Poetical Works of John Oldham/A Satire addressed to a Friend
A SATIRE.
ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND THAT IS ABOUT TO LEAVE THE UNIVERSITY, AND COME ABROAD IN THE WORLD.
IF you're so out of love with happiness,
To quit a college life and learned ease,
Convince me first, and some good reasons give,
What methods and designs you'll take to live;
For such resolves are needful in the case,
Before you tread the world's mysterious maze.
Without the premises, in vain you'll try
To live by systems of philosophy;
Your Aristotle, Cartes, and Le Grand,
And Euclid too, in little stead will stand.
How many men of choice and noted parts,
Well fraught with learning, languages, and arts,
Designing high preferment in their mind,
And little doubting good success to find,
With vast and towering thoughts have flocked to town,
But to their cost soon found themselves undone,
Now to repent, and starve at leisure left,
Of misery's last comfort, hope, bereft!
’These failed for want of good advice,' you cry,
’Because at first they fixed on no employ.’
Well then, let's draw the prospect, and the scene
To all advantage possibly we can.
The world lies now before you, let me hear
What course your judgment counsels you to steer;
Always considered, that your whole estate,
And all your fortune lies beneath your hat.
Were you the son of some rich usurer,
That starved and damned himself to make his heir,
Left nought to do, but to inter the sot,
And spend with ease what he with pains had got;
'Twere easy to advise how you might live,
Nor would there need instruction then to give.
But you, that boast of no inheritance,
Save that small stock which lies within your brains,
learning must be your trade, and, therefore, weigh
With heed how you your game the best may play;
Bethink yourself awhile, and then propose
What way of life is fitt'st for you to choose.
If you for orders and a gown design,
Consider only this, dear friend of mine,
The church is grown so overstocked of late,
That if you walk abroad, you'll hardly meet
More porters now than parsons in the street.
At every comer they are forced to ply
For jobs of hawkering divinity;
And half the number of the sacred herd
Are fain to stroll and wander unpreferred.
If this, or thoughts of such a weighty charge,
Make you resolve to keep yourself at large,
For want of better opportunity,
A school must your next sanctuary be.
Go, wed some grammar-bridewell, and a wife,
And there beat Greek and Latin for your life;
With birchen sceptre there command at will,
Greater than Busby's self, or Doctor Gill;[1]
But who would be to the vile drudgery bound
Where there so small encouragement is found?
Where you, for recompense of all your pains,
Shall hardly reach a common fiddler's gains?
For when you've toiled, and laboured all you can,
To dung and cultivate a barren brain,
A dancing master shall be better paid,
Though he instructs the heels, and you the head.[2]
To such indulgence are kind parents grown,
That nought costs less in breeding than a son;
Nor is it hard to find a father now,
Shall more upon a setting-dog allow,
And with a freer hand reward the care
Of training up his spaniel, than his heir.
Some think themselves exalted to the sky,
If they light in some noble family;
Diet, a horse, and thirty pounds a year,
Besides the advantage of his lordship's ear,
The credit of the business, and the state,
Are things that in a youngster's sense sound great.
Little the inexperienced wretch does know,
What slavery he oft must undergo,
Who, though in silken scarf and cassock dressed,
Wears but a gayer livery at best;
When dinner calls, the implement must wait,
With holy words to consecrate the meat,
But hold it for a favour seldom known,
If he be deigned the honour to sit down.
Soon as the tarts appear, Sir Crape, withdraw!
Those dainties are not for a spiritual maw;
Observe your distance, and be sure to stand
Hard by the cistern with your cap in hand;
There for diversion you may pick your teeth,
Till the kind voider[3] comes for your relief.
For mere board wages such their freedom sell,
Slaves to an hour, and vassals to a bell;
And if the enjoyment of one day be stole,
They are but prisoners out upon parole;
Always the marks of slavery remain,
And they, though loose, still drag about their chain.
And where's the mighty prospect after all,
A chaplainship served up, and seven years' thrall?
The menial thing, perhaps, for a reward,
Is to some slender benefice preferred,
With this proviso bound, that he must wed
My lady's antiquated waiting maid,
In dressing only skilled, and marmalade.[4]
Let others, who such meannesses can brook,
Strike countenance to every great man's look;
Let those that have a mind, turn slaves to eat,
And live contented by another's plate;
I rate my freedom higher, nor will I
For food and raiment truck my liberty.
