The school of politicks, or, The humours of a coffee-house a poem.
         Ward, Edward, 1667-1731.
      
       
         
           1690
        
      
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             The school of politicks, or, The humours of a coffee-house a poem.
             Ward, Edward, 1667-1731.
          
           [3], 24 p.
           
             Printed for Richard Baldwin ...,
             London :
             1690.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
             Advertisement precedes t.p.
             Attributed to Edward Ward. cf. NUC pre-1956.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Advertisement
           .
        
         
           THE
           Memoirs
           of
           
             Monsieur
             Deageant
          
           ,
           containing
           the
           most
           secret
           Transactions
           and
           Affairs
           of
           France
           ,
           from
           the
           Death
           of
           Henry
           IV.
           untill
           the
           beginning
           of
           the
           Ministery
           of
           the
           Cardinal
           
             de
             Richelieu
          
           .
           To
           which
           is
           added
           a
           particular
           Relation
           of
           the
           Archbishop
           of
           
           Embrun's
           Voyage
           into
           England
           ,
           and
           of
           his
           Negotiation
           for
           the
           Advancement
           of
           the
           
             Roman
             Catholick
          
           Religion
           here
           ;
           together
           with
           the
           Duke
           of
           
           Buckingham's
           Letters
           to
           the
           said
           Archbishop
           ,
           about
           the
           Progress
           of
           that
           Affair
           ;
           which
           happencd
           the
           last
           Year
           of
           King
           James
           I.
           his
           Reign
           :
           Faithfully
           Translated
           out
           of
           the
           French
           Original
           .
           Printed
           for
           
             Richard
             Baldwin
          
           ,
           1690.
           
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           
             School
             of
             Politicks
          
           :
           OR
           ,
           THE
           HUMOURS
           OF
           A
           COFFEE-HOUSE
           .
        
         
           A
           POEM
           .
        
         
           
             Tantúmne
             ab
             re
             tua
             otii
             est
             ,
             aliena
             ut
             cures
             ?
          
           
             Terent.
             
          
        
         
           Licensed
           ,
           Apr.
           15.
           1690.
           
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           for
           
             Richard
             Baldwin
          
           ,
           next
           the
           Black-Bull
           in
           the
           Old-Baily
           .
           1690.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           THE
           
             School
             of
             Politicks
          
           :
           OR
           ,
           THE
           HUMOURS
           OF
           A
           COFFEE-HOUSE
           .
           ODES
           .
        
         
           
             I.
             
          
           
             'T
             WAS
             Claret
             that
             we
             drank
             ,
             and
             't
             was
             as
             fine
             ,
          
           
             As
             ever
             yet
             deserv'd
             the
             name
             of
             Wine
             ;
          
           
             Each
             Man
             his
             Flask
             we
             thought
             a
             mod'rate
             Dose
             ,
          
           
             When
             just
             as
             we
             were
             giving
             o'er
             ,
          
           
             Comes
             in
             our
             honest
             Landlord
             in
             the
             Close
             ,
          
           
             Protesting
             we
             should
             drink
             his
             Bottle
             more
             :
          
           
             Which
             done
             ,
             and
             all
             our
             Reck'ning
             paid
             ,
          
           
             Each
             did
             a
             sev'ral
             way
             repair
             ;
          
           
             Some
             went
             
               to
               walk
            
             ,
             and
             some
             
               to
               bed
            
             :
          
           
             But
             I
             ,
             who
             had
             an
             hour
             to
             spare
             ,
          
           
             Went
             to
             a
             nighb'ring
             Coffee-house
             ,
             and
             there
          
           
             With
             sober
             Liquor
             to
             refine
             my
             Head.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             II.
             
          
           
             What
             e'er
             th'
             occasion
             was
             I
             cannot
             tell
             ,
          
           
             Whether
             the
             Wine
             had
             discompos'd
             my
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             Or
             some
             false
             Medium
             did
             my
             Reason
             blind
             ,
          
           
             But
             so
             it
             was
             ,
             I
             took
             the
             Place
             for
             Hell
             ;
          
           
             The
             Master
             of
             the
             House
             ,
             with
             
               fiery
               Face
            
             ,
          
           
             Did
             like
             insulting
             Pluto
             seem
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             all
             his
             Guests
             he
             did
             condemn
          
           
             To
             drink
             a
             Liquor
             of
             infernal
             Race
             ,
          
           
             Black
             ,
             scalding
             ,
             and
             of
             most
             offensive
             smell
             :
          
           
             Trembling
             and
             pale
             ,
             I
             cross'd
             my self
             all
             o'er
             ,
          
           
             And
             mumbled
             Ave-Maries
             by
             the
             score
             .
          
           
             At
             length
             ,
             by
             strange
             insensible
             degrees
             ,
          
           
             My
             fears
             all
             vanish'd
             ,
             and
             my
             Mind
             sound
             ease
             ,
          
           
             My
             scatter'd
             Reason
             re-assum'd
             its
             place
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             perceiv'd
             with
             whom
             ,
             and
             where
             I
             was
             .
          
        
         
           
             III.
             
          
           
             The
             murmuring
             Buzz
             which
             through
             the
             Room
             was
             sent
             ,
          
           
             Did
             Bee-hives
             noise
             exactly
             represent
             ;
          
           
             And
             like
             a
             Bee-hive
             too
             't
             was
             fill'd
             ,
             and
             thick
             ,
          
           
             All
             tasting
             of
             the
             
               Honey
               Politick
            
             ,
          
           
             Call'd
             News
             ,
             which
             they
             as
             greedily
             suck'd
             in
             ,
          
           
             As
             Nurses
             Milk
             young
             Babes
             were
             ever
             seen
             .
          
           
             The
             various
             Tones
             and
             different
             noise
             of
             Tongues
             ,
          
           
             From
             lofty
             sounding
             Dutch
             and
             German
             Lungs
             ,
          
           
           
             Together
             with
             the
             sost
             melodious
             Notes
             ,
          
           
             Of
             
               Spaniards
               ,
               Frenchmen
            
             ,
             and
             Italian
             Throats
             ,
          
           
             Who
             met
             in
             this
             State-Conventicle
             ,
          
           
             Compos'd
             a
             kind
             of
             Harmony
             ,
          
           
             Which
             did
             in
             Concord
             disagree
             ;
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             even
             
             Babel's
             fatal
             Overthrow
             ,
          
           
             More
             sorts
             of
             Languages
             did
             never
             know
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             were
             they
             half
             so
             various
             ,
             and
             so
             fickle
             .
          
        
         
           
             IV.
             
          
           
             The
             place
             no
             manner
             of
             distinction
             knew
             ,
          
           
             'Twixt
             
               Christian
               ,
               Heathen
               ,
               Turk
            
             ,
             or
             Jew
             ,
          
           
             The
             Fool
             and
             the
             Philosopher
          
           
             Sate
             close
             by
             one
             another
             here
             ,
          
           
             And
             Quality
             no
             more
             was
             understood
          
           
             Than
             Mathematicks
             were
             before
             the
             Floud
             .
          
