A CHARACTER, PANEGYRIC, AND DESCRIPTION OF THE LEGION CLUB, 1736.
| As I stroll the city, oft I See a building large and lofty, Not a bow-shot from the college; Half the globe from sense and knowledge: By the prudent architect, Placed against the church direct, Making good my granddam’s jest, “Near the church,”—you know the rest. Tell us what the pile contains? Many a head that holds no brains, These demoniacs let me dub With the name of Legion Club. Such assemblies, you might swear, Meet when butchers bait a bear: Such a noise, and such haranguing, When a brother thief is hanging; Such a rout and such a rabble Run to hear Jackpudding gabble. Could I from the building’s top Hear the rattling thunder drop, While the devil upon the roof (If the devil be thunder-proof) Should with poker fiery red Crack the stones, and melt the lead; Drive them down on every skull, When the den of thieves is full; Quite destroy that harpies’ nest; How might then our isle be blest! For divines allow, that God Sometimes makes the devil his rod; And the gospel will inform us, He can punish sins enormous. Yet should Swift endow the schools, For his lunatics and fools, With a rood or two of land, I allow the pile may stand. You perhaps will ask me, Why so? But it is with this proviso; Since the house is like to last, Let the royal grant be pass’d, That the club have right to dwell Each within his proper cell, With a passage left to creep in, And a hole above for peeping. Let them, when they once get in, Sell the nation for a pin; While they sit a-picking straws, Let them rave at making laws; Let them form a grand committee, How to plague and starve the city; Let them stare, and storm, and frown, When they see a clergy gown; Let them, with their gosling quills, Scribble senseless heads of bills. ···· Come, assist me, Muse obedient! Let us try some new expedient; Shift 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 gods who rule the soul; Styx, through Hell whose waters roll! Let me be allowed to tell What I heard in yonder Hell. Near the door an entrance gapes, Crowded round with antic shapes, Poverty, and Grief, and Care, Causeless Joy, and true Despair; Discord periwigg’d with snakes, See the dreadful strides she takes! By this odious crew beset, I began to rage and fret, And resolved to break their pates, Ere we entered at the gates; Had not Clio in the nick Whispered me, “Lay down your stick.” What! said I, is this the madhouse? These, she answer’d, are but shadows, Phantoms bodiless and vain, Empty visions of the brain. In the porch Briareus stands, Shows a bribe in all his hands; Briareus the secretary, But we mortals call him Carey.[43] 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 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 goddess, 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 hell-featured brawler? Is it Satan? No, ’tis Waller. In what figure can a bard dress Jack the grandson of Sir Hardress? Honest keeper, drive him further, In his looks are Hell and murther; See the scowling visage drop, Just as when he murder’d Throp. Keeper, show me where to fix On the puppy pair of Dicks: By their lantern jaws and leathern, You might swear they both are brethren: Dick Fitzbaker, Dick the player, Old acquaintance are you there? Tie them, keeper, in a tether, Let them starve and sink together; Both are apt to be unruly, Lash them daily, lash them duly; Though ’tis hopeless to reclaim them, Scorpion rods, perhaps, may tame them. Keeper, yon old dotard smoke, Sweetly snoring in his cloak: Who is he? ’Tis humdrum Wynne, Half encompassed by his kin: There observe the tribe of Bingham, For he never fails to bring ’em; While he 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, 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 Harrison; How they swagger from their garrison! Such a triplet could you tell Where to find on this side Hell? Harrison, and Dilks, and Clements, Keeper, see they have their payments, Every mischief’s in their hearts; If they fail ’tis want of parts. Bless us! Morgan, art thou there, man? Bless mine eyes! art thou the chairman? Chairman to yon damn’d committee! Yet I look on thee with pity. Dreadful sight! what, learned Morgan Metamorphosed to a Gorgon! For thy horrid looks, I own, Half convert me to a stone. Hast thou been so long at school, Now to turn a factious tool? Alma Mater was thy mother, Every young divine thy brother. Thou ungrateful to thy teachers, Who are all grown reverend preachers! Morgan, would it not surprise one! Turn thy nourishment to poison! When you walk among your books, They reproach you