Chapter 5

Our wandering saints in woeful state, Treated at this ungodly rate, Having through all the village passed, To a small cottage came at last, Where dwelt a good honest old yeoman, Called, in the neighbourhood, Philemon, Who kindly did these saints invite In his poor hut to pass the night; And then the hospitable Sire Bid goody Baucis mend the fire; While he from out the chimney took A flitch of bacon off the hook, And freely from the fattest side Cut out large slices to be fried; Then stepped aside to fetch 'em drink, Filled a large jug up to the brink, And saw it fairly twice go round; Yet (what is wonderful) they found 'Twas still replenished to the top, As if they ne'er had touched a drop The good old couple were amazed, And often on each other gazed; For both were frightened to the heart, And just began to cry,--What art! Then softly turned aside to view, Whether the lights were burning blue. The gentle pilgrims soon aware on't, Told 'em their calling, and their errant; "Good folks, you need not be afraid, We are but saints," the hermits said; "No hurt shall come to you or yours; But, for that pack of churlish boors, Not fit to live on Christian ground, They and their houses shall be drowned; Whilst you shall see your cottage rise, And grow a church before your eyes."

They scarce had spoke; when fair and soft, The roof began to mount aloft; Aloft rose every beam and rafter, The heavy wall climbed slowly after.

The chimney widened, and grew higher, Became a steeple with a spire.

The kettle to the top was hoist, And there stood fastened to a joist; But with the upside down, to show Its inclination for below. In vain; for a superior force Applied at bottom, stops its coarse, Doomed ever in suspense to dwell, 'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.

A wooden jack, which had almost Lost, by disuse, the art to roast, A sudden alteration feels, Increased by new intestine wheels; And what exalts the wonder more, The number made the motion slower. The flyer, though 't had leaden feet, Turned round so quick, you scarce could see 't; But slackened by some secret power, Now hardly moves an inch an hour. The jack and chimney near allied, Had never left each other's side; The chimney to a steeple grown, The jack would not be left alone; But up against the steeple reared, Became a clock, and still adhered; And still its love to household cares By a shrill voice at noon declares, Warning the cook-maid not to burn That roast meat which it cannot turn.

The groaning chair began to crawl, Like a huge snail along the wall; There stuck aloft in public view; And with small change a pulpit grew.

The porringers, that in a row Hung high, and made a glittering show, To a less noble substance changed, Were now but leathern buckets ranged.

The ballads pasted on the wall, Of Joan of France, and English Moll, Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood, The Little Children in the Wood, Now seemed to look abundance better, Improved in picture, size, and letter; And high in order placed, describe The heraldry of every tribe.

A bedstead of the antique mode, Compact of timber, many a load, Such as our ancestors did use, Was metamorphosed into pews: Which still their ancient nature keep, By lodging folks disposed to sleep.

The cottage, by such feats as these, Grown to a church by just degrees, The hermits then desired their host To ask for what he fancied most. Philemon having paused a while, Returned 'em thanks in homely style; Then said, "My house is grown so fine, Methinks I still would call it mine: I'm old, and fain would live at ease, Make me the Parson, if you please."

He spoke, and presently he feels His grazier's coat fall down his heels; He sees, yet hardly can believe, About each arm a pudding sleeve; His waistcoat to a cassock grew, And both assumed a sable hue; But being old, continued just As thread-bare, and as full of dust. His talk was now of tithes and dues; He smoked his pipe and read the news; Knew how to preach old sermons next, Vamped in the preface and the text; At christenings well could act his part, And had the service all by heart; Wished women might have children fast, And thought whose sow had farrowed last Against Dissenters would repine, And stood up firm for Right divine. Found his head filled with many a system, But classic authors,--he ne'er missed 'em.

Thus having furbished up a parson, Dame Baucis next they played their farce on. Instead of home-spun coifs were seen Good pinners edg'd with colberteen; Her petticoat transformed apace, Became black satin flounced with lace. Plain Goody would no longer down, 'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown. Philemon was in great surprise, And hardly could believe his eyes, Amazed to see her look so prim; And she admired as much at him.

