BRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY Of CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CA ^frm>M>xvJH p iuG srfj viiibulflgr teocn a^ ^nntooiuoo n^iii ^stfwosdk. 9d isysa lirw */i:v>ilq ilb j 'i ft oib lo ;h/:q ii^r, w^i; . iJ^otC O N T E N T S$ airil in -dwgil el/ijBisbigaootti on ea^juin n , FACE VMISES occasioned by Ben TyrrelFs Mutton Rfea - - - - 17 Epigram occasioned by a supposed extraordinary Phenome- non in Midwifery ------------21 Ode to a Grizzle Wig, by a Gentleman who had just left off his Bob ............... 25 Epistle from Thomas Hearne, Antiquary, to the Author of the Companion to the Oxford Guide -------27 The Progress of Discontent ----------- 29 An Evening Contemplation in a College ; being a Parody on Gray's Elegy in a Country Church -Yard - - - - 36 The Phaeton and the One-Horse Chair ....... 43 The Splendid Shilling ........ "- *in. . - 48 A Panegyric on Oxford Ale ........... 66 XII CONTENTS. PAGE Ode to Horror: in the allegoric, descriptive, alliterative, cpithetical, fantastic, hyperbolical, and diabolical style of our modern Ode -Writers and Monody-Mongers - - 61 A Pipe of Tobacco: in imitation of six several Authors. By Hawkins Browne, Esq. viz. I. A New Year's Ode, in imitation of Colley Cibber - - - 65 II. Imitation of Mr. A. Phillips ---------67 III.- Mr. Thomson 68 IV. Dr. Young - 69 V. Mr. Pope -----------70 VI. Dean Swift ----- 71 The Pleasure of being out of Debt - --------73 Ode to an Eagle, confined in a College Court ----- 76 The Art of Preaching, a Fragment : in imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry. By the late Reverend Christopher Pitt 79 The celebrated Song of the All Souls Mallard - - - - - 83 Song in Honour of the Celebration of the Boar's Head, at Queen's College, Oxford -----85 Epigram on an Epigram ---------.--87 Epistle to Mr. Robert Lowth: in imitation of Horace, Book II. Epistle 19. By the late Reverend Christo- pher Pitt ......89 The Lounger - - - - - - - - - - - - r - - 92 CONTENTS \ii) PAGE Epigram, written -by an Exciseman, and addressed to^ a, ; Young Lady, who was courted at the same time by an Aft Apothecary -."& ir.iir - - - rutmvtgi ifcilrv - 93 An Epistle to Mr. Spence, when Tutor to Lord Middlesex : in imitation of the First Book of Horace, Epistle 18. By the late Rev. Christopher Pitt - - -, y -, ,-. - 94 Morning, an Ode. The Author confined to College - - - 100 - On Miss Polly Foote's unexpected Arrival at, Oxford, and m $*<<- speedy Flight from thence, in 1768 -, ^ -^^^j^, 104 The Cushion Plot discovered by Dr. Shaw. By H. B. Esq. 106 On Lopping New College Lime Trees .v^iftOfr.^^...^ - 106 Epigram on an Oxford Toast, with fine Eyes and a bad Voice- \ i*v;o> *jKo i >:-5it tkTfflsTO* ?>'^teijrinjr 108 A Ballad, occasioned by a Copy of Verses on Miss Hricken- den r s going from Oxford to Newnham by Water - - 109 On a Beauty with 111 Qualities >&((*. ^1 158 An ancient Epitaph in the Cloisters of Winchester College 160 Translation ibid. The New Year's Gift, presented with a Pair of Silk Stock- ings, to Miss Bell Cooke, of Eton - ----- 161 Exaltation ; or, The Signature of Love. A descriptive Pas- toral, in the modern Style >-:te*^*tf*i-- - 165 Extempore Letter from Captain Thomas, at Bernera, to Captain Price, at Fort Augustus - il *&&&**&*& 2 167 New-Market. A Satire , - ***** W - 172 CONTENTS. T9 PAOB Epitaph to the Pie-House Memory of Nell Batchelor, an Oxford Pie- Woman - # ^fl - - . - . - - . 181 The Castle Barber's Soliloquy. Written in the late War - 182 Imitation of Horace, Book I. Ode 29 ....... 186 Song - - - - ......... *!l*H * - - 186 Epitaph on Parker Hall, born and executed at Oxford - - 188 Epigram, occasioned by Part of St. Mary's Church, in Ox- r ford, being converted into a Law School .... ibid. Oxford Newsmen's Verses, for the Years 1764, 1766, &c. to 1772, inclusive - - - - c- ^ t^I* w V 101 to 224 . b **<* ^^ in , THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. VERSES OCCASIONED BY BEN TYRRELL'S MUTTON PIES, ADVERTISEMENT. ALL ye that love what's nice and rarish, At Oxford, in St. Mary's parish, BEN TYRRELL, cook of high renown, To please the palates of the Gown, At three-pence each makes MUf TON PIES, Which thus he begs to advertise : He welcomes all his friends at seven, Each Saturday and Wednesday even.* * Mr. TYRRELL, cook, in the High Street, Oxford, having formed a laudable design of obliging the University with mutton pies twice a week, this advertisement appeared on that occasion in the OXFORD JOURNAL, Nov. 25, 1758. 18 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. No relics stale, with art unjust, Lurk in disguise beneath his crust; His pies, to give you all fair play, Smoke only when 'tis market-day : And all must own how fresh his meat. While JOLLY'S* porter crowns the treat. If rumps and kidneys can allure ye, . BEN takes upon him to assure ye, No cook shall better hit the taste In giving life and soul to PASTE, sa^" ^ If cheap and good have weight with men, Come, all ye youths, and 1 sup with BEN. If liquor in a MUl^WWW^*^ Has any charms, come taste and try ! O bear me witness, IV sons ! _. . _, . jWoB ..yYBT Yltf 92UJ Pierce but the crust the gravy runs : The taster licks his lips, and cries, " T_T *T~ P ffOV '" " O RARE BEN TYRRELL'S MUTTON PIES !" But hold no more I've said enough ^ . , ^bfim \i\ Or else my PIES may prove a PUFF. 9ffi/ * CAPTAIN JOLLY, *who,probonopublico, first reduced the price of porter in Oxford, ton 6d. to 4& a quart ; ssnq arfl aiod aria as v r >u . . &&C'.. . T. isA blitods VLQ~ .yk- T r j.y jl to-3 ic- * THE OXFORD "SAUSAGE. BEN TYRRELL'S, WEDNESDAY NIGHT, DECEMBER THE 6TH, 1758. How I congratulate fair Isis, That such the taste for MUTTON PIES is ! Hail, glorious BEN ! whose genius high First plann'd a genuine MUTTON PIE! Born to combine, with matchless taste, The charms of PEPPER and of PASTE ! Was but the motion of my pen Quick as thy rolling-pin, O BEN I Oh ! could my thoughts thy pastry ape, And slide, like yielding dough, to shape ; My genius, like thy oven, glow, My numbers, like thy gravy, flow ; Or, in the twinkling of an eye, I cook an ODE as you a PIE ; O then (nor think, to mock thy trade, My promises of pie-crust made) I'd raise thy culinary fame Above immortal SPREADBURY'S name: Though from all cooks, a matron wise, In SAUSAGES she bore the prize; Her seasoning hand should yield to thine, Thy MUTTON should her PORK outshine. Nor shall the Muse esteem it folly, To blend with thine the praise of JOLLY; 20 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Thy lov'd compeer ! congenial friend ! Who mild, when evening shades descend, Imparts the froth-crown'd PORTER'S aid, To smooth the serious brow of trade : Both shall together mount the skies, The PORTER his but thine the PIES. Thine is the house, dear BEN, to call at, Or for the pocket, or the palate. For thee, the citizen and cit Their cold boil'd beef and carrots quit : Grave aldermen, ambitious share In alma mater's classic fare : The blooming toasts of Oxford town, Catch the contagion of the Gown, And wish the wonted ev'ning nigh, To have a finger in the pie. As so enticing TYRR ELL'S house is, Send not too late, ye pregnant spouses ! Think of the midwife's vast surprise, To see boys mark'd with MUTTON PIES ! If this the universal taste is, What will become of verfson pasties ? What of the cates, which many a maiden, For the next Christmas cheer has laid in ? Sure all with BEN will sup and dine, And leave their CHRISTMAS PIES for THINE. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 21 EPIGRAM OCCASIONED BY A SUPPOSED EXTRAORDINARY PHENOMENON IN MIDWIFERY. SAGE WOODS ! though many a dark affair Be known to thy discerning eyes ; E'en you, with all your skill, must stare, "To see boys mark'd with MUTTON PIES !" TI. What, if our wives, with equal glee, In thought a SAUSAGE should enjoy; Say, would you wonder much, to see The MOTHER'S LONGINGS mark the boy? THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. ON BEN TYRRELL'S PIES. LET Christmas boast her customary treat, A mixture strange, of suet, currants, meat, Where various tastes combine, the greasy and the sweet Let glad Shrove Tuesday bring the PANCAKE thin, Or FRITTER rich, with apples stor'd within : On Easter Sunday be the PUDDING seen, To which the TANSEY lends her sober green : And when great London hails her annual lord, Let quiv'ring CUSTARD crown the aldermanic board. But BEN prepares a more delicious mess, Substantial fare, a breakfast for Queen Bess ; What dainty epicure, or greedy glutton, Would not prefer his PIE, that's made of MUTTON ? Each diffrent county boasts a different taste, And owes it's fame to PUDDING and to PASTE: SQUAB PIE in Cornwall only can they make, In Norfolk DUMPLING, and in Salop CAKE ; But Oxford now from all shall bear the prize, Fam'd, as for SAUSAGES, for MUTTON PIES. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 23 MUTTON PIES FOR THE ASSIZES. jjaaflY MARCH 1, 1760. BEHOLD, once more, facetious BEN Steps from his PASTE to take the PEN ; And as the trumpets, shrill and loud, Precede the sheriff's javelin* d crowd; <*>n Jiaxriai r So BEN before-hand advertises His snug-laid scheme for the Assiztf.'-^ *& ^ rfwr < Each of the evenings, BEN proposes^. )B9i nsrfw With PIES so nice to smoke your nosjes : No cost, as heretofore, he grudges; 3q9iq He'll stand the test of able JUDGED f And think, that when the hall is up, How cfoa;? a JURYMAN may sup! For LAWYERS* CLERKS, in wigs so smart, A tight warm room is set apart. My MASTERS eke, (might BEN advise ye,) Detain'd too long at nizey prizey, Your college commons lost at sir,- At BEN'S t\\e jovial evening^; 24 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE, From *Jnpe-indentures, stale and dry, Escap'd to PORTER and a PIE. Hither, if ye have any taste, Ye BOOTED EVIDENCES, haste ! Ye LASSES too, both tall and slim, In riding-habits dress'd so trim, Who, usher'd by some young attorney, Take, each Assize, an Oxford journey : All, who subpana'd on th' occasion, Require genteel accommodation, Oh, haste to BEN'S, and save your fines You'd pay at houses deck'd with signs ! Lo I, a cook of taste and knowledge, And bred the coquus of a college, Having long known the STUDENTS' bounty, Now dare to cater for the COUNTY. Come then, of BEN, O come, and buy all AS 'tis Assize-time, he'll stand trial ; His cause success will surely crown, ,?bi*f eiabiuode ai) . His witnesses are ALL the GOWN. .i Atow 1 : . '. * It is supposed BEN means tripartite. ::': These Jive pieces are all that appeared on this subject, \ . . ' THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. ODE TO A GRIZZLE WIG, BY A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD JUST LEFT OFF HIS BOB. . ALL hail, ye CURLS, that rang'd in rev'rend row, With snowy pomp iny conscious shoulders hide ! That fall beneath in venerable flow, And crown my brows above -with feathery pride ! High on your summit, Wisdoms mimick'd air Sits thron'd with Pedantry, her solemn sire, And in her net of awe-diffusing hair, Entangles fools, and bids the crowd admire. 26 THE OXFOinJ SAUSAGE, O'er every lock, that floats in full display, Sage Ignorance her gloom scholastic throws ; And stamps o'er all my visage, once so gay, Unmeaning Gravity's serene repose. Can thus large wigs our reverence engage ? Have barbers thus the pow'r to blind our eyes ? Is science thus conferred on every sage, By BAYLIS, BLENKINSOP, and lofty WISE?* But thou farewell, my BOB ! whose thin-wove thatch, Was stor'd with quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, That love to live within the one-curl'd scratch, With Fun, and all the family of Smiles. Safe in thy privilege, near Isis' brook, Whole afternoons at Wolvercote I quafPd ; At eve my careless round in High Street took, And call'd at JOLLY'S for the casual draught. No 'more the wherry feels my stroke so true; At skittles in a grizzle can I play ? Woodstock, farewell ! and Wallingford, adieu ! Where many a scheme reliev'd the lingering day. Such were the joys that once HILARIO crown'd, Ere grave Preferment came my peace to rob ; Such are the less ambitious pleasures found Beneath the liceat of an humble BOB. * Eminent peruke-makers in Oxford. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 27 EPISTLE FROM THOMAS HEARNE, ANTIQUARY, TO THE AUTHOR OP The Companion to the Oxford Guide, tfc. FRIEND of the moss-grown spire and crumbling arch, Who wont'st at eve to pace the long-lost bounds Of lonesome Osney! What malignant fiend Thy cloister-loving mind from ancient lore Hath base seduc'd ? Urg'd thy apostate pen To trench deep wounds on antiquaries sage, 28 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. And drag the venerable fathers forth, Victims to laughter ! Cruel as the mandate Of mitred priests, who BASKETT late enjoin'd To throw aside the reverend letters blacky And print fast prayers in modern type ! At this Leland* and Willis, Ditgdale, Tanner, Wood, Illustrious names ! with Camden, Aubrey, Lloyd, Scald their old cheeks with tears ! For once they hop'd To seal thee for their own, and fondly deem'd The Muses, at thy call, would crowding come To deck antiquity with flow'rets gay. But now may curses every search attend That seems inviting ! may'st thou pore in vain For dubious door-ways ! may revengeful moths Thy ledgers eat ! may chronologic spouts Retain no cypher legible ! may crypts Lurk undiscern'd ! nor rnay'st thou spell the names Of saints in storied windows ! nor the dates Of bells discover ! nor the genuine site Of abbots' pantries ! and may Godstowe veil Deep from thy eyes profane, her Gothic charms ! * Names of eminent Antiquaries. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746. WHEN now, mature in classic knowledge, The joyful youth is sent to college ; His father comes, a vicar plain, At Oxford bred in ANNA'S reign; And thus, in form of humble suitor, Bowing, accosts a reverend tutor. 30 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. " Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine, " And this my eldest son of nine ; " My wife's ambition, and my own, " Was that this child should wear a gown : " I'll warrant that his good behav'our " Will justify your future favour ; >o eaanlh " And for his parts, to tell the truth, " My son's a very forward youth ; " Has Horace all by heart you'd wonder " And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder. " If you'd examine and admit him, " A scholarship would nicely fit him : " That he succeeds 'tis ten to aaeijbfi bid I " Your vote and interest, sir ! 'tis done." Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated, Are with a scholarship completed : A scholarship but half maintains/^ yrv And college rules are heavy chains : In garret dark he smokes and puns, A prey to discipline and duns ; And now, intent on new designs, Sighs for a fellowship and fines. When nine full tedious winters past, That utmost wish is crown'd at last ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 31 But the rich prize no sooner got, Again he quarrels with his lot:io no tesbb vni " These fellowships are pretty things, JOIB *Vir* " We live, indeed, like petty kings : \&\ igH. " But who can bear to waste his whole age " Amid the dullness of a college, il iuoy yjiiJai | " Debarr'd the common joys of life, isq fcid 10? " And that prime bliss a loving wife ? " O ! what's a table richly spread, " Without a woman at its head! mH Juo grfJuorn " Would some benefice but fall, -iB - onirriBxa b f n " Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell alll " To offices I'd bid adieu,> oi ntf ttf " Of dean, vice-pras, of bursar tooi^ " Come joys, that rural quiet yields, " Come tithe, and house, and fruitful fields!" Too fond of liberty and ease :nt Msff ind qiri-* A patron's vanity to please, oic aJin '. Long time he watches, and by stealth, *,? j|tt;b Each frail incumbent's doubtful health ; At length and in his fortieth year, A living drops two hundred clear ! With breast elate beyond expression, He hurries down to take possession. $2 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. With rapture views the sweet retreat " What a convenient house ! how neat ! " For fuel here's sufficient wood ; " Pray God the cellars may be good ! " The garden that must be new plann'd " Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand ? " O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise " The flow'ry shrub of thousand dyes : " Yon wall that feels the southern ray, " Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay : " While thick beneath its aspect warm, " O'er well-rang'd hives the bees shall swarm ; " From which, ere long, of golden gleam, " Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream : " This aukward hut, o'ergrown with ivy, " We'll alter to a modern privy : " Up yon green slope of hazels trim, (< An avenue, so cool and dim, " Shall to an arbour at the end, " In spite of gout, entice a friend. " My predecessor lov'd devotion " But of a garden had no notion." Continuing this fantastic farce on, He now commences country parson. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. S3 To make his character entire, He weds a cousin of the 'Squire ; Not over weighty in the purse, But many Doctors have done worse : And though she boasts no charms divine, Yet she can carve, and make birch wine. Thus fix'd, content he taps his barrel, Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel ; Finds his churchwardens have discerning Both in good liquor and good learning ; With tithes his barns replete he sees, And chuckles o'er his surplice fees ; Studies to find out latent dues, And regulates the state of pews ; Rides a sleek mare with purple housing, To share the monthly club's carousing ; Of Oxford pranks facetious tells, And but on Sundays hears no bells ; Sends presents of his choicest fruit, And prunes himself each sapless shoot ; Plants cauliflowers, and boasts to rear The earliest melon of the year ; Thinks alteration charming work is, Keeps bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies ; C 34 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE* Builds in his copse a favourite bench, And stores the pond with carp and tench. But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast By cares domestic is opprest ; And a third butcher's bill, and brewing, Threaten inevitable ruin : For children fresh expences yet, And Dicky now for school is fit. " Why did I sell my college life " (He cries) for benefice and wife ? " Return, ye days ! when endless pleasure " I found in reading, or in leisure ! " When calm around the common room " I pufPd my daily pipe's perfume ! " Rode for a stomach, and inspected, " At annual bottlings, corks selected : " And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under " The portrait of our pious founder ! " When impositions were supply'd " To light my pipe or sooth my pride ! " No cares were then for forward pease, " A yearly-longing wife to please ; " My thoughts no christening dinners crost, " No children cry'd for butter'd toast ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. " And every night I went to bed " Without a modus in my head !" Oh ! trifling head and fickle heart ! Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art ; A dupe to follies yet untry'd, And sick of pleasures scarce enjoy'd ! Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases, And in pursuit alone it pleases. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE, AN EVE?S T ING CONTEMPLATION IN A COLLEGE. Being a Parody on Gray's Elegy in a Country Church-yard. L H E curfew tolls the hour of closing gates, With jarring sound the porter turns the key j Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits, And slowly, sternly quits it tho' for me. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 37 Now shine the spires beneath the paly moon, And through the cloister peace and silence reign, Save where some fiddler scrapes a drowsy tune, Or copious bowls inspire a jovial strain : Save that in yonder cobweb-mantled room, Where lies a student in profound repose, Oppress'd with ale, wide-echoes thro' the gloom The droning music of his vocal nose. Within those walls, where thro' the glimm'ring shade Appear the pamphlets in a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow bed till morning laid, The peaceful fellows of the college sleep. The tinkling bell proclaiming early prayers, The noisy servants rattling o'er their head, The calls of business, and domestic cares, Ne'er rouse these sleepers from their downy bed. No chatt'ring females crowd their social fire, No dread have they of discord and of strife ; Unknown the names of husband and of sire, Unfelt the plagues of matrimonial life. Oft have they bask'd along the sunny walls, Oft have the benches bow'd beneath their weight : How jocund are their looks when dinner calls ! How smoke the cutlets on their crowded plates ! S8 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. O let not temperance too disdainful hear How long our feasts, how long our dinners last ; Nor let the fair, with a contemptuous sneer, On these unmarry'd men reflections cast ! The splendid fortune and the beauteous face (Themselves confess it, and their sires bemoan) Too soon are caught by scarlet and by lace : These sons of science shine in black alone. Forgive, ye fair, th' involuntary fault, If these no feats of gaiety display, Where thro' proud Ranelagh's wide-echoing vault, Melodious FRASI trills her quav'ring lay. Say, is the sword well suited to the band, Does broider'd coat agree with sable gown, Can Dresden laces shade a churchman's hand, Or learning's vot'ries ape the beaux of town ? Perhaps in these time-tott'ring walls reside Some who were once the darlings of the fair ; Some who of old could tastes and fashions guide, Controul the manager and awe the play'r. But science now has filPd their vacant mind With Rome's rich spoils and truth's exalted views ; Fir'd them with transports of a nobler kind, And bade them slight all females but the muse. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 39 Full many a lark, high tow'ring to the sky, Unheard, unheeded, greets th' approach of light ; Full many a star, unseen by mortal eye, With twinkling lustre glimmers thro' the night. Some future HERRING, that with dauntless breast Rebellion's torrent shall like him oppose ; Some mute, some thoughtless HARDWICKE here may rest, Some PELHAM, dreadful to his country's foes. From prince and people to command applause, 'Midst ermin'd peers to guide the high debate, To shield Britannia's and religion's laws, And steer with steady course the helm of state. Fate yet forbids ; nor circumscribes alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confines ; Forbids in freedom's veil t' insult the throne, Beneath her mask to hide the worst designs. To fill the madding crowd's perverted mind With pensions, taxes, marriages, and Jews ; Or shut the gates of heaven on lost mankind, And wrest their darling hopes, their future views. Far from the giddy town's tumultuous strife, Their wishes yet have never learnt to stray ; Content and happy in a single life, They keep the noiseless tenor of their way, 40 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. E'en now their books from cobwebs to protect, Inclos'd by doors of glass, in Doric style, On fluted pillars rais'd, with bronzes deck'd, They claim the passing tribute of a smile. Oft are the authors' names, tho' richly bound, Mis-spelt by blund'ring binders' want of care ; And many a catalogue is strew'd around, To tell th' admiring guest what books are there. For who, to thoughtless ignorance a prey, Neglects to hold short dalliance with a book ; Who there but wishes to prolong his stay, And on those cases cast a ling'ring look ? Reports attract the lawyer's parting eyes, Novels Lord Fopling and Sir Plume require ; For songs and plays the voice of beauty cries, And sense and nature Grandison desire. For thee, who, mindful of thy lov'd compeers, Dost in their lines their artless tales relate, If chance, with prying search, in future years, Some antiquarian shall enquire thy fate,-^- Haply some friend may shake his hoary head, And say, ' Each morn, unchill'd by frosts, he ran ' With hose ungarter'd, o'er yon turfy bed, < To reach the chapel ere the psalms began. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. * There in the arms of that lethargic chair, ' Which rears its moth-devour'd back so high, ' At noon he quaff'd three glasses to the fair, * And por'd upon the news with curious eye. ' Now by the fire, engag'd in serious talk, ' Or mirthful converse, would he loit'ring stand ; ' Then in the garden chuse a sunny walk, * Or launch the polish'd bowl with steady hand. ' One morn we miss'd him at the hour of pray'r, ' Beside the fire, and on his favVite green ; ' Another came, nor yet within the chair, ' Nor yet at bowls, nor chapel was he seen. ' The next we heard that in a neighb'ring shire, ' That day to church he led a blushing bride ; ' A nymph, whose snowy vest and maiden fear ' Improved her beauty while the knot was ty'd. * Now by his patron's bounteous care removed, ' He roves enraptur'd through the fields of Kent ; ' Yet ever mindful of the place he lov'd, ' Read here the letter which he lately sent.' THE LETTER. " In rural innocence secure I dwell, " Alike to fortune and to fame unknown, " Approving conscience cheers my humble cell, " And social quiet marks me for her own. 42 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. " Next to the blessings of religious truth, " Two gifts my endless gratitude engage ; " A wife, the joy and transport of my youth, " Now, with a son, the comfort of my age. " Seek not to draw me from this kind retreat, " In loftier spheres unfit, untaught to move ; " Content with calm, domestic life, where meet " The smiles of friendship, and the sweets of love." THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 43 THE PHAETON AND THE ONE-HORSE CHAIR. AT Blagrave's* once upon a time, There stood a PHAETON sublime; Unsullied by the dusty road, Its wheels with recent crimson glow'd ; Its sides display'd a dazzling hue, Its harness tight, its lining new ; * Well known at Oxford for letting out carriages, 1703. 44 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. No scheme-enamour'd youth, I ween, Survey 'd the gaily-deck'd machine, But fondly long'd to seize the reins, And whirl o'er Campsjield* s* tempting plains. Meantime it chanc'd, that hard at hand A ONE-HORSE CHAIR had took its stand ; When thus our vehicle begun To sneer the luckless chaise and one : " How could my master place me here, " Within thy vulgar atmosphere ? " From classic ground pray shift thy station, " Thou scorn of Oxford education ! " Your homely make, believe me, man, " Is quite upon the Gothic plan ; " And you, and all your clumsy kind, " For lowest purposes designed : " Fit only, with a one-eyed mare, " To drag, for benefit of air, " The country parson's pregnant wife, " Thou friend of dull domestic life ! " Or, with his maid and aunt, to school " To carry Dicky on a stool : " Or, haply to some christ'ning gay," " A brace of godmothers convey : * In the road to Blenheim. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 45 " Or, when blest Saturday prepares " For London tradesmen rest from cares, " 'Tis thine to make them happy one day, " Companion of their genial Sunday ! " 'Tis thine, o'er turnpikes newly made, " When timely show'rs the dust have laid, " To bear some alderman serene " To fragrant Hampstead's sylvan scene. " Nor higher scarce thy merit rises, " Among the polish'd sons of Isis. " Hir'd for a solitary crown, " Canst thou to schemes invite the gown? " Go, tempt some prig, pretending taste, " With hat new cock'd, and newly lac'd, " O'er mutton chops, and scanty wine, " At humble Dorchester to dine ! " Meantime remember, lifeless drone ! " I carry bucks and bloods alone. " And oh ! whene'er the weather's friendly, " What inn at Abingdon or Henley, " But still my vast importance feels, " And gladly greets my entering wheels. " And think, obedient to the throng, " How yon gay street we smoke along : " While all with envious wonder view " The corner turn'd so quick and true." 46 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. To check an upstart's empty pride, Thus sage the ONE-HORSE CHAIR reply'd: t Pray, when the consequence is weigh'd, " What's all your spirit and parade ? " From mirth to grief, what sad transitions, " To broken bones and impositions! " Or if no bones are broke, what's worse, " Your schemes make work for GLASS and NOURSE.* 41 On us pray spare your keen reproaches, " From one-horse chairs men rise to coaches ; " If calm discretion's stedfast hand, " With cautious skill the reins command, " From me fair health's fresh fountain springs, " O'er me soft snugness spreads her wings : " And innocence reflects her ray, " To gild my calm sequester'd way : " E'en kings might quit their state to share " Contentment and a one-horse chair. tl What though, o'er yonder echoing street, " Your rapid wheels resound so sweet ; t Shall Isis 1 sons thus vainly prize " A RATTLE of a larger sizef. BLAGRAVE, who during the dispute, Stood in a corner, snug and mute, * Eminent Surgeons in Oxford. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 47 Surprised, no doubt, in lofty verse, To hear his carriages converse, With solemn face, o'er Oxford ale, To me disclos'd this wond'rous tale : I strait dispatch'd it to the Muse, Who brush'd it up for JACKSON'S News/ And, what has oft been penn'd in prose, Added this moral at the close. " Things may be useful if obscure ; " The pace that's slow is often sure : " When empty pageantries we prize, " We raise but dust to blind our eyes. " The GOLDEN MEAN can best bestow " Safety for unsubstantial show" * JACKSON'S OXFORD JOURNAL; where this FABLE first appeared. 48 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE SPLENDID SHILLING, Sing, heavenly muse, Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme, A SHILLING, BREECHES, and CHIMERAS dire. ^ HAPPY the man, who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leathern purse, retains A SPLENDID SHILLING i he nor hears with pain New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale ; But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Jun'per's Magpye, or Town-Hall* repairs : * Two noted Alehouses in Oxford, 1700. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 49 Where mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames, CHLOE or PHILLIS; he each circling glass Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. But I, whom griping penury surrounds, And hunger, sure attendant upon want, With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, (Wretched repast !) my meagre corpse sustain : Then solitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff Regale chill'd fingers ; or from tube as black As winter chimney, or well-polish'd jet, Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent : Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, Smokes Cambro-Briton, (vers'd in pedigree, Sprung from CADWALADER and ARTHUR, kings Full famous in romantic tale,) when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing, rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at the Arvovian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vagas stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil ! D 50 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Fa lent. Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow, With looks demure, and silent pace, a dun r Horrible monster ! hated by gods and men, To my aerial citadel ascends ; With hideous accents thrice he calls ; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. What shou'd I do ? or whither turn ? amaz'd, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly Of wood-hole ; strait my bristling hairs erect Through sudden fear ; a chilly sweat bedews My shudd'ring limbs, and (wonderful to tell !) My tongue forgets her faculty of speech ; So horrible he seems ! his faded brow Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints, Disastrous acts forebode ; in his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, With characters and figures dire inscribed, Grievous to mortal eyes ; (ye gods avert Such plagues from righteous men !) behind him stalks Another monster, not unlike himself, Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar calFd A catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods With force incredible, and magic charms, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 51 Erst have endu'd ; if he his ample palm Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay Of debtor, strait his body, to the touch Obsequious, (as whilom knights were wont,) To some inchanted castle is convey'd, Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains, In durance strict detain him, 'till in form Of money, PALLAS sets the captive free. Beware, ye debtors, when ye walk, beware, pi Be circumspect ; oft with insidious ken This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, Prompt to inchant some inadvertent wretch With his unhallowed touch. So (poets sing) Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, Portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web Arachne in a hall or kitchen spreads, Obvious to vagrant flies : she secret stands Within her woven cell : the humming prey, Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Inextricable, nor will aught avail Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue ; The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, 52 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. And butterfly, proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Useless resistance make : with eager strides She tow'ring flies to her expected spoils ; Then, with envenom'd jaws, the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carcases triumphant drags. So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades This world invelope, and th' inclement air Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood ; Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk Of loving friend delights ; distress'd, forlorn, Amidst the horrors of the tedious night, Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts My anxious mind ; or sometimes mournful verse Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades, Or desperate lady near a purling stream, Or lover pendent on a willow tree. Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought, And restless wish and rave ; my parched throat Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose : But if a slumber haply does invade My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake, Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Tipples imaginary pots of ale In vain ; awake, I find the settled thirst Still gnawing, and the pleasing phantom curse. Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred, Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays, Mature john-apple, nor the downy peach ; Nor walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure ; Nor medlar-fruit, delicious in decay : Affliction great ! yet greater still remain : My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdu'd, (what will not time subdue !) An horrid chasm disclose, with orifice Wide, discontinuous ; at which the winds Eurus and duster, and the dreadful force Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship Long sailed secure, or thro' th' Mgean deep, Or the Ionian, 'till cruising near The Lilybean shore, with hideous crash (On Scylla or Charybdis, dang'rous rocks !) She strikes rebounding, whence the shatter'd oak, So fierce a shock unable to withstand, Admits the sea ; in at the gaping side The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, 54 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Resistless, overwhelming ; horrors seize The mariners, death in their eyes appears ; They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray : (Vain efforts !) still the battering waves rush in, Implacable, 'till delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks found'ring in the vast abyss. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 55 A PANEGYRIC ON OXFORD ALE. A GENTLEMAN OF OXFORD. Mea nee Falernae Temperant vites, neque Formiani Pocula Colles. HOR. BALM of my cares, sweet solace of my toils, Hail juice benignant! o'er the cosily cups' Of riot-stirring wine, unwholesome draught, Let pride's loose sons prolong the wasteful night ; My sober ev'ning let the tankard bless, With toast embrown'd, and fragrant nutmeg fraught, 56 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. While the rich draught with oft-repeated whiffs Tobacco mild improves. Divine repast ! Where no crude surfeit, or intemperate joys Of lawless Bacchus reign ; but o'er my soul A calm lethean creeps ; in drowsy trance Each thought subsides, and sweet oblivion wraps My peaceful brain, as if the leaden rod Of magic Morpheus o'er mine eyes had shed Its opiate influence. What tho' sore ills Oppress, dire want of chill-dispelling coals, Or cheerful candle, (save the make-weight's gleam Haply remaining,) heart-rejoicing ALE Cheers the sad scene, and every want supplies. Meantime, not mindless of the daily task Of tutor sage, upon the learned leaves Of deep SMIGLECIUS much I meditate, While ALE inspires, and lends its kindred aid, The thought-perplexing labour to pursue, Sweet helicon of logic ! but if friends Congenial call me from the toilsome page, To pot-house I repair, the sacred haunt, Where, ALE, thy votaries in full resort Hold rites nocturnal. In capacious chair Of monumental oak and antique mould, That long has stood the rage of conquering years Inviolate, (nor in more ample chair THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 57 Smokes rosy justice, when th' important cause Whether of hen-roost, or of mirthful rape, In all the majesty of paunch he tries,) Studious of ease, and provident, I place My gladsome limbs ; while in repeated round Returns replenish'd the successive cup, And the brisk lire conspires to genial joy : While haply, to relieve the ling'ring hours In innocent delight, amusive put On smooth joint-stool in emblematic play, The vain vicissitudes of fortune shews. Nor reckoning, name tremendous ! me disturbs, Nor, callM for, chills my breast with sudden fear : While on the wonted door, expressive mark, The frequent penny stands describ'd to view, In snowy characters and graceful row. Hail, TICKING ! surest guardian of distress ! Beneath thy shelter, pennyless I quaff The cheerful cup, nor hear with hopeless heart New oysters cry'd : tho' much the poet's friend, Ne'er yet attempted in poetic strain, Accept this tribute of poetic praise ! Nor Proctor thrice with vocal heel alarms Our joys secure, nor deigns the lowly roof Of pot-house snug to visit : wiser he The splendid tavern haunts, or coffee-house 58 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Of JAMES or JUGGINS, where the grateful breath Of loath'd tobacco ne'er diffus'd its balm ; But the lewd spendthrift, falsely deem'd polite, While steams around the fragrant Indian bowl, Oft damns the vulgar sons of humbler ALE : In vain the Proctor's voice arrests their joys; Just fate of wanton pride and loose excess ! Nor less by day delightful is thy draught, AH-pow'rful ALE! whose sorrow-soothing sweets Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon, When tatter'd stockings crave my mending hand, Not unexperienced ; while the tedious toil Slides unregarded. Let the tender swain Each morn regale on nerve-relaxing tea, Companion meet of languor-loving nymph : Be mine each morn with eager appetite And hunger undissembled, to repair To friendly buttery ; there on smoaking crust And foaming ALE to banquet unrestrained, Material breakfast ! Thus in ancient days Our ancestors robust, with lib'ral cups Usher'd the morn, unlike the squeamish sons Of modern times : nor ever had the might Of Britons brave decay'd, had thus they fed, With British ALE improving British worth. With ALE irriguous, undismay'd I hear THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. . 59 The frequent dun ascend my lofty dome Importunate : whether the plaintive voice Of laundress shrill awake my startled ear ; Or barber spruce with supple look intrude ; Or tailor with obsequious bow advance ; Or groom invade me with defying front And stern demeanour, whose emaciate steeds (Whene'er or Phoebus shone with kindlier beams, Or luckier chance the borrow'd boots supply 'd) Had panted oft beneath my goring steel. In vain they plead or threat: all-powerful ALE Excuses new supplies, and each descends With joyless pace, and debt-despairing looks : E'en SPACEY with indignant brow retires, Fiercest of duns ! and conquer 'd quits the field. Why did the gods such various blessings pour On hapless mortals, from their grateful hands So soon the short-liv'd bounty to recall ? Thus, while improvident of future ill, I quaff the luscious tankard uncontrouPd, And thoughtless riot in unlicensed bliss ; Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent !) The unpitying bursar's cross-affixing hand Blasts all my joys, and stops my glad career. Nor now the friendly pot-house longer yields A sure retreat; when night o'ershades the skies ; 60 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Nor SHEPPARD, barb'rous matron, longer gives The wonted trust, and WINTER ticks no more. Thus ADAM, exil'd from the beauteous scenes Of Eden griev'd, no more in fragrant bower On fruits divine to feast, fresh shade and vale No more to visit, or vine-mantled grot ; But, all forlorn, the dreary wilderness And unrejoicing solitudes to trace : Thus too the matchless bard, whose lay resounds The SPLENDID SHILLING'S praise, in nightly gloom Of lonesome garret, pin'd for cheerful ALE ; Whose steps in verse Miltonic I pursue, Mean follower : like him with honest love Of ALE divine inspired, and love of song. But long may bounteous heav'n with watchful care Avert his hapless lot ! enough for me, That, burning with congenial flame, I dar'd His guiding steps at distance to pursue, And sing his favourite theme in kindred strains. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. ODE TO HORROR, IN The Allegoric, Descriptive, Alliterative, Epitketical, Fantastic, Hyperbolical, and Diabolical Style OF OUR MODERN ODE-WRITERS AND MONODY-MONGERS. FerreQs ingruit Horror. Vm. O Goddess of the gloomy scene, Of shadowy shapes thou black-brow'd queen ; Thy tresses dark, with ivy crown'd, On yonder mould'ring abbey found ; Oft wont from charnels, damp and dim, To call the sheeted spectre grim, 62 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. While, as his loose chains loudly clink, Thou add'st a length to every link : O thou, that lov'st at eve to seek The pensive-pacing pilgrim meek, And sett'st before his shuddering eyes Strange forms, and fiends of giant-size, As wildly works thy wizzard will, 'Till fear-struck fancy has her fill : Dark pow'r, whose magic might prevails O'er hermit rocks and fairy vales ; O goddess, erst by SPENSER* view'd, "What time th' enchanter vile embru'd His hands in FLORIMEL'S pure heart, 'Till loos'd by steel-clad BRITOMART : O thou that erst on fancy's wing Didst terror-trembling TASSO+ bring, To groves where kept damnM furies dire Their blue-tipt battlements of fire ; Thou that through many a darksome pine, O'er the rugged rock recline, Didst wake the hollow-whisp'ring breeze With care-consumed ELOISE : O thou, with whom in cheerless cell, The midnight clock pale pris'ners tell ; * SPENSER'S Fairy Queen, book Hi. canto 12. t Gierus. Liberal, b. xiv. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 6$ O haste thee, mild Miltonic maid, From yonder yew's sequester'd shade ; More bright than all the fabled nine, Teach me to breathe the solemn line ! O bid my well-rang'd numbers rise, Pervious to none but attic eyes ; O give the strain that madness moves, 'Till every starting sense approves ! What felt the Gallic* traveller, When far in drab-desert drear, He found within the catacomb, Alive, the terrors of a tomb ? While many a mummy through the shade, In hieroglyphic stole array 'd, Seem'd to uprear the mystic head, And trace the gloom with ghostly tread : Thou heard'st him pour the stifled groan, HORROR ! his soul was all thy own ! O mother of the fire-clad thought, O haste thee from thy grave-like grot ! (What time the witch performed the rite) Sprung from th' embrace of TASTE and NIGHT! O queen ! that erst didst thinly spread The willowy leaves o'er Isis't head, * I do not remember that any poetical use has been made of this story. f See Isis, an Elegy. 64 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. And to her meek mein didst dispense, Woe's most awful negligence ; What time, in cave, with visage pale, She told her elegiac tale : O thou! whom wand'ring WARTON saw, Amaz'd with more than youthful awe, As by the pale moon's glimm'ring gleam He mus'd his melancholy theme :* O curfew-loving goddess haste ! O waft me to some SCYTHIAN waste, Where, in Gothic solitude, 'Mid prospects most sublimely rude, Beneath a rough rock's gloomy chasm, Thy sister sits, ENTHUSIASM : Let me with her, in magic trance, Hold most delirious dalliance ; 'Till I, thy pensive votary, HORROR, look madly wild like thee; Until I gain true transport's shore, And life's retiring scene is o'er ; Aspire to some more azure sky, Remote from dim mortality ; At length, recline the fainting head, In druid-dreams dissolv'd and dead. # See the PLEASURES OF MELANCHOLY, a Poem. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE, FREEMAN S BEST VIRGINIA. A PIPE OF TOBACCO. IW IMITATION OF SIX SEVERAL AUTHORS, BY HAWKINS BROWNE, ESQ. I. A NEW YEAR'S ODE, IN IMITATION OF COLLEY GIBBER. RECITATIVO. OLD battle-array, big with horror is fled, And olive-rob'd peace again lifts up her head, Sing, ye Muses, TOBACCO, the blessing of peace; Was ever a nation so blessed as this ? 6Q THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. AIR. When summer suns grow red with heat, TOBACCO tempers PHGEBUS' ire, When wintry storms around us beat, TOBACCO cheers with gentle fire. Yellow autumn, youthful spring, In thy praises jointly sing. RECITATIVO. Like NEPTUNE, CAESAR guards VIRGINIAN fleets, Fraught with TOBACCO'S balmy sweets ; Old OCEAN trembles at BRITANNIA'S pow'r, And BOREAS is afraid to roar. AIR. Happy mortal ! he who knows Pleasure which a PIPE bestows ; Curling eddies climb the room, Wafting round a mild perfume. RECITATIVO. Let foreign climes the vine and orange boast, While wastes of war deform the teeming coast, BRITANNIA, distant from each hostile sound, Enjoys a PIPE, with ease and freedom crown'd ; E'en restless faction finds itself most free, Or if a slave, a slave to liberty. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 67 AIR. Smiling years that gaily run Round the zodiac with the sun, Tell, if ever you have seen Realms so quiet and serene. BRITISH sons no longer now Hujl the bar, or twang the bow, Nor of crimson combat think, But securely smoke and drink. CHORUS. Smiling years that gaily run Round the zodiac with the sun, Tell, if ever you have seen Realms so quiet and serene. II. IMITATION OF MR. A. PHILLIPS. LITTLE tube of mighty pow'r, Charmer of an idle hour, Object of my warm desire, Lip of wax, and eye of fire ; And thy snowy taper waist, With my finger gently brac'd ; And thy pretty swelling crest, With my little stopper prest; 68 THE OXFOUD SAUSAGE. And the sweetest bliss of blisses, Breathing from thy balmy kisses ; Happy thrice, and thrice agen, Happiest he of happy men, Who when agen the night returns^ When agen the taper burns, When agen the cricket's gay, (Little cricket, full of play,) Can afford his tube to feed With the fragrant INDIAN weed: Pleasure for a nose divine, Incense of the god of wine. Happy thrice, and thrice agen, Happiest he of happy men. in. IMITATION OF MR. THOMSON. O thou, matured by glad Hesperian suns, TOBACCO, fountain pure of limpid truth, That looks the very soul ; whence pouring thought Swarms all the mind ; absorpt is yellow care, And at each puff imagination burns : Flash on thy bard, and with exalting fires Touch the mysterious lip that chaunts thy praise, In strains to mortal sons of earth unknown. Behold an engine, wrought from tawny mines THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 69 Of ductile clay, with plastic virtue form'd, And glaz'd magnific o'er, I grasp, I fill. From P^TOTHEKE with pungent powers perfum'd, Itself one tortoise all, where shines imbib'd Each parent ray ; then rudely ramm'd illume With the red touch of zeal-enkindling sheet, Mark'd with GIBSONIAN lore; forth issue clouds, Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around, And many-mining fires ; I all the while, Lolling at ease, inhale the breezy balm. But chief, when BACCHUS, wont with thee to join, In genial strife and orthodoxal ale, Stream life and joy into the Muse's bowl, Oh, be thou still my great inspirer, thou My Muse ; oh fan me with thy zephyr's boon, While I, in clouded tabernacle shrin'd, Burst forth all oracle and mystic song. IV. IMITATION OF DR. YOUNG. CRITICS avaunt! TOBACCO is my theme; Tremble like hornets at the blasting steam. And you, court insects, flutter not too near Its light, nor buz within the scorching sphere, POLLIO, with flame like thine my verse inspire, So shall the Muse from smoke elicit fire. 70 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Coxcombs prefer the tickling sting of snuff; Yet all their claim to wisdom is a puff: Lord FOPLIN smokes not for his teeth afraid; Sir TAWDRY smokes not for he wears brocade. Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon ; They love no smoke, except the smoke of town \ But courtiers hate the puffing tribe, no matter, Strange if they love the breath that cannot flatter ! Its foes but shew their ignorance ; can he Who scorns the leaf of knowledge love the tree ? The tainted Templar (more prodigious yet) Rails at TOBACCO, though it makes him spit. CITRONIA vows it has an odious stink ; She will not smoke, (ye gods !) but she will drink : And chaste PRUDELLA (blame her if you can) Says, pipes are us'd by that vile creature man : Yet crowds remain, who still its worth proclaim, While some for pleasure smoke, and some for fame : Fame, of our actions universal spring, For which we drink, eat, sleep, smoke, every thing. v. IMITATION OF MR. POPE, BLEST leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense ; So raptur'd Priests, at fam'd DODONA'S shrine, Drank inspiration from the stream divine. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 7l Poison that cures, a vapour that affords Content, more solid than the smile of lords : Rest to the weary, to the hungry food, The last kind refuge of the wise and good. Inspir'd by thee, dull cits adjust the scale Of Europe's peace, when other statesmen fail. By thee protected, and thy sister, beer, Poets rejoice, nor think the bailiff near. Nor less the critic owns thy genial aid, While supperless he plies the piddling trade. What though to love and soft delight a foe, By ladies hated, hated by the beau, Yet social freedom, long to courts unknown, Fair health, fair truth, and virtue are thy own. Come to thy poet, come with healing wings, And let me taste thee unexcis'd by kings. VI. IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT. BOY ! bring an ounce of FREEMAN'S best, And bid the vicar be my guest : Let all be plac'd in manner due, A pot wherein to spit or spew, And London Journal, and Free-Briton, Of use to light a pipe, or ****** 72 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE, This village, unmolested yet By troopers, shall be my retreat : Who cannot flatter, bribe, betray ; Who cannot write or vote for pay. Far from the vermin of the town, Here let me rather live, my own ; Doze o'er a pipe, whose vapour bland In sweet oblivion lulls the land, Of all which at Vienna passes, As ignorant as * * * brass is : And scorning rascals to caress, Extol the days of good Queen Bess, When first TOBACCO blest our isle, Then think of other Queens and smile. Come, jovial pipe, and bring along Midnight revelry and song ; The merry catch, the madrigal, That echoes sweet in city hall ; The parson's pun, the smutty tale Of country justice o'er his ale. I ask not what the French are doing, Or Spain, to compass Britain's ruin : Britons, if undone, can go Where TOBACCO loves to grow, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE PLEASURE OF BEING OUT OF DEBT. HORACE, ODE XXII. BOOK T. IMITATED. Integer vitae scelerisque purus, &c. I. THE man who not a farthing owes, Looks down with scornful eye on those Who rise by fraud and cunning ; Though in the Pig-Market he stand, With aspect grave, and clear-starched band, He fears no tradesman's dunning. 74 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE, II. He passes by each shop in town, Nor hides his face beneath his gown, No dread his heart invading ; He quaffs the nectar of the Tuns, Or on a spur-galPd hackney runs To London masquerading. in. What joy attends a new-paid debt! Our manciple I lately met, Of visage wise and prudent ; I on the nail my battels paid, The monster turn'd away dismay'd, Hear this, each Oxford student ! IV. With justice and with truth to trace The grisly features of his face, Exceeds all man's recounting; Suffice, he look'd as grim and sour As any lion in the Tower, Or half-starv'd cat-a-mountain. v. A phiz so grim you scarce can meet In Bedlam, Newgate, or the Fleet, Dry nurse of faces horrid ! THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 75 Not BUCKHORSE fierce, with many a bruise, Displays such complicated hues On his undaunted forehead. VI. Place me on Scotland's bleakest hill, Provided I can pay my bill, Hang evVy thought of sorrow ; There falling sleet, or frost, or rain, Attack a soul resolv'd, in vain : It may be fair to-morrow. VIJ. To Headington then let me stray, And take Joe Pullen's Tree away, I'll ne'er complain of Phoebus ; But while he scorches up the grass, I'll fill a bumper to my lass, And toast her in a rebus. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. ODE TO AN EAGLE, CONFINED IN A COLLEGE COURT. Quis tarn crudeles optavit sumere paenas, Cui tantum de te licuit ? VIRG. Atque affigit bumi divinae particulam aurar>. HOR. I. IMPERIAL bird, who wont to soar High o'er the rolling cloud, Where Hyperborean mountains hoar Their heads in ether shroud ; Thou servant of almighty Jove, "Who, free and swift as thought, could'st rove To the bleak north's extremest goal ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 77 Thou, who magnanimous could'st bear The sovereign thunderer's arms in air, And shake thy native pole ! li. O cruel fate ! what barb'rous hand, What more than Gothic ire, At some fierce tyrant's dread command. To check thy daring fire, Has plac'd thee in this servile cell, Where discipline and dulness dwell ; Where genius ne'er was seen to roam : Where ev'ry selfish soul's at rest, Nor ever quits the carnal breast, But lurks and sneaks at home ! III. Though dimm'd thine eye, and clipt thy wing, So grov'ling ! once so great ! The grief-inspir'd Muse shall sing In tend'rest lays thy fate : What time by thee scholastic pride, Takes his precise, pedantic stride, Nor on thy mis'ry casts a care ; The stream of love ne'er from his heart Flows out, to act fair pity's part ; But stinks, and stagnates there. 78 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. IV. Yet useful still, hold to the throng Hold the reflecting glass> That not untutor'd at thy wrong The passenger may pass : Thou type of wit and sense confin'd, Cramp'd by th' oppressors of the mind ; Born to look downward on the ground ! Type of the fall of Greece and Rome ! While more than mathematic gloom Envelopes all around ! THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE ART OF PREACHING. A FRAGMENT. IN IMITATION OF HORACE'S ART OF POETRT. BY THE LATE REV. CHRISTOPHER PITT. Pendent opera interrupta. SHOULD some fam'd hand, in this fantastic age, Draw RICH, as RICH appears upon the stage, With all his postures in one motley plan, The god, the hound, the monkey, and the man ; Here o'er his head high brandishing a leg, And there just hatch'd, and breaking from his egg ; 80 THE OXFORD SAtSAGfi. While monster crowds on monster through the piece, Who could help laughing at a sight like this ? Or as a drunkard's dream together brings A court of coblers, and a mob of kings ; Such is a sermon, where confus'dly dark, Join Hoadly, Sharp, South, Sherlock, Wake, and Clarke. So eggs of different parishes will run To batter, when you beat six yolks to one ; So six bright chymic liquors if you mix, In one dark shadow vanish all the six. This license priests and painters ever had, To run bold lengths, but never to run mad ; For these can't reconcile God's grace to sin, Nor those paint tygers in an ass's skin ; No common dauber in one piece would join A fox and goose, unless upon a sign. Some steal a page of sense from Tillotson, And then conclude divinely with their own ; Like oil on water mounts the prelate up, His Grace is always sure to be at top ; That vein of mercury its beams will spread, And shine more strongly through a mine of lead. With such low arts your hearers never bilk, For who can bear a fustian lin'd with silk ? Sooner than preach such stuff, I'd walk the town Without my scarf, in JVhiston's draggled gown j THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 81 Ply at the Chapter and at Child's to read For pence, and bury for a groat a head. Some easy subject chuse, within your power, Or you will ne'er hold out for half an hour. Still to your hearers all your sermons sort ; Who'd preach against corruption at the Court ? Against church power at visitations bawl ? Or talk about damnation at Whitehall? Harangue the horse-guards on a cure of souls ? Condemn the quirks of Chancery at the Rolls ? Or rail at hoods and organs at St. PauTs ? Or be, like David Jones, so indiscreet, To rave at usurers in Lombard-street ? Begin with care, nor, like that curate vile, Set out in this high prancing stumbling style ; " Whoever with a piercing eye can see " Through the past records of futurity" All gape, no meaning : the puft orator Talks much, and says just nothing, for an hour. Truth and the text he labours to display, 'Till both are quite interpreted away : So frugal dames insipid water pour, 'Till green, bohea, or coffee are no more. His arguments in giddy circles run Still round and round, and end where they begun So the poor turn-spit, as the wheel runs round, The more he gains, the more he loses ground. F 82 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Nor parts distinct, or general scheme we find, But one wild shapeless monster of the mind : So when old bruin teems, her children fail Of limbs, form, figure, features, head, or tail ; Nay, though she licks the ruins, all her cares Scarce mend the lumps, and bring them but to bears, Ye country vicars, when you preach in town A turn at Paul's, to pay your journey do\vn ; If you would shun the sneer of every prig, Lay by the little band and rusty wig : But yet be sure, your proper language know, Nor talk as born within the sound of Bow. Speak not the phrase that Drury-Lane affords, Nor from ' Change- Alley steal a cant of words. Coachmen will criticise your stile, nay further, Porters will bring it in for wilful murder ; The dregs of the canaille will look askew, To hear the language of the town from you ; Nay, my lord may'r, with merriment possest, Will break his nap, and laugh among the rest, And jog the aldermen to hear the jest. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE, 83 THE CELEBRATED SONG THE ALL SOULS' MALLARD. GRIFFIN, bustard, turkey, capon, Let other hungry mortals gape on ; And on the bones their stomachs fall hard, But let all All Souls' men have their MALLARD, Oh ! by the blood of King Edward, Oh ! by the blood of King Edward, It was a swapping, swapping MALLARD. 34 THE OXFORD'SAUSAGE. The Romans once admir'd a Gander More than they did their chief commander ; Because he sav'd, if some don't fool us, The place that's call'd from th' head of Tolas. Oh ! by the blood, &c. The poets feign Jove turn'd a swan, But let them prove it, if they can ; As for our proof, 'tis not at all hard, For it was a swapping, swapping MALLARD. Oh ! by the blood, &c. Swapping he was from bill to eye ; Swapping he was from wing to thigh ; His swapping tool of generation Out-swapped all the wing'd creation. Oh! by the blood, See- Therefore let us sing and dance a galliard, To the remembrance of the MALLARD : And as the MALLARD dives in pool, Let us dabble, dive, and duck in bowl. Oh ! by the blood of King Edward, Oh ! by the blood of King Edward, It was a swapping, swapping MALLARD. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. SONG, IN HONOUR OF THE CELEBRATION OF THE BOAR'S HEAD, AT QUEEN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD. Tarn Marti quam Mercuric. I sing not of Roman or Grecian mad games, The Pythian, Olympic, and such like hard names ; Your patience awhile, with submission I beg, I strive but to honour the feast of Coll. Reg. Derry down, down, down, derry down. No Thracian brawls at our rites e'er prevail, We temper our mirth with plain sober mild ale ; The tricks of old Circe deter us from wine : Tho' we honour a BOAR, we won't make ourselves swine. Derry down, &c. 86 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Great Milo was famous for slaying his ox, Yet he prov'd but an ass in cleaving of blocks ; But we had a hero for all things was fit, Our motto displays both his valour and wit. Derry down, &c. Stout Hercules laboured, and look'd mighty big, When he slew the half-starv'd Erymanthian pig ; But we can relate such a stratagem taken, That the stoutest of BOARS could not save his own bacon, Derry down, &c. So dreadful this bristle-back'd foe did appear, You'd have sworn he had got the wrong pig by the ear ; But instead of avoiding the mouth of the beast, He ramm'd in a volume, and cry'd Grtfcum est. Derry down, &c. In this gallant action such fortitude shewn is, As proves him no coward, nor tender Adonis ; No armour but logic, by which we may find, That logic's the bulwark of body and mind. Derry down, &c. Ye 'squires, that fear neither hills nor rough rocks, And think you're full wise, when you outwit a fox ; Enrich your poor brains, and expose them no more, Learn Greek, and seek glory from hunting the BOAR. Derry down, &c. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 87 EPIGRAM ON AN EPIGRAM. i. ONE day in Christ-Church meadows walkin Of poetry, and such things talking, Says RALPH, a merry wag, " An EPIGRAM, if right and good, " In all its circumstances shou'd " Be like a JELLY-BAG." 88 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. II. " Your simile, I own, is new, " But how dost make it out ?" quoth HUGH ; Quoth RALPH, " I'll tell thee, friend : t Make it at top both wide and fit " To hold a budget-full of wit, " And point it at the end."* * This Epigram is printed from the original manuscript, pre- served in the archives of the JELLY-BAG SOCIETY. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 89 AN EPISTLE TO MR. ROBERT LOWTH, In Imitation of Horace, Book II. Epist. 19. BY THE LATE MR. CHRISTOPHER PITT. Xis said, dear sir, no poets please the town, Who drink mere water, though from Helicon : For in cold blood they seldom boldly think : Their rhymes are more insipid than their drink. Not great APOLLO could the train inspire, 'Till gen'rous BACCHUS help'd to fan the fire, 90 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Warm'd by two gods at once, they drink and write, Rhyme all the day, and fuddle all the night. HOMER, says HORACE, nods in many a place, But hints, he nodded oft'ner o'er the glass. Inspired with wine, old Ennius sung and thought With the same spirit that his heroes fought : And we from JOHNSON'S tavern-laws divine That bard was no great enemy to wine. 'Twas from the bottle KING deriv'd his wit, Drank 'till he could not talk, and then he writ. Let no coiPd serjeant touch the sacred juice, But leave it to the bards for better use : Let the grave judges too the glass forbear, Who never sing and dance but once a year. This truth once known, our poets take the hint, Get drunk or mad, and then get into print : To raise their flames indulge the mellow fit, And lose their senses in the search of wit : And when with claret fir'd they take the pen, Swear they can write, because they drink, like BEN. Such mimic SWIFT or PRIOR to their cost, For in the rash attempt the fools are lost. When once a genius breaks through common rules, He leads an herd of imitating fools. If POPE, the prince of poets, sick a-bed, O'er steaming coifee bends his aching head, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. The fools in public o'er the fragrant draught Incline those heads that never ach'd or thought. This must provoke his mirth, or his disdain, Cure his complaint, or make him sick again. I too, like them, the poet's path pursue, And keep great FLACCUS ever in my view; But in a distant view yet what I write In these loose sheets, must never see the light ; Epistles, odes, and twenty trifles more, Things that are born and die in half an hour. What! you must dedicate, says sneering SPENCE, This year, some new performance to the prince : Though money is your scom, no doubt in time, You hope to gain some vacant stall by rhyme ; Like other poets, were the truth but known, You too admire whatever is your own. These wise remarks my modesty confound, While the laugh rises, and the mirth goes round ; Vex'd at the jest, yet glad to shun a fray, I whisk into my coach, and drive away. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE LOUNGER. I rise about nine, get to breakfast by ten, Blow a tune on my flute, or perhaps make a pen ; Read a play till eleven, or cock my lac'd hat ; Then step to my neighbours, 'till dinner, to chat. Dinner over, to Tom's or to James's I go, The news of the town so impatient to know ; While LaWj Locke t and Newton, and all the rum race, That talk of their modes, their ellipses, and space, The seat of the soul, and new systems on high, In holes, as abstruse as their mysteries, lie. From the coffee-house then I to tennis away, And at five I post back to my college to pray : THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. I sup before eight, and secure from all duns, Undauntedly march to the Mitre or TUHS ; Where in punch or good claret my sorrows I drown, And toss off a bowl " To the best in the town ;" At one in the morning, I call what's to pay, Then home to my college I stagger away ; Thus I tope all the night, as I trifle all day. EPIGRAM, WRITTEN BY AN EXCISEMAN, AND ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADT, WHO WAS COURTED AT THE SAME TIME BT AN APOTHECARY. WHAT though the doctor boasts to fit Your mortar to his pestle ; Are not my inches ev'ry whit As good to gage your vessel? THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. EPISTLE TO MR. SPENCE, WHEN TUTOR TO LORD MIDDLESEX. In Imitation of Horace, Bool I. Epist. 18. BY THE LATE MR. CHRISTOPHER PITT. SPENCE, with a friend you pass the hours away In pointed jokes, yet innocently gay: You ever differ'd from a flatterer more, Than a chaste lady from a flaunting whore. 'Tis true you rallied every fault you found, But gently tickled, while you cur'd the wound : THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Q5 Unlike the paltry poets of the town, Rogues who expose themselves for half a crown ; And still impose on ev'ry soul they meet, Rudeness for sense, and ribaldry for wit : Who, tho' half-starv'd, in spite of time and place, Repeat their rhymes, tho' dinner stays for grace : And as their poverty their dresses fit, They think of course a sloven is a wit : But sense (a truth these coxcombs ne'er suspect) Lies just 'twixt affectation and neglect. One step, still lower, if you condescend, To the mean wretch, the great man's humble friend, That moving shade, that pendent at his ear, That two-legg'd dog, still pawing on the peer. Studying his looks, and watching at the board, He gapes to catch the droppings of my lord ; And tickled to the soul at ev'ry joke, Like a press'd watch, repeats what t'other spoke : Echo to nonsense ! such a scene to hear ! J Tis just like Punch and his interpreter. On trifles some are earnestly absurd, You'll think the world depends on ev'ry word. What, is not ev'ry mortal free to speak ? I'll give my reasons, tho' I break my neck 96 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. And what's the question ? if it shines or rains, Whether 'tis twelve or fifteen miles to Staines. The wretch, reduc'd to rags, by ev'ry vice, Pride, projects, races, mistresses, and dice, The rich rogue shuns, tho' full as bad as he, And knows a quarrel is good husbandry. 'Tis strange, cries Peter, you are out of pelf, I'm sure I thought you wiser than myself; Yet gives him nothing but advice too late, Retrench, or rather mortgage your estate ; I can advance the sum 'tis best for both, But henceforth cut your coat to match your cloth. A minister, in mere revenge and sport, Shall give his foe 'a paltry place at court. The dupe for ev'ry royal birth-day buys New horses, coaches, clothes, and liveries ; Plies at the levee, and distinguish'd there, Lives on the royal whisper for a year ; His wenches shine in Brussels' and brocade : And now the wretch, ridiculously mad, Draws on his banker, mortgages, and fails, Then to the country runs away from jails : There ruin'd by the court he sells a vote To the next burgess, as of old he bought ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Q7 Rubs down the steeds which once his chariot bore, Or sweeps the town which once he serv'd before. But, by this roving meteor led, I tend Beyond my theme, forgetful of my friend. Then take advice ; I preach not out of time, When good Lord MIDDLESEX is bent on rhyme. Their humour check'd, or inclination crost, Sometimes the friendship of the great is lost. Unless called out to wench, be sure comply ; Hunt when he hunts, and lay the Fathers by : For your reward you gain his love, and dine On the best ven'son and the best French wine : Nor to Lord ****** make the observation, How the twelve peers have answer'd their creation ; Nor in your wine or wrath betray your trust, Be silent still, and obstinately just : Explore no secrets, draw no characters, For echo will repeat, and walls have ears ; Nor let a busy fool a secret know, A secret gripes him 'till he lets it go : Words are like bullets, and we wish in vain, When once discharged, to call them back again. **************** ***.