N° II.

St. Andréwas accused inJ. N.'spamphlet of having frequently larded his pleasantry with obscene expressions. This is a truth which his defender makes not the slightest effort to deny; but adds, that his conversation washardly evertinctured with prophaneness. We hence at least may infer that our hero's humour hadsometimesthis imperfection, which indeedmight have escaped notice, but for the zeal of his apologist.—As I am on this subject, I cannot forbear to mention a particular in Mr.St. André'sbehaviour, which hitherto has been overlooked. When at any time he received a reproof from women of sense, fashion, and character, whose ears he had insulted with his ribaldry, his confidence in a moment forsook him, nor had he a word to offer in extenuation of his offence. My informant has more than once beheld, with secret satisfaction, how effectually the frown of steady virtue could awe this "mighty impudent" into silence. Notwithstanding what has been already said concerning that indifference to censure which appeared in him towards the end of his life, I am mis-informed, if at an earlier period he was able to brave the ridicule of the place where he had been once employed and caressed. When the imputations consequent on his marriage, &c. had rendered him still less an object of respect, he retired with his bride, and amused himself at a distance fromLondonwith additions to his house, and improvements in his garden; nor did he appear in public again till what was known and suspected of him had ceased to be the object of general enquiry and animadversion.

It is difficult for a profligate man of an amorous constitution to grow old with decency.J. N.'spamphlet had taxedSt. Andréwith lasciviousness unbecoming his years. This is silently admitted by his apologist, who adds, that the intrigues of hishero were "sometimes with the lower part of the sex." He gives us reason also to suppose that our antiquated enamorato was a dupe to females in the very last stage of a life so unusually protracted. IsSt. André'smemory much honoured by such revelations? Do not circumstances like these increase that stock of "injurious insinuations" which our apologist professes to diminish?

Our panegyrist, more than once in the course of his letter, has expressed himself in favourable terms ofSt. André'scolloquial talents. Now, as the memory of my entertaining opponent in respect to circumstances is remarkably tenacious, 'tis pity he has preserved no splendid ebullition of his hero's wit, no sample of that satire and irony that seasoned his conversation, or of that wisdom which so often rendered it instructive. I flatter myself, that if any specimens of these distinct excellencies could have been recollected, they would certainly have been arranged and recorded.

ThatSt. Andréexpired without signs of terror, is but a doubtful proof of his innocence. Being, at best, a free-thinker, he might regard death as annihilation, might have been insensible to its immediate approaches, or have encountered it with a constitutional firmness that was rather the gift of nature than the result of conscience undisturbed. He who is become indifferent to the value of reputation, will not easily be inclined to suppose that a want of the virtues on which it is founded will be punished in a future state.

The whole narrative, published bySt. Andréin 1723, was considered by his contemporaries as an ostentatious falsehood, invented only to render him an object of attention and commiseration. It should be remembered, that his depositions were all delivered on oath; and yet, being replete with facts totally improbable (for his apologist allows "they partake of the marvellous"), obtained no credit from the world; a sufficient proof of the estimation in which his moral character was held by the people who were best acquainted with it, though at that period (for the rabbit affair had not yet decided on his reputation) he possessed sufficient interest as court-surgeon to engage the privy-council in his cause. They readily enough consented to offer a sum which they might have been sure would never be demanded. All the poison he was ever supposed to have suffered from, was such as is commonly administered in a more tempting vehicle than a glass of strong liquor:

"'Twas that which taints the sweetest joys,And in the shape of Love destroys."

"'Twas that which taints the sweetest joys,And in the shape of Love destroys."

The bare mention ofSocratesin company with such a pretended victim asSt. André, cannot fail to make the reader smile.

But "He's half absolv'd who has confess'd," continues his advocate, speaking of the recantationSt. Andrémade by public advertisement. Yet, what did he confess? Why, what all the world concurred to believe, that he had been grossly imposed on; or perhaps that, out of two evils choosing the least, he allowed himself to be a fool, that he might escape the imputation of having proved a knave. His absolution therefore was not obtained on the most creditable terms. He adds, however, on this emergency, a fresh proof of his disposition to deceive. "I think myself obliged (says he)in strict regard to truth, to acquaint the public that I intend,in a short time, to publish a full account of the discovery, with some considerations on the extraordinary circumstances of this case, which misled me in my apprehensions thereof; and which, as I hope they will, in some measure, excuse the mistakes made by myself and others who have visited the woman concerned therein, will also be acceptable to the world, in separating the innocent from those who have been guilty actors in the fraud." This work was never published, thoughSt. Andrésurvived his promise by the long term of fifty years. So much for the faith thus solemnly pledged by an impostor to the public.

After the accident had befallen Mr.Pope, on his return fromDawleyin LordBolingbroke'scoach,St. Andréwas called in, because he happened to be the surgeon nearest at hand. No man chooses to be scrupulous in the moment of danger. It might be urged that our hero had little to boast on the occasion,because his patient never recovered the use of his wounded fingers. But this calamity is not strictly chargeable onSt. André'swant of skill; for I have been assured, that though he stopped the effusion of blood, the completion of the cure was entrusted solely to another artist. The RABBITEER, having received his fee, was not admitted a second time into the Poet's company.

To conclude, I differ as much with our ingenious apologist at the close of his Epistle as throughout the foregoing parts of it, being of opinion that his hero no more deserves to beadmiredthan to becopied. There is always hazard lestwondershould generateimitation; and the world would not be much obliged to any circumstance that produced a second being fabricated on the model ofSt. André.

[1]See alsoDryden's Limberham, or the Kind Keeper. Act III.

[1]See alsoDryden's Limberham, or the Kind Keeper. Act III.

[2]The words ofPopeare "the poisoningdame." See Epilogue to his Satires, Dial. II. v. 22.

[2]The words ofPopeare "the poisoningdame." See Epilogue to his Satires, Dial. II. v. 22.

[3]Whilst the above page was preparing for the second edition of this work, the following particulars of this gentleman's family appeared in the public prints: "Mr.Molyneux, who was equally the friend of liberty and literature, was founder of a society inIreland, in imitation of the Royal (as was his nephew, the Rev. Dr.Madden, of theDublinSociety). His genius was celebrated byLocke, and other sages of those days; and his patriotism was rewarded with the successive representation of the City and University ofDublin, with other posts of great trust, from the Revolution to his death. He married the daughter of SirWilliam Domville, attorney-general ofIrelandin the reign ofCharlesthe Second, and niece of SirThomas Leake, ofCannonsinMiddlesex, by whom he had an only son,Samuel Molyneux, Esq; secretary to his late Majesty when Prince ofWales, a lord of the Admiralty, and member of parliament both inGreat-BritainandIreland, who resembled his illustrious father in his pursuits of philosophical knowledge, which he many years, until engaged in political business, prosecuted with great application at his seat atKew, now his Majesty's, and presented a telescope of his own construction to the King ofPortugal; hisperhaps fatalacquaintance with and patronage ofSt. Andréwill make his name long remembered. Leaving no issue by his wife, who marriedSt. André, and lived many years, the estate of Mr.Molyneuxfell at her death to his cousin-german and her god-son, the right honourable SirCapel Molyneux, member at present of theIrishparliament, and a privy-counsellor, only surviving son of Mr.Molyneuxfather's next brother, SirThomas Molyneux, bart. whom, through regard for his nephew, his late Majesty created the firstIrishbaronet upon his accession to the throne."

[3]Whilst the above page was preparing for the second edition of this work, the following particulars of this gentleman's family appeared in the public prints: "Mr.Molyneux, who was equally the friend of liberty and literature, was founder of a society inIreland, in imitation of the Royal (as was his nephew, the Rev. Dr.Madden, of theDublinSociety). His genius was celebrated byLocke, and other sages of those days; and his patriotism was rewarded with the successive representation of the City and University ofDublin, with other posts of great trust, from the Revolution to his death. He married the daughter of SirWilliam Domville, attorney-general ofIrelandin the reign ofCharlesthe Second, and niece of SirThomas Leake, ofCannonsinMiddlesex, by whom he had an only son,Samuel Molyneux, Esq; secretary to his late Majesty when Prince ofWales, a lord of the Admiralty, and member of parliament both inGreat-BritainandIreland, who resembled his illustrious father in his pursuits of philosophical knowledge, which he many years, until engaged in political business, prosecuted with great application at his seat atKew, now his Majesty's, and presented a telescope of his own construction to the King ofPortugal; hisperhaps fatalacquaintance with and patronage ofSt. Andréwill make his name long remembered. Leaving no issue by his wife, who marriedSt. André, and lived many years, the estate of Mr.Molyneuxfell at her death to his cousin-german and her god-son, the right honourable SirCapel Molyneux, member at present of theIrishparliament, and a privy-counsellor, only surviving son of Mr.Molyneuxfather's next brother, SirThomas Molyneux, bart. whom, through regard for his nephew, his late Majesty created the firstIrishbaronet upon his accession to the throne."

[4]The following story was told bySt. Andréto an eminent bookseller, from whom I received it:"Once when I was inParis," says our hero, "I went to a sale of Missals, most of them bound in crimson velvet. Among these, and in the same binding, I discovered a fine impression of the Duke ofOrleans'scelebrated publication ofLes Amours Pastorales de Daphnis et de Chloe, &c. which I purchased for a mere trifle. On taking off the velvet, I found the cover underneath was ornamented with as many jewels as I sold afterwards for five hundred pounds."——Who can believe a circumstance so utterly improbable?

[4]The following story was told bySt. Andréto an eminent bookseller, from whom I received it:

"Once when I was inParis," says our hero, "I went to a sale of Missals, most of them bound in crimson velvet. Among these, and in the same binding, I discovered a fine impression of the Duke ofOrleans'scelebrated publication ofLes Amours Pastorales de Daphnis et de Chloe, &c. which I purchased for a mere trifle. On taking off the velvet, I found the cover underneath was ornamented with as many jewels as I sold afterwards for five hundred pounds."——Who can believe a circumstance so utterly improbable?

[5]I am assured, on unquestionable authority, that Mr.St. Andréhad a valuable library in the classes of Natural History and Medicine. A catalogue of it, drawn up by Mr.B. White, is now in the possession of Mr.St. André'sexecutor, by whom it is reserved for the benefit of minors.

[5]I am assured, on unquestionable authority, that Mr.St. Andréhad a valuable library in the classes of Natural History and Medicine. A catalogue of it, drawn up by Mr.B. White, is now in the possession of Mr.St. André'sexecutor, by whom it is reserved for the benefit of minors.

