LETTER V.

NOTES TO LETTER IV.[44]Note 1, page 315, line 55.May those excel by Solway-Moss destroy'd.For an account of this extraordinary and interesting event, I refer my readers to the Journals of the year 1772.[45]Note 2, page 319, line 315.They will not study, and they dare not fight.Some may object to this assertion; to whom I beg leave to answer, that I do not use the wordfightin the sense of the Jew Mendoza.[46]Note 3, page 320, line 245.Regret thy misery, and lament they crimes.See the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter [xxviii.] and various other places.[47]Note 4, page 320, line 253.Nor think of Julian's boast and Julian's fate.His boast, that he would rebuild the Temple at Jerusalem; his fate (whatever becomes of the miraculous part of the story), that he died before the foundation was laid.[48]Note 5, page 331, line 301Samson is grace, and carries all alone.Whoever has attended to the books or preaching of these enthusiastic people, must have observed much of this kind of absurd and foolish application of scripture history; it seems to them as reasoning.

NOTES TO LETTER IV.

[44]Note 1, page 315, line 55.May those excel by Solway-Moss destroy'd.For an account of this extraordinary and interesting event, I refer my readers to the Journals of the year 1772.

[44]Note 1, page 315, line 55.

May those excel by Solway-Moss destroy'd.

For an account of this extraordinary and interesting event, I refer my readers to the Journals of the year 1772.

[45]Note 2, page 319, line 315.They will not study, and they dare not fight.Some may object to this assertion; to whom I beg leave to answer, that I do not use the wordfightin the sense of the Jew Mendoza.

[45]Note 2, page 319, line 315.

They will not study, and they dare not fight.

Some may object to this assertion; to whom I beg leave to answer, that I do not use the wordfightin the sense of the Jew Mendoza.

[46]Note 3, page 320, line 245.Regret thy misery, and lament they crimes.See the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter [xxviii.] and various other places.

[46]Note 3, page 320, line 245.

Regret thy misery, and lament they crimes.

See the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter [xxviii.] and various other places.

[47]Note 4, page 320, line 253.Nor think of Julian's boast and Julian's fate.His boast, that he would rebuild the Temple at Jerusalem; his fate (whatever becomes of the miraculous part of the story), that he died before the foundation was laid.

[47]Note 4, page 320, line 253.

Nor think of Julian's boast and Julian's fate.

His boast, that he would rebuild the Temple at Jerusalem; his fate (whatever becomes of the miraculous part of the story), that he died before the foundation was laid.

[48]Note 5, page 331, line 301Samson is grace, and carries all alone.Whoever has attended to the books or preaching of these enthusiastic people, must have observed much of this kind of absurd and foolish application of scripture history; it seems to them as reasoning.

[48]Note 5, page 331, line 301

Samson is grace, and carries all alone.

Whoever has attended to the books or preaching of these enthusiastic people, must have observed much of this kind of absurd and foolish application of scripture history; it seems to them as reasoning.

ELECTIONS.

Say then which class to greater folly stoop,The great in promise, or the poor in hope?

Say then which class to greater folly stoop,

The great in promise, or the poor in hope?

Be brave, for your [captain] is brave, and vows reformation; there shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops[; and] I will make it felony to drink small beer[ ...] all shall eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord.

Shakspeare's Henry VI.[Part I. Act IV. Sc. 2.]

The Evils of the Contest, and how in part to be avoided—The Miseries endured by a Friend of the Candidate—The various Liberties taken with him, who has no personal Interest in the Success—The unreasonable Expectations of Voters—The Censures of the opposing Party—The Vices as well as Follies shown in such Time of Contest—Plans and Cunning of Electors—Evils which remain after the Decision, opposed in vain by the Efforts of the Friendly, and of the Successful; among whom is the Mayor—Story of his Advancement till he was raised to the Government of the Borough—These Evils not to be placed in Balance with the Liberty of the People, but are yet Subjects of just Complaint.

LETTER V.

THE ELECTION.

Yes, our Election's past, and we've been free,Somewhat as madmen without keepers be;And such desire of freedom has been shown,That both the parties wish'd her all their own:All our free smiths and cobblers in the townWere loth to lay such pleasant freedomdown—To put the bludgeon and cockade aside,And let us pass unhurt and undefied.True! you might then your party's sign produce,10And so escape with only half th' abuse—With half the danger as you walk'd along,With rage and threat'ning but from half the throng.This you might do, and not your fortune mend;For where you lost a foe, you gain'd a friend;And, to distress you, vex you, and expose,Election-friends are worse than any foes;The party-curse is with the canvass past,But party-friendship, for your grief, will last.Friends of all kinds, the civil and the rude,20Who humbly wish, or boldly dare t' intrude:These beg or take a liberty to come(Friends should be free), and make your house their home;They know that warmly you their cause espouse,And come to make their boastings and their bows.You scorn their manners, you their words mistrust;But you must hear them, and they know you must.One plainly sees a friendship firm and trueBetween the noble candidate and you;So humbly begs (and states at large the case),30"You'll think of Bobby and the little place."Stifling his shame by drink, a wretch will come,And prate your wife and daughter from the room:In pain you hear him, and at heart despise,Yet with heroic mind your pangs disguise;And still in patience to the sot attend,To show what man can bear to serve a friend.One enters hungry—not to be denied,And takes his place and jokes—"We're of a side."Yet worse, the proser who, upon the strength40Of his one vote, has tales of three hours' length—This sorry rogue you bear, yet with surpriseStart at his oaths, and sicken at his lies.Then comes there one, and tells in friendly way,What the opponents in their anger say;All that through life has vex'd you, all abuse,Will this kind friend in pure regard produce;And, having through your own offences run,Adds (as appendage) what your friends have done.Has any female cousin made a trip50To Gretna-Green, or more vexatious slip?Has your wife's brother, or your uncle's son,Done aught amiss, or is he thought t' have done?Is there of all your kindred some who lackVision direct, or have a gibbous back?From your unlucky name may quips and punsBe made by these upbraiding Goths and Huns?To some great public character have youAssign'd the fame to worth and talents due,Proud of your praise?—In this, in any case,60Where the brute-spirit may affix disgrace,These friends will smiling bring it, and the whileYou silent sit, and practise for a smile.Vain of their power, and of their value sure,They nearly guess the tortures you endure;Nor spare one pang—for they perceive your heartGoes with the cause; you'd die before you'd start;Do what they may, they're sure you'll not offendMen who have pledged their honours to your friend.Those friends indeed, who start as in a race,70May love the sport, and laugh at this disgrace;They have in view the glory and the prize,Nor heed the dirty steps by which they rise:But we, their poor associates, lose the fame,Though more than partners in the toil and shame.Were this the whole, and did the time produceBut shame and toil, but riot and abuse:We might be then from serious griefs exempt,And view the whole with pity and contempt,Alas! but here the vilest passions rule;80It is Seduction's, is Temptation's school:Where vices mingle in the oddest ways,The grossest slander and the dirtiest praise;Flattery enough to make the vainest sick,And clumsy stratagem, and scoundrel trick.Nay more, your anger and contempt to cause,These, while they fish for profit, claim applause;Bribed, bought and bound, they banish shame and fear;Tell you they're stanch, and have a soul sincere;Then talk of honour, and, if doubt's express'd,90Show where it lies, and smite upon the breast.Among these worthies, some at first declareFor whom they vote; he then has most to spare.Others hang off—when coming to the postIs spurring time, and then he'll spare the most;While some, demurring, wait, and find at lastThe bidding languish, and the market pass'd;These will affect all bribery to condemn,And, be it Satan laughs, he laughs at them.Some too are pious—one desired the Lord100To teach him where "to drop his little word;To lend his vote, where it will profit best;Promotion came not from the east or west;But as their freedom had promoted some,He should be glad to know which way 'twould come,It was a naughty world, and, where to sellHis precious charge, was more than he could tell.""But you succeeded?"—true, at mighty cost;And our good friend, I fear, will think he's lost.Inns, horses, chaises, dinners, balls and notes;110What fill'd their purses, and what drench'd their throats;The private pension, and indulgent lease,Have all been granted to these friends whofleece—Friends who will hang like burs upon his coat,And boundless judge the value of a vote.And, though the terrors of the time be pass'd,There still remain the scatterings of the blast.The boughs are parted that entwined before,And ancient harmony exists no more;The gusts of wrath our peaceful seats deform,120And sadly flows the sighing of the storm:Those who have gain'd are sorry for the gloom,But they who lost unwilling peace should come;There open envy, here suppress'd delight,Yet live till time shall better thoughts excite,And so prepare us, by a six-years' truce,Again for riot, insult, and abuse.Our worthy mayor, on the victorious part,Cries out for peace, and cries with all his heart;He, civil creature! ever does his best,130To banish wrath from every voter's breast;"For where," says he, with reason strong and plain,"Where is the profit? what will anger gain?"His short stout person he is wont to braceIn good brown broad-cloth, edged with two-inch lace,When in his seat; and still the coat seems new,Preserved by common use of seaman's blue.He was a fisher from his earliest day,And placed his nets within the Borough's bay;Where by his skates, his herrings, and his soles,140He lived, nor dream'd of corporation-doles[49];But, toiling, saved and, saving, never ceasedTill he had box'd up twelve score pounds at least.He knew not money's power, but judged it bestSafe in his trunk to let his treasure rest;Yet to a friend complain'd: "Sad charge, to keepSo many pounds, and then I cannot sleep.""Then put it out," replied the friend.—"What, giveMy money up? why, then I could notlive."—"Nay, but for interest place it in his hands,150Who'll give you mortgage on his house or lands."—"Oh but," said Daniel, "that's a dangerous plan;He may be robb'd like any otherman."—"Still he is bound, and you may be at rest,More safe the money than within your chest;And you'll receive, from all deductions clear,Five pounds for every hundred, everyyear."—"What good in that?" quoth Daniel, "for 'tis plain,If part I take, there can but partremain."—"What! you, my friend, so skill'd in gainful things,160Have you to learn what interest money brings?"—"Not so," said Daniel, "perfectly I know,He's the most interest who has most toshow."—"True! and he'll show the more, the more he lends;Thus he his weight and consequence extends;For they who borrow must restore each sum,And pay for use—What, Daniel, art thou dumb?"For much amazed was that good man—"Indeed!"Said he, with glad'ning eye, "will money breed?How have I lived? I grieve, with all my heart,170For my late knowledge in this precious art:—Five pounds for every hundred will he give?And then the hundred?——I begin tolive."—So he began, and other means he found,As he went on, to multiply a pound:Though blind so long to interest, all allowThat no man better understands it now.Him in our body-corporate we chose,And, once among us, he above us rose;Stepping from post to post, he reach'd the chair,180And there he now reposes—that's the mayor.But 'tis not he, 'tis not the kinder few,The mild, the good, who can our peace renew;A peevish humour swells in every eye,The warm are angry, and the cool are shy;There is no more the social board at whist.The good old partners are with scorn dismiss'd;No more with dog and lantern comes the maid,To guide the mistress when the rubber's play'd;Sad shifts are made, lest ribbons blue and green190Should at one table, at one time be seen.On care and merit none will now rely,'Tis party sells what party-friends must buy;The warmest burgess wears a bodger's coat,And fashion gains less int'rest than a vote;Uncheck'd, the vintner still his poison vends;For he too votes, and can command his friends.But, this admitted, be it still agreed,These ill effects from noble cause proceed;}Though like some vile excrescences they be,}200The tree they spring from is a sacred tree,}And its true produce, strength and liberty.Yet if we could th' attendant ills suppress;If we could make the sum of mischief less;If we could warm and angry men persuadeNo more man's common comforts to invade;And that old ease and harmony re-seatIn all our meetings, so in joy to meet:Much would of glory to the Muse ensue,And our good vicar would have less to do.

