But as it unluckily happen'd there was nothing at hand but an old
Beer-Barrel, which the Doctor with much good-nature mounted; and in the
midst of his Oration, beating Time to the Accent with his Foot, the Head
broke in, and his Feet sunk to the Bottom, which occasioned the
malicious Report of his Enemies, "That he was turned a Tub-Preacher."
However, he finished the Oration with a superior grace and genius, to
the loud Acclamations of Mirth, which inspir'd the mix'd or rather
Mob-Auditors. The Procession began to move, a numerous Train of Coaches
attended the Hearse: But, good God! in what Disorder can only be
express'd by a Sixpenny Pamphlet, soon after published, entitled
"Dryden's Funeral." At last the Corps arrived at the Abbey, which was
all unlighted. No Organ played, no Anthem sung; only two of the Singing
boys preceded the Corps, who sung an Ode of Horace, with each a small
candle in their Hand. The Butchers and other Mob broke in like a Deluge,
so that only about eight or ten Gentlemen could gain Admission, and
those forced to cut the Way with their drawn Swords. The Coffin in this
Disorder was let down into Chaucer's Grave, with as much confusion, and
as little Ceremony, as was possible; every one glad to save themselves
from the Gentlemen's Swords, or the Clubs of the Mob.
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