Classic Poem

Nay, 'tis the same with all th' affected crew
Of singing men and singing women too:
Do they not set their catcalls up of course?
The King himself may ask them till he's hoarse;
But wou'd you crack their windpipes and their lungs,
The certain way's to bid them hold their tongues.
'Twas thus with Minum , — Minum one wou'd think,
My Lord Mayor might have govern'd with a wink.
Yet did the Magistrate e'er condescend
To ask a song as kinsman or as friend,
The urchin coin'd excuses to get off,
'Twas — hem — the devil take this whoreson cough.
But wait awhile, and catch him in the glee,
He'd roar the Lion in the lowest key,
Or strain the morning Lark quite up to G.
Act Beard, or Lowe, and shew his tuneful art
From the plumb-pudding down to the desert
Never on earth was such a various elf,
He every day possess'd a diff'rent self;
Sometimes he'd scowr along the streets like wind,
As if some fifty bailiffs were behind;
At other times he'd sadly, saunt'ring crawl,
As tho' he led the hearse, or held the sable pall
Now for promotion he was all on flame,
And ev'ry sentence from St James's came.
He'd brag how Sir John — — met him in the Strand,
And how his Grace of — — took him by the hand;
How the Prince saw him at the last review,
And ask'd who was that pretty youth in blue?
Now wou'd he praise the peaceful sylvan scene,
The healthful cottage, and the golden mean
Now wou'd he cry, contented let me dwell
Safe in the harbour of my college cell;
No foreign cooks, nor livry'd servants nigh,
Let me with comfort eat my mutton-pye;
While my pint-bottle, op'd by help of fork,
With wine enough to navigate a cork,
My sober solitary meal shall crown,
To study edge the mind, and drive the vapours down
Yet, strange to tell, this wond'rous student lay
Snoring in bed for all the livelong day;
Night was his time for labour — in a word,
Never was man so cleverly absurd.
But here a friend of mine turns up his nose,
And you (he cries) are perfect, I suppose:
Perfect! not I (pray, gentle Sir, forbear)
In this good age, when vices are so rare,
I plead humanity, and claim my share.
Who has not faults? great M ARLBOROUGH had one,
Nor C HESTERFIELD is spotless, nor the Sun .
Grubworm was railing at his friend Tom Queer ,
When Witwoud thus reproach'd him with a sneer,
Have you no flaws, who are so prone to snub,
I have — but I forgive myself, quoth Grub .
This is a servile selfishness, a fault
Which Justice scarce can punish, as she ought.
Blind as a poking, dirt-compelling mole,
To all that stains thy own polluted soul,
Yet each small failing spy'st in other men,
Spy'st with the quickness of an eagle's ken.
Tho' strong resentment rarely lag behind,
And all thy virulence be paid in kind.
Philander's temper's violent, nor fits
The wond'rous waggishness of modern wits;
His cap's awry, all ragged is his gown,
And (wicked rogue!) he wears his stockings down;
But h'as a soul ingenuous as his face,
To you a friend, and all the human race;
Genius, that all the depths of learning sounds,
And generosity, that knows no bounds
In gems like these if the good youth excel,
Let them compensate for the aukward shell.
Sift then yourself, I say, and sift again,
Glean the pernicious tares from out the grain;
And ask thy heart if Custom, Nature's heir,
Hath sown no undiscover'd fern-seed there
This be our standard then, on this we rest,
Nor search the Casuists for another test.
Let's be like lovers gloriously deceiv'd,
And each good man a better still believ'd;
E'en Celia's wart Strephon will not neglect,
But praises, kisses, loves the dear defect.
Oh! that in friendship we were thus to blame,
And ermin'd candour, tender of our fame,
Wou'd cloath the honest error with an honest name!
Be we then still to those we hold most dear,
Fatherly fond, and tenderly severe.
The sire, whose son squints forty thousand ways,
Finds in his features mighty room for praise:
Ah! born (he cries) to make the ladies sigh,
Jacky, thou hast an am'rous cast o' th' eye.
Another's child's abortive — he believes
Nature most perfect in diminutives;
And men of ev'ry rank, with one accord
Salute each crooked brachet with My Lord.
(For bandy legs, hump-back, and knocking knee,
Are all excessive signs of Q — — ty.)
Thus let us judge our friends — if Scrub subsist
Too meanly, Scrub is an aeconomist;
And if Tom Tinkle is full loud and pert,
He aims at wit; and does it to divert.
Largus is apt to bluster, but you'll find
'Tis owing to his magnitude of mind:
Lollius is passionate, and loves a whore,
Spirit and constitution! — nothing more —
Ned to a bullying peer is ty'd for life,
And in commendam holds a scolding wife;
Slave to a fool's caprice, and woman's will;
But patience, patience is a virtue still!
