Part 7 (1/2)
It might be so, but no such club-days come; We always find these dampers in the room: If to converse were all that brought us here, A few odd members would in turn appear; Who, dwelling nigh, would saunter in and out, O'erlook the list, and toss the books about; Or yawning read them, walking up and down, Just as the loungers in the shops in town; Till fancying nothing would their minds amuse, They'd push them by, and go in search of news.
But our attractions are a stronger sort, The earliest dainties and the oldest port; All enter then with glee in every look, And not a member thinks about a book.
Still, let me own, there are some vacant hours, When minds might work, and men exert their powers: Ere wine to folly spurs the giddy guest, But gives to wit its vigour and its zest; Then might we reason, might in turn display Our several talents, and be wisely gay; We might--but who a tame discourse regards, When Whist is named, and we behold the Cards?
We from that time are neither grave nor gay; Our thought, our care, our business is to play: Fix'd on these spots and figures, each attends Much to his partners, nothing to his friends.
Our public cares, the long, the warm debate, That kept our patriots from their beds so late; War, peace, invasion, all we hope or dread, Vanish like dreams when men forsake their bed; And groaning nations and contending kings Are all forgotten for these painted things; Paper and paste, vile figures and poor spots, Level all minds, philosophers and sots; And give an equal spirit, pause, and force, Join'd with peculiar diction, to discourse: ”Who deals?--you led--we're three by cards--had you Honour in hand?”--”Upon my honour, two.”
Hour after hour, men thus contending sit, Grave without sense, and pointed without wit.
Thus it appears these envied Clubs possess No certain means of social happiness; Yet there's a good that flows from scenes like these - Man meets with man at leisure and at ease; We to our neighbours and our equals come, And rub off pride that man. contracts at home; For there, admitted master, he is p.r.o.ne To claim attention and to talk alone: But here he meets with neither son nor spouse; No humble cousin to his bidding bows; To his raised voice his neighbours' voices rise, To his high look as lofty look replies; When much he speaks, he finds that ears are closed, And certain signs inform him when he's prosed; Here all the value of a listener know, And claim, in turn, the favour they bestow.
No pleasure gives the speech, when all would speak, And all in vain a civil hearer seek.
To chance alone we owe the free discourse, In vain you purpose what you cannot force; 'Tis when the favourite themes unbidden spring, That fancy soars with such unwearied wing; Then may you call in aid the moderate gla.s.s, But let it slowly and unprompted pa.s.s; So shall there all things for the end unite, And give that hour of rational delight.
Men to their Clubs repair, themselves to please, To care for nothing, and to take their ease; In fact, for play, for wine, for news they come: Discourse is shared with friends or found at home.
But Cards with Books are incidental things; We've nights devoted to these queens and kings: Then if we choose the social game, we may; Now 'tis a duty, and we're bound to play; Nor ever meeting of the social kind Was more engaging, yet had less of mind.
Our eager parties, when the lunar light Throws its full radiance on the festive night, Of either s.e.x, with punctual hurry come, And fill, with one accord, an ample room; Pleased, the fresh packs on cloth of green they see, And seizing, handle with preluding glee; They draw, they sit, they shuffle, cut, and deal; Like friends a.s.sembled, but like foes to feel: But yet not all,--a happier few have joys Of mere amus.e.m.e.nt, and their cards are toys; No skill nor art, nor fretful hopes have they, But while their friends are gaming, laugh and play.
Others there are, the veterans of the game, Who owe their pleasure to their envied fame; Through many a year with hard-contested strife, Have they attain'd this glory of their life: Such is that ancient burgess, whom in vain Would gout and fever on his couch detain; And that large lady, who resolves to come, Though a first fit has warn'd her of her doom!
These are as oracles: in every cause They settle doubts, and their decrees are laws; But all are troubled, when, with dubious look, Diana questions what Apollo spoke.
Here avarice first, the keen desire of gain, Rules in each heart, and works in every brain: Alike the veteran-dames and virgins feel, Nor care what graybeards or what striplings deal; s.e.x, age, and station, vanish from their view, And gold, their sov'reign good, the mingled crowd pursue.
Hence they are jealous, and as rivals, keep A watchful eye on the beloved heap; Meantime discretion bids the tongue be still, And mild good-humour strives with strong ill-will Till prudence fails; when, all impatient grown, They make their grief by their suspicions known, ”Sir, I protest, were Job himself at play, He'd rave to see you throw your cards away; Not that I care a b.u.t.ton--not a pin For what I lose; but we had cards to win: A saint in heaven would grieve to see such hand Cut up by one who will not understand.”
