Poetical Works by Charles Churchill Part 17

[188] 'Calcraft:' John Calcraft, Esq., M.P., army agent and contractor.

THE GHOST.[189]

In Four Books.

BOOK I.

With eager search to dart the soul, Curiously vain, from pole to pole, And from the planets' wandering spheres To extort the number of our years, And whether all those years shall flow Serenely smooth, and free from woe, Or rude misfortune shall deform Our life with one continual storm; Or if the scene shall motley be.

Alternate joy and misery, 10 Is a desire which, more or less.

All men must feel, though few confess.

Hence, every place and every age Affords subsistence to the sage, Who, free from this world and its cares, Holds an acquaintance with the stars, From whom he gains intelligence Of things to come some ages hence, Which unto friends, at easy rates.

He readily communicates. 20 At its first rise, which all agree on, This n.o.ble science was Chaldean; That ancient people, as they fed Their flocks upon the mountain's head, Gazed on the stars, observed their motions, And suck'd in astrologic notions, Which they so eagerly pursue, As folks are apt whate'er is new, That things below at random rove, Whilst they're consulting things above; 30 And when they now so poor were grown, That they'd no houses of their own, They made bold with their friends the stars, And prudently made use of theirs.

To Egypt from Chaldee it travell'd, And Fate at Memphis was unravell'd: The exotic science soon struck root, And flourish'd into high repute.

Each learned priest, oh strange to tell!

Could circles make, and cast a spell; 40 Could read and write, and taught the nation The holy art of divination.

n.o.bles themselves, for at that time Knowledge in n.o.bles was no crime, Could talk as learned as the priest, And prophesy as much, at least.

Hence all the fortune-telling crew, Whose crafty skill mars Nature's hue, Who, in vile tatters, with smirch'd face, Run up and down from place to place, 50 To gratify their friends' desires, From Bampfield Carew,[190] to Moll Squires,[191]

Are rightly term'd Egyptians all; Whom we, mistaking, Gypsies call.

The Grecian sages borrow'd this, As they did other sciences, From fertile Egypt, though the loan They had not honesty to own.

Dodona's oaks, inspired by Jove, A learned and prophetic grove, 60 Turn'd vegetable necromancers, And to all comers gave their answers.

At Delphos, to Apollo dear, All men the voice of Fate might hear; Each subtle priest on three-legg'd stool, To take in wise men, play'd the fool.

A mystery, so made for gain, E'en now in fas.h.i.+on must remain; Enthusiasts never will let drop What brings such business to their shop; 70 And that great saint we Whitefield call, Keeps up the humbug spiritual.

Among the Romans, not a bird Without a prophecy was heard; Fortunes of empires often hung On the magician magpie's tongue, And every crow was to the state A sure interpreter of Fate.

Prophets, embodied in a college[192]

(Time out of mind your seat of knowledge; 80 For genius never fruit can bear Unless it first is planted there, And solid learning never falls Without the verge of college walls) Infallible accounts would keep When it was best to watch or sleep, To eat or drink, to go or stay, And when to fight or run away; When matters were for action ripe, By looking at a double tripe; 90 When emperors would live or die, They in an a.s.s's skull could spy; When generals would their station keep, Or turn their backs, in hearts of sheep.

In matters, whether small or great, In private families or state As amongst us, the holy seer Officiously would interfere; With pious arts and reverend skill Would bend lay bigots to his will; 100 Would help or injure foes or friends, Just as it served his private ends.

