St. André was accused in J. N.'s pamphlet of having frequently larded his pleasantry with obscene expressions. This is a truth which his defender makes not the slightest effort to deny; but adds, that his conversation was hardly ever tinctured with prophaneness. We hence at least may infer that our hero's humour had sometimes this imperfection, which indeed might have escaped notice, but for the zeal of his apologist.—As I am on this subject, I cannot forbear to mention a particular in Mr. St. André's behaviour, which hitherto has been overlooked. When at any time he received a reproof from women of sense, fashion, and character, whose ears he had insulted with his ribaldry, his confidence in a moment forsook him, nor had he a word to offer in extenuation of his offence. My informant has more than once beheld, with secret satisfaction, how effectually the frown of steady virtue could awe this "mighty impudent" into silence. Notwithstanding what has been already said concerning that indifference to censure which appeared in him towards the end of his life, I am mis-informed, if at an earlier period he was able to brave the ridicule of the place where he had been once employed and caressed. When the imputations consequent on his marriage, &c. had rendered him still less an object of respect, he retired with his bride, and amused himself at a distance from London with additions to his house, and improvements in his garden; nor did he appear in public again till what was known and suspected of him had ceased to be the object of general enquiry and animadversion.

It is difficult for a profligate man of an amorous constitution to grow old with decency. J. N.'s pamphlet had taxed St. André with lasciviousness unbecoming his years. This is silently admitted by his apologist, who adds, that the intrigues of his hero were "sometimes with the lower part of the sex." He gives us reason also to suppose that our antiquated enamorato was a dupe to females in the very last stage of a life so unusually protracted. Is St. André's memory much honoured by such revelations? Do not circumstances like these increase that stock of "injurious insinuations" which our apologist professes to diminish?

Our panegyrist, more than once in the course of his letter, has expressed himself in favourable terms of St. André's colloquial talents. Now, as the memory of my entertaining opponent in respect to circumstances is remarkably tenacious, 'tis pity he has preserved no splendid ebullition of his hero's wit, no sample of that satire and irony that seasoned his conversation, or of that wisdom which so often rendered it instructive. I flatter myself, that if any specimens of these distinct excellencies could have been recollected, they would certainly have been arranged and recorded.

That St. André expired without signs of terror, is but a doubtful proof of his innocence. Being, at best, a free-thinker, he might regard death as annihilation, might have been insensible to its immediate approaches, or have encountered it with a constitutional firmness that was rather the gift of nature than the result of conscience undisturbed. He who is become indifferent to the value of reputation, will not easily be inclined to suppose that a want of the virtues on which it is founded will be punished in a future state.

The whole narrative, published by St. André in 1723, was considered by his contemporaries as an ostentatious falsehood, invented only to render him an object of attention and commiseration. It should be remembered, that his depositions were all delivered on oath; and yet, being replete with facts totally improbable (for his apologist allows "they partake of the marvellous"), obtained no credit from the world; a sufficient proof of the estimation in which his moral character was held by the people who were best acquainted with it, though at that period (for the rabbit affair had not yet decided on his reputation) he possessed sufficient interest as court-surgeon to engage the privy-council in his cause. They readily enough consented to offer a sum which they might have been sure would never be demanded. All the poison he was ever supposed to have suffered from, was such as is commonly administered in a more tempting vehicle than a glass of strong liquor:

"'Twas that which taints the sweetest joys,
And in the shape of Love destroys."

The bare mention of Socrates in company with such a pretended victim as St. André, cannot fail to make the reader smile.

But "He's half absolv'd who has confess'd," continues his advocate, speaking of the recantation St. André made by public advertisement. Yet, what did he confess? Why, what all the world concurred to believe, that he had been grossly imposed on; or perhaps that, out of two evils choosing the least, he allowed himself to be a fool, that he might escape the imputation of having proved a knave. His absolution therefore was not obtained on the most creditable terms. He adds, however, on this emergency, a fresh proof of his disposition to deceive. "I think myself obliged (says he) in strict regard to truth, to acquaint the public that I intend, in a short time, to publish a full account of the discovery, with some considerations on the extraordinary circumstances of this case, which misled me in my apprehensions thereof; and which, as I hope they will, in some measure, excuse the mistakes made by myself and others who have visited the woman concerned therein, will also be acceptable to the world, in separating the innocent from those who have been guilty actors in the fraud." This work was never published, though St. André survived his promise by the long term of fifty years. So much for the faith thus solemnly pledged by an impostor to the public.

After the accident had befallen Mr. Pope, on his return from Dawley in Lord Bolingbroke's coach, St. André was called in, because he happened to be the surgeon nearest at hand. No man chooses to be scrupulous in the moment of danger. It might be urged that our hero had little to boast on the occasion, because his patient never recovered the use of his wounded fingers. But this calamity is not strictly chargeable on St. André's want of skill; for I have been assured, that though he stopped the effusion of blood, the completion of the cure was entrusted solely to another artist. The RABBITEER, having received his fee, was not admitted a second time into the Poet's company.

To conclude, I differ as much with our ingenious apologist at the close of his Epistle as throughout the foregoing parts of it, being of opinion that his hero no more deserves to be admired than to be copied. There is always hazard lest wonder should generate imitation; and the world would not be much obliged to any circumstance that produced a second being fabricated on the model of St. André.

N° II.

[See p. 137.]

The kindness of a friend has enabled me to lay before the reader some extracts from the scarce pamphlet mentioned in p. 137. The following is the exact title of it: "A Letter from a Parishioner of St. Clement Danes, to the Right Reverend Father in God Edmund, Lord Bishop of London, occasioned by his Lordship's causing the Picture over the Altar to be taken down. With some Observations on the Use and Abuse of Church Paintings in General, and of that Picture in particular.

"Exodus, Chap. xxxii. Ver. 20. And he took the Calf which they had made, and burnt it in the Fire, and ground it to powder, and strawed it upon the Water, and made the Children of Israel drink of it.

"London, printed and sold by J. Roberts, in Warwick-Lane; A. Dod, without Temple-Bar-, and E. Nut, at the Royal-Exchange. 1725. Price 6d."