Thus, happy in their change of life, Were several years this man and wife; When on a day, which proved their last, Discoursing o'er old stories past, They went by chance amidst their talk, To the church yard to take a walk; When Baucis hastily cried out, "My dear, I see your forehead sprout!" "Sprout," quoth the man, "what's this you tell us? I hope you don't believe me jealous, But yet, methinks, I feel it true; And really, yours is budding too-- Nay,--now I cannot stir my foot; It feels as if 'twere taking root."

Description would but tire my Muse; In short, they both were turned to Yews.

Old Goodman Dobson of the green Remembers he the trees has seen; He'll talk of them from noon till night, And goes with folks to show the sight; On Sundays, after evening prayer, He gathers all the parish there, Points out the place of either Yew: Here Baucis, there Philemon grew, Till once a parson of our town, To mend his barn, cut Baucis down; At which, 'tis hard to be believed How much the other tree was grieved, Grow scrubby, died a-top, was stunted: So the next parson stubbed and burnt it.

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.

Logicians have but ill defined As rational, the human kind; Reason, they say, belongs to man, But let them prove it, if they can. Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius, By ratiocinations specious, Have strove to prove with great precision, With definition and division, _Homo est ratione praeditum_; But, for my soul, I cannot credit 'em. And must, in spite of them, maintain That man and all his ways are vain; And that this boasted lord of nature Is both a weak and erring creature. That instinct is a surer guide Than reason-boasting mortals pride; And, that brute beasts are far before 'em, _Deus est anima brutorum_. Whoever knew an honest brute, At law his neighbour prosecute, Bring action for assault and battery, Or friend beguile with lies and flattery? O'er plains they ramble unconfined, No politics disturb their mind; They eat their meals, and take their sport, Nor know who's in or out at court. They never to the levee go To treat as dearest friend a foe; They never importune his grace, Nor ever cringe to men in place; Nor undertake a dirty job, Nor draw the quill to write for Bob. Fraught with invective they ne'er go To folks at Paternoster Row: No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters, No pickpockets, or poetasters Are known to honest quadrupeds: No single brute his fellows leads. Brutes never meet in bloody fray, Nor cut each others' throats for pay. Of beasts, it is confessed, the ape Comes nearest us in human shape; Like man, he imitates each fashion, And malice is his ruling passion: But, both in malice and grimaces, A courtier any ape surpasses. Behold him humbly cringing wait Upon the minister of state; View him, soon after, to inferiors Aping the conduct of superiors: He promises, with equal air, And to perform takes equal care. He, in his turn, finds imitators, At court the porters, lacqueys, waiters Their masters' manners still contract, And footmen, lords, and dukes can act. Thus, at the court, both great and small Behave alike, for all ape all.

THE PUPPET SHOW.

The life of man to represent, And turn it all to ridicule, Wit did a puppet-show invent, Where the chief actor is a fool.

The gods of old were logs of wood, And worship was to puppets paid; In antic dress the idol stood, And priests and people bowed the head.

No wonder then, if art began The simple votaries to frame, To shape in timber foolish man, And consecrate the block to fame.

From hence poetic fancy learned That trees might rise from human forms The body to a trunk be turned, And branches issue from the arms.

Thus Daedalus and Ovid too, That man's a blockhead have confessed, Powel and Stretch {1} the hint pursue; Life is the farce, the world a jest.

The same great truth South Sea hath proved On that famed theatre, the ally, Where thousands by directors moved Are now sad monuments of folly.

What Momus was of old to Jove The same harlequin is now; The former was buffoon above, The latter is a Punch below.

This fleeting scene is but a stage, Where various images appear, In different parts of youth and age Alike the prince and peasant share.

Some draw our eyes by being great, False pomp conceals mere wood within, And legislators rang'd in state Are oft but wisdom in machine.

A stock may chance to wear a crown, And timber as a lord take place, A statue may put on a frown, And cheat us with a thinking face.