Whether in honest way of trade Traps for virginity were laid; Or if, to make their party great, Designs were form'd against the state, Regardless of the common weal, By interest led, which they call zeal, Into the scale was always thrown The will of Heaven to back their own. 110 England--a happy land we know, Where follies naturally grow, Where without culture they arise And tower above the common size; England, a fortune-telling host, As numerous as the stars, could boast,-- Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea, Who, versed in every modest lore, Can a lost maidenhead restore, 120 Or, if their pupils rather choose it, Can show the readiest way to lose it; Gypsies, who every ill can cure, Except the ill of being poor, Who charms 'gainst love and agues sell, Who can in hen-roost set a spell, Prepared by arts, to them best known, To catch all feet except their own, Who, as to fortune, can unlock it As easily as pick a pocket; 130 Scotchmen, who, in their country's right, Possess the gift of second-sight, Who (when their barren heaths they quit, Sure argument of prudent wit, Which reputation to maintain, They never venture back again) By lies prophetic heap up riches, And boast the luxury of breeches.

Amongst the rest, in former years, Campbell[193] (ill.u.s.trious name!) appears, 140 Great hero of futurity, Who, blind, could every thing foresee, Who, dumb, could every thing foretell, Who, Fate with equity to sell, Always dealt out the will of Heaven According to what price was given.

Of Scottish race, in Highlands born, Possess'd with native pride and scorn, He hither came, by custom led, To curse the hands which gave him bread. 150 With want of truth, and want of sense, Amply made up by impudence (A succedaneum, which we find In common use with all mankind); Caress'd and favour'd too by those Whose heart with patriot feelings glows, Who foolishly, where'er dispersed, Still place their native country first; (For Englishmen alone have sense To give a stranger preference, 160 Whilst modest merit of their own Is left in poverty to groan) Campbell foretold just what he would, And left the stars to make it good, On whom he had impress'd such awe, His dictates current pa.s.s'd for law; Submissive, all his empire own'd; No star durst smile, when Campbell frown'd.

This sage deceased,--for all must die, And Campbell's no more safe than I, 170 No more than I can guard the heart, When Death shall hurl the fatal dart,-- Succeeded, ripe in art and years, Another favourite of the spheres; Another and another came, Of equal skill, and equal fame; As white each wand, as black each gown, As long each beard, as wise each frown, In every thing so like, you'd swear Campbell himself was sitting there: 180 To all the happy art was known, To tell our fortunes, make their own.

Seated in garret,--for, you know, The nearer to the stars we go The greater we esteem his art,-- Fools, curious, flock'd from every part; The rich, the poor, the maid, the married, And those who could not walk, were carried.

The butler, hanging down his head, By chambermaid, or cookmaid led, 190 Inquires, if from his friend the Moon He has advice of pilfer'd spoon.

The court-bred woman of condition, (Who, to approve her disposition As much superior as her birth To those composed of common earth, With double spirit must engage In every folly of the age) The honourable arts would buy, To pack the cards, and cog a die. 200 The hero--who, for brawn and face, May claim right honourable place Amongst the chiefs of Butcher-row:[194]

Who might, some thirty years ago, If we may be allow'd to guess At his employment by his dress, Put medicines off from cart or stage, The grand Toscano of the age; Or might about the country go High-steward of a puppet-show,-- 210 Steward and stewards.h.i.+p most meet, For all know puppets never eat: Who would be thought (though, save the mark!

That point is something in the dark) The man of honour, one like those Renown'd in story, who loved blows Better than victuals, and would fight, Merely for sport, from morn to night: Who treads like Mavors firm, whose tongue Is with the triple thunder hung, 220 Who cries to Fear, 'Stand off--aloof,'

And talks as he were cannon-proof; Would be deem'd ready, when you list, With sword and pistol, stick and fist, Careless of points, b.a.l.l.s, bruises, knocks, At once to fence, fire, cudgel, box, But at the same time bears about, Within himself, some touch of doubt, Of prudent doubt, which hints--that fame Is nothing but an empty name; 230 That life is rightly understood By all to be a real good; That, even in a hero's heart, Discretion is the better part; That this same honour may be won, And yet no kind of danger run-- Like Drugger[195] comes, that magic powers May ascertain his lucky hours; For at some hours the fickle dame, Whom Fortune properly we name, 240 Who ne'er considers wrong or right, When wanted most, plays least in sight, And, like a modern court-bred jilt, Leaves her chief favourites in a tilt.

