The Harlot's Progress by William Hogarth (1732)

Her progress run, the certain end you see,
What harlots, empresses, and queens must be.

          In the final plate, Moll is dead, and all of the scavengers are present at her wake. A note on the coffin lid shows that she died aged 23 on 2 September 1731. The parson spills his brandy as he has his hand up the skirt of the girl next to him, and she appears pleased. A woman who has placed drinks on Moll's coffin looks on in disapproval. Moll's son plays ignorantly. Moll's son is innocent, but he sits playing with his top underneath his mother's body, unable to understand (and figuratively fated to death himself).

            Moll's madam drunkenly mourns on the right with a ghastly grinning jug of "Nants" (brandy). She is the only one who is upset at the treatment of the dead girl, whose coffin is being used as a tavern bar. A "mourning" girl (another prostitute) steals the undertaker's handkerchief. Another prostitute shows her injured finger to her fellow whore, while a woman adjusts her appearance in a mirror in the background, even though she shows a syphilitic sore on her forehead. The house holding the coffin has an ironic coat of arms on the wall displaying a chevron with three spigots, reminiscent of the "spill" of the parson, the flowing alcohol, and the expiration of Moll. The white hat hanging on the wall by the coat of arms is the one Moll wore in the first plate, referring back to the beginning of her end.

--to the Coffin, from the Cradle,
'Tis all a Wish and all a Ladle.
            — PRIOR.

Still deign, my muse, thy progress to pursue,
And the last scene Maria's funeral view.
Ill-fated nymph, by vanity betrayed,
And unto vice an easy victim made.
By flattery's gilded bait; but ah! How rare,
How hard not to be vain, and yet be fair!
O beauty, fatal good; whose power disarms
The wise and great; how dangerous are thy charms
To rash unguarded youth: what snares attend
The hapless maid, who has no other friend
The prude may censure safe her own form,
Whose hostile aspect wants the power to warm
But sure thy martyrs claim a pitying tear;
As soon the rose might flourish all the year
Untouched, as beauty without wisdom's aid
Escape the wiles by man's deep cunning laid
The harmless nymph; untaught in every fraud,
Hears the gay spark her powerful charm applaud;
Joys, at the sound, and by his vows is won,
Nor deems the tempter false till she's undone
O tyrant custom! How unjust thy laws,
To brand the injured fair, and spare the cause.
Seducing man, him free from censure leave
With guile unpunished, others to deceive.

Such was Maria's fate! Such Chloe's too!
Who leaning, stands to take a last fad view,
Of her departed friend; to whom the used
To tell her sorrows, when by rakes abused
When awed by bullies, or in watch-house pent,
For giving ill-formed words too free a vent:
With hands up-lifted, O! What change she cries,
Pale are those lovely cheeks, and closed those eyes
Whose pleasing fires did every youth enflame;
Whose lightning darkened love where'er it came
How marred that beauteous skin, whose lily white,
Filled every eye with wonder and delight
Unhappy nymph! Thee did I dearly love,
Ne'er shall thy image from my heart remove.
O cruel death! Couldst not thou find a prey,
Who sought thy dart, and cursed thy dull delay.
But thou must strike my friend, in whom was seen
Each tempting grace, and fair as beauty's queen.
By all the brave was her loved converse sought.
To her the rich and great their offerings brought.
How sweet she sung; ne'er shall my soul forget
Her charming voice and entertaining wit,
When last together we regaled with tea,
How full of mirth, how pleased, how brisk was the.
Heart-breaking thought! To be cut off so soon,
In blooming youth, 'ere life had reached its noon,

Thus pensive Chloe mourns Maria's fate,
Nor thinks how shortly 'twill be her own state.
Soon will that lovely form, that charming face,
To wasting illness yield each tempting grace.
Those beauteous breads white as the new fallen snow,
Whose swelling tides with love's soft ardour glow:
By other fires consumed shall loon decay,
And leave to death an uncontested prey.

Six sisters more, to Venus, votaries all,
Invited came, 'twas theirs to hold the pall.
With Phyllis famed for prettiness and parts,
For smart intrigue, and all seducing arts.

There Bentley* too was seen, with forehead broke,
Some ruined fair gave the too gentle stroke.
Fouled deformity, vile sink of sin,
Who for th'unwary spreads her fatal gin.
Monster accursed, incarnate fiend, whose food
Is slaughtered innocence, and virgins' blood.
She first the raw, unthinking, nymph betrayed,
Then triumphed in the conquest she had made.
Now o'er her corpse the guileful harpy cants,
And wrings her hands, but still remembers Nants,
Which by her side the e'er was wont to place,
To ease her sorrows, and her griefs efface.
The hateful basilisk with hideous squall,
Does for her Polly, her lost Polly bawl.

Together Martha and Eliza stood,
In converse deep, with each her mourning hood:
And as they gazed upon the breathless clay;
Each strove a tributary tear to pay.
"Ah!" Martha cried, "how oft we've spent the nights,
In joyous scenes and amorous delights.
But Christ for sinners died; no doubt but she
Will by his merits live; or how shall we
Expect to see the glorious face of God,
Who long the paths of wickedness have trod."
"'Tis true," returned Eliza, "God is good,
And Christ has bought us with his precious blood,
Or we had all been lost: come let us drink,
Nor on such melancholy subjects think."
Thus they by education far misled,
Nor own heaven's kindness, nor its justice dread.

Young Dorothy, a vain aspiring lass,
Had placed herself before th'instructing glass;
To fix each patch in most becoming place,
And add to native charms a killing grace.
Here mournful Isabella wipes her eye,
And o'er Maria cries, or seems to cry.
To Sue the biscuit hands, and both prepare,
With soul-reviving wine to heal their care.

A blade who did the funeral supply,
Whose friends oblige him, only when they die.
As Sally's gloves, his trembling hands drew on,
Gazed on her charms till his fond heart was gone
With eyes up-lifted, in a loving mood,
Th'enamoured fool her graceful features viewed.
"O nature's master-piece!" he cried, "O fair,
O charming creature, O beyond compare,
Beauty's perfection, I with thee could live
In all the joys that love and life can give.
But soon will he repent each amorous leer,
And load with curses his bewitching dear.
Sally, who ne'er forgot to play her part,
Regarded more his pocket than his heart.
From thence his handkerchief the slily took,
While with an artful and ensnaring look,
She him amused with talk about her glove,
Or smart reproaches for his ill-timed love.

Maria's offspring on a stool was placed,
With all the pageantry of sorrow graced:
No grief his thoughtless innocence annoyed,
A castle-top his busy hands employed.

To Phyllis next turn thy all watchful eye,
Observing Muse, and a new scene descry:
A son of Levi, destitute of grace,
Touched with her air, and gazing on her face,
For amorous reasons to himself best known,
Had placed her on a chair next to his own:
Nor weeping sisters round, nor corpse before,
Could cool his fire, or damp his new amour.
Strange scene in modern times! In former days
When holy ignorance held reason's place,
Priests might uncensured quench their wanton flame,
And no dull layman dare his lord to blame.
To such a height was ghastly bondage brought,
By Jesuit arts they governed every thought:
By fears of that to come, this world they gained,
And o'er the servile mind despotic reigned.
Their baleful tyranny all limits broke,
Or still the hood-winked world had felt their yoke.
Still did their empire hold, and they were thought
Heaven's high ambassadors, till better taught
By their low earthly views, th'astonished crowd
Found 'twas to idols, like themselves, they bowed.
Thence firm discernment rose, thence men began
To lay the priest aside and view the man.
Sweet source of liberty! Blest dawn of light,
That freed the mind from bigotry's black night.
Garbs change not men, and maugre cleric wrath,
Or bold pretence of dignity of cloth,
Devised to awe the superstitious throng,
To goodness only reverence does belong.

But cease, my muse, thy wanderings to pursue
And of our Levite take a stricter view,
Who close by Phyllis sat. One hand did hold
The trembling glass; but, never be it told
Where t'other was engaged. His eyes grew dim,
Nor saw the wine o'erflow the crystal brim,
Sly Grace, who served the sprightly nectar round,
Guessed where his hand might be, and grimly frowned.
At other times 'twould not have raised her ire;
But decency, she thought did here require
A conduct less impure: and in a priest,
'Twas bad as fornication at the least.
Regardless, he, of Grace's frowns, or aught
That might induce the mind to serious though,
Commences lover, and to Phyllis sues
As ardently as for parochial dues:
Praises her face, her shape, her comely mien,
Protests his love, and hints at charms unseen.
Arch Phyllis smiled, "Fie sir, you spill the wine,
Is this employment worthy a divine?
Cease your lascivious airs; your cloth should be
Examples to such ignorant things as we.
Strait from your head there foolish freaks remove,
Is this a time, at funerals, to make love?"

"My dear," he cried, "thou fairest of the fair,
Love will atone for all; your censures spare,
Such charms as yours bid every doubt depart;
Despise confinement, and engross the heart.
The reverence due to our black cloth I know,
And what to our sacred character I owe.
But still be witness every day and hour,
We too are nature's sons, and feel her power."

"I find it," Phyllis, with a sneer replied,
"I thought your sacred vestments did but hide
The natural man: and when you'd seem a saint,
It ever brought to mind a fable quaint,
Which Aesop of a dronish creature tells,
And in his stories sage instructions dwells.
This creature filled with pride, long studied, how
To make his brethren to his honour bow.
Mean in himself, incapable of aught
That could create the least admiring thought.
At length by chance a lion's skin he found,
And joyous wrapped the noble booty round.
His homely body then with lordly mien,
He strutted forth, but ah! His ears were seen.
Your pardon, sir, I would not think all such
Who wear the sacred cloth, nor blame too much;
To some is due a venerable name,
Whose hallowed breast burn with a purer flame."

Thus wanton Phyllis lashed the Levite's lust
With bitter sarcasms, and reproaches just.
A while he showed resentment, and complained
Of mean reflections, and his order stained
With scandal false! Then cried he'd her confute,
In proper place, and end the long dispute.
Phyllis agreed; and what they after did,
Or where they met, is from my knowledge hid.

Maria's funeral now required his care;
But cease, my muse aught further to declare:
As, o'er what grave now hovers her pale shade
Or who her low emblazoned 'scutcheon made
Three spigots, in three faucets placed, rehearse;
Arms worthy harlots, but too mean for verse

*Mother Bentley, a noted bawd.

Prev Next