag, the merriest in the town,Whose face was never meant to frown,See, at his straining makes a scoff!And, singing, takes his features off;While clowns, with joy and wonder, stare,"Gad-zookers!Roger, look ye there!"The busy Clerk the Taylor plies,"Vote for his Honour, and be wise:These yellow-boys are all your own!"But he, with puritanic tone,Cries, "Satan!take thy bribes from me;Why this were downright perjury!"His wife, with all-sufficient tongue,For rage and scandal glibly hung,Replies, "Thou blockhead! gold refuse,When here's your child in want of shoes!"But hark! what uproar strikes the ear!Th' opposing mob, incens'd, draw near:Their waving tatter'd ensigns see!Here "Liberty and Property:"A label'dJewup-lifted high;There "Marry all, and multiply."These, these, are patrotic scenes!But not a man knows what he means.The jordan drives their zeal to cool,With added weight of three-legg'd stool;But all in vain; and who can't eat,Now sally out the foe to beat;For glory be the battle try'd;Huzza! my boys, theyellowside.Observe the loyal work begin,And stones and brick-bats enter in!That knocks a rustic veteran down;This cracks the Secretary's crown;His minute-book, of special note,For every sure, and doubtful vote,Now tumbles; ink the table dyes,And backward poor Pill-Garlick lies.The Butcher, one who ne'er knew dread,A Surgeon turns for t'other's head;His own already broke and bound,Yet withpro patriadecked around.Behold what wonders gin can do,External and internal too!He thinks a plaster but a jest;All cure with what they like the best:Pour'd on, it sooths the patient's pain;Pour'd in, it makes him fight again.His toes perchance pop out his shoe,Yet he's a patriot through and through;His lungs can for his party roar,As loud as twenty men, or more.Ye courtiers! give yourBroughtonpraise;The hero of your eleven days,'Tis his to trim th'opposers round,And bring their standard to the ground.The waiting-boy, astonish'd, eyesWhat gin the new-turn'd quack applies;And fills a tub, that glorious punchMay make amends for blow and hunch.But stop, my lad, put in no more,For t'other side are near the door;Nor will their conscience deem it sin,To guzzle all, if once they're in.Reader, perhaps thy peaceful mindIs not to noise or blood inclin'd;Then, lest some hurt should happen quick,For see a sword! and many a stick!We'll leave this inn, with all my heart,And hasten to the second part.CANTO II.CanvassingforVotes.Free'd from the madness of the throng,Now, gentle Reader, come along;A broken head's no clever joke—Sir, welcome toThe Royal Oak;Together let us look about——We'll find that Show-cloth's meaning out.Satire! 'tis thine, with keenest dart,To shoot the follies of the heart;And, issuing from the press or stage,Reclaim the vain, the culprit age!FromRich'sdome, of grand renown,To thatch-torn barn, in country town;FromGarrick, monarch of his art,ToPunch, so comical and smart;Satire delights, in every sphere,To make men laugh at what theyare:"Walk in, the only show in town;Punchcandidate forGuzzle-down!"There see the pile, in modern taste,On top with tub-like turret grac'd!Where the cramp'd entrance, like some shed,Knocks off the royal driver's head;Lives there a Wit but what will cry,"An arch solowis mightyhigh!"See from the Treasury flows the gold,To shew that those who'reboughtaresold!Come, Perjury, meet it on the road,'Tis all your own; a waggon-load.Ye party-tools, ye courtier-tribe,Who gain no vote without a bribe,Lavishly kind, yet insincere,Behold inPunchyourselves appear!And you, ye fools, who poll for pay,Ye little great men of a day;For whom your favourite will not care,Observe how much bewitch'd you are!Yet hush!—for see his Honour near;—Truly, a pretty amorous leer:The ladies both look pleasant too;"Purchase some trinkets of theJew."One points to what she'd have him buy;The other casts a longing eye;AndShylock, money-loving soul,Impatient waits to touch the cole:But here's a Porter; what's the news?—Ha, ha, a load of billet-doux!Humbly to sue th' Electors' favour,With vows ofCato-like behaviour;And how the Borough he'll espouse,When once a Member of the House:Though wiser folks will lay a bet,His promises he'll then forget.But pray your Honour condescendAn eye on kneelingWillto lend;Grant to the fair the toys they chuse,And what the letter says, peruse:"ToTimothy Parti-tool, Esquire."