Some hours there are, when from the heart Courage into some other part, No matter wherefore, makes retreat, And Fear usurps the vacant seat; Whence, planet-struck, we often find Stuarts[196] and Sackvilles[197] of mankind. 250 Farther, he'd know (and by his art A conjurer can that impart) Whether politer it is reckon'd To have, or not to have, a second; To drag the friends in, or alone To make the danger all their own; Whether repletion is not bad, And fighters with full stomachs mad; Whether, before he seeks the plain, It were not well to breathe a vein; 260 Whether a gentle salivation, Consistently with reputation, Might not of precious use be found, Not to prevent, indeed, a wound, But to prevent the consequence Which oftentimes arises thence, Those fevers, which the patient urge on To gates of death, by help of surgeon; Whether a wind at east or west Is for green wounds accounted best; 270 Whether (was he to choose) his mouth Should point towards the north or south; Whether more safely he might use, On these occasions, pumps or shoes; Whether it better is to fight By suns.h.i.+ne or by candlelight; Or, lest a candle should appear Too mean to s.h.i.+ne in such a sphere, For who could of a candle tell To light a hero into h.e.l.l; 280 And, lest the sun should partial rise To dazzle one or t'other's eyes, Or one or t'other's brains to scorch, Might not Dame Luna hold a torch?

These points with dignity discuss'd, And gravely fix'd,--a task which must Require no little time and pains, To make our hearts friends with our brains,-- The man of war would next engage The kind a.s.sistance of the sage, 290 Some previous method to direct, Which should make these of none effect.

Could he not, from the mystic school Of Art, produce some sacred rule, By which a knowledge might be got Whether men valiant were, or not; So he that challenges might write Only to those who would not fight?

Or could he not some way dispense By help of which (without offence 300 To Honour, whose nice nature's such She scarce endures the slightest touch) When he, for want of t'other rule, Mistakes his man, and, like a fool, With some vain fighting blade gets in, He fairly may get out again?

Or should some demon lay a scheme To drive him to the last extreme, So that he must confess his fears, In mercy to his nose and ears, 310 And like a prudent recreant knight, Rather do anything than fight, Could he not some expedient buy To keep his shame from public eye?

For well he held,--and, men review, Nine in ten hold the maxim too,-- That honour's like a maidenhead, Which, if in private brought to bed, Is none the worse, but walks the town, Ne'er lost, until the loss be known. 320 The parson, too, (for now and then Parsons are just like other men, And here and there a grave divine Has pa.s.sions such as yours and mine) Burning with holy l.u.s.t to know When Fate preferment will bestow, 'Fraid of detection, not of sin, With circ.u.mspection sneaking in To conjurer, as he does to wh.o.r.e, Through some bye-alley or back-door, 330 With the same caution orthodox Consults the stars, and gets a pox.

The citizen, in fraud grown old, Who knows no deity but gold, Worn out, and gasping now for breath, A medicine wants to keep off death; Would know, if that he cannot have, What coins are current in the grave; If, when the stocks (which, by his power, Would rise or fall in half an hour; 340 For, though unthought of and unseen, He work'd the springs behind the screen) By his directions came about, And rose to par, he should sell out; Whether he safely might, or no, Replace it in the funds below?

By all address'd, believed, and paid, Many pursued the thriving trade, And, great in reputation grown, Successive held the magic throne. 350 Favour'd by every darling pa.s.sion, The love of novelty and fas.h.i.+on, Ambition, avarice, l.u.s.t, and pride, Riches pour'd in on every side.

