Pendragon, or, The carpet knight his kalendar

January's CANTO. (Book 1)

ARGUMENT.

After a decent Introduction, Our Muse for better Satisfaction, Craves Aid and begs Assistances From the most valu'd Friend she has; Then gives Pendragon's Character While he sate writing in his Chair.

(Book 1)

CANTO. (Book 1)

I Sing the Man of strange Renown, For Letters, not for Warfare known; Who did his Reputation raise From Skill in Style and Languages; From ranging Words in Order, and Keeping o'r Alphabet's Command, Which far and wide dispers'd his Name, And got him Dignity and Fame. For Knighthood (the Reward of Fighting) Was given him only for his writing.

Not but the Gown does oft afford As Noble Honours as the Sword; The Gown distinguishes Degrees Of Men, in different Faculties, And tells us at a distance who Is walking off, or coming to; And Ermins, Scarlet Robes and Furs, Are deem'd as worshipful as Spurs:

Yet our fam'd Knight ow'd his Preferments To none of these exalted Garments; For his Advancement came alone, From's Morning, Night, or Studying-Gown.

In former Days when Times were scurvy, And Government turn'd Topsie-turvy: When Rulers who should give Protection, Sate to administer Destruction; To change establish'd Property To Bigottry and Slavery: When Pulpit Bout'feu's beat Alarms, And Evidences rose in Swarms; Whose Business was to cut the Weazon Of others differing in Persuasion: Tho' in declaring Overt Acts, Like makers of our Almanacks, In giving Judgment of the Weather, No two of them Agreed together: When greatest Virtues did but render The Man the greater an Offender:

When Scribere in a Private Nature, Was Agere to make a Traytor: When Lord Chief Justices had Claws, And Daggers lay wrapt up in Laws; Then did Sir Knight, put Flame to Taper, Elbow to Board, and Pen to Paper.

Now, tho' 'twas very Cold, he wrote As if the Season had been Hot; Tho' Sol thro' Capricorn was hying, His Brains were still in Cancer frying; He would maintain there could no Fault Possess a Minister of State, Who acting by his Prince's Will, By that was safe from doing Ill; Nor was he fit to be restrain'd By any publick Laws o'th' Land: He taught all Subjects to obey, Dispensing, Arbitrary Sway; And who this Doctrine drust deny He'd prove a Foe to Monarchy:

He chiefly bent the Nib of's Pen To write against the Golden Mean; To prove Men Wise and Moderate Were Enemies to Church and State; That to be still, and void of Action, Sedition was and downright Faction; And who in Speech was ne'er so silent, In Thought was represented Violent. 'Twas thus his Fingers sought to cripple, And ham-string the King's best Leige-People, By laying about him might and Main, Daily with Paper, Ink and Pen. Whence (tho' the Sound be somewhat Pagan) Came his acquir'd Name Pendragon. And who but he in that vile Age In such Designs so fit t' engage? A plyant Tool, oblig'd with Knighthood And large Rewards, he was excited To serve the Times through all Excesses, And on foul Deeds to put fair Faces, Untill he grew to be the great Prevaricator of the State:

Thus all true Englishmen he found, Pendragon with his Pen dragoon'd. Success in Sham and Banter made him Proceed where-e'er the Maggot led him; That Maggot which doth turn and wind The greatest Part of Humane Kind.

All hail thou mighty Worm which reigns Lord-Paramount in Mortals Brains, Patron of Whimseys, and the Itches Of Fancy, and the Mind's Capriches; Who grave Philosophers and wise Hast made to write in Praise of Lice, Fleas, Asses, Dogs, and Cats, and Owls, Hermaphrodites, and Apes, and Fools: Thou who inspir'st Disease and Phrensy, Grief and old Age with Wit and Fancy, Canst teach Men tortur'd with the Pox, To ease their Pain by breaking Jokes; And make the Raging of the Gout Into Poetick Rage break out: Thou who giv'st Coronets of Bays To Lords and to Apprentices;

And hast thy Garlands ready made And siz'd to every fashion'd Head, I beg th' Assistance all along To the Conclusion of my Song: Teach me new Notes, and as I do sing, To think well of my own Composing. Let me be positive and bold, As Bays of late, and Ben of old; And whatsoever Self brings forth, Applaud it as a thing of Worth: And as with a Crane-neck the Chariot Makes shorter Turns and quicker for it, So give me the bein Tourn of Doggerel, That Muse may drive on, and not clog her Wheel: Send me one Rag of Butler's Mantle, And I can never fail to Cant well: Butler! the best of Buccaneers, Who taught us Pyracy in Verse; From whom the boldest Criticks run, And dare not stay to fire a Gun: May they no less my Rhymes come near, Or I their Patarero's fear.