with their looks; Bind them fast, or from their shelves They will come and right themselves: Homer, Plutarch, Virgil, Flaccus, All in arms prepare to back us; Soon repent, or put to slaughter Every Greek and Roman author. Will you, in your faction’s phrase, Send the clergy all to graze; And to make your project pass, Leave them not a blade of grass? Now I want thee, humorous Hogarth! Thou, I hear, a pleasant rogue art. Were but you and I acquainted, Every monster should be painted: You should try your graving tools On this odious group of fools; Draw the beasts as I describe them: From their features while I gibe them; Draw them like; for I assure you, You will need no car’catura; Draw them so that we may trace All the soul in every face. Keeper, I must now retire, You have done what I desire: But I feel my spirits spent With the noise, the sight, the scent. “Pray, be patient; you shall find Half the best are still behind! You have hardly seen a score; I can show two hundred more.” Keeper, I have seen enough, Taking then a pinch of snuff, I concluded, looking round them, “May their god, the devil, confound them!” |
ON DOING GOOD.
A Sermon on the Occasion of Wood’s Project.
(WRITTEN IN 1724.)
“As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men.” (Galatians vi. 10.)
Nature directs every one of us, and God permits us, to consult our own private good, before the private good of any other person whatsoever. We are, indeed, commanded to love our neighbour as ourselves, but not as well as ourselves. The love we have for ourselves, is to be the pattern of that love we ought to have toward our neighbour; but as the copy doth not equal the original, so my neighbour cannot think it hard, if I prefer myself, who am the original, before him, who is only the copy. Thus, if any matter equally concern the life, the reputation, the profit of my neighbour and my own; the law of nature, which is the law of God, obligeth me to take care of myself first, and afterward of him. And this I need not be at much pains in persuading you to; for the want of self-love, with regard to things of this world, is not among the faults of mankind. But then, on the other side, if, by a small hurt and loss to myself, I can procure a great good to my neighbour, in that case his interest is to be preferred. For example, if I can be sure of saving his life, without great danger to my own; if I can preserve him from being undone without ruining myself; or recover his reputation without blasting mine; all this I am obliged to do, and if I sincerely perform it, I do then obey the command of God, in loving my neighbour as myself.
But, besides this love we owe to every man in his particular capacity, under the title of our neighbour, there is yet a duty of a more large extensive nature incumbent on us; our love to our neighbour in his public capacity, as he is a member of that great body the commonwealth, under the same government with ourselves; and this is usually called love of the public, and is a duty to which we are more strictly obliged, than even that of loving ourselves; because therein ourselves are also contained, as well as all our neighbours, in one great body. This love of the public, or of the commonwealth, or love of our country, was in ancient times properly known by the name of virtue, because it was the greatest of all virtues, and was supposed to contain all virtues in it; and many great examples of this virtue are left us on record, scarcely to be believed or even conceived, in such a base, corrupted, wicked age as this we live in. In those times it was common for men to sacrifice their lives for the good of their country, although they had neither hope nor belief of future rewards; whereas, in our days, very few make the least scruple of sacrificing a whole nation, as well as their own souls, for a little present gain; which often hath been known to end in their own ruin in this world; as it certainly must in that to come. Have we not seen men, for the sake of some petty employment, give up the very natural rights and liberties of their country, and of mankind, in the ruin of which themselves must at last be involved? Are not these corruptions gotten among the meanest of our people, who, for a piece of money, will give their votes at a venture, for the disposal of their own lives and fortunes, without considering whether it be to those who are most likely to betray or defend them? But, if I were to produce only one instance of a hundred, wherein we fail in this duty of loving our country, it would be an endless labour, and therefore I shall not attempt it.