After some introductory compliments to Bishop Gibson, the Letter-writer thus proceeds: "Of all the abuses your Lordship has redressed, none more timely, none more acceptable to all true Protestants, than your last injunction to remove that ridiculous, superstitious piece of Popish foppery from over our communion-table; this has gained you the applause and good will of all honest men, who were scandalized to see that holy place defiled with so vile and impertinent a representation.

"To what end or purpose was it put there, but to affront our most gracious Sovereign, by placing at our very altar the known resemblance of a person, who is the wife of his utter enemy, and pensioner to the Whore of Babylon?

"When I say the known resemblance, I speak not only according to my own knowledge; but appeal to all mankind who have seen the Princess Sobieski, or any picture or resemblance of her, if the picture of that angel in the white garment and blue mantle, which is there supposed to be beating time to the musick, is not directly a great likeness of that princess. This I insist on, and will stand and fall by my assertion, provided they do not play any tricks with the picture, or alter it for contradiction sake now it is down.

"Whether it was done by chance, or on purpose, I shall not determine; but be it which it will, it has given great offence, and your Lordship has acted the part of a wise and good prelate to order its removal.

"For surely, such a picture is far unfit for so sacred a place; a place too solemn for such levities, too awful to be made the receptacle of such trumpery: nay, admit it were not the resemblance of such a person, can any thing be more absurd, than such a picture in such a place!

"But if it be the picture of that person, what can be more sacrilegious, more impudently sacrilegious, than to have our sanctuary defiled by those who make a mock of us and our holy religion? I mean, our inveterate enemies the Papists, who would scruple to prophane no place, so they might show their implacable hatred to our God, and our King.

"To our God, by making his holy altar the scene of their ribaldry, to be approached with wantonness and curiosity, by the sons of Belial, who come there to decypher the dumb libel, and sneer at the pictured lampoon, which tacitly mocks the church, and openly affronts the State.

"To our King, by placing the resemblance of an avowed enemy to him and his religion, at the very altar, to stand in view of a whole congregation; a thing, in my opinion, much more audacious, than the setting up her statue in the public streets.

"No wonder our church has been thronged with spectators, to the great hindrance of divine worship, and annoyance of the parishioners, when those crouds of irreverend persons, which were ever pouring in, came not there to join in prayer with the rest of the congregation, but to worship their Popish saint, and hug themselves with the conceit of being alone in the secret.

"But at last the watch-word was blown, and the true intent of their coming discovered. Then was it high time to complain to your Lordship, when disturbances became so frequent, and the peace of the church was so manifestly broken: that you, like another Moses, commanded the tinctured abomination to be taken down, and no doubt but your Lordship will call them to account who set it up.

"When your Lordship shall examine, who is the painter, and of what principle? how long he had been from the Court of Rome, before he painted that picture? and whether he brought no picture, or resemblance, of the Princess Sobieski over with him? you will not repent of what you have done. But when you shall farther enquire after the person who employed him; whether he be a Protestant? or, if he call himself so, whether his children were not sent abroad to Popish seminaries for education?

"When your Lordship, I say, shall examine into these particulars, I doubt not of the inferences so wise a man will draw from such convincing circumstances.

"And as your Lordship has begun to redress one abuse, I persuade myself you will not stop here, but enquire likewise, by what authority it was put there. This may, perhaps, open another scene to your Lordship's view, and give you an opportunity, not only to ease the parish of a very heavy burden it now groans under, but prevent its being run to unnecessary and unwarranted expences for the future, by every Jac——- in an office.

"And, indeed, unless there was a sufficient warrant for such alterations, the workmen should go to the right person's door, and he that set them to work ought to pay them; for, in my humble opinion, the place needed no alteration: it was decent, convenient, and indeed ornamental enough before; there was no more sign, or fear of its falling, than there was occasion to take it down, and deprive the parish of a conveniency now very much wanted, I mean a little vestry-room, which was behind the old communion table, where the books, vessels, and vestments of the church, were ready at hand, and just at the very altar; whereas now every thing is brought quite through the body of the church, which in case of a croud (as of late has been but too frequent) is both tedious and inconvenient to the last degree.

"But, notwithstanding this, it was resolutely taken down, to gratify the pride and malice of some persons, who thirsted to eternize their names, and affront the government. What have been the consequences of all this, but an eye-sore and heart-burning to the honest and loyal part of the inhabitants, and a continual hurly-burly of loiterers from all parts of the town, to see our Popish raree-show?"

After a digression on the famous altar at White-Chapel, in which Dean Kennet was said to be satirized, and some general observations on pictures in churches, the Letter-writer adds, "Never before was any Popish saint put over the communion-table in a Protestant church. The Last Supper, the Passion, Crucifixion, or some other incidents of our Blessed Saviour's life, are the general subjects given to painters on these occasions; but to have a concert of musick, &c. (suppose it were not the Pretender's spouse, and probably some more of his family, under the form of angels) is the most abrupt and foreign that I ever saw or heard of.

"What surprizes me most is, that any of my fellow parishioners should not only dispute your Lordship's commands, delay the execution of your just injunction, when it was most reasonable and necessary, but pester your Lordship with impertinent petitions and remonstrances, as if they were injured and oppressed, or your Lordship misinformed. This must be the reason; or to what purpose did they trifle with and contest your Lordship's ordinance? But you are too just a man to give any sentence but the most impartial, and too steady to give up any point, where the peace of the Church and the honour of the King is concerned.

"Whoever murmurs at its being taken down, takes the part of those who set it up; and whoever takes their part, is as bad as themselves, and would do the like on the like opportunity. What can they object against its being removed? What can they offer for having it remain? But why's, and why not's. As, Why should it be removed? What hurt did it do? Why should so much money be thrown away? And, why might not that picture be there as well as any other? Why does your Lordship interfere in the matter? This, with a glance of complaint at your Lordship, and severe invectives against those who solicited that interposition, calling them informers, busy, forward, mischief-making fellows, who had better mind their own business, and such like ribaldry, is all they can say for themselves. But these are the worst reasons in the world, and invidious queries only to evade an argument, and are not to be admitted in a debate of this nature, where a direct reason for, or against, is required. But give me leave, my Lord, and I will, in a few words, answer all their queries, which seem so weighty and formidable to the vulgar and ignorant.