Yes, our Election's past, and we've been free,

Somewhat as madmen without keepers be;

And such desire of freedom has been shown,

That both the parties wish'd her all their own:

All our free smiths and cobblers in the town

Were loth to lay such pleasant freedomdown—

To put the bludgeon and cockade aside,

And let us pass unhurt and undefied.

True! you might then your party's sign produce,

And so escape with only half th' abuse—

With half the danger as you walk'd along,

With rage and threat'ning but from half the throng.

This you might do, and not your fortune mend;

For where you lost a foe, you gain'd a friend;

And, to distress you, vex you, and expose,

Election-friends are worse than any foes;

The party-curse is with the canvass past,

But party-friendship, for your grief, will last.

Friends of all kinds, the civil and the rude,

Who humbly wish, or boldly dare t' intrude:

These beg or take a liberty to come

(Friends should be free), and make your house their home;

They know that warmly you their cause espouse,

And come to make their boastings and their bows.

You scorn their manners, you their words mistrust;

But you must hear them, and they know you must.

One plainly sees a friendship firm and true

Between the noble candidate and you;

So humbly begs (and states at large the case),

"You'll think of Bobby and the little place."

Stifling his shame by drink, a wretch will come,

And prate your wife and daughter from the room:

In pain you hear him, and at heart despise,

Yet with heroic mind your pangs disguise;

And still in patience to the sot attend,

To show what man can bear to serve a friend.

One enters hungry—not to be denied,

And takes his place and jokes—"We're of a side."

Yet worse, the proser who, upon the strength

Of his one vote, has tales of three hours' length—

This sorry rogue you bear, yet with surprise

Start at his oaths, and sicken at his lies.

Then comes there one, and tells in friendly way,

What the opponents in their anger say;

All that through life has vex'd you, all abuse,

Will this kind friend in pure regard produce;

And, having through your own offences run,

Adds (as appendage) what your friends have done.

Has any female cousin made a trip

To Gretna-Green, or more vexatious slip?

Has your wife's brother, or your uncle's son,

Done aught amiss, or is he thought t' have done?

Is there of all your kindred some who lack

Vision direct, or have a gibbous back?

From your unlucky name may quips and puns

Be made by these upbraiding Goths and Huns?

To some great public character have you

Assign'd the fame to worth and talents due,

Proud of your praise?—In this, in any case,

Where the brute-spirit may affix disgrace,

These friends will smiling bring it, and the while

You silent sit, and practise for a smile.

Vain of their power, and of their value sure,

They nearly guess the tortures you endure;

Nor spare one pang—for they perceive your heart

Goes with the cause; you'd die before you'd start;

Do what they may, they're sure you'll not offend

Men who have pledged their honours to your friend.

Those friends indeed, who start as in a race,

May love the sport, and laugh at this disgrace;

They have in view the glory and the prize,

Nor heed the dirty steps by which they rise:

But we, their poor associates, lose the fame,

Though more than partners in the toil and shame.

Were this the whole, and did the time produce

But shame and toil, but riot and abuse:

We might be then from serious griefs exempt,

And view the whole with pity and contempt,

Alas! but here the vilest passions rule;

It is Seduction's, is Temptation's school:

Where vices mingle in the oddest ways,

The grossest slander and the dirtiest praise;

Flattery enough to make the vainest sick,

And clumsy stratagem, and scoundrel trick.

Nay more, your anger and contempt to cause,

These, while they fish for profit, claim applause;

Bribed, bought and bound, they banish shame and fear;

Tell you they're stanch, and have a soul sincere;

Then talk of honour, and, if doubt's express'd,

Show where it lies, and smite upon the breast.

Among these worthies, some at first declare

For whom they vote; he then has most to spare.

Others hang off—when coming to the post

Is spurring time, and then he'll spare the most;

While some, demurring, wait, and find at last

The bidding languish, and the market pass'd;

These will affect all bribery to condemn,

And, be it Satan laughs, he laughs at them.

Some too are pious—one desired the Lord

100

To teach him where "to drop his little word;

To lend his vote, where it will profit best;

Promotion came not from the east or west;

But as their freedom had promoted some,

He should be glad to know which way 'twould come,

It was a naughty world, and, where to sell

His precious charge, was more than he could tell."

"But you succeeded?"—true, at mighty cost;

And our good friend, I fear, will think he's lost.

Inns, horses, chaises, dinners, balls and notes;

110

What fill'd their purses, and what drench'd their throats;

The private pension, and indulgent lease,

Have all been granted to these friends whofleece—

Friends who will hang like burs upon his coat,

And boundless judge the value of a vote.

And, though the terrors of the time be pass'd,

There still remain the scatterings of the blast.

The boughs are parted that entwined before,

And ancient harmony exists no more;

The gusts of wrath our peaceful seats deform,

120

And sadly flows the sighing of the storm:

Those who have gain'd are sorry for the gloom,

But they who lost unwilling peace should come;

There open envy, here suppress'd delight,

Yet live till time shall better thoughts excite,

And so prepare us, by a six-years' truce,

Again for riot, insult, and abuse.

Our worthy mayor, on the victorious part,

Cries out for peace, and cries with all his heart;

He, civil creature! ever does his best,

130

To banish wrath from every voter's breast;

"For where," says he, with reason strong and plain,

"Where is the profit? what will anger gain?"

His short stout person he is wont to brace

In good brown broad-cloth, edged with two-inch lace,

When in his seat; and still the coat seems new,

Preserved by common use of seaman's blue.

He was a fisher from his earliest day,

And placed his nets within the Borough's bay;

Where by his skates, his herrings, and his soles,

140

He lived, nor dream'd of corporation-doles[49];

But, toiling, saved and, saving, never ceased

Till he had box'd up twelve score pounds at least.

He knew not money's power, but judged it best

Safe in his trunk to let his treasure rest;

Yet to a friend complain'd: "Sad charge, to keep

So many pounds, and then I cannot sleep."

"Then put it out," replied the friend.—"What, give

My money up? why, then I could notlive."—

"Nay, but for interest place it in his hands,

150

Who'll give you mortgage on his house or lands."—

"Oh but," said Daniel, "that's a dangerous plan;

He may be robb'd like any otherman."—

"Still he is bound, and you may be at rest,

More safe the money than within your chest;

And you'll receive, from all deductions clear,

Five pounds for every hundred, everyyear."—

"What good in that?" quoth Daniel, "for 'tis plain,

If part I take, there can but partremain."—

"What! you, my friend, so skill'd in gainful things,

160

Have you to learn what interest money brings?"—

"Not so," said Daniel, "perfectly I know,

He's the most interest who has most toshow."—

"True! and he'll show the more, the more he lends;

Thus he his weight and consequence extends;

For they who borrow must restore each sum,

And pay for use—What, Daniel, art thou dumb?"

For much amazed was that good man—"Indeed!"

Said he, with glad'ning eye, "will money breed?

How have I lived? I grieve, with all my heart,

170

For my late knowledge in this precious art:—

Five pounds for every hundred will he give?

And then the hundred?——I begin tolive."—

So he began, and other means he found,

As he went on, to multiply a pound:

Though blind so long to interest, all allow

That no man better understands it now.

Him in our body-corporate we chose,

And, once among us, he above us rose;

Stepping from post to post, he reach'd the chair,

180

And there he now reposes—that's the mayor.

But 'tis not he, 'tis not the kinder few,

The mild, the good, who can our peace renew;

A peevish humour swells in every eye,

The warm are angry, and the cool are shy;

There is no more the social board at whist.

The good old partners are with scorn dismiss'd;

No more with dog and lantern comes the maid,

To guide the mistress when the rubber's play'd;

Sad shifts are made, lest ribbons blue and green

190

Should at one table, at one time be seen.

On care and merit none will now rely,

'Tis party sells what party-friends must buy;

The warmest burgess wears a bodger's coat,

And fashion gains less int'rest than a vote;

Uncheck'd, the vintner still his poison vends;

For he too votes, and can command his friends.

But, this admitted, be it still agreed,

These ill effects from noble cause proceed;

}

Though like some vile excrescences they be,

}

200

The tree they spring from is a sacred tree,

}

And its true produce, strength and liberty.

Yet if we could th' attendant ills suppress;

If we could make the sum of mischief less;

If we could warm and angry men persuade

No more man's common comforts to invade;

And that old ease and harmony re-seat

In all our meetings, so in joy to meet:

Much would of glory to the Muse ensue,

And our good vicar would have less to do.

NOTE TO LETTER V.[49]Note 1, page 333, line 140.He lived, nor dreamed of corporation-doles.I am informed that some explanation is here necessary, though I am ignorant for what class of my readers it can be required. Some corporate bodies have actual property, as appears by their receiving rents; and they obtain money on the admission of members into their society: this they may lawfully share perhaps. There are, moreover, other doles, of still greater value, of which it is not necessary for me to explain the nature, or to inquire into the legality.

NOTE TO LETTER V.

[49]Note 1, page 333, line 140.He lived, nor dreamed of corporation-doles.I am informed that some explanation is here necessary, though I am ignorant for what class of my readers it can be required. Some corporate bodies have actual property, as appears by their receiving rents; and they obtain money on the admission of members into their society: this they may lawfully share perhaps. There are, moreover, other doles, of still greater value, of which it is not necessary for me to explain the nature, or to inquire into the legality.

[49]Note 1, page 333, line 140.

He lived, nor dreamed of corporation-doles.

I am informed that some explanation is here necessary, though I am ignorant for what class of my readers it can be required. Some corporate bodies have actual property, as appears by their receiving rents; and they obtain money on the admission of members into their society: this they may lawfully share perhaps. There are, moreover, other doles, of still greater value, of which it is not necessary for me to explain the nature, or to inquire into the legality.

PROFESSIONS—LAW.

Quid leges sine moribusVanæ proficiunt?Horace[Lib. III.Od.XXIV. vv. 35-6].

Quid leges sine moribus

Vanæ proficiunt?

Horace[Lib. III.Od.XXIV. vv. 35-6].

Væ misero mihi!Mea nunc facinora aperiuntur, clam quæ speravi fore.[Plaut.Trucul.Act IV. Sc. 3, vv. 20-1].

Væ misero mihi!

Mea nunc facinora aperiuntur, clam quæ speravi fore.

[Plaut.Trucul.Act IV. Sc. 3, vv. 20-1].

Trades and Professions of every Kind to be found in the Borough—Its Seamen and Soldiers—Law, the Danger of the Subject—Coddrington's Offence—Attorneys increased; their splendid Appearance, how supported—Some worthy Exceptions—Spirit of Litigation, how stirred up—A Boy articled as a Clerk; his Ideas—How this Profession perverts the Judgment—Actions appear through this Medium in a false Light—Success from honest Application—Archer a worthy Character—Swallow a Character of different Kind—His Origin, Progress, Success, &c.

LETTER VI.

PROFESSIONS—LAW.

