The beauties of English poesy: Selected by Oliver Goldsmith. In two volumes. ... [pt.1]

THE SPLENDID SHILLING. BY MR. J. PHILIPS.

This is reckoned the best parody of Milton in our language: it has been an hundred times imitated, without success. The truth is, the first thing in this way must preclude all future attempts; for nothing is so easy as to burlesque any man's man|ner, when we are once shewed the way.

HAPPY the man, who, void of cares and strife, In silken, or in leathern, purse, retains A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for chearful ale; But, with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpye, or Town-Hall * 1.1 repairs: Where, mindful of the nymph whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames, Cloe, or Philips; he each circling glass Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. Mean while, 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 corps 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 Cadwalador 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 th' Arvonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the antient town Yclip'd Brechinia; or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil! Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern. Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow, With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun, Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, To my aërial citadel ascends, With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate, With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. What should I do? or whither turn? amaz'd, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly

Of woodhole; strait my bristling hairs erect Thro' 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 inscrib'd, 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 call'd A Catchpole; whose polluted hands the Gods With force incredible, and magic charms, First 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, Be circumspect; oft, with insiduous 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 unhallow'd touch. So (poets sing)

Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, Protending 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 insiduous, and the buzzing drone, 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 invelop, 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 makeweight 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 desp'rate lady near a purling stream, Or lover pendent on a willow-tree. Mean while 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, Tipples imaginary pots of ale, In vain; awake I find the settled thirst Still gnawing, and the pleasant fantom curse. Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd. 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: Afflictions 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 disclos'd with orifice Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronean waves, Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, Portending agues. Thus, a well fraught ship Long sail'd secure, or thro' th' Aegean deep, Or th' Ionean, till cruising near The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush, 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, Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize The mariners, death in their eyes appear, They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray: (Vain efforts!) Still the batt'ring waves rush in, Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks found'ring in the vast abyss.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Two noted alehouses in Oxford, 1700.