But, if I must to my last shifts be put,
To fill a bladder, and twelve yards of gut,
Rather with counterfeited wooden leg,
And my right arm tied up, I'll choose to beg;
I'll rather choose to starve at large, than be
The gaudiest vassal to dependency.
'T has ever been the top of my desires,
The utmost height to which my wish aspires,
That Heaven would bless me with a small estate,
Where I might find a close obscure retreat;
There, free from noise and all ambitious ends,
Enjoy a few choice books, and fewer friends,
Lord of myself, accountable to none,
But to my conscience, and my God alone:
There live unthought of, and unheard of die,
And grudge mankind my very memory.
But since the blessing is, I find, too great
For me to wish for, or expect of fate;
Yet, maugre all the spite of destiny,
My thoughts, and actions are, and shall be, free.
A certain author, very grave and sage,
This story tells; no matter what the page.
One time, as they walked forth ere break of day,
The wolf and dog encountered on the way:
Famished the one, meagre, and lean of plight,
As a cast poet, who for bread does write;
The other fat, and plump, as prebend was,
Pampered with luxury and holy ease.
Thus met, with compliments, too long to tell,
Of being glad to see each other well:
’How now. Sir Towzer?’ said the wolf, ’I pray,
Whence comes it that you look so sleek and gay,
While I, who do as well, I am sure, deserve,
For want of livelihood am like to starve?’
’Troth, sir,' replied the dog, ' 't has been my fate,
I thank the friendly stars, to hap of late
On a kind master, to whose care I owe
All this good flesh wherewith you see me now.
From his rich voider every day I'm fed
With bones of fowls, and crusts of finest bread;
With fricassee, ragout, and whatsoe'er
Of costly kickshaws now in fashion are,
And more variety of boiled and roast,
Than a Lord Mayor's waiter e'er could boast.
Then, sir, 'tis hardly credible to tell,
How I'm respected and beloved by all;
I'm the delight of the whole family,
Not darling Shock more favourite than I;
I never sleep abroad, to air exposed,
But in my warm apartment am inclosed;
There on fresh bed of straw, with canopy
Of hutch above, like dog of state I lie.
Besides, when with high fare and nature fired,
To generous sports of youth I am inspired,
All the proud shes are soft to my embrace,
From bitch of quality down to turnspit race;
Each day I try new mistresses and loves,
Nor envy sovereign dogs in their alcoves.
Thus happy I of all enjoy the best,
No mortal cur on earth yet half so blessed;
And farther to enhance the happiness,
All this I get by idleness and. ease,'
'Troth,' said the wolf, 'I envy your estate;
Would to the gods it were but my good fate,
That I might happily admitted be
A member of your blessed society!
I would with faithfulness discharge my place
In any thing that I might serve his grace.
But, think you, sir, it would be feasible,
And that my application might prevail?’
’Do but endeavour, sir, you need not doubt;
I make no question but to bring 't about;
Only rely on me, and rest secure,
I'll serve you to the utmost of my power,
As I am a dog of honour, sir:—but this
I only take the freedom to advise,
That you'd a little lay your roughness by,
And learn to practise complaisance, like me.'
’For that let me alone, I'll have a care,
And top my part, I warrant, to a hair;
There's not a courtier of them all shall vie
For fawning and for suppleness with me.'
And thus resolved at last, the travellers
Towards the house together shape their course.
The dog, who breeding well did understand,
In walking gives his guest the upper hand;
And as they walk along, they all the while
With mirth and pleasant raillery beguile
The tedious time and way, till day drew near,
And light came on; by which did soon appear
The mastiff's neck to view all worn and bare.
This when his comrade spied, 'What means,' said he,
'This circle bare, which round your neck I see?
If I may be so bold;'—’Sir, you must know,
That I at first was rough and fierce like you,
Of nature cursed, and often apt to bite
Strangers, and else, whoever came in sight;
For this I was tied up, and underwent
The whip sometimes, and such light chastisement;
Till I at length by discipline grew tame,
Gentle, and tractable, as now I am.
'Twas by this short, and slight severity
I gained these marks and badges which you see.
But what are they? Allons, monsieur! let's go.'
'Not one step farther, sir; excuse me now.