*********** 93 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Defend, dear SPENCE, the honest and the civil, But to cry up a rascal that's the devil. Who guards a good man's character, 'tis known, At the same time protects and guards his own. For as with houses, 'tis with people's names, A shed may set a palace all in flames ; The fire neglected on the cottage preys, But mounts at last into a general blaze. 'Tis a fine thing, some think, a lord to know ; I wish his tradesmen could but think so too. He gives his word then all your hopes are gone : He gives his honour then you're quite undone. His and some women's love the same are found, You rashly board a fire-ship and are drown'd. Most folks so partial to themselves are grown, They hate a temper differing from their own. The grave abhor the gay, the gay the sad, And formalists pronounce the witty mad : The sot who drinks six bottles in a place, Swears at the flinchers who refuse their glass. Would you not pass for an ill-natur'd man, Comply with ev'ry humour that you can. POPE will instruct you how to pass away Your time like him, and never lose a day ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. From hopes or fears your quiet to defend, To all mankind, as to yourself, a friend ; And sacred from the world, retir'd, unknown, To lead a life with morals like his own. When to delicious PIMPERNE I retire, What greater bliss, my SPENCE, can I desire? Contented there my easy hours I spend With maps, globes, books, my bottle and a friend. There can I live upon my income still, E'en tho' the House should pass the Quakers' Bill Yet to my share should some good prebend fall, I think myself of size to fill a stall. For life or wealth let heav'n my lot assign, A firm and even soul shall still be mine. 100 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. MORNING. AN ODE. THE AUTHOR CONFINED TO COLLEGE. Scribimus inclusi. - - - - PERS. Sat. i. v. 13. % ONCE more the vernal sun's ambrosial beams The fields, as with a purple robe, adorn : CHAR WELL, thy sedgy banks and glist'ning streams All laugh and sing at mild approach of morn ; Thro' the deep groves I hear the chaunting birds, And thro' the clover'd vale the various-lowing herds. Up mounts the mower from his lowly thatch, Well pleas'd the progress of the Spring to mark, The fragrant breath of breezes pure to catch, And startle from her couch the early lark; More genuine pleasure sooths his tranquil breast, Than high-thron'd kings can boast, in eastern glory drest. The pensive poet through the green-wood steals, Or treads the willow'd marge of murm'ring brook; Or climbs the steep ascent of airy hills ; There sits him down beneath a branching oak, Whence various scenes, and prospects wide below, Still teach his musing mind with fancies high to glow. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1Q1 But I nor with the day awake to bliss, (Inelegant to me fair Nature's face, A blank the beauty of the morning is, And grief and darkness all for light and grace ;) Nor bright the sun, nor green the meads appear, Nor colour charms mine eye, nor melody mine ear. Me, void of elegance and manners mild, With leaden rod, stern discipline restrains ; Stiff pedantry, of learned pride the child, My roving genius binds in Gothic chains : Nor can the cloistered Muse expand her wing, Nor bid these twilight roofs with her gay carols ring. MISS POLLY FOOTE'S UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL AT OXFORD, AND SPEEDY FLIGHT FROM THENCE, 1?58. LONG had fair VENUS and her son Distressed MINERVA'S darling town With persecution jealous ; Of belles so scanty was her choice, She scarce could furnish toasts for boys, Or wives for humbler Fellows. 102 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Yet PALLAS all their spleen defy'd, And prudently the loss supply'd Of such precarious blisses : Hence were her sons more studious grown ; Her discipline went smoother on, 'Mid troops of homely misses. CUPID, who late had seen the place, Found they had quite mistook the case, That books would grow in fashion ; That dazzling eyes and blooming cheeks, Could only tame those hardy GREEKS, And bring them to submission. Then swift as thought he flew to town, And POLLY straight is order'd down, The champion of beauty ; For well his godship did devise, That POLLY'S charms and POLLY'S eyes Would be alert on duty. She came, and with each grace complete, From a Venetian window's height, Her battery she play'd : The fatal slaughter who can tell, What troops of gazing students fell, Stretch'd o'er the smooth Parade? THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 103 Sage folios, now a musty heap, In chains and learned darkness sleep, All logic's turn'd to folly; Each student takes his cap and gown, And runs through ev'ry street in town, To catch a look at POLLY. Who now can pedant rules endure ? " Go boy, and bid the best friseur, " At six precise be wi' me ;" My hair in wires exact and nice, I'll trim my cap to smallest size, That POLLY sure may see me. Nay e'en the Don his pipe forgoes, That friend to wisdom and repose, Lest POLLY be offended; And GALEN'S sagest sons will leave, To dangle hours at POLLY'S sleeve, Their patients unattended. See churches are forsaken too, If POLLY does not grace a pew, To keep grave heads from sleeping : Mad HUTCHINSONIANS rave in vain, The sad deserted seats remain For 'prentice boys to weep in. 104 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. CUPID, who stood at POLLY'S side Incog, and every shaft supplied, Laugh'd with insulting malice, To see how sure each arrow flew, How at each killing glance she slew Some fav'rite son of PALLAS. Then to JOVE'S court he wing'd his way, To tell the triumphs of the day, And publish POLLY'S glory; But PALLAS had that morn been there, And humbly sought of JOVE to hear The hardships of her story. " That all her sons were rebels grown, " No books were read, no rules were known; " Her fav'rite seat was undone :" Her plea was heard, 'twas JOVE'S decree, That IRIS should next week convey- Fair POLLY back to LONDON. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 105 THE CUSHION PLOT, BY HERBERT BEAVER, ESQ. C. C. C. GABY* possession had got of the Hall, He took a survey of the chapel and all, Since that, like the rest, was just ready to fall. Which nobody can deny. And first he began to examine the chest, Where he found an old cushion which gave him distaste ; The first of the kind that e'er troubled his rest. Which nobody, &c. Two letters of gold on this cushion were rear'd ; Two letters of gold, once by GABY rever'd; But now, what was loyalty, treason appeared : Which nobody, &c. " J. R. (quoth the Don, in soliloquy bass ;) " See the works of this damnable Jacobite Race ! " Well out with the J, and put G in its place." Which nobody, &c. And now to erase these letters so rich, For scissars and bodkin his fingers did itch, For converts in politics go thorough-stitch. Which nobody, &c. Dr. SHAW, the President of the College. 106 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. The thing was almost as soon done as said, Poor J was depos'd, and G reign'd in his stead ; Such a quick revolution sure never was read ! Which nobody, &c. Then hey for preferment but how did he stare, When convinced and asham'd of not being aware That J stood for JEMMET,* for RAYMOND the R. Which nobody, &c. Then beware, all ye parents, from hence I advise, How ye chuse Christian names for the babes ye baptize, For if GABY don't like 'em, he'll pick out their J's. Which nobody can deny. ov LOPPING NEW COLLEGE LIME TREES. WHILOM a row of saucy limes, Planted, I ween, in luckless times, By some ill-favour'd Bursar, Like upstarts vain, grew proud and tall, And boldly perk'd it o'er the wall, No trees look'd ever fiercer. But late for sundry crimes arraign'd, - Whether some stripling shrubs complain'd These rogues presum'd to slight 'em ; * The benefactor who gave the cushion. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Or whether they were heard to prate Of some sad yew's untimely fate, That once grew over-right 'em : Or if by chance their heads they shook, When tow'rds the church they turn'd a look, And mourn'd the sad conditions Of poor St. PETER'S* numerous dead, That to their graves were daily led, Since some folks turn'd physicians. Whate'er the cause, some angry pow'r Resolv'd their daring tops to low'r : His murd'rous mates assembled : Oh ! as the mangling crew appears, Arm'd with axe, hatchet, saw, and shears, How ev'ry DRYAD trembled. Sore cause, for ne'er in grove of oak Did spendthrift heir's unpitying stroke, Such butchery exhibit ; Each arm they maim'd, each head they topt, Nor even left a limb unlopt, To make the dogs a gibbet. So looks the poor dismembered tar, Who late was thunderbolt of war, But fall'n in barb'rous clutches : * The Church of St. Peter in the East, at Oxford. 108 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. From maiigling hospital turned out, Maim'd, halt, and naked, limps about To beg with stumps and crutches. Oh ! how the sad succeeding year, Will each kind stranger's pitying tear, Our wond'rous change bemoan ; To see each tree, once green and tall, A shapeless block become ; and all Our hedge-rows turn'd to stone. But we, blest minions, all our days Shall bask in PHCEBUS' warmest rays, No shade can now controul us : And should he chance to overheat us, He by the same good hand can treat us With gentle purge to cool us. EPIGRAM ON AN OXFORD TOAST, WITH FINE EYES AND A BAD VOICE. Luc ETTA'S charms our hearts surprise At once with love and wonder; She bears JOVE'S lightnings in her eyes, But in her voice his thunder. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1QQ A BALLAD, To the Tune of" To you fair ladies now at land." OCCASIONED BY A Copy of Verses on Miss Brickenden's going to Newnham by Water; in which were the following lines: " The lofty trees of Netenham's pendant wood, " To meet her seem to rush into the flood ; " Peep o'er their fellows' heads to view the fair " Whose name upon their wounded barks they bear. *' Repress your amorous haste; the lovely maid '* In PERSON deigns to cheer the gloomy shade." . WHILST you my charming ANNA reign Of ev'ry Muse the theme ; Whose presence decks with flowers the plain, With pride swells Isis' stream; May I presume you'll lend an ear, To me, your humble sonnetteer ? Fa, la, la. But lest, my fair, you think me cold, Cry pish, and call me rude ; Or think that I dare be so bold, My passion to intrude ; It is not for myself I sue, J Tis for some trees that die for you. Fa, la. 110 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Since late on Isis* silver flood Your fatal form was seen, Some luckless oaks of Newnham Wood, 'Till then full fresh and green, No more their verdant honour spreads, But sigh for you, and hang their heads. Fa, la. 15* .**** i *?< . W t > - 'Tis said, that with a look most queer, The dotards peeping stood ; No priest with more lascivious leer, Confessing nun e'er view'd : Nay, that they rush'd into the flood Were e'er such am'rous sticks of wood? Fa, la. How then can all your num'rous band Of lovers not despair ; When hearts of oak could not withstand A face so wond'rous fair ? Since in your breast no pity's found, Tho' lovers hang, and trees are drown'd. Fa, la. In pity to your wit, restrain The lightning of your eyes ; Since at each glance upon the plain Some bleeding forest dies : If you proceed, my lovely maid, You'll ruin our poetic shade. Fa, la. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. HI Well might the poet's am'rous song Stile you the public care ; For all our country 'squires e'er long, Will dread the passing fair. Think what will good Lord HARCOURT do, Now Newnham woods are nYd by you ! Fa, la, la. ON J A BEAUTY WITH ILL QUALITIES. MISTAKEN Nature here has join'd A beauteous face and ugly mind ; In vain the faultless features strike, When soul and body are unlike ; Pity those snowy breasts should hide Deceit, and avarice, and pride ! So in rich jars from CHINA brought, With glowing colours gaily wrought, Oft times the subtle spider dwells, With secret venom bloated swells, Weaves all his fatal nets within, As unsuspected as unseen. 112 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. ' A SONG OF SIMILIES. BY THE REV. DR. BACON. I'VE thought; the fair CLARISSA cries; What is it like, sir ? Like your eyes. 'Tis like a chair 'tis like a key 'Tis like a purge 'tis like a flea 'Tis like a beggar like the sun 'Tis like the Dutch'tis like the moon 'Tis like a kilderkin of ale 'Tis like a doctor like a whale. Why are my eyes, sir, like a SWORD ? For that's the thought upon my word. Ah ! witness ev'ry pang I feel ; The deaths they give their likeness tell. A sword is like a chair, you'll find, Because 'tis most an end behind. 'Tis like a key, for 'twill undo one ; 'Tis like a purge, for 'twill run through one. 'Tis like a flea, and reason good, 'Tis often drawing human blood. Why like a beggar you shall hear, 'Tis often borne before the mayor. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1 13 'Tis like the sun because 'tis gilt ; Besides, it travels in a belt. 'Tis like the Dutch we plainly see, Because that state, whenever we A push for our own interest make, Does instantly our sides forsake. The moon why when all's said and done, A sword is very like the moon : For if his majesty (God bless him !) When country sheriff comes t' address him, Is pleas'd his favours to bestow On him, before him kneeling low, This o'er his shoulders glitters bright, And gives the glory to the knight, \jiight.~] 'Tis like a kilderkin, no doubt, For 'tis not long in drawing out. 'Tis like a doctor, for who will Dispute a doctor's power to kill ? But why a sword is like a whale, Is no such easy thing to tell ; But since all swords are swords, d'ye see, Why let it then a backsword be ; Which, if well us'd, will seldom fail To raise up somewhat like a whale. 114 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE SNIPE. AN HUMOROUS BALLAD. BY THE SAME. Tune " Abbot of Canterbury." I'LL tell you a story, a story that's true, A story that's dismal, yet comical too ; It is of a friar, who some people think, Tho' as sweet as a nut, might have dy'd of a stink. Derry down, down, down derry down. This friar would often go out with his gun, And tho' no great marksman, he thought himself one ; For tho' he for ever was wont to miss aim, Still something but never himself was to blame. Derry down, &c. It happened young Peter, a friend of the friar's, With legs arm'd with leather, for fear of the briars, Went out with him once, tho' it signifies not Where he hir'd his gun, or who tick'd for the shot. Derry down, &c. Away these two trudg'd it, o'er hills and o'er dales, They popt at the partridges, frighten'd the quails ; But to tell you the truth, no great mischief was done, Save spoiling the proverb as sure as a gun. Derry down, &c. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1 15 But at length a poor snipe flew direct in the way, In open defiance, as if he would say, " If only the friar and Peter are there, " I'll fly where I list, there's no reason to fear." Derry down, &c. Tho' little thought he that his death was so nigh, Yet Peter by chance fetch'd him down from on high ; His shot was ramm'd down with a journal, I wist, The first time he charg'd so improper with mist. Derry down, &c. Then on both sides the speeches began to be made, As I beg your acceptance Oh ! no, sir, indeed ! I beg that you would, sir for both wisely knew, That one snipe could ne'er be a supper for two. Derry down, &c. What the friar declin'd in a most civil sort, Peter slipt in his pocket, the de'il take him for't ! But were the truth known, 'twould plainly appear, He oft times had found a longer bill there. Derry down, &c. Hid in his pocket the snipe safely lay, While a week did pass over his head, and a day ; 'Till the ropes for a toast too offensive were grown, And were smelt out by ev'ry nose but his own. Derry down, &c. 116 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. The friar look'd wholesome it must be agreed, So no one could say whence the stink should proceed ; Where the stink might be laid, tho' no one could say, 'Tis certain he brought it and took it away. Derry down, &c. At sight of the friar began the perfume, And scarce he appeared but he scented the room : Snuff-boxes were held in the highest esteem, And all the wry faces were made where he came. Derry down, &c. At the place he was in, it was call'd this and that ; In his room 'twas a close-stool, or else a dead rat ; In the fields where he walk'd for some carrion 'twas guest; 'Twas a f t at the Angel, and pass'd for a jest. Derry down, &c. At length the suspicion fell thick on poor Tray, 'Till he took to his heels, and with speed ran away ; Thought the friar, poor Tray, I'll remember thee soon, If I live to grow sweet, I will give thee a bone. Derry down, &c. For he knew that poor Tray was most highly abus'd, And if any, himself thus deserv'd to be us'd : For 'twas certainly he, whom else could he think ; 'Twas certainly he that must make all the stink : Derry down, &c. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. H7 So when he came home he sat down on his bed, His elbow at distance supported his head ; His body long while like a pendulum went ; But all he could do did not alter the scent. Derry down, &c. Thus hipp'd, he got up and pull'd off his clothes, He peep'd in his breeches, and smelt to his hose, And the very next morning fresh clothes he put on, All, all but a waistcoat, for he had but one. Derry down, &c. Yet changing his clothes did not alter the case, And so he stunk on for three weeks and three days ; 'Till to send for a doctor he thought it most meet ; For tho' he was not, yet his life it was sweet. Derry down, &c. The doctor he came, felt his pulse in a trice ; Then crept at a distance to give his advice : But sweating, nor bleeding, nor purging would do, For instead of one stink this only made two. Derry down, &c. The friar oft times to his glass would repair, But to death he was frighten 'd whene'er he came there; His eyes were so sunk, and he look'd so aghast, He verily thought he was stinking his last. Derry down, &c. 118 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. So for credit he hastens to burn* all his prose, And into the fire his verses he throws ; When searching his pockets to make up the pile, He found out the snipe, that had stunk all the while. Derry down, &c. So he hopes you will now think him wholesome again, Since his waistcoat discovers the cause of his pain. To conclude, the poor friar entreats you to note, That you might have been sweet had you been in his coat. Derry down, &c. EPIGRAM IN MARTIAL. LITERALLY TRANSLATED. CALLIDUS imposuit nuper mihi Caupo Ravennae ; Cum peterem mixtum, vendidit ille merum. TRANSLATION. A Landlord at Bath put upon me a queer hum ; I ask'd him for punch and the dog gave me mere rum. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. TABLE TALK. WRITTEN IN THE TEAR 1745. BY MR. KIDGELL, OF HERTFORD COLLEGE. Votum, Timor, Ira, Voluptas, Claudia, Discursus, nostri, Farrago Libelli. JUVENAL. WHEN lovely CJELIA had resigned The dear delights of womankind, And could without reluctance, see The powers of talk-inspiring tea, Imperial in its last decay Glad Mrs. BETTY'S harmless prey : When all the fountains that supply The pools of rich quadrille were dry; And each promiscuous fish was seen Stretch'd on the pearl-bespangled green ; When PHCEBUS had consign'd his pow'r To a mild evening's cooler hour, And lent the jewels of his light T' adorn the empress of the night, 'Twas solemnly agreed upon By MARY Cook, and Butler JOHN, 120 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. That supper in the parlour shou'd be With expedition vast as cou'd be ; For master with delay was hungry, And mistress with impatience angry. Swift as the word the cloth was laid, And all was hush'd while grace was said, When silence once again gave way, To bring discourse again in play. " But, sir, if these accounts are true, The Dutch have mighty things in view ; The Austrians I admire French beans, Dear ma'em, above all sorts of greens, They say the Prussian schemes are quash'd Oh, ma'em, 'tis admirably hash'd Some pepper and I hear ARGYLE A little vinegar and oil- But that, perhaps, is all a jest, sir, Ma'em, which you please which you like best, sir- I think green peas if understood The Grand Duke's schemes are lovely good Mix'd, Mr. JOHN will humble France Sir, your good health but that's a chance Miss HARRIOT'S vastly grown, ma'em why, So her papa thinks Mrs. FRY Is out of patience ma'em a piece Of sturgeon with her little niece THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. They're both year's children JOHN, some bread- But HARRIOT'S taller by the head. She came from school, stay, let me see, I think 'twas almond flummery, Venture to taste it, Mr. SEAR^ The night that GARRICK play'd King LEAK. Oh, I remember ! Dearest ma'em, let Me help you when he acted HAMLET, My sister ASHBURNHAM had on Her pink and silver Hark'ee, JOHN And some rude rabble from the gallery The soup tastes delicate of celery Threw God knows what upon her sleeve She's got it out, ma'em, I perceive Oh, no ma'em, she was forc'd to buy (Your humble servant, Dr. DRY) A whole new breadth we had such sport Of Mrs. VOKES, in Old Round Court. Dear Mrs. CHAT WELL, have you heard To me a teal's a better bird I How Mrs. BRANCHE'S cause goes on? A little water, Mr. JOHN Oh! Mrs. BRANCIIE ! I can't abide her Pray, Mr. JAMES, a glass of cyder Some say a little butter mix'd With capers she is so unfix 'd, 122 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. She can't eats most delightful in it Continue in a mind one minute. No ! carp, ma'em, is and so we see Above all sorts of fish to me A triflingness you know TOM'S wife In every action of her life TOM BRANCH E'S wife I knew another Potatoe, if you please and mother. His mother Mr. OLDHAM speaks, JOHN, don't you hear? within three weeks After these eggs I always poach Was overturn'd in York stage coach- And Mrs. MIXON, as for her Miss, your good health, ma'em, your's, good sir,- She went to Perth- poor soul, it cry'd, And ran to me and there she dy v d Poor little soul ! ma'em, some of those And did it hurt its little nose! Yes, ma'em, it bled I chuse a wing, Sir, you are quite like any thing : But, Doctor, if the noble Duke Take out that skew'r there to the cook Should trounce Mounseer, I'm bold to say A little sweet-bread, Mrs. DAY That 'tis impossible the Dutch Ma'em, if you please, not quite so much . THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 123 Refuse t' assist yes, ma'em, but spices Improve it vastly at this crisis. Good gracious ! he's a dreadful jobster Ma'em, I prefer one claw of lobster He piec'd my habit all in dabs At any time to twenty crabs Oh ! I'd forgot they're lovely rabbits, Dear ma'em ! but now you mention habits, Miss DRAWBRIDGE your good health, Miss PERKIN Has got the fearful'st, frightful'st jerkin, It looks so tarnish'd and so old Miss JEWKES, I hope you've caught no cold No, not at all, ma'em fetch the cheese in Snuff always did set me a sneezing The association's form'd we hear JOHN, mix a little ale and beer Why, really ma'em your health, Miss BAYES Folks talk on't many different ways Tho' 'tis a case that I'm no judge in Ma'em, I'm prodigious fond of gudgeon But apt to prate they're fine stew'd pears At such a juncture of affairs. Dear ma'em, you've heard how 'Squire BOD LING My daughter FORD admires a codling It rain'd so dreadful, cou'd not go, He and Miss JAMES, and Mrs. SLOE, 124 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. So far as Tewkesbury last week Sure, JOHN, you heard Miss IDLE speak ! You saw Miss DRAWBRIDGE, ma'em, last Sunday? Yes, ma'em, I did; and Mrs. MUNDAY Had lost her parrot pray, ma'em, how ? I really, ma'em, can't tell, I vow I pity'd the poor creature's fate Give Mrs. DYKES a china plate But poor Miss DRAWBRIDGE will run wild No, ma'em, our cream is always boil'd For our part, ma'em, I can't but say We all make haste and take away Are mighty fond of slip-slops, bring The wine and fruits ma'em, Church and King Miss, shall I help you ? Sir, I beg Sir, there's enough Ma'em, sister PEG Is well, but GEORGE has hurt his leg My aunt was in a vehement fright His left leg, ma'em no, ma'em, his right Poor Master GREGORY ! ma'em, I hope No, ma'em, he's with my uncle COPE, And is as lively and as brisk As ma'em, dy'e chuse a game at whisk f 3 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 125 SIMILE, \ / * FROM PKUEDRA AND HYPPOLITUS. So when bright Venus yielded up her charms, The blest Adonis languished in her arms : His idle horn on fragrant myrtles hung, His arrows scattered, and his bow unstrung. Obscure in coverts lay his dreaming hounds, And bay'd the fancy 'd boar with feeble sounds ; For nobler sports he quits the savage fields, And all the hero to the lover yields. THE SAME PARODIED. So when bright Abigail resigned her charms, The happy curate languish'd in her arms : His unbrush'd beaver on the floor was toss'd ; His notes were scatter'd, and his bible lost. In ale-house hid his dreaming clerk was found, And rear'd the fancy'd stave with feeble sound : For nobler sheets his concordance he leaves, And all the parson to the lover gives. 126 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. VERSES ON THE EXPECTED ARRIVAL OF QUEEN CHARLOTTE, IN AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, 1761. BY A GENTLEMAN OF OXFORD. Containing the sentiments, images, metaphors, machinery, similies, allusions, and all other poetical decorations, OP THE OXFORD VERSES, WHICH WERE TO APPEAR ON THAT AUSPICIOUS OCCASION. YES ev'ry hopeful son of rhyme * Will surely seize this happy time, Vault upon Pegasus's back, Now grown an academic hack, And sing the beauties of a queen, (Whom, by the by, he has not seen ;) Will swear her eyes are black as jet, Her teeth are pearls in coral set ; Will tell us that the rose has lent Her cheek its bloom, her lips its scent ; That Philomel breaks off her song, And listens to her sweeter tongue ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 127 That Venus and the Graces join'd To form this phoenix of her kind, And Pallas undertook to store Her mind with wisdom's chiefest lore : Thus form'd, Jove issues a decree That GEORGE'S CONSORT she shall be: Then Cupid (for what match is made By poets without Cupid's aid ?) Picks out the swiftest of his darts, And pierces instant both their hearts. Your fearful prosemen here might doubt, How best to bring this match about, For winds and waves are ill-bred things, And little care for queens and kings ; But as the gods assembled stand, And wait each youthful bard's command, All fancy'd dangers they deride, Of boist'rous winds, and swelling tide ; Neptune is call'd to wait upon her, And sea-nymphs are her maids of honour; Whilst we, instead of eastern gales, With vows and praises fill the sails ; And when, with due poetic care, They safely land the royal fair, They catch the happy simile, Of Venus rising from the sea. 128 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Soon as she moves, the hill and vale Responsive tell the joyful tale ; And wonder holds th' enraptur'd throng To see the goddess pass along ; The bowing forests all adore her, And flow'rs spontaneous spring before her, Where you and I all day might travel, And meet with nought but sand and gravel : But poets have a piercing eye, And many pretty things can spy, Which neither you nor I can see, But then the fault's in you and me. The king astonished must appear, And find that fame has wrong'd his dear ; Then Hymen, like a bishop stands, To join the lovers' plighted hands ; Apollo and the Muses wait, The nuptial song to celebrate. But I, who rarely spend my time In paying court or spinning rhyme ; Who cannot from the high abodes, Call down, at will, a troop of gods ; Must in the plain prosaic way, The wishes of my soul convey. May heav'n our monarch's choice approve, May he be blest with mutual love, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 129 And be as happy with his queen, As with my CHLOE I have been ; When wand'ring through the beechen grove, She sweetly smil'd and talk'd of love ! And oh ! that he may live to see A son as wise and good as he ; And may his consort grace the throne With virtues equal to his own ! Our courtly bards will needs be telling That she's like VENUS, or like HELEN ; I wish that she may prove as fair As EGREMONT and PEMBROKE are; For tho' by sages 'tis confest, That beauty's but a toy at best, Yet 'tis, methinks, in married life, A pretty douceur with a wife : And may the minutes, as they fly, Strengthen still the nuptial tie ; While hand in hand through life they go, 'Till love shall into friendship grow ; For tho' these blessings rarely wait On regal pomp and tinselPd state, Yet happiness is virtue's lot, Alike in palace and in cot : 'Tis true, the grave affairs of state, With little folks have little weight ; i ISO THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Yet I confess my patriot heart In Britain's welfare bears its part ; With transport glows at GEORGE'S name, And triumphs in its country's fame : With hourly pleasure I can sit And talk of GRANBY, HAWKE, and PITT ; And, whilst I praise the good and brave, Disdain the coward and the knave. At growth of taxes others fret, And shudder at the nation's debt;' I ne'er the fancied ills bemoan, No debts disturb me but my own. What ! tho' our coffers sink, our trade Repairs the breach which war has made ; And 4f expences now run high, Our minds must with our means comply. Thus far my politics extend, And here my warmest wishes end, May merit flourish, faction cease, And I and EUROPE live in PEACE. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. \$\ ODE TO CRITICISM.* MR. WODHULL. Mutcinus Clypeos, DANAUMQUE Insignia NOBIS Aptemus. Dolus, an Virtus, quis in Hoste requirit? Vino. I. HAIL, mighty goddess, whom of yore, - Where fam'd Cimmeria boasts her ten-fold gloom, In those deep caverns, from her lab'ring womb Imperial Dulness bore. -At the signal of thy birth, O'er the rue-besprinkled earth, Slowly sullen Spleen advances, Sneering Laughter joins the dances, Swift from her den exulting Envy springs, New trims her faded torch, and sharpens all her stings. ii. Farewell, ye visions light and vain, The Delian grove, with its enchanted rill, The cloven summits of Parnassus' hill, Chimeras of the brain. This poem appeared soon after the publication of the Oxford Verses on the death of his late Majesty. 132 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. No more such follies I pursue- Thee, sober-vested queen, I Woo ; Thy propitious help imploring, As by midnight taper poring, With studious care I mark some faulty line, Then curse the Theban harp, or HOMER'S work divine. III. Here in my hateful, lonesome cell, While Darkness spreads her murky veil around, When pains corrode, and stormy passions wound, With thee I wish to dwell. Tho' APOLLO bids despair, Nor a Muse regards my pray'r ; Still with ever constant kindness, Thou wilt sooth my votive blindness ; I feel, I feel the maddening influence reigns, The black bile rushes on, and revels in my veins. IV. Borne on the rapid wings of Thought, E'en now I seem, in thy extensive shade, Where baleful yews overcome the sickening glade, To quaff the plenteous draught. And behold thy realms comprise Learned, ignorant, and wise, All alike with hot devotion, Swallowing thy embitter'd potion. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 133 Fearless I take my self-commission'd stand, To wield thy ruthless sword with unrelenting hand. v. Hear then, O hear my fond request, Whether in poor VERONA'S hapless state, Thou mourn'st thy SCALIGER'S neglected fate, With anguish-laden breast ; Or with rapture lov'st to view Sourly smiling each Review; Quickly haste to my embraces, Come, O come, in all thy graces, Where tuneful Oxford hails thy just domain. Where at thy shrine attend her delegated train. VI. How shall I paint thy heav'nly charms ! In what high praise my ardent suit address ! Or how the glowing flame shall I express Which now my bosom warms ! How describe the mazy road, Leading to thy blest abode ! Where thou sitt'st in state presiding, Us ignoble rhymers guiding To where the banks of LETHE'S silent wave, Before our passive steps disclose an early grave. 134 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. VII. Yet shall my feeble lays presume, Wrapt in ideal extacies, to trace The winning features of thy lovely face, And its primeval bloom. Thou, a silver-slippered nymph,* Lightly tread' st the dimply lymph, With dank sedge thy tresses wreathing, Modulating measures breathing ; A coral crown thy bright brow binds, I ween, And down devolves thy sweeping stole of glossy green. VIII. Oft in nocturnal serenade, Anxious I wake my lyre's discordant strings, 'Till the responsive echo loudly rings With thee, immortal maid ! Ah ! perchance my hopes are vain Canst thou then with harsh disdain, * Alluding to the following lines in WARTON'S Triumph of Isis. And from the wave arose its guardian queen, Known by her sweeping stole of glossy green ; While in the coral crown that bound her brow, Was wove the Delphic laurel's verdant bough. As the smooth surface of the dimply flood, The silver-slippered Isis lightly trod. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 135 Spurn my too officious duty, Self-enamour'd of thy beauty ; And close thy stern, inexorable heart, Slighting the vow sincere, which wants the gloss of art. IX. Hence, idle fears thou still art kind ; Low at thy foot-stool bends my trembling knee : I sue, O goddess, and I sue to thee, To thy behests resigned. No rejected votary's moans Taint the air with feverish groans. Where we rest, thy charms enjoying, Ever tasted, never cloying, Widely thou pour'st thy all-diffusive rays, Instant our kindling souls with fire congenial blaze. x. In RHEDYCINA'S favoured seat, Where richest verse thy smould'ring altar feeds, With him some chosen sage obedient leads, To give thee homage meet. False surmises, hidden flaws, Old grammarians' crabbed laws ; At thy impulse while elated, By thy pleasure he unsated, With his fell pen from thy tribunal bends, As on the mingled lines the frequent blot descends. 136 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. XI. When autumn brought the lowering year, Fair Isis mingled with Britannia's w r oe ; Meanwhile thou taught'st her classic plaints to flow O'er GEORGE'S grief-stain'd bier. How she mourn'd the monarch dead, Father of his country fled, 111 befits my trite narration 1 in less exalted station, Stupidly nod o'er poesy so fine, Stretch'd on the lifeless couch of Indolence supine. XII. That part to Thee we consecrate Of the huge wreath forsooth, which all the Nine, With skill united have conspired to twine.* A fricassee of state ! 'T would make a breakfast for a king ; Or should he feast on no such thing As see-saw flattery, and his spirit Be coolly touch'd with so much merit ; * Alluding to the following lines in the concluding copy of the Oxford Verses before mentioned, written by the POETRY PRO- FESSOR. deign to view This ample wreath, which all th' assembled Nine With skill united have conspir'd to twine. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 137 If he endure the song with look sinister, The plan will suit at least a patriot-minister. XIII. Full many a youth, whose opening shoot Teem'd with poetic foliage, o'er whose head Castalian dews the gracious Muse has shed, And promised riper fruit ; Such the firm decrees of Fate, Such the shortness of his date, With the troop of phantoms nameless, In that pious volume fameless, Where the triumphant clouds of smoke aspire, Sinks in Oblivion's arms on the funereal pyre. XIV. Far from the terrors of thy reign, Curb'd by thy frown, audacious Genius flies ; Or, if he impotently dares to rise, Is levelPd to the plain : Nought avails his magic art To avert thy Vengeful dart ; And his insolent emprising ; Thou his vaunting pow'r despising ; Eager his blasted glories to confound, Strik'st him a breathless corse, unpitying, to the ground. 138 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. XV. When swinging slow with sweepy sway,* In one same constant tenor run our rhymes, Like the sweet music of unvaried chimes, In distant due delay ; Then our vows thou deign'st to hear With a condescending ear. Aid, O goddess, aid my numbers, Let me share thy sweetest slumbers, While from this quill, as all along I doze, In apathy discreet the stumbling stanza flows. * See WARTON'S Pleasures of Melancholy, a poem. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1SQ THE JORDAN. AN IMITATION OF SPENSJER. A well-known vase of sovereign use I sing, Pleasing to young and old, and Jordan hight ; The lovely queen, and eke the haughty king, Snatch up this vessel in the murky night. Ne lives there poor, ne lives there wealthy wight, But uses it in mantle brown or green : Sometimes it stands array'd in glossy white ; And eft in mighty dortours may be seen Of China's fragile earth, with azure flowrets sheen. ii. The virgin comely as the dewy rose, Here gently sheds the softly-whisp'ring rill ; The frannion, who ne shame ne blushing knows, At once the potter's glossy vase does fill ; It whizzes like the waters from a mill. Here frouzy housewives clear their loaded reins ; The beef-fed justice, who fat ale doth swill, Grasps the round-handled jar, and tries, and strains, While slowly dribbling down the scanty water drains. 140 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. III. The dame of Fraunce shall without shame convey This ready needment to its proper place ; Yet shall the daughters of the Lond of Fay Learn better amenaunce and decent grace ; Warm blushes lend a beauty to their face, For virtue's comely tints their cheeks adorn ; Thus o'er the distant hillocks you may trace The purple beamings of the infant morn : Sweet are our blooming maids the sweetest creatures born. IV. None but their husbands or their lovers true They trust with management of their affairs ; Nor even these their privacy may view, When the soft beavies seek the bow'r by pairs : Then from the sight accoy'd, like tim'rous hares, From mate or bellamour alike they fly ; Think not, good swain, that these are scornful airs, Think not for hate they shun thine am'rous eye, Soon shall the fair return, nor dome thee, youth, to die. v. While Belgic frows across a charcoal stove (Replenished like the vestal's lasting fire) Bren for whole years, and scorch the parts of love, No longer parts that can delight inspire> THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 141 Erst cave of bliss, now monumental pyre ; O British maid, for ever clean and neat, For whom I aye will wake my simple lyre, With double care preserve that dun retreat, Fair Fenus* mystic bow'r, Dan Cupid's featherM seat. VI. So may your hours soft-sliding steal away, Unknown to gnarring slander and to bale, O'er seas of bliss peace guides her gondelay, Ne bitter dole impest the passing gale. O sweeter than the lilies of the dale, In your soft breasts the fruits of joyance grow : Ne fell despair be here with visage pale, Brave be the youth for whom your bosoms glow, Ne other joy but you the faithful striplings know. 142 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. AN EXCELLENT BALLAD. TO THE TUNE OF CHEVY CHACE. WHILOME there dwelt near Buckingham That famous country town, At a known place, hight Waddon Chace, A 'squire of odd renown. A druid's sacred form he bore, His robes a girdle bound : Deep vers'd he was in ancient lore, In customs old, profound. A stick torn from that hallow'd tree, Where CHAUCER us'd to sit, And tell his tales with leering glee, Supports his tott'ring feet. High on a hill his mansion stood, But gloomy dark within ; Here mangled books, as bones and blood Lie in a giant's den. Crude, undigested, half-devour'd, On groaning shelves they're thrown ; Such manuscripts no eye could read, Nor hand write but his own. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 143 No prophet he, like Sydrophel, Could future times explore ; But what had happen'd, he could tell, Five hundred years and more. A walking alm'nack he appears, Stept from some mouldy wall, Worn out of use thro* dust and years, Like 'scutcheons in his hall. His boots were made of that cow's hide, By Guy of Warwick slain ; Time's choicest gifts, aye to abide Among the chosen train. Who first receiv'd the precious boon, We're at a loss to learn, By SPELMAN, CAMBDEN, DUCDALE, worn, And then they came to HEARNE. HEARNE strutted in them for awhile; And then, as lawful heir, BROWN claim'd and seiz'd the precious spoil, The spoil of many a year. His car himself he did provide, To stand in double stead ; That it should carry him alive, And bury him when dead. 144 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. By rusty coins old kings he'd trace, And know their air and mien : King ALFRED he knew well by face, Tho' GEORGE he ne'er had seen. This wight th' outside of churches lov'd, Almost unto a sin ; Spires Gothic of more use he prov'd Than pulpits are within. Of use, no doubt, when high in air, A wand'ring bird they'll rest, Or with a Bramin's holy care, Make lodgments for its nest. Ye jackdaws, that are us'd to talk, Like us of human race, When nigh you see BROWN WILLIS walk, Loud chatter forth his praise. Whene'er the fatal day shall come, For come, alas ! it must, When this good 'squire must stay at home, And turn to antique dust ; The solemn dirge, ye owls, prepare, Ye bats more hoarsely screak ; Croak, all ye ravens, round the bier, And all ye church-mice, squeak ! THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 145 DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE POET AND HIS SERVANT. IN IMITATION OF HORACE, SAT. 9, BOOK II. BY THE LATE MR. CHRISTOPHER PITT. Servant. SIR, I've long waited, in my turn, to have A word with you, but I'm your humble slave. .Poet. What knave is that? my rascal! Servant. Sir, 'tis I, No knave, nor rascal, but your trusty GUY. Poet. Well, as your wages still are due, I'll bear Your damn'd impertinence, this time of year. Serv. Some folks are drunk one day, and some for ever ; And some, like W *****, but twelve years together. Old EVREMOND, renown'd for wit and dirt, Would change his living, oft'ner than his shirt ; Roar with the rakes of state a month, and come To starve another in his hut at home. So rov'd wild BUCKINGHAM, the public jest, Now some innholder's, now a monarch's guest ; K 146 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. His life and politics of ev'ry shape, This hour a Roman, and the next an ape. The gout in ev'ry limb from ev'ry vice, Poor N * * * * hir'd a boy to throw the dice. Some wench for ever ; and their sins in those By custom sit as easy as their clothes. Some fly like pendulums from good to evil, And in that point are madder than the devil : For they Poet. To what will these wise maxims tend ? And where, sweet sir, will your reflections end ? Serv. In you. Poet . In me, you knave, make out your charge. Serv. You praise low living, but you live at large. Perhaps you scarce believe the rules you teach, Or find it hard to practise what you preach. Scarce have you paid one idle journey down, But, without business, you're again in town. If none invite you, sir, abroad to roam, Then lord, what pleasure 'tis to read at home ! And sip your two half-pints, with great delight, Of beer at noon, and muddled port at night. From Encombe, John comes thund'ring at the door, With sir, my master begs you to come o'er, To pass the tedious hours, these winter nights ; Not that he dreads invasions, rogues, or sprites. f THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 147 Strait for your two best wigs aloud you call, This stiff in buckle, that not curl'd at all. And where the devil are the spurs ? you cry ; And pox ! what blockhead laid the buskins by ? On your old batter'd mare you'll needs be gone, (No matter whether on four legs or none,) Splash, plunge, and stumble, as you scour the heath, All swear at Morden 'tis on life and death : As fierce through Wareham streets you scamper on. Raise all the dogs and voters in the town ; Then fly for six long dirty miles as bad, That Corfe and Kingston gentry think you mad. And all this furious riding is to prove Your high respect, it seems, and eager love : And yet that mighty honour to obtain, Banks, Shaftsbury, Dodington, may send in vain. Before you go, we curse the noise you make, And bless the moment that you turn your back. Meantime your flock, depriv'd of heavenly food, As we of carnal, starve and stray abroad : Left to your care by Providence in vain, You leave them all to Providence again. As for myself, I own it to your face, I love good eating, and I take my glass ; But sure 'tis strange, dear sir, that one should be In y 01^ amusement, but a crime in me. 148 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. All this is bare refining on a name, To make a difference where the fault's the same. My father sold me to your service here, For this fine livery, and four pounds a year. A livery you should wear as well as I, And this I'll prove, but lay your cudgel by. You serve your passions. Thus, without a jest, Both are but fellow-servants at the best. Yourself, good sir, are play'd by your desires, A mere tall puppet dancing on the wires. Poet. Who at this rate of talking can be free ? Seru. The brave, wise, honest man, and only he : All else are slaves alike, the world around, Kings on the throne, and beggars on the ground. He, sir, is proof to grandeur, pride, or pelf, And, greater still, is master of himself: Not to and fro' by fear and factions hurl'd, , But loose to all the interests of the world : And while the world turns round, entire and whole He keeps the sacred tenor of his soul ; In ev'ry turn of fortune still the same, As gold unchanged, or brighter from the flame : Collected in himself, with god-like pride, He sees the darts of envy glance aside ; And fix'd like Atlas, while the tempests blow, Smiles at the idle storms that roar below. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 14Q One such you know, a layman to your shame, And yet the honour of your blood and name. If you can such a character maintain, You too are free, and I'm your slave again. But when in Brun's feign'd battles you delight More than myself to see two drunkards fight, Fool, rogue, sot, blockhead, or such names are mine, Your's are a connoisseur, or deep divine. I'm chid for loving a luxurious bit, The sacred prize of learning, mirth, and wit : And yet some sell their lands these bits to buy ; Then pray who suffers most from luxury ? I'm chid, 'tis true, but then I pawn no plate, I seal no bonds, I mortgage no estate. Besides, high living, sir, must wear you out With surfeits, qualms, a fever, or the gout. By some new pleasures are you still engross'd, And when you save an hour, you think it lost. To sports, plays, races, from your books you run, And like all company, except your own. You hunt, drink, sleep, or idler still, you rhyme : Why ? but to banish thought, and murder time. And yet that thought, which you discharge in vain, Like a foul-loaded piece, recoils again. Poet. Tom, fetch a cane, a whip, a club, a stone. Serv. For what ? 150 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Poet. A sword, a pistol, or a gun. I'll shoot the dog. Serv. Lord, who would be a wit ? He's in a mad, or in a rhyming fit. Poet. Fly, fly, you rascal, for your spade and fork ; For once I'll set your lazy bones to work. Fly, or I'll send you back without a groat To the bleak mountains where you first were caught. EPIGRAM, The Rev. Mr. Harilury's Plantations and Music Meeting, at Church Langton, in Leicestershire. So sweet thy strain, so thick thy shade, The pleas'd spectator sees The miracle once more displayed Of ORPHEUS and his TREES. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE LAW STUDENT. TO GEORGE COLMAN, A.M. OF CH. CH. OXFORD. Quid tibi cum Cirrha ? quid cum Permessidos umtt? Romanum proprius divitiusque Forum est. MARTIAL. Now Christ-Church left, and fixt at LincolnVInn, TV important studies of the law begin. Now groan the shelves beneath th' unusual charge Of Records, Statutes, and Reports at large. Each classic author seeks his peaceful nook, And modest VIRGIL yields his place to COKE. No more, ye bards, for vain precedence hope, But even JACOB take the lead of POPE ! While the piPd shelves sink down on one another, And each huge folio has its cumb'rous brother ; While, arm'd with these, the student views with awe His rooms become the magazine of law, Say whence so few succeed ? where thousands aim, So few e'er reach the promis'd goal of fame ? 152 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Say, why CJECILIUS quits the gainful trade, j /. v V > -?wi For regimentals, sword, and smart cockade : , - Or SEXTUS why his first profession leaves For narrower band, plain shirt, and pudding sleeves r. The depth of law asks study, thought, and care ; Shall we seek these in rich ALONZO'S heir? Such diligence, alas ! is seldom found .m^w ,,f n t In the brisk heir to forty thousand pound. Wealth, that excuses folly, sloth creates, Few, who can spend, e'er learn to get estates. What is to him dry Case, or dull Report, Who studies fashions at the Inns of Court ; And proves that thing of emptiness and show, That mongrel, half-form'd thing, a Temple beau : Observe him daily saunt'ring up and down, In purple slippers, and in silken gown ; Last night's debauch his morning conversation, The coming, all his evening preparation. By law let others toil to gain renown ! FLORIO'S a gentleman, a man o' th' town. He nor courts clients, or the law regarding, Hurries from Nando's down to Cogent-Garden. Yet he's a scholar ; mark him in the pit With critic cat-call sound the stops of wit ! Supreme at George's he harangues the throng, Censor of style from tragedy to song : THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 153 Him ev'ry witling views with secret awe, Deep in the drama, shallow in the law. Others there are, who, indolent and vain, Contemn the science they can ne'er attain : Who write and read, but all by fits and starts, And varnish folly with the name of parts ; Trust on to genius, for they scorn to pore, 'Till e'en that little genius is no more. Knowledge in law care only can attain, Where honour's purchas'd at the price of pain. If, loit'ring, up the ascent you cease to climb, No starts of labour can redeem the time. Industrious study wins by slow degrees, True sons of COKE can ne'er be sons of ease. There are, whom love of poetry has smit, Who, blind to interest, arrant dupes to wit, Have wander'd devious in the pleasing road, With attic flowers and classic wreaths bestrew'd : Wedded to verse, embrac'd the Muse for life, And ta'en, like modern bucks, their whores to wife. Where'er the Muse usurps despotic sway, All other studies must of force give way. Int'rest in vain puts in her prudent claim, Nonsuited by the pow'rful plea of Fame. As well you might weigh lead against a feather, As ever jumble wit and law together. 1.44 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. On LITTLETON, COKE gravely thus remarks, (Remember this, ye rhyming Temple sparks !) " In all our author's tenures, Be it notelr, " This is the fourth time any verse is quoted." Which, 'gainst the Muse and verse, may well imply What lawyers call a Noli Prosequi. Quit then, dear GEORGE, O quit the barren field, Which neither profit nor reward can yield ! What tho 1 the sprightly scene well acted draws From unpacked Englishmen, unbrib'd applause, Some monthly grub, some DENNIS of the age, In print cries shame on the degen'rate stage.* If haply CHURCHILL strive with generous aim, To fan the sparks of genius to a flame ; If all UNASK'D, UNKNOWING, and UNKNOWN, By noting thy desert, he prove his own ; Envy shall strait to HAMILTON'S repair, And vent her spleen, and gall, and venom there ; Thee, and thy works, and all thy friends decry, And boldly print and publish a rank lie ; Swear your own hand the flatt'ring likeness drew, Swear your own breath Fame's partial trumpet blew. .V. * Alluding to certain disingenuous and illiberal criticisms in the Critical Review; wherein the Jealous Wife, a comedy, and the author of that play, as well as his friends, were at different times attacked, with equal virulence and insolence. THT2 OXFORD SAUSAGE. 155 Well I remember oft your friends have said, (Friends whom the surest maxims ever led,) Turn parson, COLMAN, that's the way to thrive; Your parsons are the happiest men alive. Judges, there are but twelve, and never more ; But stalls untold, and bishops, twenty-four. Of pride and claret, sloth and ven'son full, Yon prelate mark, right reverend and dull ! He ne'er, good man, need pensive vigils keep, To preach his audience once a week to sleep ; On rich preferment battens at his ease, Nor sweats for tithes, as lawyers toil for fees. Thus they advis'd. I know thee better far ; And cry, stick close, dear COLMAN, to the bar ! If Genius warm thee, where can Genius call For nobler action, than in yonder Hall ? 'Tis not enough each morn, on term's approach, To club your legal three-pence for a coach ; Then at the Hall to take your silent stand, With ink-horn and long note-book in your hand, Marking grave Serjeants cite each wise Report, And noting down sage dictums from the court, With overwhelming brow, and law-learn'd face, The index of your book of common place. These are mere drudges, that can only plod, And tread the path their dull forefathers trod ; 156 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Doom'd thro* law's maze, without a clue to range, From second VERNON down to second STRANGE. Do thou uplift thine eyes to happier wits, Dulness no longer on the woolpack sits ; No longer on the drawling, dronish herd, Are the first honours of the law conferr'd ; But they, whose fame reward's due tribute draws, Whose active merit challenges applause, Like glorious beacons, are set high to view, To mark the paths which genius should pursue. O for thy spirit, MANSFIELD ! at thy name What bosom glows not with an active flame ? Alone from jargon born to rescue law, From precedent, grave hum, and formal saw ! To strip chicanery of its vain pretence, And marry common law to common sense ! PRATT, on thy lips persuasion ever hung ! English falls, pure as manna, from thy tongue : On thy voice truth may rest, and on thy plea Unerring HENLEY found the just decree. HENLEY ! than whom to HARDWICKE'S well-raised fame, No worthier second Royal GEORGE could name : No lawyer of prerogative : no tool, Fashion'd in black corruption's pliant school ; Form'd, 'twixt the people and the crown to stand, And hold the scales of right with even hand ! THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 15? True to our hopes, and equal to his birth, See, see in YORKE the force of lineal worth; But why their several merits need I tell ? Why on each honoured sage's praises dwell ? WILMOT how well his place, or FOSTER fills ? Or shrewd sense beaming from the eye of WILLES r Such, while thou see'st the public care engage, Their fame increasing with increasing age, Rais'd by true genius, bred in Phabus' school, Whose warmth of soul sound judgment knew to cool ; With such illustrious proofs before your eyes, Think not, my friend, you've too much wit to rise ; Think of the bench, the coif, long robe, and fee, And leave the press to CHURCHILL, and to ME. 158 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE MOUSE AND OYSTER. WHEN midnight's sable veil o'erspread the plain, When bats and fairies, mice and Morpheus reign, A bold undaunted mouse, that long defy'd The various stratagems that KATE had try'd, His destined doom received, for soon or late Both mice and monarchs must submit to fate. Oft was the moon with silver lustre crown'd, Since the nocturnal pirate march'd his round ; Soon as his foe, the sun, had took his flight, Trips forth the little champion of the night ; With cautious tread, secure from fell mishap, Of puss, of poisons, or tremendous trap ; Still at the head of his rapacious clan, He skipt from shelf to shelf, from pan to pan ; With nose sagacious smokM the baited gin, Wary and conscious of the snare within : Now feasts on rich variety of meats, And oft in cheese his own apartments eats ; Regales on floods of cream, ragouts, and cakes, Of all the dainties of the day partakes : Ml >&*'* Y* THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Now storms rich conserves with voluptuous taste, And saps the tender tenements of paste. As yet unharm'd the epicure patroll'd, And fearless o'er his silent suburbs strolPd ; Luxurious nights in pleasing plunder past, Nor dreamt that this was doom'd to be his last. For now the time the destin'd time was sent; So fate ordain'd and who can fate prevent ? Thick shades once more had veil'd the haunted house, Once more from coverts bolts the advent'rous mouse. Lighting in evil hour, in quest of prey, Where in a group th' avenging oyster lay : A fish conrmission'd from the wat'ry throng, With ligament of scaly armour strong, Lay with expanded jaws, and gaping shell. (But who the sad catastrophe can tell ?) The dainty mouse, still craving some new dish t Enters the gloomy mansions of the fish ; With beard exploring, and with luscious lip, He longs the pickle of the seas to sip. RousM by his tusks the elastic oyster fell, Caught close the caitiff's head in wat'ry cell ; In vain the victim labours to get free, From durance hard, and dread captivity : Lock'd in the close embrace, ensnar'd he lies, In pill'ry safe, pants, struggles, squeaks, and dies. 160 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Thus the just fate of his own crimes he meets, Like rakes expiring in destructive sweets. Now plac'd on high, the master views the prize, And hails the conquest with exulting eyes ! And when beneath sedate he sits and smokes, And cracks his nuts, his bottles, or his jokes, His tale he tells to grace the Christmas pie, And to the trophy 'd relics points on high. TRANSLATION OF AN ANCIENT EPITAPH, IN THE CLOISTERS OF WINCHESTER COLLEGE. EPITAPH. CLAUSUS Johannes jacet hie sub marmore Clarkus, Qui fuit hie quondam presbyter et socius. In terra roseos solitus stillare liquores, In coelo vivis nunc quoque gaudet aquis. TRANSLATION. BENEATH this stone lies shut up in the dark, A fellow and a priest, yclept John Clark : With earthly rose-water he did delight ye, But now he deals in heavenly aqua-vita. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. i THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT, PRESENTED WITH A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS, TO MISS BELL COOKE, OF ETON. I. Xo please the fair, in courtly lays The poet plays his part, One tenders snuff, another praise, A TOOTH-PICK, or a HEART. ii. ., Alike they all, to gain their end, Peculiar arts disclose, While I, submissive, only send An HUMBLE PAIR OF HOSE. III. Long may they guard from cold and harm The snowy legs that wear 'em, And kindly spread their influence warm To every thing that's near 'em. I 162 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. IV. But let it not be faulty deem'd, Nor move your indignation, If I a little partial seem In gift or commendation. v. Each fair perfection to display Would far exceed my charter ; My modest Muse must never stray Above the knee or garter. vU And who did e'er a basis view So worthy to be prais'd ? Or from so fair foundation knew So fine a fabric rais'd ? VII. Thou learned leech, sage * * * * say, Since spite of drugs and plaisters, You now can talk the live-long day Of pillars and pilasters ; VIII. You that for hours have rov'd about, Through halls and colonnades, And scarce would deign to tread on aught But arches and arcades ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. ]fiS IX. Did you m all your mazy round Two nobler pillars view ? What yielding marble e'er was found So exquisitely true ? x. The swelling dome, with stately show, May many fancies please ; I view, content, what lies below The cornice and the frieze. XI. The beauteous twins, so fair, so round, That bear the noble pile, Must sure proceed from VENUS' MOUNT, Or from CYTHERA'S ISLE.* XII. Propitious fates, preserve 'em safe, And keep 'em snug together, And grant they may the malice brave Of man as well as weather. * Two places from whence the Ancients brought materials for their most noble structures. 164 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. XIII. From luckless love, or rancour base. May never ill attend 'em ; And grant, whatever be the case, That I may still defend 'em. XIV. By gentle, gen'rous love, 'tis true, They never can miscarry ; Nor damage come, nor loss ensue, From honest harmless HARRY. xv. But should a knight of greater hate, Precipitate invade, Believe me, BELL, they then may need Some seasonable aid. XVI. O may I ever be at hand From ev'ry harm to screen 'em, Then, SAMSON-LIKE, I'll take my stand, And live or die between 'em. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. EXALTATION; OR, THE SIGNATURE OF LOVE. A DESCRIPTIVE PASTORAL. IN THE MODERN STYLE. IJENEATH the shadows of a glimmering oak, Where conscious meads in soft delusion broke, And ancient murmurs, tremblingly awake, Repel the neighbouring coolness of the brake ; Two swains, reclining, sooth'd th* enamour'd tongue, And thus, with fragrant vows, their pipes they strung. STREPHON. In every grove the various floods combine ; A thousand beauties bask upon the line ; The solemn breezes emulate the day ; But CHLOE is the subject of my lay. CORYDON. Let thunder, sick'ning, smile upon the ground, And mazy beams reflect a dawning sound ; Let lofty echoes on meanders throng ; But PHILLIS is the burden of my song. ]66 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. STREPHON. CHLOE'S to me more fair than azure sight ; More soft than heifers melting into light : O come, ye swains, and leave th' enamell'd morn ; The mossy garlands rival your return. CORYDON. My PHILLIS, wond'ring, strives the heat to pierce, And smiles precarious through the gay reverse : Ye hills and dales, that cheer the verdant sand, Bear me where ages float at her command. STREPHON. My love, regardless of the vernal main, Like honey blushing, variegates my pain ; And, like the bee, she smooths the mantled green ; Soft as the stars, and as the hills serene. CORYDON. My love is like the rural seats above ; The canopy of fate is like my love ; My love is like the deep, in purple drest, And all ambrosia warbles in her breast. STREPHON. Now tell me, CORYDON, and CHLOE take, What thing is that, by kings expelPd the lake. Whose airy footsteps faded as they grew, Produc'd in silence, yet alive in blue ? THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 167 CORYDON. 'fOtl First tell me, STREPHON, and be PHILLIS thine, What thing is that so daringly divine, By reason feather'd, and by nature prest, Refulgent, doubled, trebled, and unblest ? MENALCAS. Enough, enough O shepherds, your delay Retards the fleecy partners of the spray ; See from yon cloud impending mirrors rise ; See how the vallies wanton in the skies ! From wave to wave reluctant shades appear, Revolving swans proclaim the welkin near, And aid the breathing surface of the year. EXTEMPORE LETTER FROM CAPTAIN THOMAS,* AT BERNERA, TO CAPTAIN PRICE, AT FORT AUGUSTUS. Written just before signing the Peace of Aix-la-Chapellc. " COME, THOMAS, give us t'other sonnet," Dear Captain, pray reflect upon it : Was ever so absurd a thing, What, at the pole, to bid me sing ? * Formerly Student of Ch. Ch. Oxford. 168 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Alas ! search all those mountains round, There's no THALIA to be found ; And fancy, child of southern skies, Averse, the sullen region flies. I scribble verses ! why you know I left the Muses long ago ; Deserted all the youthful band, To right the files, and study BLAND. Indeed, in youth's fantastic prime, Misled, I wander'd into rhyme, And am'rous sonnets penn'd in plenty, On ev'ry nymph, from twelve to twenty. Compar'd to roses and to lilies The cheeks of CHLOE and of PHILLIS ; With all the cant you'll find in many A still-born modern Miscellany. My lines, how proud was I to see them, Steal into DODS LEY'S New Museum : Or in a letter fair and clean Committed to the Magazine. Our follies change ; that whim is o'er, The bagatelles delight no more. Know by these presents, that in fine I quit all commerce with the Nine ! Love-strains, and all poetic matters, Lampoons ; epistles, odes, and satires, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1(>Q These toys and trifles I discard, And leave the bays to Poet WARD.* No, now to politics confin'd, I give up all the busy mind. Curious, each pamphlet I peruse, And sip my coffee o'er the NEWS ; But apropos, for last Courant Pray thank the Lady Governante. But what's this rumour in the mail From Aix pho, what is't, la Chapelle V A peace unites the jarring pow'rs, And ev'ry trade will thrive but our's. " Farewell, (as wrong'd OTHELLO said,) " The plumed troops, and neighing steed." The troops, alas ! more havock there A peace will make, than all the war. What crowds of heroes, in a day, Reduc'd to starve on half their pay ! From LOWENDAHL 'twould pity meet, And SAXE himself might weep to see't. Already fancy's active power Fore-runs the near approaching hour. Methinks (curs'd chance) the fatal stroke I feel, and seem already broke : * An officer in the same regiment. 170 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. The Park I saunter up and down, Or sit upon a bench alone. Sneaking and sad le juste portrait D'unpouvre Capitaine Reforme: My wig, which shunn'd each ruder wind, Toupeed before, and bagg'd behind, Which JOHN was us'd, with nicest art, To comb, and taught the curls to part, Lost the belle-air, the jaunty pride, Now lank, depends on either side. My hat, grown white and rustic o'er, Once bien troussl with Galon d'Or. My coat distain'd with dust and rain, And all my figure quite campaign. J'habillcj fine with tarnish'd lace, And hunger pictur'd in my face ; Tavern or coffee-house unwilling To give me credit for a shilling ; Forbid by ev'ry scornful belle, The precincts of the gay Ruelle. My vows, tho' breath'd in ev'ry ear, Not e'en a chambermaid will hear; No silver in my purse to pay For opera ticket, or the play. No message sent to bid me com* A fortnight after to a Drum. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. No visits or received or paid ; No ball, ridotto, masquerade. All pensive, heartless, and chagrin, I sit, devoted prey to spleen. To you, dear PRICE, indulgent heav'n A gentler, happier lot has giv'n ; To you has dealt, with bounteous hands, Palladian seats, and fruitful lands. Then in my sorrows have the grace To take some pity of my case, And as you know the times are hard, Send a spruce valet with a card ; Your compliments and beg I'd dine, And taste your mutton and your wine ; You'll find most punctual and observant Your most oblig'd and humble servant. 1 72 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. NEW-MARKET. A SATIRE. tTTTTfta, tjuo\eg atavrj SOPHOCL. ELECT. 508. His country's hope, when now the blooming heir, Has lost the parent's or the guardian's care ; Fond to possess, yet eager to destroy, \- Of each vain youth, say, what's the darling joy ? Of each rash frolic what the source and end, His sole and first ambition what ? to spend. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. \ Some 'squires, to GALLIA'S cooks devoted dupes, Whole manors melt in sauce, or drown in soups : Another doats on fiddlers, 'till he sees His hills no longer crown'd with tow'ring trees ; Convinc'd too late, that modern strains can move, Like those of ancient GREECE, th' obedient grove : In headless statues rich, and useless urns, MARMOREO from the classic tour returns. But would ye learn, ye leisure-loving 'squires, How best ye may disgrace your prudent sires ; How soonest soar to fashionable shame, Be damn'd at once to ruin and to fame ; By hands of grooms ambitious to be crown'd, O greatly dare to tread OLYMPIC GROUND ! What dreams of conquest flushed HILARIO'S breast, When the good knight at last retir'd to rest ! Behold the youth with new-felt rapture mark Each pleasing prospect of the spacious park : That park, where beauties undisguis'd engage, Those beauties less the work of art than age ; In simple state where genuine nature wears Her venerable dress of ancient years ; Where all the charms of chance with order meet, The rude, the gay, the graceful, and the great. Here aged oaks uprear their branches hoar, And form dark groves, which Druids might adore ; 174 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. With meeting boughs, and deepening to the view, Here shoots the broad umbrageous avenue : Here various trees compose a chequer'd scene, Glowing in gay diversities of green : There the full stream, thro' intermingling glades, Shines a broad lake, or falls in deep cascades. Nor wants there hazel copse, or beechen lawn, To cheer with sun, or shade the bounding fawn. And see the good old seat, whose Gothic tow'rs Awful emerge from yonder tufted bow'rs ; Whose rafter'd hall the crowding tenants fed, And dealt to age and want their daily bread ; Where crested knights, with peerless damsels join'd, At high and solemn festivals have din'd ; P resenting oft fairvirtue's shining task, In mystic pageantries, and moral mask. But vain all ancient praise, or boast of birth, Vain all the palms of old heroic worth ! At once a bankrupt, and a prosperous heir, Hi LA RIO bets, park, house, dissolve in air. With antique armour hung, his trophied rooms Descend to gamesters, prostitutes, and grooms. He sees his steel-clad sires, and mothers mild, Who bravely shook the lance, or sweetly smil'd, All the fair series of the whisker'd race, Whose pictur'd forms the stately gallery grace ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 175 Debas'd, abus'd, the price of ill-got gold, To deck some tavern vile, at auctions sold. The parish wonders at th' unopening door, The chimnies smoke, the tables groan no more. Thick weeds around th' untrodden courts arise, And all the social scene in silence lies. Himself the loss politely to repair, Turns atheist, fiddler, highwayman, or play'r. At length the scorn, the shame of man and God, Is doom'd to rub the steeds that once he rode. Ye rival youths, your golden hopes how vain, Your dreams of thousands on the listed plain ! Not more fantastic SANCHO'S airy course, When madly mounted on the magic horsef He pierc'd heavVs opening spheres with dazzled eyes, And seem'd to soar in visionary skies. Nor less, I ween, precarious is the meed Of young adventurers on the Muse's steed ; For poets have, like you, their destin'd round, And our's is but a race on classic ground. Long time, the child of patrimonial ease, HIPPOLITUS had carv'd sirloins in peace: Had quaff 'd secure, unvex'd by toil or wife, The mild October of a private life : CLAVILENO. See Don Quixote, b. ii. chap. 41. 