—Your title may in time be higher.Ha, who stands here?—'Tis FarmerRye,A man of cunning, by the bye;In times like this a mighty stirrer,—Of some small interest in the Borough.Which side? you ask—the question's well,But more, as yet, than he can tell.Thehostsof either party try;To both he casts aknowingeye."Sir, I'm commission'd by the 'Squire—Your company they all desire:My house contains near half the town—'Tis just at hand, Sir;—'tisThe Crown."Then t'other cries, "Sure I first spoke—This inn is mine!—The Royal Oak—Sir, here's his Honour's invitation;The greatest Patriot in the nation."Which party shall the voter take,Since both the same pretentions make?The same?—sure not—for see each hand!Aye, now he seems to understand:The CrownHost fees him o'er his arm;But t'other tips the stronger charm.One, two, three, four—the jobb is done—Troth, cunningFatty, you have won;Success in that sly glance is shown;The honest Farmer's all your own:But don't exult; for, being lothTo disoblige, he takes from both.Oh,Britain! favourite Isle of Heaven,When to thy Sons shall Peace be given?The treachery of theGallicshoreMakes even thy wooden lions roar.That royal beast, who many a leagueAt sea hath sail'd with vengeance big!And oft has scar'd the hostile coast,Tho' fix'd inInn-Yard, like a post,Still keeps his furious power in use;Devouring of theFlower-de-luce.How certain those expanded paws!How dreadful those extended jaws!Behind him sits the Hostess fair,Counting her cash with earned care;While at the door the GrenadierInspects her with a cunning leer;As who should say, "When we're alone,Some part of that will be my own!"But who are those two in the Bar?Guttlers I fancy—that they are;The fowl to Him's a noble feast;He sure makes mouths, to mock the beast;And t'other hopes to find relief,By eating half the round of beef.FromGeorge, who wears theBritishcrown,To the remotest country clown,The love of politics extends,And oft makes foes of nearest friends.The Cobler and the Barber there,That born to frown, and this to stare,Both positive, you need not doubt,Will argue till they both fall out."Well," says the Tonsor, "now we'll try,Who's in the right, yourself or I:One moment let your tongue be still,Or else be judg'd byJohnny Hill:Vernonhe thought a glorious fellow,Which made him put upPorto Bello.I'll teach you reason, if I can—I should though shave the Gentleman;But never mind it, let him wait;—These bits of pipe the case shall state"—"Drink," cries the Cobler, "I'm adry;Pshaw, damn your nonsense, what care I?I told you first, and all along,I'll lay this cole you're in the wrong;I hope his worship will excuse,I should, though, carry home his shoes.""Well, well," the Barber makes reply,"Election-time puts business by:Only six ships our Admiral had;A very slender force, egad;What then? our dumplings gave them sport:—Here stood one castle; there the fort."—"'Sblood," cries the Cobler, "go to school,You half-learn'd, half-starv'd, silly fool!I tell you, Barber, 'tis not true;Sure I can see as much as you."But hark, what noise our ears assails!A distant, loud huzza, prevails;Ha, ha, they're at their wonted sport;That was a gun, by the report:Behold the rabble atThe Crown!"Damn, damn, th' Excise; we'll have it down."And all the while, poor simple elves,They little think 'twill crush themselves.Danger again may wait our stay,So, courteous Reader, come away.CANTO III.Pollingat theHustings.Swift, reverend wag,Ierne'spride,Who lov'd the comic rein to guide,Has told us, "Gaolers, when they please,Let out their flock, to rob for fees."From this sage hint, in needful cases,The wights, who govern other places,Let out their crew, for private ends,Ergo, to serve themselves and friends.Behold, here gloriously inclin'd,The Sick, and Lame, the Halt, and Blind!From Workhouse, Gaol, and Hospital,Submiss they come, true Patriots all!But let's get nearer, while we stay,—Good Master Constable, make way!"Hoi! keep the passage clear and fair;—I'll break your shins!