The kindness of a friend has enabled me to lay before the reader some extracts from the scarce pamphlet mentioned in p. 137. The following is the exact title of it: "A Letter from a Parishioner ofSt. Clement Danes, to the Right Reverend Father in GodEdmund, Lord Bishop ofLondon, occasioned by his Lordship's causing the Picture over the Altar to be taken down.With some Observations on the Use and Abuse of Church Paintings in General, and of that Picture in particular.

"Exodus, Chap. xxxii. Ver. 20. And he took the Calf which they had made, and burnt it in the Fire, and ground it to powder, and strawed it upon the Water, and made the Children ofIsraeldrink of it.

"London, printed and sold byJ. Roberts, inWarwick-Lane; A. Dod, withoutTemple-Bar-, andE. Nut, at theRoyal-Exchange. 1725. Price 6d."

After some introductory compliments to BishopGibson, the Letter-writer thus proceeds: "Of all the abuses your Lordship has redressed, none more timely, none more acceptable to all true Protestants, than your last injunction to remove that ridiculous, superstitious piece of Popish foppery from over our communion-table; this has gained you the applause and good will of all honest men, who were scandalized to see that holy place defiled with so vile and impertinent a representation.

"To what end or purpose was it put there, but to affront our most gracious Sovereign, by placing at our very altar the known resemblance of a person, who is the wife of his utter enemy, and pensioner to the Whore ofBabylon?

"When I say the known resemblance, I speak not only according to my own knowledge; but appeal to all mankind who have seen the PrincessSobieski, or any picture or resemblance of her,if the picture of that angel in the white garment and blue mantle, which is there supposed to be beating time to the musick, is not directly a great likeness of that princess. This I insist on, and will stand and fall by my assertion, provided they do not play any tricks with the picture, or alter it for contradiction sake now it is down.

"Whether it was done by chance, or on purpose, I shall not determine; but be it which it will, it has given great offence, and your Lordship has acted the part of a wise and good prelate to order its removal.

"For surely, such a picture is far unfit for so sacred a place; a place too solemn for such levities, too awful to be made the receptacle of such trumpery: nay, admit it were not the resemblance of such a person, can any thing be more absurd, than such a picture in such a place!

"But if it be the picture of that person, what can be more sacrilegious, more impudently sacrilegious, than to have our sanctuary defiled by those who make a mock of us and our holy religion? I mean, our inveterate enemies the Papists, who would scruple to prophane no place, so they might show their implacable hatred to our God, and our King.

"To our God, by making his holy altar the scene of their ribaldry, to be approached with wantonness and curiosity, by the sons ofBelial, who come there to decypher the dumb libel, andsneer at the pictured lampoon, which tacitly mocks the church, and openly affronts the State.

"To our King, by placing the resemblance of an avowed enemy to him and his religion, at the very altar, to stand in view of a whole congregation; a thing, in my opinion, much more audacious, than the setting up her statue in the public streets.

"No wonder our church has been thronged with spectators, to the great hindrance of divine worship, and annoyance of the parishioners, when those crouds of irreverend persons, which were ever pouring in, came not there to join in prayer with the rest of the congregation, but to worship their Popish saint, and hug themselves with the conceit of being alone in the secret.

"But at last the watch-word was blown, and the true intent of their coming discovered. Then was it high time to complain to your Lordship, when disturbances became so frequent, and the peace of the church was so manifestly broken: that you, like anotherMoses, commanded the tinctured abomination to be taken down, and no doubt but your Lordship will call them to account who set it up.

"When your Lordship shall examine, who is the painter, and of what principle? how long he had been from the Court ofRome, before he painted that picture? and whether he brought no picture, or resemblance, of the PrincessSobieskiover with him? you will not repent of what you havedone. But when you shall farther enquire after the person who employed him; whether he be a Protestant? or, if he call himself so, whether his children were not sent abroad to Popish seminaries for education?

"When your Lordship, I say, shall examine into these particulars, I doubt not of the inferences so wise a man will draw from such convincing circumstances.

"And as your Lordship has begun to redress one abuse, I persuade myself you will not stop here, but enquire likewise, by what authority it was put there. This may, perhaps, open another scene to your Lordship's view, and give you an opportunity, not only to ease the parish of a very heavy burden it now groans under, but prevent its being run to unnecessary and unwarranted expences for the future, by everyJac——-in an office.

"And, indeed, unless there was a sufficient warrant for such alterations, the workmen should go to the right person's door, and he that set them to work ought to pay them; for, in my humble opinion, the place needed no alteration: it was decent, convenient, and indeed ornamental enough before; there was no more sign, or fear of its falling, than there was occasion to take it down, and deprive the parish of a conveniency now very much wanted, I mean a little vestry-room, which was behind the old communion table, where the books, vessels, and vestments of the church, were ready athand, and just at the very altar; whereas now every thing is brought quite through the body of the church, which in case of a croud (as of late has been but too frequent) is both tedious and inconvenient to the last degree.

"But, notwithstanding this, it was resolutely taken down, to gratify the pride and malice of some persons, who thirsted to eternize their names, and affront the government. What have been the consequences of all this, but an eye-sore and heart-burning to the honest and loyal part of the inhabitants, and a continual hurly-burly of loiterers from all parts of the town, to see our Popish raree-show?"

After a digression on the famous altar atWhite-Chapel, in which DeanKennetwas said to be satirized, and some general observations on pictures in churches, the Letter-writer adds, "Never before was any Popish saint put over the communion-table in a Protestant church. The Last Supper, the Passion, Crucifixion, or some other incidents of our Blessed Saviour's life, are the general subjects given to painters on these occasions; but to have a concert of musick, &c. (suppose it were not the Pretender's spouse, and probably some more of his family, under the form of angels) is the most abrupt and foreign that I ever saw or heard of.

"What surprizes me most is, that any of my fellow parishioners should not only dispute your Lordship's commands, delay the execution of your justinjunction, when it was most reasonable and necessary, but pester your Lordship with impertinent petitions and remonstrances, as if they were injured and oppressed, or your Lordship misinformed. This must be the reason; or to what purpose did they trifle with and contest your Lordship's ordinance? But you are too just a man to give any sentence but the most impartial, and too steady to give up any point, where the peace of the Church and the honour of the King is concerned.

"Whoever murmurs at its being taken down, takes the part of those who set it up; and whoever takes their part, is as bad as themselves, and would do the like on the like opportunity. What can they object against its being removed? What can they offer for having it remain? But why's, and why not's. As, Why should it be removed? What hurt did it do? Why should so much money be thrown away? And, why might not that picture be there as well as any other? Why does your Lordship interfere in the matter? This, with a glance of complaint at your Lordship, and severe invectives against those who solicited that interposition, calling them informers, busy, forward, mischief-making fellows, who had better mind their own business, and such like ribaldry, is all they can say for themselves. But these are the worst reasons in the world, and invidious queries only to evade an argument, and are not to be admitted in a debate of this nature, where a directreason for, or against, is required. But give me leave, my Lord, and I will, in a few words, answer all their queries, which seem so weighty and formidable to the vulgar and ignorant.

"Why should it be removed? may be answered by another question, What business had it there? But as I scorn such quibbling ways of reasoning, I shall answer them, because it is unfit for that sacred place. If it is the PrincessSobieski'simage, it is sacrilegious and traiterous, and therefore ought to be removed. If it is, as they say, a choir of heavenly angels at a practice of musick, playing on earthly instruments, it is impertinent and absurd to the last degree, and therefore ought to be removed from a place where the utmost decorum should be kept.

"What hurt does it, say they? To which I answer, it hurted or disturbed the peace of the church, and was so far hurtful, as we were hindered or annoyed in our devotions; it made a division in the parish, and was so far hurtful, as it tended to the breach of peace and good neighbourhood; and therefore I think it ought to be removed, since, not to answer them with a question, but a common saying, it did hurt enough.

"Why should so much money be thrown away? Ay, there's the grievance; but I shall tell them, they may thank themselves, it was the act and deed of their own cabal; and though they might triumph and laugh in their sleeves for a while,yet murder will out, and they might expect to be paid in their own coin one time or other. There was no occasion to remove the old communion-table and vestry; and therefore all the money is thrown away; the worse their management. Nor was there any necessity of so sumptuous an altar-piece, or of that picture in particular, therefore so much money as that picture cost, which, by the bye, is no trifling sum[1](the painter, as well as his masters, being no small fool), is entirely thrown away, and has been cast intoThe Thames; or, as the vulgar have it, thrown down the kennel.

"It was set up against the will of the major part of the parish, and not without much murmur and complaint; there was yet a much greater majority for pulling it down; if therefore so much money is thrown away, it is pity the parish should pay it; and, no doubt, when your Lordship comes to enquire by what authority a set of men ran the parish so much in debt for their own whims, and without any manner of occasion, you will do us justice, and teach such persons for the future to consult the bishop, and have the general consent of the parish, before they run into such extravagancies.

"The tradesmen want their money, and the parish cannot pay them: your Lordship therefore will do very well to adjust this matter, that they may know where to go for their money.

"Their delaying to take down their idol, was a tacit disputing your lordship's commands, irreligious and contumacious to the last degree: and indeed I cannot say but some of the public prints[2]gave me great anxiety, when they had the impudence to assure the world it was not to be taken down: but that anxiety was of short continuance; for I had the satisfaction the next morning to find it removed, and whole crowds of idle persons who came to see it disappointed; then I found, to my great comfort, that you were not to be biassed; but, as you had begun the good work, you had gone through with it, and made them take it down with a witness."

[1]It cost fourscore pounds.

[1]It cost fourscore pounds.

[2]The Post-BoyandDaily JournalofSaturday, September4.

[2]The Post-BoyandDaily JournalofSaturday, September4.

An Account of what seemed most remarkable in the Five Days' Peregrination of the Five following Persons, viz. MessieursTothall, Scott, Hogarth, Thornhill, andForrest; begun onSaturday, May27, 1732, and finished on the 31st of the same Month. Imitated inHudibrasticksby one well acquainted with some of the Travellers, and of the Places here celebrated, with Liberty of some Additions.