"Trades and Professions"—these are themes the Muse,Left to her freedom, would forbear to choose;But to our Borough they in truth belong,And we, perforce, must take them in our song.Be it then known that we can boast of theseIn all denominations, ranks, degrees;}All who our numerous wants through life supply,}Who soothe us sick, attend us when we die,}Or for the dead their various talents try.10Then have we those who live by secret arts,By hunting fortunes, and by stealing hearts;Or who by nobler means themselves advance;Or who subsist by charity and chance.Say, of our native heroes shall I boast,Born in our streets, to thunder on ourcoast—Our Borough-seamen? Could the timid MuseMore patriot-ardour in their breasts infuse;Or could she paint their merit or their skill,She wants not love, alacrity, or will;20But needless all: that ardour is their own,And, for their deeds, themselves have made them known.}Soldiers in arms! Defenders of our soil!}Who from destruction save us; who from spoil}Protect the sons of peace who traffic, or who toil:Would I could duly praise you; that each deedYour foes might honour, and your friends might read:This too is needless; you've imprinted wellYour powers, and told what I should feebly tell.Beside, a Muse like mine, to satire prone,30Would fail in themes where there is praise alone.—Law shall I sing, or what to Law belongs?Alas! there may be danger in such songs;A foolish rhyme, 'tis said, a trifling thing,The law found treason, for it touch'd the king.But kings have mercy in these happy times,Or surelyonehad suffer'd for his rhymes;Our glorious Edwards and our Henrys bold,So touch'd, had kept the reprobate in hold;But he escaped—nor fear, thank Heav'n, have I,40Who love my king, for such offence to die.But I am taught the danger would be much,If these poor lines should one attorneytouch—(One of thoselimbsof law who're always here;Theheadscome down to guide them twice a year.)I might not swing indeed; but he in sportWould whip a rhymer on from court to court;Stop him in each, and make him pay for allThe long proceedings in that dreadedHall.—Then let my numbers flow discreetly on,50Warn'd by the fate of luckless Coddrington[50];Lest someattorney(pardon me the name)Should wound a poorsolicitorfor fame.One man of law in George the Second's reignWas all our frugal fathers would maintain;He too was kept for forms; a man of peace,To frame a contract, or to draw a lease:He had a clerk, with whom he used to writeAll the day long, with whom he drank at night;Spare was his visage, moderate his bill,60And he so kind, men doubted of his skill.Who thinks of this, with some amazement sees,For one so poor, three flourishing atease—Nay, one in splendour!—See that mansion tall,That lofty door, the far-resounding hall;Well-furnish'd rooms, plate shining on the board,Gay liveried lads, and cellar proudly stored:Then say how comes it that such fortunes crownThese sons of strife, these terrors of the town?Lo! that small office! there th' incautious guest70Goes blindfold in, and that maintains the rest;There in his web th' observant spider lies,And peers about for fat intruding flies;Doubtful at first, he hears the distant hum,And feels them flutt'ring as they nearer come.They buzz and blink, and doubtfully they treadOn the strong birdlime of the utmost thread;But, when they're once entangled by the gin,With what an eager clasp he draws them in;Nor shall they 'scape till after long delay,80And all that sweetens life is drawn away."Nay, this," you cry, "is common-place, the taleOf petty tradesmen o'er their evening-ale.There are who, living by the legal pen,Are held in honour—'honourable men.'"Doubtless—there are, who hold manorial courts,Or whom the trust of powerful friends supports;Or who, by labouring through a length of time,Have pick'd their way, unsullied by a crime.These are the few—in this, in every place,90Fix the litigious rupture-stirring race:Who to contention as to trade are led,To whom dispute and strife are bliss and bread.There is a doubtful pauper, and we think'Tis with us to give him meat and drink;There is a child, and 'tis not mighty clearWhether the mother lived with us a year;A road's indicted, and our seniors doubtIf in our proper boundary or without:But what says our attorney? He our friend100Tells us 'tis just and manly to contend."What! to a neighbouring parish yield your cause,While you have money, and the nation laws?What! lose without a trial, that which tried,May—nay it must—be given on our side?All men of spirit would contend; such menThan lose a pound would rather hazard ten.What! be imposed on? No! a British soulDespises imposition, hates control;The law is open; let them, if they dare,110Support their cause; the Borough need not spare.All I advise is vigour and good-will:Is it agreed then?—Shall I file a bill?"The trader, grazier, merchant, priest, and allWhose sons aspiring to [professions'] call,Choose from their lads some bold and subtle boy,And judge him fitted for this grave employ.Him a keen old practitioner admits,To write five years and exercise his wits:The youth has heard—it is in fact hiscreed—120Mankind dispute, that lawyers may be fee'd:Jails, bailiffs, writs, all terms and threats of law,Grow now familiar as once top and taw;Rage, hatred, fear, the mind's severer ills,All bring employment, all augment his bills;As feels the surgeon for the mangled limb,The mangled mind is but a job for him;Thus taught to think, these legal reasoners drawMorals and maxims from their views of law;They cease to judge by precepts taught in schools,130By man's plain sense, or by religious rules;No! nor by law itself, in truth discern'd,But as its statutes may be warp'd and turn'd.How they should judge of man, his word and deed,They in their books and not their bosoms read:Of some good act you speak with just applause,"No! no!" says he, "'twould be a losing cause."Blame you some tyrant's deed?—he answers, "Nay,He'll get a verdict; heed you what you say."Thus, to conclusions from examples led,140The heart resigns all judgment to the head;Law, law alone, for ever kept in view,His measures guides, and rules his conscience too;Of ten commandments, he confesses threeAre yet in force, and tells you which they be,As law instructs him, thus: "Your neighbour's wifeYou must not take, his chattels, nor his life;Break these decrees, for damage you must pay;These you must reverence, and the rest—you may."Law was design'd to keep a state in peace;150To punish robbery, that wrong might cease;To be impregnable—a constant fort,To which the weak and injured might resort.But these perverted minds its force employ,Not to protect mankind, but to annoy;And, long as ammunition can be found,Its lightning flashes and its thunders sound.Or, law with lawyers is an ample still,Wrought by the passions' heat with chymic sill;While the fire burns, the gains are quickly made,160And freely flow the profits of the trade;}Nay, when the fierceness fails, these artists blow}The dying fire, and make the embers glow,}As long as they can make the smaller profits flow;At length the process of itself will stop,When they perceive they've drawn out every drop.Yet, I repeat, there are, who nobly striveTo keep the sense of moral worth alive:Men who would starve, ere meanly deign to liveOn what deception and chican'ry give;170And these at length succeed: they have their strife,Their apprehensions, stops, and rubs in life;But honour, application, care, and skill,Shall bend opposing fortune to their will.Of such is Archer, he who keeps in aweContending parties by his threats of law.He, roughly honest, has been long a guideIn Borough-business, on the conquering side;And seen so much of both sides, and so long,He thinks the bias of man's mind goes wrong.180Thus, though he's friendly, he is still severe,Surly though kind, suspiciously sincere:So much he's seen of baseness in the mind,That, while a friend to man, he scorns mankind;He knows the human heart, and sees with dread,By slight temptation, how the strong are led;He knows how interest can asunder rendThe bond of parent, master, guardian, friend,To form a new and a degrading tie'Twixt needy vice and tempting villany.190Sound in himself, yet, when such flaws appear,He doubts of all, and learns that self to fear:For, where so dark the moral view is grown,A timid conscience trembles for her own;The pitchy taint of general vice is suchAs daubs the fancy, and you dread the touch.Far unlike him was one in former times,Famed for the spoil he gather'd by his crimes;Who, while his brethren nibbling held their prey,He like an eagle seized and bore the whole away.200Swallow, a poor attorney, brought his boyUp at his desk, and gave him his employ;He would have bound him to an honest trade,Could preparations have been duly made.The clerkship ended, both the sire and sonTogether did what business could be done;Sometimes they'd luck to stir up small disputesAmong their friends, and raise them into suits.Though close and hard, the father was contentWith this resource, now old and indolent;210But his young Swallow, gaping and aliveTo fiercer feelings, was resolved tothrive:—"Father," he said, "but little can they winWho hunt in couples, where the game is thin;Let's part in peace, and each pursue his gainWhere it may start—our love may yet remain."The parent growl'd, he couldn't think that loveMade the young cockatrice his den remove;But, taught by habit, he the truth suppress'd,Forced a frank look, and said he "thought it best."220Not long they'd parted ere dispute arose;The game they hunted quickly made them foes.Some house the father by his art had wonSeem'd a fit cause of contest to the son:Who raised a claimant, and then found a wayBy a stanch witness to secure his prey.The people cursed him, but in times of needTrusted in one so certain to succeed:By law's dark by-ways he had stored his mindWith wicked knowledge, how to cheat mankind.230Few are the freeholds in our ancient town;A copy-right from heir to heir came down.From whence some heat arose, when there was doubtIn point of heirship; but the fire went out,Till our attorney had the art to raiseThe dying spark, and blow it to a blaze.For this he now began his friends to treat;His way to starve them was to make them eat,And drink oblivious draughts—to his applauseIt must be said, he never starved a cause;240He'd roast and boil'd upon his board—the boastOf half his victims was his boil'd androast—And these at every hour: he seldom tookAside his client, till he'd praised his cook;Nor to an office led him, there in painTo give his story and go out again,But first the brandy and the chine were seen.And then the business came by starts between."Well, if 'tis so, the house to you belongs;But have you money to redress these wrongs?250Nay, look not sad, my friend; if you're correct,You'll find the friendship that you'd not expect."If right the man, the house was Swallow's own;If wrong, his kindness and good-will were shown."Rogue!" "Villain!" "Scoundrel!" cried the losers all;He let them cry, for what would that recall?At length he left us, took a village seat,And like a vulture look'd abroad for meat;The Borough-booty, give it all its praise,Had only served the appetite to raise;260But, if from simple heirs he drew their land,He might a noble feast at will command;Still he proceeded by his former rules,His bait their pleasures, when he fish'd forfools;—Flagons and haunches on his board were placed,And subtle avarice look'd like thoughtless waste.Most of his friends, though youth from him had fled,Were young, were minors, of their sires in dread;Or those whom widow'd mothers kept in bounds,And check'd their generous rage for steeds and hounds;270Or such as travell'd 'cross the land to viewA Christian's conflict with a boxing Jew.Some too had run upon Newmarket heathWith so much speed that they were out of breath;Others had tasted claret, till they nowTo humbler port would turn, and knew not how.All these for favours would to Swallow run,Who never sought their thanks for all he'd done;He kindly took them by the hand, then bow'dPolitely low, and thus his loveavow'd—280(For he'd a way that many judged polite;A cunning dog, he'd fawn before he'd bite):—"Observe, my friends, the frailty of our raceWhen age unmans us—let me state a case:There's our friend Rupert; we shall soon redressHis present evil—drink to oursuccess—I flatter not, but did you ever seeLimbs better turn'd? a prettier boy than he?His senses all acute, his passions suchAs nature gave—she never does too much;290His the bold wish the cup of joy to drain,And strength to bear it without qualm or pain."Now view his father as he dozing lies,Whose senses wake not when he opes his eyes;Who slips and shuffles when he means to walk,And lisps and gabbles if he tries to talk;Feeling he's none: he could as soon destroyThe earth itself, as aught it holds enjoy;A nurse attends him to lay straight his limbs,Present his gruel, and respect his whims.300Now, shall this dotard from our hero holdHis lands and lordships? Shall he hide his gold?That which he cannot use, and dare not show,And will not give—why longer should he owe?Yet, 'twould be murder should we snap the locks,And take the thing he worships from the box;So let him dote and dream: but, till he die,Shall not our generous heir receive supply?For ever sitting on the river's brink,And ever thirsty, shall he fear to drink?310The means are simple: let him only wish,Then say he's willing, and I'll fill his dish."They all applauded, and not least the boy,Who now replied, "It fill'd his heart with joyTo find he needed not deliv'rance craveOf death, or wish the justice in the grave;Who, while he spent, would every art retain,Of luring home the scatter'd gold again;Just as a fountain gaily spirts and playsWith what returns in still and secret ways."320Short was the dream of bliss; he quickly found,His father's acres all were Swallow's ground.Yet to those arts would other heroes lendA willing ear, and Swallow was their friend;Ever successful, some began to thinkThat Satan help'd him to his pen and ink;And shrewd suspicions ran about the place,"There was a compact"—I must leave the case.But of the parties, had the fiend been one,The business could not have been speedier done.330Still, when a man has angled day and night,The silliest gudgeons will refuse to bite:So Swallow tried no more; but if they cameTo seek his friendship, that remain'd the same.Thus he retired in peace, and some would say,He balk'd his partner, and had learn'd to pray.To this some zealots lent an ear, and soughtHow Swallow felt, then said "a change is wrought."'Twas true there wanted all the signs of grace,But there were strong professions in their place;340Then, too, the less that men from him expect,The more the praise to the converting sect;He had not yet subscribed to all their creed,Nor own'd a call; but he confess'd the need.His acquiescent speech, his gracious look,That pure attention, when the brethren spoke,Was all contrition,—he had felt the wound,And with confession would again be sound.True, Swallow's board had still the sumptuous treat;But could they blame? the warmest zealots eat.350He drank—'twas needful his poor nerves to brace;He swore—'twas habit; he was grieved—'twas grace.What could they do a new-born zeal to nurse?"His wealth's undoubted—let him hold our purse;He'll add his bounty, and the house we'll raiseHard by the church, and gather all her strays;We'll watch her sinners as they home retire,And pluck the brands from the devouring fire."Alas! such speech was but an empty boast;The good men reckon'd, but without their host;360Swallow, delighted, took the trusted store,And own'd the sum: they did not ask for more,Till more was needed; when they call'd foraid—And had it?—No, their agent was afraid;"Could he but know to whom he should refund,He would most gladly—nay, he'd go beyond;But, when such numbers claim'd, when some were gone,And others going—he must hold it on;}The Lord would help them,"—Loud their anger grew,}And while they threat'ning from his door withdrew,}370He bow'd politely low, and bade them all adieu.But lives the man by whom such deeds are done?Yes, many such—but Swallow's race is run;His name is lost;—for, though his sons have name,It is not his, they all escape the shame;Nor is there vestige now of all he had,His means are wasted, for his heir was mad.Still we of Swallow as a monster speak,A hard, bad man, who prey'd upon the weak.

"Trades and Professions"—these are themes the Muse,

Left to her freedom, would forbear to choose;

But to our Borough they in truth belong,

And we, perforce, must take them in our song.

Be it then known that we can boast of these

In all denominations, ranks, degrees;

}

All who our numerous wants through life supply,

}

Who soothe us sick, attend us when we die,

}

Or for the dead their various talents try.

Then have we those who live by secret arts,

By hunting fortunes, and by stealing hearts;

Or who by nobler means themselves advance;

Or who subsist by charity and chance.

Say, of our native heroes shall I boast,

Born in our streets, to thunder on ourcoast—

Our Borough-seamen? Could the timid Muse

More patriot-ardour in their breasts infuse;

Or could she paint their merit or their skill,

She wants not love, alacrity, or will;

But needless all: that ardour is their own,

And, for their deeds, themselves have made them known.

}

Soldiers in arms! Defenders of our soil!

}

Who from destruction save us; who from spoil

}

Protect the sons of peace who traffic, or who toil:

Would I could duly praise you; that each deed

Your foes might honour, and your friends might read:

This too is needless; you've imprinted well

Your powers, and told what I should feebly tell.

Beside, a Muse like mine, to satire prone,

Would fail in themes where there is praise alone.

—Law shall I sing, or what to Law belongs?

Alas! there may be danger in such songs;

A foolish rhyme, 'tis said, a trifling thing,

The law found treason, for it touch'd the king.

But kings have mercy in these happy times,

Or surelyonehad suffer'd for his rhymes;

Our glorious Edwards and our Henrys bold,

So touch'd, had kept the reprobate in hold;

But he escaped—nor fear, thank Heav'n, have I,

Who love my king, for such offence to die.

But I am taught the danger would be much,

If these poor lines should one attorneytouch—

(One of thoselimbsof law who're always here;

Theheadscome down to guide them twice a year.)

I might not swing indeed; but he in sport

Would whip a rhymer on from court to court;

Stop him in each, and make him pay for all

The long proceedings in that dreadedHall.—

Then let my numbers flow discreetly on,

Warn'd by the fate of luckless Coddrington[50];

Lest someattorney(pardon me the name)

Should wound a poorsolicitorfor fame.

One man of law in George the Second's reign

Was all our frugal fathers would maintain;

He too was kept for forms; a man of peace,

To frame a contract, or to draw a lease:

He had a clerk, with whom he used to write

All the day long, with whom he drank at night;

Spare was his visage, moderate his bill,

And he so kind, men doubted of his skill.

Who thinks of this, with some amazement sees,

For one so poor, three flourishing atease—

Nay, one in splendour!—See that mansion tall,

That lofty door, the far-resounding hall;

Well-furnish'd rooms, plate shining on the board,

Gay liveried lads, and cellar proudly stored:

Then say how comes it that such fortunes crown

These sons of strife, these terrors of the town?

Lo! that small office! there th' incautious guest

Goes blindfold in, and that maintains the rest;

There in his web th' observant spider lies,

And peers about for fat intruding flies;

Doubtful at first, he hears the distant hum,

And feels them flutt'ring as they nearer come.

They buzz and blink, and doubtfully they tread

On the strong birdlime of the utmost thread;

But, when they're once entangled by the gin,

With what an eager clasp he draws them in;

Nor shall they 'scape till after long delay,

And all that sweetens life is drawn away.

"Nay, this," you cry, "is common-place, the tale

Of petty tradesmen o'er their evening-ale.

There are who, living by the legal pen,

Are held in honour—'honourable men.'"

Doubtless—there are, who hold manorial courts,

Or whom the trust of powerful friends supports;

Or who, by labouring through a length of time,

Have pick'd their way, unsullied by a crime.

These are the few—in this, in every place,

Fix the litigious rupture-stirring race:

Who to contention as to trade are led,

To whom dispute and strife are bliss and bread.

There is a doubtful pauper, and we think

'Tis with us to give him meat and drink;

There is a child, and 'tis not mighty clear

Whether the mother lived with us a year;

A road's indicted, and our seniors doubt

If in our proper boundary or without:

But what says our attorney? He our friend

100

Tells us 'tis just and manly to contend.

"What! to a neighbouring parish yield your cause,

While you have money, and the nation laws?

What! lose without a trial, that which tried,

May—nay it must—be given on our side?

All men of spirit would contend; such men

Than lose a pound would rather hazard ten.

What! be imposed on? No! a British soul

Despises imposition, hates control;

The law is open; let them, if they dare,

110

Support their cause; the Borough need not spare.

All I advise is vigour and good-will:

Is it agreed then?—Shall I file a bill?"

The trader, grazier, merchant, priest, and all

Whose sons aspiring to [professions'] call,

Choose from their lads some bold and subtle boy,

And judge him fitted for this grave employ.

Him a keen old practitioner admits,

To write five years and exercise his wits:

The youth has heard—it is in fact hiscreed—

120

Mankind dispute, that lawyers may be fee'd:

Jails, bailiffs, writs, all terms and threats of law,

Grow now familiar as once top and taw;

Rage, hatred, fear, the mind's severer ills,

All bring employment, all augment his bills;

As feels the surgeon for the mangled limb,

The mangled mind is but a job for him;

Thus taught to think, these legal reasoners draw

Morals and maxims from their views of law;

They cease to judge by precepts taught in schools,

130

By man's plain sense, or by religious rules;

No! nor by law itself, in truth discern'd,

But as its statutes may be warp'd and turn'd.

How they should judge of man, his word and deed,

They in their books and not their bosoms read:

Of some good act you speak with just applause,

"No! no!" says he, "'twould be a losing cause."

Blame you some tyrant's deed?—he answers, "Nay,

He'll get a verdict; heed you what you say."

Thus, to conclusions from examples led,

140

The heart resigns all judgment to the head;

Law, law alone, for ever kept in view,

His measures guides, and rules his conscience too;

Of ten commandments, he confesses three

Are yet in force, and tells you which they be,

As law instructs him, thus: "Your neighbour's wife

You must not take, his chattels, nor his life;

Break these decrees, for damage you must pay;

These you must reverence, and the rest—you may."

Law was design'd to keep a state in peace;

150

To punish robbery, that wrong might cease;

To be impregnable—a constant fort,

To which the weak and injured might resort.

But these perverted minds its force employ,

Not to protect mankind, but to annoy;

And, long as ammunition can be found,

Its lightning flashes and its thunders sound.

Or, law with lawyers is an ample still,

Wrought by the passions' heat with chymic sill;

While the fire burns, the gains are quickly made,

160

And freely flow the profits of the trade;

}

Nay, when the fierceness fails, these artists blow

}

The dying fire, and make the embers glow,

}

As long as they can make the smaller profits flow;

At length the process of itself will stop,

When they perceive they've drawn out every drop.

Yet, I repeat, there are, who nobly strive

To keep the sense of moral worth alive:

Men who would starve, ere meanly deign to live

On what deception and chican'ry give;

170

And these at length succeed: they have their strife,

Their apprehensions, stops, and rubs in life;

But honour, application, care, and skill,

Shall bend opposing fortune to their will.

Of such is Archer, he who keeps in awe

Contending parties by his threats of law.

He, roughly honest, has been long a guide

In Borough-business, on the conquering side;

And seen so much of both sides, and so long,

He thinks the bias of man's mind goes wrong.

180

Thus, though he's friendly, he is still severe,

Surly though kind, suspiciously sincere:

So much he's seen of baseness in the mind,

That, while a friend to man, he scorns mankind;

He knows the human heart, and sees with dread,

By slight temptation, how the strong are led;

He knows how interest can asunder rend

The bond of parent, master, guardian, friend,

To form a new and a degrading tie

'Twixt needy vice and tempting villany.

190

Sound in himself, yet, when such flaws appear,

He doubts of all, and learns that self to fear:

For, where so dark the moral view is grown,

A timid conscience trembles for her own;

The pitchy taint of general vice is such

As daubs the fancy, and you dread the touch.

Far unlike him was one in former times,

Famed for the spoil he gather'd by his crimes;

Who, while his brethren nibbling held their prey,

He like an eagle seized and bore the whole away.

200

Swallow, a poor attorney, brought his boy

Up at his desk, and gave him his employ;

He would have bound him to an honest trade,

Could preparations have been duly made.

The clerkship ended, both the sire and son

Together did what business could be done;

Sometimes they'd luck to stir up small disputes

Among their friends, and raise them into suits.

Though close and hard, the father was content

With this resource, now old and indolent;

210

But his young Swallow, gaping and alive

To fiercer feelings, was resolved tothrive:—

"Father," he said, "but little can they win

Who hunt in couples, where the game is thin;

Let's part in peace, and each pursue his gain

Where it may start—our love may yet remain."

The parent growl'd, he couldn't think that love

Made the young cockatrice his den remove;

But, taught by habit, he the truth suppress'd,

Forced a frank look, and said he "thought it best."

220

Not long they'd parted ere dispute arose;

The game they hunted quickly made them foes.

Some house the father by his art had won

Seem'd a fit cause of contest to the son:

Who raised a claimant, and then found a way

By a stanch witness to secure his prey.

The people cursed him, but in times of need

Trusted in one so certain to succeed:

By law's dark by-ways he had stored his mind

With wicked knowledge, how to cheat mankind.

230

Few are the freeholds in our ancient town;

A copy-right from heir to heir came down.

From whence some heat arose, when there was doubt

In point of heirship; but the fire went out,

Till our attorney had the art to raise

The dying spark, and blow it to a blaze.

For this he now began his friends to treat;

His way to starve them was to make them eat,

And drink oblivious draughts—to his applause

It must be said, he never starved a cause;

240

He'd roast and boil'd upon his board—the boast

Of half his victims was his boil'd androast—

And these at every hour: he seldom took

Aside his client, till he'd praised his cook;

Nor to an office led him, there in pain

To give his story and go out again,

But first the brandy and the chine were seen.

And then the business came by starts between.

"Well, if 'tis so, the house to you belongs;

But have you money to redress these wrongs?

250

Nay, look not sad, my friend; if you're correct,

You'll find the friendship that you'd not expect."

If right the man, the house was Swallow's own;

If wrong, his kindness and good-will were shown.

"Rogue!" "Villain!" "Scoundrel!" cried the losers all;

He let them cry, for what would that recall?

At length he left us, took a village seat,

And like a vulture look'd abroad for meat;

The Borough-booty, give it all its praise,

Had only served the appetite to raise;

260

But, if from simple heirs he drew their land,

He might a noble feast at will command;

Still he proceeded by his former rules,

His bait their pleasures, when he fish'd forfools;—

Flagons and haunches on his board were placed,

And subtle avarice look'd like thoughtless waste.

Most of his friends, though youth from him had fled,

Were young, were minors, of their sires in dread;

Or those whom widow'd mothers kept in bounds,

And check'd their generous rage for steeds and hounds;

270

Or such as travell'd 'cross the land to view

A Christian's conflict with a boxing Jew.

Some too had run upon Newmarket heath

With so much speed that they were out of breath;

Others had tasted claret, till they now

To humbler port would turn, and knew not how.

All these for favours would to Swallow run,

Who never sought their thanks for all he'd done;

He kindly took them by the hand, then bow'd

Politely low, and thus his loveavow'd—

280

(For he'd a way that many judged polite;

A cunning dog, he'd fawn before he'd bite):—

"Observe, my friends, the frailty of our race

When age unmans us—let me state a case:

There's our friend Rupert; we shall soon redress

His present evil—drink to oursuccess—

I flatter not, but did you ever see

Limbs better turn'd? a prettier boy than he?

His senses all acute, his passions such

As nature gave—she never does too much;

290

His the bold wish the cup of joy to drain,

And strength to bear it without qualm or pain.

"Now view his father as he dozing lies,

Whose senses wake not when he opes his eyes;

Who slips and shuffles when he means to walk,

And lisps and gabbles if he tries to talk;

Feeling he's none: he could as soon destroy

The earth itself, as aught it holds enjoy;

A nurse attends him to lay straight his limbs,

Present his gruel, and respect his whims.

300

Now, shall this dotard from our hero hold

His lands and lordships? Shall he hide his gold?

That which he cannot use, and dare not show,

And will not give—why longer should he owe?

Yet, 'twould be murder should we snap the locks,

And take the thing he worships from the box;

So let him dote and dream: but, till he die,

Shall not our generous heir receive supply?

For ever sitting on the river's brink,

And ever thirsty, shall he fear to drink?

310

The means are simple: let him only wish,

Then say he's willing, and I'll fill his dish."

They all applauded, and not least the boy,

Who now replied, "It fill'd his heart with joy

To find he needed not deliv'rance crave

Of death, or wish the justice in the grave;

Who, while he spent, would every art retain,

Of luring home the scatter'd gold again;

Just as a fountain gaily spirts and plays

With what returns in still and secret ways."

320

Short was the dream of bliss; he quickly found,

His father's acres all were Swallow's ground.

Yet to those arts would other heroes lend

A willing ear, and Swallow was their friend;

Ever successful, some began to think

That Satan help'd him to his pen and ink;

And shrewd suspicions ran about the place,

"There was a compact"—I must leave the case.

But of the parties, had the fiend been one,

The business could not have been speedier done.

330

Still, when a man has angled day and night,

The silliest gudgeons will refuse to bite:

So Swallow tried no more; but if they came

To seek his friendship, that remain'd the same.

Thus he retired in peace, and some would say,

He balk'd his partner, and had learn'd to pray.

To this some zealots lent an ear, and sought

How Swallow felt, then said "a change is wrought."

'Twas true there wanted all the signs of grace,

But there were strong professions in their place;

340

Then, too, the less that men from him expect,

The more the praise to the converting sect;

He had not yet subscribed to all their creed,

Nor own'd a call; but he confess'd the need.

His acquiescent speech, his gracious look,

That pure attention, when the brethren spoke,

Was all contrition,—he had felt the wound,

And with confession would again be sound.

True, Swallow's board had still the sumptuous treat;

But could they blame? the warmest zealots eat.

350

He drank—'twas needful his poor nerves to brace;

He swore—'twas habit; he was grieved—'twas grace.

What could they do a new-born zeal to nurse?

"His wealth's undoubted—let him hold our purse;

He'll add his bounty, and the house we'll raise

Hard by the church, and gather all her strays;

We'll watch her sinners as they home retire,

And pluck the brands from the devouring fire."

Alas! such speech was but an empty boast;

The good men reckon'd, but without their host;

360

Swallow, delighted, took the trusted store,

And own'd the sum: they did not ask for more,

Till more was needed; when they call'd foraid—

And had it?—No, their agent was afraid;

"Could he but know to whom he should refund,

He would most gladly—nay, he'd go beyond;

But, when such numbers claim'd, when some were gone,

And others going—he must hold it on;

}

The Lord would help them,"—Loud their anger grew,

}

And while they threat'ning from his door withdrew,

}

370

He bow'd politely low, and bade them all adieu.

But lives the man by whom such deeds are done?

Yes, many such—but Swallow's race is run;

His name is lost;—for, though his sons have name,

It is not his, they all escape the shame;

Nor is there vestige now of all he had,

His means are wasted, for his heir was mad.

Still we of Swallow as a monster speak,

A hard, bad man, who prey'd upon the weak.

FOOTNOTES:[50]The account of Coddrington [Collingbourne] occurs in "The Mirrour for Magistrates"; he suffered in the reign of Richard III.

FOOTNOTES:

[50]The account of Coddrington [Collingbourne] occurs in "The Mirrour for Magistrates"; he suffered in the reign of Richard III.

PROFESSIONS—PHYSIC.

[Jam mala finissem letho; sed credula vitamSpes fovet, et fore cras semper ait melius.]Tibullus[Lib. II. vi. vv. 19-20].

[Jam mala finissem letho; sed credula vitam

Spes fovet, et fore cras semper ait melius.]

Tibullus[Lib. II. vi. vv. 19-20].

He fell to juggle, cant, andcheat——For as those fowls that live in waterAre never wet, he did but smatter;Whate'er he labour'd to appear,His understanding still was clear.A paltry wretch he had, half-starved,That him in place of zany served.Butler's Hudibras[Part II. Canto iii].

He fell to juggle, cant, andcheat——

For as those fowls that live in water

Are never wet, he did but smatter;

Whate'er he labour'd to appear,

His understanding still was clear.

A paltry wretch he had, half-starved,

That him in place of zany served.

Butler's Hudibras[Part II. Canto iii].

The Worth and Excellence of the true Physician—Merit not the sole Cause of Success—Modes of advancing Reputation—Motives of medical Men for publishing their Works—The great Evil of Quackery—Present State of advertising Quacks—Their Hazard—Somefail, and why—Causes of Success—How Men of Understanding are prevailed upon to have Recourse to Empirics, and to permit their Names to be advertised—Evils of Quackery: to nervous Females; to Youth; to Infants—History of an advertising Empiric, &c.

LETTER VII.

PROFESSIONS—PHYSIC.

