The Counting House

 

When early Phoebus mounts his car,

Will wakes, and spies him out from far;

With haste springs up, his breeches buttons,

And leaves the couch to drones and gluttons.

To Blandy’s wharf with haste repairs,

That wharf which swallows all his cares;

Surveys the barge with care about,

To find if ought is stolen out;

Since all is safe, from care is freed,

And goes to Maynard’s wharf with speed;

With eager steps he bustles on,

T’enquire what work each man’s upon

And thus salutes them each in turn,

‘Here, Stevens, cleave this wood to burn:

Then see these sacks are stow’d with care,

And lay the sailcloth out to air;

Aye, this is something neat and clean,

A better store-house ne’er was seen;

But, let there be a nail or peg,

To hang this gridiron by the leg;

Who stole the axe, continual cries,

Beware the thief, if you are wise;

This kettle is worn out, ‘tis true,

But still may serve to make a stew;

The Committee will no doubt agree

This door was well contrived by me;

Within this place, store pots and kettles,

Tan pins, hilts, and other metals;

Here’s room enough for all the tackle,

Be careful where you stow this shackle,

The marking-iron make red-hot,

To mark the powdering tub and pot;

But first, go light the counting fire,

Why Punch you are a cursed liar;

Within my veins my blood all curdles,

I thought you said, you piled the hurdles;

Is this the way, you stupid ass,

What cart or wagon here can pass?

Remove this hemp to yonder spot,

The dripping eaves may make them rot;

And – why, how now, Hop,

Is this a time to come to shop?

Haste, mend your nimble steps, I pray,

We all were here by break of day;

This old tarpaulin’s almost ended,

With care, I’ll have it patch’d and mended;

This sail I see’s almost a rag,

But still may serve to make a dag;

Is Clements gone? Deuce take the noodle!

To take the barge without the loodle;

If Mrs. Plumridge comes, acqaint her,

We’ve all her tackle, but the painter;

Springall, this beech is rather dear,

We shall get nothing by it, it’s clear,

However, split it out for hilts,

The rest may serve to warm the tilts;

I’m glad to see you better, Dick,

Eating so hearty off the hick;

I thought, poor fellow, you were going,

Hilloah, Charles, what are you doing?

That cask must not go ‘till it’s weighed,

Nor then, unless the money’s paid;

The man to me is quite a stranger,

However, send these plumbs to Granger;

The aqua fortis goes to West,

And Champion claims the yellow chest;

Observe to minute all things right,

Who careless is, gets nothing by’t.

This sage advice, with freedom giv’n,

To counting-house he goes – his Heav’n;

Where James by this had made the fire,

And swep’t all clean to please the Squire,

Down in his elbow chair he squats,

And thus resolves his busy thoughts;

I cannot but this place admire,

So neat the curtains – snug the fire;

This shows what industry can do –

The bridge from hence a charming view,

Twas kind of Blandy to pull down

The bulk that hid us from the town;

I like to see John Lewis loading,

So free a spirit needs no goading;

Another wagon, as I’m alive,

The deuce is in’t if we don’t thrive;

Poor Mills and Biggs, ‘tis your own doing,

None but yourselves have worked your ruin.

At any time, to serve the town,

My life, I ready would lay down;

Tis true, I did contrive the plan,

But what of that! – Oh! here comes Man;

Will. Are ye sure, friend John, you’re quite awake?

I fear, in bed, you’ve made mistake;

Upon my word, you’re up too soon,

It almost wants two hours to noon;

John. Why, let the stricken deer go weep,

On a good conscience I can sleep;

A wounded spirit, who can bear?

This makes you rise at four, with care;

Be sanctified like me, and then

I make no doubt you’ll sleep till ten;

Thus sports their little wits in play,

And, joking pass their time away;

Debate on politics, and Pitt,

Till business calls, then down they sit;

Their cash accounts t’adjust with speed,

And carefully the invoice read;

Will. Enter, received a dozen poles;

John. For whom must Skinner bring up coals?