—stand backward there;What! won't you let the Pollers come:"—Reader, they think us so—butmum.Now praise and prejudice expand,In printed bills, from hand to hand;One tells, the 'Squire's a man of worth;Generous and noble from his birth:Another plainly makes appear,"Some circumstance, in such a year."The voice of Scandal's sure to wait,Or true, or false, each Candidate.Observe the waving flags applied,To let Free-holders know their side!Hark, at each vote exult the crew!"Yellow!Huzza!—Huzza! theBlue!"Whoe'er has walk'd throughChelseatown,Which Buns and Charity renown,Has many a College Veteran seen,With scar-seam'd face, and batter'd mien,But here's a theme for future story!Survey that Son ofMarsbefore ye!Was ever Pensioner like him?—What, almost robb'd of every limb!Only one arm, one leg, one thigh;Gods! was that man design'd to die?Inspect his ancient, war-like face!See, with what surly, manly grace,He gives the Clerk to understandHis meaning, with his wooden hand!Perhaps inAnna'sglorious days,His courage gain'd immortal praise:Britons, a people brave and rough,That time lov'd fighting well enough;And, glad their native land to aid,Leg-making was a thriving trade;But now we from ourselves depart,And war's conducted with new art;Our Admirals, Generals, learn to run,And Leg-makers are all undone.Still he's an open, hearty blade,Pleas'd with his sword, and gay cockade:Unbrib'd he votes; and 'tis his pride;He always chose the honest side.You think he seems of man but half,But, witty Clerk, suppress your laugh;His heart is in its usual place,And that same hook may claw your face.How learnedly that Lawyer pleads!"A vote like this, Sir, ne'er succeeds;The naked hand should touch the book;Observe h'as only got a hook.""Sir," cries the other, "that's his hand;"(Quibbles, like you, I understand)"And be it either flesh or wood,By Heavens! his vote is very good."Wise Counsellor! you reason right,You'll gain undoubted credit by't;But please to turn your head about,And find that Idiot's meaning out;Dismiss the Whisperer from his chair,'Tis quite illegal, quite unfair;Though shackles on his legs are hung,Those shackles can't confine his tongue;Methinks I hear him tell the Nisey,"Be sure to vote as I advise ye;My writings shew I'm always right;The nation sinks; we're ruin'd quiteAmerica'sentirely lost;TheFrenchinvade our native coast;Our Ministers won't keep us free;—-You know all this as well as me.All men of parts are out of place;'Tis mine, 'tis many a wise man's case;And though soCato-like I write,I ne'er shall get a farthing by't."Good Clerk, dispatch them quick, I pray:How easy fools are led astray!He thinks th' insinuation's true,As all the race of Idiots do.But who comes here? Ha, one just dead,Ravish'd from out th' infirmary's bed;Through racking follies sad and sick,Yet to the cause he'll ever stick;Tie the groat favour on his cap,And die True Blue, whate'er may hap.Oh, Vice! through life extends thy reign:When Custom fixes thy domain,NotWesley'scant, norWhitfield'sart,Can chace thee from th' envelop'd heart!Behold that wretch! whomVenusknowsHas in her revels lost his nose;Still with that season'd Nurse he toys;As erst indulges sensual joys;Can drink, and crack a bawdy joke,And still can quid, as well as smoke.But, Nurse, don't smile so in his face;Sure this is not a proper place;Take from your duggs his hand away,And mind your sick-charge better, pray;Consider, if his faithful sideShould hear that in their cause he died,They'd be so much enrag'd, I vow,They'd punish you!—the Lord knows how.Beside, you take up too much room,That boy-led Blind-man wants to come;And 'scap'd from wars, and foreign clutches,An Invalid's behind on crutches.The man whose fortune suits his wish,A glutton at each favourite dish;Who, when o'er venison, ne'er will spare it,And washes down some rounds with claret;That man will have a portly belly,And be of consequence, they tell ye;Grandeur shall 'tend his air and gait,And make him like—that Candidate:Observe him on the hustings sit!Fatigu'd, he sweats, or seems to sweat;Scratching his pate, with shook-back wig,And puffs, and blows, extremely big:Perhaps that paper hints aboutVotes, whose legality's a doubt;And will by scrutiny be try'd,Unless they're on the proper side.Stiff as ifRackstraw,[B]fam'd for skill,For genius, taste, or what you will,With temper'd plaister, stood in haste,From his set face to form the cast;Resting on oak-stick stedfastly,The other would-be Member see!Struck with his look, so fix'd and stout,That Wag resolves to sketch it out;Laughing, they view the pencil'd phiz.