176 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Long liv'd with calm domestic conquests crown'd, And kilFd his game on safe paternal ground : And deaf to honour's or ambition's call, With rural spoils adorn'd his hoary hall. As bland he puff'd the pipe o'er weekly news, His bosom kindles with sublimer views. Lo there, thy triumphs, Taaffe, thy palms, PORTMORE ! Tempt him to stake his lands and treasur'd store. Like a new bruiser on BROUGHTONIC sand, Amid the lists our hero takes his stand ; Suck'd by the sharper, to the peer a prey, He rolls his eyes that " witness huge dismay ;" When lo ! the chance of one inglorious heat, Strips him of genial cheer, and snug retreat. How awkward now he bears disgrace and dirt, Nor knows the poor's last refuge, to be perf . The shiftless beggar bears of ills the worst, At once with dulness and with hunger curst. And feels the tasteless breast equestrian fires ? And dwells such mighty rage in graver "squires? In all attempts, but for their country, bold, Britain, thy CONSCRIPT COUNSELLORS behold; (For some, perhaps, by fortune favoured yet, May gain a Borough, from a lucky bet,) Smit with the love of the laconic boot, The cap, and wig succinct, the silken suit, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 177 Mere modern PHAETONS, usurp the rein, And scour in rival race the tempting plain. See, side by side, his jockey and Sir JOHN, Discuss th' important point of six to one. For oh ! the boasted privilege how dear, How great the pride, to gain a jockey's ear ! See, like a routed host, with headlong pace, Thy MEMBERS pour amid the mingling RACE! All ask, what crowds the tumult could produce Is Bedlam, or the Commons all broke loose ? Their way nor reason guides, nor caution checks, Proud on a high-bred thing to risque their necks. Thy sages hear, amid th' admiring crowd, Adjudge the stakes, most eloquently loud : With critic skill, o'er dubious bets preside, The low dispute, or kindle, or decide : All empty wisdom, and judicious prate, Of distanced horses gravely fix the fate : And with paternal care unwearied watch O'er the nice conduct of a daring match. Meantime, no more the mimic patriots rise, To guard Britannia's honour, warm and wise : No more in senates dare assert her laws, Nor pour the bold debate in freedom's cause : Neglect the counsels of a sinking land, And know no rostrum but 'New-Market's Stand. M 178 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Is this the band of civil chiefs, design'd On England 's weal to fix the pondering mind ? Who, while their country's rights are set to sale, Quit Europe's balance for the jockey's scale. O say, when least their sapient schemes are crost, Or when a NATION, or a MATCH is lost? Who dams and sires with more exactness trace, Than of their country'' s kings the sacred race : Think London j our nies are the worst of ills ; Subscribe to ARTICLES, instead of BILLS : Strangers to all our annalists relate, Their's are the memoirs of th' equestrian state : Who lost to ALBION'S past and present views, HEBER,* thy CHRONICLES alone peruse. Go on, brave youths, 'till in some future age, Whips shall become the senatorial badge; 'Till ENGLAND see her thronging senators Meet all at Westminster, in boots and spurs ; See the whole House, with mutual frenzy mad, Her patriots all in leathern breeches clad : Of bets, not taxes, learnedly debate, And guide with equal reins a steed or state. How would a virtuous Houhnhym t neigh disdain, To see his brethren brook th' imperious rein ; * Author of an Historical List of the Running Horses, Sec. f Vide GULLIVER'S Travels. Voyage to the Houhnhyms. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 179 Bear slavery's wanton whip, or galling goad, Smoke through the glebe, or trace the destin'd road ; And robb'd of manhood * by the murderous knife, Sustain each sordid toil of servile life. Yet oh ! what rage would touch his generous mind, To see his sons of more than human kind ; A kind, with each exalted virtue blest, Each gentler feeling of the liberal breast, Afford diversion to that monster base, That meanest spawn of man's half-monkey race ; In whom pride, avarice, ignorance, conspire, That hated animal, a yahoo- squire. How are the THERONS of these modern days, Chang'd from those chiefs who toil'd for Grecian bays : Who, fir'cl with genuine glory's sacred lust, Whirl'd the swift axle through the Pythian dust. Their's was the Pisan olive's blooming spray, Their's was the Theban bard's recording lay. What though the grooms of Greece ne'er took the odds ? They won no bets but then thy soar'd to gods ; And more an HIERO'S palm, a PINDAR'S ode, Than all th' united plates of GEORGE bestow'd. Greece! how I kindle at thy magic name, Feel all thy warmth, and catch the kindred flame. * A copy in the HARLEIAV Library reads horsehood. 180 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Thy scenes sublime, and awful visions rise, In ancient pride before my musing eyes. Here Sparta's sons in mute attention hang, While just LYCURGUS pours the mild harangue; There XERXES' hosts, all pale with deadly fear, Shrink at her fated hero's * flashing spear. Here hung with many a lyre of silver string, The laureate alleys of ILISSUS' spring : And lo, where wrapt in beauty's heavenly dream, Hoar PLATO walks his oliv'd Academe Yet ah ! no more the land of arts and arms, Delights with wisdom, or with virtue warms. Lo ! the stern Turk, with more than Vandal rage, Has blasted all the wreaths of ancient age : No more her groves by fancy's feet are trod, Each attic grace has left the lov'd abode. FalPn is fair Greece ! by luxury's pleasing bane Seduc'd, she drags a barbarous foreign chain. Britannia watch ! O trim thy withering bays, Remember thou hast rivall'd Grecians praise, Great nurse of works divine ! Yet oh ! beware, Lest thou the fate of Greece, my country, share. Recal thy wonted worth with conscious pride, Thou too hast seen a SOLON in a HYDE ; * LEONIDAS. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 181 Hast bade thine EDWARDS and thine HENRIES rear With Spartan fortitude the British spear ; Alike hast seen thy sons deserve the meed, Or of the moral or the martial deed. EPITAPH TO THE PIE-HOUSE MEMORY OF NELL BATCHELOR, AN OXFORD PIE-WOMAN. I. HERE deep in the dust, The mouldy old crust Of NELL BATCHELOR lately was shoven; Who was skilFd in the arts Of pies, puddings, and tarts, And knew ev'ry use of the oven. n. When she'd liv'd long enough, She made her last puff, A puff by her husband much prais'd ; Now here she doth lie, And makes a dirt pie, In hopes that her crust will be rais'd. 182 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE CASTLE BARBER'S SOLILOQUY. WRITTEN IN THE LATE WAR, 1760. 1 who with such success alas ! 'till The war came on have shav'd the Castle ; Who by the nose, with hand unshaken, The boldest heroes oft have taken ; In humble strain, am doom'd to mourn My fortune chang'd, and state forlorn ! My soap scarce ventures into froth, My razors rust in idle sloth ! THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 183 WISDOM ! to you my verse appeals ; You share the griefs your barber feels : Scarce conies a student once a whole age, To stock your desolated college. Our trade how ill an army suits ! This comes of picking up recruits. Lost is the robber's occupation, No robbing thrives but of the nation : For hardy necks no rope is twisted, And e'en the hangman's self is listed. Thy publishers, O mighty JACKSON ! With scarce a scanty coat their backs on, Warning to youth no longer teach, Nor live upon a dying speech. In cassock clad, for want of breeches, No more the castle chaplain preaches. Oh ! were our troops but safely landed, And every regiment disbanded ! They'd make, I trust, a new campaign On Henley hill, or Campsfield's plain : Destin'd at home, in peaceful state, By me fresh-shaved, to meet their fate ! Regard, ye justices of peace ! The CASTLE BARBER'S piteous case : * The Governor of Oxford Castle. 184 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. And kindly make some snug addition, To better his distress'd condition. Not that I mean, by such expressions, To shave your worships at the sessions ; Or would, with vain presumption big, Aspire to comb the judge's wig: Far less ambitious thoughts are mine, Far humbler hopes my views confine.- Then think not that I ask amiss ; My small request is only this, That I, by leave of LEIGH * or PARDO,! May, with the CASTLE shave BOCARDO. Thus, as at Jesus oft I've heard, Rough servitors in Wales preferr'd, The Jones's, Morgans, and Ap -Rices, Keep fiddles with their BENEFICES. * The then Master of Balliol. f Principal of Jesus College. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. IMITATION OF HORACE. Icci, beads nunc arabum invides Gazis, &c. L. i. ODE xxix. oo you, my friend, at last are caught Where could you get so strange a thought, In mind and body sound ? All meaner studies you resign, Your whole ambition now to shine . The beau of the beau-monde. Say, gallant youth, what well-known name Shall spread the triumphs of your fame Through all the realms of Drury c l How will you strike the gaping cit ? What tavern shall record your wit ? What watchmen mourn your fury ? What sprightly imp of Gallic breed, Shall have the culture of your head, (I mean the outward part ;) Form'd by his parent's early care To range in nicest curls the hair, And wield the puff with art ? 186 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. No more let mortals toil in vain, By wise conjecture to explain What rolling time will bring : Thames to his source may upwards flow, Or GARRICK six feet high may grow, Or witches thrive at Tring: Since you each better promise break, Once fam'd for slovenliness and Greek, Now turn'd a very Paris, For lace and velvet quit your gown, The STAGYRITE for Mr. TOWN,* For Drury-Lane, St. MARY'S. SONG. GIVE ear, and a comical story I'll tell, 'Tis of an old doctor you know very well, Who, tho' as grave as a saint, got drunk as all hell. Tol de rol, lol, &c. It was on a Sunday, as all have agreed, For the doctor he held it a part of his creed, That the better the day, the better the deed. * Author of the CONNOISSEUR. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 18? He sat, and he drank, and he toasted old Cripsey, But he never suspected he e'er should grow tipsy, He bung'd cum seipso 'till he was not seipse. And when he had gotten as drunk as ten bears, He put on his surplice, and stagger'd down stairs, Tho' not able to speak, yet resolv'd to read pray'rs. To the desk then he came, and bow'd low on each side, I will rise and will go to my father, he cry'd; But stumbled, and prov'd that he damnably lied. To the Psalms then he got, but would you know how, He spew'd on king DAVID, and likely 1 trow, For he was as drunk as was DAVID'S old sow. To the Collects he got then, with much hesitation, While the audience all were in great expectation, Instead of a pray'r came an ejaculation. And now with respect to the gown and the band, How bravely must flourish the church of this land, Supported by pillars not able to stand ! Tol de rol, lol, &c. 188 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. EPITAPH ON PARKER HALL, BOBN AND EXECUTED AT OXFORD. HERE lies PARKER HALL, and what is more rarish, He was born, bred, and hang'd in St. Thomas's parish, EPIGRAM, OCCASIONED BY *PART OF ST. MARY*S CHURCH, IN OXFORD, BEING CONVERTED INTO A LAW SCHOOL. YES, yes, you may rail at the Pope as you please, But trust me that miracles never will cease. See here an event, that no mortal suspected ! See LAW and DIVINITY closely connected! Which proves the old proverb, long reckon'd so odd, That " the nearest the CHURCH the farthest from GOD." VERSES OF THE OXFORD NEWSMEN, From the Year 1764 to the Year 1772. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. THE OXFORD NEWSMAN'S VERSES, FOR THE YEAR 1754. 1J AIL to this joyful season of the year, Welcome alike to ploughman and to peer ! The busy housewife, with domestic cares, The sweet plumb-porridge and the pie prepares : Delicious draughts the flowing bowls afford, And the fat sirloin smokes upon the board. Now while your hearts with generous joys run o'er, The neat-clad 'prentice trips from door to door : And can ye to their hands a gift refuse, Who comb your perukes, or japan your shoes r Now too, inspir'd with hopes of a reward, The BELLMAN spurns at prose, and soars a bard : While his slow bell at midnight hour he chimes, Streets, lanes, and alleys, ring with lofty rhymes. Shall not we NEWSMEN then, known men of letters, Turn poets at this time to please our betters ? Yet do not deem your servants vainly bold, Since many a tale of others we have told, If once in verse our merits we unfold. In frost, in snow, in tempest, and in rain, Up the steep hill, and o'er the miry plain, y bold, \ told, I. > 192 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Patient we trudge ; nor e'er the toils refuse, Sweltering with noon-day suns to bring you news. Our weekly sheets each circumstance relate, And shew of JEWS and MARRIAGES * the fate. From us you learn what France and* Spain devise, From us what murders, fires, rapes, robberies, Who wed, is born, is christen'd, or who dies. This common praise with others we inherit, But we may plead to you superior merit. The various feuds of INTEREST OLD and NEW,t And who the Green upholds, and who the Blue t We only can inform you ; cautious steering In the vast OCEAN of ELECTIONEERING. MASTERS ! howe'er inclined to our petition, Or Green y or Blue, oh ! make not opposition. We join no party, praise not or revile, Nor e'er perplex our brains about the Style.]. Reward our labours, and but grant our boon, We shall not think that CHRISTMAS comes too soon. * Alluding to the JEW and MARRIAGE Bills, which passed the preceding session. The first of these proved so unpopular as to be immediately repealed. f The great contest in Oxfordshire was at this time depending, and the parties were respectively distinguished by OLD and NEW INTEREST, or Greens and Blues. % The alteration of the Style had lately taken place. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1755. THE hallow'd season, and the joyful time, In which I us'd to greet you all with rhyme, Is now return'd to crown the expectation Of those who follow the Mercurial station : Your bounty then, which freely you impart, Lives a whole twelvemonth in a grateful heart ; Quickens our steps, and makes us faster go, And pay with diligence what you bestow : When something of importance 'tis we bring, Your goodness gives to every heel a wing : Not winds or waters can impede our way ; Nor even earthquakes can prolong our stay. Though those, we must confess, are dreadful things ! And LISBON'S desolation* upwards brings. LISBON ! that shone about some two months since, Th' imperial city of a potent prince ; , But now no more. Her palaces are laid As low as earth, and almost atoms made. Turrets that lately dar'd to brave the sky, Now undistinguish'd with the rubbish And can't pretend with cottages ; the sky, \ bbish He, to vie. * The dreadful earthquake at Lisbon. N 194 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. May heaven defend us from such evils here ! And punish sin a little less severe. And, if we may extend a NEWSMAN'S prayers, Confound the FRENCH,* and all their false affairs ! That by NEXT CHRISTMAS we may carols sing, To peace and plenty, conquest and OUR KING. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1756. As longing bridegrooms ( join'd to heav'nly fair) Think moments months each minute a long year ; Wish the day spent, to make exchange of hearts, When Colin kindly mutual love imparts ; Thanks the kind gods who gave him Phebe fair, Since all his happiness is center'd there. So long'd your NEWSMAN for this joyous tide, (For which geese suffer, and the pigs have cry'd,) That he may to his customers rehearse, In very humble, very home-spun verse, How the wild Indians, savages forlorn ! (Virginia's curse, that ever such were born!) How they make head ! our settlements disturb ! 'Till Britain's rous'd their insolence to curb. * A war with France is now commenced. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1Q5 But mark th' event See WASHINGTON advance ! And WINSLOW* too! that other foe to France! How they attack /make a retreat more wise ! And, patient wait GREAT BRITAIN'S known supplies. But what, good sirs ! says honest FERDINANDO ? The bravest men can do but what they can do : All this was done and, farther be it known, If nought we've gain'd, we hope to save our own. On HOME AFFAIRS I'll not say much, (My paper t gives 'em all a touch :) There you will find who's out, or in ; When the House rises, when it sits again : When madam brings a darling son ; At court how neatly things are done ! Who wants a place, and who a pension, (But these are things I scarce dare mention :) How some folks rise, whilst others fall ; Your NEWSMAN brings account of all : Nor shall the patriot be forgot, The man who sits ; or, who sits not : Advice in this is worth my care ; I hope you'll LIKE the bill of fare. But ere I end, I beg you'll think How far I've walk'd, with little drink ; * Our commanders in America at this time, f The Oxford Journal. 196 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. How bad the roads ! how cold the weather ! Two greater ills can't meet together : Yet please to let me taste your bounty, As heretofore, my friend I'll count ye : Then travel on, nor fear disasters, 'Till CHRISTMAS NEXT, to serve my masters. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1757- WE NEWSMEN, last week, (you'd have laugh'd had you seen us) Met together, these verses to make up between us : For we, like the BELLMAN, you know, at this season, Must address you in verse, tho' without rhyme or reason. Quoth Lochard,* for Lochard (perhaps you mayn't know it) When inspired by ale, is a very good poet " Shall we be dumb, while other NEWSMEN sing " The glorious deeds of Prussia's mighty king ? " Shall we be dumb, when all who carry news " For RAIKES or PococK,t will this subject chuse : * A very singular character as a Newsman. f Printers of the Gloucester and Reading Papers. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 1Q7 " As how in Germany he got the day ; " As how the king of Poland ran away ? " Shall we be dumb, when spite of General BLAKENEY, " Minorca* O Minorca ! French have taken ye ? " And shall we not lament the price of grain, " We that have mouths to eat and to complain ?" Thus Lochard spoke in high heroic rhymes : Quoth another " But why must we talk of the times ? " The subject is stale, and our verse only shews " What JACKSON each week has said better in prose. " To move the kind hearts of our masters and mistresses, " Let us talk of our own, not the national distresses." Then judge, my mistresses, my masters, judge, What hardships we endure, who patient trudge Through wind and wet, with scarce a coat our backs on, To bring you JOURNALS every week from JACKSON. Weeks fifty-one without a gift we've reckoned ; O don't refuse us in the fifty-second ! To your good healths, who let us have the chink, We NEWSMEN, as in duty bound, shall drink. * General Blakeney commanded at Minorca, when that place was taken by the French in the year 1756. ]Q8 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1758. ANOTHER halfpenny upon NEWSPAPERS ! Faith, 'twas enough to give us all the vapours . Our master JACKSON vow'd it was a sin, And nobody would take his paper in. To raise the price he thought it was not right, And he himself not get a farthing by't.* Some folks, he fear'd, would make it a pretence To leave his JOURNAL off, and save their pence. And yet he hop'd you would not think it dear : It is but two and two-pence in a year. Thanks to his care, (and our's too, let me add,) We have as many masters as we had : Nay more, if you'll believ't and where's the wonder : In times so full of battles, blood, and plunder ! You country folks, that live so far from town, And have no London papers sent you down, Without our JOURNAL never would have known What's done in other nations, and our own. We told you when our fleet first sought the main, O shame to ENGLAND ! and came back again. * An act had just taken place for doubling the duty on newspapers. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. What the Gazette itself did never mention, We told you of the Hanover convention.* O for a Muse from OXFORD, whilst I sing The glorious deeds of PRUSSIA'S mighty king ! To tell the wondrous battles he has won : But hold this is too lofty I have done : Though master print his papers every week, Did we not bring them, you would be to seek. Think then, O think, what hardships we do bear, What toils we undergo throughout the year ; With pleasure we reflect on troubles past, And now rejoice that CHRISTMAS comes at last. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1750. LET common NEWSMEN common strains indite, Alas ! poor souls, where should they learn to write ? But we of OXFORD boast superior knowledge, Where learning flows from every hall and college. Scholars indeed we know not, but are known To most of those that wait upon the Gown : * The convention of Closter Seven, in the Electorate of Hanover ; in consequence of which the late Duke of Cumberland took um- brage, and quitted the army. 200 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. All vers'd in arts, and deeply read in books, Bedmakers, butlers, manciples, and cooks : Oh ! could we learn from hence the happy art, To touch with pity every reader's heart ! Now while each journeyman and 'prentice flocks, For annual favours, and a Christmas-box, We beg the same ; attempting to repay Our masters' bounty with an humble lay : Though paid in empty rhymes, the coin excuse, No better coin is current with the Muse. Each vast event our varied page supplies, The fall of PRINCES, or the rise of PIES : Patriots and 'squires learn here with little cost, Or when a KINGDOM, or a MATCH is lost : Both sexes here approved receipts peruse ; Hence belles may clean their teeth, or beaux their shoes. From us informed, BRITANNIA'S farmers tell How LOUISBOURG* by British thunder fell; 'Tis we that sound to all the trump of fame, And babes lisp Amherst's and Boscawen's name. The clerk and sexton ENGLAND'S NAVY boast, Denouncing ruin to the Gallic coast ; Glad traders see the fate of SENEGAL, And CLIVE'S new Nabob given to BENGAL; * Taken by General WOLFE. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Prussia's great prince with bumpers deep they hail, While every village quaffs it's CHRISTMAS ALE : All the four quarters of the globe conspire Our news to fill, and raise your glory higher ; While you sit pleas'd, each enterprize to scan, Which ARMS can execute, or PITT can plan. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1760. THINK of the PALMS, my masters dear! That crown this memorable year ! Come fill the glass, my hearts of gold, To BRITAIN'S heroes, brisk and bold ; While into rhyme I strive to turn all The fam'd events of many a JOURNAL. FRANCE feeds her sons on meager soup, 'Twas hence they lost their Gardaloup : What tho' they dress so fine and ja'nty, They could not keep Marigalante. Their forts in Afric could not repel The thunder of undaunted KEPPEL ; ^ Brave commodore ! how we adore ye, For giving us success at Goree. 202 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Ticonderoga, and Niagara, Make each true Briton sing O rare a ! I trust the taking of Crown-Point Has put French courage out of joint. Can we forget the timely check WOLFE gave the scoundrels at Quebec?* That name has stopp'd my glad career, Your faithful NEWSMAN drops a tear! But other triumphs still remain, And rouse to glee my rhymes again. On Minden's plains, ye meek Mounseers ! Remember KINGSLEY'S grenadiers! You vainly thought to ballarag us With your fine squadron off Cape Lagos : But when BOSCAWEN came, LA CLUEI Sheer' d off, and look'd confounded blue. CoNFLANS,t all cowardice and puff, Hop'd to demolish hardy DUFF : But soon unlook'd-for guns o'eraw'd him, HAWKE darted forth, and nobly clawed him. And now their vaunted FORMIDABLE Lies captive to a British cable. * Before this place fell the brave WOLFE ; yet with the satisfac- tion of first hearing that his troops were victorious. The other places here enumerated were conquests of the preceding year. t The French Admirals. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Would you demand the glorious cause Whence Britain every trophy draws ? You need not puzzle long your wit ; FAME, from her trumpet, answers PITT. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1761. WHILE each true Briton drops a tear On GEORGE'S melancholy bier, Shall not we loyal NEWSMEN shew Some mark sincere of social woe ? We that on paper wings on high Have taught his victories to fly, Outstripping e'en imagination To spread glad tidings through the nation : When CANADA was made our own, When PRUSSIA'S arms had conquer'd DAUN ; Whene'er on land we've victors been, Or gather'd laurels on the main. Thus though we justly boast of merit, We cannot shew a proper spirit, * GEORGE II. died in October, 1760. 204 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Unless th' exhilarating bowl Conspires to warm the drooping soul : And drinking renders us unable To clothe ourselves in coats of sable : Therefore, good sirs, or Whig or Tory, We beg to lay our case before ye ; And above all our worthy masters, We first address the parish pastors, To give a cast-off suit for mourning, Of which we'll pay th' expence of turning ; So shall we NEWSMEN catch the mode, Nor trudge in rags along the road, As heretofore : Hence snow and rain Assail our hardy limbs in vain. And now, while ev'ry table's found With choicest CHRISTMAS dainties crown'd; While you enjoy with wishful eyes, The rich plumb-pudding, beef, and pies ; Once more let's share your gen'rous treat, With money make our purse replete ; We'll bless the bounty you afford, And hail the reign of GEORGE the Third. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 05 VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1762. WHILE JACKSON tells, in weekly prose, How Britain triumphs o'er her foes ; Your NEWSMAN comes, in annual rhymes To paint the glories of the times. First, then, a foaming tankard bring, Sacred to GEORGE our youthful king; Nor o'er your NEWSMAN'S pipe and pot Shall fairest CHARLOTTE be forgot; Than whom (God bless them !) more renown'd A princely pair were never crown'd ! Had I, poor NEWSMAN ! but been able To see them dine at Lord Mayor's table, I'm sure I should have strove and thrust hard To carry off a single custard. Come, all inferior heroes stand by, For here's a health to glorious GRANBY; Whose cannons make most noble harmony Amongst the poor Mounseers in Jarmony ; But if his name won't make ye smile, Think of our trophies at Belleisle. The French, from Brest, about invading Are always puffing and parading ; Those puff's are all too weak, I doubt. To blow their half-manu'd navy out. 206 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Come, let each Englishman be merry At our subduing Pondicherry ; Whose forts awhile stood shilly shally, 'Till COOTE was found too tough for LALLY. Sure it deserves of punch a sneaker, To drink our fleet at Martineaker ; Which, if 'tis took, we hope to tip ye The news of conquering Mississippi. Then soon all threats of war will vanish From fleets and armies, French or Spanish* Such are the conquests England won, In the fam'd year of SIXTY-ONE. 'Twas then she triumph'd, as she ought, For, sent by PITT, her heroes fought! VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1763. THE PEACE is made at last Heigh ho! The folks above would have it so ! Sure they were mov'd with strange vagaries, To sign so soon PRELIMI-NARIES. 'Tis mighty odd the parliament Should not petition our consent. We were in hopes, since KEPPEI/S thunder Had got the haughty Spaniards under, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 207 That some new conquest would arrive To make us hungry NEWSMEN thrive; And that another siege would come, To clothe our squalling brats at home. But since upon our COLUMNS FOUR We grave new victories no more ; Since now blockades, capitulations, Fleets, countermarches, camps, invasions,) By sea, by land, with many a drub, Amuse no more the weekly club, We must attempt to entertain Your fancies in another strain : Our troops at Portsmouth safely landed, And every regiment disbanded ; Those sons of MARS on Hounslow's plain Will make, I trust, a new campaign : Hence we new paragraphs shall fetch, And shew you that great General, KETCH, Leading his heroes, on to die, Without one shrug, or feature wry. We'll shew you many a country village Left naked to the soldier's pillage; Instead of towns, where GRANBY thunder'd, We shall exhibit henroosts plundered : Look sharp, good women, to your geese ! These are the bleat effects of peace! 208 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. In short, whatever paragraph Shall make you cry, or make you laugh ; 'Tis your's to make your NEWSMEN happy, This CHRISTMAS, with a cup of nappy. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 3764. JMv masters all, we MEN OF NEWS Once more present our yearly Muse ; Who tells you, with her usual lore, What to expect in SIXTY-FOUR. What tho' with trumpets, drums, and guns, Your ears no more our JOURNAL stuns, We now shall ope a new campaign, New bloody wars on Britain's plain ; Big with the riots and the routs Of those fam'd chiefs the INS and OUTS: Shall shew you more surprising tricks Of ambuscades in politicks ; Th' attack, retreat, and countermarch, Of many a politician arch. But whether Englishman or Scot Should be prime-minister or not ; Whether our paper pleas'd you most When PITT victorious ruVd the roast; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 209 Whether we best shall shew our duty In drinking WILKES or drinking BUTE t'ye; Tho' much is said on either side, We take not on us to decide : We NEWSMEN are of neither party, Alone for England's welfare hearty; Impartial we record the fall Of rogues and robbers great and small: Nor BRITONS North, nor South, are we: Our cause is GEORGE and LIBERTY. The BELLMAN with his annual rhyme, Your favour gains, this CHRISTMAS time; And sure you'll own, if truth you tell, In verse we NEWSMEN bear the belL VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1765. HARD times indeed! We MEN OF NEWS, Who here present our Yearly Muse, Once hop'd our poetry to raise, When PEACE had sent us happier days; For PEACE, we thought, would in her train Bring plenty back to Britain's plain. - A PEACE d'ye call it ? Sure 'tis worse Than even war's severest curse. O 210 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. What's the advantage hence we reap ? Say, has it made provisions cheap ? Scarce can we now afford to meet, And share our annual sheep's head treat. These troubles are a grievous tax on 'The publishers of Master JACKSON. Oh! had we NEWSMEN rulM the helm, While vict'ry blest this happy realm, Nor Spanish Dons, nor French Mounseers, Had left all parties by the ears : Our peace had still been nam'd with glory, By growling Whig, and ranting Tory : Not that we deem it meet to boast, Yet, did we NEWSMEN rule the roast, We'd shew our skill in reformation, Throughout the markets of the nation. Meanwhile, then, make us statesmen happy This CHRISTMAS, with a cup of nappy : Bring forth your punch, your strong, and stale, The shiv'ring NEWSMAN'S sure regale : Nor let the authors of these rhymes Find your hearts harder than the times. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1766. WHERE CAPTAIN JOLLY'S House of Lords y At eve a snug retreat affords, Amid the clouds of many a pipe, Porter our drink, our supper tripe, Like solemn ministers of state, We NEWSMEN held a grand debate, How best, this year, to entertain The public with a CHRISTMAS strain ; How best to tell our noble masters Of all our dangers and disasters : Each, o'er his pint, proposed his plan, And thus the consultation ran : Says BOB, a politician bold, " I think our griefs might best be told " By shewing, to the nation's ruin, " What mischief folks above are brewing ! " On MS these ills are sure to fall, " We helpless NEWSMEN feel 'em all! " Enclosures, and the cyder-tax, " Have half already broke our backs ; " While all our future hopes are vanish'd, " Now WILLIAM'S dead, and WILKES is banish'd,'* THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Says SAM, " My lads our pots, let's fill 'em " And now you mention brave Duke WILL'EM, " Suppose, to better our condition, " The country parsons we petition, " To give us, if they'll bear the turning, " Their cast-off coats to make us mourning." Says TEAGUE, " Aye, now by Jasus, honey, " If by your varses you'd get money, " Pray tell your customers, although " 'Tis what already they must know, " That corn is so extremely dear, " Our ale is quite become small beer: " Sooner than thus I'll spend my penny, " I'll join the white-boys at Kilkenny: " Rather, while such distresses wait us, " I'd starve on unexcis'd potatoes" While thus, uncertain what to say, We pass'd the tedious hours away, And whiff 'd our pipes, and turn'd our caxons, Pop comes a devil in from JACKSON'S, And threw these lines before us down, Sent by some poet of the Gown, Who, tho' a member of the Varsity, Pities us in these times of scarcity. " My masters kind, whom choicest liquors bless, " Reward your NEWSMAN'S well-design'd address ! THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 213 " Oh, think how ill we fare, how oft we fast, " To whom sheeps' trotters are a rich repast ! " Regard our wants, who travel cold and wet, " To crown your breakfasts with a Week's Gazette ! " Who, while the snow descends, the tempest roars, " Convey the fate of nations to your doors ! " Though JACKSON'S weekly pen our paper frame, " To us he owes one half of all his fame ; " We lend a hand to lift him to the skies, " And on our wings abroad his JOURNAL flies." VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1767- DISMAL the news which JACKSON'S yearly bard Each circling Christmas brings, " The times are hard!" There was a time when GRANBY'S grenadiers Trimm'd the lac'd jackets of the French Mounseers ; When every week produc'd some lucky hit, And all our paragraphs were plann'd by PITT. We NEWSMEN drank as England's heroes fought, While every victory procur'd a POT. Abroad, we conquer'd France, and humbled Spain, At homey rich harvests crown'd the laughing plain. 214 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. Then ran in numbers free the NEWSMAN'S VERSES, Blithe were our hearts, and full our leathern purses. But now, no more the stream of plenty flows, No more new conquests warm the NEWSMAN'S nose. Our shatter' d cottages admit the rain, Our infants stretch their hands for bread in vain. All hope is fled, our families are undone, Provisions all are carry'd up to London ; Our copious granaries distillers thin, Who raise our bread but do not cheapen gin. Th' effects of exportation still we rue ; I wish th' exporters were exported too ! In every pot-house is unpaid our score, And generous CAPTAIN JOLLY ticks no more! Yet still in store some happiness remains, Some triumphs that may grace these annual strains. Misfortunes past no longer I repeat GEORGE has declared that we again shall eat. Sweet Wilhelminy, spite of wind and tide, Of Denmark's monarch shines the blooming bride : She's gone ! but there's another in her stead, For of a princess CHARLOTTE'S brought to bed : Oh, could I but have had one single sup, One single sniff, at CHARLOTTE'S caudle-cup! I hear God bless it ! 'tis a charming girl, So here's her health in half a pint of purl, THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 215 But much I fear, this rhyme-exhausted song Has kept you from your CHRISTMAS cheer too long. Our poor endeavours view with gracious eye, And bake these lines beneath a CHRISTMAS PIE ! VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1768. STILL shall the NEWSMAN'S annual rhymes Complain of taxes and the times Each year our COPIES shall we make on The price of butter, bread, and bacon ? Forbid it, all ye pow'rs of verse ! A happier subject I rehearse. Farewell distress, and gloomy cares ! A merrier theme my Muse prepares. For lo ! to save us, on a sudden, In shape of porter, beef, and pudding, Though late, ELECTIONEERING comes! Strike up, ye trumpets, beat, ye drums ! At length we change our wonted note, And feast, all winter, on a vote. Sure, canvassing was never hotter ! But whether HARCOURT, NARES, or COTTER,* * Candidates for the City of Oxford. 216 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. At this grand crisis will succeed, We FREEMEN have not yet decreed. Methinks, with mirth your sides are shaking, To hear us talk of member-making ! Yet know, that we direct the state ; On MS depends the nation's fate. What though some Doctor's cast-off wig O'ershades my pate, not worth a fig ; My whole apparel in decay ; My beard unshav'd on New Year's Day ; In me behold (the land's protector) A FREEMAN, NEWSMAN, and ELECTOR! Though cold, and all unshod my toes, My breast for Britain's freedom glows : Though turn'd, by poverty, my coat, It ne'er was turn'd to give a vote. Meantime, howe'er improv'd our fate is, By jovial cups, each evening, gratis ; Forget not, 'midst your CHRISTMAS cheer, The customs of the coming year : In answer to this short EPISTLE, Your tankard send, to wet our whistle. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 217 VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1769. WE MEN OF NEWS, in former days, Had glorious subjects for our lays : The MUTTON PIES of witty BEN Employ'd, each year, our constant pen ; And oft our CHRISTMAS CAROL sung The joint renown of JOLLY YOUNG. Such were the NEWSMAN'S strains of yore! But MUTTON PIES are now no more : And (theme too high for humble writer) Lo! CAPTAIN JOLLY keeps the Mitre. Meantime, our soldiers and commanders Sent us brave paragraphs from Flanders ; And oft our tars, for conquest eager, Prov'd beef superior to soup-meagre : While into rhyme we strove to turn all The fam'd events of many a JOURNAL. Our poets too, ne'er known to flinch, Who help'd us often at a pinch, (Though brisk and merry once as grigs,) Are now grave Dons in grizzle wigs. * See p. 17, et seq. S18 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. And is there now no rising WIT, With love of verse and porter smit ; No Freshman, intimate with JACKSON, Whom we may lay this annual tax on ? Ah ! what, my masters, can we do, Our subjects lost, and poets too ! Subjects there are, I grant ye, still, But all above our grey-goose quill : The visit of the Royal Dane,* The travels of the Northern Thane,* Queen CHARLOTTE'S happy lying-in, The trophies of triumphant GLYNN,* Our patron WILKES, in durance vile, Demand a more exalted stile. What then, to close our song, remains ? But that, in unambitious strains, We send a wish, that jovial cheer May usher in the coming year ; That peace and plenty both agree To make us honest, rich, and free : To wipe away, as heretofore, The NATION'S and the NEWSMAN'S score: That Fortune's fairest rays may shine To gild the dawn of SIXTY-NINE. * King of Denmark. f Lord Bute. J Elected. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 219 : - VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1770. As now PETITIONS are in fashion With the first patriots of the nation ; In spirit high, in pocket low, We patriots of the Butcher-Row, Thus, like our betters, ask redress For high and mighty grievances, Real, tho' penn'd in rhyme, as those Which oft our JOURNAL gives in prose: " Ye rural 'squires, so plump and sleek, " Who study JACKSON, once a week ; " While now your hospitable board " With cold sirloin is amply stor'd, " And old October, nutmegg'd nice, " Send us a tankard and a slice ! " Ye country parsons, stand our friends, " While now the driving sleet descends ! " Gives us your antiquated canes, (t To help us through the miry lanes ; " Or with a rusty grizzle wig, " This CHRISTMAS deign our pates to rig. " Ye noble gem'men of the Gown, " View not our verses with a frown ! 220 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. " But, in return for quick dispatches, " Invite us to your buttery-hatches ! " Ye too, whose houses are so handy, " For coffee, tea, rum, wine, and brandy ; " Pride of fair Oxford's gaudy streets, " You too our strain submissive greets ! " Hear Horseman, Spindlow, King, and Harper ! * " The weather sure was never sharper : u Matron of matrons, Mother Baggs ! " Dram your poor NEWSMAN, clad in rags! " Dire mischiefs folks above are brewing, " The NATION'S and the NEWSMAN'S ruin : " 'Tis your's our sorrows to remove ; " And if thus generous ye prove, " For friends so good we're bound to pray " 'Till next returns a New Year's Day!" " Giv'n at our melancholy cavern, " The cellar of the Sheep's-Head Tavern. 19 * Keepers of noted coffee-houses in Oxford. THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1771 DELICIOUS news A War with Spain! New rapture fires our CHRISTMAS strain; Behold, to strike each Briton's eyes, What bright victorious scenes arise ! What paragraphs of English glory, Will Master JACKSON set before ye ! The Governor of Buenos Ayres Shall dearly pay for his vagaries ; For whether NORTH, or whether CHATHAM, Shall rule the roast, we must have-at-'em : Galloons Havannah Porto Bello, Ere long, will make the nation mellow : Our late trite themes we view with scorn, BELLAS the bold, and Parson HORNE : No more, through many a tedious winter, The triumphs of the Patriot Squinter, The INS and OUTS, with cant eternal, Shall croud each column of our JOURNAL. After a dreary season past, OUR turn to live is come at last: Gen'rals, and Admirals, and Jews, Contractors, Printers, MEN OF NEWS, All thrive by WAR, and line their pockets, And leave the works of PEACE to blockhead*. 222 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. But stay, my Muse, this hasty fit The WAR is not declared as yet : And we, though now so blithe we sing, May all be pressed to serve the king ! Therefore, meantime, our masters dear, Produce your hospitable cheer : While we, with much sincere delight, (Whether we publish NEWS or fight,) Like England's undegenerate sons, Will drink Confusion to the Dons!" VERSES FOR THE YEAR 1772. WHILE we full sadly labour through the winter, How nobly thrives our JOURNAL'S honoured Printer! A lucky dog, and born to save his bacon, Behold, the King's-Head Tavern he has taken ! There with new almanacks he cuts a flash, And magazines adorn the new-made sash. What though, as if the house had still a sign, His cellar's stor'd with brandy, rum, and wine, In such rich draughts our cares we seldom drown, He keeps them for his authors of the Gown. Correctors, puffers, paragraph-composers, Scribblers, and scribes, your poets and your prosers ; THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. 223 Lo, these (so cross of human things the fate is !) Each eve frequent our Master's TAVERN gratis: While we, who lend his JOURNAL wings to soar Higher than Journal ever flew before, Our spirits down, our wigs without a curl, Can scarce procure a scanty pint of purl. Yet still some hopes of future luck remain In store methinks I spy a war with Spain. JACKSON ! too long thy JOURNAL has been full Of Jews, of Duchesses, of WILKES and BULL ; And sure, although I think he seems to tune us, We've had enough of that sly rascal Jun'us : A war would give new spirit to our paper, And make our MASTER and his NEWSMEN caper. But let us look at home and fortune there A more propitious aspect seems to wear : The Paving Act though many a poor man rues, It brings some comfort to us MEN OF NEWS : Rare tidings for the wretch whose lingering score Remains unpaid BOCARDO * is no more ! Nor more where many a publisher has stood, The PILLORY * uprears its yoke of wood : Nay, ev'n the STOCKS,* where, having quafPd our fill, We sate in state, have left the City-Hill: * The City Gaol, fee. taken down by the Oxford Paving Act. 224 THE OXFORD SAUSAGE. To crown the whole, and what you all must know, The HANGMAN was enlisted long ago !* Yet ah ! 'mid real sorrows and vexations, How vain are all such flattering consolations ! Can hopes of happier times our wants remove ? A present help can expectation prove ? Therefore, my masters, your relief afford, Nor shut the NEWSMAN from your Christmas board ! Your bounty yet was never known to fail us, Come then, as usual, dram us, punch us, ale us ; And, not averse to this our song's design, At least permit us once a year to DINE. * See page 183. FINIS. LONDON : PRINTED BY W. HUGHES, MAIDEN-LANE, COVENT-GARDEIf. '-n> J4 > '*/) a UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. I 8Ma/52W IN PORTAL - REC'D > r MAR-2'66-i>AM 'aUTO. JUL22 1368 18 2 1 1989 (klROULATlOM REC'D NOV 21 '65 -1 P LOAN DEPT 2)96691' LD 21-957n-ll,'50(2877Bl 6) 476 LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF LIBRARY OF THE UNiVERsi QM U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES ? I Illllll III) Hill Illl! Ill II II inn ii ii mi : 020815882 \\Q \RY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIF --^=^ K*V>^ A ^7 ~~^ ^ ^ _ m | iRY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIF - 5 ARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIF