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"Were there the least regard for merit !—
"The rich in purse are poor in spirit.
"You know Sir Pagode (here I'll give ye
"A front I've drawn him for a privy)—
"This winter, Sir, as I'm a sinner,
"He has not ask'd me once to dinner."
Quite overpower'd with this intrusion,
I stood in silence and confusion.
He took the advantage, and pursu'd:
"Perhaps, Sir, you may think me rude;
"But sure I may suppose my talk
"Will less disturb you while you walk.
"And yet I now may spoil a thought:
"But that's indeed a venial fault :-
"I only mean to such, d'ye see,
"Who write with ease like you and me.
"I write a sounet in a minute:
The new burletta's now the thing"Pray did you ever hear me sing " Never indeed. Next time we meet"We're just now coming to the street.➡➡ "Bless me! I almost had forgot:
There's poor Jack Stiles will go to pot.
"Sir Scrutiny has press'd me daily
"To be this hour at the Old Bailey,
"To witness to his good behaviour:
"My uncle's voter under favour-
Egad, I'm puzzled what to do,
To save him will be losing you:
Yet we must save him if we can,
For he's a staunch one, a DEAd Mas."
By your account he's SO indeed,
Unless you make some better speed.
This moment fly to save your friend—
Or else prepare him for his end.
"Hang him, he's but a single vote;
"I wish the halter round his throat.
"To Lambeth I attend you, Sir"
Upon my soul! you shall not stir:
Preserve your voter from the gallows :
Can human nature be so callous?
So negligent when life's at stake?
I'd hang a hundred for your sake."
wish you'd do as much by me-
Or any thing to set me free.
Upon my soul, there's nothing in it. "Bat you to all your friends are partial : "You reckon *** another Martial"He'd think a fortnight well bestow'd To write an epigram or ode. ***** 's no poet to my knowledge; "I knew him very well at college: "I've writ more verses in an hour "Than he could ever do in four. "You'll find me better worth your knowing-I "But tell me; which way are you going?"
What various tumults swell'd my breast,
With passion, shame, disgust opprest!
This courtship from my Brother Poet!
Sure no similitude can show it:
Not young Adonis when pursu'd
By amorous antiquated prude;
Nor Gulliver's distressful face,
When in the Yahoo's loath'd embrace.
In rage, confusion, and dismay,
Not knowing what to do or say;
And, having no resource but lying-
A friend at Lambeth lies a-dying—
"Lambeth!" (he re-assumes his talk)
"Across the bridge—the finest walk.
"Don't you admire the Chinese bridges,
"That wave in furrows and in ridges?
"They've finish'd such an one at Hampton
'Faith, 'twas a plan I never dreamt on-
"The prettiest thing that e'er was seen-
"Tis printed in the Magazine.-"
This wild farrago who could bear?
Sometimes I run; then stop and stare:
Vex'd and tormented to the quick,
By turns grow choleric and sick;
And glare my eye, and shew the white,
Like vicious horses when they bite.
Regardless of my eye or ear,
His jargon he renews." D'ye hear
"Who 'twas compos'd the taylor's dance?
"I practis'd fifteen months in France.
"I wrote a play-'twas done iu haste-
"I know the present want of taste,
"And dare not trust it on the town-
"No tragedy will e'er go down.
• A cant term for a sure vote.
Deaf to my words, he talks along
Still louder than the buzzing throng.
"Are you, he cries, as well as ever
"With Lady Grace? she's vastly clever!"
Her merit all the world declare:
Few, very few, her friendship share.
"If you'd contrive to introduce "Your friend here, you might find an useSir, in that house there's no such doing, And the attempt would be one's ruin. No art, no project, no designing, No rivalship, and no outshining. "Indeed! you make me long the more "To get admittance. Is the door Kept by so rude, so hard a clown, "As will not melt at half-a-crown? "Can't I cajole the female tribe, "And gain her woman with a bribe? "Refus'd to-day, suck up my sorrow, "And take my chance again to-morrow? "Is there no shell-work to be seen, "Or Chinese chair or Indian screen? "No cockatoo nor marmozet,
Lap-dog, gold-fish, nor paroquet? "No French embroidery on a quilt? "And no bow-window to be built? "Can't I contrive, at times, to meet My lady in the park or street? "At opera, play, or morning prayer, To hand her to her coach or chair?" But now his voice, though late so loud, Was lost in the contentious crowd Of fish-wives newly corporate, A colony from Billingsgate..
That instant on the bridge I spied
Lord Truewit coming from his ride.
My Lord-Sir William (I began)
Has given me power to stute a plan,
To settle every thing between you;
And so-'tis lucky that I've seen you,
This morning-- Hold," replies the peer,
And tips me a malicious leer,
"Against good-breeding to offend,
"And rudely take you from your FRIEND!"
(His Lordship, by the way can spy
How matters go with half an eye;
And loves in proper time and place,
To laugh behind the gravest face.)
"Tis Saturday-I should not choose
"To break the Sabbath of the JEWS."
The Jews! my Lord!" Why, since
"I own I'm grown a younger
"Faith, Persecution is no joke:
"-I once was going to have spoke.-
"Bus'ness may stay till Monday-night:
"Tis prudent, to be sure you're right."
He went his way. I rav'd and fum'd:
To what ill fortune am I doom'd!
But fortune had, it seems, decreed
That moment for my being freed.
Our talk, which had been somewhat loud,
Insensibly the market-crowd
Around my persecutor drew;
And made them take him for a Jew.
To me the caitiff now appeals;
But I took fairly to my heels;
And, pitiless of his condition,
On brink of Thames and Inquisition,
eft him to take his turn, and listen
To each uncircumcis'd Philistine.
O! Phoebus! happy he whose trust is
a thee, and thy poetic justice!
231. Horace, Book I. Ep. VII. Addressed
to the Earl of Oxford. 1713.
ARLEY, the nation's great support,
Returning home one day from court,
His mind with public cares possest,
All Europe's business in his breast)
Observ'd a parson near Whitehall
heap'ning old authors on a stall.
The priest was pretty well in case,
And shew'd some humour in his face;
ook'd with an easy, careless mien,
A perfect stranger to the spleen;
Of size that might a pulpit fill,
But more inclining to sit still.
My Lord (who, if a man may say 't,
Loves mischief better than his meat)
Was now dispos'd to crack a jest;
And bid friend Lewis go in quest-
(This Lewis is a cunning shaver,
And very much in Harley's favour)
In quest who might this parson be,
What was his name, of what degree;
If possible, to learn his story,
And whether he were Whig or Tory.
Lewis his patron's humour knows,
Away upon his errand goes,
And quickly did the matter sift,
Found out that it was Doctor Swift;
A clergyman of special note
For shunning those of his own coat;
Which made his brethren of the gown
Take care betimes to run him down:
No libertine, nor over-nice,
Addicted to no sort of vice,
Went where he pleas'd, said what he thought;
Not rich, but ow'd no man a groat;
In state opinions a-la-mode,
He hated Wharton like a toad;
Had given the faction many a wound,
And libell'd all the junto round;
Kept company with men of wit,
Who often father'd what he writ:
His works were hawk'd in every street,
But seldom rose above a sheet:
Of late indeed the paper stamp
Did very much his genius cramp;
And, since he could not spend his fre,
He now intended to retire.
Said Harley, "I desire to know
"From his own mouth if this be so;
"Step to the Doctor straight, and say.
"I'd have him dine with me to-day."
Swift seem'd to wonder what he meant,
Nor would believe my Lord had sent:
So never offer'd once to stir;
But coldly said, "Your servant, Sir!"
"Does he refuse ine?" Harley cried.
"He does, with insolence and pride."