"Why should it be removed? may be answered by another question, What business had it there? But as I scorn such quibbling ways of reasoning, I shall answer them, because it is unfit for that sacred place. If it is the Princess Sobieski's image, it is sacrilegious and traiterous, and therefore ought to be removed. If it is, as they say, a choir of heavenly angels at a practice of musick, playing on earthly instruments, it is impertinent and absurd to the last degree, and therefore ought to be removed from a place where the utmost decorum should be kept.

"What hurt does it, say they? To which I answer, it hurted or disturbed the peace of the church, and was so far hurtful, as we were hindered or annoyed in our devotions; it made a division in the parish, and was so far hurtful, as it tended to the breach of peace and good neighbourhood; and therefore I think it ought to be removed, since, not to answer them with a question, but a common saying, it did hurt enough.

"Why should so much money be thrown away? Ay, there's the grievance; but I shall tell them, they may thank themselves, it was the act and deed of their own cabal; and though they might triumph and laugh in their sleeves for a while, yet murder will out, and they might expect to be paid in their own coin one time or other. There was no occasion to remove the old communion-table and vestry; and therefore all the money is thrown away; the worse their management. Nor was there any necessity of so sumptuous an altar-piece, or of that picture in particular, therefore so much money as that picture cost, which, by the bye, is no trifling sum[1] (the painter, as well as his masters, being no small fool), is entirely thrown away, and has been cast into The Thames; or, as the vulgar have it, thrown down the kennel.

"It was set up against the will of the major part of the parish, and not without much murmur and complaint; there was yet a much greater majority for pulling it down; if therefore so much money is thrown away, it is pity the parish should pay it; and, no doubt, when your Lordship comes to enquire by what authority a set of men ran the parish so much in debt for their own whims, and without any manner of occasion, you will do us justice, and teach such persons for the future to consult the bishop, and have the general consent of the parish, before they run into such extravagancies.

"The tradesmen want their money, and the parish cannot pay them: your Lordship therefore will do very well to adjust this matter, that they may know where to go for their money.

"Their delaying to take down their idol, was a tacit disputing your lordship's commands, irreligious and contumacious to the last degree: and indeed I cannot say but some of the public prints[2] gave me great anxiety, when they had the impudence to assure the world it was not to be taken down: but that anxiety was of short continuance; for I had the satisfaction the next morning to find it removed, and whole crowds of idle persons who came to see it disappointed; then I found, to my great comfort, that you were not to be biassed; but, as you had begun the good work, you had gone through with it, and made them take it down with a witness."

N° III.

[See p. 414.]

An Account of what seemed most remarkable in the Five Days' Peregrination of the Five following Persons, viz. Messieurs Tothall, Scott, Hogarth, Thornhill, and Forrest; begun on Saturday, May 27, 1732, and finished on the 31st of the same Month. Imitated in Hudibrasticks by one well acquainted with some of the Travellers, and of the Places here celebrated, with Liberty of some Additions.

"Abi tu, et fac similiter."
Inscription on Dulwich College Porch.

'Twas first of morn on Saturday,
The seven-and-twentieth day of May,
When Hogarth, Thornhill, Tothall, Scott,
And Forrest, who this journal wrote,
From Covent-Garden took departure, 5
To see the world by land and water.

Our march we with a song begin;
Our hearts were light, our breeches thin.
We meet with nothing of adventure
Till Billingsgate's Dark-house we enter; 10
Where we diverted were, while baiting,
With ribaldry, not worth relating,
(Quite suited to the dirty place):
But what most pleas'd us was his Grace
Of Puddle Dock, a porter grim, 15
Whose portrait Hogarth, in a whim,
Presented him in caricature,
He pasted on the cellar-door.[1]

But hark! the Watchman cries "Past one!"
'Tis time that we on board were gone. 20
Clean straw we find laid for our bed,
A tilt for shelter over head.
The boat is soon got under sail,
Wind near S. E. a mackrel gale,
Attended by a heavy rain; 25
We try to sleep, but try in vain,
So sing a song, and then begin
To feast on biscuit, beef, and gin.

At Purfleet find three men of war,
The Dursley galley, Gibraltar, 30
And Tartar pink, and of this last
The pilot begg'd of us a cast
To Gravesend, which he greatly wanted,
And readily by us was granted.
The grateful man, to make amends, 35
Told how the officers and friends
Of England were by Spaniards treated,
And shameful instances repeated.

While he these insults was deploring,
Hogarth, like Premier, fell to snoring, 40
But waking cry'd, "I dream'd"—and then
Fell fast asleep, and snor'd again.

The morn clear'd up, and after five
At port of Gravesend we arrive,
But found it hard to get on shore; 45
His boat a young son of a whore
Had fix'd just at our landing-place,
And swore we should not o'er it pass;
But, spite of all the rascal's tricks,
We made a shift to land by six, 50
And up to Mrs. Bramble's go
[A house that we shall better know],
There get a barber for our wigs,
Wash hands and faces, stretch our legs,
Had toast and butter, and a pot 55
Of coffee (our third breakfast) got:
Then, paying what we had to pay,
For Rochester we took our way,
Viewing the new church as we went,
And th' unknown person's monument. 60

The beauteous prospects found us talk.
And shorten'd much our two hours walk,
Though by the way we did not fail
To stop and take three pots of ale,
And this enabled us by ten 65
At Rochester to drink again.

Now, Muse, assist, while I declare
(Like a true English traveller)
What vast variety we survey
In the short compass of one day. 70

We scarce had lost the sight of Thames,
When the fair Medway's winding streams,
And far-extending Rochester,
Before our longing eyes appear:
The Castle and Cathedral grace 75
One prospect, so we mend our pace;
Impatient for a nearer view,
But first must Strood's rough street trudge through,
And this our feet no short one find;
However, with a cheerful mind, 80
All difficulties we get o'er,
And soon are on the Medway's shore.
New objects here before us rise,
And more than satisfy our eyes,
The stately Bridge from side to side, 85
The roaring cataracts of the tide,
Deafen our ears, and charm our sight,
And terrify while they delight.
These we pass over to the Town,
And take our Quarters at The Crown, 90
To which the Castle is so near,
That we all in a hurry were
The grand remains on't to be viewing;
It is indeed a noble ruin,
Must have been very strong, but length 95
Of time has much impair'd its strength:
The lofty Tower as high or higher
Seems than the old Cathedral's spire;
Yet we determin'd were to gain
Its top, which cost some care and pain; 100
When there arriv'd, we found a well,
The depth of which I cannot tell;
Small holes cut in on every side
Some hold for hands and feet provide,
By which a little boy we saw 105
Go down, and bring up a jack-daw.

All round about us then we gaze,
Observing, not without amaze,
How towns here undistinguish'd join,
And one vast One to form combine. 110
Chatham with Rochester seems but one,
Unless we're shewn the boundary-stone.
That and its Yards contiguous lie
To pleasant Brompton standing high;
The Bridge across the raging flood 115
Which Rochester divides from Strood,
Extensive Strood, on t'other side,
To Frindsbury quite close ally'd:
The country round, and river fair,
Our prospects made beyond compare, 120
Which quite in raptures we admire;
Then down to face of earth retire.

Up the Street walking, first of all
We take a view of the Town-Hall.
Proceeding farther on, we spy 125
A house, design'd to catch the eye,
With front so rich, by plastick skill,
As made us for a while stand still:
Four huge Hobgoblins grace the wall,
Which we four Bas Relievo's call; 130
They the four Seasons represent,
At least were form'd for that intent.

Then Watts's Hospital we see
(No common curiosity):
Endow'd (as on the front appears) 135
In favour of poor travellers;
Six such it every night receives,
Supper and lodging gratis gives,
And to each man next morn does pay
A groat, to keep him on his way: 140
But the contagiously infected,
And rogues and proctors, are rejected.

It gave us too some entertainment
To find out what this bounteous man meant.
Yet were we not so highly feasted, 145
But that we back to dinner hasted.

By twelve again we reach The Crown,
But find our meat not yet laid down,
So (spite of "Gentlemen, d'ye call?")
On chairs quite fast asleep we fall, 150
And with clos'd eyes again survey,
In dreams, what we have seen to-day:
Till dinner's coming up, when we
As ready are as that can be.

If we describe it not, we're undone, 155
You'll scarce believe we came from London.
With due attention then prepare
Yourself to hear our bill of fare.
For our first course a dish there was
Of soles and flounders with crab-sauce, 160
A stuff'd and roast calf's-heart beside,
With 'purt'nance minc'd, and liver fry'd;
And for a second course, they put on
Green pease and roasted leg of mutton:
The cook was much commended for't; 165
Fresh was the beer, and sound the port:
So that nem. con. we all agree
(Whatever more we have to see)
From table we'll not rise till three.

Our shoes are clean'd, 'tis three o'clock, 170
Come let's away to Chatham-Dock;
We shan't get there till almost four,
To see't will take at least an hour;
Yet Scott and Hogarth needs must stop
At the Court-Hall to play Scotch hop. 175

To Chatham got, ourselves we treat
With Shrimps, which as we walk we eat.
For speed we take a round-a-bout-
way, as we afterwards found out:
At length reach the King's yards and docks, 180
Admire the ships there on the stocks,
The men of war afloat we view,
Find means to get aboard of two;[2]
But here I must not be prolix,
For we went home again at six, 185
There smoak'd our pipes, and drank our wine,
And comfortably sat till nine,
Then, with our travels much improv'd,
To our respective beds we mov'd.

Sunday at seven we rub our eyes, 190
But are too lazy yet to rise:
Hogarth and Thornhill tell their dreams,
And, reasoning deeply on those themes,
After much learned speculation,
Quite suitable to the occasion, 195
Left off as wise as they begun,
Which made for us in bed good fun.

But by and by, when up we got,
Sam Scott was missing, "Where's Sam Scott?"
"Oh! here he comes. Well! whence come you?" 200
"Why from the bridge, taking a view[3]
Of something that did highly please me,
But people passing by would teaze me
With 'Do you work on Sundays, friend?'
So that I could not make an end." 205

At this we laugh'd, for 'twas our will
Like men of taste that day to kill.
So after breakfast we thought good
To cross the bridge again to Strood:
Thence eastward we resolve to go, 210
And through the Hundred march of Hoo,
Wash'd on the north side by the Thames,
And on the south by Medway's streams.
Which to each other here incline,
Till at The Nore in one they join. 215

Before we Frindsbury could gain,
There fell a heavy shower of rain,
When crafty Scott a shelter found
Under a hedge upon the ground,
There of his friends a joke he made, 220
But rose most woefully bewray'd;
How against him the laugh was turn'd,
And he the vile disaster mourn'd!
We work, all hands, to make him clean,
And fitter to be smelt and seen. 225
But, while we scrap'd his back and side,
All on a sudden, out he cried,
"I've lost my cambrick handkercher,
'Twas lent me by my wife so dear:
What I shall do I can't devise, 230
I've nothing left to wipe my eyes."

At last the handkerchief was found,
To his great comfort, safe and sound,
He's now recover'd and alive;
So in high spirits all arrive 235
At Frindsbury, fam'd for prospects fair,
But we much more diverted were
With what the parish church did grace,
"A list of some who lov'd the place,
In memory of their good actions, 240
And gratitude for their benefactions.
Witness our hands—Will. Gibbons, Vicar—"
And no one else.—This made us snicker:
At length, with countenances serious,
We all agreed it was mysterious, 245
Not guessing that the reason might
Be, the Churchwardens could not write.

At ten, in council it was mov'd,
Whoe'er was tir'd, or disapprov'd
Of our proceedings, might go back, 250
And cash to bear his charges take.
With indignation this was heard:
Each was for all events prepar'd.
So all with one consent agreed
To Upnor-Castle to proceed, 255
And at the sutler's there we din'd
On such coarse fare as we could find.

The Castle[4] was not large, but strong,
And seems to be of standing long.
Twenty-four men its garrison, 260
And just for every man a gun;
Eight guns were mounted, eight men active,
The rest were rated non-effective.
Here an old couple, who had brought
Some cockles in their boat, besought 265
That one of us would buy a few,
For they were very fresh and new.
I did so, and 'twas charity;
He was quite blind, and half blind she.