Will. First, set down ten for honest Phelp,

I love deserving men to help;

I’ll send to Clements quick a letter,

Pox take the pen, give me a better;

Item to Dreweat ten of coke,

Tis long since first they were bespoke;

Vines must have five, May’s promised ten,

Who load both ways are our best men;

Let Blackall have a five of each,

And Bushnell, for his five, go preach,

You stupid dog! What makes you slumber,

Quick, cast the whole, let’s know the number;

John. You are so hasty, Will, I doubt,

If I know well what I’m about;

They’re fifty, if I’m not mistaken,

Will. Then put another five for Bacon,

And five for Simonds – make that plainer,

Then close the list with five for Tanner;

Next weighty business dispatching,

Will goes his rounds a money catching,

And leaves the clerk with woeful looks,

To post and rectify the books.

The morning past, the clock strikes one

The book are closed – the work is done;

Then homeward goes each busy sinner,

With appetite to eat his dinner,

Ten minutes end their frugal meal,

Whether of mutton, beef, or veal;

So short the time they have to tarry,

They scarce can speak to Tom or Harry;

When pleasure calls they never miss it,

Again the counting-house they visit;

Two chairs set out the best they’re able,

A four legged stool serves for a table;

On this they place in pretty order

Some broken pipes and pot of porter;

One rummer of a moderate price

Serves all the guests not over nice,

James Simonds takes the elbow chair,

A common one serves Will with care;

Willis and Man each mount a stool,

And Walter walks about to cool;

This conversation they commence,

Which shews they are all men of sense,

Walter. The king they say will not hear reason,

I fear he’ll drive the cits to treason.

Will. No doubt he treated them uncivil,

Man. The stocks are going to the devil.

Willis. I wonder what’s the price of wheat,

Will. I’ve bought the finest lot of meat;

Simonds. You mention meat, but what a pox,

I’d nearly lost a fatted ox;

He must to market while alive,

A sickly beast can never thrive;

Willis. To lose an ox no doubt is cross,

But I had almost lost my horse;

For going to Thame to buy some oats,

I meant to send by Reading boats;

Quoth Stroud, ‘We shan’t arrive to daie;

Unless I shew a shorter waie’;

So saying – down a lane he trotted,

My coat well dash’d, & splash’d, & spotted;

Till in a most unlucky minute,

I met a slough and tumbled in it;

Souse went my horse up to the saddle,

While I remained his back a-straddle;

When flouncing, kicking, spurring, whipping,

I got him out and saved a dipping;

However, my dapple’s rump is sore,

And mine is flea’d a foot or more:

When next I go to Thame for oats,

I’ll give you leave to cut your throats;

Walter. ‘This was no doubt a sad disaster,

Yet patience is a sovereign plaister;

When next you ride – look well before,

Nor horse nor rider will be sore.’

Man. ‘John knows that industry brings wealth.’

Willis. ‘This brimmer James, to your good health.’

Simonds. ‘My pipe’s extinct – what must I do?’

Williams. Again replenish – I’ll fill too;

But first examine –what’s the store?

My cargo’s out – we’ll send for more.

Man. You’re welcome to my box of tin,

Will. Without one single corn within!

Hoy Mother, (good woman, I should say)

To Lower Ship, you know the way:

Beer and tobacco, bid them send,

For Mr Williams and his friend:

How great the pleasure that I feel;

If I mistake not – here comes Neale.

In all his actions – truth you’ll find,

A liberal heart, an honest mind:

But, hush! He comes, I must forbear;

Neale. Your servant, gents: how will you fare:

By this, I guess the scheme goes right,

Man. Come stick yourself behind a pipe:

Neale. Not now, thank you. What’s the news?

Will. This glass of beer you can’t refuse,

Tho’ it’s been brewed 6 weeks or more,

Most strange to tell, ‘tis not yet sour,

Ah! John Harris too, are you come here;

Come, take a glass of Stephens’ beer:

Harris. I would comply without a joke,

But cannot see the glass for smoke;

Heavens! What thing is that I see,

Perch’d like a shuffle in a tree;

Or rather, like a candle snuff,

When just extinguished by a puff?

So meagre, sorrowful, and lean,

Willis. It certain must be Man you mean.

At John’s expense the laugh goes round;

Who’d answer, but his wit’s aground;

Thus laughing, drinking, smoking, prating,

The day is spent without debating;

Till time, that enemy to glee,

Proclaims the hour of drinking tea;

When all retire but John and Will.

Who stay, their duty to fulfil:

Will sees the warehouses all sure,

And Man the counting house secure,

Then seek their families and friends,

And so the daily routine ends.

 

 

John Man, c1800, in unpublished volume of Anecdotes at Reading Public Library.