But when the prudent laws thought fit To curb this insolence of wit; When senates wisely had provided, Decreed, enacted, and decided, That no such vile and upstart elves Should have more knowledge than themselves; 360 When fines and penalties were laid To stop the progress of the trade, And stars no longer could dispense, With honour, further influence; And wizards (which must be confess'd Was of more force than all the rest) No certain way to tell had got Which were informers, and which not; Affrighted sages were, perforce, Obliged to steer some other course. 370 By various ways, these sons of Chance Their fortunes labour'd to advance, Well knowing, by unerring rules, Knaves starve not in the land of fools.

Some, with high t.i.tles and degrees, Which wise men borrow when they please, Without or trouble, or expense, Physicians instantly commence, And proudly boast an Equal skill With those who claim the right to kill. 380 Others about the country roam, (For not one thought of going home) With pistol and adopted leg, Prepared at once to rob or beg.

Some, the more subtle of their race, (Who felt some touch of coward grace, Who Tyburn to avoid had wit, But never fear'd deserving it) Came to their brother Smollett's aid, And carried on the critic trade. 390 Attach'd to letters and the Muse, Some verses wrote, and some wrote news; Those each revolving month are seen, The heroes of a magazine; These, every morning, great appear In Ledger, or in Gazetteer, Spreading the falsehoods of the day, By turns for Faden and for Say.[198]

Like Swiss, their force is always laid On that side where they best are paid: 400 Hence mighty prodigies arise, And daily monsters strike our eyes; Wonders, to propagate the trade, More strange than ever Baker[199] made, Are hawk'd about from street to street, And fools believe, whilst liars eat.

Now armies in the air engage, To fright a superst.i.tious age; Now comets through the ether range, In governments portending change; 410 Now rivers to the ocean fly So quick, they leave their channels dry; Now monstrous whales on Lambeth sh.o.r.e Drink the Thames dry, and thirst for more; And every now and then appears An Irish savage, numbering years More than those happy sages could Who drew their breath before the flood; Now, to the wonder of all people, A church is left without a steeple; 420 A steeple now is left in lurch, And mourns departure of the church, Which, borne on wings of mighty wind, Removed a furlong off we find; Now, wrath on cattle to discharge, Hailstones as deadly fall, and large, As those which were on Egypt sent, At once their crime and punishment; Or those which, as the prophet writes, Fell on the necks of Amorites, 430 When, struck with wonder and amaze, The sun, suspended, stay'd to gaze, And, from her duty longer kept, In Ajalon his sister slept.

But if such things no more engage The taste of a politer age, To help them out in time of need Another Tofts[200] must rabbits breed: Each pregnant female trembling hears, And, overcome with spleen and fears, 440 Consults her faithful gla.s.s no more, But, madly bounding o'er the floor, Feels hairs all o'er her body grow, By Fancy turn'd into a doe.

Now, to promote their private ends, Nature her usual course suspends, And varies from the stated plan Observed e'er since the world began.

Bodies--which foolishly we thought, By Custom's servile maxims taught, 450 Needed a regular supply, And without nourishment must die-- With craving appet.i.tes, and sense Of hunger easily dispense, And, pliant to their wondrous skill, Are taught, like watches, to stand still, Uninjured, for a month or more, Then go on as they did before.

The novel takes, the tale succeeds, Amply supplies its author's needs, 460 And Betty Canning[201] is at least, With Gascoyne's help, a six months' feast.

Whilst, in contempt of all our pains, The tyrant Superst.i.tion reigns Imperious in the heart of man, And warps his thoughts from Nature's plan; Whilst fond Credulity, who ne'er The weight of wholesome doubts could bear, To Reason and herself unjust, Takes all things blindly upon trust; 470 Whilst Curiosity, whose rage No mercy shows to s.e.x or age, Must be indulged at the expense Of judgment, truth, and common sense, Impostures cannot but prevail; And when old miracles grow stale, Jugglers will still the art pursue, And entertain the world with new.