Much joy t'ye of your envied, blessed estate,
I will not buy preferment at that rate;
In God's name, take your golden chains for me;
Faith, I'd not be a king, not to be free.
Sir dog, your humble servant, so good bye!'
- ↑ Dr. Busby, the master of Westminster School, equally celebrated for his learning and his severity. He was living when this poem was written. Dr. Gill, the son of the head master of St. Paul's School, was at first usher under his father, and afterwards succeeded him, but was dismissed at the end of five years, it is supposed for his excessive use of corporal punishments. He subsequently set up a school in Aldersgate-street, where he died in 1642. The most memorable incident connected with the career of Gill was that Milton, who entertained high esteem and respect for him, was one of his scholars at St. Paul's.
- ↑ Lloyd, who had passed with equal disgust through these ill-paid drudgeries, describes the situation of the usher in nearly similar terms:—
'Were I at once empowered to show
My utmost vengeance on my foe,
To punish with extremest rigor,
I could inflict no penance bigger
Than using him as learning's tool,
To make him usher of a school.
For, not to dwell upon the toil
Of working on a barren soil,
And labouring with incessant pains
To cultivate a blockhead's brains,
The duties there but ill befit
The love of letters, arts, or wit. . . . .
Oh! 'tis a service irksome more
Than tugging at the slavish oar.
Yet such his task, a dismal truth,
Who watches o'er the bent of youth;
And while, a paltry stipend earning,
He sows the richest seeds of learning,
And tills their minds with proper care,
And sees them their due produce bear,
No joys, alas! his toil beguile,
His own lies fallow all the while.'
The Author’s Apology - ↑ The basket, or tray, used for carrying away the relics of the dinner. Dekker, observes Mr. Halliwell, applies the term to a person who clears the table; the sense in which it here seems to be employed by Oldham.
- ↑ This picture of the condition of the domestic chaplain is referred to by Mr. Macaulay as one of the authorities upon which he has founded a still more elaborate sketch of that class of the clergy. The case was sometimes even worse than it is represented by Oldham, who pensions off the young Levite, and marries him to an ’antiquated waiting-maid.' ’With his cure,' says Mr. Macaulay, 'he was expected to take a wife. The wife had ordinarily been in the patron's service; and it was well if she had not been suspected of standing too high in the patron's favour.'—Hist. of Eng., i. 328. Selden assigns a reason for the contumely with which the Protestant clergy were treated. 'Ministers with the Papists [that is their priests] have much respect; with the Puritans they have much, and that upon the same ground, they pretend both of 'em to come immediately from Christ; but with the Protestants they have very little, the reason whereof is, in the beginning of the Reformation they were glad to get such to take livings as they could procure by any invitations, things of pitiful condition. The nobility or gentry would not suffer their sons or kindred to meddle with the church, and therefore at this day, when they see a parson, they think him to be such a thing still, and there they will keep him, and use him accordingly.'—Table Talk. Ar. Minister Divine.
These young house-priests were very appropriately called ’trencher-chaplains,' and are frequently alluded to under that name by the writers of the seventeenth century. Burton, in his Anatomy of Melancholy, thus speaks of them, confirming the scandal referred to by Mr. Macaulay. 'If he be a trencher-chaplain in a gentleman's house, after some seven years' service he may perchance have a living to the halves, or some small rectory, with the mother of the maids at length, a poor kinswoman, or a crackt chambermaid to have and to hold during the time of his life.' A writer in Notes and Queries explains the term 'to the halves' as meaning inadequate, as we should say 'half and half measures.' Bishop Hall gives a very curious sketch in his Satires of these trencher chaplains:—’A gentle squire would gladly entertaine
Into his house some trencher-chapelaine,
Some willing man, that might instruct his sons,
And that would stand to good conditions.
First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed,
While his young master lieth o'er his head;
Second, that he do, upon no default,
Never to sit above the salt;
Third, that he never change his trencher twice;
Fourth, that he use all common courtesies.
Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait;
Last, that he never his young master beat
But he must ask his mother to define
How many jerks she would his breech should line;
All these observed, he could contented be,
To give five markes, and winter liverie.'The custom of marrying off the domestic chaplain to the lady's waiting-woman is alluded to by Beaumont and Fletcher in the Woman Hater, Act iii., so. 3.