           
             Here
             sate
             a
             Knight
             ,
             by
             him
             a
             
               rugged
               Sailer
            
             ;
          
           
             Next
             him
             a
             Son
             of
             Mars
             ,
          
           
             Adorn'd
             with
             honourable
             Scars
             ;
          
           
             By
             them
             a
             Courtier
             ,
             and
             a
             
             Woman's
             Taylor
             :
          
           
             A
             Tradesman
             and
             a
             
               grave
               Divine
            
             ,
          
           
             Sate
             talking
             of
             affairs
             beyond
             the
             Line
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             in
             a
             Corner
             of
             the
             Room
          
           
             Sate
             a
             fat
             Quack
             the
             fam'd
             
               Poetick
               Tom
            
             ,
          
           
             Pleas'd
             to
             hear
             Advertisements
             read
             ,
          
           
             Where
             'mongst
             lost
             Dogs
             ,
             and
             other
             fav'rite
             Breed
             ,
          
           
             His
             famous
             Pills
             were
             chronicled
             :
          
           
           
             
               The
               half
               Box
               eighteen
               Pills
               for
               eighteen
               Pence
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Though
               't
               is
               too
               cheap
               in
               any
               Man
               's
               own
               Sense
               .
            
          
           
             Lawyers
             and
             
               Clients
               ,
               Sharpers
            
             and
             their
             Cullies
             ,
          
           
             
               Quakers
               ,
               Pimps
               ,
               Atheists
               ,
               Mountebanks
            
             and
             Bullies
             ,
          
           
             Clean
             or
             unclean
             ,
             if
             here
             they
             call
             ,
          
           
             The
             place
             ,
             like
             
             Noah's
             Ark
             ,
             receives
             'em
             all
             .
          
        
         
           
             V.
             
          
           
             Had
             Lilbourn
             been
             alive
             to
             see
          
           
             This
             Hotch-potch
             of
             Society
             ,
          
           
             Some
             other
             measures
             he
             had
             ta'en
             ,
          
           
             When
             he
             the
             Work
             of
             Levelling
             began
             ;
          
           
             For
             All
             here
             stand
             on
             equal
             ground
             .
          
           
             As
             I
             have
             seen
             in
             Storms
             at
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             For
             common
             safety
             all
             are
             willing
             found
             ,
          
           
             To
             hawl
             a
             Cable
             ,
             guide
             an
             Oar
             ,
          
           
             To
             stem
             the
             Tide
             ,
             and
             bring
             the
             Ship
             to
             Shoar
             ;
          
           
             So
             in
             this
             School
             of
             Polity
             ,
          
           
             Each
             thinks
             himself
             as
             much
             concern'd
             as
             they
          
           
             Who
             sit
             in
             
               Council
               Chamber
            
             ev'ry
             day
             ;
          
           
             And
             all
             their
             Maxims
             have
             a
             share
          
           
             Of
             the
             Professions
             which
             thcir
             Masters
             are
             .
          
           
             The
             
               quick-eye'd
               Sectary
            
             pretends
             to
             see
          
           
             Under
             
               Lawn
               Sleeves
            
             the
             growth
             of
             Popery
             .
          
           
             The
             Smith
             upon
             the
             Anvil
             of
             his
             Brain
          
           
             Forms
             a
             new
             Commonwealth
             again
             .
          
           
           
             The
             Carpenter
             in
             his
             projecting
             Pate
          
           
             Makes
             Props
             t'
             uphold
             the
             
               tott'ring
               State
            
             :
          
           
             The
             Quack
             too
             ,
             with
             his
             
               Close-stool
               Face
            
             ,
          
           
             Does
             with
             his
             senseless
             Reasons
             urge
             ,
          
           
             The
             
               British
               Islands
            
             want
             a
             Purge
             :
          
           
             And
             Ah!
             —
             Were
             he
             but
             once
             in
             Place
             ,
          
           
             He
             'd
             —
             but
             there
             stops
             ,
             and
             thinks
             the
             Age
             not
             fit
          
           
             To
             know
             the
             Wonders
             of
             his
             mighty
             Wit.
             
          
        
         
           
             VI.
             
          
           
             But
             the
             
               chief
               Scene
            
             was
             yet
             to
             come
             ,
          
           
             Which
             was
             to
             hear
             the
             various
             Argument
          
           
             Which
             fill'd
             all
             corners
             of
             the
             Room
             ,
          
           
             Concerning
             the
             Affairs
             of
             Christendom
             .
          
           
             I
             being
             seated
             to
             content
          
           
             List'ned
             with
             most
             profound
             attention
             to
          
           
             One
             of
             the
             loudest
             of
             the
             
               prating
               Crew
            
             ,
          
           
             Who
             after
             spitting
             thrice
             began
             ,
          
           
             Stroaking
             his
             Beard
             ,
             —
             Quoth
             he
             ,
             
               Here
               sits
               the
               Man
            
          
           
             Who
             Thirty
             several
             Campaigns
             
               has
               seen
            
             ,
          
           
             At
             five
             and
             forty
             Sieges
             been
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               in
               both
            
             foreign
             and
             domestick
             Wars
          
           
             
               Receiv'd
               as
               many
            
             Scars
             ,
          
           
             
               As
               I
               upon
               my
               Head
               have
               Hairs
               .
            
          
           
             
               You
               prate
            
             ,
             continued
             he
             ,
             
               to
               make
               you
               merry
            
             ,
          
           
             Of
             Sligo
             ,
             
               and
               of
            
             Bellishannon
             ,
          
           
             Of
             Carrickfergus
             and
             Dundalk
             ,
          
           
           
             
               And
               of
               the
               thund'ring
            
             Bombs
             and
             Cannon
             ,
          
           
             
               Were
               us'd
               at
               Siege
               of
            
             London-derry
             ;
          
           
             Mere
             stuff
             ,
             
               and
               nothing
               else
               but
            
             Talk.
          
           
             
               Now
               if
               the
            
             Wars
             
               you
               would
               delight
               in
            
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               see
               the
               very
            
             Soul
             of
             Fighting
             ,
          
           
             
               Go
               but
               this
               Spring
               to
            
             Flanders
             ,
          
           
             Flanders
             
               the
               Scene
               of
               Action
               ,
               where
            
          
           
             Death
             
               keeps
               his
            
             Revels
             
               all
               the
               Year
            
             :
          
           
             
               There
               are
               no
            
             Petticoat
             Commanders
             ,
          
           
             
               Things
               clad
               in
            
             red
             ,
             
               which
               have
               no
               braver
            
             Souls
          
           
             Than
             Parrots
             ,
             Apes
             ,
             or
             Owls
             ;
          
           
             
               But
               hardy
               Youths
               ,
               —
               so
               us'd
               to
               ruff
               ,
            
          
           
             
               That
               their
               own
            
             Skins
             
               become
               a
               nat'ral
               Buff
            
             :
          
           
             
               These
               are
               the
            
             Lads
             ,
             
               —
               and
               I
               was
            
             one
             ,
          
           
             
               Although
               I
               say
               't
               my self
               ,
               —
               have
               often
               gone
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Through
               thickest
               Squadrons
               of
               the
            
             Horse
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               with
               my
               single
               force
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Made
               a
               whole
            
             Troop
             
               retire
               in
               haste
            
             :
          
           
             
               This
               good
               old
            
             Blade
             
               which
               by
               my
               Side
               I
               wear
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Assisted
               by
               my
            
             Arm
             ,
             
               I
               swear
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Has
               kill'd
               a
            
             dozen
             Men
             
               before
               I
               broke
               my
               fast
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Nor
               living
               is
               that
            
             daring
             He
             ,
          
           
             
               Who
               but
               provokes
               this
               trusty
            
             Sword
             ,
          
           
             
               But
               shall
            
             —
          
           
             —
             At
             speaking
             of
             which
             word
             ,
          
           
             Two
             Serjeants
             came
             and
             laid
          
           
             Their
             Paws
             upon
             this
             
               daring
               Blade
            
             ;
          
           
           
             But
             so
             submissive
             ,
             and
             so
             tame
             ,
          
           
             Was
             this
             courageous
             
               Son
               of
               Fame
               !
            
             —
          
           
             The
             Company
             with
             Laughter
             let
             him
             pass
          
           
             To
             Prison
             ,
             for
             a
             most
             
               vainglorious
               Ass.
            
             
          
        
         
           
             VII
             .
          
           
             Scarce
             was
             this
             
               Son
               of
               Thunder
            
             gone
             ,
          
           
             Who
             tir'd
             the
             Ears
             of
             every
             one
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             with
             his
             
               blust'ring
               Language
            
             warm
             ,
          
           
             But
             new
             Discourse
             began
             ,
          
           
             Talk
             understood
             by
             every
             one
          
           
             Concerning
             the
             late
             
               dreadfull
               Storm
            
             .
          
           
             
               Lord
               !
               Nighbour
               ,
               did
               you
               ever
               hear
            
          
           
             (
             Says
             one
             )
             
               so
               terrible
               a
            
             Wind
             ?
          
           
             
               I
               that
               have
               liv'd
               this
               threescore
               Years
               ,
            
          
           
             
               The
               like
               could
               never
               find
            
             ,
          
           
             
               How
               Sir
            
             ,
             (
             replied
             his
             Friend
             ,
             )
             
               —
               have
               you
               forgot
            
          
           
             
               That
               blust'ring
               Night
               that
            
             Noll
             th'
             Usurper
             died
             ?
          
           
             
               When
               all
               the
            
             Winds
             
               in
               order
               tried
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Who
               should
               blow
               hardest
               on
               the
               Spot
               ,
            
          
           
             A
             Storm
             
               so
               dreadfull
               that
               't
               was
               thought
            
          
           
             
               About
               by
            
             Witchcraft
             brought
             ;
          
           
             
               When
               trembling
            
             Atheists
             
               went
               to
               Prayer
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Thinking
               the
            
             Day
             of
             Judgment
             near
             ;
          
           
             And
             Fear
             
               appear'd
               in
               ev'ry
            
             Face
             .
          
           
             Pish
             ,
             (
             cries
             his
             Friend
             ,
             )
             
               —
               what
               that
               time
               was
            
             ,
          
           
             
               I
               well
               remember
               ,
               but
               ,
               alass
               !
            
          
           
           
             
               To
               the
               late
            
             Wind
             
               it
               was
               no
               more
            
             ,
          
           
             Than
             farting
             
               of
               a
            
             Cloud
             ,
             or
             shrieking
             
               of
               a
            
             Door
             .
          
           
             
               I
               'll
               teil
               you
               :
               There
               was
               lately
               sent
            
          
           
             
               To
               me
               a
               Letter
               out
               of
            
             Kent
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               says
               ,
               it
               blew
               the
            
             Devil's
             Drop
          
           
             
               (
               A
            
             Rock
             by
             Dover
             seen
             )
          
           
             
               Along
               the
            
             Shoar
             ,
             
               as
               if
               't
               had
               been
            
          
           
             
               A
               School-boy's
            
             Gig
             or
             Top
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               plac'd
               it
               on
               this
               side
               the
            
             Hope
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               that
               was
               strange
               .
            
             —
          
           
             
               —
               But
               not
               by
               half
            
             ,
          
           
             
               So
               wonderfull
            
             (
             another
             speaks
             ,
             )
             
               as
               that
            
          
           
             
               I
               now
               am
               going
               to
               relate
               :
            
          
           
             
               Grazing
               it
               took
               an
            
             Essex
             Calf
             ,
          
           
             
               Near
               to
               the
            
             Shoar
             ,
             
               and
               blew
               him
               cross
               the
            
             River
             ,
          
           
             
               Quite
               into
            
             Kent
             ,
             
               where
               the
            
             poor
             thing
             remains
          
           
             As
             sound
             and
             well
             
               as
               ever
            
             .
          
           
             This
             caus'd
             the
             Company
             to
             laugh
             out-right
             :
          
           
             Which
             Mirth
             t'
             increase
             a
             jolly
             Sailer
             swore
             ,
          
           
             
               That
               on
               that
               ne'er
               to
               be
               forgotten
               Night
               ,
            
          
           
             
               (
               Though
               to
               preserve
               her
               they
               had
               spar'd
               no
               pains
               ,
               )
            
          
           
             Their
             goodly
             Ship
             
               was
               stranded
               near
               the
               Shoar
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Laden
               with
            
             Claret
             from
             Bourdeaux
             
               she
               came
            
             ;
          
           
             The
             Vessel
             
               dash'd
               to
               pieces
               ,
               every
            
             Man
          
           
             
               Nimbly
               to
               save
               himself
               began
            
             ;
          
           
             
               I
               ,
               for
               my
               part
               ,
               seeing
               a
            
             Hogshead
             float
             ,
          
           
             
               Quickly
               astride
               upon
               it
               got
            
             ,
          
           
           
             
               And
               ,
               Faith
               ,
               I
               think
               I
               was
               not
               much
               to
               blame
               ,
            
          
           
             My
             drunken
             Friend
             and
             I
             
               got
               safe
               to
               Land
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Where
               in
               requital
               of
               the
               good
            
          
           
             
               He
               did
               me
               ,
               caus'd
               his
            
             dearest
             Bloud
          
           
             To
             issue
             
               from
               him
               upon
               my
            
             command
             ,
          
           
             My
             Friends
             and
             I
             
               were
               merry
               at
               his
            
             death
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             
               shall
               ne'er
               forget
            
             him
             
               while
               l
               've
            
             breath
             .
          
           
             Finding
             this
             
               dull
               Romantick
            
             strain
             ,
          
           
             Amongst
             that
             Company
             to
             reign
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Talk
             was
             nothing
             else
             but
             Fable
             ,
          
           
             I
             ,
             leaving
             them
             ,
             went
             to
             another
             Table
             .
          
        
         
           
             VIII
             .
          
           
             At
             which
             by
             accident
             (
             no
             doubt
             )
             were
             got
          
           
             Demurely
             grave
             of
             Citizens
             a
             knot
             ,
          
           
             With
             shaking
             Heads
             and
             lift
             up
             Eyes
             ,
          
           
             Discoursing
             upon
             Prodigies
             .
          