For them, obedient to their will, And trembling at their mighty skill, 480 Sad spirits, summon'd from the tomb, Glide, glaring ghastly, through the gloom; In all the usual pomp of storms, In horrid customary forms, A wolf, a bear, a horse, an ape, As Fear and Fancy give them shape, Tormented with despair and pain, They roar, they yell, and clank the chain.

Folly and Guilt (for Guilt, howe'er The face of Courage it may wear, 490 Is still a coward at the heart) At fear-created phantoms start.

The priest--that very word implies That he's both innocent and wise-- Yet fears to travel in the dark, Unless escorted by his clerk.

But let not every bungler deem Too lightly of so deep a scheme; For reputation of the art, Each ghost must act a proper part, 500 Observe Decorum's needful grace, And keep the laws of Time and Place; Must change, with happy variation, His manners with his situation; What in the country might pa.s.s down, Would be impertinent in town.

No spirit of discretion here Can think of breeding awe and fear; 'Twill serve the purpose more by half To make the congregation laugh. 510 We want no ensigns of surprise, Locks stiff with gore, and saucer eyes; Give us an entertaining sprite, Gentle, familiar, and polite, One who appears in such a form As might an holy hermit warm, Or who on former schemes refines, And only talks by sounds and signs, Who will not to the eye appear, But pays her visits to the ear, 520 And knocks so gently, 't would not fright A lady in the darkest night.

Such is our f.a.n.n.y, whose good-will, Which cannot in the grave lie still, Brings her on earth to entertain Her friends and lovers in c.o.c.k-lane.

BOOK II.

A sacred standard rule we find, By poets held time out of mind, To offer at Apollo's shrine, And call on one, or all the Nine.

This custom, through a bigot zeal, Which moderns of fine taste must feel For those who wrote in days of yore, Adopted stands, like many more; Though every cause which then conspired To make it practised and admired, 10 Yielding to Time's destructive course, For ages past hath lost its force.

With ancient bards, an invocation Was a true act of adoration, Of wors.h.i.+p an essential part, And not a formal piece of art, Of paltry reading a parade, A dull solemnity in trade, A pious fever, taught to burn An hour or two, to serve a turn. 20 They talk'd not of Castalian springs, By way of saying pretty things, As we dress out our flimsy rhymes; 'T was the religion of the times; And they believed that holy stream With greater force made Fancy teem, Reckon'd by all a true specific To make the barren brain prolific: Thus Romish Church, (a scheme which bears Not half so much excuse as theirs) 30 Since Faith implicitly hath taught her, Reveres the force of holy water.

The Pagan system, whether true Or false, its strength, like buildings, drew From many parts disposed to bear, In one great whole, their proper share.

Each G.o.d of eminent degree To some vast beam compared might be; Each G.o.dling was a peg, or rather A cramp, to keep the beams together: 40 And man as safely might pretend From Jove the thunderbolt to rend, As with an impious pride aspire To rob Apollo of his lyre.

With settled faith and pious awe, Establish'd by the voice of Law, Then poets to the Muses came, And from their altars caught the flame.

Genius, with Phoebus for his guide, The Muse ascending by his side, 50 With towering pinions dared to soar, Where eye could scarcely strain before.

But why should we, who cannot feel These glowings of a Pagan zeal, That wild enthusiastic force, By which, above her common course, Nature, in ecstasy upborne, Look'd down on earthly things with scorn; Who have no more regard, 'tis known, For their religion than our own, 60 And feel not half so fierce a flame At Clio's as at Fisher's[202] name; Who know these boasted sacred streams Were mere romantic, idle dreams, That Thames has waters clear as those Which on the top of Pindus rose, And that, the fancy to refine, Water's not half so good as wine; Who know, if profit strikes our eye, Should we drink Helicon quite dry, 70 The whole fountain would not thither lead So soon as one poor jug from Tweed: Who, if to raise poetic fire, The power of beauty we require, In any public place can view More than the Grecians ever knew; If wit into the scale is thrown, Can boast a Lennox[203] of our own; Why should we servile customs choose, And court an antiquated Muse? 80 No matter why--to ask a reason, In pedant bigotry is treason.

