The Snarling Pug and Dancing Bear

Lest, Hogarth, thou should'st draw again
Thy failing pencil 'gainst the pen;
Or Churchill, scorning to give out,
Should prove less merciful than stout;
To an apt tale, an equal friend
To both, requests you to attend.

Three sisters, daughters of the Town,
(A family of some renown)
Together liv'd, tho' single lives,
Jangling as husbands and their wives.
The first, like Tristram nam'd in haste,
Was christen'd, by misnomer, Taste;
A splenetic and formal prude,
Averse to all that's low or rude;
Fainting at ev'ry odious jest,
And starch as any quaker drest;
So nice, so sinical, so quaint!
No sinner sure so much a saint!
For this was all a fair outside,
Her vice and vanity to hide.
The second a fantastic dame,
As modish in her dress as name;
A batter'd strumpet, Fashion hight,
The bane of many a living wight:
A grey coquet, whose magic pow'r
Tho' wasting with the present hour,
Her charms deciduous but decay,
To sprout again some future day;
While thus alternate youth and age,
By turns her votaries engage,
And still with constancy maintain
Her most inconstant tyrant reign.
The third, a female full of zeal,
Still flaming for the common-weal;
Tho as her sister, Fashion, guides,
Alternate taking different sides;
Now a rank Tory, talking big,
And now a grumbling stedfast Whig.
Or, when no business of the nation
Sets her warm blood in fermentation,
As keen she flies at lower game,
A poet's or a painter's fame:
Alike she raves, alike she bounces,
About pink furbelows and flounces;
In every cause sincere and hearty,
Her name, as well as nature, Party.
Now ancient maids and barren wives,
Who lead unprofitable lives,
Full often keep (the devil rout 'em)
A pack of animals about 'em;
Dogs, cats, or monkies, substitutes
For children, oft less natural brutes.
Thus did our jarring sisters three,
Keep a well-stock'd menagerie;
Whither each quadruped and biped
By gentle treatment was invited;
Or bird or beast, or fair or frightful,
For the more strange, the more delightful.
Accordingly in numbers came,
Domestic, foreign, wild, and tame;
From Stade and Norway, noble rats;
From Italy, fine warbling cats;
Taught by Marcel himself to dance,
A troop of apes skipp'd o'er from France;
From Turkey, tutor'd in the east,
An Irish renegado beast,
That like a Bornean ape could swing,
And trot upon an iron string.
Next from St. Omer's learned college,
There came a prodigy of knowledge;
A Chien Sçavant, or dog of parts,
At least a bachelor of arts;
That knew the Greek and Latin better
Than all th' academy Belles-Lettres.
But more than all a dancing Bear
And fav'rite Pug engag'd their care,
The latter, as a dog of merit,
Was cherish'd for his former spirit;
For he, tho' now much past his prime,
Had been an odd dog in his time;
Would fetch and carry, leap o'er sticks,
And play a thousand comic tricks.
Him had our ladies long preferr'd
To be their doughty body-guard.
Hence in the parlour was he plac'd,
And with a silver collar grac'd;
On a soft velvet cushion seated,
And by all three most kindly treated:
Whence, growing insolent and proud,
He growl'd so fierce, and bark'd so loud,
That not another dog or cat
About the house, dar'd smell a rat,
Or set a foot into the parlour,
For fear of this eternal snarler;
Who, like a greedy, envious elf,
Lov'd no one creature but himself.

Rough Bruin, but as yet a cub,
Unlick'd, and yet unwean'd from bub,
Was boarded with a neighb'ring vicar,
And nurtur'd with his fav'rite liquor.
Hence, growing sturdy and mischievous,
He oft committed outrage grievous;
Made a cat's paw of Tom's the mouser,
And plagu'd to death poor harmless Touzer;
Drown'd old Grimalkin, and in ire,
Threw playful kittens in the fire.
For, out of wantonness or spite,
In mischief lay his sole delight;
Tho' some excuse him, and will say,
That what he did was but in play,
The maggots of a dancing bear,
To make the people hoot and stare;
As if dame Nature form'd one half
The world, to make the other laugh.
At length, however, most unruly,
He fell upon his keeper, truly!
And, when corrected, threw him down,
And trampled on the parson's gown;
Made e'en a kennel of the church,
And left his feeders in the lurch.
Meanwhile, as strolling up and down,
The sport and terror of the town,
His brother brutes he chanc'd to see,
That lodg'd in the menagerie.
Here the first scene that caught his eye,
Was a broad stage erected high;
On which a set of mimic apes
Play'd monkey-tricks in various shapes;
Grinn'd, chatter'd, laugh'd, and made such faces,
That Bruin, piqu'd at their grimaces,
Scrambled aloft, resolv'd to rout 'em,
And with his bear's paws laid about him;
Hugging each monkey-dog and bitch,
As loving Satan hugg'd the witch;
While the poor devils scream'd aloud,
The jest and pity of the crowd.
Next, in a neighb'ring charnel vault,
He smok'd a pack of hounds at fault,
By some spay'd bitch's nose misled,
To snuffie there among the dead,
In search of Fanny's knocking ghost,
Of whom the scent in earth was lost.
But Bruin never wanted scent
After whatever game he went;
But smelt her out, and, to be doing,
Fell foul upon a brother Bruin,
Pomposo fam'd, as rude a bear,
As e'er was shewn in Southwark fair;
Ill-favour'd, clumsy, and uncouth,
The veriest monster of the booth.
His waters Bruin closely watch'd:
When hurt Pomposo, over-match'd,
And fairly worsted in the fray,
Growl'd, and turn'd tail, and slunk away.
Flush'd with success, and fond of fame,
Now Bruin ran at higher game;
Nay some (tho' these we don't rely on)
Pretend he dar'd t' attack the lion.
But brutes, as well as men, 'tis known,
Pay a due deference to the throne.
Certain it is, he made fine sport
Of th' o'ergrown jackals of the court,
And caus'd the rest to quake for fear
Around the country far and near.
These triumphs envious Pug had seen,
And, half-devour'd with spight and spleen,
Another quadruped to see,
More fear'd and mischievous than he;
Resolv'd t'assail this mighty beast,
Or give himself such airs, at least,
That folks might think he did not fear him,
So growl'd whenever he came near him.
His mistress Party, hence mistaken,
Till much too late to save his bacon,
Unequal match! her fav'rite's ruin!
Slipt poor presumptuous Pug at Bruin;
Unknowing that, tho' bark he might,
His toothless gums no more could bite.
But roughly-gentle Bruin seiz'd,
And softly first old Puggy squeez'd;
Who, thinking all the mischief done
His foe could do, kept barking on.
When now, enrag'd at hapless Pug,
He gave him such a cursed hug,
That well nigh all his bones he broke,
So dev'lish serious was the joke;
Then threw the limping snarler down,
To howl and piss about the town.

Such ever is the fate of those,
Who wantonly make folks their foes,
Or, quarrelsome, provoke the fight
With bravoes of superior might.
And thus e'en Bruin's self may catch
A tartar, who may prove his match;
And to some future tyger bow,
As low as Pug to him doth now.