"Abi tu, et fac similiter."Inscription onDulwichCollege Porch.'Twas first of morn onSaturday,The seven-and-twentieth day ofMay,WhenHogarth, Thornhill, Tothall, Scott,AndForrest, who this journal wrote,FromCovent-Gardentook departure,5To see the world by land and water.Our march we with a song begin;Our hearts were light, our breeches thin.We meet with nothing of adventureTillBillingsgate's Dark-housewe enter;10Where we diverted were, while baiting,With ribaldry, not worth relating,(Quite suited to the dirty place):But what most pleas'd us was his GraceOfPuddle Dock, a porter grim,15Whose portraitHogarth, in a whim,Presented him in caricature,He pasted on the cellar-door.[1]But hark! the Watchman cries "Past one!"'Tis time that we on board were gone.20Clean straw we find laid for our bed,A tilt for shelter over head.The boat is soon got under sail,Wind near S. E. a mackrel gale,Attended by a heavy rain;25We try to sleep, but try in vain,So sing a song, and then beginTo feast on biscuit, beef, and gin.AtPurfleetfind three men of war,TheDursleygalley,Gibraltar,30AndTartarpink, and of this lastThe pilot begg'd of us a castToGravesend, which he greatly wanted,And readily by us was granted.The grateful man, to make amends,35Told how the officers and friendsOfEnglandwere bySpaniardstreated,And shameful instances repeated.While he these insults was deploring,Hogarth, like Premier, fell to snoring,40But waking cry'd, "I dream'd"—and thenFell fast asleep, and snor'd again.The morn clear'd up, and after fiveAt port ofGravesendwe arrive,But found it hard to get on shore;45His boat a young son of a whoreHad fix'd just at our landing-place,And swore we should not o'er it pass;But, spite of all the rascal's tricks,We made a shift to land by six,50And up to Mrs.Bramble'sgo[A house that we shall better know],There get a barber for our wigs,Wash hands and faces, stretch our legs,Had toast and butter, and a pot55Of coffee (our third breakfast) got:Then, paying what we had to pay,ForRochesterwe took our way,Viewing the new church as we went,And th' unknown person's monument.60The beauteous prospects found us talk.And shorten'd much our two hours walk,Though by the way we did not failTo stop and take three pots of ale,And this enabled us by ten65AtRochesterto drink again.Now, Muse, assist, while I declare(Like a trueEnglishtraveller)What vast variety we surveyIn the short compass of one day.70We scarce had lost the sight ofThames,When the fairMedway'swinding streams,And far-extendingRochester,Before our longing eyes appear:The Castle and Cathedral grace75One prospect, so we mend our pace;Impatient for a nearer view,But first mustStrood'srough street trudge through,And this our feet no short one find;However, with a cheerful mind,80All difficulties we get o'er,And soon are on theMedway'sshore.New objects here before us rise,And more than satisfy our eyes,The stately Bridge from side to side,85The roaring cataracts of the tide,Deafen our ears, and charm our sight,And terrify while they delight.These we pass over to the Town,And take our Quarters atThe Crown,90To which the Castle is so near,That we all in a hurry wereThe grand remains on't to be viewing;It is indeed a noble ruin,Must have been very strong, but length95Of time has much impair'd its strength:The lofty Tower as high or higherSeems than the old Cathedral's spire;Yet we determin'd were to gainIts top, which cost some care and pain;100When there arriv'd, we found a well,The depth of which I cannot tell;Small holes cut in on every sideSome hold for hands and feet provide,By which a little boy we saw105Go down, and bring up a jack-daw.All round about us then we gaze,Observing, not without amaze,How towns here undistinguish'd join,And one vast One to form combine.110ChathamwithRochesterseems but one,Unless we're shewn the boundary-stone.That and its Yards contiguous lieTo pleasantBromptonstanding high;The Bridge across the raging flood115WhichRochesterdivides fromStrood,ExtensiveStrood, on t'other side,ToFrindsburyquite close ally'd:The country round, and river fair,Our prospects made beyond compare,120Which quite in raptures we admire;Then down to face of earth retire.Up the Street walking, first of allWe take a view of the Town-Hall.Proceeding farther on, we spy125A house, design'd to catch the eye,With front so rich, by plastick skill,As made us for a while stand still:Four huge Hobgoblins grace the wall,Which we four Bas Relievo's call;130They the four Seasons represent,At least were form'd for that intent.ThenWatts's Hospitalwe see(No common curiosity):Endow'd (as on the front appears)135In favour of poor travellers;Six such it every night receives,Supper and lodginggratisgives,And to each man next morn does payA groat, to keep him on his way:140But the contagiously infected,And rogues and proctors, are rejected.It gave us too some entertainmentTo find out what this bounteous man meant.Yet were we not so highly feasted,145But that we back to dinner hasted.By twelve again we reachThe Crown,But find our meat not yet laid down,So (spite of "Gentlemen, d'ye call?")On chairs quite fast asleep we fall,150And with clos'd eyes again survey,In dreams, what we have seen to-day:Till dinner's coming up, when weAs ready are as that can be.If we describe it not, we're undone,155You'll scarce believe we came fromLondon.With due attention then prepareYourself to hear our bill of fare.For our first course a dish there wasOf soles and flounders with crab-sauce,160A stuff'd and roast calf's-heart beside,With 'purt'nance minc'd, and liver fry'd;And for a second course, they put onGreen pease and roasted leg of mutton:The cook was much commended for't;165Fresh was the beer, and sound the port:So thatnem. con.we all agree(Whatever more we have to see)From table we'll not rise till three.Our shoes are clean'd, 'tis three o'clock,170Come let's away toChatham-Dock;We shan't get there till almost four,To see't will take at least an hour;YetScottandHogarthneeds must stopAt the Court-Hall to playScotchhop.175ToChathamgot, ourselves we treatWith Shrimps, which as we walk we eat.For speed we take a round-a-bout-way, as we afterwards found out:At length reach the King's yards and docks,180Admire the ships there on the stocks,The men of war afloat we view,Find means to get aboard of two;[2]But here I must not be prolix,For we went home again at six,185There smoak'd our pipes, and drank our wine,And comfortably sat till nine,Then, with our travels much improv'd,To our respective beds we mov'd.Sundayat seven we rub our eyes,190But are too lazy yet to rise:HogarthandThornhilltell their dreams,And, reasoning deeply on those themes,After much learned speculation,Quite suitable to the occasion,195Left off as wise as they begun,Which made for us in bed good fun.But by and by, when up we got,Sam Scottwas missing, "Where'sSam Scott?""Oh! here he comes. Well! whence come you?"200"Why from the bridge, taking a view[3]Of something that did highly please me,But people passing by would teaze meWith 'Do you work onSundays, friend?'So that I could not make an end."205At this we laugh'd, for 'twas our willLike men of taste that day to kill.So after breakfast we thought goodTo cross the bridge again toStrood:Thence eastward we resolve to go,210And through the Hundred march ofHoo,Wash'd on the north side by theThames,And on the south byMedway'sstreams.Which to each other here incline,Till atThe Norein one they join.215Before weFrindsburycould gain,There fell a heavy shower of rain,When craftyScotta shelter foundUnder a hedge upon the ground,There of his friends a joke he made,220But rose most woefully bewray'd;How against him the laugh was turn'd,And he the vile disaster mourn'd!We work, all hands, to make him clean,And fitter to be smelt and seen.225But, while we scrap'd his back and side,All on a sudden, out he cried,"I've lost my cambrick handkercher,'Twas lent me by my wife so dear:What I shall do I can't devise,230I've nothing left to wipe my eyes."At last the handkerchief was found,To his great comfort, safe and sound,He's now recover'd and alive;So in high spirits all arrive235AtFrindsbury, fam'd for prospects fair,But we much more diverted wereWith what the parish church did grace,"A list of some who lov'd the place,In memory of their good actions,240And gratitude for their benefactions.Witness our hands—Will. Gibbons, Vicar—"And no one else.—This made us snicker:At length, with countenances serious,We all agreed it was mysterious,245Not guessing that the reason mightBe, the Churchwardens could not write.At ten, in council it was mov'd,Whoe'er was tir'd, or disapprov'dOf our proceedings, might go back,250And cash to bear his charges take.With indignation this was heard:Each was for all events prepar'd.So all with one consent agreedToUpnor-Castleto proceed,255And at the sutler's there we din'dOn such coarse fare as we could find.The Castle[4]was not large, but strong,And seems to be of standing long.Twenty-four men its garrison,260And just for every man a gun;Eight guns were mounted, eight men active,The rest were rated non-effective.Here an old couple, who had broughtSome cockles in their boat, besought265That one of us would buy a few,For they were very fresh and new.I did so, and 'twas charity;He was quite blind, and half blind she.Now growing frolicksome and gay,270Like boys, we, after dinner, play,But, as the scene lay in a fort,Something like war must be our sport:Sticks, stones, and hogs-dung, were our weapons,And, as in such frays oft it happens,275PoorTothall'scloaths here went to pot,So that he could not laugh atScott.From hence all conquerors we goTo visit the church-yard atHoo.AtHoowe found an Epitaph,280Which made us (as 'twill make you) laugh:A servant maid, turn'd poetaster,Wrote it in honour of her master;I therefore give you (and I hope youWill like it well) aVera Copia:285"And.wHen.he.Died.You plainly.seeHee.freely.gave.al.to.Sara.passaWee.And.in.Doing.so.it DoTh.prevail.that.Ion.him.can.well.bes.Tow.this Rayel.On.Year.sarved.him.it is well.none.290BuT Thanks.beto.God.it.is.all my.One."While here among the Graves we stumble,OurHogarth'sguts began to grumble,Which he to ease, turn'd up his tailOver a monumental rail;295Tothall, for this indecent action,Bellowing on him just correctionWith nettles, as there was no birch,He fled for refuge to the church,And shamefully the door besh-t;300O filthy dauber! filthy wit!Long at one place we must not stay,'Tis almost four, let's haste away.But here's a sign; 'tis rash we think,To leave the place before we drink.305We meet with liquor to our mind,Our hostess complaisant and kind:She was a widow, who, we found,Had (as the phrase is) been shod round,That is, had buried husbands four,310And had no want of charms for more;Yet her we leave, and, as we go,Scottbravely undertook to showThat through the world we could not pass,How thin soe'er our breeches was;315"'Tis true, indeed, we may go round,But through"—then pointed to the ground.So well he manag'd the debate,We own'd he was a man of weight:And so indeed he was this once,320His pockets we had fill'd with stones:But here we'd serv'd ourselves a trick,Of which he might have made us sick:We'd furnish'd him with ammunitionFit to knock down all