Now growing frolicksome and gay, 270
Like boys, we, after dinner, play,
But, as the scene lay in a fort,
Something like war must be our sport:
Sticks, stones, and hogs-dung, were our weapons,
And, as in such frays oft it happens, 275
Poor Tothall's cloaths here went to pot,
So that he could not laugh at Scott.

From hence all conquerors we go
To visit the church-yard at Hoo.
At Hoo we found an Epitaph, 280
Which made us (as 'twill make you) laugh:
A servant maid, turn'd poetaster,
Wrote it in honour of her master;
I therefore give you (and I hope you
Will like it well) a Vera Copia: 285
"And.wHen.he.Died.You plainly.see
Hee.freely.gave.al.to.Sara.passaWee.
And.in.Doing.so.it DoTh.prevail.
that.Ion.him.can.well.bes.Tow.this Rayel.
On.Year.sarved.him.it is well.none. 290
BuT Thanks.beto.God.it.is.all my.One."

While here among the Graves we stumble,
Our Hogarth's guts began to grumble,
Which he to ease, turn'd up his tail
Over a monumental rail; 295
Tothall, for this indecent action,
Bellowing on him just correction
With nettles, as there was no birch,
He fled for refuge to the church,
And shamefully the door besh-t; 300
O filthy dauber! filthy wit!

Long at one place we must not stay,
'Tis almost four, let's haste away.
But here's a sign; 'tis rash we think,
To leave the place before we drink. 305
We meet with liquor to our mind,
Our hostess complaisant and kind:
She was a widow, who, we found,
Had (as the phrase is) been shod round,
That is, had buried husbands four, 310
And had no want of charms for more;
Yet her we leave, and, as we go,
Scott bravely undertook to show
That through the world we could not pass,
How thin soe'er our breeches was; 315
"'Tis true, indeed, we may go round,
But through"—then pointed to the ground.
So well he manag'd the debate,
We own'd he was a man of weight:
And so indeed he was this once, 320
His pockets we had fill'd with stones:
But here we'd serv'd ourselves a trick,
Of which he might have made us sick:
We'd furnish'd him with ammunition
Fit to knock down all opposition; 325
And, knowing well his warmth of temper,
Out of his reach began to scamper,
Till, growing cooler, he pretends
His passion feign'd, so all are friends.
Our danger now becomes a joke, 330
And peaceably we go to Stoke.
About the church we nothing can see
To strike or entertain our fancy:
But near a farm, on an elm tree,
A long pole fix'd upright we see, 335
And tow'rd the top of it was plac'd
A weathercock, quite in high taste,
Which all of us, ere we go further,
Pronounce of the Composite order.

First, on a board turn'd by the wind, 340
A painter had a cock design'd,
A common weather-cock was above it,
This turn'd too as the wind did move it;
Then on the spindle's point so small
A shuttlecock stuck o'ertopp'd them all. 345

This triple alliance gave occasion
To much improving speculation.

Alas! we ne'er know when we are well,
So at Northfleet again must quarrel;
But fought not here with sticks and stones 350
(For those, you know, might break our bones)!
A well just by, full to the brim,
Did fitter for our purpose seem;
So furiously we went to dashing,
Till our coats wanted no more washing; 355
But this our heat and courage cooling,
'Twas soon high time to leave such fooling.
To The Nag's Head we therefore hie,
To drink, and to be turn'd adry.

At six, while supper was preparing, 360
And we about the marsh-lands staring,
Our two game-cocks, Tothall and Scott,
To battling once again were got:
But here no weapons could they find,
Save what the cows dropp'd from behind; 365
With these they pelted, till we fancy
Their cloaths look'd something like a tansy.

At seven we all come home again,
Tothall and Scott their garments clean;
Supper we get, and, when that's o'er, 370
A tiff of punch drink at the door;
Then, as the beds were only three,
Draw cuts who shall so lucky be
As here to sleep without a chum;
To Tothall's share the prize did come 375
Hogarth and Thornhill, Scott and I,
In pairs, like man and wife, must lie.
Then mighty frolicksome they grow,
At Scott and me the stocking throw,
Fight with their wigs, in which perhaps 380
They sleep, for here we found no caps.

Up at eleven again we get,
Our sheets were so confounded wet;
We dress, and lie down in our cloaths;
Monday, at three, awak'd and rose, 385
And of the cursed gnats complain,
Yet make a shift to sleep again.

Till six o'clock we quiet lay,
And then got out for the whole day;
To fetch a barber, out we send; 390
Stripp'd, and in boots, he does attend,
For he's a fisherman by trade;
Tann'd was his face, shock was his head;
He flours our wigs, and trims our faces,
And the top barber of the place is. 395
The cloth is for our breakfast spread;
A bowl of milk and toasted bread
Are brought, of which while Forrest eats.
To draw our pictures Hogarth sits;[5]
Thornhill is in the barber's hands, 400
Shaving himself Will Tothall stands;
While Scott is in a corner sitting,
And an unfinish'd piece completing.

Our reckoning about eight we pay,
And take for Isle of Greane our way; 405
To keep the road we were directed,
But, as 'twas bad, this rule neglected;
A tempting path over a stile
Let us astray above a mile;
Yet the right road at last we gain, 410
And joy to find ourselves at Greane;
Where my Dame Husbands, at The Chequer,
Refresh'd us with some good malt liquor;
Into her larder then she runs,
Brings out salt pork, butter and buns, 415
And coarse black bread; but that's no matter,
'Twill fortify us for the water.
Here Scott so carefully laid down
His penknife which had cost a crown,
That all in vain we sought to find it, 420
And, for his comfort, say, "Ne'er mind it;"
For to Sheerness we now must go:
To this the ferryman says, "No."
We to another man repair'd:
He too says, "No—it blows too hard." 425
But, while we study how to get there
In spite of this tempestuous weather,
Our landlady a scheme propos'd,
With which we fortunately clos'd,
Was to the shore to go, and try 430
To hail the ships in ordinary,
So we might get, for no great matter,
A boat to take us o'er the water.
We haste, and soon the shore we tread,
With various kinds of shells bespread. 435
And in a little time we spy'd
A boat approaching on our side;
The man to take us in agreed,
But that was difficult indeed,
Till, holding in each hand an oar, 440
He made a sort of bridge to shore,
O'er which on hands and knees we crawl,[6]
And so get safe on board the yawl.

