Volume Ii Part 27 (1/2)

[Footnote 4: The borough which, for a very short time, Steele represented in Parliament.]

[Footnote 5: Abel Roper, the printer and publisher of a Tory newspaper called ”The Post Boy,” often mentioned by Swift, who contributed news to it. See ”Prose Works,” ii, 420; v, 290; ix, 183.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 6: The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Marlborough then resided at Antwerp.]

[Footnote 7: General Macartney, second to Lord Mohun, in the fatal duel with the Duke of Hamilton. For an account of the duel, see Journal to Stella of Nov. 15, 1712, ”Prose Works,” ii, and x, xxii, and 178.--W. E. B._]

DENNIS' INVITATION TO STEELE

HORACE, BOOK I, EP. V

JOHN DENNIS, THE SHELTERING POET'S INVITATION TO RICHARD STEELE, THE SECLUDED PARTY-WRITER AND MEMBER, TO COME AND LIVE WITH HIM, IN THE MINT 1714

Fit to be bound up with ”The Crisis”

If thou canst lay aside a spendthrift's air, And condescend to feed on homely fare, Such as we minters, with ragouts unstored, Will, in defiance of the law, afford: Quit thy patrols with Toby's Christmas box,[1]

And come to me at The Two Fighting c.o.c.ks; Since printing by subscription now is grown The stalest, idlest cheat about the town; And ev'n Charles Gildon, who, a Papist bred, Has an alarm against that wors.h.i.+p spread, Is practising those beaten paths of cruising, And for new levies on proposals musing.

'Tis true, that Bloomsbury-square's a n.o.ble place: But what are lofty buildings in thy case?

What's a fine house embellish'd to profusion, Where shoulder dabbers are in execution?

Or whence its timorous tenant seldom sallies, But apprehensive of insulting bailiffs?

This once be mindful of a friend's advice, And cease to be improvidently nice; Exchange the prospects that delude thy sight, From Highgate's steep ascent and Hampstead's height, With verdant scenes, that, from St. George's Field, More durable and safe enjoyments yield.

Here I, even I, that ne'er till now could find Ease to my troubled and suspicious mind, But ever was with jealousies possess'd, Am in a state of indolence and rest; Fearful no more of Frenchmen in disguise, Nor looking upon strangers as on spies,[2]

But quite divested of my former spleen, Am unprovoked without, and calm within: And here I'll wait thy coming, till the sun Shall its diurnal course completely run.

Think not that thou of st.u.r.dy bub shalt fail, My landlord's cellar stock'd with beer and ale, With every sort of malt that is in use, And every country's generous produce.

The ready (for here Christian faith is sick, Which makes us seldom trespa.s.s upon tick) Instantly brings the choicest liquors out, Whether we ask for home-brew'd or for stout, For mead or cider, or, with dainties fed, Ring for a flask or two of white or red, Such as the drawer will not fail to swear Was drunk by Pilkington[3]when third time mayor.

That name, methinks, so popularly known For opposition to the church and crown, Might make the Lusitanian grape to pa.s.s, And almost give a sanction to the gla.s.s; Especially with thee, whose hasty zeal Against the late rejected commerce bill Made thee rise up, like an audacious elf, To do the speaker honour, not thyself.

But if thou soar'st above the common prices, By virtue of subscription to thy Crisis, And nothing can go down with thee but wines Press'd from Burgundian and Campanian vines, Bid them be brought; for, though I hate the French, I love their liquors, as thou lovest a wench; Else thou must humble thy expensive taste, And, with us, hold contentment for a feast.

The fire's already lighted; and the maid Has a clean cloth upon the table laid, Who never on a Sat.u.r.day had struck, But for thy entertainment, up a buck.

Think of this act of grace, which by your leave Susan would not have done on Easter Eve, Had she not been inform'd over and over, 'Twas for th'ingenious author of The Lover.[4]

Cease, therefore, to beguile thyself with hopes, Which is no more than making sandy ropes, And quit the vain pursuit of loud applause, That must bewilder thee in faction's cause.

Pr'ythee what is't to thee who guides the state?

Why Dunkirk's demolition is so late?

Or why her majesty thinks fit to cease The din of war, and hush the world to peace?

The clergy too, without thy aid, can tell What texts to choose, and on what topics dwell; And, uninstructed by thy babbling, teach Their flocks celestial happiness to reach.

Rather let such poor souls as you and I, Say that the holidays are drawing nigh, And that to-morrow's sun begins the week, Which will abound with store of ale and cake, With hams of bacon, and with powder'd beef, Stuff d to give field-itinerants relief.

Then I, who have within these precincts kept, And ne'er beyond the chimney-sweeper's stept, Will take a loose, and venture to be seen, Since 'twill be Sunday, upon Shanks's green; There, with erected looks and phrase sublime, To talk of unity of place and time, And with much malice, mix'd with little satire, Explode the wits on t'other side o' th' water.

Why has my Lord G.o.dolphin's special grace Invested me with a queen's waiter's place, If I, debarr'd of festival delights, Am not allow'd to spend the perquisites?

He's but a short remove from being mad, Who at a time of jubilee is sad, And, like a griping usurer, does spare His money to be squander'd by his heir; Flutter'd away in liveries and in coaches, And washy sorts of feminine debauches.

As for my part, whate'er the world may think, I'll bid adieu to gravity, and drink; And, though I can't put off a woful mien, Will be all mirth and cheerfulness within: As, in despight of a censorious race, I most incontinently suck my face.

What mighty projects does not he design, Whose stomach flows, and brain turns round with wine?

Wine, powerful wine, can thaw the frozen cit, And fas.h.i.+on him to humour and to wit; Makes even Somers to disclose his art By racking every secret from his heart, As he flings off the statesman's sly disguise, To name the cuckold's wife with whom he lies.[5]