Tom King's Coffee House, interior

by J. Smith
1738

Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University Library, 1979 108

Plate opposite page 44/45, in Tom King's: Or, the Paphian Grove, depicting a brawl between "Hippolitus," a country squire from York and "Causidicus," a "prigg" lawyer: 

The clumsy 'Squire from *Eboracum [York]
To London's gayer Town just newly come;
Was recreating with a merry Bowl,
And billing Wench, his rustick jovial Soul.
Loud was his Mirth, he sung (or seem'd to sing)
With Voice sonorous, like the noisy Din
Of yelping Hounds, when o'er the Plain the Crew
The subtle Fox, or trembling Hare pursue.
His Voice obstrep'rous round the Temple flew,
Whilst Eccho answer'd to the loud Halloo:
The noisy Huntsman's Mirth disturb'd the Throng,
Each Prigg was piqu'd, whilst merrily he sung;
None undertood Dog-language, or cou'd own
The blessed Period of a high Down Down

But most of all Causidicus did frown,
Who lov'd to hear no Noise, but what's his own;
When thus he spoke: Whence does the Difference
Betwixt God's Image and a Brute commence?
'Tis not from Form alone, but from the Mind,
In whose Recesses Manly Thoughts are coin'd,
And operate the Tongue, which does dilate
In pleasing Speech its Sounds articulate.
But if this noble Creature does disgrace,
And with Brutality his Soul debase;
And howl, and stamp, and scream, and yell and stare,
Like Bull, or Lyon, Tyger, Dog, or Bear,
He then commences Brute, as such shou'd be
Sent to Woods to Brutal Company,
Nor is it fit such gross Impertinence,
Shoud dare intrude, to perplex Men of Sense.

Hippolitus, to this most wise Discourse
Returnd a Grin, and laughd as if he'd burst.
And what says he, do you fine Cockneys dare
With us robustick, Country Squires compare?
Or do you think on Earth, a Bliss abounds?
That can be nam'd, with hunting, Nag and Hounds.
From Manly Exercise our Nerves are strung,
Our Bodies vig'rous, and our Days are long;
Whilst you, a puny Race of sapless Elves,
Dead when alive, like no Men but yourselves:
I'd sooner be a Farmer's Dog and bark,
Than be as thou art, little dapper Spark.
This said, with strongest Gripe, he tweak'd his Nose,
Streight from the Pinch the gushing Blood outflows;
Curs'd Booby, Dolt-head, Bumkin, Bacon-Face,
What have I done? to bear this vile Disgrace,
Causidicus reply'd: With that the Bowl
With reaking Negus brimm'd, his Angry Soul
Impatient seiz'd, and brandishing on high,
A tip-Toe stands, and guides it with his Eye
Then at th'undaunted Squire, high in Air
Flings with both Hands the China Cloud of War,
And home it went: With one disastrous Show'r
His Hat and Wig, and Coat it delug'd o'er.
The brawny Champion felt the Watry Wound,
And in the Negus almost blind and drown'd,
Gaping he stood, but in a little Space;
Having wip'd the Nectar from his shining Face,
Thou little Prig says he, thou Baby Face,
Thou living Shadow, Nature's whole Disgrace,
Who spawn'd thee in her Sport, to shew us then,
How near a Monkey can resemble Man.
Dar'st thou protected by that Pigmy Size,
Against a Man of Vigour to arise?
But as the Lordly Mastiff does contemn
The snarling Curs that yelping bark at him;
Yet if to too great Liberties they run,
Or bite his Legs, or snatch the feasting Bone,
Their Impudence he chides, and one sharp bite
The sneaking Curs does to Obedience fright.
So though thy wither'd Face I do despise,
Thy spindle Shanks, and little feeble Thighs,
Yet I'll chastise thy Pride; with that he flew
And hit Causidicus so great a Blow,
That his Eyes fixt, his dislocated Neck
Turn'd to his Shoulder, and o'er look'd his Back. 
Large streams of Blood from batter'd Eyes and Nose,
And wounded Mouth, most plentifully flows.
The batter'd Lawyer all bedaub'd with Gore
(No Cloath in fulling-Mill e'er pounded more)
Cries out for Help, each tender Damsel flys,
Movd' by his bleeding Wounds and mournful Cries,
To his Assistance: all contend t'asswage
The ireful Squire, and controul his Rage.

So two fierce Bulls whom rival passions share
For some lov'd Heifer, meditate a War.
Each bends his armed Head, with many a Wound
Gores his Antagonist, the thirsty Ground
Drinks up the Gore, the neighbouring Vallies ring,
To the loud Echo of their bellowing.
When now the strongest with a deadly Wound,
Pushes his Foe, and stuns him to the Ground.
The loving Heifers round about them press,
And interposing calm each ireful Breast.

So here, the tender Dames deplore the State,
Of wounded Dapper's bloody rueful Fate ;
Whilst one with Handkerchief, of cooling Flood,
Dip'd in the Wave, wash'd off the clotted Blood,
Another with her healing Hand does rub
His Head with Nants, the wellings to remove.
Whilst the unwounded Squire takes his place,
And laughs at Dapper and his mangled Face.

So when Pelides shook his thundring Spear
On Xanthus' Plains, the Terror of the War;
His conqu'ring Arm beat Hector to the Ground,
Himself unhurt, and guiltless of a wound.

The Combat ended, each to Mirth encline,
And Mars to Venus and the God of wine,
His cruel Reign, and Empire does resign.
Pleasing Discourse attends the merry Throng,
And each his tuneful Voice exalts in Song;
Only the batter'd Lawyer discontent,
Full fraught with Spleen shares not their merriment:
From smarting Bones the damages he draws
Of thousand Actions, endless Suits of Laws. (Canto III, pp. 56–62).

Tom King's: or, the Paphian Grove. With the humours of Covent-Garden, the Theatre, Gaming Table, &c. A Mock Heroic Poem. In Three Cantos (printed for P. Sambroke, under the Piazza's, 1741), a reprint ofTom K----g's: Or, The Paphian Grove. With the Various Humours of Covent Garden, L---d M—ton's, &c. A Mock-Heroic-Poem, in Three Cantos (printed for J. Robinson, next the Bedford Tavern in Tavistock Street, 1738)