But not to writings I confine my pen, I have a Taste for buildings, mufick, men. Young travell❜d coxcombs mighty knowledge boast, With fuperficial fmattering at moft.
Not fo my mind, unfatisfied with hints,
Knows more than Budgel writes, or Roberts prints.
I know the town, all houses I have seen,
From High-Park corner down to Bednal-Green.
Sure wretched Wren was taught by bungling Jones,
To murder mortar, and disfigure stones!
Who in Whitehall can symmetry discern?
I reckon Covent-garden church a barn.
Nor hate I lefs thy vile catheral, Paul!
The choir's too big, the cupola's too small :
Substantial walls and heavy roofs I like,
'Tis Vanbrug's ftructures that my fancy ftrike:
Such noble ruins ev'ry pile wou'd make,
I wish they'd tumble for the prospect fake.
To lofty Chelsea, or to Greenwich dome,
Soldiers and failors all are welcom'd home.
Her poor to palaces Britannia brings,
St. James's hofpital may serve for kings.
Buildings fo happily I understand,
That for one houfe I'd mortgage all my land.
Dorick, Ionick, fhall not there be found,
But it shall caft me threefcore thousand pound.
From out my honest workmen, I'll select
A Bricklay'r, and proclaim him artichect;
First bid him build me a stupendous dome,
Which having finish'd, we set out for Rome;
Take a week's view of Venice and the Brent,
Stare round, fee nothing, and come home content.
I'll have my Villa too, a fweet abode,
Its fituation fhall be London road :
Pots o'er the door I'll place like Cits balconies,
Which Bentley calls the Gardens of Adonis.
I'll have my gardens in the fashion too,
For what is beautiful that is not new?
Fair four-legg'd temples, theatres that vye
With all the angles of a Christmas-pye.
Does it not merit the beholder's praise,
What's high to fink? and what is low to raise ?
Slopes fhall afcend where once a green-house stood,
And in my horfe-pond I will plant a wood.
Let mifers dread the hoarded gold to waste,
Expence and alteration fhews a Taste.
In curious paintings I'm exceeding nice,
And know their several beauties by their price.
Auctions and fales I conftantly attend,
But chufe my pictures by a fkilful friend.
Originals and copies much the fame.
The picture's value is the painter's name.
My Tafte in sculpture from my choice is feen,
I buy no ftatues that are not obfcene.
Bentley's Milton, Book 9. ver. 439.
In spite of Addison and ancient Rome,
Sir Cloudefly Shovel's is my fav'rite tomb.
How oft have I with admiration food,
To view fome city-magiftrate in wood!
I gaze with pleasure on a lord-mayor's head,
Caft with propriety in gilded lead.
Oh could I view through London as I pass,
Some broad Sir Balaam in Corinthian brass:
High on a pedestal, ye freemen, place
His magifterial paunch and griping face;
Letter'd and gilt, let him adorn Cheapfide,
And grant the tradefman, what a king's deny'd.
Old coins and medals I collect, 'tis true,
Sir-Andrew has 'em, and I'll have 'em too.
But among friends if I the truth might speak,
I like the modern, and despise th' antique.
Tho' in the drawers of my japan bureau,
To lady Gripeall I the Cæfars fhew,
'Tis equal to her ladyship or me,
A copper Otho, or a Scotch baubeè.
Without Italian, or without an ear,
To Bononcini's musick I adhere:
Mufick has charms to footh a favage breast,
And therefore proper at a sheriff's feast.
My foul has oft a secret pleasure found,
In the harmonious bagpipe's lofty found.
Bagpipes for men, fhrill German-flutes for boys,
I'm English born, and love a grumbling noise.
The ftage fhould yield the folemn organ's note,
And fcripture tremble in the Eunuch's throat.
Let Senefino fing, what David writ,
And hallelujahs charm the pious pit.
Eager in throngs the town to Hester came,
And Oratorio was a lucky name.
Thou, Heidegger! the English Taste haft found,
And rul'ft the mob of quality with found.
In Lent, if masquerades difpleafe the town,
Call e'm Ridotto's, and they still go down.
Go on prince Phiz! to please the British Nation,
Call thy next Masquerade a Convocation.
Bears, lions, wolves, and elephants I breed,
And Philofophical Tranfactions read.
Next lodge I'll be Free-mafon, nothing less,
Unless I happen to be F. R. S.
I have a palate, and (as yet) two ears,
Fit company for porters or for peers.
Of ev'ry useful knowledge I've a fhare,
But my top talent is a bill of fare.
Sir loins and rumps of beef offend my eyes,
Pleas'd with frogs fricaffeed, and coxcomb-pies.
Dishes I chufe though little, yet genteel,
Snails the first course, and peepers crown the meal.
Pigs heads with hair on, much my fancy please,
I love young colly-flow'rs if ftew'd in cheese,
And give ten guineas for a pint of peas.
No tattling fervants to my table come,
My grace is filence, and my waiter dumb,
Queer country-puts extol queen Bess's reign,
And of lost hospitality complain.
Say thou that doft thy father's table praise,
Was there mahogena in former days ?
Oh! could a British barony be fold!
I would bright honour buy with dazling gold,
Could I the privilege of peer procure,
The rich I'd bully, and opprefs the poor.
To give is wrong, but it is wronger still,
On any terms to pay a tradefman's bill.
I'd make the infolent mechanicks stay,
And keep my ready money all for play.
I'd try if any pleasure could be found,
In toffing up for twenty-thousand pound.
Had I whole counties, to White's would go,
And fet land, woods, and rivers, at a throw.
But should I meet with an unlucky run,
And at a throw be gloriously undone;
My debts of honour I'd discharge the first,
Let all my lawful creditors be curs❜d :
My title would preferve me from arreft,
And feizing hired horses is a jest,
I'd walk the morning with an oaken stick,
With gloves and hat, like my own footman, Dick.
A footman I wou'd be, in outward fhow,
In fenfe, and education, truly fo.
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