opposition;325And, knowing well his warmth of temper,Out of his reach began to scamper,Till, growing cooler, he pretendsHis passion feign'd, so all are friends.Our danger now becomes a joke,330And peaceably we go toStoke.About the church we nothing can seeTo strike or entertain our fancy:But near a farm, on an elm tree,A long pole fix'd upright we see,335And tow'rd the top of it was plac'dA weathercock, quite in high taste,Which all of us, ere we go further,Pronounce of the Composite order.First, on a board turn'd by the wind,340A painter had a cock design'd,A common weather-cock was above it,This turn'd too as the wind did move it;Then on the spindle's point so smallA shuttlecock stuck o'ertopp'd them all.345This triple alliance gave occasionTo much improving speculation.Alas! we ne'er know when we are well,So atNorthfleetagain must quarrel;But fought not here with sticks and stones350(For those, you know, might break our bones)!A well just by, full to the brim,Did fitter for our purpose seem;So furiously we went to dashing,Till our coats wanted no more washing;355But this our heat and courage cooling,'Twas soon high time to leave such fooling.ToThe Nag's Headwe therefore hie,To drink, and to be turn'd adry.At six, while supper was preparing,360And we about the marsh-lands staring,Our two game-cocks,TothallandScott,To battling once again were got:But here no weapons could they find,Save what the cows dropp'd from behind;365With these they pelted, till we fancyTheir cloaths look'd something like a tansy.At seven we all come home again,TothallandScotttheir garments clean;Supper we get, and, when that's o'er,370A tiff of punch drink at the door;Then, as the beds were only three,Draw cuts who shall so lucky beAs here to sleep without a chum;ToTothall'sshare the prize did come375HogarthandThornhill, Scottand I,In pairs, like man and wife, must lie.Then mighty frolicksome they grow,AtScottand me the stocking throw,Fight with their wigs, in which perhaps380They sleep, for here we found no caps.Up at eleven again we get,Our sheets were so confounded wet;We dress, and lie down in our cloaths;Monday, at three, awak'd and rose,385And of the cursed gnats complain,Yet make a shift to sleep again.Till six o'clock we quiet lay,And then got out for the whole day;To fetch a barber, out we send;390Stripp'd, and in boots, he does attend,For he's a fisherman by trade;Tann'd was his face, shock was his head;He flours our wigs, and trims our faces,And the top barber of the place is.395The cloth is for our breakfast spread;A bowl of milk and toasted breadAre brought, of which whileForresteats.To draw our picturesHogarthsits;[5]Thornhillis in the barber's hands,400Shaving himselfWill Tothallstands;WhileScottis in a corner sitting,And an unfinish'd piece completing.Our reckoning about eight we pay,And take for Isle ofGreaneour way;405To keep the road we were directed,But, as 'twas bad, this rule neglected;A tempting path over a stileLet us astray above a mile;Yet the right road at last we gain,410And joy to find ourselves atGreane;Where my DameHusbands, atThe Chequer,Refresh'd us with some good malt liquor;Into her larder then she runs,Brings out salt pork, butter and buns,415And coarse black bread; but that's no matter,'Twill fortify us for the water.HereScottso carefully laid downHis penknife which had cost a crown,That all in vain we sought to find it,420And, for his comfort, say, "Ne'er mind it;"For toSheernesswe now must go:To this the ferryman says, "No."We to another man repair'd:He too says, "No—it blows too hard."425But, while we study how to get thereIn spite of this tempestuous weather,Our landlady a scheme propos'd,With which we fortunately clos'd,Was to the shore to go, and try430To hail the ships in ordinary,So we might get, for no great matter,A boat to take us o'er the water.We haste, and soon the shore we tread,With various kinds of shells bespread.435And in a little time we spy'dA boat approaching on our side;The man to take us in agreed,But that was difficult indeed,Till, holding in each hand an oar,440He made a sort of bridge to shore,O'er which on hands and knees we crawl,[6]And so get safe on board the yawl.In little time we seated were,And now toShepey'scoast draw near;445When suddenly, with loud report,The cannons roar from ships and fort,And, like tall fellows, we imputeTo our approach this grand salute:But soon, alas! our pride was humbled,450And from this fancy'd height we tumbled,On recollecting that the dayThe nine and twentieth was ofMay.The firing had not long been ended.Before atSheernesswe were landed,455Where on the battery while we walk,And of the charming prospect talk,Scottfrom us in a hurry runs,And, getting to the new-fir'd guns,Unto their touch-holes clapp'd his nose;460Hogarthsits down, and trims his toes;These whims when we had made our sport,Our turn we finish round the fort,And are at one forQueenboroughgoing:Bleak was the walk, the wind fierce blowing,465And driving o'er our heads the spray;On loose beach stones, our pebbly way,ButThornhillonly got a fall,Which hurt him little, if at all:So merrily along we go,470And reach that famous town by two.Queenboroughconsists of one short street,[7]Broad, and well-pav'd, and very neat;Nothing like dirt offends the eye,Scarce any people could we spy:475The town-house, for the better show,Is mounted on a porticoOf piers and arches, number four,And crown'd at top with a clock-tower;But all this did not reach so high480As a flag-staff, that stood just by,On which a standard huge was flying(The borough's arms, the king's supplying),Which on high festivals they displayTo do the honours of the day.485As for salutes, excus'd they are,Because they have no cannon there.To the church-yard we first repair,And hunt for choice inscriptions there,Search stones and rails, till almost weary all,490In hopes to find something material.When one at last, of pyebald style(Though grave the subject) made us smile:Telling us first, in humble prose,"ThatHenry Knightdoth here repose,495AGreenlandTrader twice twelve year,As master and as harpooneer;"Then, in as humble verse, we read(As by himself in person said)"InGreenlandI whales, sea-horse, and bears did slay,500Though now my body is intombed in clay."The house at which we were to quarterIs call'dThe Swans; this rais'd our laughter.Because the sign isThe Red Lion,So strange a blunder we cry "Fie on!"505But, going in, all neat we seeAnd clean; so was our landlady:With great civility she told us,She had not beds enough to hold us,But a good neighbour had just by,510Where some of us perhaps might lie.She sends to ask. The merry dameAway to us directly came,Quite ready our desires to grant,And furnish us with what we want.515Back to the church again we go;Which is but small, ill built, and low,View'd the inside, but still see weNothing of curiosityUnless we suffer the grave-digger520In this our work to make a figure,Whom just beside us now we have,Employ'd in opening of a grave.A prating spark indeed he was,Knew all the scandal of the place,525And often rested from his labours,To give the history of his neighbours;Told who was who, and what was what,Till on him we bestow'd a pot(For he forgot not, you may think,530"Masters, I hope, you'll make me drink!"),At this his scurrilous tongue run faster,Till "a sad dog" he call'd his master,Told us the worshipful the MayorWas but a custom-house officer;535Still rattling on till we departed,Not only with his tales diverted,But so much wisdom we had got.We treated him with t'other pot.Return we now to the town-hall.540That, like the borough, is but small,Under its portico's a space,Which you may call the market-place,Just big enough to hold the stocks,And one, if not two, butcher's blocks,545Emblems of plenty and excess,Though you can no where meet with less:For though 'tis call'd a market-town(As they are not asham'd to own)Yet we saw neither butcher's meat,550Nor fish, nor fowl, nor aught to eat.Once in seven years, they say, there's plenty,When strangers come to represent ye.Hard atThe Swanshad been our fare,But that someHarwichmen were there,555Who lately had some lobsters taken,With which, and eke some eggs and bacon,Our bellies we design to fill;But first will clamber up the hill,A most delightful spot of ground,560O'erlooking all the country round;On which there formerly has beenThe palace ofPhilippa, queenTo the thirdEdward, as they tell,Now nought remains on 't but a well:565But 'tis from hence, says common fame,The borough gets its royal name.Two sailors at this well we meet,And do each other kindly greet:"What brings you here, my lads?" cry we.570"Thirst, please your honours, as you see;For (adds the spokesman) we are hereWaiting for our young officer,A midshipman on boardThe Rose,(For GeneralS——'sson he goes):575We and our messmates, six in all,Yesterday brought him in our yawl,And when, as we had been commanded,Quite safe and dry we had him landed,By running of her fast aground580At tide of ebb, he quickly foundThat he might go and seeSheerness,So here he left us pennyless,To feast onQueenboroughair and water,Or starve, to him 'tis no great matter;585While he among his friends at ease is,And will return just when he pleases;Perhaps he may come back to-day;If not, he knows that we must stay."So one of us gave him a tester,590When both cried out, "God bless you, master!"Then ran to rouse their sleeping fellows,To share their fortune at the alehouse.Hence to the creek-side, one and all,We go to seeThe Rose'syawl,595And found her bedded in the mud,Immovable till tide of flood.The sailors here had cockles got,Which gratefully to us they brought,'Twas all with which they could regale us;600This t'other sixpence sent to th' alehouse:So merrily they went their way,And we were no less pleas'd than they.At seven about the town we walk,And with some pretty damsels talk.605Beautiful nymphs indeed, I ween,Who came to see, and to be seen.Then to ourSwansreturning, thereWe borrow'd a great wooden chair,And plac'd it in the open street,610Where, in much state, didHogarthsitTo draw the townhouse, church, and steeple,[8]Surrounded by a crowd of people;Tag, rag, and bobtail, stood quite thick there,And cry'd, "What a sweet pretty picture!"615This was not finish'd long, beforeWe saw, about the Mayor's fore-door,Our honest sailors in a throng:We call'd one of them from amongThe rest, to tell us the occasion;620Of which he gave us this relation:"Our midshipman is just come back,And chanc'd to meet or overtakeA sailor walking with a woman(May be, she's honest, may be, common):625He thought her handsome, so his honourWould needs be very sweet upon her:But this the seaman would not suf-fer, and this put him in a huff.'Lubber, avast,' says sturdyJohn,630'Avast, I say, let her alone;You shall not board her, she's my wife.Sheer off, Sir, if you love your life:I've a great mind your back to lick;'And up he held his oaken stick.635"Our midship hero this did scare:'I'll swear the peace before the Mayor,'Says he; so to the Mayor's they trudge:"How then a case by such a judgeDetermin'd was, I cannot say,640We thought it not worth while to stay:For it strikes nine, "How th' evening spends!Come, let us drink to all our friendsA chearful glass, and eat a bit."So to our supper down we sit;645When something merry check'd our mirth:TheHarwichmen had got a birthClosely adjoining to our room,And were to spend their evening come:The wall was thin, and they so near,650That all they say, or sing, we hear.We sung our songs, we crack'd our jokes,Their emulation this provokes;And they perform'd so joyously,As distanc'd hollow all our glee;655So (were it not a bull) I'd lay,This night they fairly won the day.Now plenteously we drink of flip,In hopes we shall the better sleep;Some rest the long day's work requires;660Scottto his lodging first retires;His landlady is waiting for him,And to his chamber walks before him;In her fair hand a light she bears,And shows him up the garret-stairs;665Away comes he greatly affronted,And his disgrace to us recounted.This makes us game, we roast him for it,"Scott'stoo high-minded for a garret."ButTothallmore humanely said,670"Come,Scott, be easy, take my bed,And to your garret I will go."