To open our ball the first day of the year.’
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ray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet ‘good,’ applied to thetitle of Doctor? Had you called me ‘learned Doctor,’ or ‘grave Doctor,’ or‘noble Doctor,’ it might be allowable, because they belong to theprofession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my ‘spring-velvetcoat,’ and advise me to wear it the first day in the year,—that is,in the middle of winter!—a spring-velvet in the middle of winter!!!That would be a solecism indeed! and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another partof your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other, you must bewrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring-velvet inwinter: and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains itself. But let mego on to your two next strange lines:— ‘And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay, dance with the girls that are makers of hay.’ The absurdity of making hay at Christmas, you yourself seem sensible of:you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latinshave an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, ‘Naso contemnereadunco’; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you inthe manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the mostextraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take yourand your sister’s advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offerraises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at oncewith verse and resentment. I take advice! and from whom? You shall hear. First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,The company set, and the word to be, Loo;All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure,And ogling the stake which is fix’d in the centre.Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn 5At never once finding a visit from Pam.I lay down my stake, apparently cool,While the harpies about me all pocket the pool.I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly,I wish all my friends may be bolder than I: 10Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aimBy losing their money to venture at fame.’Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,’Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold:All play their own way, and they think me an ass,— 15‘What does Mrs. Bunbury?’ ‘I, Sir? I pass.’‘Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come do,’—‘Who, I? let me see, Sir, why I must pass too.’Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil. 20Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,Till made by my losses as bold as a lion,I venture at all,—while my avarice regardsThe whole pool as my own—‘Come, give me five cards.’‘Well done!’ cry the ladies; ‘Ah, Doctor, that’s good! 25The pool’s very rich—ah! the Doctor is loo’d!’Thus foil’d in my courage, on all sides perplex’d,I ask for advice from the lady that’s next:‘Pray, Ma’am, be so good as to give your advice;Don’t you think the best way is to venture for ’t twice?’ 30‘I advise,’ cries the lady, ‘to try it, I own.—Ah! the Doctor is loo’d! Come, Doctor, put down.’Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager,And so bold, and so bold, I’m at last a bold beggar.Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you’re skill’d in, 35Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding?For giving advice that is not worth a straw,May well be call’d picking of pockets in law;And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. 40What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!By the gods, I’ll enjoy it; though ’tis but in thought!Both are plac’d at the bar, with all proper decorum,With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before ’em;Both cover their faces with mobs and all that; 45But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.When uncover’d, a buzz of enquiry runs round,—‘Pray what are their crimes?’—‘They’ve been pilfering found.’‘But, pray, whom have they pilfer’d?’—‘A Doctor, I hear.’‘What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near!’ 50‘The same.’—‘What a pity! how does it surprise one!Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!’Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung, 55‘Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.’‘The younger the worse,’ I return him again,‘It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.’‘But then they’re so handsome, one’s bosom it grieves.’‘What signifies _handsome_, when people are thieves?’ 60‘But where is your justice? their cases are hard.’‘What signifies _justice_? I want the _reward_. There’s the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds;there’s the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds;there’s the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-Pound to St. Giles’swatchhouse, offers forty pounds,—I shall have all that if I convictthem!’— ‘But consider their case,—it may yet be your own!And see how they kneel! Is your heart made of stone?’This moves:—so at last I agree to relent, 65For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent. I challenge you all to answer this: I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep;—butnow for the rest of the letter: and next— but I want room—so Ibelieve I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week. I don’t value you all!
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