Others are blindly led away, And made to act for ends unknown, By the mere spring of wires they play, And speak in language not their own.

Too oft, alas! a scolding wife Usurps a jolly fellow's throne, And many drink the cup of life Mix'd and embittered by a Joan.

In short, whatever men pursue Of pleasure, folly, war, or love, This mimic-race brings all to view, Alike they dress, they talk, they move.

Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand, Mortals to please and to deride, And when death breaks thy vital band Thou shalt put on a puppet's pride.

Thou shalt in puny wood be shown, Thy image shall preserve thy fame, Ages to come thy worth shall own, Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name.

Tell Tom he draws a farce in vain, Before he looks in nature's glass; Puns cannot form a witty scene, Nor pedantry for humour pass.

To make men act as senseless wood, And chatter in a mystic strain, Is a mere force on flesh and blood, And shows some error in the brain.

He that would thus refine on thee, And turn thy stage into a school, The jest of Punch will ever be, And stand confessed the greater fool.

CADENUS AND VANESSA.

_Written Anno 1713_.

The shepherds and the nymphs were seen Pleading before the Cyprian Queen. The counsel for the fair began Accusing the false creature, man.

The brief with weighty crimes was charged, On which the pleader much enlarged: That Cupid now has lost his art, Or blunts the point of every dart; His altar now no longer smokes; His mother's aid no youth invokes-- This tempts free-thinkers to refine, And bring in doubt their powers divine, Now love is dwindled to intrigue, And marriage grown a money-league. Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave) Were (as he humbly did conceive) Against our Sovereign Lady's peace, Against the statutes in that case, Against her dignity and crown: Then prayed an answer and sat down.

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes: When the defendant's counsel rose, And, what no lawyer ever lacked, With impudence owned all the fact. But, what the gentlest heart would vex, Laid all the fault on t'other sex. That modern love is no such thing As what those ancient poets sing; A fire celestial, chaste, refined, Conceived and kindled in the mind, Which having found an equal flame, Unites, and both become the same, In different breasts together burn, Together both to ashes turn. But women now feel no such fire, And only know the gross desire; Their passions move in lower spheres, Where'er caprice or folly steers. A dog, a parrot, or an ape, Or some worse brute in human shape Engross the fancies of the fair, The few soft moments they can spare From visits to receive and pay, From scandal, politics, and play, From fans, and flounces, and brocades, From equipage and park-parades, From all the thousand female toys, From every trifle that employs The out or inside of their heads Between their toilets and their beds.

In a dull stream, which, moving slow, You hardly see the current flow, If a small breeze obstructs the course, It whirls about for want of force, And in its narrow circle gathers Nothing but chaff, and straws, and feathers: The current of a female mind Stops thus, and turns with every wind; Thus whirling round, together draws Fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws. Hence we conclude, no women's hearts Are won by virtue, wit, and parts; Nor are the men of sense to blame For breasts incapable of flame: The fault must on the nymphs be placed, Grown so corrupted in their taste.

The pleader having spoke his best, Had witness ready to attest, Who fairly could on oath depose, When questions on the fact arose, That every article was true; _Nor further those deponents knew_: Therefore he humbly would insist, The bill might be with costs dismissed.

The cause appeared of so much weight, That Venus from the judgment-seat Desired them not to talk so loud, Else she must interpose a cloud: For if the heavenly folk should know These pleadings in the Courts below, That mortals here disdain to love, She ne'er could show her face above. For gods, their betters, are too wise To value that which men despise. "And then," said she, "my son and I Must stroll in air 'twixt earth and sky: Or else, shut out from heaven and earth, Fly to the sea, my place of birth; There live with daggled mermaids pent, And keep on fish perpetual Lent."