(This great good-nature sure did show):There finding nought him to entertainBut a flock-bed without a curtain,675He too in haste came back, and gotAway to share his bed withScott,And at eleven each goes to nest,TillTuesdaymorn to take his rest.At six comesHogarth, "Rise, Sirs, rise,"680Says he, with roguery in his eyes,"Scott'slandlady is below stairs.And roundly the good woman swears,That for his lodging he shall pay,(Where his tir'd bones he scorn'd to lay)685Or he should go before the Mayor."She's in the right on't, we declare,For this would cut the matter short,(At least 'twould make us special sport):But here she balk'd us, and, no doubt,690Had wit enough to find us out.Our mark thus miss'd, we kindly go,To see how he andTothalldo.We find the doors all open were,(It seems that's not unusual here):695They're very well, butScottlast nightHad been in a most dreadful fright:"When to his room he got," he said,"And just was stepping into bed,He thought he saw the bed-cloaths stir,700So back he flew in mortal fear;But taking heart of grace, he try'dTo feel what 'twas, when out it cry'dAgain he starts, but to his joy,It prov'd a little harmless boy,705Who by mistake had thither crept,And soundly (till he wak'd him) sleptSo from his fears recover'd quiteHe got to sleep, and slept all night."We laugh at this, and he laughs too,710For, pray, what better could he do?At ten we leave ourLion-Swans,And to the higher lands advance,Call on our laundress by the way,For the led shirts left yesterday715To wash; "She's sorry, they're not yetQuite dry!"—"Why then we'll take them wet:They'll dry and iron'd be, we hope,AtMinster, where we next shall stop."The way was good, the weather fair,720The prospects most delightful were.ToMinstergot, with labour hardWe climb'd the hill to the church-yard,But, when arriv'd there, did not failTo read some verses on a rail725Well worth transcribing, we agree,Whether you think so, you may see."Here interr'dGeorge Andersondoth lye,By fallen on an anchor he did dyeInSheernessyard onGood Friday730The 6th ofApril, I do say.All you that read my allegy be alwaiesReady for to dye—aged 42 years."Of monuments that here they shewWithin the church, we drew but two;735One an ambassador ofSpain's,[9]T' other LordShorland's[10]dust contains,Of whom they have a wondrous story,Which (as they tell) I'll lay before ye.The Lord ofShorland, on a day,[11]740Chancing to take a ride this way,About a corpse observ'd a crowd,Against their priest complaining loud,That he would not the service say,Till somebody his fees should pay.745On this, his lordship too did rave,And threw the priest into the grave,"Make haste, and fill it up," said he,"We'll bury both without a fee."But when got home, and cool, reflecting750On the strange part he had been acting,He drew a state up of the case,Humbly petitioning for grace,And to the sea gallop'd away,Where, at that time, a frigate lay,755With QueenElizabethon board,When (strange to tell!) this hare-brain'd LordOn horseback swam to the ship's side,And there to see the Queen apply'd.His case she reads; her royal breast760Is mov'd to grant him his request.His pardon thankfully he takes,And, swimming still, to land he makes:But, on his riding up the beach,He an old woman met, a witch:765"This horse, which now your life doth save,"Says she, "will bring you to the grave.""You'll prove a lier," says my lord,"You ugly hag!" and with his sword(Acting a most ungrateful part)770His panting steed stabb'd to the heart.It happen'd, after many a day,That with some friends he stroll'd that way,And this strange story, as they walk,Became the subject of their talk:775When, "There the carcase lies," he cry'd,"Upon the beach by the sea-side."As 'twas not far, he led them to't,And kick'd the skull up with his foot,When a sharp bone pierc'd through his shoe,780And wounded grievously his toe,Which mortify'd: so he was kill'd,And the hag's prophecy fulfill'd.See there his cross-legg'd figure laid,And near his feet the horse's head![12]785The tomb[13]is of too old a fashionTo tally well with this narration;But of the truth we would not doubt,Nor put ourCiceroneout:It gives a moral hint at least,790That gratitude's due to a beast.So far it's good, whoever made it,And that it may not fail of credit,A horsehead vane adorns the steeple,And it'sHorse-churchcall'd by the people.795Our shirts dry'd atThe Georgewe get,We dine there, and till four we sit;And now in earnest think of home:So toSheernessagain we come.Where for a bum-boat we agree,800And about five put off to sea.We presently were under sail,The tide our friend, south-east the gale,Quite wind enough, and some to spare,But we to that accustom'd were.805When we had now got pastThe Nore,And lost the sight ofShepey'sshore,The ebbing tide ofThameswe met,The wind against it fiercely set!This made a short and tumbling sea,810And finely toss'd indeed were we.The porpoises in stormy weatherAre often seen in shoals together;About us while they roll and play,One in his gambols miss'd his way,815And threw himself so far on shore,We thought he would get off no more;But with great struggling and some pain,He did, and went to play again.On this we moralising say,820"How thoughtless is the love of play!"When we ourselves with sorrow findOur pleasures too with pain conjoin'd.For troubles croud upon us thick;Our hero,Scott, grows very sick;825PoorHogarthmakes wry faces too(Worse faces than he ever drew).You'll guess what were the consequences,Not overpleasing to our senses;And this misfortune was augmented830By MasterTothall'sbeing acquaintedWith the commander of a sloop,AtHoly HavennearThe Hope."There's CaptainRobinson," says he,"A friend, whom I must call and see."835Up the ship's side he nimbly goes,While we lay overwhelm'd with woesSick, and of winds and waves the sport.But then he made his visit short,And when a sup of punch he'd got,840Some lighted match to us he brought,A sovereign cordial this, no doubt,To men whose pipes had long been out.By seven o'clock our sick recover,And all are glad this trouble's over.845Now jovially we sail along,Our cockswain giving song for song.But soon our notes are chang'd; we foundOur boat was onBly-sandaground,Just in the middle of the river;850HereTothallshew'd himself quite clever:And, knowing we must else abideTill lifted by the flowing tide,Work'd with our skippers, till the boatWas once more happily afloat.855We all applaud his care and skill,So do the boatmen his good-will.Ere long the tide made upward, soWith that before the wind we go,And, disembarking about ten,860OurGravesendquarters reach again.Here Madam, smiling, comes to tellHow glad she is to see us well:This kind reception we commended,And now thought all our troubles ended;865But, when for what we want we call,Something unlucky did befall.When we our travels first beganScott(who's a very prudent man)Thought a great coat could do no harm,870And in the boat might keep him warm;So far perhaps you think him right,As we took water in the night:But when from hence we took our wayOn foot, the latter end ofMay,875He, quite as reasonably, thought'Twould be too heavy or too hot:"I'll leave it here," says he, "and takeIt with me at our coming back."And he most certainly design'd it:880But now the thing was, how to find it?We told him, he had been mistaken,And did without his hostess reckon.To him it was no jest; he swore"He left it there three days before,885This Mrs.Bramblecan't deny.""Sir, we shall find it by and by:"So out she goes, and rends her throatWith "Moll, go find the gem'man's coat."The houseMollsearches round and round,890At last, with much ado, 'twas found—'Twas found, that, to the owner's cost,OrScott's, the borrow'd coat was lost."Coat lost!" says he, stamping and staring,Then stood like dumb, then fell to swearing:895He curs'd the ill-concluding ramble,He curs'dGravesendand motherBramble.But, while his rage he thus express'd,And we his anger made our jest,Till wrath had almost got the upper-900hand of his reason, in came supper:To this at once his stomach turn'd,No longer it with fury burn'd,But hunger took the place of rage,And a good meal did both assuage.905He eat and drank, he drank and eat,The wine commended, and the meat:So we did all, and sat so late,ThatWednesdaymorn we lay till eight.Tobacco then, and wine provide,910Enough to serve us for this tide.Get breakfast, and our reckoning pay,And next prepare forLondonhey;So, hiring to ourselves a wherry,We put off, all alive and merry.915The tide was strong, fair was the wind,Gravesendis soon left far behind,Under the tilt on straw we lay,Observing what a charming day,There stretch'd at ease we smoke and drink,920Londonerslike, and now we thinkOur cross adventures all are past,And that atGravesendwas the last:But cruel Fate to that says no;One yet shall Fortune find his foe.925While we (with various prospects cloy'd)In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy'd,More diligent and curious,ScottInto the forecastle had got,And took his papers out, to draw930Some ships which right ahead he saw.There sat he, on his work intent,When, to increase our merriment,So luckily we shipp'd a sea,That he got sous'd, and only he.935This bringing to his mind a thoughtHow much he wanted the great coat,Renew'd his anger and his grief;He curs'dGravesend, the coat, and thief;And, still to heighten his regret,940His shirt was in his breeches wet:He draws it out, and lets it fly,Like aFrenchensign, till 'tis dry,Then, creeping into shelter safe,Joins with the company and laugh.945Nothing more happen'd worthy note:AtBillingsgatewe change our boat,And in another through bridge get,By two, to Stairs ofSomerset,Welcome each other to the shore,950ToConvent Gardenwalk once more,And, as fromBedford Armswe started,There wet our whistles ere we parted.With pleasure I observe, none idleWere in our travels, or employ'd ill,955Tottall, our treasurer, was just,And worthily discharg'd his trust;(We all sign'd his accounts as fair):Sam ScottandHogarth, for their share,The prospects of the sea and land did;960AsThornhillof our tour the plan did;AndForrestwrote this true relationOf our five days peregrination.This to attest, our names we've wrote all,Viz.Thornhill, Hogarth, Scott, andTothall.965

