But if Hell may by logical rules be defin'd
The Place of the Damn'd-I'll tell you my mind.
Wherever the Damn'd do chiefly abound,
Most certainly there is Hell to be found:
Damn'd poets, damn'd critics, damn'd blockheads, damn'd knaves,
Damn'd senators brib'd, damn'd prostitute slaves; Damn'd lawyers and judges, damn'd lords and damn'd 'squires ;
Damn'd spies and informers, damn'd friends, and damn'd liars;
Damn'd villains corrupted in every station;
Damn'd time-serving priests all over the nation:
And into the bargain I'll readily give you
Damn'd ignorant prelates and councillors privy.
Then let us no longer by parsons be flamm'd,
For we know by these marks the Place of the
Damn'd;
And Hell to be sure is at Paris or Rome:
How happy for us that it is not at home!
A LADY wise as well as fair,
Whose conscience always was her care
Thoughtful upon a point of moment,
Would have the text as well as comment;
So hearing of a grave divine,
She sent to bid him come and dine.
But you must know he was not quite
So grave as to be unpolite;
Thought human learning would not lessen
The dignity of his profession;
And if you'ad heard the man discourse,
Or preach, you'd like him scarce the worse.
He long had bid the court farewell,
Retreating silent to his cell,
Suspected for the love he bore
To one who sway'd some time before,
Which made it more surprising how
He should be sent for thither now.
The message told, he gapes and stares,
And scarce believes his eyes or ears:
Could not conceive what it should mean,
And fain would hear it told again.
But then the 'squire so trim and nice,
'Twere rude to make him tell it twice;
So bow'd, was thankful for the honour,
And would not fail to wait upon her.
His beaver brush'd, his shoes, and gown,
Away he trudges into town,
Passes the lower castle-yard,
And now advancing to the guard,
He trembles at the thoughts of state;
For, conscious of his sheepish gait,
His spirits of a sudden fail'd him;
He stopt, and could not tell what ail'd him.
What was the message I receiv'd?
Why, certainly the Captain rav'd.
To dine with her! and come at three!
Impossible! it can't be me.
may be I mistook the word;
My Lady-it must be my Lord.
My Lord's abroad; my Lady too:
What must th' unhappy Doctor do?
"Is Capt. Cratch'rode here *, pray?”—“ No.” Nay, then 'tis time for me to go. Am I awake, or do I dream?
I'm sure he call'd me by my name;
Nam'd me as plain as he could speak,
And yet there must be some mistake.
Why, what a jest should I have been
Had now my Lady been within?
What could I've said? I'm mighty glad
She went abroad-she'd thought me mad.
The hour of dining now is past;
Well, then, I'll e'en go home and fast,
And since I 'scap'd being made a scoff,
I think I'm very fairly off.
My Lady now returning home,
Calls, "Crach'rode! is the Doctor come ?"
He had not heard of him." Pray see,
"'Tis now a quarter after three."
The Captain walks about, and searches
Thro' all the rooms, and courts, and arches;
Examines all the servants round,
In vain-no Doctor's to be found.
* The gentleman who brought the message.
My Lady could not chuse but wonder;
"Captain, I fear you've made some blunder :
"But pray, to-morrow go at ten,
"I'll try his manners once again;
"If rudeness be th' effect of knowledge,
"My son shall never see a college."
The Captain was a man of reading,
And much good sense as well as breeding,
Who, loath to blame or to incense,
Said little in his own defence.
Next day another message brought;
The Doctor, frighten'd at his fault,
Is dress'd, and stealing thro' the crowd,
Now pale as death, then blush'd and bow'd,
Panting and falt'ring-humm'd and ha`d:
Her Ladyship was gone abroad;
The Captain tooHe did not know
Whether he ought to stay or go;
Begg'd she'd forgive him. In conclusion,
My Lady, pitying his confusion,
Call'd her good nature to relieve him;
Told him she thought she might believe him,
And would not only grant his suit,
But visit him and eat some fruit;
Provided, at a proper time,
He told the real truth in rhyme.
'Twas to no purpose to oppose,
She'd hear of no excuse in prose.
The Doctor stood not to debate,
Glad to compound at any rate;
So bowing, seemingly comply'd,
Tho' if he durst he had deny'd.
But first resolv'd to shew his taste
Was too refin'd to give a feast;
He'd treat with nothing that was rare,
But winding walks and purer air:
Would entertain without expence,
Or pride or vain magnificence;
For well he knew to such a guest
The plainest meals must be the best.
To stomachs clogg'd with costly fare
Simplicity alone is rare,
Whilst high, and nice, and curious meats,
Are really but vulgar treats:
Instead of spoils of Persian looms,
The costly boasts of regal rooms,
Thought it more courtly and discreet
To scatter roses at her feet;
Roses of richest dye, that shone
With native lustre like her own;
Beauty that needs no aid of art
Thro' every sense to reach the heart.
The gracious dame, tho' well she knew
All this was much beneath her due,
Lik'd ev'ry thing—at least thought fit
To praise it par maniere d'acquit :
Yet she, tho' seeming pleas'd, can't bear
The scorching sun or chilling air;
Disturb'd alike at both extremes,
Whether he shews or hides his beams+
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