Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 103

A CHARACTER, PANEGYRIC, AND DESCRIPTION OF THE LEGION-CLUB. 1736.

As I stroll the city, oft I See a building large and lofty, Not a bow-shot from the college; Half the globe from sense and knowledge: By the prudent architect, Placed against the church direct, Making good thy grandame's jest, 'Near the church'--you know the rest.

Tell us what the pile contains?

Many a head that holds no brains.

These demoniacs let me dub With the name of Legion-Club.

Such a.s.semblies, you might swear, Meet when butchers bait a bear; Such a noise, and such haranguing, When a brother thief is hanging: Such a rout and such a rabble Run to hear Jack-pudden gabble; Such a crowd their ordure throws On a far less villain's nose.

Could I from the building's top Hear the rattling thunder drop, While the devil upon the roof (If the devil be thunder-proof) Should with poker fiery red Crack the stones, and melt the lead; Drive them down on every skull, While the den of thieves is full; Quite destroy the harpies' nest; How might then our isle be blest!

For divines allow that G.o.d Sometimes makes the devil his rod; And the gospel will inform us, He can punish sins enormous.

Yet should Swift endow the schools, For his lunatics and fools, With a rood or two of land, I allow the pile may stand.

You perhaps will ask me, Why so?

But it is with this proviso: Since the house is like to last, Let the royal grant be pa.s.sed, That the club have right to dwell Each within his proper cell, With a pa.s.sage left to creep in, And a hole above for peeping.

Let them when they once get in, Sell the nation for a pin; While they sit a-picking straws, Let them rave at making laws; While they never hold their tongue, Let them dabble in their dung; Let them form a grand committee, How to plague and starve the city; Let them stare, and storm, and frown, When they see a clergy gown; Let them, ere they crack a louse, Call for the orders of the house; Let them, with their gosling quills, Scribble senseless heads of bills.

We may, while they strain their throats, Wipe our a--s with their votes.

Let Sir Tom[1] that rampant a.s.s, Stuff his guts with flax and gra.s.s; But, before the priest he fleeces, Tear the Bible all to pieces: At the parsons, Tom, halloo, boy, Worthy offspring of a shoe-boy, Footman, traitor, vile seducer, Perjured rebel, bribed accuser, Lay thy privilege aside, Sprung from Papist regicide; Fall a-working like a mole, Raise the dirt about your hole.

Come, a.s.sist me, muse obedient!

Let us try some new expedient; Shift the scene for half an hour, Time and place are in thy power.

Thither, gentle muse, conduct me; I shall ask, and you instruct me.

See the muse unbars the gate!

Hark, the monkeys, how they prate!

All ye G.o.ds who rule the soul!

Styx, through h.e.l.l whose waters roll!

Let me be allowed to tell What I heard in yonder cell.

Near the door an entrance gapes, Crowded round with antic shapes, Poverty, and Grief, and Care, Causeless Joy, and true Despair; Discord periwigged with snakes, See the dreadful strides she takes!

By this odious crew beset, I began to rage and fret, And resolved to break their pates, Ere we entered at the gates; Had not Clio in the nick Whispered me, 'Lay down your stick.'

What, said I, is this the mad-house?

These, she answered, are but shadows, Phantoms bodiless and vain, Empty visions of the brain.'

In the porch Briareus stands, Shows a bribe in all his hands; Briareus, the secretary, But we mortals call him Carey.

When the rogues their country fleece, They may hope for pence a-piece.

Clio, who had been so wise To put on a fool's disguise, To bespeak some approbation, And be thought a near relation, When she saw three hundred brutes All involved in wild disputes, Roaring till their lungs were spent, 'Privilege of Parliament.'

Now a new misfortune feels, Dreading to be laid by the heels.

Never durst the muse before Enter that infernal door; Clio, stifled with the smell, Into spleen and vapours fell, By the Stygian steams that flew From the dire infectious crew.

Not the stench of Lake Avernus Could have more offended her nose; Had she flown but o'er the top, She had felt her pinions drop, And by exhalations dire, Though a G.o.ddess, must expire.

In a fright she crept away; Bravely I resolved to stay.

When I saw the keeper frown, Tipping him with half-a-crown, Now, said I, we are alone, Name your heroes one by one.

Who is that h.e.l.l-featured brawler?

Is it Satan? No,'tis Waller.

In what figure can a bard dress Jack the grandson of Sir Hardress?

Honest keeper, drive him further, In his looks are h.e.l.l and murther; See the scowling visage drop, Just as when he murdered T----p.

Keeper, show me where to fix On the puppy pair of d.i.c.ks; By their lantern jaws and leathern, You might swear they both are brethren: d.i.c.k Fitzbaker, d.i.c.k the player, Old acquaintance, are you there?

Dear companions, hug and kiss, Toast Old Glorious in your p.i.s.s: Tie them, keeper, in a tether, Let them starve and stink together; Both are apt to be unruly, Lash them daily, lash them duly; Though 'tis hopeless to reclaim them, Scorpion rods perhaps may tame them.

Keeper, yon old dotard smoke, Sweetly snoring in his cloak; Who is he? 'Tis humdrum Wynne, Half encompa.s.sed by his kin: There observe the tribe of Bingham, For he never fails to bring 'em; While he sleeps the whole debate, They submissive round him wait; Yet would gladly see the hunks In his grave, and search his trunks.

See, they gently twitch his coat, Just to yawn and give his vote, Always firm in his vocation, For the court, against the nation.

Those are A----s Jack and Bob, First in every wicked job, Son and brother to a queer Brain-sick brute, they call a peer.

We must give them better quarter, For their ancestor trod mortar, And at H----th, to boast his fame, On a chimney cut his name.

There sit Clements, D----ks, and Harrison, How they swagger from their garrison!

Such a triplet could you tell Where to find on this side h.e.l.l?

Harrison, D----ks, and Clements, Keeper, see they have their payments; Every mischief's in their hearts; If they fail, 'tis want of parts.

Bless us, Morgan! art thou there, man!

Bless mine eyes! art thou the chairman!

Chairman to yon d.a.m.ned committee!

Yet I look on thee with pity.

Dreadful sight! what! learned Morgan Metamorphosed to a Gorgon?

For thy horrid looks I own, Half convert me to a stone, Hast thou been so long at school, Now to turn a factious tool?

Alma Mater was thy mother, Every young divine thy brother.

Thou a disobedient varlet, Treat thy mother like a harlot!

Thou ungrateful to thy teachers, Who are all grown reverend preachers!

Morgan, would it not surprise one!

Turn thy nourishment to poison!

When you walk among your books, They reproach you with your looks.

Bind them fast, or from their shelves They will come and right themselves; Homer, Plutarch, Virgil, Flaccus, All in arms prepare to back us.

Soon repent, or put to slaughter Every Greek and Roman author.

Will you, in your faction's phrase, Send the clergy all to graze, And, to make your project pa.s.s, Leave them not a blade of gra.s.s?

How I want thee, humorous Hogarth!

Thou, I hear, a pleasing rogue art, Were but you and I acquainted, Every monster should be painted: You should try your graving-tools On this odious group of fools: Draw the beasts as I describe them From their features, while I gibe them; Draw them like; for I a.s.sure you, You will need no _car'catura;_ Draw them so, that we may trace All the soul in every face.

Keeper, I must now retire, You have done what I desire: But I feel my spirits spent With the noise, the sight, the scent.

'Pray be patient; you shall find Half the best are still behind: You have hardly seen a score; I can show two hundred more.'

Keeper, I have seen enough.-- Taking then a pinch of snuff, I concluded, looking round them, 'May their G.o.d, the devil, confound them.

Take them, Satan, as your due, All except the Fifty-two.'

[1] 'Sir Tom:' Sir Thomas Prendergrast, a privy councillor.

ISAAC WATTS.

We feel relieved, and so doubtless do our readers, in pa.s.sing from the dark tragic story of Swift, and his dubious and unhappy character, to contemplate the useful career of a much smaller, but a much better man, Isaac Watts. This admirable person was born at Southampton on the 17th of July 1674. His father, of the same name, kept a boarding-school for young gentlemen, and was a man of intelligence and piety. Isaac was the eldest of nine children, and began early to display precocity of genius.

At four he commenced to study Latin at home, and afterwards, under one Pinhorn, a clergyman, who kept the free-school at Southampton, he learned Latin, Hebrew, and Greek. A subscription was proposed for sending him to one of the great universities, but he preferred casting in his lot with the Dissenters. He repaired accordingly, in 1690, to an academy kept by the Rev. Thomas Rowe, whose son, we believe, became the husband of the celebrated Elizabeth Rowe, the once popular author of 'Letters from the Dead to the Living.' The Rowes belonged to the Independent body. At this academy Watts began to write poetry, chiefly in the Latin language, and in the then popular Pindaric measure. At the age of twenty, he returned to his father's house, and spent two quiet years in devotion, meditation, and study. He became next a tutor in the family of Sir John Hartopp for five years. He was afterwards chosen a.s.sistant to Dr Chauncey, and, after the Doctor's death, became his successor. His health, however, failed, and, after getting an a.s.sistant for a while, he was compelled to resign. In 1712, Sir Thomas Abney, a benevolent gentleman of the neighbourhood, received Watts into his house, where he continued during the rest of his life--all his wants attended to, and his feeble frame so tenderly cared for that he lived to the age of seventy-five. Sir Thomas died eight years after Dr Watts entered his establishment, but the widow and daughters continued unwearied in their attentions. Abney House was a mansion surrounded by fine gardens and pleasure-grounds, where the Doctor became thoroughly at home, and was wont to refresh his body and mind in the intervals of study. He preached regularly to a congregation, and in the pulpit, although his stature was low, not exceeding five feet, the excellence of his matter, the easy flow of his language, and the propriety of his p.r.o.nunciation, rendered him very popular. In private he was exceedingly kind to the poor and to children, giving to the former a third part of his small income of 100 a-year, and writing for the other his inimitable hymns. Besides these, he published a well-known treatise on Logic, another on 'The Improvement of the Mind,' besides various theological productions, amongst which his 'World to Come' has been preeminently popular. In 1728, he received from Edinburgh and Aberdeen an unsolicited diploma of Doctor of Divinity. As age advanced, he found himself unable to discharge his ministerial duties, and offered to remit his salary, but his congregation refused to accept his demission. On the 25th November 1748, quite worn out, but without suffering, this able and worthy man expired.