[Footnote 4: The borough which, for a very short time, Steele represented in Parliament.] [Footnote 5: Abel Roper, the printer and publisher of a Tory newspaper called "The Post Boy," often mentioned by Swift, who contributed news to it. See "Prose Works," ii, 420; v, 290; ix, 183.--_W. E. B._] [Footnote 6: The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough then resided at Antwerp.] [Footnote 7: General Macartney, second to Lord Mohun, in the fatal duel with the Duke of Hamilton. For an account of the duel, see Journal to Stella of Nov. 15, 1712, "Prose Works," ii, and x, xxii, and 178.--W. E. B._] DENNIS’ INVITATION TO STEELE HORACE, BOOK I, EP. V JOHN DENNIS, THE SHELTERING POET'S INVITATION TO RICHARD STEELE, THE SECLUDED PARTY-WRITER AND MEMBER, TO COME AND LIVE WITH HIM, IN THE MINT 1714 Fit to be bound up with "The Crisis" If thou canst lay aside a spendthrift's air, And condescend to feed on homely fare, Such as we minters, with ragouts unstored, Will, in defiance of the law, afford: Quit thy patrols with Toby's Christmas box,[1] And come to me at The Two Fighting Cocks; Since printing by subscription now is grown The stalest, idlest cheat about the town; And ev'n Charles Gildon, who, a Papist bred, Has an alarm against that worship spread, Is practising those beaten paths of cruising, And for new levies on proposals musing. 'Tis true, that Bloomsbury-square’s a noble place: But what are lofty buildings in thy case? What's a fine house embellish'd to profusion, Where shoulder dabbers are in execution? Or whence its timorous tenant seldom sallies, But apprehensive of insulting bailiffs? This once be mindful of a friend's advice, And cease to be improvidently nice; Exchange the prospects that delude thy sight, From Highgate's steep ascent and Hampstead's height, With verdant scenes, that, from St. George's Field, More durable and safe enjoyments yield. Here I, even I, that ne'er till now could find Ease to my troubled and suspicious mind, But ever was with jealousies possess'd, Am in a state of indolence and rest; Fearful no more of Frenchmen in disguise, Nor looking upon strangers as on spies,[2] But quite divested of my former spleen, Am unprovoked without, and calm within: And here I'll wait thy coming, till the sun Shall its diurnal course completely run. Think not that thou of sturdy bub shalt fail, My landlord's cellar stock'd with beer and ale, With every sort of malt that is in use, And every country's generous produce. The ready (for here Christian faith is sick, Which makes us seldom trespass upon tick) Instantly brings the choicest liquors out, Whether we ask for home-brew'd or for stout, For mead or cider, or, with dainties fed, Ring for a flask or two of white or red, Such as the drawer will not fail to swear Was drunk by Pilkington[3]when third time mayor. That name, methinks, so popularly known For opposition to the church and crown, Might make the Lusitanian grape to pass, And almost give a sanction to the glass;