"See John the Soldier, Jack the Tar,
With sword and pistol arm'd for war,
Should _Mounseer_ dare come here;
The hungry slaves have smelt our food,
They long to taste our flesh and blood,
Old England's beef and beer!
"Britons, to arms! and let 'em come;
Be you but Britons still, strike home,
And lion-like attack 'em,
No power can stand the deadly stroke
That's given from hands and hearts of oak,
With liberty to back 'em."
[Illustration: ENGLAND PLATE II.]
From the unpropitious regions of France, our scene changes to the
fertile fields of England.
"England! bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shores beat back the envious siege
Of wat'ry Neptune."
Instead of the forlorn and famished party who were represented in
the last plate, we here see a company of well-fed and high-spirited
Britons, marked with all the hardihood of ancient times, and eager to
defend their country.
In the first group, a young peasant who aspires to a niche in the
Temple of Fame, preferring the service of Mars to that of Ceres, and
the dignified appellation of soldier to the plebeian name of farmer,
offers to enlist. Standing with his back against the halberd to
ascertain his height, and finding he is rather under the mark,[97] he
endeavours to reach it by rising on tiptoe. This artifice, to which
he is impelled by _towering ambition_, the sergeant seems disposed to
connive at--and the sergeant is a hero, and a great man in his way;
"your hero always must be tall, you know."
To evince that the polite arts were then in a flourishing state, and
cultivated by more than the immediate professors, a gentleman artist,
who to common eyes must pass for a grenadier, is making a caricature
of _le Grand Monarque_. The sovereign of France was in that day as
general a subject for copper satire as Mr. Fox is in this. I have
seen engravings, where his Gallic Majesty made one of the party,
that were not a degree better than the grenadier's drawing, where,
to render the meaning obvious, and supply the want of character, or
story, every figure had a label hanging to its mouth. That given to
this king of shreds and patches is worthy the speaker, and worthy
observation: "You take a my fine ships: you be de pirate; you be de
teef: me send my grand armies, and hang you all."
The action is suited to the word, for with his left hand this most
Christian potentate grasps his sword, and in his right poises a
gibbet. The figure and motto united, produce a roar of approbation
from the soldier and sailor, who are criticising the work. It is
so natural, that the Helen and Briseis of the camp contemplate the
performance with apparent delight; and while one of them with her
apron measures the breadth of this Herculean painter's shoulders,
the other, to show that the performance _has some point_, places her
forefinger against the prongs of a fork. The little fifer, playing
that animated and inspiring tune "God save the King," is an old
acquaintance: we recollect him in "The March to Finchley." In the
background is a sergeant teaching a company of young recruits their
manual exercise.
This military meeting is held at the sign of the gallant Duke of
Cumberland, who is mounted upon a prancing charger,
"As if an angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wield a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship."[98]
Underneath is inscribed, "Roast and boiled every day;" which, with
the beef and beverage upon the table, forms a fine contrast to the
_soup maigre_, bare bones, and roasted frogs, in the last print. The
bottle painted on the wall, foaming with liquor which, impatient
of imprisonment, has burst its cerements, must be an irresistible
invitation to a thirsty traveller. The soldier's sword laid upon
the round of beef, and the sailor's pistol on the vessel containing
the ale, intimate that these great bulwarks of our island are as
tenacious of their beef and beer as of their religion and liberty.
These two plates were published in 1756; but in the _London
Chronicle_ for October 20, 1759, is the following advertisement:--
"This day are re-published, price 1s. each, Two prints designed
and etched by William Hogarth: one representing the preparations
on the French coast for an intended invasion; the other, a view
of the preparations making in England to oppose the wicked
designs of our enemies; proper to be stuck up in public places,
both in town and country, at this juncture."[99]
The verses which are inserted under each print, and subjoined to this
account, are, it must be acknowledged, coarse enough. They were,
however, written by David Garrick, who, had he thought the subject
worthy of his muse, could, I believe, have produced more elegant
stanzas.
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