Classic Poem

Written by a Non-Swearing Parson, and Dropped Out of His
Pocket
at Sam's Coffeehouse.

Facit indignatio versum.

And hast thou left old Jemmy in the lurch?
A plague confound the doctors of thy church!
Then to abandon poor Italian Molly —
Would I'd the firking of thy bum with holly!
Next to discard the virtuous prince of Wales,
How suits this with the honor of Versailles?
Fourthly, and lastly, to renounce the Turks,
Why, this is the devil, the devil, and all his works!
Were I thy confessor, who am thy martyr,
Dost think that I'd allow thee any quarter?
No — thou shouldst find what 'tis to be a starter.
Lord! with what monstrous lies, and senseless shams,
Have we been cullied all along at Sam's.
Who could have e'er believed, unless in spite,
Lewis le Grand would turn rank Williamite?
Thou, that hast looked so fierce, and talked so big,
In thy old age to dwindle to a Whig!
By Heaven, I see thou 'rt in thy heart a prig.
I'd not be for a million in thy jerkin,
'Fore George thy soul's no bigger than a gherkin.
Hast thou for this spent so much ready rhino?
Now, what the plague will become of jure divino ?
A change so monstrous I could ne'er have thought,
Though Partridge all his stars to vouch it, brought.
S'life, I'll not take thy honor for a groat,
Ev'n oaths, with thee, are only things of course.
Thou, Zoons, thou art a monarch for a horse.
Of kings distressed thou art a fine securer;
Thou make'st me swear, that am a known non-juror.
But though I swear thus, as I said before,
Know, king, I'll place it all upon thy score.
Were Job alive, and bantered by such shufflers,
He'd out-rail Oates, and curse both thee and Boufflers.
For thee I've lost, if I can rightly scan 'em,
Two livings worth full eightscore pounds per annum,
Bonae & legalis Angliae monetae;
But now I'm clearly routed by the treaty.
Then geese and pigs my table ne'er did fail,
And tithe-eggs merrily flew in like hail;
My barns with corn, my cellars crammed with ale.
The dice are changed, for now, as I'm a sinner,
The devil, for me, knows where to buy a dinner.
I might as soon, though I were ne'er so willing,
Raise a whole troop of horse, as one poor shilling.
My spouse, alas, must flaunt in silks no more;
Pray Heaven, for sustenance, she turn not whore;
And daughter Peggy too, in time, I fear,
Will learn to take a stone up in her ear.
My friends have basely left me with my place,
What's worse, my very pimples bilk my face.
And frankly my condition to disclose,
I most resent th' ungratitude of my nose,
On which though I have spent of wine such store,
It now looks paler than my tavern score.
My double chin's dismantled, and my coat is
Past its best days, in verbo sacerdotis .
My breeches too this morning, to my wonder
I found grown schismatics, and fallen asunder.
When first I came to town with household clog,
Rings, watch, and so forth, fairly went for prog.
The ancient fathers next, in whom I boasted,
Were soon exchanged for primitive boiled and roasted.
Since 'tis no sin of books to be a glutton,
I trucked St. Austin for a leg of mutton.
Old Jerome's volumes next I made a rape on,
And melted down that father for a capon.
When these were gone, my bowels not to balk,
I trespassed most enormously in chalk.
But long I had not quartered upon tick,
E'er Christian faith, I found, grew monstrous sick:
And now, alas! when my starved entrails croak,
At Partner How's I dine and sup on smoke.
In fine , the government may do its will,
But I'm afraid my guts will grumble still.
Dennis of Sicily, as books relate, sir,
When he was tumbled from the regal state, sir,
(Which, by the by, I hope will be your fate, sir,)
And his good subjects left him in the lurch,
Turned pedagogue, and tyrannized in birch:
Though thus the spark was taken a peg lower,
Some feeble signs of his old state he bore,
And reigned o'er boys, that governed men before.
For thee I wish some punishment that worse is;
Since thou has spoiled my prayers, now hear my curses.
May thy affairs (for so I wish by Heavens)
All the world o'er, at sixes lie and sevens.
May Conti be imposed on by the primate,
And forced, in haste, to leave the northern climate:
May he rely upon their faith, and try it,
And have his bellyful of the Polish Diet.
May Maintenon, though thou so long hast kept her,
With brand-venereal singe thy royal scepter.
May all the poets, that thy fame have scattered,
Un-god thee now, and damn what once they flattered.
The pope, and thou, be never cater cousins,
And fistulas thy arse-hole seize by dozens.
Thus far in jest; but now, to pin the basket,
Mayst thou to England come, of Jove I ask it,
Thy wretched fortune, Lewis, there to prop,
I hope thou'lt in the Friars take a shop.
Turn puny-barber there, bleed lousy Carmen,
Cut corns for chimney-sweepers, and such vermin,
Be forced to trim (for such I'm sure thy fate is),
Thy own Huguenots and us nonjurors gratis.
May Savoy likewise with thee hither pack,
And carry a raree-show upon his back.
May all this happen, as I've put my pen to 't,
And may all Christian people say amen to 't.