But since the case appeared so nice, She thought it best to take advice. The Muses, by their king's permission, Though foes to love, attend the session, And on the right hand took their places In order; on the left, the Graces: To whom she might her doubts propose On all emergencies that rose. The Muses oft were seen to frown; The Graces half ashamed look down; And 'twas observed, there were but few Of either sex, among the crew, Whom she or her assessors knew. The goddess soon began to see Things were not ripe for a decree, And said she must consult her books, The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes. First to a dapper clerk she beckoned, To turn to Ovid, book the second; She then referred them to a place In Virgil (_vide_ Dido's case); As for Tibullus's reports, They never passed for law in Courts: For Cowley's brief, and pleas of Waller, Still their authority is smaller.

There was on both sides much to say; She'd hear the cause another day; And so she did, and then a third, She heard it--there she kept her word; But with rejoinders and replies, Long bills, and answers, stuffed with lies Demur, imparlance, and essoign, The parties ne'er could issue join: For sixteen years the cause was spun, And then stood where it first begun.

Now, gentle Clio, sing or say, What Venus meant by this delay. The goddess, much perplexed in mind, To see her empire thus declined, When first this grand debate arose Above her wisdom to compose, Conceived a project in her head, To work her ends; which, if it sped, Would show the merits of the cause Far better than consulting laws.

In a glad hour Lucina's aid Produced on earth a wondrous maid, On whom the queen of love was bent To try a new experiment. She threw her law-books on the shelf, And thus debated with herself:--

"Since men allege they ne'er can find Those beauties in a female mind Which raise a flame that will endure For ever, uncorrupt and pure; If 'tis with reason they complain, This infant shall restore my reign. I'll search where every virtue dwells, From Courts inclusive down to cells. What preachers talk, or sages write, These I will gather and unite, And represent them to mankind Collected in that infant's mind."

This said, she plucks in heaven's high bowers A sprig of Amaranthine flowers, In nectar thrice infuses bays, Three times refined in Titan's rays: Then calls the Graces to her aid, And sprinkles thrice the now-born maid. From whence the tender skin assumes A sweetness above all perfumes; From whence a cleanliness remains, Incapable of outward stains; From whence that decency of mind, So lovely in a female kind. Where not one careless thought intrudes Less modest than the speech of prudes; Where never blush was called in aid, The spurious virtue in a maid, A virtue but at second-hand; They blush because they understand.

The Graces next would act their part, And show but little of their art; Their work was half already done, The child with native beauty shone, The outward form no help required: Each breathing on her thrice, inspired That gentle, soft, engaging air Which in old times adorned the fair, And said, "Vanessa be the name By which thou shalt be known to fame; Vanessa, by the gods enrolled: Her name on earth--shall not be told."

But still the work was not complete, When Venus thought on a deceit: Drawn by her doves, away she flies, And finds out Pallas in the skies: Dear Pallas, I have been this morn To see a lovely infant born: A boy in yonder isle below, So like my own without his bow, By beauty could your heart be won, You'd swear it is Apollo's son; But it shall ne'er be said, a child So hopeful has by me been spoiled; I have enough besides to spare, And give him wholly to your care.

Wisdom's above suspecting wiles; The queen of learning gravely smiles, Down from Olympus comes with joy, Mistakes Vanessa for a boy; Then sows within her tender mind Seeds long unknown to womankind; For manly bosoms chiefly fit, The seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit, Her soul was suddenly endued With justice, truth, and fortitude; With honour, which no breath can stain, Which malice must attack in vain: With open heart and bounteous hand: But Pallas here was at a stand; She know in our degenerate days Bare virtue could not live on praise, That meat must be with money bought: She therefore, upon second thought, Infused yet as it were by stealth, Some small regard for state and wealth: Of which as she grew up there stayed A tincture in the prudent maid: She managed her estate with care, Yet liked three footmen to her chair, But lest he should neglect his studies Like a young heir, the thrifty goddess (For fear young master should be spoiled) Would use him like a younger child; And, after long computing, found 'Twould come to just five thousand pound.