"Abi tu, et fac similiter."Inscription onDulwichCollege Porch.'Twas first of morn onSaturday,The seven-and-twentieth day ofMay,WhenHogarth, Thornhill, Tothall, Scott,AndForrest, who this journal wrote,FromCovent-Gardentook departure,5To see the world by land and water.Our march we with a song begin;Our hearts were light, our breeches thin.We meet with nothing of adventureTillBillingsgate's Dark-housewe enter;10Where we diverted were, while baiting,With ribaldry, not worth relating,(Quite suited to the dirty place):But what most pleas'd us was his GraceOfPuddle Dock, a porter grim,15Whose portraitHogarth, in a whim,Presented him in caricature,He pasted on the cellar-door.[1]But hark! the Watchman cries "Past one!"'Tis time that we on board were gone.20Clean straw we find laid for our bed,A tilt for shelter over head.The boat is soon got under sail,Wind near S. E. a mackrel gale,Attended by a heavy rain;25We try to sleep, but try in vain,So sing a song, and then beginTo feast on biscuit, beef, and gin.AtPurfleetfind three men of war,TheDursleygalley,Gibraltar,30AndTartarpink, and of this lastThe pilot begg'd of us a castToGravesend, which he greatly wanted,And readily by us was granted.The grateful man, to make amends,35Told how the officers and friendsOfEnglandwere bySpaniardstreated,And shameful instances repeated.While he these insults was deploring,Hogarth, like Premier, fell to snoring,40But waking cry'd, "I dream'd"—and thenFell fast asleep, and snor'd again.The morn clear'd up, and after fiveAt port ofGravesendwe arrive,But found it hard to get on shore;45His boat a young son of a whoreHad fix'd just at our landing-place,And swore we should not o'er it pass;But, spite of all the rascal's tricks,We made a shift to land by six,50And up to Mrs.Bramble'sgo[A house that we shall better know],There get a barber for our wigs,Wash hands and faces, stretch our legs,Had toast and butter, and a pot55Of coffee (our third breakfast) got:Then, paying what we had to pay,ForRochesterwe took our way,Viewing the new church as we went,And th' unknown person's monument.60The beauteous prospects found us talk.And shorten'd much our two hours walk,Though by the way we did not failTo stop and take three pots of ale,And this enabled us by ten65AtRochesterto drink again.Now, Muse, assist, while I declare(Like a trueEnglishtraveller)What vast variety we surveyIn the short compass of one day.70We scarce had lost the sight ofThames,When the fairMedway'swinding streams,And far-extendingRochester,Before our longing eyes appear:The Castle and Cathedral grace75One prospect, so we mend our pace;Impatient for a nearer view,But first mustStrood'srough street trudge through,And this our feet no short one find;However, with a cheerful mind,80All difficulties we get o'er,And soon are on theMedway'sshore.New objects here before us rise,And more than satisfy our eyes,The stately Bridge from side to side,85The roaring cataracts of the tide,Deafen our ears, and charm our sight,And terrify while they delight.These we pass over to the Town,And take our Quarters atThe Crown,90To which the Castle is so near,That we all in a hurry wereThe grand remains on't to be viewing;It is indeed a noble ruin,Must have been very strong, but length95Of time has much impair'd its strength:The lofty Tower as high or higherSeems than the old Cathedral's spire;Yet we determin'd were to gainIts top, which cost some care and pain;100When there arriv'd, we found a well,The depth of which I cannot tell;Small holes cut in on every sideSome hold for hands and feet provide,By which a little boy we saw105Go down, and bring up a jack-daw.All round about us then we gaze,Observing, not without amaze,How towns here undistinguish'd join,And one vast One to form combine.110ChathamwithRochesterseems but one,Unless we're shewn the boundary-stone.That and its Yards contiguous lieTo pleasantBromptonstanding high;The Bridge across the raging flood115WhichRochesterdivides fromStrood,ExtensiveStrood, on t'other side,ToFrindsburyquite close ally'd:The country round, and river fair,Our prospects made beyond compare,120Which quite in raptures we admire;Then down to face of earth retire.Up the Street walking, first of allWe take a view of the Town-Hall.Proceeding farther on, we spy125A house, design'd to catch the eye,With front so rich, by plastick skill,As made us for a while stand still:Four huge Hobgoblins grace the wall,Which we four Bas Relievo's call;130They the four Seasons represent,At least were form'd for that intent.ThenWatts's Hospitalwe see(No common curiosity):Endow'd (as on the front appears)135In favour of poor travellers;Six such it every night receives,Supper and lodginggratisgives,And to each man next morn does payA groat, to keep him on his way:140But the contagiously infected,And rogues and proctors, are rejected.It gave us too some entertainmentTo find out what this bounteous man meant.Yet were we not so highly feasted,145But that we back to dinner hasted.By twelve again we reachThe Crown,But find our meat not yet laid down,So (spite of "Gentlemen, d'ye call?")On chairs quite fast asleep we fall,150And with clos'd eyes again survey,In dreams, what we have seen to-day:Till dinner's coming up, when weAs ready are as that can be.If we describe it not, we're undone,155You'll scarce believe we came fromLondon.With due attention then prepareYourself to hear our bill of fare.For our first course a dish there wasOf soles and flounders with crab-sauce,160A stuff'd and roast calf's-heart beside,With 'purt'nance minc'd, and liver fry'd;And for a second course, they put onGreen pease and roasted leg of mutton:The cook was much commended for't;165Fresh was the beer, and sound the port:So thatnem. con.we all agree(Whatever more we have to see)From table we'll not rise till three.Our shoes are clean'd, 'tis three o'clock,170Come let's away toChatham-Dock;We shan't get there till almost four,To see't will take at least an hour;YetScottandHogarthneeds must stopAt the Court-Hall to playScotchhop.175ToChathamgot, ourselves we treatWith Shrimps, which as we walk we eat.For speed we take a round-a-bout-way, as we afterwards found out:At length reach the King's yards and docks,180Admire the ships there on the stocks,The men of war afloat we view,Find means to get aboard of two;[2]But here I must not be prolix,For we went home again at six,185There smoak'd our pipes, and drank our wine,And comfortably sat till nine,Then, with our travels much improv'd,To our respective beds we mov'd.Sundayat seven we rub our eyes,190But are too lazy yet to rise:HogarthandThornhilltell their dreams,And, reasoning deeply on those themes,After much learned speculation,Quite suitable to the occasion,195Left off as wise as they begun,Which made for us in bed good fun.But by and by, when up we got,Sam Scottwas missing, "Where'sSam Scott?""Oh! here he comes. Well! whence come you?"200"Why from the bridge, taking a view[3]Of something that did highly please me,But people passing by would teaze meWith 'Do you work onSundays, friend?'So that I could not make an end."205At this we laugh'd, for 'twas our willLike men of taste that day to kill.So after breakfast we thought goodTo cross the bridge again toStrood:Thence eastward we resolve to go,210And through the Hundred march ofHoo,Wash'd on the north side by theThames,And on the south byMedway'sstreams.Which to each other here incline,Till atThe Norein one they join.215Before weFrindsburycould gain,There fell a heavy shower of rain,When craftyScotta shelter foundUnder a hedge upon the ground,There of his friends a joke he made,220But rose most woefully bewray'd;How against him the laugh was turn'd,And he the vile disaster mourn'd!We work, all hands, to make him clean,And fitter to be smelt and seen.225But, while we scrap'd his back and side,All on a sudden, out he cried,"I've lost my cambrick handkercher,'Twas lent me by my wife so dear:What I shall do I can't devise,230I've nothing left to wipe my eyes."At last the handkerchief was found,To his great comfort, safe and sound,He's now recover'd and alive;So in high spirits all arrive235AtFrindsbury, fam'd for prospects fair,But we much more diverted wereWith what the parish church did grace,"A list of some who lov'd the place,In memory of their good actions,240And gratitude for their benefactions.Witness our hands—Will. Gibbons, Vicar—"And no one else.—This made us snicker:At length, with countenances serious,We all agreed it was mysterious,245Not guessing that the reason mightBe, the Churchwardens could not write.At ten, in council it was mov'd,Whoe'er was tir'd, or disapprov'dOf our proceedings, might go back,250And cash to bear his charges take.With indignation this was heard:Each was for all events prepar'd.So all with one consent agreedToUpnor-Castleto proceed,255And at the sutler's there we din'dOn such coarse fare as we could find.The Castle[4]was not large, but strong,And seems to be of standing long.Twenty-four men its garrison,260And just for every man a gun;Eight guns were mounted, eight men active,The rest were rated non-effective.Here an old couple, who had broughtSome cockles in their boat, besought265That one of us would buy a few,For they were very fresh and new.I did so, and 'twas charity;He was quite blind, and half blind she.Now growing frolicksome and gay,270Like boys, we, after dinner, play,But, as the scene lay in a fort,Something like war must be our sport:Sticks, stones, and hogs-dung, were our weapons,And, as in such frays oft it happens,275PoorTothall'scloaths here went to pot,So that he could not laugh atScott.From hence all conquerors we goTo visit the church-yard atHoo.AtHoowe found an Epitaph,280Which made us (as 'twill make you) laugh:A servant maid, turn'd poetaster,Wrote it in honour of her master;I therefore give you (and I hope youWill like it well) aVera Copia:285"And.wHen.he.Died.You plainly.seeHee.freely.gave.al.to.Sara.passaWee.And.in.Doing.so.it DoTh.prevail.that.Ion.him.can.well.bes.Tow.this Rayel.On.Year.sarved.him.it is well.none.290BuT Thanks.beto.God.it.is.all my.One."While here among the Graves we stumble,OurHogarth'sguts began to grumble,Which he to ease, turn'd up his tailOver a monumental rail;295Tothall, for this indecent action,Bellowing on him just correctionWith nettles, as there was no birch,He fled for refuge to the church,And shamefully the door besh-t;300O filthy dauber! filthy wit!Long at one place we must not stay,'Tis almost four, let's haste away.But here's a sign; 'tis rash we think,To leave the place before we drink.305We meet with liquor to our mind,Our hostess complaisant and kind:She was a widow, who, we found,Had (as the phrase is) been shod round,That is, had buried husbands four,310And had no want of charms for more;Yet her we leave, and, as we go,Scottbravely undertook to showThat through the world we could not pass,How thin soe'er our breeches was;315"'Tis true, indeed, we may go round,But through"—then pointed to the ground.So well he manag'd the debate,We own'd he was a man of weight:And so indeed he was this once,320His pockets we had fill'd with stones:But here we'd serv'd ourselves a trick,Of which he might have made us sick:We'd furnish'd him with ammunitionFit to knock down all opposition;325And, knowing