[1] Of this picture Mr. S. Ireland has a large sketch in oil.
1749.
1.[1] The Gate of Calais.[2] Engraved by C. Mosley and W. Hogarth. "His own head sketching the view. He was arrested when he was making the drawing, but set at liberty when his purpose was known." See above, p. [49]. Mr. Walpole also observes, that in this piece, though it has great merit, "the caricatura is carried to excess." Mr. Pine the engraver sat for the portrait of the Friar, a circumstance of which he afterwards repented;[3] for, thereby obtaining the nick-name of Friar Pine, and being much persecuted and laughed at, he strove to prevail on Hogarth to give his Ghostly father another face. Indeed, when he sat to our artist, he did not know to what purpose his similitude would afterwards be applied. The original picture is in the possession of the Earl of Charlemont. Soon after it was finished, it fell down by accident, and a nail ran through the cross on the top of the gate. Hogarth strove in vain to mend it with the same colour, so as to conceal the blemish. He therefore introduced a starved crow, looking down on the roast-beef, and thus completely covered the defect.
The figure of the half-starved French centinel has since been copied at the top of more than one of the printed advertisements for recruits, where it is opposed to the representation of a well-fed British soldier. Thus the genius of Hogarth still militates in the cause of his country.
A copy of this print was likewise engraved at the top of a Cantata, intituled, The Roast Beef of Old England. As it is probable that the latter was published under the sanction of our artist, I shall, without scruple, transcribe it.
RECITATIVE.
'Twas at the Gates of Calais, Hogarth tells,
Where sad Despair and Famine always dwells,
A meagre Frenchman, Madam Grandsire's cook,
As home he steer'd his carcase, that way took,
Bending beneath the weight of fam'd Sir-loin,
On whom he often wish'd in vain to dine.
Good Father Dominick by chance came by,
With rosy gills, round paunch, and greedy eye;
Who, when he first beheld the greasy load,
His benediction on it he bestow'd;
And while the solid fat his finger press'd,
He lick'd his chaps, and thus the knight address'd:
AIR.
A lovely Lass to a Friar came, &c.
O rare Roast Beef! lov'd by all mankind,
If I was doom'd to have thee,
When dress'd and garnish'd to my mind,
And swimming in thy gravy,
Not all thy country's force combin'd
Should from my fury save thee.
Renown'd Sir-loin, oft-times decreed
The theme of English ballad,
E'en kings on thee have deign'd to feed,
Unknown to Frenchman's palate;
Then how much more thy taste exceeds
Soup-meagre, frogs, and sallad.
RECITATIVE.
A half-starv'd soldier, shirtless, pale and lean,
Who such a sight before had never seen,
Like Garrick's frighted Hamlet, gaping stood,
And gaz'd with wonder on the British food.
His morning's mess forsook the friendly bowl,
And in small streams along the pavement stole;
He heav'd a sigh, which gave his heart relief,
And then in plaintive tone declar'd his grief.
AIR.
Ah, sacre Dieu! vat do I see yonder,
Dat looks so tempting, red and white?
Begar I see it is de Roast Beef from Londre,
O grant to me one letel bite.
But to my guts if you give no heeding,
And cruel Fate dis boon denies,
In kind compassion to my pleading,
Return, and let me feast my eyes.
RECITATIVE.
His fellow guard, of right Hibernian clay,
Whose brazen front his country did betray,
From Tyburn's fatal tree had hither fled,
By honest means to get his daily bread;
Soon as the well-known prospect he espy'd,
In blubbering accents dolefully he cried:
AIR.
Ellen a Roon, &c.
Sweet Beef, that now causes my stomach to rise.
Sweet Beef, that now causes my stomach to rise,
So taking thy sight is,
My joy that so light is,
To view thee, by pailfuls runs out at my eyes.
While here I remain, my life's not worth a farthing,
While here I remain, my life's not worth a farthing,
Ah! hard-hearted Lewy,
Why did I come to ye?
The gallows, more kind, would have sav'd me from starving.
RECITATIVE.
Upon the ground hard by poor Sawney sate,
Who fed his nose, and scratch'd his ruddy pate;
But when Old England's bulwark he descry'd,
His dear-lov'd mull, alas! was thrown aside.
With lifted hands he bless'd his native place,
Then scrub'd himself, and thus bewail'd his case:
AIR.
The Broom of Cowdenknows, &c.
How hard, O Sawney! is thy lot,
Who was so blyth of late,
To see such meat as can't be got,
When hunger is so great!
O the Beef, the bonny bonny Beef!
When roasted nice and brown,
I wish I had a slice of thee,
How sweet it would gang down.
Ah, Charley! hadst thou not been seen,
This ne'er had hapt to me:
I would the De'el had pickt mine eyne
Ere I had gang'd with thee.
O the Beef, &c.
RECITATIVE.
But see! my Muse to England takes her flight,
Where Health and Plenty chearfully unite.
Where smiling Freedom guards great George's throne,
And chains, and racks, and tortures are not known;
Whose Fame superior bards have often wrote.—
An ancient fable give me leave to quote.
AIR.
The Roast Beef of Old England.
As once on a time a young Frog, pert and vain,
Beheld a large Ox grazing on the wide plain,
He boasted his size he could quickly attain.
Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.
Then eagerly stretching his weak little frame,
Mamma, who stood by, like a knowing old dame,
Cried, "Son, to attempt it you're greatly to blame."
Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.
But, deaf to advice, he for glory did thirst,
An effort he ventured, more strong than the first,
Till swelling and straining too hard, made him burst.
Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.
Then, Britons, be valiant; the moral is clear:
The Ox is Old England, the Frog is Monsieur,
Whose puffs and bravadoes we need never fear.
Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.
For while by our commerce and arts we are able
To see the brave Ox smoaking hot on our table,
The French must e'en croak, like the Frog in the fable.
Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.
Printed for R. Sayer, at the Golden Buck in Fleet-street; and J. Smith, at Hogarth's Head in Cheapside.
At the end of a pamphlet which I shall have occasion to mention under the year 1755, was announced, as speedily to be published under the auspices of our artist, "A Poetical Description of Mr. Hogarth's celebrated print, The Roast Beef of Old England, or the French surprized at the Gate of Calais."
[1] In The General Advertiser, March 9, 1748-9, appeared the following: