Wine can clear up Godolphin’s cloudy face,
And fill Jack Smith with hopes to keep his place: 
By force of wine, ev’n Scarborough is brave,
Hal[2] grows more pert, and Somers not so grave: 
Wine can give Portland wit, and Cleaveland sense,
Montague learning, Bolton eloquence: 
Cholmondeley, when drunk, can never lose his wand;
And Lincoln then imagines he has land. 
  My province is, to see that all be right,
Glasses and linen clean, and pewter bright;
From our mysterious club to keep out spies,
And Tories (dress’d like waiters) in disguise. 
You shall be coupled as you best approve,
Seated at table next the man you love. 
Sunderland, Orford, Boyle, and Richmond’s grace
Will come; and Hampden shall have Walpole’s place;
Wharton, unless prevented by a whore,
Will hardly fail; and there is room for more;
But I love elbow-room whene’er I drink;
And honest Harry is too apt to stink. 
  Let no pretence of bus’ness make you stay;
Yet take one word of counsel[3] by the way. 
If Guernsey calls, send word you’re gone abroad;
He’ll teaze you with King Charles, and Bishop Laud,
Or make you fast, and carry you to prayers;
But, if he will break in, and walk up stairs,
Steal by the back-door out, and leave him there;
Then order Squash to call a hackney chair.

[Footnote 1:  Collated with Stella’s copy.—­Forster.  See Journal to Stella, July 1, 1712, “Prose Works,” ii, 375; and ix, 256, 287.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 2:  Right Honourable Henry Boyle.—­Scott.]

[Footnote 3:  Scott prints “comfort.”—­Forster.]

PEACE AND DUNKIRK

BEING AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG UPON THE SURRENDER OF DUNKIRK TO GENERAL HILL 1712

To the tune of “The King shall enjoy his own again.”

Spite of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain shall have peace at last: 
Holland got towns, and we got blows;
  But Dunkirk’s ours, we’ll hold it fast. 
    We have got it in a string,
    And the Whigs may all go swing,
For among good friends I love to be plain;
    All their false deluded hopes
    Will, or ought to end in ropes;
“But the Queen shall enjoy her own again.”

Sunderland’s run out of his wits,
  And Dismal double Dismal looks;
Wharton can only swear by fits,
  And strutting Hal is off the hooks;
    Old Godolphin, full of spleen,
    Made false moves, and lost his Queen: 
Harry look’d fierce, and shook his ragged mane: 
    But a Prince of high renown
    Swore he’d rather lose a crown,
“Than the Queen should enjoy her own again.”

Our merchant-ships may cut the line,
  And not be snapt by privateers. 
And commoners who love good wine
  Will drink it now as well as peers: 
    Landed men shall have their rent,
    Yet our stocks rise cent, per cent.
The Dutch from hence shall no more millions drain: 
    We’ll bring on us no more debts,
    Nor with bankrupts fill gazettes;
“And the Queen shall enjoy her own again.”