—"'Tis very like him—that it is."Hark to yon hawker with her songs!"The Gallows shall redress our wrongs!"I warrant, wrote in humourous style;The hearers laugh; the readers smile.And lo, although so thick the rout,They've room to push the glass about!Variety her province keeps;One Beadle watches; t'other sleeps.But see that chariot! who rides there?Britannia, Sir, a lady fair:To her celestial charms are given;Ador'd on earth, beloved in heaven;Her frown makes nations dread a fall;Her smile gives joy and life to all.Too generous, merciful, and kind;Her Servants won't their duty mind;Neither their Mistress' call regards;Their study's how to cheat at cards;The reins of power, oh, indiscreet!They trample, careless, under feet;Th' unguided coursers neigh and spurn,And ah, the car must overturn!Just gods, forbid!—there's comfort yet!For, lo, how near that savingPitt!Sure Heaven design'd her that resource,To stop her venal servants course;Her peace and safety to restore,And keep from dangers evermore.Ha! see, yon distant cavalcade!Exulting crowds, and flags display'd!Let's to the bridge our foot-steps bend—So cheek by jole, along, my friend.CANTO IV.ChairingtheMembers."Huzza! the Country! not the Court!"—.Your Honour can't have better sport;In old arm-chair aloft you soar—No Candidate can wish for more.Th' election's got, the day's your own,And be to all their member known!Ye Moths of an exalted size!Ye sage Historians, learn'd and wise!Who pore on leaves of old tradition;Vers'd in each prætor exhibition;Tell me if, 'midst the spoils of age,And relicks of the moulder'd page,You e'er found why this aukward stateMust 'tend the man who'd fain be great!WhenAlexander, Glory's son,Enter'd in triumphBabylon,Hear ancient annals make confession,How aggrandiz'd was his procession!But this isSkymington, I trow!——Yet Time proclaimsWe must[C]do so.It sure was meant to make folks stare,"Like cloths hung out at country fair:Where painted monsters rage and grin,To draw the gaping bumpkins in."[D]Minerva'ssacred bird's an owl;Our candidate's, behold, a fowl!From which we readily suppose(As now his generous Honour's chose)His voice he'll in the Senate use;And cackle, cackle, like—a goose.But, hark ye! you who bear this loadOf patriot worth along the road,Methinks you make his Honour lean;Be careful, Sirs!—Zounds! what d' ye mean?Off flies his hat, back leans his chair,And dread of falling makes him stare.His Lady, fond to see him ride,With Nurse andBlack-moorat her side,In church-yard stands to view the sight,And at his danger's in a fright."Alack, alack, she faints away!""The hartshorn,Ora—quick, I say!"See, at yon house th' opposing partyEnjoy the joke, with laughter hearty!"Well done, my boys—now let him fall;Here's gin and porter for you all!"But let's find whence this came about:Ha, lo, that Thresher bold and stout!How, like a hero, void of dread,He aims to crack that sailor's head!While, with the purchase of the stroke,Behind, the bearer's pate is broke:The sailor too resolves to drub,Wrathful he sways the ponderous club;Who to stir up his rage shall dare?He'll fight for ever—for his Bear.SirHudibrasagreed, Bear-baitingWas carnal, and of man's creating;But, had he like that Thresher done,I'll hold a wager, ten to one,His knighthood had not kept him safe;That Tar had trimm'd both him andRalph.In fightingGeorge'sglorious battles,To save our liberties and chattels;Commanded by some formerHowe,Ordain'd to make proudGalliabow,A cannon-ball took off his leg:What then? he scorns, like some, to beg;That muzzled beast is taught to dance,That Ape to ape the beaux ofFrance;The countryfolks admire the sport,And small collections pay him for't.Sailors and Soldiers ne'er agree;—There's difference twixt the Land and Sea;He, willing not a jest shall 'scape,In uniform riggs out his Ape:—From which we reasonably inferAn Ape may be an Officer.But, hey-day! more disasters still?Turn quick thy head, bold sailorWill.In vain that fellow, on his Ass,Attempts to Hogs at home to pass,The hungry Bear, who thinks no crimeTo feast on guts at any time,Arrests the garbage in the tub,And with his snout begins to grub.Pray is it friendly, honest brother,That one Ass thus should ride another?The beast seems wearied with his toil,And, like the bear, would munch a while.The good wife thought that every pigShould in the wash, then coming, swig;And went industriously to findHer family of the hoggish kind;But, oh, unhappy fate to tell!Behind the Thresher down she fell:Indeed the wonder were no more,Had she, by chance, fall'n down before:Away the sow affrighted runs,Attended by her little ones:Those gruntings to each other sounding;This squeaking shrill, through fear of drowning."The lamb thou doom'st to bleed to-day,Had he thy reason, wou'd he play?"[E]And did that Bear know he'd be beat,Would he from out that firkin eat?The Ass's rider lifts his stick;Take out your nose, oldBruin, quick;A grin of vengeance arms his face,Presaging torture, and disgrace.The Ape, who dearly loves to rideOnBruin'sback, in martial pride,Dejected at the sad occasion,Looks up, with soft commiseration;As if to speak, "Oh, spare my friend!Avert that blow you now intend!"'Tis complaisant, good-natur'd too;—Much more than many Apes would do.Observe the chimney-sweepers, there!On gate-post, how they laugh and stare;Those bones, and emblematic skull,Have no effect to make them dull;Pleas'd they adorn the death-like headWith spectacles of gingerbread.WhenLondoncity's bold train-band[F]March, to preserve their track of land,Each val'rous heart theFrenchdefying,While drums are beating, colours flying,How many accidents resoundFromTower-hillto th'Artillery-ground!Perhaps some hog, in frisky pranks,Unluckily breaks through their ranks,And makes the captain storm and swear,Toformtheir soldiers,as they were:Or else the wadding, which they ram,Pop into some one's ear they jam;Or not alert at gun and sword,When their commander gives the wordTo fire, amidst the dust and clamour,Forget to draw their desperate rammer;And one or two brave comrades hit,As cooks fix larks upon a spit.That Monkey's sure not of the reg'ment,Yet still his arms should have abridgement;The little, aukward, martial figure,Will wriggle till he pulls the trigger:'Tis done—and see the bullet fly!—Pop down, you rogue! or else you'll die.Survey, as merry as a grig,The Fiddler dancing to his jig!No goat, by good St.Davidrear'd,Could ever boast more length of beard:'Tis his to wait on MasterBruin,And tune away to all he's doing;You think this strange, but 'tis no more,ThanOrpheusdid in days of yore;With modern fiddlers so it fares;They often scratch to dancing-bears.He took to scraping in his prime,And plays in tune, as well as time;Elections cheer his merry heart;Sure always then toplayhispart:In toping healths as great a soakerAs executingAlly Croaker.Tho' some Musicians scarce can touchThe strings, if drunk a glass too much;Yet he'll tope ale, or stoutOctober,And scrape as well when drunk, as sober.Lo, on yon stone which shows the way.That travellers mayn't go astray;And tells how many miles they lag on,FromLondon, in the drawling waggon,A Soldier sits, in naked buff!In troth, Sir, this is odd enough!His head bound up, his sword-blade broken,And flesh with many a bloody token,Declare he fought extremely well;But which had best on't, who can tell?If he were victor, 'tis confest,To be so maul'd makes bad the best:What though he smart, he likes the jobb;'Tisgreatto head a party-mob.But what reward for all he did?—Oh, Sir, he'll never want a—quid.There's somewhat savory in the wind—Those Courtiers, Friend, have not yet din'd:Their true ally, gravePuzzle-cause,A man right learned in the laws,(Whose meagre clerk below can't venture,And wishes damn'd the long indenture),As custom bids, prepares the dinner,For, though they've lost, yet he's the winner.See, the domestic train appear!OldEnglandbringing up the rear!Curse on their stomachs, who can't brookGoodEnglishfare, fromEnglishcook!Observe lank Monsieur, in amaze,Upon the valiant soldier gaze!"Morbleu! you love de fight, ve see,But dat is no de dish for ve."Behold, above, that azure garter—Look, now he whispers, like a tartar;By button fast he holds the other,The lost election makes a pother."All this parade is idle stuff—We know