Some few days after, Harley spies
The Doctor fasten'd by the eyes
At Charing-cross among the rout,
Where painted monsters are hung out:
He pulled the string, and stopp'd his
Beckoning the Doctor to approach.
Swift, who could neither fly nor hide,
Came sneaking to the chariot-side,
And offer'd many a lame excuse:
He never meant the least abuse-
"My Lord-the honour you design'd-
"Extremely proud-but I had din'd
"I'm sure I never should neglect-
"No man alive has more respect."
"Well, I shall think of that no more
If you'll be sure to come at four."
The Doctor now obeys the summons,
Likes both his company and commons;
Displays his talents, sits till ten:
Next day invited, comes again;
Soon grows domestic, seldom fails
Either at morning or at meals:
Came early, and departed late;
In short, the gudgeon took the bait.
My Lord would carry on the jest,
And down to Windsor take his guest.
• Erasmus Lewis, Esq. the treasurer's secretary.
Swift much admires the place and air,
And longs to be a canon there;
In summer round the park to ride,
In winter never to reside.
A canon! that's a place too mean;
No, Doctor, you shall be a Dean;
Two dozen canons round your stall,
And you the tyrant o'er them all :
You need but cross the Irish seas,
To live in plenty, pow'r, and ease.
Poor Swift departs; and, what is worse,
With borrow'd money in his purse;
Travels at least an hundred leagues,
And suffers numberless fatigues.
Suppose him now a Dean complete,
Demurely lolling in his seat;
The silver verge, with decent pride,
Stuck underneath his cushion-side;
Suppose him gone through all yexations,
Patents, instalments, abjurations,
First-fruits, and tenths, and chapter-treats;
Dues, payments, fees, demands, and cheats-
(The wicked laity's contriving
To hinder clergymen from thriving).
Now all the Doctor's money's spent,
His tenants wrong him in his rent;
The farmers, spitefully combin'd,
Force him to take his ivthes in kind:
And Parvisol discounts arrears
By bills for taxes and repairs.
Poor Swift, with all his losses vex'd,
Not knowing where to turn him next,
Above a thousand pounds in debt,
Takes horse, and in a mighty fret,
Rides day and night at such a rate,
He soon arrives at Harley's gate;
But was so dirty, pale, and thin,
Old Read † would hardly let him in.
Said Harley, "Welcome, Reverend Dean! "What makes your worship look so lean? "Why, sure you won't appear in town "In that old wig and rusty gown? "I doubt your heart is set on pelf "So much that you neglect yourself. "What! I suppose now stocks are high, "You've some good purchase in your eye?" "Or is your money out at use?"
Truce, good my Lord, I beg a truce," The Doctor in a passion cried, "Your raillery is misapplied; "Experience I have dearly bought; "You know I am not worth a groat: "But you resolv'd to have your jest, "And 'twas a foily to contest.
A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land set out to plant a wood.
Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store:
But here a grievance seems to lie,
All this is mine but till I die;
'I can't but think 'twould sound more de ver,
To me and to my heirs for ever.
If I ne'er got or lost a groat,
By any trick, or any fault;
And if I pray by reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools:
As thus: "Vouchsafe, O gracious Maker! "To grant me this and t'other acre: "Or, if it be thy will and pleasure, "Direct my plough to find a treasure!" But only what my station fits, And to be kept in my right wits, Preserve, Almighty Providence! Just what you gave me, competence: And let me in these shades compose Something in verse as true as prose;
‹ Remov'd from all th' ambitious scene, Nor puff'd by pride, nor sunk by spleen.' In short, I'm perfectly content,
Let me but live on this side Trent;
Nor cross the channel twice a year,
To spend six months with statesmen here.
I must by all means come to town,
'Tis for the service of the crown.
"Lewis, the Dean will be of use;
"Send for him up, take no excuse.”
The toil, the danger of the seas-
Great ministers ne'er think of these;
Or let it cost five hundred pound,
No matter where the money's found;
It is but so much more in debt,
And that they ne'er consider'd yet.
‹ Good Mr. Dean, go change your gost "Let my Lord know you're come to towa I hurry me in haste away,
Not thinking it is levee-day;
And find his honour in a pound,
Hemm'd by a triple circle round,
Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green:
How should I thrust myself between?
Some wag observes me thus perplex'd,
And, smiling, whispers to the next:
"I thought the Dean had been too proud
"To justle here among the crowd!"
Another, in a surly fit,
Tells me I have more zeal than wit:
"So eager to express your love,
"Then, since you now have done your worst," You ne'er consider whom you shove,
Pray leave me where you found ine first."
$232. Iorace, Book II. Sat. II.
I've often wish'd that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a-year, A handsome house to lodge a friend, A river at my garden's end,
*The Dean's agent, a Frenchman,
"But rudely press before a duke.”
I own I'm pleas'd with this rebuke,
And take it kindly meant to show
What I desire the world should know.
I get a whisper, and withdraw;
When twenty fools I never saw
Come with petitions fairly penn'd,
Desiring I would stand their friend.
The Lord Treasurer's porter.
This humbly offers me his case; That begs my interest for a place: hundred other men's affairs, Like bees, are humming in my ears. To-morrow my appeal comes on; Without your help the cause is gone." The Duke expects my Lord and you, bout some great affair, at two. Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind To get my warrant quickly sign'd: Consider, 'tis my first request." : satisfied, I'll do my best. en presently he falls to tease: You may for certain, if you please: I doubt not, if his lordship knewAnd, Mr. Dean, one word from you-" Tis (let me see) three years and more ctober next it will be four)
ce Harley bid me first attend, d chose me for an humble friend; ould take me in his coach to chat, d question me of this and that; [wind "What's o'clock?" and, "How's the Vhose chariot's that we left behind?" gravely try to read the lines it underneath the country signs:
Have you nothing new to-day rom Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay?" h tattle often entertains. lord and me as far as Staines, once a week we travel down Vindsor, and again to town, ere all that passes inter nos ht be proclaim'd at Charing-cross. et some I know with envy swell, use they see me us'd so well. ww think you of our friend the Dean? ronder what some people mean!
lord and he are grown so great, ways together, tête-à-tête: hat! they admire him for his jokes? : but the fortune of some folks!" ere flies about a strange report me express arriv'd at court: topp'd by all the fools I meet, catechis'd in ev'ry street. u, Mr. Dean, frequent the great; orm us, will the Emperor treat? do the prints and papers lie?" , Sir, you know as much as I. , Doctor, how you love to jest! › now no secret."--I protest ne to me.—“ Then tell us, pray, en are the troops to have their pay?" though I solemnly declare w no more than my lord-mayor, stand amaz’d, and think me grown losest mortal ever known. is, in a sea of folly tost, oicest hours of life are lost; ways wishing to retreat, ld I see my country-seat! leaning near a genile brook, or peruse some ancient book;
And there in sweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town.
$233. A true and faithful Inventory of the
Goods belonging to Dr. Swift, Vicar of Laracor; upon lending his House to the Bishop of Meath, till his Palace was rebuilt. AN oaken, broken elbow-chair;
A candle-cup without an ear;
A batter'd, shatter'd ash bedstead;
A box of deal, without a lid;
A pair of tongs, but out of joint;
A back-sword poker, without point;
pot that's crack'd across, around
With an old knotted garter bound;
An iron lock, without a key;
A wig, with hanging quite grown grey; A curtain worn to half a stripe;
A pair of bellows, without pipe;
A dish which might good meat afford once;
An Ovid, and an old Concordance;
A bottle-bottom, wooden platter,
One is for meal, and one for water;
There likewise is a copper skillet,
Which runs as fast out as you fill it;
A candlestick, snuff-dish, and save-al!:
And thus his household goods you have all.