In little time we seated were,
And now to Shepey's coast draw near; 445
When suddenly, with loud report,
The cannons roar from ships and fort,
And, like tall fellows, we impute
To our approach this grand salute:
But soon, alas! our pride was humbled, 450
And from this fancy'd height we tumbled,
On recollecting that the day
The nine and twentieth was of May.

The firing had not long been ended.
Before at Sheerness we were landed, 455
Where on the battery while we walk,
And of the charming prospect talk,
Scott from us in a hurry runs,
And, getting to the new-fir'd guns,
Unto their touch-holes clapp'd his nose; 460
Hogarth sits down, and trims his toes;
These whims when we had made our sport,
Our turn we finish round the fort,
And are at one for Queenborough going:
Bleak was the walk, the wind fierce blowing, 465
And driving o'er our heads the spray;
On loose beach stones, our pebbly way,
But Thornhill only got a fall,
Which hurt him little, if at all:
So merrily along we go, 470
And reach that famous town by two.

Queenborough consists of one short street,[7]
Broad, and well-pav'd, and very neat;
Nothing like dirt offends the eye,
Scarce any people could we spy: 475
The town-house, for the better show,
Is mounted on a portico
Of piers and arches, number four,
And crown'd at top with a clock-tower;
But all this did not reach so high 480
As a flag-staff, that stood just by,
On which a standard huge was flying
(The borough's arms, the king's supplying),
Which on high festivals they display
To do the honours of the day. 485
As for salutes, excus'd they are,
Because they have no cannon there.

To the church-yard we first repair,
And hunt for choice inscriptions there,
Search stones and rails, till almost weary all, 490
In hopes to find something material.
When one at last, of pyebald style
(Though grave the subject) made us smile:
Telling us first, in humble prose,
"That Henry Knight doth here repose, 495
A Greenland Trader twice twelve year,
As master and as harpooneer;"
Then, in as humble verse, we read
(As by himself in person said)
"In Greenland I whales, sea-horse, and bears did slay, 500
Though now my body is intombed in clay."

The house at which we were to quarter
Is call'd The Swans; this rais'd our laughter.
Because the sign is The Red Lion,
So strange a blunder we cry "Fie on!" 505
But, going in, all neat we see
And clean; so was our landlady:
With great civility she told us,
She had not beds enough to hold us,
But a good neighbour had just by, 510
Where some of us perhaps might lie.
She sends to ask. The merry dame
Away to us directly came,
Quite ready our desires to grant,
And furnish us with what we want. 515

Back to the church again we go;
Which is but small, ill built, and low,
View'd the inside, but still see we
Nothing of curiosity
Unless we suffer the grave-digger 520
In this our work to make a figure,
Whom just beside us now we have,
Employ'd in opening of a grave.

A prating spark indeed he was,
Knew all the scandal of the place, 525
And often rested from his labours,
To give the history of his neighbours;
Told who was who, and what was what,
Till on him we bestow'd a pot
(For he forgot not, you may think, 530
"Masters, I hope, you'll make me drink!"),
At this his scurrilous tongue run faster,
Till "a sad dog" he call'd his master,
Told us the worshipful the Mayor
Was but a custom-house officer; 535
Still rattling on till we departed,
Not only with his tales diverted,
But so much wisdom we had got.
We treated him with t'other pot.

Return we now to the town-hall. 540
That, like the borough, is but small,
Under its portico's a space,
Which you may call the market-place,
Just big enough to hold the stocks,
And one, if not two, butcher's blocks, 545
Emblems of plenty and excess,
Though you can no where meet with less:
For though 'tis call'd a market-town
(As they are not asham'd to own)
Yet we saw neither butcher's meat, 550
Nor fish, nor fowl, nor aught to eat.
Once in seven years, they say, there's plenty,
When strangers come to represent ye.

Hard at The Swans had been our fare,
But that some Harwich men were there, 555
Who lately had some lobsters taken,
With which, and eke some eggs and bacon,
Our bellies we design to fill;
But first will clamber up the hill,
A most delightful spot of ground, 560
O'erlooking all the country round;
On which there formerly has been
The palace of Philippa, queen
To the third Edward, as they tell,
Now nought remains on 't but a well: 565
But 'tis from hence, says common fame,
The borough gets its royal name.

Two sailors at this well we meet,
And do each other kindly greet:
"What brings you here, my lads?" cry we. 570
"Thirst, please your honours, as you see;
For (adds the spokesman) we are here
Waiting for our young officer,
A midshipman on board The Rose,
(For General S——'s son he goes): 575
We and our messmates, six in all,
Yesterday brought him in our yawl,
And when, as we had been commanded,
Quite safe and dry we had him landed,
By running of her fast aground 580
At tide of ebb, he quickly found
That he might go and see Sheerness,
So here he left us pennyless,
To feast on Queenborough air and water,
Or starve, to him 'tis no great matter; 585
While he among his friends at ease is,
And will return just when he pleases;
Perhaps he may come back to-day;
If not, he knows that we must stay."

So one of us gave him a tester, 590
When both cried out, "God bless you, master!"
Then ran to rouse their sleeping fellows,
To share their fortune at the alehouse.

Hence to the creek-side, one and all,
We go to see The Rose's yawl, 595
And found her bedded in the mud,
Immovable till tide of flood.

The sailors here had cockles got,
Which gratefully to us they brought,
'Twas all with which they could regale us; 600
This t'other sixpence sent to th' alehouse:
So merrily they went their way,
And we were no less pleas'd than they.

At seven about the town we walk,
And with some pretty damsels talk. 605
Beautiful nymphs indeed, I ween,
Who came to see, and to be seen.

