1759.
1. The Cockpit. Designed and engraved by W. Hogarth. In this plate is a portrait of Nan Rawlins, a very ugly old woman (commonly called Deptford Nan, sometimes the Duchess of Deptford), and well remembered at Newmarket. She was a famous cock-feeder, and did the honours of the gentlemen's ordinary at Northampton; while, in return, a single gentleman was deputed to preside at the table appropriated to the ladies. The figure with a hump-back, was designed for one Jackson, a once noted jockey at Newmarket. The blind president is Lord Albemarle Bertie, who was a constant attender of this diversion. His portrait was before discoverable in the crowd round the bruisers in the March to Finchley.
By the cockpit laws, any person who cannot, or will not pay his debts of honour, is drawn up in a basket to the roof of the building. Without a knowledge of this circumstance, the shadow of the man who is offering his watch would be unintelligible.
The subject of The Cockpit had been recommended to Hogarth so long ago as 1747, in the following lines, first printed in The Gentleman's Magazine of that year, p. 292.
"Where Dudston's[1] walks with vary'd beauties shine,
And some are pleas'd with bowling, some with wine,
Behold a generous train of Cocks repair,
To vie for glory in the toils of war;
Each hero burns to conquer or to die:
What mighty hearts in little bosoms lie!
"Come, Hogarth, thou whose art can best declare
What forms, what features, human passions wear,
Come, with a painter's philosophic sight,
Survey the circling judges of the fight.
Touch'd with the sport of death, while every heart
Springs to the changing face, exert thy art;
Mix with the smiles of Cruelty at pain
Whate'er looks anxious in the lust of gain;
And say, can aught that's generous, just, or kind,
Beneath this aspect, lurk within the mind?
Is lust of blood or treasure vice in all,
Abhorr'd alike on whomsoe'er it fall?
Are mighty states and gamblers still the same?
And war itself a cock-fight, and a game?
Are sieges, battles, triumphs, little things;
And armies only the game-cocks of kings?
Which fight, in Freedom's cause, still blindly bold,
Bye-battles only, and the main for gold?
"The crested bird, whose voice awakes the morn,
Whose plumage streaks of radiant gold adorn,
Proud of his birth, on fair Salopia's plain,
Stalks round, and scowls defiance and disdain.
Not fiercer looks the proud Helvetians wear,
Though thunder slumbers in the arms they bear:
Nor Thracia's fiercer sons, a warlike race!
Display more prowess, or more martial grace.
But, lo! another comes, renown'd for might,
Renown'd for courage, and provokes the fight.
Yet what, alas! avails his furious mien,
His ruddy neck, and breast of varied green?
Soon thro' his brain the foe's bright weapon flies,
Eternal darkness shades his swimming eyes;
Prostrate he falls, and quivering spurns the ground,
While life indignant issues from the wound.
Unhappy hero, had thy humbler life
Deny'd thee fame by deeds of martial strife,
Still hadst thou crow'd, for future pleasures spar'd,
Th' exulting monarch of a farmer's yard.
"Like fate, alas! too soon th' illustrious prove,
The great by hatred fall, the fair by love;
The wise, the good, can scarce preserve a name,
Expung'd by envy from the rolls of fame.
Peace and oblivion still through life secure,
In friendly glooms, the simple, homely, poor.
And who would wish to bask in glory's ray,
To buy with peace the laurel or the bay?
What tho' the wreath defy the lightning's fire,
The bard and hero in the storm expire.
Be rest and innocence my humbler lot,
Scarce known through life, and after death forgot!"
[1] A gentleman's seat, about a mile from Birmingham, fitted up for the reception of company, in imitation of Vaux-hall Gardens.
2. A small oval of Bishop Hoadly, ætat. 83. Hogarth pinx. Sherlock sculp.