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Just in his former trim he now appears ;
The waistcoat and the night-cap seem’d the same,
With rushlight as before, he creeping came,

And King's detested voice, astonish’d, hears.

As if some hideous spectre struck his sight,
His senses seem'd bewildered with affright,

His face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore-
Then starting, he exclaim'd, in rueful strain,
“Begar ! here's Monsieur Tonson come again !"

Away he ran—and ne'er was heard of more!


IMAGINE to yourself a little squat, uncourtly figure of a Dr. Slop, of about four feet and a half, perpendicular height, with a breadth of back, and a sesquipedality of body, which might have done honor to a sergeant in the horse-guards.

Such were the outlines of Dr. Slop's figure, which—if you have read Hogarth’s Analysis of Beauty, (and if you have not, I wish you would, you must know, may as certainly be caricatured, and conveyed to the mind by three strokes as three hundred.

Imagine such a one—for such, I say, were the outlines of Dr. Slop's figure—coming slowly along, foot by foot, waddling through the dirt upon the vertebræ of a little diminutive pony, of a pretty color, but of strength, alack! scarce able to have made an amble of it, under such a fardel, had the roads been in an ambling condition. They were not. Imagine to yourself Obadiah, mounted upon a strong monster of a coach-horse, urged into a full gallop, and making all practicable speed the

adverse way.

Pray, sir, let me interest you a moment in this description.

Had Dr. Slop beheld Obadiah a mile off, posting in a narrow lane directly towards him, at that monstrous rate

splashing and plunging like a demon through thick and thin as he approached—would not such a phenomenon, with such a vortex of mud and water moving along with it, round its axis, have been a subject of juster apprehension to Dr. Slop, in his situation, than the worst of Whiston's comets; to say nothing of the nucleus—that is, of Obadiah and the coach-horse ? In my idea, the vortex alone of them was enough to have involved and carried, if not the doctor, at least the doctor's pony, quite

away with it.

What, then, do you think must the terror and hydrophobia of Dr. Slop have been, when you read (which you are just going to do) that he was advancing thus warily along towards Shandy Hall, and had approached within sixty yards of it, and within five yards of a sudden turn, made by an acute angle of the garden wall, and in the dirtiest part of a dirty lane, when Obadiah and his coach-horse turned the corner, rapid, furious— pop-full upon him? Nothing, I think, in nature can be supposed more terrible than such a rencontre, --so imprompt ! so ill-prepared to stand the shock of it, as Dr. Slop was !

What could Dr. Slop do?- -he crossed himself—-Pugh! —but the doctor, sir, was a Papist.-No matter; he had better have kept hold of the pommel. He had so; nay, as it happened, he had better have done nothing at all; for in crossing himself, he let go his whip; and in attempting to save his whip between his knee and his saddle's skirt, as it slipped, he lost his stirrup,-in losing which, he lost his seat; and in the multitude of all these losses,-in the multitude of all these losses, I say, coming in quick succession, the unfortunate doctor lost his presence of mind. So that, without waiting for Obadiah's onset, he left his pony to its destiny, tumbling off it diagonally, something in the style and manner of a pack of wool, and without any other consequence from the fall, save that of being left (as it would have been) with the broadest part of him sunk about twelve inches deep in the mire.

Obadiah pulled off his cap twice to Dr. Slop; once as he was falling, and then again when he saw him seated. Ill-timed complaisance! Had not the fellow better have stopped his horse, and got off and helped him? Sir, he did all that his situation would allow; but the momentum of the coach-horse was so great, that Obadiah could not do it all at once. He rode in a circle three times round Dr. Slop, before he could. fully accomplish it any how; and at last, when he did stop the beast, it was done with such an explosion of mud, that Obadiah had better have been a league off. In short, never was a Dr. Slop so beluted and so transubstantiated since that gentleman came into the world.


A wight he was, whose very sight would
Entitle him mirror of knighthood,
That never bowed his stubborn knee
To anything but chivalry;
Nor put up blow, but that which laid
Right-worshipful on shoulder-blade:
Chief of domestic knights and errant,
Either for chartel or for warrant;
Great on the bench-great on the saddle-
That could as well bind o’er as swaddle :
Mighty he was at both of these,
And styled of war as well as peace-
(So some rats, of amphibious nature,
Are either for the land or water.)
But here our authors make a doubt,
Whether he were more wise or stout;
Some hold the one, and some the other ;-
But howsoe’er they make a pother,
The difference was so small, his brain
Outweighed his rage but half a grain ;
Which made some take him for a tool
That knaves do work with, called a fool;
For 't had been held by many, that
As Montaigne, playing with his cat,

Complains she thought him but an ass,
Much more she would Sir Hudibras-
(For that's the name our valiant knight
To all his challenges did write.)
But they 're mistaken very much;
'Tis plain enough he was no such :
We grant, although he had much wit,
He was very shy of using it;
As being loath to wear it out,
And therefore bore it not about,
Unless on holidays, or so,
As men their best apparel do.
Beside, 'tis known he could speak Greek,
As naturally as pigs do squeak;
That Latin was no more difficile,
Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle:
Being rich in both, he never scanted
His bounty unto such as wanted ;
But much of either would afford
To many, that had not one word.
He was in logic a great critic,
Profoundly skilled in analytic;
He could distinguish, and divide
A hair 'twixt south and southwest side ;
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute ;
He'd undertake to prove by force
Of argument a man's no horse;
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,
A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
And rooks committee-men and trustees.
He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination;
All this by syllogism, true
In mood and figure, he would do.
For rhetoric, he could not ope

His mouth, but out there flew a trope;
And when he happened to break off
I' the middle of his speech, or cough
H' had hard words, ready to show why,
And tell what rules he did it by:
Else, when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd think he talked like other folk ;
For all a rhetorician's rules
Teach nothing but to name his tools.
But, when he pleased to show't, his speech
In loftiness of sound was rich;
A Babylonish dialect,
Which learned pedants much affect:
It was a party-colored dress
Of patched and piebald languages;
'T was English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like fustian heretofore on satin.
It had an old promiscuous tone,
As if he had talked three parts in one;
Which made some think, when he did gabble
Th' had heard three laborers of Babel;
Or Cerberus himself

A leash of languages at once.
This he as volubly would vent
As if his stock would ne'er be spent;
And truly, to support that charge,
He had supplies as vast and large;
For he would coin or counterfeit
New words, with little or no wit;
Words so debased and hard, no stone
Was hard enough to touch them on :
And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,
The ignorant for current took 'em;
That had the orator, who once
Did fill his mouth with pebble stones
When he harangued, but known his phrase,
He would have used no other ways.

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