”Complain of me! and so you might indeed If I had ventured on that foolish lead, That fatal heart--but I forgot your play - Some folk have ever thrown their hearts away.”
”Yes, and their diamonds; I have heard of one Who made a beggar of an only son.”
”Better a beggar, than to see him tied To art and spite, to insolence and pride.”
”Sir, were I you, I'd strive to be polite, Against my nature, for a single night.”
”So did you strive, and, madam! with success; I knew no being we could censure less!”
Is this too much? Alas! my peaceful Muse Cannot with half their virulence abuse.
And hark! at other tables discord reigns, With feign'd contempt for losses and for gains; Pa.s.sions awhile are bridled: then they rage, In waspish youth, and in resentful age; With sc.r.a.ps of insult--”Sir, when next you play, Reflect whose money 'tis you throw away.
No one on earth can less such things regard, But when one's partner doesn't know a card - I scorn suspicion, ma'am, but while you stand Behind that lady, pray keep down your hand.”
”Good heav'n, revoke: remember, if the set Be lost, in honour you should pay the debt.”
”There, there's your money; but, while I have life, I'll never more sit down with man and wife; They snap and snarl indeed, but in the heat Of all their spleen, their understandings meet; They are Freemasons, and have many a sign, That we, poor devils! never can divine: May it be told, do ye divide th' amount, Or goes it all to family account?”
Next is the Club, where to their friends in town Our country neighbours once a month come down; We term it Free-and-Easy, and yet we Find it no easy matter to be free: E'en in our small a.s.sembly, friends among, Are minds perverse, there's something will be wrong; Men are not equal; some will claim a right To be the kings and heroes of the night; Will their own favourite themes and notions start, And you must hear, offend them, or depart.
There comes Sir Thomas from his village-seat, Happy, he tells us, all his friends to meet; He brings the ruin'd brother of his wife, Whom he supports, and makes him sick of life; A ready witness whom he can produce Of all his deeds--a b.u.t.t for his abuse; Soon as he enters, has the guests espied, Drawn to the fire, and to the gla.s.s applied - ”Well, what's the subject?--what are you about?
The news, I take it--come, I'll help you out:” - And then, without one answer he bestows Freely upon us all he hears and knows; Gives us opinions, tells us how he votes, Recites the speeches, adds to them his notes; And gives old ill-told tales for new-born anecdotes: Yet cares he nothing what we judge or think, Our only duty's to attend and drink: At length, admonish'd by his gout he ends The various speech, and leaves at peace his friends; But now, alas! we've lost the pleasant hour, And wisdom flies from wine's superior power.
Wine like the rising sun, possession gains, And drives the mist of dulness from the brains; The gloomy vapour from the spirit flies, And views of gaiety and gladness rise: Still it proceeds; till from the glowing heat, The prudent calmly to their shades retreat: - Then is the mind o'ercast--in wordy rage And loud contention angry men engage; Then spleen and pique, like fireworks thrown in spite, To mischief turn the pleasures of the night; Anger abuses, Malice loudly rails, Revenge awakes, and Anarchy prevails; Till wine, that raised the tempest, makes its cease, And maudlin Love insists on instant peace; He, noisy mirth and roaring song commands, Gives idle toasts, and joins unfriendly bands: Till fuddled Friends.h.i.+p vows esteem and weeps, And jovial Folly drinks and sings and sleeps.
A Club there is of Smokers--Dare you come To that close, clouded, hot, narcotic room?
When, midnight past, the very candles seem Dying for air, and give a ghastly gleam; When curling fumes in lazy wreaths arise, And prosing topers rub their winking eyes; When the long tale, renew'd when last they met, Is spliced anew, and is unfinish'd yet; When but a few are left the house to tire, And they half sleeping by the sleepy fire; E'en the poor ventilating vane that flew Of late so fast, is now grown drowsy too; When sweet, cold, clammy punch its aid bestows, Then thus the midnight conversation flows: - ”Then, as I said, and--mind me--as I say, At our last meeting--you remember”--”Ay?”
”Well, very well--then freely as I drink I spoke my thought--you take me--what I think.
And, sir, said I, if I a Freeman be, It is my bounden duty to be free.”
”Ay, there you posed him: I respect the Chair, But man is man, although the man's a mayor; If Muggins live--no, no!--if Muggins die, He'll quit his office--neighbour, shall I try?”
”I'll speak my mind, for here are none but friends: They're all contending for their private ends; No public spirit--once a vote would bring, I say a vote--was then a pretty thing; It made a man to serve his country and his king: But for that place, that Muggins must resign, You've my advice--'tis no affair of mine.”