"The morning came, nor find I that the sun,
As he on other great events hath done,
Put on a brighter robe than that he wore
To go his journey in the day before."
CHURCHILL.
Thursday was fine beyond expression,
And augur'd well for the Procession:
At eventide, the sun's last ray
"Gave promise of a golden day."
The D--ct--r went to bed at ten,
Lay for an hour, then rose again:
With half clos'd eyes he kept awake,
Anxious to see the morning break.
His best black brigs, and eke his shoes,
His long-tail'd coat and silken hose;
His buckles bright, and broad-brimm'd hat,
His finest shirt, and best cravat.
He'd told the servant to prepare,
And all were plac'd upon the chair.
The thought of what's at hand forbids,
Sound sleep to light upon his lids.
Three times he rose, with anxious eye,
The beams of morning to descry--
Three times he rose,--but all in vain;--
Three times he went to bed again.
At length, according to report,
He slept, and dreamt he was at court,
Sceptres and mitres seem'd to rise
Before the D--ct--r's wond'ring eyes:
Orders of knighthood, stars, blue ribbons,
Were plenteous as the notes of Gibbons.[2]
And sooth, he wish'd that he possess'd
A mitre finer than the rest:
But, as he reach'd to catch the prize,
He snor'd aloud and op'd his eyes.
"At length he from his bed arose,--
Thrice did he spit, thrice wiped his nose;
Thrice strove to smile, thrice strove to frown,
And thrice look'd up, and thrice look'd down;"
And then forthwith his speech he wrote,--
His breakfast hurried down his throat;
With eager haste stalk'd through the street,
The B----p's Reverence to meet;
And anxious still to see his Grace,
Chided the coachman's tardy pace,
Whose stupid, senseless, dull delay,
Might spoil the pleasures of the day.
But now, behold, the prelate comes!
"Sound, sound the trumpets, beat the drums!"
From street to street the blast makes way;
All hear the summons, and obey.
Hundreds on hundreds flock to meet him,
With open mouths, as if they'd eat him.
"A B----p! aye! that ne'er can be
A human thing like you or me,"
Says one: "No, no," replies a second,
"A B----p's more than human reckon'd;
He consecrates, Sir, he ordains,
Gives orders, if he gives not brains:
He keeps beneath his watchful eye
The clerical fraternity;
Reads them a pious charge, and sees
They don't neglect----their surplice fees.
Sometimes he lays his oily hand
Upon the crowds that round him stand;
Who, though they feel the unction come,
From 'twixt his finger and his thumb,
Will never in this world of sin,
Take all its blessed influence in;
Will never know the good that's done,
Until their mortal race is run!"
Pardon, my friends, this short digression;[3]
We hasten now to the Procession.
All points of etiquette discuss'd,
And gravely fix'd,--a task which must
Require no little time and pains,
And rack the reverend vicar's brains,--
All points of moment now decided,
The parties class'd, the ranks divided,
From Bl--w--tt's to the Church they go,
Arrang'd in many a martial row;
Each, you may naturally suppose,
Adorn'd in his best Sunday clothes.
Muslin cravats, as white as milk;
Nay even stockings made of silk;
Capes, black, brown, blue, green, red and grey,
Cut out in the most stylish way:
And "Day and Martin,"--wond'rous sight!
Sent from each foot a blaze of light!
Ribbons and medals,--what profusion!
Beggars and bankers,--what confusion!
Vicars and curates, cobblers, tinkers,
Socinians, Churchmen, and Free-thinkers.
Carpenters, bellows'-menders, nailors;
Glaziers and maltsters; grocers, tailors;
And truant from their desks and shops,
Spruce journeyman and 'prentice fops;
Tatterdemalions, long and short,
Big, little, some of every sort.
Poor children first,--a woeful sight!--
March'd on in pitiable plight,
Though ill provided to sustain
The howling wind and pelting rain.[4]
Huddled together, see, they go;
Collected but to make a show;--
Their warmest, neatest, only dress,
A rag to hide their nakedness!
"Billy the tailor, a brisk fellow,"
Came next, beneath a huge umbrella;
Sharp as a needle, blithe and gay;
He led the band and shew'd the way.
No Churchman; but, 'twas best to go;
'Twould get him many a job you know[5]--
Then came his troop, big, strapping men,
Who made the streets resound again.
Serpents and clarionets they blew
Bassoons and flutes, and hautboys too;
And humouring the D--ct--r's whim,
Tried to perform "the German Hymn."
But stay,--who's next?--Some farmer's wife?
O no! the B----p, on my life,
In lawn up to his very chin,--
Emblem of purity within![6]--
Now order ceases first who can,
The D--ct--r or his servant man.
But chief our Reverend Pastor see,
Rigg'd as aforesaid cap-a-pie:
Yes, burning with the sacred flame,
Among the foremost B--k--r came;
By Nature form'd to make a show
Above all those who are below:
For, to the wonder of the people,
He look'd just like a moving steeple.
Bombastes all his pomp display'd,
In this august processionade,
With such a sanctimonious air,
With such a face of solemn care.
As might import him to contain
A world of----room within his brain.
His hollow jaws indeed bespeak
How deeply read he is in Greek;
His hanging eyebrows also tell
He construes Latin full as well:
For, though he never was at college,
Who doubts he has these stores of knowledge[7]
Much more my Muse could tell in rhyme,
The will she has but not the time.
Suffice it then,----he stalks along
A giant in the motley throng;
With all that empty consequence
Which fools adopt instead of sense;
And, as he stalks, he seems to say,
"For all the labours of this day,
A something whispers I shall not
In Church preferment be forgot.[8]
I'll hasten down to H--ml--y Hall,
And on my noble patron call:
From my poetic pan shall rise,[9]
Again to blind my Lady's eyes,
Thick clouds of incense, till she see
All that is excellent in me!
Who knows, but, mighty and ador'd,
I may become Right Reverend Lord;[10]
And spite of all his vast pretences,
My rival great Wigorniensis?
A mitre,--yea, perhaps the best,
May crown my toil and make me blest.
If I can get a mitre--now
I care not where I go or how.
I'll hug this hope of future joys,
And heed nor rain, nor mire, nor noise."--
These words he had no sooner said
Than thrice he shook his sapient head,
And thrice determined to pursue
The pious end he had in view.
Next to his giantship, the D--ct--r,
With humbler step, came hobbling Pr--ct--r,
He hobbled,[11] but his will was good;
Could he go better than he could?
He raised his legs with mighty pain,
And then,--he set them down again.
'Tis whisper'd--but my cautious muse
Will not forget her P's. and Q's.:
I'll not indulge in retrospections,
But leave him to his own reflections:
The darling babe of grace I'll spare;
For other holy souls were there.
Mark, then, the next, another priest,
Starv'd a whole month for this day's feast;
A little fellow, black his gear;
Sharp as the blast which blew him here.[12]
His fine-spun coat, as good as new,
His trowsers--wide enough for two.
His cheek-bones and his jaws declare
Oat-cake has been his daily fare.
The hat he bought for ordination,
New-brushed, he sports on this occasion.
His dress though threadbare, now 'tis wet,
Looks fresh, and good, and black as jet.[13]
Now, helter-skelter, all rush on,
Stiff Ned, long Dick, and gaping John,
Isaac and Tom, as all admit,
Two gentlemen of equal wit,
Of equal polish, equal grace:
The same in modesty of face.
I know the town will give it credit,
Or else my Muse would not have said it;
For all confess that either brother
Is just as wise and great as t'other:
Each so demure, so meek, so mild,
As gentle as a new-born child.
These pious patriots were drest
Each with a token on his breast,[14]
Of copper wrought, and brighter far,
Than Venus or the Morning Star,
A female figure took the place
Britannia would, in other case;
Whilst, by her side, in small, portray'd
A cask of Dudley nails was laid;
Containing, we may well suppose,
Sparrow-bill, Ten-penny and Rose;
Clasp, Flat-points, Flemish-Tack and Clout,
Of strictly honest tale no doubt:
For as my muse can only guess,
She won't presume to call them less.
Enough:--the curious if they please
May find a nobler pair than these.
Now, Tom, an Unitarian true,[15]
And strange to say, a Churchman too,
Like Janus with a double face,
Among our heroes found a place.
'Twas plain enough how pleas'd the elf
Was with that paltry thing, himself;
Proud of his intellect and clothes,
He felt himself the first of beaux.[16]
And, pretty creature, strutted more
Than ever peacock did before.
The ladies very loath to miss[17]
An opportunity like this,
Stretched forth their necks to catch a sight
Of one so spruce and so polite.
"There goes the charming man," they cry;
And then they laugh, I know not why!
And then, all wonder and amaze,
At him and at each other gaze.