our interest well enough—We still support what we espouse;We'll bring the matter in theHouse."Of some wise man, perhaps philosopher,(If not, it flings the vice a gloss over)I've read, who, Maudlin-like, would crySoon as he 'ad drunk his barrel dry:Yon fellow, certain as a gun,Of that Philosopher's a Son:Long as the pot the beer could scoop,He scorn'd, like swine, to trough to stoop;But, now 'tis shallow, kneels devout,Eager to suck the last drop out.Vociferous Loyalty's a-dry,And, lo, they bear a fresh supply!That all the mob may roar applause,And know they'll never starve the cause.When grey-mare proves the better horse,The man is mis'rable of course;That Taylor leads a precious life—Look at the termagant his wife,She pays him sweetly o'er the head;—"Get home, you dog, and get your bread;Shall I have nothing to appear in,While you get drunk electioneering?"See from the Town-hall press the crowd,While rustic Butchers ring aloud!There, lo, their cap of liberty!Here t'other side in effigy!A notable device, to callThe Courtier party blockheads all:Aloft True-Blue, their ensign, flies,And acclamations rend the skies.Reflect, my friend, and judge from thence.How idle this extreme expence;What mighty sums are thrown away,To be the pageant of the day!In vain Desert implores protections;The Rich are fonder of Elections.Th' ambitious Peer, the Knight, the 'Squire,Can buy the Borough they desire;Yet see, with unassisting eye,Arts fade away, and Genius die.Tir'd with the applauding, and the sneering,And all that's styl'd Electioneering,I think to take a little tour,And likely tow'rd theGallicshore;The Muse, to whom we bear no malice,Invites me to the Gate ofCalais.[G]That gate to which a knight of worth,'Yclep'dSir Loin, ofBritishbirth,Advanc'd, though not in hostile plight,And put their army in a fright.But more it fits not, here to tell,So, courteous Reader, fare thee well.
[A]InThe European Magazinefor the month ofOct.1784, appears a letter on the subject of Painting, signed C. I. F. which contains the following extraordinary criticism on the circumstance here described."Our own inimitableHogarthhas, in some of his latter pieces, grossly violated this rule; and, for the sake of crowding his piece with incidents, has represented what could not happen at all."In his representation of an Election Feast, he has placed a man at the end of the table with an oyster still upon his fork, and his fork in his hand, though his coat must have been stripped up from his arm after he took it up, by the surgeon, who has made an ineffectual attempt to let him blood. Supposing gluttony to have so far absorbed all the persons present, even at the end of a feast, as that none of them should pay the least attention to this incident, which is, if not impossible, improbable in the highest degree, they must necessarily have been alarmed at another incident that is represented as taking place at the same moment: a great stone has just broke through the window, and knocked down one of the company, who is exhibited in the act of falling; yet every one is represented as pursuing his purpose with the utmost tranquillity."I must entreat my reader to examine the print, before I can expect belief, when I assure him, that for this criticism there is not the slightest foundation.—The magistrate is bled in the right arm, which is bared for that purpose, by stripping the coat-sleeve from it.—It is in his left hand that he holds the fork with the oyster on it, his coat-sleeve being all the while on his left arm.—As to the attention of the company, it is earnestly engaged by different objects; andHogarthperhaps designed to insinuate that accidents, arising from repletion or indigestion, are too common at election dinners to attract notice or excite solicitude.—The brickbat has not noisily forced its way through a window, but was thrown in at a casement already open; and a moment must have elapsed before an event so instantaneous could be perceived in an assembly, every individual of which had his distinct avocation. Of this moment our artist has availed himself. Till, therefore, the accident was discovered, he has, with the utmost propriety, left every person present to pursue his former train of thought or amusement.
