Chapter XVI: Canto III

POLLING _at the_ HUSTINGS.
_Swift_, reverend wag, _Ierne's_ pride,
Who lov'd the comic rein to guide,
Has told us, "Gaolers, when they please,
Let out their flock, to rob for fees."
From this sage hint, in needful cases,
The wights, who govern other places,
Let out their crew, for private ends,
_Ergo_, to serve themselves and friends.
Behold, here gloriously inclin'd,
The Sick, and Lame, the Halt, and Blind!
From Workhouse, Gaol, and Hospital,
Submiss they come, true Patriots all!

But let's get nearer, while we stay,--
Good Master Constable, make way!
"Hoi! keep the passage clear and fair;--
I'll break your shins!--stand backward there;
What! won't you let the Pollers come:"--
Reader, they think us so--but _mum_.

Now praise and prejudice expand,
In printed bills, from hand to hand;
One tells, the 'Squire's a man of worth;
Generous and noble from his birth:
Another plainly makes appear,
"Some circumstance, in such a year."
The voice of Scandal's sure to wait,
Or true, or false, each Candidate.
Observe the waving flags applied,
To let Free-holders know their side!
Hark, at each vote exult the crew!
"_Yellow!_ Huzza!--Huzza! the _Blue!_"

Whoe'er has walk'd through _Chelsea_ town,
Which Buns and Charity renown,
Has many a College Veteran seen,
With scar-seam'd face, and batter'd mien,
But here's a theme for future story!
Survey that Son of _Mars_ before ye!
Was ever Pensioner like him?--
What, almost robb'd of every limb!
Only one arm, one leg, one thigh;
Gods! was that man design'd to die?
Inspect his ancient, war-like face!
See, with what surly, manly grace,
He gives the Clerk to understand
His meaning, with his wooden hand!
Perhaps in _Anna's_ glorious days,
His courage gain'd immortal praise:
_Britons_, a people brave and rough,
That time lov'd fighting well enough;
And, glad their native land to aid,
Leg-making was a thriving trade;
But now we from ourselves depart,
And war's conducted with new art;
Our Admirals, Generals, learn to run,
And Leg-makers are all undone.
Still he's an open, hearty blade,
Pleas'd with his sword, and gay cockade:
Unbrib'd he votes; and 'tis his pride;
He always chose the honest side.
You think he seems of man but half,
But, witty Clerk, suppress your laugh;
His heart is in its usual place,
And that same hook may claw your face.
How learnedly that Lawyer pleads!
"A vote like this, Sir, ne'er succeeds;
The naked hand should touch the book;
Observe h'as only got a hook."
"Sir," cries the other, "that's his hand;"
(Quibbles, like you, I understand)
"And be it either flesh or wood,
By Heavens! his vote is very good."
Wise Counsellor! you reason right,
You'll gain undoubted credit by't;
But please to turn your head about,
And find that Idiot's meaning out;
Dismiss the Whisperer from his chair,
'Tis quite illegal, quite unfair;
Though shackles on his legs are hung,
Those shackles can't confine his tongue;
Methinks I hear him tell the Nisey,
"Be sure to vote as I advise ye;
My writings shew I'm always right;
The nation sinks; we're ruin'd quite
_America's_ entirely lost;
The _French_ invade our native coast;
Our Ministers won't keep us free;---
You know all this as well as me.
All men of parts are out of place;
'Tis mine, 'tis many a wise man's case;
And though so _Cato_-like I write,
I ne'er shall get a farthing by't."
Good Clerk, dispatch them quick, I pray:
How easy fools are led astray!
He thinks th' insinuation's true,
As all the race of Idiots do.
But who comes here? Ha, one just dead,
Ravish'd from out th' infirmary's bed;
Through racking follies sad and sick,
Yet to the cause he'll ever stick;
Tie the groat favour on his cap,
And die True Blue, whate'er may hap.

Oh, Vice! through life extends thy reign:
When Custom fixes thy domain,
Not _Wesley's_ cant, nor _Whitfield's_ art,
Can chace thee from th' envelop'd heart!
Behold that wretch! whom _Venus_ knows
Has in her revels lost his nose;
Still with that season'd Nurse he toys;
As erst indulges sensual joys;
Can drink, and crack a bawdy joke,
And still can quid, as well as smoke.
But, Nurse, don't smile so in his face;
Sure this is not a proper place;
Take from your duggs his hand away,
And mind your sick-charge better, pray;
Consider, if his faithful side
Should hear that in their cause he died,
They'd be so much enrag'd, I vow,
They'd punish you!--the Lord knows how.
Beside, you take up too much room,
That boy-led Blind-man wants to come;
And 'scap'd from wars, and foreign clutches,
An Invalid's behind on crutches.

The man whose fortune suits his wish,
A glutton at each favourite dish;
Who, when o'er venison, ne'er will spare it,
And washes down some rounds with claret;
That man will have a portly belly,
And be of consequence, they tell ye;
Grandeur shall 'tend his air and gait,
And make him like--that Candidate:
Observe him on the hustings sit!
Fatigu'd, he sweats, or seems to sweat;
Scratching his pate, with shook-back wig,
And puffs, and blows, extremely big:
Perhaps that paper hints about
Votes, whose legality's a doubt;
And will by scrutiny be try'd,
Unless they're on the proper side.
Stiff as if _Rackstraw_,[B] fam'd for skill,
For genius, taste, or what you will,
With temper'd plaister, stood in haste,
From his set face to form the cast;
Resting on oak-stick stedfastly,
The other would-be Member see!
Struck with his look, so fix'd and stout,
That Wag resolves to sketch it out;
Laughing, they view the pencil'd phiz.--
"'Tis very like him--that it is."
Hark to yon hawker with her songs!
"The Gallows shall redress our wrongs!"
I warrant, wrote in humourous style;
The hearers laugh; the readers smile.
And lo, although so thick the rout,
They've room to push the glass about!
Variety her province keeps;
One Beadle watches; t'other sleeps.

But see that chariot! who rides there?
_Britannia_, Sir, a lady fair:
To her celestial charms are given;
Ador'd on earth, beloved in heaven;
Her frown makes nations dread a fall;
Her smile gives joy and life to all.
Too generous, merciful, and kind;
Her Servants won't their duty mind;
Neither their Mistress' call regards;
Their study's how to cheat at cards;
The reins of power, oh, indiscreet!
They trample, careless, under feet;
Th' unguided coursers neigh and spurn,
And ah, the car must overturn!
Just gods, forbid!--there's comfort yet!
For, lo, how near that saving PITT!
Sure Heaven design'd her that resource,
To stop her venal servants course;
Her peace and safety to restore,
And keep from dangers evermore.

Ha! see, yon distant cavalcade!
Exulting crowds, and flags display'd!
Let's to the bridge our foot-steps bend--
So cheek by jole, along, my friend.