The thing's confirm'd beyond a doubt,
Although the cause is not found out,--
The modest ninny thinks his worth
Has not his parallel on earth;
And justly: for, without a crime,
I can't describe it e'en in rhyme:
So nobly bred, so nobly taught,
In speech as lib'ral as in thought:
News he can tell, untold before,
All that he knows, and ten times more:
And yet, upon his magpie tongue
Truth, sense, and wit alike are hung:
His honor----I recall the word,
Of that my muse has never heard;
Of facts alone I fain would sing,
A joke's a very serious thing!
A man may see with half an eye
What treasures in his head-piece lie:
Why then, dear Sir, such wond'rous pains
To shew the world your lack of brains?
Then little Dick, and waddling Tim,
And bawling Joe, and long-legg'd Jem;
And hundreds more in couples came,
The which my muse disdains to name:
I'm certain none of Hogarth's sketches
E'er formed a set of stranger wretches.
Among the rest see Doctor Slop,[18]
An emblem of a physic shop:
So sour, so nauseous, so splenetic,
A bolus, blister, or emetic;
Decoction, julep, pill and drop
Are typified in Doctor Slop.
His bones with flesh how poorly clad!
How like a map his visage sad![19]
Lavater would at once declare,
The "City of the Plague" was there:
And e'en a less discerning eye
The "Lake of Brimstone" might descry,
Where all those naughty rebels pop,
Who don't agree with Doctor Slop.
If sick,--engage him,--give him time,
He'll send you to another clime;
For change of air is understood
By sons of physic to be good.
But, oh! my pulse is stopp'd; enough
Of Doctors and of Doctors' stuff:[20]
Though half his worth is yet unsung,
My muse would rather hold her tongue.
Last came the scarlet troop, as gay
As new-scrap'd carrots for the day:
C--w--ll, and all his comrades too:
Hibernian H--gh--s, and Dicky Dr--we:
Great captains in the fighting trade,
Who serv'd their time upon parade.[21]
But of such Gentlemen no more:
I bless my stars I see the shore!
At length, attain'd the sacred spot,
Where, side by side, their fathers rot,
Half rising from their tombs to see
What alter'd things their children be;
The massy portal open flies,
And each to gain admission tries:--
But watchful sentries guard the door,
T'admit the great, and drive the poor;
For treason 'twere, and deadly sin,
To let the herd of vulgar in.
No matter _how_ they enter: each
Is thrust against his neighbour's breech.
One loses half his coat, and one
Feels that his hat or shoe is gone.
Another wild with fury, hoots,
"Stop, scoundrel, stop,--I've lost my boots."
Another fall'n, for mercy cries,
And prays to heav'n they'll let him rise,
But, ah! for naught their lungs they strain:
They cry, "Hayloo!" and "stop,"--in vain;
The crowd more anxious, forward press
To catch a glimpse of holiness;
And see what ne'er before was known,
A Reverend Mason lay a stone,
In solemn silence see him stand,
The silver trowel in his hand;
The ponderous mass at his desire,
Descends into the yielding mire;
And many a cracking human bone,
Confess'd it was a mighty stone,
At length, the task perform'd, His Grace
Made his best bow, and left the place;
And, anxious only to be gone,
Stepp'd in his coach, and cried,--"Drive on."--
The boy then smacks his whip, and lo!
The B----p's horses scampering go:
The party gaze with wild dismay
To see the chariot roll away!
Now, as their breasts with anger burn,
Behold the muddy group return;
And, as they pace along the street,
Resolve each joint themselves to eat,--[22]
Their bellies, judging from their faces,
As empty as some other places.
At Bl--w--tt's many a dainty dish
Of beef and mutton, game and fish,
Arrang'd upon the table stood;
For Dudley's sons know what is good.
But soon each dainty dish was clear'd,
And only fleshless bones appear'd,
Each vied with each,[23] and seemed to say,
"I'll have my belly full to-day."
The dinner o'er each takes his glass,
And tries his neighbour to surpass:--
"For, where's the use of wine," say they,
"Except to banish care away?"--
Forgive my Muse,--her task is o'er;
She recollects but little more,
She saw the polish'd table shine,
With blushing fruit and sparkling wine;
She heard the lofty ceiling ring
With three times three, "God save the King."
She look'd again,--one sleeping snor'd,
And one was sunk beneath the board;
And one, as well as he was able,
Was speechifying on the table,
A moment pass'd,--again she gaz'd,
And saw each arm in contest rais'd[24]
The glass in fragments strew'd the floor:--
She hung her head, and saw--no more.
_Qui capit, ille facit._
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