These to your Lordship, as a friend,
Till you have built, I freely lend:
They'll serve your Lordship for a shift,
Why not, as well as Doctor Swift?
§ 234. An Elegy on the Death of Demar the Usurer, who died the 6th of July 1720. KNOW all men by these presents, Death the
By mortgage hath secur'd the corpse of Demar:
Nor can four hundred thousand sterling pound
Redeem him from his prison under ground.
His heirs might well, of all his wealth possest,
Bestow to bury him one iron chest.
Plutus, the god of wealth, will joy to know
His faithful steward's in the shades below.
He walk'd the streets, and wore a threadbare
He din'd and supp'd at charge of other folk;
And by his looks, had he held out his palms,
He might be thought an object fit for alms.
So, to the poor if he refus'd his pelf,
He us'd them full as kindly as himself.
Where'er he went he never saw his betters;
Lords, knights, and squires, were all his hum-
And under hand and seal the Irish nation
Were fore'd to own to him their obligation.
He that could once have half a kingdom
In half a minute is not worth a groat. [bought,
His coffers from the coffin could not save,
Nor all his interest keep him from the grave.
A golden monument could not be right,
Because we wish the earth upon him light.
O London tavern! thou hast lost a friend, Though in thy walls he ne'er did farthing spend:
⚫ A tavern in Dublin, where Demar kept his office.
Though small's the farm, yet there's a house
Full large to entertain a mouse;
But where a rat is dreaded more
Than savage Caledonian boar;
For, if it's enter'd by a rat,
There is no room to bring a cat.
A little riv❜let seems to steal
Down through a thing you call a vale,
Like tears adown a wrinkled cheek,
Like rain along a blade of leek;
And this you call your sweet meander,
Which might be suck'd up by a gander,
Could he but force his nether bill
To scoop the channel of the rill;
For sure you'd make a mighty clutter,
Were it as big as city-gutter.
Next come I to your kitchen-garden,
Where one poor mouse would fare but hard in;
And round this garden is a walk,
No longer than a taylor's chalk;
Thus I compare what space is in it:
A snail creeps round it in a minute.
One lettuce makes a shift to squeeze
Up through a tuft you call your trees:
And, once a year, a single rose
Peeps from the bud, but never blows;
In vain then you expect its bloom!
It cannot blow for want of room.
In short, in all your boasted seat, There's nothing but yourself that's great.
Mary the Cook-maid's Letter to Sheridan. 1723.
if ever I saw such another man s my mother bound my head!
always are making a God of your spouse, But this neither reason nor conscience You a gentleman! marry come up! I wer
Perhaps you will say, 'tis in gratitude due, And you adore him because he adores you: Your argument's weak, and so you will find; For you, by this rule, must adore all mankind.
$237. Dr. Delany's Villa.
WOULD you that Delville I describe ?
Believe me, Sir, I will not jibe;
For who would be satirical
Upon a thing so very small?
You scarce upon the borders enter
Before you're at the very centre.
A single crow can make it night,
When o'er your farm she takes her flight:
Yet, in this narrow compass, we
Observe a vast variety;
Both walks, walls, meadows, and parterres,
Windows, and doors, and rooms, and stairs,
And hills, and dales, and woods, and fields,
And hay, and grass, and corn, it yields;
All to your haggard brought so cheap in,
Without the mowing or the reaping:
A razor, though to say't I'm loth,
Would shave you and your meadows both.
where you were bred. [your I'm sure such words do not become a ma I would not give such language to a dog, and troth. [ridan, 'tis a sh Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. For a parson, who should know better this to come out with such a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'us le shame and a sin;
And the Dean, my master, is an honester than you and all your kin;
He has more goodness in his little finger you have in your whole body: My master is a personable man, and not ap dle-shank'd hoddy-doddy. [an exc And now, whereby I find you would fain rat Because my master one day, in anger, ca
* These four lines were written by Stella.