Then to our Swans returning, there
We borrow'd a great wooden chair,
And plac'd it in the open street, 610
Where, in much state, did Hogarth sit
To draw the townhouse, church, and steeple,[8]
Surrounded by a crowd of people;
Tag, rag, and bobtail, stood quite thick there,
And cry'd, "What a sweet pretty picture!" 615

This was not finish'd long, before
We saw, about the Mayor's fore-door,
Our honest sailors in a throng:
We call'd one of them from among
The rest, to tell us the occasion; 620
Of which he gave us this relation:

"Our midshipman is just come back,
And chanc'd to meet or overtake
A sailor walking with a woman
(May be, she's honest, may be, common): 625
He thought her handsome, so his honour
Would needs be very sweet upon her:
But this the seaman would not suf-
fer, and this put him in a huff.
'Lubber, avast,' says sturdy John, 630
'Avast, I say, let her alone;
You shall not board her, she's my wife.
Sheer off, Sir, if you love your life:
I've a great mind your back to lick;'
And up he held his oaken stick. 635

"Our midship hero this did scare:
'I'll swear the peace before the Mayor,'
Says he; so to the Mayor's they trudge:"
How then a case by such a judge
Determin'd was, I cannot say, 640
We thought it not worth while to stay:
For it strikes nine, "How th' evening spends!
Come, let us drink to all our friends
A chearful glass, and eat a bit."
So to our supper down we sit; 645
When something merry check'd our mirth:
The Harwich men had got a birth
Closely adjoining to our room,
And were to spend their evening come:
The wall was thin, and they so near, 650
That all they say, or sing, we hear.
We sung our songs, we crack'd our jokes,
Their emulation this provokes;
And they perform'd so joyously,
As distanc'd hollow all our glee; 655
So (were it not a bull) I'd lay,
This night they fairly won the day.

Now plenteously we drink of flip,
In hopes we shall the better sleep;
Some rest the long day's work requires; 660
Scott to his lodging first retires;
His landlady is waiting for him,
And to his chamber walks before him;
In her fair hand a light she bears,
And shows him up the garret-stairs; 665
Away comes he greatly affronted,
And his disgrace to us recounted.
This makes us game, we roast him for it,
"Scott's too high-minded for a garret."
But Tothall more humanely said, 670
"Come, Scott, be easy, take my bed,
And to your garret I will go."
(This great good-nature sure did show):
There finding nought him to entertain
But a flock-bed without a curtain, 675
He too in haste came back, and got
Away to share his bed with Scott,
And at eleven each goes to nest,
Till Tuesday morn to take his rest.

At six comes Hogarth, "Rise, Sirs, rise," 680
Says he, with roguery in his eyes,
"Scott's landlady is below stairs.
And roundly the good woman swears,
That for his lodging he shall pay,
(Where his tir'd bones he scorn'd to lay) 685
Or he should go before the Mayor."
She's in the right on't, we declare,
For this would cut the matter short,
(At least 'twould make us special sport):
But here she balk'd us, and, no doubt, 690
Had wit enough to find us out.
Our mark thus miss'd, we kindly go,
To see how he and Tothall do.
We find the doors all open were,
(It seems that's not unusual here): 695
They're very well, but Scott last night
Had been in a most dreadful fright:
"When to his room he got," he said,
"And just was stepping into bed,
He thought he saw the bed-cloaths stir, 700
So back he flew in mortal fear;
But taking heart of grace, he try'd
To feel what 'twas, when out it cry'd
Again he starts, but to his joy,
It prov'd a little harmless boy, 705
Who by mistake had thither crept,
And soundly (till he wak'd him) slept
So from his fears recover'd quite
He got to sleep, and slept all night."
We laugh at this, and he laughs too, 710
For, pray, what better could he do?

At ten we leave our Lion-Swans,
And to the higher lands advance,
Call on our laundress by the way,
For the led shirts left yesterday 715
To wash; "She's sorry, they're not yet
Quite dry!"—"Why then we'll take them wet:
They'll dry and iron'd be, we hope,
At Minster, where we next shall stop."

The way was good, the weather fair, 720
The prospects most delightful were.
To Minster got, with labour hard
We climb'd the hill to the church-yard,
But, when arriv'd there, did not fail
To read some verses on a rail 725
Well worth transcribing, we agree,
Whether you think so, you may see.
"Here interr'd George Anderson doth lye,
By fallen on an anchor he did dye
In Sheerness yard on Good Friday 730
The 6th of April, I do say.
All you that read my allegy be alwaies
Ready for to dye—aged 42 years."

Of monuments that here they shew
Within the church, we drew but two; 735
One an ambassador of Spain's,[9]
T' other Lord Shorland's[10] dust contains,
Of whom they have a wondrous story,
Which (as they tell) I'll lay before ye.

The Lord of Shorland, on a day,[11] 740
Chancing to take a ride this way,
About a corpse observ'd a crowd,
Against their priest complaining loud,
That he would not the service say,
Till somebody his fees should pay. 745

On this, his lordship too did rave,
And threw the priest into the grave,
"Make haste, and fill it up," said he,
"We'll bury both without a fee."
But when got home, and cool, reflecting 750
On the strange part he had been acting,
He drew a state up of the case,
Humbly petitioning for grace,
And to the sea gallop'd away,
Where, at that time, a frigate lay, 755
With Queen Elizabeth on board,
When (strange to tell!) this hare-brain'd Lord
On horseback swam to the ship's side,
And there to see the Queen apply'd.
His case she reads; her royal breast 760
Is mov'd to grant him his request.
His pardon thankfully he takes,
And, swimming still, to land he makes:
But, on his riding up the beach,
He an old woman met, a witch: 765
"This horse, which now your life doth save,"
Says she, "will bring you to the grave."
"You'll prove a lier," says my lord,
"You ugly hag!" and with his sword
(Acting a most ungrateful part) 770
His panting steed stabb'd to the heart.