[A]InThe European Magazinefor the month ofOct.1784, appears a letter on the subject of Painting, signed C. I. F. which contains the following extraordinary criticism on the circumstance here described.
"Our own inimitableHogarthhas, in some of his latter pieces, grossly violated this rule; and, for the sake of crowding his piece with incidents, has represented what could not happen at all.
"In his representation of an Election Feast, he has placed a man at the end of the table with an oyster still upon his fork, and his fork in his hand, though his coat must have been stripped up from his arm after he took it up, by the surgeon, who has made an ineffectual attempt to let him blood. Supposing gluttony to have so far absorbed all the persons present, even at the end of a feast, as that none of them should pay the least attention to this incident, which is, if not impossible, improbable in the highest degree, they must necessarily have been alarmed at another incident that is represented as taking place at the same moment: a great stone has just broke through the window, and knocked down one of the company, who is exhibited in the act of falling; yet every one is represented as pursuing his purpose with the utmost tranquillity."
I must entreat my reader to examine the print, before I can expect belief, when I assure him, that for this criticism there is not the slightest foundation.—The magistrate is bled in the right arm, which is bared for that purpose, by stripping the coat-sleeve from it.—It is in his left hand that he holds the fork with the oyster on it, his coat-sleeve being all the while on his left arm.—As to the attention of the company, it is earnestly engaged by different objects; andHogarthperhaps designed to insinuate that accidents, arising from repletion or indigestion, are too common at election dinners to attract notice or excite solicitude.—The brickbat has not noisily forced its way through a window, but was thrown in at a casement already open; and a moment must have elapsed before an event so instantaneous could be perceived in an assembly, every individual of which had his distinct avocation. Of this moment our artist has availed himself. Till, therefore, the accident was discovered, he has, with the utmost propriety, left every person present to pursue his former train of thought or amusement.
[B]The ingenious artist inFleet-street, well known to the learned and ingenious, by his excellence in taking Busts from the Life, and casts from Anatomical Dissections.
[B]The ingenious artist inFleet-street, well known to the learned and ingenious, by his excellence in taking Busts from the Life, and casts from Anatomical Dissections.
[C]See the Dial in Plate IV.
[C]See the Dial in Plate IV.
[D]See the Prologue to a farce called "The Male Coquette."
[D]See the Prologue to a farce called "The Male Coquette."
[E]SeePope'sEssay on Man.
[E]SeePope'sEssay on Man.
[F]This passage will, perhaps, be better illustrated by the following paragraph, printed in a daily paper called "The Citizen:"—"Saturdaylast, being the first day ofAugustOld Stile, the Artillery Company marched according to custom once in three years (calledBarnes's March, by which they hold an estate): they went to SirGeorge Whitmore's, and took a dunghill. As they were marching throughBunhill-Row, a large hog ran between a woman's legs and threw her down, by which accident the ranks were broke, which put the army in the utmost confusion before they could recover."
[F]This passage will, perhaps, be better illustrated by the following paragraph, printed in a daily paper called "The Citizen:"—"Saturdaylast, being the first day ofAugustOld Stile, the Artillery Company marched according to custom once in three years (calledBarnes's March, by which they hold an estate): they went to SirGeorge Whitmore's, and took a dunghill. As they were marching throughBunhill-Row, a large hog ran between a woman's legs and threw her down, by which accident the ranks were broke, which put the army in the utmost confusion before they could recover."
[G]See above, p.295.
[G]See above, p.295.