A Grumletonian! What's that -- in the Pope's Name? Why, 'tis the
First and Second Part of
Hickeringel -- a meer Composition of Curse-ye-meroz, and
The Black Non Conformist, as full of contradictions as of Nonsence: an absolute Civil Quaker, that finds as many faults with the State as he with the Church, and both for the same No-Reason. Tis a Hodge-podge of Malice, Scurility, and Illnature, who has seldome Wit enough to keep him from Slavering, or if he does now and then Stumble on some pleasant Notion; han't manners enough to keep his Wit from Stinking. 'Tis a thing that was never Born to be contented -- he's always Twisting and Wrigling, and has a Worm in his Tail as long as that in his Head, -- see but how tenderly he Treads, you'd think he was under Harry Hills's Course of Penance, and had all his Pea's in his Shooes without Boyling 'em. 'Tis a hard matter that's the Truth on't, to tell what he is, since he hardly knows it himself, nor does the froward Chit know what 'twould have, tho' if any thing, it must be some Bawble or other that guiets him. He handles the Government as the Turks do slaves, when they come to be Sold -- Peeps all round it -- Trys and Gropes, whether it be Sound Wind and Limb -- Looks Marvellous earnestly on its Physiognomy, pretending to Read its Fortune, and if he has any skill 'twon't be long-liv'd, -- and yet after all his prying as sharply as the Jesuite with his Prospective, all the Wise faults he can find in't are, that the Nose and Complexion on't don't please him, He's hard to be found, and yet every where, for he's as diligent and indefatigable, as another that runs too and fro on the same business, and for the same Reason too, because he knows his time is short. And now we talk of the Devil -- there's a certain place within a Mile of hte Oake, where you are very likely to find him, Settleing Church and State over a Dozen Bottles of Claret. He's very ready at Quoting Presidents when they please him, and pretends to carry as Humble an Implicite Faith about with him as e're a Catholick of 'em all, -- and Reason too -- for this he finds a good Lazy Compendious way of Grumbling, without the long Fatigue of Enquiry and Argument. By his Commending Tenderness of Conscience in others, you'd be almose Tempted to belive he had some such thing himself, -- and indeed who wou'd think any Man wou'd forswear himself by way of Civil Conversation or so, a Hundred times a Day, and yet all o' the sudden Start and Bogle at one single Oath of Allegiance? one would think he own'd a God too when he seems afraid to Invoke his Name to a Lie, or beleiv'd in a Hell, when he says he dares not comply for fear of Damnation.
He's an Irish Man Double gilt, -- a meer Teague Christianiz'd and
Reform'd into somewhat that looks like Humanity, -- but with much using the
Gilding wears off agen, and Mistress Puss must have a touch at the Mouse, tho'
she leaves her Spark Catter-wawling for the loss of her. There's so much
Discontent and Ingratitude, and Baseness, mixt with such a Profound Twang of
Laziness and Cowardise in the very Constitution of him, that Nature has as
perfectly markt him out for Slavery, as it he had great Lips and a Flat Nose
--he mainly Resembles the Inhabitants of the Cape -- bring 'em into any Country, Dress 'em and give 'em Food fit for Humane Creatures, they'l do nothing but lie upon the Ground, and Pine themselves to Death for their old belov'd Hogsty, and long as passionately as a Teeming Woman, for a Savoury Mouthful of their old Guts and Garbage. He's of a very Ancient Family that's the Truth on't and can run ye up his Pedigree as high as Peter Heylin cou'd his own, or a High-lander his Princes, for he'le tell ye, (if Modesty don't a little Confound him) that some of his Relations had a strong Party among the Israelites