It happen'd, after many a day,
That with some friends he stroll'd that way,
And this strange story, as they walk,
Became the subject of their talk: 775
When, "There the carcase lies," he cry'd,
"Upon the beach by the sea-side."
As 'twas not far, he led them to't,
And kick'd the skull up with his foot,
When a sharp bone pierc'd through his shoe, 780
And wounded grievously his toe,
Which mortify'd: so he was kill'd,
And the hag's prophecy fulfill'd.
See there his cross-legg'd figure laid,
And near his feet the horse's head![12] 785

The tomb[13] is of too old a fashion
To tally well with this narration;
But of the truth we would not doubt,
Nor put our Cicerone out:
It gives a moral hint at least, 790
That gratitude's due to a beast.
So far it's good, whoever made it,
And that it may not fail of credit,
A horsehead vane adorns the steeple,
And it's Horse-church call'd by the people. 795

Our shirts dry'd at The George we get,
We dine there, and till four we sit;
And now in earnest think of home:
So to Sheerness again we come.
Where for a bum-boat we agree, 800
And about five put off to sea.
We presently were under sail,
The tide our friend, south-east the gale,
Quite wind enough, and some to spare,
But we to that accustom'd were. 805

When we had now got past The Nore,
And lost the sight of Shepey's shore,
The ebbing tide of Thames we met,
The wind against it fiercely set!
This made a short and tumbling sea, 810
And finely toss'd indeed were we.

The porpoises in stormy weather
Are often seen in shoals together;
About us while they roll and play,
One in his gambols miss'd his way, 815
And threw himself so far on shore,
We thought he would get off no more;
But with great struggling and some pain,
He did, and went to play again.
On this we moralising say, 820
"How thoughtless is the love of play!"
When we ourselves with sorrow find
Our pleasures too with pain conjoin'd.
For troubles croud upon us thick;
Our hero, Scott, grows very sick; 825
Poor Hogarth makes wry faces too
(Worse faces than he ever drew).
You'll guess what were the consequences,
Not overpleasing to our senses;
And this misfortune was augmented 830
By Master Tothall's being acquainted
With the commander of a sloop,
At Holy Haven near The Hope.
"There's Captain Robinson," says he,
"A friend, whom I must call and see." 835
Up the ship's side he nimbly goes,
While we lay overwhelm'd with woes
Sick, and of winds and waves the sport.
But then he made his visit short,
And when a sup of punch he'd got, 840
Some lighted match to us he brought,
A sovereign cordial this, no doubt,
To men whose pipes had long been out.

By seven o'clock our sick recover,
And all are glad this trouble's over. 845
Now jovially we sail along,
Our cockswain giving song for song.
But soon our notes are chang'd; we found
Our boat was on Bly-sand aground,
Just in the middle of the river; 850
Here Tothall shew'd himself quite clever:
And, knowing we must else abide
Till lifted by the flowing tide,
Work'd with our skippers, till the boat
Was once more happily afloat. 855
We all applaud his care and skill,
So do the boatmen his good-will.

Ere long the tide made upward, so
With that before the wind we go,
And, disembarking about ten, 860
Our Gravesend quarters reach again.

Here Madam, smiling, comes to tell
How glad she is to see us well:
This kind reception we commended,
And now thought all our troubles ended; 865
But, when for what we want we call,
Something unlucky did befall.

When we our travels first began
Scott (who's a very prudent man)
Thought a great coat could do no harm, 870
And in the boat might keep him warm;
So far perhaps you think him right,
As we took water in the night:
But when from hence we took our way
On foot, the latter end of May, 875
He, quite as reasonably, thought
'Twould be too heavy or too hot:
"I'll leave it here," says he, "and take
It with me at our coming back."
And he most certainly design'd it: 880
But now the thing was, how to find it?

We told him, he had been mistaken,
And did without his hostess reckon.
To him it was no jest; he swore
"He left it there three days before, 885
This Mrs. Bramble can't deny."
"Sir, we shall find it by and by:"
So out she goes, and rends her throat
With "Moll, go find the gem'man's coat."
The house Moll searches round and round, 890
At last, with much ado, 'twas found—
'Twas found, that, to the owner's cost,
Or Scott's, the borrow'd coat was lost.
"Coat lost!" says he, stamping and staring,
Then stood like dumb, then fell to swearing: 895
He curs'd the ill-concluding ramble,
He curs'd Gravesend and mother Bramble.

But, while his rage he thus express'd,
And we his anger made our jest,
Till wrath had almost got the upper- 900
hand of his reason, in came supper:
To this at once his stomach turn'd,
No longer it with fury burn'd,
But hunger took the place of rage,
And a good meal did both assuage. 905
He eat and drank, he drank and eat,
The wine commended, and the meat:
So we did all, and sat so late,
That Wednesday morn we lay till eight.
Tobacco then, and wine provide, 910
Enough to serve us for this tide.
Get breakfast, and our reckoning pay,
And next prepare for London hey;
So, hiring to ourselves a wherry,
We put off, all alive and merry. 915

The tide was strong, fair was the wind,
Gravesend is soon left far behind,
Under the tilt on straw we lay,
Observing what a charming day,
There stretch'd at ease we smoke and drink, 920
Londoners like, and now we think
Our cross adventures all are past,
And that at Gravesend was the last:
But cruel Fate to that says no;
One yet shall Fortune find his foe. 925

While we (with various prospects cloy'd)
In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy'd,
More diligent and curious, Scott
Into the forecastle had got,
And took his papers out, to draw 930
Some ships which right ahead he saw.
There sat he, on his work intent,
When, to increase our merriment,
So luckily we shipp'd a sea,
That he got sous'd, and only he. 935
This bringing to his mind a thought
How much he wanted the great coat,
Renew'd his anger and his grief;
He curs'd Gravesend, the coat, and thief;
And, still to heighten his regret, 940
His shirt was in his breeches wet:
He draws it out, and lets it fly,
Like a French ensign, till 'tis dry,
Then, creeping into shelter safe,
Joins with the company and laugh. 945
Nothing more happen'd worthy note:

At Billingsgate we change our boat,
And in another through bridge get,
By two, to Stairs of Somerset,
Welcome each other to the shore, 950
To Convent Garden walk once more,
And, as from Bedford Arms we started,
There wet our whistles ere we parted.

With pleasure I observe, none idle
Were in our travels, or employ'd ill, 955
Tottall, our treasurer, was just,
And worthily discharg'd his trust;
(We all sign'd his accounts as fair):
Sam Scott and Hogarth, for their share,
The prospects of the sea and land did; 960
As Thornhill of our tour the plan did;
And Forrest wrote this true relation
Of our five days peregrination.

This to attest, our names we've wrote all,
Viz. Thornhill, Hogarth, Scott, and Tothall. 965