Ask of Chamont a kingdom for a fish,
He'll give you three rather than spoil a dish;
Nor pride, nor luxury, is in the case,
But Hospitality — an't please your Grace.
Should a great gen'ral give a drab a pension —
Meanness! — the devil — 'tis perfect condescension
Such ways make many friends, and make friends long,
Or else my good friend Horace reasons wrong.
But we alas! e'en virtuous deeds invert,
And into vice misconstrue all desert.
See we a man of modesty and merit,
Sober and meek — we swear he has no spirit;
We call him stupid, who with caution breaks
His silence, and will think before he speaks.
Fidelio treads the path of life with care,
And eyes his footsteps; for he fears a snare
His wary way still scandal misapplies,
And calls him subtle, who's no more than wise.
If any man iSunconstrain'd and free,
As oft, my Laelius, I have been to thee,
When rudely to your room I chance to scowr,
And interrupt you in the studious hour;
From Coke and Littleton your mind unbend,
With more familiar nonsense of a friend;
Talk of my friendship, and of your desert,
Shew you my works, and candidly impart
At once the product of my head and heart,
Nasutus calls me fool, and clownish bear,
Nor (but for perfect candour) stops he there
Ah! what unthinking, heedless things are men,
T' enact such laws as must themselves condemn?
In every human soul some vices spring
(For fair perfection is no mortal thing)
Whoe'er is with the fewest faults endu'd,
Is but the best of what cannot be good.
Then view me, friend, in an impartial light,
Survey the good and bad, the black and white;
And if you find me, Sir, upon the whole,
To be an honest and ingenuous soul,
By the same rule I'll measure you again,
And give you your allowance to a grain.
'Tis friendly and 'tis fair, on either hand,
To grant th' indulgence we ourselves demand
If on your hump we cast a fav'ring eye,
You must excuse all those who are awry.
In short, since vice or folly, great or small,
Is more or less inherent in us all,
Whoe'er offends, our censure let us guide,
With a strong biass to the candid side;
Nor (as the stoicks did in antient times)
Rank little foibles with enormous crimes
If, when your butler, ere he brings a dish,
Shou'd lick his fingers, or shou'd drop a fish,
Or from the side-board filch a cup of ale,
Enrag'd you send the puny thief to gaol;
You'd be (methinks) as infamous an oaf,
As that immense portentous scoundrel
Yet worse by far (if worse at all can be)
In folly and iniquity is he;
Who, for some trivial, social, well-meant joke,
Which candour shou'd forget as soon as spoke,
Wou'd shun his friend, neglectful and unkind,
As if old Parson Packthread was behind:
Who drags up all his visiters by force,
And, without mercy, reads them his discourse.
If sick at heart, and heavy at the head,
My drunken friend should reel betimes to bed;
And in the morn, with affluent discharge,
Should sign and seal his residence at large;
Or should he, in some passionate debate,
By way of instance, break an earthen plate;
Wou'd I forsake him for a piece of delph?
No — not for China's wide domain itself.
If toys like these were cause of real grief,
What shou'd I do, or whether seek relief,
Suppose him perjur'd, faithless, pimp, or thief?
Away — a foolish knavish tribe you are,
Who falsely put all vices on a par
From this fair reason her assent withdraws,
E'en sordid Interest gives up the cause,
That mother of our customs and our laws
When first yon golden sun array'd the east,
Small was the difference 'twixt man and beast;
With hands, with nails, with teeth, with clubs they fought,
'Till malice was improv'd, and deadlier weapons wrought
Language, at length, and words experience found,
And sense obtain'd a vehicle in sound
Then wholesome laws were fram'd, and towns were built,
And justice seiz'd the lawless vagrants guilt;
And theft, adultery, and fornication
Were punish'd much, forsooth, tho' much in fashion:
For long before fair Helen's fatal charms
Had many a . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . Hiatus magnus lacrymabilis
. . . . . . set the world in arms.
But kindly kept by no historian's care,
They all, goodlack, have perish'd to an hair.
But be that as it may, yet in all climes,
There's diff'rent punishment for diff'rent crimes.
Hold, blockhead, hold — this sure is not the way,
For all alike I'd slash, and all I'd slay,
Cries W — — — N , if I had sovereign sway.
Have sov'reign sway, and in imperial robe,
With fury sultanate o'er half the globe.
Mean while, if I from each indulgent friend,
Obtain remission, when I chance t' offend,
Why, in return, I'll make the balance even,
And, for forgiving, they shall be forgiven.
With zeal I'll love, be courteous e'en to strife,
More blest than Emperors in private life.