In the broad, beaten turnpike-road Of hacknied panegyric ode, No modern poet dares to ride Without Apollo by his side, Nor in a sonnet take the air, Unless his lady Muse be there; She, from some amaranthine grove, Where little Loves and Graces rove, 90 The laurel to my lord must bear, Or garlands make for wh.o.r.es to wear; She, with soft elegiac verse, Must grace some mighty villain's hea.r.s.e, Or for some infant, doom'd by Fate To wallow in a large estate, With rhymes the cradle must adorn, To tell the world a fool is born.

Since then our critic lords expect No hardy poet should reject 100 Establish'd maxims, or presume To place much better in their room, By nature fearful, I submit, And in this dearth of sense and wit-- With nothing done, and little said, (By wild excursive Fancy led Into a second Book thus far, Like some unwary traveller, Whom varied scenes of wood and lawn, With treacherous delight, have drawn, 110 Deluded from his purposed way, Whom every step leads more astray: Who, gazing round, can no where spy, Or house, or friendly cottage nigh, And resolution seems to lack To venture forward, or go back) Invoke some G.o.ddess to descend, And help me to my journey's end; Though conscious Arrow all the while Hears the pet.i.tion with a smile, 120 Before the gla.s.s her charms unfolds, And in herself my Muse beholds.

Truth, G.o.ddess of celestial birth, But little loved or known on earth, Whose power but seldom rules the heart, Whose name, with hypocritic art, An arrant stalking-horse is made, A snug pretence to drive a trade, An instrument, convenient grown, To plant more firmly Falsehood's throne, 130 As rebels varnish o'er their cause With specious colouring of laws, And pious traitors draw the knife In the king's name against his life; Whether (from cities far away, Where Fraud and Falsehood scorn thy sway) The faithful nymph's and shepherd's pride, With Love and Virtue by thy side, Your hours in harmless joys are spent Amongst the children of Content; 140 Or, fond of gaiety and sport, You tread the round of England's court, Howe'er my lord may frowning go, And treat the stranger as a foe, Sure to be found a welcome guest In George's and in Charlotte's breast; If, in the giddy hours of youth, My constant soul adhered to truth; If, from the time I first wrote Man, I still pursued thy sacred plan, 150 Tempted by Interest in vain To wear mean Falsehood's golden chain; If, for a season drawn away, Starting from Virtue's path astray, All low disguise I scorn'd to try, And dared to sin, but not to lie; Hither, oh! hither condescend, Eternal Truth! thy steps to bend, And favour him, who, every hour, Confesses and obeys thy power. 160 But come not with that easy mien By which you won the lively Dean; Nor yet a.s.sume that strumpet air Which Rabelais taught thee first to wear; Nor yet that arch ambiguous face Which with Cervantes gave thee grace; But come in sacred vesture clad, Solemnly dull, and truly sad!

Far from thy seemly matron train Be idiot Mirth, and Laughter vain! 170 For Wit and Humour, which pretend At once to please us and amend, They are not for my present turn; Let them remain in France with Sterne.

Of n.o.blest City parents born, Whom wealth and dignities adorn, Who still one constant tenor keep, Not quite awake, nor quite asleep; With thee let formal Dulness come, And deep Attention, ever dumb, 180 Who on her lips her finger lays, Whilst every circ.u.mstance she weighs, Whose downcast eye is often found Bent without motion to the ground, Or, to some outward thing confined, Remits no image to the mind, No pregnant mark of meaning bears, But, stupid, without vision stares; Thy steps let Gravity attend, Wisdom's and Truth's unerring friend; 190 For one may see with half an eye, That Gravity can never lie, And his arch'd brow, pull'd o'er his eyes, With solemn proof proclaims him wise.