Next, to a graver tribe we turn our view,And yield the praise to worth and science due;But this with serious words and sober style,For these are friends with whom we seldom smile:Helpers of men[51]they're call'd, and we confessTheirs the deep study, theirs the lucky guess.We own that numbers join with care and skillA temperate judgment, a devoted will:Men who suppress their feelings, but who feel10The painful symptoms they delight to heal;Patient in all their trials, they sustainThe starts of passion, the reproach of pain;With hearts affected, but with looks serene,Intent they wait through all the solemn scene;Glad, if a hope should rise from nature's strife,To aid their skill and save the lingering life.But this must virtue's generous effort be,And spring from nobler motives than a fee:To the physicians of the soul, and these,20Turn the distress'd for safety, hope, and ease.But as physicians of that nobler kindHave their warm zealots, and their sectaries blind;So among these for knowledge most renown'd,Are dreamers strange, and stubborn bigots found.Some, too, admitted to this honour'd name,Have, without learning, found a way to fame;And some by learning:—young physicians write,To set their merit in the fairest light;With them a treatise is a bait that draws30Approving voices; 'tis to gain applause,And to exalt them in the public view,More than a life of worthy toil could do.When 'tis proposed to make the man renown'd,In every age convenient doubts abound;Convenient themes in every period start,Which he may treat with all the pomp of art;Curious conjectures he may always make,And either side of dubious questions take.He may a system broach, or, if he please,40Start new opinions of an old disease;Or may some simple in the woodland trace,And be its patron, till it runs its race;As rustic damsels from their woods are won,And live in splendour till their race be run;It weighs not much on what their powers be shown,When all his purpose is to make them known.To show the world what long experience gains,Requires not courage, though it calls for pains;But, at life's outset to inform mankind,50Is a bold effort of a valiant mind.The great good man, for noblest cause, displaysWhat many labours taught, and many days;These sound instruction from experience give,The others show us how they mean to live;That they have genius, and they hope mankindWill to its efforts be no longer blind.There are, beside, whom powerful friends advance,Whom fashion favours, person, patrons, chance;And merit sighs to see a fortune made60By daring rashness or by dull parade.But these are trifling evils; there is oneWhich walks uncheck'd, and triumphs in the sun:There was a time, when we beheld the quack,On public stage, the licensed trade attack;He made his labour'd speech with poor parade;And then a laughing zany lent him aid.Smiling we pass'd him, but we felt the whilePity so much, that soon we ceased to smile;Assured that fluent speech and flow'ry vest70Disguised the troubles of a man distress'd.But now our quacks are gamesters, and they playWith craft and skill to ruin and betray;With monstrous promise they delude the mind,And thrive on all that tortures human-kind.Void of all honour, avaricious, rash,The daring tribe compound their boastedtrash—Tincture or syrup, lotion, drop or pill;All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill;And twenty names of cobblers turn'd to squires,80Aid the bold language of these blushless liars.There are among them those who cannot read,And yet they'll buy a patent, and succeed;Will dare to promise dying sufferersaid,—For who, when dead, can threaten or upbraid?With cruel avarice still they recommendMore draughts, more syrup, to the journey's end:"I feel it not;"—"Then take it everyhour."—"It makes me worse;"—"Why, then it shows itspower."—"I fear to die;"—"Let not your spirits sink,90You're always safe, while you believe and drink."How strange to add, in this nefarious trade,That men of parts are dupes by dunces made:That creatures nature meant should clean our streetsHave purchased lands and mansions, parks and seats;Wretches with conscience so obtuse, they leaveTheir untaught sons their parents to deceive;And, when they're laid upon their dying-bed,No thought of murder comes into their head,Nor one revengeful ghost to them appears,100To fill the soul with penitential fears.Yet not the whole of this imposing trainTheir gardens, seats, and carriages obtain;Chiefly, indeed, they to the robbers fall,Who are most fitted to disgrace them all.But there is hazard—patents must be bought,Venders and puffers for the poison sought;And then in many a paper through the yearMust cures and cases, oaths and proofs appear;Men snatch'd from graves, as they were dropping in,110Their lungs cough'd up, their bones pierced through their skin;Their liver all one scirrhus, and the framePoison'd with evils which they dare not name;}Men who spent all upon physicians' fees,}Who never slept, nor had a moment's ease,}Are now as roaches sound, and all as brisk as bees.If the sick gudgeons to the bait attend,And come in shoals, the angler gains his end;But, should the advertising cash be spent,Ere yet the town has due attention lent,120Then bursts the bubble, and the hungry cheatPines for the bread he ill deserves to eat:It is a lottery, and he shares perhapsThe rich man's feast, or begs the pauper's scraps.From powerful causes spring th' empiric's gains,Man's love of life, his weakness, and his pains;These first induce him the vile trash to try,Then lend his name, that other men may buy.This love of life, which in our nature rules,To vile imposture makes us dupes and tools;130Then pain compels th' impatient soul to seizeOn promised hopes of instantaneous ease;And weakness too with every wish complies,Worn out and won by importunities.Troubled with something in your bile or blood,You think your doctor does you little good;And, grown impatient, you require in hasteThe nervous cordial, nor dislike the taste;It comforts, heals, and strengthens; nay, you thinkIt makes you better every time you drink;140"Then lend your name"—you're loth, but yet confessIts powers are great, and so you acquiesce.Yet, think a moment, ere your name you lend,With whose 'tis placed, and what you recommend;Who tipples brandy will some comfort feel,But will he to the med'cine set his seal?Wait, and you'll find the cordial you admireHas added fuel to your fever's fire.Say, should a robber chance your purse to spare,Would you the honour of the man declare?150Would you assist his purpose? swell his crime?Besides, he might not spare a second time.Compassion sometimes sets the fatal sign,The man was poor, and humbly begg'd a line;Else how should noble names and titles backThe spreading praise of some advent'rous quack?But he the moment watches, and entreatsYour honour's name—your honour joins the cheats;You judged the med'cine harmless, and you lentWhat help you could, and with the best intent;160But can it please you, thus to league with allWhom he can beg or bribe to swell the scrawl?Would you these wrappers with your name adorn,Which hold the poison for the yet unborn?No class escapes them—from the poor man's payThe nostrum takes no trifling part away;See! those square patent bottles from the shop,Now decoration to the cupboard's top;And there a favourite hoard you'll find within,Companions meet! the julep and the gin.170Time too with cash is wasted; 'tis the fateOf real helpers to be call'd too late;This find the sick, when (time and patience gone)Death with a tenfold terror hurries on.Suppose the case surpasses human skill,There comes a quack to flatter weakness still;What greater evil can a flatterer do,Than from himself to take the sufferer's view?To turn from sacred thoughts his reasoning powers,And rob a sinner of his dying hours?180Yet this they, dare and craving to the last,In hope's strong bondage hold their victim fast:}For soul or body no concern have they,}All their inquiry, "Can the patient pay?}And will he swallow draughts until his dying day?"Observe what ills to nervous females flow,When the heart flutters, and the pulse is low;If once induced these cordial sips to try,All feel the ease, and few the danger fly;For, while obtain'd, of drams they've all the force,190And when denied, then drams are the resource.Nor these the only evils—there are thoseWho for the troubled mind prepare repose;They write: the young are tenderly address'd,Much danger hinted, much concern express'd;They dwell on freedoms lads are prone to take,Which makes the doctor tremble for their sake;Still, if the youthful patient will but trustIn one so kind, so pitiful, and just;If he will take the tonic all the time,200And hold but moderate intercourse with crime:The sage will gravely give his honest word,That strength and spirits shall be both restored;In plainer English—if you mean to sin,Fly to the drops, and instantly begin.Who would not lend a sympathizing sigh,To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry?That feeble sob, unlike the new-born note,Which came with vigour from the op'ning throat;When air and light first rush'd on lungs and eyes,210And there was life and spirit in the cries;Now an abortive, faint attempt to weepIs all we hear; sensation is asleep.The boy was healthy, and at first express'dHis feelings loudly, when he fail'd to rest;When cramm'd with food, and tighten'd every limb,To cry aloud, was what pertain'd to him;Then the good nurse, (who, had she borne a brain,Had sought the cause that made her babe complain,)Has all her efforts, loving soul! applied,220To set the cry, and not the cause, aside;She gave her powerful sweet without remorse,The sleeping cordial—she had tried its force,Repeating oft; the infant, freed from pain,Rejected food, but took the dose again,Sinking to sleep; while she her joy express'd,That her dear charge could sweetly take his rest:Soon may she spare her cordial; not a doubtRemains but quickly he will rest without.This moves our grief and pity, and we sigh230To think what numbers from these causes die;But what contempt and anger should we show,Did we the lives of these impostors know!Ere for the world's I left the cares of school,One I remember who assumed the fool:A part well suited—when the idler boysWould shout around him, and he loved the noise;They call'd him Neddy;—Neddy had the artTo play with skill his ignominious part;When he his trifles would for sale display,240And act the mimic for a schoolboy's pay.For many years he plied his humble trade,And used his tricks and talents to persuade;The fellow barely read, but chanced to lookAmong the fragments of a tatter'd book,Where, after many efforts made to spellOne puzzling word, he found itoxymel:A potent thing, 'twas said, to cure the illsOf ailing lungs—theoxymel of squills.Squills he procured, but found the bitter strong,250And most unpleasant; none would take it long;But the pure acid and the sweet would makeA med'cine numbers would for pleasure take.There was a fellow near, an artful knave,Who knew the plan, and much assistance gave;He wrote the puffs, and every talent pliedTo make it sell: it sold, and then he died.Now all the profit fell to Ned's control,And Pride and Avarice quarrell'd for his soul;When mighty profits by the trash were made,260Pride built a palace, Avarice groan'd and paid;Pride placed the signs of grandeur all about,And Avarice barr'd his friends and children out.Now see him doctor! yes, the idle fool,The butt, the robber of the lads at school;Who then knew nothing, nothing since acquired,Became a doctor, honour'd and admired;His dress, his frown, his dignity were such,Some who had known him thought his knowledge much;Nay, men of skill, of apprehension quick,270Spite of their knowledge, trusted him when sick.}Though he could never reason, write, nor spell,}They yet had hope his trash would make them well;}And while they scorn'd his parts, they took his oxymel.Oh! when his nerves had once received a shock,Sir Isaac Newton might have gone to Rock[52]:Hence impositions of the grossest kind;Hence thought is feeble, understanding blind;Hence sums enormous by those cheats are made,And deaths unnumber'd by their dreadful trade.280Alas! in vain is my contempt express'd;To stronger passions are their words address'd:To pain, to fear, to terror their appeal,To those who, weakly reasoning, strongly feel.What then our hopes?—perhaps there may by lawBe method found, these pests to curb and awe;Yet in this land of freedom, law is slackWith any being to commence attack;}Then let us trust to science—there are those}Who can their falsehoods and their frauds disclose,}290All their vile trash detect, and their low tricks expose.Perhaps their numbers may in time confoundTheir arts—as scorpions give themselves the wound:For, when these curers dwell in every place,While of the cured we not a man can trace,Strong truth may then the public mind persuade,And spoil the fruits of this nefarious trade.

Next, to a graver tribe we turn our view,

And yield the praise to worth and science due;

But this with serious words and sober style,

For these are friends with whom we seldom smile:

Helpers of men[51]they're call'd, and we confess

Theirs the deep study, theirs the lucky guess.

We own that numbers join with care and skill

A temperate judgment, a devoted will:

Men who suppress their feelings, but who feel

The painful symptoms they delight to heal;

Patient in all their trials, they sustain

The starts of passion, the reproach of pain;

With hearts affected, but with looks serene,

Intent they wait through all the solemn scene;

Glad, if a hope should rise from nature's strife,

To aid their skill and save the lingering life.

But this must virtue's generous effort be,

And spring from nobler motives than a fee:

To the physicians of the soul, and these,

Turn the distress'd for safety, hope, and ease.

But as physicians of that nobler kind

Have their warm zealots, and their sectaries blind;

So among these for knowledge most renown'd,

Are dreamers strange, and stubborn bigots found.

Some, too, admitted to this honour'd name,

Have, without learning, found a way to fame;

And some by learning:—young physicians write,

To set their merit in the fairest light;

With them a treatise is a bait that draws

Approving voices; 'tis to gain applause,

And to exalt them in the public view,

More than a life of worthy toil could do.

When 'tis proposed to make the man renown'd,

In every age convenient doubts abound;

Convenient themes in every period start,

Which he may treat with all the pomp of art;

Curious conjectures he may always make,

And either side of dubious questions take.

He may a system broach, or, if he please,

Start new opinions of an old disease;

Or may some simple in the woodland trace,

And be its patron, till it runs its race;

As rustic damsels from their woods are won,

And live in splendour till their race be run;

It weighs not much on what their powers be shown,

When all his purpose is to make them known.

To show the world what long experience gains,

Requires not courage, though it calls for pains;

But, at life's outset to inform mankind,

Is a bold effort of a valiant mind.

The great good man, for noblest cause, displays

What many labours taught, and many days;

These sound instruction from experience give,

The others show us how they mean to live;

That they have genius, and they hope mankind

Will to its efforts be no longer blind.

There are, beside, whom powerful friends advance,

Whom fashion favours, person, patrons, chance;

And merit sighs to see a fortune made

By daring rashness or by dull parade.