           
             
               Ah
               Friends
               !
               the
            
             Times
             (
             says
             one
             )
             
               are
               very
            
             sad
             ,
          
           
             
               Although
               the
            
             Wicked
             
               still
               remain
               as
            
             bad
          
           
             
               As
               if
               all
               things
               were
               settled
               —
               T'other
               Night
               ,
            
          
           
             
               As
               very
               late
               by
            
             Westminster
             
               I
               came
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Methought
               the
            
             Element
             
               was
               all
               on
               flame
            
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               one
               of
               th'
            
             Heads
             
               upon
               the
            
             Iron
             Spire
          
           
             
               Over
               the
            
             Hall
             ,
             
               distinctly
               cried
               out
            
             Fire
             :
          
           
             
               Nay
               ,
               I
               a
               while
               ago
               was
               told
               ,
            
          
           
             
               That
               ,
               at
            
             Noon-day
             ,
             the
             Horse
             
               which
               stands
            
          
           
           
             
               In
               the
            
             Stocks-Market
             
               neigh'd
               aloud
            
          
           
             For
             Provender
             ,
             
               while
               the
               affrighted
               Croud
            
          
           
             
               Stood
               shivering
               both
               with
               Fear
               and
               Cold
               :
            
          
           
             
               Now
               when
            
             Vice
             
               grows
               so
            
             strong
             ,
             and
             Faith
             so
             weak
             ,
          
           
             
               No
               wonder
               't
               is
               the
               very
            
             Stones
             should
             speak
             :
          
           
             
               What
               these
            
             unlucky
             Signs
             portend
          
           
             
               I
               must
               confess
               I
               cannot
               comprehend
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Let
               God
            
             (
             and
             then
             he
             d'offt
             his
             Hat
             )
          
           
             
               In
               his
               good
               time
               discover
               that
               .
            
          
           
             
               Why
               ,
               Nighbour
            
             ,
             (
             says
             his
             Elbow-Friend
             ,
             )
          
           
             
               For
               certain
               't
               is
               ,
               you
               cannot
               be
            
          
           
             
               So
               blind
               as
               not
               to
               see
               ,
            
          
           
             The
             Head
             
               which
               cried
               out
            
             Fire
             denotes
          
           
             
               A
               disagreement
               in
               the
            
             Senate's
             Votes
             ;
          
           
             But
             Heav'n
             
               avert
               the
            
             Prodigy
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               th'
            
             Horses
             Neighing
             
               speaks
               as
               plain
            
          
           
             This
             Summer's
             
               scarcity
               of
            
             Grain
             :
          
           
             
               But
               I
               'm
               no
            
             Prophet
             ,
             
               if
               I
               were
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Events
               more
               wonderfull
               I
               'd
               shew
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Than
               ever
            
             Gadbury
             or
             Lilly
             knew
             ,
          
           
             Events
             
               should
               make
               the
            
             Nation
             stare
             ;
          
           
             
               What
               pity
               't
               is
               that
            
             Prophecy
             
               is
               ceas'd
            
             !
          
           
             What
             pity
             't
             is
             ,
             (
             thought
             I
             )
             thou
             are
             not
             plac'd
          
           
             In
             Bedlam
             ,
             where
             there
             cannot
             be
          
           
             One
             half
             so
             Lunatick
             as
             thee
             :
          
           
             
               Darkness
               ,
               fresh
               Straw
            
             ,
             and
             
               slender
               Diet
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             shaving
             th'
             Hair
             from
             thy
             
               thick
               Skull
            
             ,
          
           
           
             May
             make
             thy
             Brains
             and
             Tongue
             more
             quiet
             :
          
           
             But
             leaving
             this
             so
             very
             dull
             ,
          
           
             Most
             whimsical
             ,
             and
             senseless
             Crew
             ,
          
           
             I
             softly
             to
             another
             place
             withdrew
             .
          
        
         
           
             IX
             .
          
           
             Where
             six
             raw
             
               Countrey
               Fellows
            
             sate
          
           
             To
             hear
             an
             
               empty
               Wittal
            
             prate
             .
          
           
             They
             to
             no
             Sermon
             in
             their
             Lives
          
           
             Did
             ever
             such
             attention
             lend
             ,
          
           
             And
             each
             one
             by
             his
             grinning
             strives
          
           
             Who
             most
             shall
             his
             Discourse
             commend
             :
          
           
             One
             whisp'ring
             t'other
             in
             the
             Ear
             ,
          
           
             E'fack
             ,
             Ned
             ,
             
               did
               you
               ever
               hear
            
          
           
             (
             Says
             he
             )
             
               such
               Stories
               from
               our
            
             silly
             Vicar
             ,
          
           
             O'er
             Whitson
             Ale
             ,
             or
             Christmass
             Liquor
             ?
          
           
             
               No
               ,
               Vaith
            
             ,
             Tom
             ,
             (
             answers
             he
             ,
             )
             
               in
               all
               my
               born
            
          
           
             
               I
               ne'er
               heard
               sike
               an
               ean
               ,
               who
               does
               not
               scorn
            
          
           
             
               To
               tell
               us
               all
               the
               News
               ;
               he
               should
               ,
               I
               'm
               zhure
               ,
            
          
           
             
               By
               's
               head-piece
               ,
               be
               a
               Countseller
               .
            
          
           
             By
             this
             time
             our
             
               admired
               Wit
            
          
           
             Had
             drank
             his
             Dish
             of
             Tea
             ,
             and
             then
          
           
             Begins
             with
             —
          
           
             
               —
               Look
               ye
               ,
               Gentlemen
            
             ,
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               plain
               ,
               the
               Emperour
               intends
            
          
           
             
               To
               make
               a
            
             strict
             Alliance
             
               with
               his
            
             Friends
             ,
          
           
           
             
               To
               pull
               down
            
             Christian
             and
             Unchristian
             Turk
             ;
          
           
             
               E'gad
               ,
               you
               'll
               see
               some
               curious
            
             Summers
             Work
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               if
               things
               do
               but
               bit
               ,
            
          
           
             
               (
               And
               I
               may
               live
               to
               see
               it
               ,
               )
            
          
           
             
               Those
               two
            
             proud
             Tyrants
             
               tumble
               from
               their
            
             Thrones
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               on
               their
               humble
            
             Marrow-bones
             ,
          
           
             
               Beg
               to
               b'admitted
            
             Grooms
             
               of
               th'
               Stable
            
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               eat
            
             Scraps
             
               from
               the
               Servants
               Table
            
             :
          
           
             
               When
               this
               is
               done
               ,
               they
               will
               ,
               I
               hope
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Have
               at
               his
            
             Holiness
             the
             Pope
             ,
          
           
             
               With
               all
               his
            
             red-faced
             Cardinals
             ,
          
           
             
               Who
               wait
               upon
               St.
            
             Peter's
             Chair
             ;
          
           
             A
             Chair
             
               has
               held
               this
               Sixteen
               hundred
               Year
            
          
           
             
               Without
               being
               mended
               ,
               as
               I
               hear
               .
            
          
           
             The
             great
             Mogul
             
               next
               to
               their
               Fury
               falls
            
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               when
               they
               've
               overcome
               the
            
             Cannibals
          
           
             
               The
               Work
               is
               done
               ,
               and
               we
               may
               live
               at
               peace
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Enjoy
               our
               Friends
               ,
               and
               always
               be
               at
               ease
               .
            
          
           
             Boy
             ,
             
               bring
               the
            
             Gazette
             .
             —
             Sir
             ,
             't
             is
             not
             come
             in
             .
          
           
             
               Pox
               take
               you
               ,
               fetch
               it
               ,
               for
               it
               has
               been
               seen
            
          
           
             At
             Jonathan's
             
               two
               hours
               ago
               .
            
             —
             But
             ,
             Sir
             ,
             —
          
           
             
               But
               ,
               Puppy
               ,
               What
               do
               I
               come
               hither
               for
               ,
            
          
           
             
               To
               spend
               my
               time
               in
               this
               dull
               smoaky
               Room
               ?
            
          
           
             Pray
             be
             not
             angry
             ,
             Sir
             ,
             the
             
             Gazette's
             come
             .
          
           
             Here
             ,
             Lad
             ,
             
               let
               's
               see
               't
               —
               So
               ,
               so
               ,
               here
               's
               tickling
               News
               ,
            
          
           
             Lost
             Dogs
             ,
             lost
             Horses
             ,
             Soldiers
             
               run
               away
            
          
           
             
               Without
               their
            
             Wits
             ,
             
               and
               to
               avoid
               their
            
             Pay.
          
           
           
             Books
             
               sold
               at
            
             Tom's
             by
             Auction
             
               —
               once
               ,
               twice
               ,
               thrice
               ,
            
          
           
             
               The
               Hammer's
               down
               —
               he
               has
               you
               in
               a
               trice
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               ,
               Sir
            
             ,
             (
             says
             one
             ,
             )
             
               what
               kind
               of
               News
               is
               this
               ?
            
          
           
             
               For
               let
               me
               dye
               if
               I
               know
               what
               it
               is
               .
            
          
           
             
               Oh
               ,
               Sir
            
             ,
             (
             replies
             the
             Spark
             )
             
               I
               always
               read
            
          
           
             Gazettes
             
               as
               Witches
               pray
               ;
               for
               they
               ,
               't
               is
               said
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Do
               backwards
               mumble
               out
               their
            
             Pater
             Noster
             ;
          
           
             
               But
               now
               for
            
             News
             ,
             
               i'
               th'
               twinkling
               of
               an
               Oyster
            
             .
          
           
             Reads
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Francfort
               ,
               March
            
             29.
             
             Several
             Boats
             arrive
             daily
             with
             Provisions
             that
             are
             ordered
             to
             be
             laid
             up
             here
             for
             the
             use
             of
             the
             Imperial
             Forces
             ,
             which
             will
             now
             very
             quickly
             be
             in
             motion
             .
             The
             late
             Flouds
             have
             broke
             the
             Bridge
             of
             Boats
             at
             Philipsburg
             .
          
           
             
               Brussels
               ,
               April
            
             .
             2.
             —
          
        
         
           
             
               Hold
               ,
               Sir
            
             ,
             (
             says
             one
             ,
             )
             
               e'er
               farther
               you
               go
               on
            
          
           
             
               Pray
               tells
               us
               where
               abouts
               does
               stand
               that
               Town
            
          
           
             Call'd
             Francfort
             .
             —
          
           
             
               —
               Why
               ,
               Sir
            
             ,
             (
             answers
             he
             ,
             )
             
               it
               lies
            
          
           
             
               Upon
               the
               barb'rous
               Coast
               of
            
             Africa
             ,
          
           
             
               Snatch'd
               from
               the
            
             Moors
             
               by
               mere
               surprize
            
             ;
          
           
             
               For
               on
               a
               very
               memorable
               day
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Or
               rather
               Night
               ,
               as
               they
               were
               all
               employ'd
            
          
           
             
               In
               gazing
               on
               the
               then
               Eclipsed
               Moon
               ,
            
          
           
             
               The
               Emp'rours
               Vessels
               ,
               cruising
               near
               the
               Shoar
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Took
               the
               advantage
               of
               their
               busied
               sense
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               gain'd
               the
               Town
               :
               —
               not
               many
               were
               destroy'd
            
             ;
          
           
           
             
               Fear
               bound
               the
               Hands
               of
               many
               ,
               Wonder
               more
            
             ;
          
           
             
               So
               with
               small
               Bloudshed
               they
               were
               Captives
               soon
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               City
               's
               neatly
               built
               ,
               and
               't
               was
               from
               thence
            
          
           
             The
             German
             Balls
             ,
             
               so
               fam'd
               for
               cleaning
               Shoes
            
             ,
          
           
             
               First
               came
               .
               —
               I
               'd
               read
               some
               other
               News
               ,
            
          
           
             
               But
               I
               'm
               oblig'd
               by
               such
               an
               hour
            
          
           
             
               To
               be
               at
               —
               Gentlemen
               ,
               I
               am
               your
            
          
           
             
               Most
               humble
               Servant
               .
               —
               Boy
               ,
               here
               's
               for
               my
            
             Tea
             .
          
           
             Then
             leaves
             the
             Room
             .
             —
             But
             ,
             Lord
             !
             to
             hear
             the
             Praise
          
           
             These
             Blockheads
             did
             to
             his
             bold
             Nonsense
             raise
             ,
          
           
             Would
             almost
             make
             a
             witty
             Man
             forswear
          
           
             All
             Claim
             to
             Modesty
             and
             Sense
             ,
          
           
             Since
             the
             Accomplishments
             which
             bear
          
           
             A
             Man
             through
             Life
             ,
             are
             Ignorance
             and
             Impudence
             .
          
        
         
           
             X.
             
          
           
             In
             
               close
               Caball
            
             were
             in
             a
             Corner
             met
          
           
             A
             Knot
             of
             Men
             ,
             whose
             Faces
             wore
          
           
             The
             Livery
             of
             Discontent
             ,
          
           
             Sighs
             from
             their
             Breasts
             incessantly
             were
             sent
             ,
          
           
             One
             by
             their
             Looks
             might
             see
             their
             Hearts
             did
             fret
             ,
          
           
             Like
             murm'ring
             Israelites
             of
             yore
             ,
          
           
             They
             frown'd
             ,
             they
             stamp'd
             ,
             they
             bit
             their
             Thumbs
             ,
          
           
             They
             wink'd
             ,
             they
             nodded
             ,
             nay
             ,
             would
             sometimes
             smile
             ,
          
           
             When
             something
             did
             their
             airy
             hopes
             beguile
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             not
             a
             Word
             between
             their
             Lips
             there
             comes
             .
          
           
           
             What
             this
             
               dumb
               Scene
            
             did
             represent
             ,
          
           
             Or
             what
             by
             Signs
             and
             Nods
             was
             meant
             ,
          
           
             Conjecture
             only
             gives
             us
             leave
             to
             guess
             :
          
           
             They
             were
             no
             Friends
             to
             th'
             Government
             ,
          
           
             But
             there
             they
             met
             their
             Thoughts
             to
             ease
             ,
          
           
             Which
             Thoughts
             by
             Words
             if
             they
             should
             dare
             t'
             express
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Necks
             ,
             or
             Purses
             at
             the
             least
             ,
          
           
             Might
             pay
             for
             th'
             
             Tongue
             's
             untimely
             Jest.
          
           
             Self
             Preservation
             's
             first
             of
             Nature's
             Laws
             :
          
           
             To
             be
             Well-wishers
             they
             're
             content
             ,
          
           
             But
             care
             not
             to
             be
             Martyrs
             for
             the
             Cause
             .
          
        
         
           
             XI
             .
          
           
             From
             this
             most
             
               unintelligible
               Crew
            
          
           
             I
             went
             ,
             another
             Scene
             to
             view
             ,
          
           
             If
             the
             forementioned
             were
             reserv'd
             and
             close
             ,
          
           
             These
             were
             more
             open
             ,
             and
             more
             free
             ,
          
           
             For
             Wine
             no
             secret
             ever
             knows
             ,
          
           
             And
             that
             these
             Sparks
             had
             drank
             t'
             a
             large
             degree
             .
          
           
             You
             Sirrah
             Boy
             ,
             (
             says
             one
             ,
             )
             
               go
               fetch
               m'a
            
             Whore
             ,
          
           
             
               A
               lusty
               strapping
            
             Bona
             Roba
             ,
          
           
             
               E'gad
               ,
               I
               shall
               so
            
             jerk
             her
             Toby
             ,
          
           
             
               I
               'd
               make
               her
               —
               but
               Ill
               say
               no
               more
            
          
           
             
               At
               present
               —
               Pox
               this
            
             Coffee
             
               scalds
               my
            
             Throat
             ,
          
           
             (
             Another
             cries
             ,
             )
             
               't
               is
               in
               all
               Sense
               too
               hot
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Prethee
               go
               fetch
               a
               Pair
               of
            
             Bellows
             hither
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               make
               my
            
             Dish
             
               know
               cooler
               weather
            
             :
          
           
           
             
               That
               ever
               Man
               should
               be
               so
               great
               an
            
             Ass
             ,
          
           
             
               To
               suffer
            
             Wine
             
               (
               that
               plaguy
               Thief
               )
               to
               pass
            
          
           
             
               Between
               his
            
             Lips
             ,
             
               that
               slily
               did
               convey
            
          
           
             His
             Sense
             ,
             his
             Reason
             ,
             
               and
               his
            
             Brains
             away
             :
          
           
             
               How
               happy
               those
            
             dull
             Nations
             are
             ,
          
           
             
               That
               know
               no
               other
            
             Liquor
             but
             small
             Beer
             !
          
           
             You
             ,
             Harry
             ,
             (
             then
             there
             bawls
             a
             third
             ,
             )
          
           
             
               If
               of
            
             Sobriety
             
               you
               speak
               one
               word
            
             ,
          
           
             By
             Jupiter
             ,
             
               and
               all
               the
            
             Heathen
             Gods
             ,
          
           
             Your
             Sword
             
               and
               mine
               shall
               be
               at
               mortal
               odds
            
             ;
          
           
             
               I
               for
               my
               part
               ,
               without
               Reflexions
               ,
            
          
           
             Against
             Small
             Beer
             
               have
               forty
            
             Actions
             ;
          
           
             
               They
               're
               to
               be
               tried
               next
            
             Term
             ,
             
               and
               if
               I
               cast
               it
            
             ,
          
           
             
               I
               'll
               make
               't
            
             High
             Treason
             
               for
               my
               Friends
               to
               taste
               it
               :
            
          
           
             
               Boy
               ,
               bring
               m'a
               Glass
               of
            
             Usquebaugh
             ,
          
           
             
               By
               People
               nicknam'd
            
             Lill
             '
             bullero
             ,
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               good
               against
               the
            
             Gripes
             ,
             
               they
               say
            
             ,
          
           
             
               My
               Humour
               's
               this
            
             —
             Dum
             spiro
             spero
             :
          
           
             
               Come
               here
               's
               a
            
             Health
             
               to
               th'
               King
               of
            
             Poland
             ;
          
           
             
               Well
               ,
               here
               sit
               I
               ,
               who
               though
               Ive
               no
               Land
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Suppose
               my self
               as
               great
               as
               he
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Nay
               ,
               as
               th'
               great
            
             Cham
             of
             Tartary
             ;
          
           
             My
             Crown
             's
             
               a
               suddling
            
             Cap
             ,
             a
             Pipe
             my
             Sceptre
             ;
          
           
             My
             Bottle
             
               represents
               my
            
             Globe
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               any
            
             Cloaths
             
               serve
               for
               a
               Regal
            
             Robe
             ;
          
           
             My
             Queen
             my
             Mistress
             ,
             
               when
               I
               kept
               her
            
             ;
          
           
           
             Drawers
             
               (
               or
               else
               't
               is
               very
               hard
               )
            
          
           
             
               Will
               serve
               me
               for
               my
            
             Corps
             du
             Guard
             ;
          
           
             
               But
               when
            
             Incognito
             
               I
               reel
            
             ,
          
           
             A
             Link-boy
             
               serves
               the
               turn
               as
               well
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               ,
               Gentlemen
               ,
               to
               shew
               I'm
               yours
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Know
               you
               're
               my
            
             Privy
             Counsellours
             .
          
           
             
               Well
               ,
               we
               advise
               thee
               to
               go
            
             home
             ,
          
           
             (
             Says
             one
             ,
             )
             
               and
               try
               by
            
             Sleep
             
               to
               overcome
            
          
           
             
               This
               Humour
               .
            
             —
          
           
             
               —
               Well
               ,
               for
               once
               it
               shall
               be
               said
               ,
            
          
           
             (
             Says
             he
             ,
             )
             
               That
               Counsel
               I
               obey'd
            
             ;
          
           
             Here
             ,
             Boy
             ,
             
               your
               Money
               ,
               —
               Gentlemen
               let
               's
               go
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Egad
               methinks
               I
               tread
               on
            
             Wool
             ,
             or
             Snow
             ,
          
           
             
               My
               head
               's
               so
               light
               ,
               —
               well
               ,
               when
               I
               come
               again
            
          
           
             
               I
               'll
               make
               new
               Orders
               in
               my
               drinking
            
             Reign
             .
          
        
         
           
             XII
             .
          
           
             This
             
               merry
               Farce
            
             diverted
             all
             the
             Room
             :
          
           
             These
             you
             may
             know
             had
             no
             design
          
           
             The
             Quiet
             of
             the
             State
             to
             undermine
             ,
          
           
             He
             thinks
             no
             Treason
             that
             's
             top-full
             of
             Wine
             ;
          
           
             Men
             that
             sit
             brooding
             o'er
             their
             Fears
             at
             home
             ,
          
           
             Or
             else
             abroad
             in
             private
             Corners
             meet
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             with
             
               secret
               Whispers
            
             sit
             ,
          
           
             Are
             those
             disturb
             the
             Peace
             of
             Christendom
             ;
          
           
             The
             
               Juice
               o'
               th'
               Grape
            
             may
             nurse
             an
             ill
             design
             ,
          
           
             But
             certain
             't
             never
             was
             begot
             by
             Wine
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XIII
             .
          
           
             Hearing
             loud
             Talk
             and
             warm
             Dispute
             ,
          
           
             I
             sate
             me
             down
             to
             listen
             to
             't
             :
          
           
             A
             Cluster
             were
             ingag'd
             ,
             but
             chiefly
             Two
          
           
             Unsheath'd
             their
             Arguments
             ,
             and
             drew
          
           
             In
             
             Controversie's
             open
             Field
             ;
          
           
             He
             who
             did
             the
             
               defensive
               Weapon
            
             wield
          
           
             Was
             both
             to
             Wit
             and
             Sense
             allied
             ,
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             more
             ,
             the
             Truth
             was
             on
             his
             side
             ;
          
           
             His
             Habit
             rich
             ,
             but
             modest
             ,
             —
             t'other
             ,
          
           
             
               Yea
               plainly
            
             ,
             a
             
               dissenting
               Brother
            
             ,
          
           
             Who
             confidently
             would
             maintain
             ,
          
           
             The
             Papists
             first
             the
             War
             began
             ,
          
           
             In
             those
             sad
             Times
             
               when
               Jealousies
               and
               Fears
            
          
           
             
               Set
               Folks
               together
               by
               the
               Ears
            
             ;
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             more
             ,
             that
             they
             the
             Persons
             were
          
           
             Who
             brought
             the
             King
             into
             the
             Snare
             ,
          
           
             And
             when
             they
             had
             him
             safely
             there
             ,
          
           
             Did
             ,
             in
             the
             sight
             of
             all
             Beholders
             ,
          
           
             Take
             off
             his
             Head
             from
             off
             his
             Shoulders
             .
          
           
             (
             A
             Lye
             so
             very
             gross
             like
             this
             ,
          
           
             What
             Hearer
             would
             not
             take
             amiss
             ?
             )
          
           
             This
             caus'd
             the
             Gentleman
             to
             storm
             ,
          
           
             Already
             with
             his
             Canting
             warm
             ;
          
           
             
               How
               ,
               Sir
            
             ,
             (
             says
             he
             ,
             )
             
               can
               you
               with
               any
               Face
            
          
           
             
               Transfer
               the
            
             Guilt
             ,
             
               most
               justly
            
             yours
             ,
          
           
           
             
               (
               I
               mean
               your
            
             Party's
             ,
             )
             
               on
               the
            
             Papists
             ?
             They
             ,
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               own'd
               ,
               are
               bad
               enough
               ;
               but
               can
               you
               ,
               'pray
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Inform
               us
               who
               amongst
               those
            
             ruling
             Powers
          
           
             
               That
               sate
               at
            
             Westminster
             
               that
               fatal
               Day
            
             ,
          
           
             When
             Charles
             
               (
               the
               Good
               ,
               the
               Pious
               ,
               and
               the
               Just
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Being
               from
            
             Kingdoms
             three
             
               most
               basely
               thrust
               ,
            
             )
          
           
             
               Was
               tried
               ,
               which
               of
               them
               all
               e'er
               went
               to
            
             Mass
             ?
          
           
             What
             Roman
             Catholick
             
               to
               sign
               was
               known
            
          
           
             The
             Warrant
             
               for
               his
            
             Execution
             .
          
           
             
               Hold
               ,
               Sir
            
             ,
             (
             replies
             the
             other
             ,
             )
             
               not
               too
               fast
            
             :
          
           
             
               Upon
               the
            
             Stage
             
               they
               did
               not
               much
               appear
            
             ,
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               own'd
               ,
               but
               they
               behind
               the
            
             Curtain
             
               stood
               ,
               and
               what
            
          
           
             
               Was
               ordered
               to
               be
               done
               was
               then
               effected
               .
            
          
           
             
               Good
               Counsel
               ought
               not
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               to
               be
               rejected
               ,
            
          
           
             (
             Replies
             the
             other
             ,
             )
             
               but
               't
               is
               plain
               and
               clear
            
             ,
          
           
             
               The
               Guilt
               should
               only
               at
               your
               Doors
               be
               cast
               .
               —
            
          
           
             
               At
               mine
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               pray
               excuse
               me
               ,
               I
               comply
            
          
           
             
               With
               ev'ry
               Government
               .
               —
               That
               's
               uppermost
               you
               mean.
            
          
           
             
               But
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               since
               you
               and
               I
               have
               been
            
          
           
             
               Disputing
               thus
               ,
               let
               me
               one
            
             Secret
             
               tell
               .
            
             —
          
           
             A
             Secret
             ,
             (
             said
             I
             ;
             )
             
               no
               ,
               't
               is
               known
               too
               well
               ,
            
          
           
             No
             Government
             your
             Party
             
               ever
               pleas'd
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               if
               that
            
             Miracles
             
               had
               not
               been
               ceas'd
            
             ,
          
           
             Should
             Heaven
             
               to
               humour
               you
               create
            
          
           
             A
             Kingdom
             ,
             Commonwealth
             ,
             or
             State
             ,
          
           
             
               Together
               with
               such
               wise
               and
               wholesome
            
             Laws
             ,
          
           
             
               Wherein
               sharp
            
             Criticks
             
               could
               discern
               no
               flaws
            
             ,
          
           
           
             
               Yet
               you
               'd
               be
               still
               uneasie
               .
               —
            
          
           
             
               —
               Sir
               ,
               too
               far
            
          
           
             
               You
               stretch
               your
            
             Argument
             ,
             
               for
               are
            
          
           
             
               We
               not
               as
            
             quiet
             
               in
               the
               present
            
             Reign
             ,
          
           
             
               As
               those
               who
               stiffly
            
             Monarchy
             maintain
             ?
          
           
             
               Yes
               ,
               doubtless
               ,
               you
            
             (
             replies
             the
             other
             )
             can
          
           
             
               Conform
               to
               all
               the
            
             Modes
             
               which
               e'er
            
          
           
             The
             Government
             
               are
               ready
               to
               prepare
            
             ;
          
           
             
               But
               your
            
             Compliance
             
               is
               but
            
             Masquerade
             ,
          
           
             Your
             Loyalty
             
               is
               forc'd
               ,
               your
            
             Faith
             
               a
               Trade
            
             ;
          
           
             
               T'
               enjoy
               your
            
             Liberty
             the
             State
             
               thinks
               fit
            
             ,
          
           
             Pray
             Heav'n
             
               you
               make
               good
               use
               of
               it
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Forbear
               your
               Canting
               ,
               Whining
               ,
               idle
            
             Style
             ,
          
           
             
               With
               no
            
             amusements
             
               see
               you
               do
               beguile
            
          
           
             Your
             Hearers
             ;
             
               strive
               but
               to
               be
               true
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Against
               the
            
             Laws
             
               do
               you
               forget
               to
               rail
            
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               let
               but
            
             Sense
             '
             gainst
             Bigotry
             prevail
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               then
            
             —
          
           
             
               —
               Oh!
               Sir
               ,
               we
               know
               what
               best
               to
               doe
               ,
            
          
           
             
               We
               come
               not
               here
               to
               be
               inform'd
               by
               you
               .
               —
            
          
           
             But
             Counsel's
             
               cheap
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               I
               demand
               no
               Fees.
               —
            
          
           
             
               But
               you
               may
               counsel
               others
               if
               you
               please
               .
               —
            
          
           
             
               Nay
               ,
               if
               you
               're
               angry
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               I
               'm
               gone
            
             ;
          
           
             
               This
               't
               is
               when
               good
               advice
               is
               thrown
            
          
           
             
               Away
               on
               Men
               ;
               but
               e'er
               your
               Company
               I
               leave
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Remember
               this
               ,
               while
               vainly
               you
               believe
            
          
           
             
               Others
               to
               cheat
               ,
               you
               don't
               your selves
               deceive
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XIV
             .
          
           
             
               Great
               News
               from
               Ireland
            
             ,
             is
             heard
             at
             Door
             ,
          
           
             Which
             puts
             the
             Audience
             to
             a
             stand
             ,
          
           
             To
             fetch
             it
             in
             there
             is
             command
             ,
          
           
             And
             one
             attempts
             to
             read
             it
             o'er
          
           
             But
             interrupted
             by
             a
             
               prating
               Fop.
            