Free from all waggeries and sports, The produce of luxurious courts, Where sloth and l.u.s.t enervate youth, Come thou, a downright City-Truth: The City, which we ever find A sober pattern for mankind; 200 Where man, in equilibrio hung, Is seldom old, and never young, And, from the cradle to the grave, Not Virtue's friend nor Vice's slave; As dancers on the wire we spy, Hanging between the earth and sky.

She comes--I see her from afar Bending her course to Temple-Bar; All sage and silent is her train, Deportment grave, and garments plain, 210 Such as may suit a parson's wear, And fit the headpiece of a mayor.

By Truth inspired, our Bacon's force Open'd the way to Learning's source; Boyle through the works of Nature ran; And Newton, something more than man, Dived into Nature's hidden springs, Laid bare the principles of things, Above the earth our spirits bore, And gave us worlds unknown before. 220 By Truth inspired, when Lauder's[204] spite O'er Milton east the veil of night, Douglas arose, and through the maze Of intricate and winding ways, Came where the subtle traitor lay, And dragg'd him, trembling, to the day; Whilst he, (oh, shame to n.o.blest parts, Dishonour to the liberal arts, To traffic in so vile a scheme!) Whilst he, our letter'd Polypheme,[205] 230 Who had confederate forces join'd, Like a base coward skulk'd behind.

By Truth inspired, our critics go To track Fingal in Highland snow, To form their own and others' creed From ma.n.u.scripts they cannot read.

By Truth inspired, we numbers see Of each profession and degree, Gentle and simple, lord and cit, Wit without wealth, wealth without wit, 240 When Punch and Sheridan have done, To f.a.n.n.y's[206] ghostly lectures run.

By Truth and f.a.n.n.y now inspired, I feel my glowing bosom fired; Desire beats high in every vein To sing the spirit of c.o.c.k-lane; To tell (just as the measure flows In halting rhyme, half verse, half prose) With more than mortal arts endued, How she united force withstood, 250 And proudly gave a brave defiance To Wit and Dulness in alliance.

This apparition (with relation To ancient modes of derivation, This we may properly so call, Although it ne'er appears at all, As by the way of inuendo, _Lucus_ is made _a non lucendo_) Superior to the vulgar mode, n.o.bly disdains that servile road 260 Which coward ghosts, as it appears, Have walk'd in full five thousand years, And, for restraint too mighty grown, Strikes out a method of her own.

Others may meanly start away, Awed by the herald of the day; With faculties too weak to bear The freshness of the morning air, May vanish with the melting gloom, And glide in silence to the tomb; 270 She dares the sun's most piercing light, And knocks by day as well as night.

Others, with mean and partial view, Their visits pay to one or two; She, in great reputation grown, Keeps the best company in town.

Our active enterprising ghost As large and splendid routs can boast As those which, raised by Pride's command[207], Block up the pa.s.sage through the Strand. 280 Great adepts in the fighting trade, Who served their time on the parade; She-saints, who, true to Pleasure's plan, Talk about G.o.d, and l.u.s.t for man; Wits, who believe nor G.o.d, nor ghost, And fools who wors.h.i.+p every post; Cowards, whose lips with war are hung; Men truly brave, who hold their tongue; Courtiers, who laugh they know not why, And cits, who for the same cause cry; 290 The canting tabernacle-brother, (For one rogue still suspects another); Ladies, who to a spirit fly, Rather than with their husbands lie; Lords, who as chastely pa.s.s their lives With other women as their wives; Proud of their intellects and clothes, Physicians, lawyers, parsons, beaux, And, truant from their desks and shops, Spruce Temple clerks and 'prentice fops, 300 To f.a.n.n.y come, with the same view, To find her false, or find her true.

Hark! something creeps about the house!

Is it a spirit, or a mouse?

Hark! something scratches round the room!

A cat, a rat, a stubb'd birch-broom.

Hark! on the wainscot now it knocks!