[Z] It was afterwards published for sale in 1799. I extract from it a jeu d'esprit--one of those pieces which Beattie printed, in opposition to the advice of Sir William Forbes and some other grave friends.
FATHER HODGE[1] had his pipe and his dram, And at night, his cloy'd thirst to awaken, He was served with a rasher of ham, Which procured him the surname of _Bacon_. He has shown that, though logical science And dry theory oft prove unhandy, Honest Truth will ne'er set at defiance Experiment, aided by brandy.
Des Cartes bore a musket, they tell us, Ere he wished, or was able, to write, And was noted among the brave fellows, Who are bolder to tipple than fight. Of his system the cause and design We no more can be pos'd to explain:-- The _materia subtilis_ was wine, And the _vortices_ whirl'd in his brain.
Old Hobbes, as his name plainly shows, At a _hob-nob_ was frequently tried: That all virtue from selfishness rose He believ'd, and all laughter from pride.[2] The truth of his creed he would brag on, Smoke his pipe, murder Homer,[3] and quaff, Then staring, as drunk as a dragon, In the pride of his heart he would laugh.
Sir Isaac discover'd, it seems, The nature of colors and light, In remarking the tremulous beams That swom on his wandering sight. Ever sapient, sober though seldom, From experience _attraction_ he found, By observing, when no one upheld him, That his wise head fell souse on the ground.
As to Berkley's philosophy--he has Left his poor pupils nought to inherit, But a swarm of deceitful ideas Kept like other monsters, in spirit.[4] Tar-drinkers can't think what's the matter, That their health does not mend, but decline: Why, they take but some wine to their water, He took but some water to wine.
One Mandeville once, or Man-devil, (Either name you may give as you please) By a brain ever brooding on evil, Hatch'd a monster call'd _Fable of Bees_, Vice, said he, aggrandizes a people;[5] By this light let my conduct be view'd; I swagger, swear, guzzle, and tipple: And d---- ye, 'tis all for your good.
David Hume ate a swinging great dinner, And grew every day fatter and fatter; And yet the huge hulk of a sinner Said there was neither spirit nor matter. Now there's no sober man in the nation, Who such nonsense could write, speak, or think: It follows, by fair demonstration, That he philosophiz'd in his drink.