What hand but thine so well could draw A formal Barrister at Law? _Fitzherbert, Littleton,_ and _Coke,_ Are all united in his look. His spacious wig conceals his ears, Yet the dull plodding beast appears. His muscles seem exact to fit Much noise, much pride, and not much wit. Who then is he with solemn phiz, Upon his elbows pois'd with ease? Freely to speak the Muse is loth-- Justice or knave--he may be both-- Justice or knave--'tis much the same: To boast of crimes, or tell the shame, Of raking talk or reformation, 'Tis all good _Modern Conversation_. What mighty _Machiavel_ art thou, With patriot cares upon thy brow? Alas, that punch should have the fate To drown the pilot of the state! That while both sides thy pocket holds, Nor _D'Anvers_ grieves, nor _Osborne_ scolds, Thou sink'st the business of the nation In _Midnight Modern Conversation_! The Tradesman tells with wat'ry eyes How Credit sinks, how Taxes rise; At Parliaments and Great Men pets, Counts all his losses and his debts. The puny Fop, mankind's disgrace, The ladies' jest and looking-glass; This he-she thing the mode pursues, And drinks in order--till he sp--s. See where the Relict of the Wars, Deep mark'd with honorary scars, A mightier foe has caus'd to yield Than ever _Marlbro'_ met in field! See prostrate on the earth he lies; And learn, ye soldiers, to be wise. Flush'd with the fumes of gen'rous wine The Doctor's face begins to shine: With eyes half clos'd, in stamm'ring strain, He speaks the praise of rich champaign. 'Tis dull in verse, what from thy hand Might even a _Cato's_ smile command. Th' expiring snuffs, the bottles broke, And the full bowl at four o'clock. _March_ 22, 1742, was acted at _Covent-Garden_, a new scene, called _A Modern Midnight Conversation_, taken from _Hogarth's_ celebrated print; in which was introduced, _Hippisley's Drunken Man_, with a comic tale of what really passed between himself and his old aunt, at her house on _Mendip-Hills_, in _Somersetshire_. For Mr. _Hippisley's_ benefit. [1] These, in my first edition, I had ventured, on popular report, to say were parson _Ford_, and the first Lord _Northington_, when young. But I am now enabled to identify their persons, on the authority of Sir _John Hawkins_: "When the Midnight Modern Conversation came out, the general opinion was, that the Divine was the portrait of Orator _Henley_; and the Lawyer of _Kettleby_, a vociferous bar orator, remarkable, though an utter barrister, for wearing a full-bottom'd wig, which he is here drawn with, as also for a horrible squint." In that once popular satire, _The Causidicade_, are the following lines on this lawyer: