Gam'd without Skill, without Inquiry bought,
Lent without Love, and borrow'd without Thought.
But, gay and handsome, he had soon the Dower
Of a kind wealthy Widow in his power:
Then he aspir'd to loftier flights of Vice,
To singing Harlots of enormous price :
He took a Jockey in his Gig to buy
A Horse, so valued, that a Duke was shy:
To gain the Plaudits of the knowing Few,
Gamblers and Grooms, what would not Blaney do?
His dearest Friend, at that improving age,
Was Hounslow Dick, who drove the Western Stage.
Cruel he was not-If he left his Wife,
He left her to her own Pursuits in Life;
Deaf to Reports, to all Expenses blind,
Profuse not just, and careless but not kind.
Yet thus assisted, ten long Winters pass'd
In wasting Guineas ere he saw his last;
Then he began to reason, and to feel
He could not dig, nor had he learn'd to steal;
And should he beg as long as he might live,
He justly fear'd that Nobody would give:
But he could charge a Pistol, and at will,
All that was Mortal, by a Bullet kill :
And he was taught, by those whom he would call
Man's surest Guides-that he was mortal all.
While thus he thought, still waiting for the Day, When he should dare to blow his Brains away,
A Place for him a kind Relation found,
Where England's Monarch rul'd, but far from English Ground:
He gave Employ that might for Bread suffice,
Correct his Habits and restrain his Vice.
Here Blaney tried (what such Man's Miseries teach) To find what Pleasures were within his reach;
These he enjoy'd, though not in just the style
He once possess'd them in his native Isle ;
Congenial Souls he found in every Place,
Vice in all Soils, and Charms in every Race:
His Lady took the same amusing Way,
And laugh'd at Time till he had turn❜d them grey :
At length for England once again they steer'd,
By ancient Views and new Designs endear'd;
His Kindred died, and Blaney now became
An Heir to one who never heard his Name.
What could he now?-The Man had tried before
The Joys of Youth, and they were Joys no more;
To vicious Pleasure he was still inclin❜d,
But Vice must now be season'd and refin'd;
Then as a Swine he would on Pleasure seize,
Now common Pleasures had no power to please:
Beauty alone has for the Vulgar charms,
He wanted Beauty trembling with Alarms:
His was no more a youthful Dream of Joy,
The Wretch desir'd to ruin and destroy;
He bought Indulgence with a boundless Price,
Most pleas'd when Decency bow'd down to Vice,
When a fair Dame her Husband's Honour sold,
And a frail Countess play'd for Blaney's Gold.
'But did not Conscience in her Anger rise?"
Yes! and he learn'd her Terrors to despise;
When stung by Thought, to soothing Books he fled,
And grew compos'd and harden'd as he read;
Tales of Voltaire, and Essays gay and slight,
Pleas'd him and shone with their phosphoric Light;
Which, though it rose from Objects vile and base,
Where'er it came threw Splendour on the Place,
And was that Light which the deluded Youth,
And this grey Sinner, deem'd the Light of Truth.
He different Works for different Cause admir'd, Some fix'd his Judgment, some his Passions fir'd; To cheer the Mind and raise a dormant Flame, He had the Books, decreed to lasting Shame, Which those who read are careful not to name : These won to vicious act the yielding Heart, And then the cooler Reasoners sooth'd the Smart. He heard of Blount, and Mandeville, and Chubb, How they the Doctors of their Day would drub; How Hume had dwelt on Miracles so well, That none would now believe a Miracle; And though he car'd not Works so grave to read, He caught their Faith and sign'd the Sinner's Creed. Thus was he pleas'd to join the laughing Side, Nor ceas'd the Laughter when his Lady died; Yet was he kind and careful of her Fame, And on her Tomb inscrib'd a virtuous Name; "A tender Wife, respected, and so forth," The Marble still bears witness to the worth.
He has some Children, but he knows not where; Something they cost, but neither Love nor Care; A Father's Feelings he has never known, His Joys, his Sorrows, have been all his own.
He now would build-and lofty Seat he built,
And sought, in various ways, relief from Guilt.
Restless, for ever anxious to obtain
Ease for the Heart by Ramblings of the Brain,
He would have Pictures, and of course a Taste,
And found a thousand Means his Wealth to waste.
Newmarket Steeds he bought at mighty cost,
They sometimes won, but Blaney always lost.
Quick came his Ruin, came when he had still
For Life a relish, and in Pleasure skill:
By his own idle reckoning he suppos'd
His Wealth would last him till his Life was clos'd;
But no! he found this final Hoard was spent,
While he had Years to suffer and repent.
Yet at the last, his noble Mind to show,
And in his Misery how he bore the Blow,
He view'd his only Guinea, then suppress'd,
For a short time, the Tumults in his Breast,
And, mov'd by Pride, by Habit and Despair,
Gave it an Opera-Bird to hum an Air.
Come ye! who live for Pleasure, come, behold
A Man of Pleasure when he's poor and old;
When he looks back through Life, and cannot find
A single Action to relieve his Mind;
When he looks forward, striving still to keep
A steady Prospect of eternal Sleep;
When not one Friend is left, of all the Train
Whom 'twas his Pride and Boast to entertain,-
Friends now employ'd from House to House to run,
"Alas! poor Blaney is undone !"—
And say,
Those whom he shook with ardour by the hand,
By whom he stood as long as he could stand,
Who seem'd to him from all Deception clear,
And who, more strange! might think themselves sin
Lo! now the Hero shuffling through the Town,
To hunt a Dinner and to beg a Crown;
To tell an idle Tale, that Boys may smile:
To bear a Strumpet's Billet-doux a mile;
To cull a Wanton for a Youth of Wealth,
(With reverend view to both his Taste and Health); To be a useful, needy thing between
Fear and Desire-the Pander and the Screen;
To flatter Pictures, Houses, Horses, Dress,
The wildest Fashion or the worst excess;
To be the grey Seducer, and entice
Unbearded Folly into Acts of Vice;
And then, to level every Fence which Law
And Virtue fix to keep the Mind in awe,
He first inveigles Youth to walk astray,
Next prompts and soothes them in their fatal way,
Then vindicates the deed, and makes the mind his prey.
Unhappy Man! what pains he takes to state-
(Proof of his Fear!) that all below is Fate;
That all proceed in one appointed Track,
Where none can stop, or take their Journey back:
Then what is Vice or Virtue?-Yet he 'll rail
At Priests till Memory and Quotation fail;
He reads, to learn the various Ills they 've done,
And calls them Vipers, every Mother's Son.
He is the Harlot's Aid, who wheedling tries
To move her Friend for Vanity's Supplies;
To weak Indulgence he allures the Mind,
Loth to be dup'd, but willing to be kind;
And if successful-what the Labour pays?
He gets the Friend's Contempt and Chloe's Praise,
Who, in her Triumph, condescends to say,
"What a good Creature Blaney was to-day!"
Hear the poor Dæmon when the Young attend,
And willing Ear to vile Experience lend;
When he relates (with laughing, leering eye)
The Tale licentious, mix'd with blasphemy:
No genuine Gladness his Narrations cause,
The frailest Heart denies sincere Applause;
And many a Youth has turn'd him half aside,
And laugh'd aloud, the Sign of Shame to hide.
Blaney, no aid in his vile Cause to lose,
Buys Pictures, Prints, and a licentious Muse;
He borrows every Help from every Art,
To stir the Passions and mislead the Heart:
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