But these are trifling evils; there is one

Which walks uncheck'd, and triumphs in the sun:

There was a time, when we beheld the quack,

On public stage, the licensed trade attack;

He made his labour'd speech with poor parade;

And then a laughing zany lent him aid.

Smiling we pass'd him, but we felt the while

Pity so much, that soon we ceased to smile;

Assured that fluent speech and flow'ry vest

Disguised the troubles of a man distress'd.

But now our quacks are gamesters, and they play

With craft and skill to ruin and betray;

With monstrous promise they delude the mind,

And thrive on all that tortures human-kind.

Void of all honour, avaricious, rash,

The daring tribe compound their boastedtrash—

Tincture or syrup, lotion, drop or pill;

All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill;

And twenty names of cobblers turn'd to squires,

Aid the bold language of these blushless liars.

There are among them those who cannot read,

And yet they'll buy a patent, and succeed;

Will dare to promise dying sufferersaid,—

For who, when dead, can threaten or upbraid?

With cruel avarice still they recommend

More draughts, more syrup, to the journey's end:

"I feel it not;"—"Then take it everyhour."—

"It makes me worse;"—"Why, then it shows itspower."—

"I fear to die;"—"Let not your spirits sink,

You're always safe, while you believe and drink."

How strange to add, in this nefarious trade,

That men of parts are dupes by dunces made:

That creatures nature meant should clean our streets

Have purchased lands and mansions, parks and seats;

Wretches with conscience so obtuse, they leave

Their untaught sons their parents to deceive;

And, when they're laid upon their dying-bed,

No thought of murder comes into their head,

Nor one revengeful ghost to them appears,

100

To fill the soul with penitential fears.

Yet not the whole of this imposing train

Their gardens, seats, and carriages obtain;

Chiefly, indeed, they to the robbers fall,

Who are most fitted to disgrace them all.

But there is hazard—patents must be bought,

Venders and puffers for the poison sought;

And then in many a paper through the year

Must cures and cases, oaths and proofs appear;

Men snatch'd from graves, as they were dropping in,

110

Their lungs cough'd up, their bones pierced through their skin;

Their liver all one scirrhus, and the frame

Poison'd with evils which they dare not name;

}

Men who spent all upon physicians' fees,

}

Who never slept, nor had a moment's ease,

}

Are now as roaches sound, and all as brisk as bees.

If the sick gudgeons to the bait attend,

And come in shoals, the angler gains his end;

But, should the advertising cash be spent,

Ere yet the town has due attention lent,

120

Then bursts the bubble, and the hungry cheat

Pines for the bread he ill deserves to eat:

It is a lottery, and he shares perhaps

The rich man's feast, or begs the pauper's scraps.

From powerful causes spring th' empiric's gains,

Man's love of life, his weakness, and his pains;

These first induce him the vile trash to try,

Then lend his name, that other men may buy.

This love of life, which in our nature rules,

To vile imposture makes us dupes and tools;

130

Then pain compels th' impatient soul to seize

On promised hopes of instantaneous ease;

And weakness too with every wish complies,

Worn out and won by importunities.

Troubled with something in your bile or blood,

You think your doctor does you little good;

And, grown impatient, you require in haste

The nervous cordial, nor dislike the taste;

It comforts, heals, and strengthens; nay, you think

It makes you better every time you drink;

140

"Then lend your name"—you're loth, but yet confess

Its powers are great, and so you acquiesce.

Yet, think a moment, ere your name you lend,

With whose 'tis placed, and what you recommend;

Who tipples brandy will some comfort feel,

But will he to the med'cine set his seal?

Wait, and you'll find the cordial you admire

Has added fuel to your fever's fire.

Say, should a robber chance your purse to spare,

Would you the honour of the man declare?

150

Would you assist his purpose? swell his crime?

Besides, he might not spare a second time.

Compassion sometimes sets the fatal sign,

The man was poor, and humbly begg'd a line;

Else how should noble names and titles back

The spreading praise of some advent'rous quack?

But he the moment watches, and entreats

Your honour's name—your honour joins the cheats;

You judged the med'cine harmless, and you lent

What help you could, and with the best intent;

160

But can it please you, thus to league with all

Whom he can beg or bribe to swell the scrawl?

Would you these wrappers with your name adorn,

Which hold the poison for the yet unborn?

No class escapes them—from the poor man's pay

The nostrum takes no trifling part away;

See! those square patent bottles from the shop,

Now decoration to the cupboard's top;

And there a favourite hoard you'll find within,

Companions meet! the julep and the gin.

170

Time too with cash is wasted; 'tis the fate

Of real helpers to be call'd too late;

This find the sick, when (time and patience gone)

Death with a tenfold terror hurries on.

Suppose the case surpasses human skill,

There comes a quack to flatter weakness still;

What greater evil can a flatterer do,

Than from himself to take the sufferer's view?

To turn from sacred thoughts his reasoning powers,

And rob a sinner of his dying hours?

180

Yet this they, dare and craving to the last,

In hope's strong bondage hold their victim fast:

}

For soul or body no concern have they,

}

All their inquiry, "Can the patient pay?

}

And will he swallow draughts until his dying day?"

Observe what ills to nervous females flow,

When the heart flutters, and the pulse is low;

If once induced these cordial sips to try,

All feel the ease, and few the danger fly;

For, while obtain'd, of drams they've all the force,

190

And when denied, then drams are the resource.

Nor these the only evils—there are those

Who for the troubled mind prepare repose;

They write: the young are tenderly address'd,

Much danger hinted, much concern express'd;

They dwell on freedoms lads are prone to take,

Which makes the doctor tremble for their sake;

Still, if the youthful patient will but trust

In one so kind, so pitiful, and just;

If he will take the tonic all the time,

200

And hold but moderate intercourse with crime:

The sage will gravely give his honest word,

That strength and spirits shall be both restored;

In plainer English—if you mean to sin,

Fly to the drops, and instantly begin.

Who would not lend a sympathizing sigh,

To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry?

That feeble sob, unlike the new-born note,

Which came with vigour from the op'ning throat;

When air and light first rush'd on lungs and eyes,

210

And there was life and spirit in the cries;

Now an abortive, faint attempt to weep

Is all we hear; sensation is asleep.

The boy was healthy, and at first express'd

His feelings loudly, when he fail'd to rest;

When cramm'd with food, and tighten'd every limb,

To cry aloud, was what pertain'd to him;

Then the good nurse, (who, had she borne a brain,

Had sought the cause that made her babe complain,)

Has all her efforts, loving soul! applied,

220

To set the cry, and not the cause, aside;

She gave her powerful sweet without remorse,

The sleeping cordial—she had tried its force,

Repeating oft; the infant, freed from pain,

Rejected food, but took the dose again,

Sinking to sleep; while she her joy express'd,

That her dear charge could sweetly take his rest:

Soon may she spare her cordial; not a doubt

Remains but quickly he will rest without.

This moves our grief and pity, and we sigh

230

To think what numbers from these causes die;

But what contempt and anger should we show,

Did we the lives of these impostors know!

Ere for the world's I left the cares of school,

One I remember who assumed the fool:

A part well suited—when the idler boys

Would shout around him, and he loved the noise;

They call'd him Neddy;—Neddy had the art

To play with skill his ignominious part;

When he his trifles would for sale display,

240

And act the mimic for a schoolboy's pay.

For many years he plied his humble trade,

And used his tricks and talents to persuade;

The fellow barely read, but chanced to look

Among the fragments of a tatter'd book,

Where, after many efforts made to spell

One puzzling word, he found itoxymel:

A potent thing, 'twas said, to cure the ills

Of ailing lungs—theoxymel of squills.

Squills he procured, but found the bitter strong,

250

And most unpleasant; none would take it long;

But the pure acid and the sweet would make

A med'cine numbers would for pleasure take.

There was a fellow near, an artful knave,

Who knew the plan, and much assistance gave;

He wrote the puffs, and every talent plied

To make it sell: it sold, and then he died.

Now all the profit fell to Ned's control,

And Pride and Avarice quarrell'd for his soul;

When mighty profits by the trash were made,

260

Pride built a palace, Avarice groan'd and paid;

Pride placed the signs of grandeur all about,

And Avarice barr'd his friends and children out.

Now see him doctor! yes, the idle fool,

The butt, the robber of the lads at school;

Who then knew nothing, nothing since acquired,

Became a doctor, honour'd and admired;

His dress, his frown, his dignity were such,

Some who had known him thought his knowledge much;

Nay, men of skill, of apprehension quick,

270

Spite of their knowledge, trusted him when sick.

}

Though he could never reason, write, nor spell,

}

They yet had hope his trash would make them well;

}

And while they scorn'd his parts, they took his oxymel.

Oh! when his nerves had once received a shock,

Sir Isaac Newton might have gone to Rock[52]:

Hence impositions of the grossest kind;

Hence thought is feeble, understanding blind;

Hence sums enormous by those cheats are made,

And deaths unnumber'd by their dreadful trade.

280

Alas! in vain is my contempt express'd;

To stronger passions are their words address'd:

To pain, to fear, to terror their appeal,

To those who, weakly reasoning, strongly feel.

What then our hopes?—perhaps there may by law

Be method found, these pests to curb and awe;

Yet in this land of freedom, law is slack

With any being to commence attack;

}

Then let us trust to science—there are those

}

Who can their falsehoods and their frauds disclose,

}

290

All their vile trash detect, and their low tricks expose.

Perhaps their numbers may in time confound

Their arts—as scorpions give themselves the wound:

For, when these curers dwell in every place,

While of the cured we not a man can trace,

Strong truth may then the public mind persuade,

And spoil the fruits of this nefarious trade.

Back to Index Next