          
           
             
               You
               talk
            
             ,
             (
             says
             he
             ,
             )
             
               I
               mean
               you
               hope
            
          
           
             That
             Ireland
             
               will
               this
            
             Summer
             
               be
               reduc'd
            
             ;
          
           
             
               You
               may
               as
               well
               suppose
            
          
           
             The
             Bay
             of
             Biscay
             
               will
               be
               froze
            
             ;
          
           
             
               No
               ,
               no
               ,
               with
            
             Stories
             
               you
               're
               amus'd
            
             ,
          
           
             K.
             J
             —
             
               's
               Men
               and
               Money
               's
               not
               so
               poor
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               I
               prononnce
               him
               Son
               of
               '
            
             Whore
             ,
          
           
             
               Who
               wishes
            
             Him
             or
             's
             Army
             
               were
               confus'd
            
             .
          
           
             This
             made
             the
             Company
             to
             stare
             :
          
           
             At
             last
             one
             takes
             him
             up
             with
             
               —
               Sir
               ,
               I
               dare
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Though
               not
               to
               's
            
             Person
             ,
             
               yet
               to
               's
            
             Cause
          
           
             Wish
             ruin
             ,
             
               and
               if
               any
               here
            
          
           
             
               Do
               not
               the
               self-same
               thing
               aver
               ,
            
          
           
             
               He
               is
               without
               much
               Complement
               an
            
             Ass.
          
           
             An
             Ass
             ,
             Sir
             ,
             (
             cries
             the
             other
             ,
             )
             
               Faith
               ,
               I
               don't
            
          
           
             
               Much
               use
               to
               pocket
               up
               such
               an
               Affront
            
             ;
          
           
             
               You
               wear
               no
               Sword
               ,
               I
               see
               ,
               and
               't
               would
               be
               base
            
          
           
             
               To
               draw
               upon
               a
            
             naked
             Man
             ,
          
           
             
               But
               here
               's
               my
               Dish
               of
            
             Coffee
             
               in
               your
               Face
            
             .
          
           
           
             T'other
             ,
             though
             scalded
             ,
             would
             not
             be
          
           
             Behind
             hand
             with
             him
             in
             Civility
             ,
          
           
             But
             flung
             a
             Glass
             of
             Mum
             so
             pat
             ,
          
           
             It
             spoild
             both
             Perriwig
             and
             Point
             Cravat
             :
          
           
             On
             this
             a
             Quarrel
             soon
             began
             ,
          
           
             Till
             Constable
             ,
             with
             pacifying
             Staff
             ,
          
           
             Appeas'd
             the
             Fray
             ,
             and
             the
             Contenders
             have
          
           
             Some
             respite
             ,
             one
             his
             Face
             to
             cure
             ,
          
           
             And
             t'other
             to
             refresh
             his
             Garniture
             .
          
        
         
           
             XV.
             
          
           
             The
             Votes
             are
             come
             —
             Ay
             ,
             there
             's
             some
             News
             indeed
             ,
          
           
             And
             one
             does
             all
             distinctly
             read
             ;
          
           
             Which
             finish'd
             ,
             every
             one
             began
          
           
             To
             make
             remarks
             .
             —
             With
             shaking
             Head
             ,
          
           
             Cries
             on
             ,
             
               I
               think
               the
            
             Parliament
             
               are
               mad
            
          
           
             
               To
               tax
               us
               thus
               ;
               we
               shall
               e'er
               long
            
          
           
             
               Not
               know
               to
               whom
               our
            
             Souls
             belong
             ;
          
           
             
               Nay
               't
               is
               reported
               they
               prepare
            
          
           
             
               A
               Bill
               to
               regulate
               our
               Fare
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               none
               without
               accustom'd
               Fees
            
          
           
             
               Shall
               eat
               of
               Licens'd
            
             Bread
             and
             Cheese
             ;
          
           
             For
             —
          
           
             
               —
               Hold
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               cries
               another
               Man
               ,
            
          
           
             
               E'er
               farther
               in
               your
            
             Nonsense
             
               you
               go
               on
            
             ;
          
           
             
               What
               to
               the
            
             Taxes
             
               have
               you
               paid
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Or
               given
               to
               the
            
             Royal
             Aid
             ?
          
           
           
             
               If
               I
               mistake
               not
               ,
               you
               're
               no
               more
            
          
           
             
               Than
               Journeyman
               t'
               a
            
             Shoe-maker
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               yet
               your
               Little
               Worship
               must
               complain
               ,
            
          
           
             
               But
               't
               would
               ,
               alass
               !
               be
               but
               in
               vain
            
          
           
             
               To
               preach
               Sense
               to
               thy
               cloudy
               Brain
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Or
               else
               ,
               't
               might
               be
               evinc'd
               that
               none
            
          
           
             In
             Europe's
             
               large
               Dominions
               are
               so
               free
            
          
           
             
               From
               griping
            
             Taxes
             
               of
               the
               Purse
               as
               we
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Besides
               ,
               what
               in
               that
               nature
               's
               done
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Is
               the
               effect
               of
               mere
               Necessity
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Shall
               th'
            
             King
             
               his
               Person
               for
               our
               sakes
               expose
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               we
               our
               little
               Aids
               refuse
               ?
            
          
           
             
               They
               're
               worse
               than
            
             Infidels
             and
             Jews
             ,
          
           
             
               Who
               out
               of
               Complaisance
               to
               Purse
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Their
               future
               Happiness
               will
               lose
            
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               on
            
             Posterity
             
               entail
               a
               Curse
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVI
             .
          
           
             More
             various
             Scenes
             of
             Humour
             I
             might
             tell
             ,
          
           
             Which
             in
             my
             little
             stay
             befell
             ;
          
           
             Such
             as
             grave
             Citts
             ,
             who
             spending
             Farthings
             four
             ,
          
           
             Sit
             ,
             smoke
             ,
             and
             warm
             themselves
             an
             hour
             ,
          
           
             Of
             modish
             Town-sparks
             ,
             drinking
             Chocolate
             ,
          
           
             With
             Bevir
             cockt
             ,
             and
             laughing
             loud
             ,
          
           
             To
             be
             thought
             Wits
             amongst
             the
             Crowd
             ,
          
           
             Or
             sipping
             Tea
             ,
             while
             they
             relate
          
           
           
             Their
             Ev'ning's
             Frolick
             at
             the
             Rose
             .
          
           
             But
             now
             I
             think
             't
             is
             time
             to
             close
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             to
             my
             Reader
             I
             should
             give
             offence
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             be
             tir'd
             with
             mine
             ,
          
           
             As
             I
             was
             with
             their
             dull
             Impertinence
             .
          
           
             My
             Reck'ning
             paid
             ,
             I
             left
             the
             Room
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             my
             passage
             Home
             ,
          
           
             Reflected
             thus
             —
             Is
             this
             the
             much
             desir'd
          
           
             Blessing
             of
             Life
             ,
             which
             most
             unjustly
             we
          
           
             Call
             
               Regular
               Society
            
             ?
          
           
             Well
             ,
             to
             my
             Closet
             I
             'll
             repair
             ,
          
           
             Past
             Times
             with
             present
             to
             compare
             ,
          
           
             My self
             to
             strictest
             Study
             I
             'll
             condemn
             ,
          
           
             And
             'mongst
             some
             Authours
             wise
             and
             good
             ,
          
           
             Who
             Mankind
             best
             have
             understood
             ,
          
           
             My
             Weeks
             ,
             Months
             ,
             Years
             ,
             endeavour
             to
             redeem
             ,
          
           
             Which
             vainly
             foolish
             ,
             and
             unthinking
             I
          
           
             Have
             spent
             in
             what
             we
             falsely
             call
             
               Good
               Company
            
             .
          
        
         
           THE
           END
           .