Volume Ii Part 43 (1/2)

Let us try some new expedient; s.h.i.+ft the scene for half an hour, Time and place are in thy power.

Thither, gentle Muse, conduct me; I shall ask, and you instruct me.

See, the Muse unbars the gate; Hark, the monkeys, how they prate!

All ye G.o.ds who rule the soul:[5]

Styx, through h.e.l.l whose waters roll!

Let me be allow'd to tell What I heard in yonder h.e.l.l.

Near the door an entrance gapes,[6]

Crowded round with antic shapes, Poverty, and Grief, and Care, Causeless Joy, and true Despair; Discord periwigg'd with snakes,'[7]

See the dreadful strides she takes!

By this odious crew beset,[8]

I began to rage and fret, And resolved to break their pates, Ere we enter'd at the gates; Had not Clio in the nick[9]

Whisper'd me, ”Lay down your stick.”

What! said I, is this a mad-house?

These, she answer'd, are but shadows, Phantoms bodiless and vain, Empty visions of the brain.

In the porch Briareus stands,[10]

Shows a bribe in all his hands; Briareus the secretary, But we mortals call him Carey.[11]

When the rogues their country fleece, They may hope for pence a-piece.

Clio, who had been so wise To put on a fool's disguise, To bespeak some approbation, And be thought a near relation, When she saw three hundred[12] brutes All involved in wild disputes, Roaring till their lungs were spent, PRIVILEGE OF PARLIAMENT, Now a new misfortune feels, Dreading to be laid by th' heels.

Never durst a Muse before Enter that infernal door; Clio, stifled with the smell, Into spleen and vapours fell, By the Stygian steams that flew From the dire infectious crew.

Not the stench of Lake Avernus Could have more offended her nose; Had she flown but o'er the top, She had felt her pinions drop.

And by exhalations dire, Though a G.o.ddess, must expire.

In a fright she crept away, Bravely I resolved to stay.

When I saw the keeper frown, Tipping him with half-a-crown, Now, said I, we are alone, Name your heroes one by one.

Who is that h.e.l.l-featured brawler?

Is it Satan? No; 'tis Waller.[13]

In what figure can a bard dress Jack the grandson of Sir Hardress?

Honest keeper, drive him further, In his looks are h.e.l.l and murther; See the scowling visage drop, Just as when he murder'd Throp.[14]

Keeper, show me where to fix On the puppy pair of d.i.c.ks: By their lantern jaws and leathern, You might swear they both are brethren: d.i.c.k Fitzbaker,[15] d.i.c.k the player,[15]

Old acquaintance, are you there?

Dear companions, hug and kiss, Toast Old Glorious in your p.i.s.s; Tie them, keeper, in a tether, Let them starve and stink together; Both are apt to be unruly, Lash them daily, lash them duly; Though 'tis hopeless to reclaim them, Scorpion's rods, perhaps, may tame them.

Keeper, yon old dotard smoke, Sweetly snoring in his cloak: Who is he? 'Tis humdrum Wynne,[16]

Half encompa.s.s'd by his kin: There observe the tribe of Bingham,[17]

For he never fails to bring 'em; And that base apostate Vesey With Bishop's sc.r.a.ps grown fat and greasy, While Wynne sleeps the whole debate, They submissive round him wait; (Yet would gladly see the hunks, In his grave, and search his trunks,) See, they gently twitch his coat, Just to yawn and give his vote, Always firm in his vocation, For the court against the nation.

Those are Allens Jack and Bob,[18]

First in every wicked job, Son and brother to a queer Brain-sick brute, they call a peer.

We must give them better quarter, For their ancestor trod mortar, And at Hoath, to boast his fame, On a chimney cut his name.

There sit Clements, Dilks, and Carter;[19]

Who for h.e.l.l would die a martyr.

Such a triplet could you tell Where to find on this side h.e.l.l?

Gallows Carter, Dilks, and Clements, Souse them in their own excrements.

Every mischief's in their hearts; If they fail, 'tis want of parts.

Bless us! Morgan,[20] art thou there, man?