The Queen of Love was pleased and proud To we Vanessa thus endowed; She doubted not but such a dame Through every breast would dart a flame; That every rich and lordly swain With pride would drag about her chain; That scholars would forsake their books To study bright Vanessa's looks: As she advanced that womankind Would by her model form their mind, And all their conduct would be tried By her, as an unerring guide. Offending daughters oft would hear Vanessa's praise rung in their ear: Miss Betty, when she does a fault, Lets fall her knife, or spills the salt, Will thus be by her mother chid, "'Tis what Vanessa never did." Thus by the nymphs and swains adored, My power shall be again restored, And happy lovers bless my reign-- So Venus hoped, but hoped in vain.

For when in time the martial maid Found out the trick that Venus played, She shakes her helm, she knits her brows, And fired with indignation, vows To-morrow, ere the setting sun, She'd all undo that she had done.

But in the poets we may find A wholesome law, time out of mind, Had been confirmed by Fate's decree; That gods, of whatso'er degree, Resume not what themselves have given, Or any brother-god in Heaven; Which keeps the peace among the gods, Or they must always be at odds. And Pallas, if she broke the laws, Must yield her foe the stronger cause; A shame to one so much adored For Wisdom, at Jove's council-board. Besides, she feared the queen of love Would meet with better friends above. And though she must with grief reflect To see a mortal virgin deck'd With graces hitherto unknown To female breasts, except her own, Yet she would act as best became A goddess of unspotted fame; She knew, by augury divine, Venus would fail in her design: She studied well the point, and found Her foe's conclusions were not sound, From premises erroneous brought, And therefore the deduction's nought, And must have contrary effects To what her treacherous foe expects.

In proper season Pallas meets The queen of love, whom thus she greets (For Gods, we are by Homer told, Can in celestial language scold), "Perfidious Goddess! but in vain You formed this project in your brain, A project for thy talents fit, With much deceit, and little wit; Thou hast, as thou shalt quickly see, Deceived thyself instead of me; For how can heavenly wisdom prove An instrument to earthly love? Know'st thou not yet that men commence Thy votaries, for want of sense? Nor shall Vanessa be the theme To manage thy abortive scheme; She'll prove the greatest of thy foes, And yet I scorn to interpose, But using neither skill nor force, Leave all things to their natural course."

The goddess thus pronounced her doom, When, lo, Vanessa in her bloom, Advanced like Atalanta's star, But rarely seen, and seen from far: In a new world with caution stepped, Watched all the company she kept, Well knowing from the books she read What dangerous paths young virgins tread; Would seldom at the park appear, Nor saw the play-house twice a year; Yet not incurious, was inclined To know the converse of mankind.

First issued from perfumers' shops A crowd of fashionable fops; They liked her how she liked the play? Then told the tattle of the day, A duel fought last night at two About a lady--you know who; Mentioned a new Italian, come Either from Muscovy or Rome; Gave hints of who and who's together; Then fell to talking of the weather: Last night was so extremely fine, The ladies walked till after nine. Then in soft voice, and speech absurd, With nonsense every second word, With fustian from exploded plays, They celebrate her beauty's praise, Run o'er their cant of stupid lies, And tell the murders of her eyes.

With silent scorn Vanessa sat, Scarce list'ning to their idle chat; Further than sometimes by a frown, When they grew pert, to pull them down. At last she spitefully was bent To try their wisdom's full extent; And said, she valued nothing less Than titles, figure, shape, and dress; That merit should be chiefly placed In judgment, knowledge, wit, and taste; And these, she offered to dispute, Alone distinguished man from brute: That present times have no pretence To virtue, in the noble sense By Greeks and Romans understood, To perish for our country's good. She named the ancient heroes round, Explained for what they were renowned; Then spoke with censure, or applause, Of foreign customs, rites, and laws; Through nature and through art she ranged, And gracefully her subject changed: In vain; her hearers had no share In all she spoke, except to stare. Their judgment was upon the whole, --That lady is the dullest soul-- Then tipped their forehead in a jeer, As who should say--she wants it here; She may be handsome, young, and rich, But none will burn her for a witch.