[JOHN PHILIPS was born at Bampton, in Oxfordshire, in 1676, and was educated at Oxford. He died in 1708.
He is remarkable for his attachment to tobacco, which he mentions in all his pieces but one. His best poem is written "On Cyder," in imitation of the Georgics of Virgil; the following, which is a parody on the style of Milton, has always been very popular.]
HAPPY the man, who, void of care and strife,
In silken or in leathern purse retains
A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale; But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall repairs : Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames,
Chloe or Phillis, he each circling glass
Wishes her health, and joy, and equal love. Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tale,
Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. But I, whom griping penury surrounds,
And hunger, sure attendant upon want, With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, Wretched repast! my meagre corpse sustain : Then solitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black As winter-chimney, or well-polish'd jet, Exhale mundungus, ill-perfumèd scent : Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, Smokes Cambro-Britain (versed in pedigree,
Sprung from Cadwallader and Arthur, kings Full famous in romantic tale) when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Avonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Yclept Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream. Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!
Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.
Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow With looks demure, and silent pace, a dun, Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, To my aërial citadel ascends :
With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate; With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. What should I do? or whither turn? Amazed, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect Through sudden fear: a chilly sweat bedews My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!) My tongue forgets her faculty of speech; So horrible he seems! His faded brow Intrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admired by modern saints, Disastrous acts forebode; in his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves,
With characters and figures dire inscribed,
Grievous to mortal eyes (ye gods, avert
Such plagues from righteous men !) Behind him stalks
Another monster, not unlike himself,
Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd
A catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods.
With force incredible, and magic charms,
First have endued if he his ample palm Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay
Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch. Obsequious (as whilom knights were wont), To some enchanted castle is convey'd, Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains, In durance strict detain him, till, in form Of money, Pallas sets the captive free. Beware, ye debtors! when ye walk, beware,
Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch With his unhallow'd touch. So (poets sing) Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,
Portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web
Arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads
Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands Within her woven cell; the humming prey,
Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Inextricable; nor will aught avail
Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue; The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, And butterfly, proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Useless resistance make with eager strides, She tow'ring flies to her expected spoils : Then, with envenom'd jaws, the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carcases triumphant drags.
So pass my days. But, when nocturnal shades This world enveloped, and th' inclement air Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts With pleasant wines and crackling blaze of wood, Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk Of loving friend, delights: distressed, forlorn, Amidst the horrors of the tedious night, Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts My anxious mind; or sometimes mournful verse Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades, Or desperate lady near a purling stream,
Or lover pendent on a willow-tree. Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought,
And restless wish, and rave my parched throat Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose:
But if a slumber haply does invade
My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake;
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