well his warmth of temper,Out of his reach began to scamper,Till, growing cooler, he pretendsHis passion feign'd, so all are friends.Our danger now becomes a joke,330And peaceably we go toStoke.About the church we nothing can seeTo strike or entertain our fancy:But near a farm, on an elm tree,A long pole fix'd upright we see,335And tow'rd the top of it was plac'dA weathercock, quite in high taste,Which all of us, ere we go further,Pronounce of the Composite order.First, on a board turn'd by the wind,340A painter had a cock design'd,A common weather-cock was above it,This turn'd too as the wind did move it;Then on the spindle's point so smallA shuttlecock stuck o'ertopp'd them all.345This triple alliance gave occasionTo much improving speculation.Alas! we ne'er know when we are well,So atNorthfleetagain must quarrel;But fought not here with sticks and stones350(For those, you know, might break our bones)!A well just by, full to the brim,Did fitter for our purpose seem;So furiously we went to dashing,Till our coats wanted no more washing;355But this our heat and courage cooling,'Twas soon high time to leave such fooling.ToThe Nag's Headwe therefore hie,To drink, and to be turn'd adry.At six, while supper was preparing,360And we about the marsh-lands staring,Our two game-cocks,TothallandScott,To battling once again were got:But here no weapons could they find,Save what the cows dropp'd from behind;365With these they pelted, till we fancyTheir cloaths look'd something like a tansy.At seven we all come home again,TothallandScotttheir garments clean;Supper we get, and, when that's o'er,370A tiff of punch drink at the door;Then, as the beds were only three,Draw cuts who shall so lucky beAs here to sleep without a chum;ToTothall'sshare the prize did come375HogarthandThornhill, Scottand I,In pairs, like man and wife, must lie.Then mighty frolicksome they grow,AtScottand me the stocking throw,Fight with their wigs, in which perhaps380They sleep, for here we found no caps.Up at eleven again we get,Our sheets were so confounded wet;We dress, and lie down in our cloaths;Monday, at three, awak'd and rose,385And of the cursed gnats complain,Yet make a shift to sleep again.Till six o'clock we quiet lay,And then got out for the whole day;To fetch a barber, out we send;390Stripp'd, and in boots, he does attend,For he's a fisherman by trade;Tann'd was his face, shock was his head;He flours our wigs, and trims our faces,And the top barber of the place is.395The cloth is for our breakfast spread;A bowl of milk and toasted breadAre brought, of which whileForresteats.To draw our picturesHogarthsits;[5]Thornhillis in the barber's hands,400Shaving himselfWill Tothallstands;WhileScottis in a corner sitting,And an unfinish'd piece completing.Our reckoning about eight we pay,And take for Isle ofGreaneour way;405To keep the road we were directed,But, as 'twas bad, this rule neglected;A tempting path over a stileLet us astray above a mile;Yet the right road at last we gain,410And joy to find ourselves atGreane;Where my DameHusbands, atThe Chequer,Refresh'd us with some good malt liquor;Into her larder then she runs,Brings out salt pork, butter and buns,415And coarse black bread; but that's no matter,'Twill fortify us for the water.HereScottso carefully laid downHis penknife which had cost a crown,That all in vain we sought to find it,420And, for his comfort, say, "Ne'er mind it;"For toSheernesswe now must go:To this the ferryman says, "No."We to another man repair'd:He too says, "No—it blows too hard."425But, while we study how to get thereIn spite of this tempestuous weather,Our landlady a scheme propos'd,With which we fortunately clos'd,Was to the shore to go, and try430To hail the ships in ordinary,So we might get, for no great matter,A boat to take us o'er the water.We haste, and soon the shore we tread,With various kinds of shells bespread.435And in a little time we spy'dA boat approaching on our side;The man to take us in agreed,But that was difficult indeed,Till, holding in each hand an oar,440He made a sort of bridge to shore,O'er which on hands and knees we crawl,[6]And so get safe on board the yawl.In little time we seated were,And now toShepey'scoast draw near;445When suddenly, with loud report,The cannons roar from ships and fort,And, like tall fellows, we imputeTo our approach this grand salute:But soon, alas! our pride was humbled,450And from this fancy'd height we tumbled,On recollecting that the dayThe nine and twentieth was ofMay.The firing had not long been ended.Before atSheernesswe were landed,455Where on the battery while we walk,And of the charming prospect talk,Scottfrom us in a hurry runs,And, getting to the new-fir'd guns,Unto their touch-holes clapp'd his nose;460Hogarthsits down, and trims his toes;These whims when we had made our sport,Our turn we finish round the fort,And are at one forQueenboroughgoing:Bleak was the walk, the wind fierce blowing,465And driving o'er our heads the spray;On loose beach stones, our pebbly way,ButThornhillonly got a fall,Which hurt him little, if at all:So merrily along we go,470And reach that famous town by two.Queenboroughconsists of one short street,[7]Broad, and well-pav'd, and very neat;Nothing like dirt offends the eye,Scarce any people could we spy:475The town-house, for the better show,Is mounted on a porticoOf piers and arches, number four,And crown'd at top with a clock-tower;But all this did not reach so high480As a flag-staff, that stood just by,On which a standard huge was flying(The borough's arms, the king's supplying),Which on high festivals they displayTo do the honours of the day.485As for salutes, excus'd they are,Because they have no cannon there.To the church-yard we first repair,And hunt for choice inscriptions there,Search stones and rails, till almost weary all,490In hopes to find something material.When one at last, of pyebald style(Though grave the subject) made us smile:Telling us first, in humble prose,"ThatHenry Knightdoth here repose,495AGreenlandTrader twice twelve year,As master and as harpooneer;"Then, in as humble verse, we read(As by himself in person said)"InGreenlandI whales, sea-horse, and bears did slay,500Though now my body is intombed in clay."The house at which we were to quarterIs call'dThe Swans; this rais'd our laughter.Because the sign isThe Red Lion,So strange a blunder we cry "Fie on!"505But, going in, all neat we seeAnd clean; so was our landlady:With great civility she told us,She had not beds enough to hold us,But a good neighbour had just by,510Where some of us perhaps might lie.She sends to ask. The merry dameAway to us directly came,Quite ready our desires to grant,And furnish us with what we want.515Back to the church again we go;Which is but small, ill built, and low,View'd the inside, but still see weNothing of curiosityUnless we suffer the grave-digger520In this our work to make a figure,Whom just beside us now we have,Employ'd in opening of a grave.A prating spark indeed he was,Knew all the scandal of the place,525And often rested from his labours,To give the history of his neighbours;Told who was who, and what was what,Till on him we bestow'd a pot(For he forgot not, you may think,530"Masters, I hope, you'll make me drink!"),At this his scurrilous tongue run faster,Till "a sad dog" he call'd his master,Told us the worshipful the MayorWas but a custom-house officer;535Still rattling on till we departed,Not only with his tales diverted,But so much wisdom we had got.We treated him with t'other pot.Return we now to the town-hall.540That, like the borough, is but small,Under its portico's a space,Which you may call the market-place,Just big enough to hold the stocks,And one, if not two, butcher's blocks,545Emblems of plenty and excess,Though you can no where meet with less:For though 'tis call'd a market-town(As they are not asham'd to own)Yet we saw neither butcher's meat,550Nor fish, nor fowl, nor aught to eat.Once in seven years, they say, there's plenty,When strangers come to represent ye.Hard atThe Swanshad been our fare,But that someHarwichmen were there,555Who lately had some lobsters taken,With which, and eke some eggs and bacon,Our bellies we design to fill;But first will clamber up the hill,A most delightful spot of ground,560O'erlooking all the country round;On which there formerly has beenThe palace ofPhilippa, queenTo the thirdEdward, as they tell,Now nought remains on 't but a well:565But 'tis from hence, says common fame,The borough gets its royal name.Two sailors at this well we meet,And do each other kindly greet:"What brings you here, my lads?" cry we.570"Thirst, please your honours, as you see;For (adds the spokesman) we are hereWaiting for our young officer,A midshipman on boardThe Rose,(For GeneralS——'sson he goes):575We and our messmates, six in all,Yesterday brought him in our yawl,And when, as we had been commanded,Quite safe and dry we had him landed,By running of her fast aground580At tide of ebb, he quickly foundThat he might go and seeSheerness,So here he left us pennyless,To feast onQueenboroughair and water,Or starve, to him 'tis no great matter;585While he among his friends at ease is,And will return just when he pleases;Perhaps he may come back to-day;If not, he knows that we must stay."So one of us gave him a tester,590When both cried out, "God bless you, master!"Then ran to rouse their sleeping fellows,To share their fortune at the alehouse.Hence to the creek-side, one and all,We go to seeThe Rose'syawl,595And found her bedded in the mud,Immovable till tide of flood.The sailors here had cockles got,Which gratefully to us they brought,'Twas all with which they could regale us;600This t'other sixpence sent to th' alehouse:So merrily they went their way,And we were no less pleas'd than they.At seven about the town we walk,And with some pretty damsels talk.605Beautiful nymphs indeed, I ween,Who came to see, and to be seen.Then to ourSwansreturning, thereWe borrow'd a great wooden chair,And plac'd it in the open street,610Where, in much state, didHogarthsitTo draw the townhouse, church, and steeple,[8]Surrounded by a crowd of people;Tag, rag, and bobtail, stood quite thick there,And cry'd, "What a sweet pretty picture!"615This was not finish'd long, beforeWe saw, about the Mayor's fore-door,Our honest sailors in a throng:We call'd one of them from amongThe rest, to tell us the occasion;620Of which he gave us this relation:"Our midshipman is just come back,And chanc'd to meet or overtakeA sailor walking with a woman(May be, she's honest, may be, common):625He thought her handsome, so his honourWould needs be very sweet upon her:But this the seaman would not suf-fer, and this put him in a huff.'Lubber, avast,' says sturdyJohn,630'Avast, I say, let her alone;You shall not board her, she's my wife.Sheer off, Sir, if you love your life:I've a great mind your back to lick;'And up he held his oaken stick.635"Our midship hero this did scare:'I'll swear the peace before the Mayor,'Says he; so to the Mayor's they trudge:"How then a case by such a judgeDetermin'd was, I cannot say,640We thought it not worth while to stay:For it strikes nine, "How th' evening spends!Come, let us drink to all our friendsA chearful glass, and eat a bit."So to our supper down we sit;645When something merry check'd our mirth:TheHarwichmen had got a birthClosely adjoining to our room,And were to spend their evening come:The wall was thin, and they so near,650That all they say, or sing, we hear.We sung our songs, we crack'd our jokes,Their emulation this provokes;And they perform'd so joyously,As distanc'd hollow all our glee;655So (were it not a bull) I'd lay,This night they fairly won the day.Now plenteously we drink of flip,In hopes we shall the better sleep;Some rest the long day's work requires;660Scottto his lodging first retires;His landlady is waiting for him,And to his chamber walks before him;In her fair hand a light she bears,And shows him up the garret-stairs;665Away comes he greatly affronted,And his disgrace to us recounted.This makes us game, we roast him for it,"Scott'stoo high-minded for a garret."ButTothallmore humanely said,670"Come,Scott, be easy, take my bed,And to your garret I will go."(This great good-nature sure did show):There finding nought him to entertainBut a flock-bed without a curtain,675He too in haste came back, and gotAway to share his bed withScott,And at eleven each goes to nest,TillTuesdaymorn to take his rest.At six comesHogarth, "Rise, Sirs, rise,"680Says he, with roguery in his eyes,"Scott'slandlady is below stairs.And roundly the good woman swears,That for his lodging he shall pay,(Where his tir'd bones he scorn'd to lay)685Or he should go before the Mayor."She's in the right on't, we declare,For this would cut the matter short,(At least 'twould make us special sport):But here she balk'd us, and, no doubt,690Had wit enough to find us out.Our mark thus miss'd, we kindly go,To see how he andTothalldo.We find the doors all open were,(It seems that's not unusual here):695They're very well, butScottlast nightHad been in a most dreadful fright:"When to his room he got," he said,"And just was stepping into bed,He thought he saw the bed-cloaths stir,700So back he flew in mortal fear;But taking heart of grace, he try'dTo feel what 'twas, when out it cry'dAgain he starts, but to his joy,It prov'd a little harmless boy,705Who by mistake had thither crept,And soundly (till he wak'd him) sleptSo from his fears recover'd quiteHe got to sleep, and slept all night."We laugh at this, and he laughs too,710For, pray, what better could he do?At ten we leave ourLion-Swans,And to the higher lands advance,Call on our laundress by the way,For the led shirts left yesterday715To wash; "She's sorry, they're not yetQuite dry!"—"Why then we'll take them wet:They'll dry and iron'd be, we hope,AtMinster, where we next shall stop."The way was good, the weather fair,720The prospects most delightful were.ToMinstergot, with labour hardWe climb'd the hill to the church-yard,But, when arriv'd there, did not failTo read some verses on a rail725Well worth transcribing, we agree,Whether you think so, you may see."Here interr'dGeorge Andersondoth lye,By fallen on an anchor he did dyeInSheernessyard onGood Friday730The 6th ofApril, I do say.All you that read my allegy be alwaiesReady for to dye—aged 42 years."Of monuments that here they shewWithin the church, we drew but two;735One an ambassador ofSpain's,[9]T' other LordShorland's[10]dust contains,Of whom they have a wondrous story,Which (as they tell) I'll lay before ye.The Lord ofShorland, on a day,[11]740Chancing to take a ride this way,About a corpse observ'd a crowd,Against their priest complaining loud,That he would not the service say,Till somebody his fees should pay.745On this, his lordship too did rave,And threw the priest into the grave,"Make haste, and fill it up," said he,"We'll bury both without a fee."But when got home, and cool, reflecting750On the strange part he had been acting,He drew a state up of the case,Humbly petitioning for grace,And to the sea gallop'd away,Where, at that time, a frigate lay,755With QueenElizabethon board,When (strange to tell!) this hare-brain'd LordOn horseback swam to the ship's side,And there to see the Queen apply'd.His case she reads; her royal breast760Is mov'd to grant him his request.His pardon thankfully he takes,And, swimming still, to land he makes:But, on his riding up the beach,He an old woman met, a witch:765"This horse, which now your life doth save,"Says she, "will bring you to the grave.""You'll prove a lier," says my lord,"You ugly hag!" and with his sword(Acting a most ungrateful part)770His panting steed stabb'd to the heart.It happen'd, after many a day,That with some friends he stroll'd that way,And this strange story, as they walk,Became the subject of their talk:775When, "There the carcase lies," he cry'd,"Upon the beach by the sea-side."As 'twas not far, he led them to't,And kick'd the skull up with his foot,When a sharp bone pierc'd through his shoe,780And wounded grievously his toe,Which mortify'd: so he was kill'd,And the hag's prophecy fulfill'd.See there his cross-legg'd figure laid,And near his feet the horse's head![12]785The tomb[13]is of too old a fashionTo tally well with this narration;But of the truth we would not doubt,Nor put ourCiceroneout:It gives a moral hint at least,790That gratitude's due to a beast.So far it's good, whoever made it,And that it may not fail of credit,A horsehead vane adorns the steeple,And it'sHorse-churchcall'd by the people.795Our shirts dry'd atThe Georgewe get,We dine there, and till four we sit;And now in earnest think of home:So toSheernessagain we come.Where for a bum-boat we agree,800And about five put off to sea.We presently were under sail,The tide our friend, south-east the gale,Quite wind enough, and some to spare,But we to that accustom'd were.805When we had now got pastThe Nore,And lost the sight ofShepey'sshore,The ebbing tide ofThameswe met,The wind against it fiercely set!This made a short and tumbling sea,810And finely toss'd indeed were we.The porpoises in stormy weatherAre often seen in shoals together;About us while they roll and play,One in his gambols miss'd his way,815And threw himself so far on shore,We thought he would get off no more;But with great struggling and some pain,He did, and went to play again.On this we moralising say,820"How thoughtless is the love of play!"When we ourselves with sorrow findOur pleasures too with pain conjoin'd.For troubles croud upon us thick;Our hero,Scott, grows very sick;825PoorHogarthmakes wry faces too(Worse faces than he ever drew).You'll guess what were the consequences,Not overpleasing to our senses;And this misfortune was augmented830By MasterTothall'sbeing acquaintedWith the commander of a sloop,AtHoly HavennearThe Hope."There's CaptainRobinson," says he,"A friend, whom I must call and see."835Up the ship's side he nimbly goes,While we lay overwhelm'd with woesSick, and of winds and waves the sport.But then he made his visit short,And when a sup of punch he'd got,840Some lighted match to us he brought,A sovereign cordial this, no doubt,To men whose pipes had long been out.By seven o'clock our sick recover,And all are glad this trouble's over.845Now jovially we sail along,Our cockswain giving song for song.But soon our notes are chang'd; we foundOur boat was onBly-sandaground,Just in the middle of the river;850HereTothallshew'd himself quite clever:And, knowing we must else abideTill lifted by the flowing tide,Work'd with our skippers, till the boatWas once more happily afloat.855We all applaud his care and skill,So do the boatmen his good-will.Ere long the tide made upward, soWith that before the wind we go,And, disembarking about ten,860OurGravesendquarters reach again.Here Madam, smiling, comes to tellHow glad she is to see us well:This kind reception we commended,And now thought all our troubles ended;865But, when for what we want we call,Something unlucky did befall.When we our travels first beganScott(who's a very prudent man)Thought a great coat could do no harm,870And in the boat might keep him warm;So far perhaps you think him right,As we took water in the night:But when from hence we took our wayOn foot, the latter end ofMay,875He, quite as reasonably, thought'Twould be too heavy or too hot:"I'll leave it here," says he, "and takeIt with me at our coming back."And he most certainly design'd it:880But now the thing was, how to find it?We told him, he had been mistaken,And did without his hostess reckon.To him it was no jest; he swore"He left it there three days before,885This Mrs.Bramblecan't deny.""Sir, we shall find it by and by:"So out she goes, and rends her throatWith "Moll, go find the gem'man's coat."The houseMollsearches round and round,890At last, with much ado, 'twas found—'Twas found, that, to the owner's cost,OrScott's, the borrow'd coat was lost."Coat lost!" says he, stamping and staring,Then stood like dumb, then fell to swearing:895He curs'd the ill-concluding ramble,He curs'dGravesendand motherBramble.But, while his rage he thus express'd,And we his anger made our jest,Till wrath had almost got the upper-900hand of his reason, in came supper:To this at once his stomach turn'd,No longer it with fury burn'd,But hunger took the place of rage,And a good meal did both assuage.905He eat and drank, he drank and eat,The wine commended, and the meat:So we did all, and sat so late,ThatWednesdaymorn we lay till eight.Tobacco then, and wine provide,910Enough to serve us for this tide.Get breakfast, and our reckoning pay,And next prepare forLondonhey;So, hiring to ourselves a wherry,We put off, all alive and merry.915The tide was strong, fair was the wind,Gravesendis soon left far behind,Under the tilt on straw we lay,Observing what a charming day,There stretch'd at ease we smoke and drink,920Londonerslike, and now we thinkOur cross adventures all are past,And that atGravesendwas the last:But cruel Fate to that says no;One yet shall Fortune find his foe.925While we (with various prospects cloy'd)In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy'd,More diligent and curious,ScottInto the forecastle had got,And took his papers out, to draw930Some ships which right ahead he saw.There sat he, on his work intent,When, to increase our merriment,So luckily we shipp'd a sea,That he got sous'd, and only he.935This bringing to his mind a thoughtHow much he wanted the great coat,Renew'd his anger and his grief;He curs'dGravesend, the coat, and thief;And, still to heighten his regret,940His shirt was in his breeches wet:He draws it out, and lets it fly,Like aFrenchensign, till 'tis dry,Then, creeping into shelter safe,Joins with the company and laugh.945Nothing more happen'd worthy note:AtBillingsgatewe change our boat,And in another through bridge get,By two, to Stairs ofSomerset,Welcome each other to the shore,950ToConvent Gardenwalk once more,And, as fromBedford Armswe started,There wet our whistles ere we parted.With pleasure I observe, none idleWere in our travels, or employ'd ill,955Tottall, our treasurer, was just,And worthily discharg'd his trust;(We all sign'd his accounts as fair):Sam ScottandHogarth, for their share,The prospects of the sea and land did;960AsThornhillof our tour the plan did;AndForrestwrote this true relationOf our five days peregrination.This to attest, our names we've wrote all,Viz.Thornhill, Hogarth, Scott, andTothall.965

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