But if our Sense obtains, and Measures Contribute to a Prince's Pleasures; If he esteem 'em worth Recital, We hope he'll think 'em worth Requital; And not let (Butler-like) the Founder Neglected live, and run aground here.

So much by way of Invocation: Now we'll proceed, without a Passion, And suffer no warm Thoughts to hurry us, While the Sun's tugging through Aquarius; While nipping Frosts, and Snows, and Hail, With Cold, and piercing Winds, prevail; While the Nights yet continuing long, Yield no good Subject for a Song.

Let there a rowsing Fire be made: Suppose it done as soon as said: Then draw the folding Table near, And place by that an Elbow-Chair; To which be Sir Pendragon put in, With all his Magazines about him,

Of Paper, Wax, Wafers, and Sand, A well-cut Pen in his Right-hand, On his contracted Brows he wears A goodly Cap of Sable Furs; A Neckcloth round his Neck is ty'd Of finest Muslin flying wide; From Head to Foot he's cover'd down With the said gawdy Studying Gown, Made of a Flower'd Silk, whose Kind is Richest of Persia's or th' East-Indies; Which, with his Slippers of the same, To publick view was all that came.

His Person's very tall and straight, Exceeding much the common Height, Could we but make him stand upright. His Body, had it been exhibited Naked, One might have told each Rib it had: A Man so Lathy, long, and lean, Is very rarely to be seen. The Figure of his Face is Oval, Not broad at bottom, like a Shovel;

Though on sinister part of Gullet Appears a Poke, or fleshy Wallet, A strongly radicated Tumour, Caus'd by an old Malignant Humour, Which he who skill'd in Physicks Trade is, Doth term the Scrophula, or Chaerades: Yet if our Knight did ever shew In Lombards Vale at Bergamo His Visage, with this Modish Swelling, No Man would there advise its Healing: For 'tis in Fashion so, the same is Esteem'd an Ornament, no Blemish; And one would swear, he had so far gone Being vers'd in their peculiar Jargon, Which imitated very much is By fam'd Buffoons and Scaramouches. But not to suffer a Digression To put us by our proper Lesson: After the Colour of his Hair, We term him of Complexion Fair; His Eyes were of the lively Hazel, And Eye-brows large became his Face well;

His Nose well-shap'd, on Top of which Was fix'd the Ciceronian Fetch, An Index of his Rhetorick, That is of Eloquence and Trick. His Visage wore an eager Air, Keen as the Season of the Year; His Forehead shone like Burnish'd Brass; Bright and Case hardned was his Face, Which nothing Foul could touch or take, But worse it still reflected back: Such was the Nature of the Mirrour, To render no Idea's fairer. But the best Part about the Man Many will have to be his Brain, Always a working, never idle, Ev'n when he takes in hand the Fiddle. In vain the Harmony's design'd To quell the Discords of his Mind; The Faculties whereof were strong, Though constantly directed wrong. His Fancy too was most Luxurious, And fertil of an Off-spring spurious.

His Memory had Mansions many, And some as fair and large as any; But still the fairest and the best Were took up by th' foulest Guest. For Slanders vile, and lying Stories Lodg'd in its choice Repositories, Whilst all their Doors were shut and barr'd Gainst Worth and Merit very hard. His Reason which of Right should Reign The lawfull Monarch of his Brain, Was by his Will depos'd, whose Rule Despotick was as Great Mogul, Would not be bound in any Case By any Reasonable Laws, Nor other Magna Charta own, Than what I please, That shall be done. Thus Qualify'd (while we take Breath) Let him write Dagger out of Sheath: Under Pretence of pulling down The Enemies to Church and Crown, He proves the worker of the Fall Of Scepter, Diadem and Ball:

While those Regalia he would pitch So high above all Humane Reach, They are but lodg'd the less secure, And can't from Age to Age endure.