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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,

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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 "pother,

"I own I'm grown a younger brother:
'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
fo each uncircumcis'd Philistine.

O! Phoebus! happy he whose trust is n thee, and thy poetic justice!

this

.231. Horace, Book I. Ep. VII. Addressed
to the Earl of Oxford. 1713.

HARLEY, 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
Cheap'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 palpit 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 pull'd the string, and stopp'd his
coach,

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.
SE 4

Swift

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 vexations,
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;

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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.

JA 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;

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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 Maku!
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.

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Lewis, the Dean will be of use; "Send for him up, take no excuse.” The toil, the danger of the seasGreat 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.

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Good Mr. Dean, go change your gOFT "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,

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Pray leave me where you found ine first."

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"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.

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This humbly offers me his case;
That begs my interest for a place:
A 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,
About some great affair, at two.

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Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind
To get my warrant quickly sign'd:
Consider, 'tis my first request."
Be satisfied, I'll do my best.
Then presently he falls to tease:
"You may for certain, if you please:
"I doubt not, if his lordship knew—

Aud, Mr. Dean, one word from you-"
Tis (let me see) three years and more
(October next it will be four)
Since Harley bid me first attend,
And chose me for an humble friend;
Would take me in his coach to chat,

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 La-
racor; 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;
A 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 nieat afford once;
An Ovid, and an old Concordance;

And question me of this and that; [wind?" A bottle-bottom, wooden platter,

As, "What's o'clock?" and, " How's the
'Whose chariot's that we left behind?"
Or gravely try to read the lines
Writ underneath the country signs:
Or, "Have you nothing new to-day

From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay?"
Such tattle often entertains.
dy lord and me as far as Staines,
As once a week we travel down
o Windsor, and again to town,
Where all that passes inter nos
light be proclaim'd at Charing-cross.
Yet sonie I know with envy swell,
lecause they see me us'd so well.

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How think you of our friend the Dean?
I wonder what some people mean!
My lord and he are grown so great,
Always together, tête-à-tête:

What! they admite him for his jokes?
See but the fortune of some folks!"
There flies about a strange report
some express arriv'd at court:
'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet,

and catechis'd in ev'ry street.

You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great;

Inform us, will the Emperor treat? Or do the prints and papers lie?" aith, Sir, you know as much as I. Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest! Tis now no secret."—I protest 's one to me." Then tell us, pray, When are the troops to have their pay?" and, though I solemnly declare know no more than my lord-mayor, hey stand amaz'd, and think me grown The closest mortal ever known.

Thus, in a sea of folly tost, My choicest hours of life are lost; fet always wishing to retreat, O could I see my country-seat! There, leaning near a gentle brook, sleep, or peruse some ancient book;

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-all:
These to your Lordship, as a friend,
And thus his household goods you have all.
Till you have built, I freely lend:
They'll serve your Lordship for a shift,
Why not, as well as Doctor Swift?

§ 231. An Elegy on the Death of Demar the Usurer, who died the 6th of July 1720. KNOW all men by these presents, Death the

tamer

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 threadbarc
cloak,

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 alims.
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 humble debtors;

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.

He

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Old as he was, no vulgar known disease On him could ever boast a pow'r to seize; "But, as he weigh'd his gold, grim Death "in spite

"Cast in his dart, which made three moidores “light;

"And, as he saw his darling money fail,
"Blew his last breath to sink the lighter scale."
He who so long was current, 'twould be strange
If he should now be cried down since his change.
The sexton shall green sods on thee bestow;
Alas, the sexton is thy banker now!
A dismal banker must that banker be,
Who gives no bills but of mortality.

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$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.

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 à 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.

$238. Mary the Cook-maid's Letter to D Sheridan. 1723.

WE
WELL, if ever I saw such another mans
my mother bound my head!
You a gentleman! marry come up! I w

where you were bred. Lyour cl

I'm sure such words do not become a mar I would not give such language to a dog, and troth. [ridan, 'tis a shem Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. For a parson, who should know better things to come out with such a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'uis bo 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 fingert you have in your whole body: My master is a personable man, and not a sp

dle-shank'd hoddy-doddy. [an exce And now, whereby I find you would fain Because my master one day, in anger,

you goose;

Which, and I am sure I have been his serial four years since October, And he never call'd me worse than sweet-hea

drunk or sober:

Not that I know his reverence was ever cam cern'd to my knowledge, Though you and your come-rogues keep him out so late in your college.

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You say you will eat grass on his grave: a And my delight is to expose
Christian eat grass! [or an ass: His follies to his greatest foes.
Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose All languages I can command,
Yet not a word I understand.
Without my aid, the best divine
In learning would not know a line:
The lawyer must forget his pleading;
The scholar could not shew his reading.
Nay, man, my master is my slave:
I give command to kill or save;
Can grant ten thousand pounds a year,
And make a beggar's brat a peer.
But, while I thus my life relate,

But that's as much as to say, that my master
should die before ye;
Well, well, that's as God pleases; and I don't

believe that's a true story:
And so say I told you so, and you may go tell
my master, what care I? [Mary.
And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to
Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and
shame the devil; [should be civil.

I am but a poor servant, but I think gentlefolks

Besides, you found fault with our victuals one I only hasten on my fate.

day that you was here; [in the year; My tongue is black, my mouth is furr'd, I remember it was on a Tuesday, of all days I hardly now can force a word. And Saunders the man says you are always jest- I die unpitied and forgot,

the school-

of ale

And on some dunghill left to rot.

ing and mocking: [master's stocking), Mary, said he (one day as I was mending my My master is so fond of that minister that keeps [makes him a fool. $240. On Gold. thought my master a wise man, but that man aunders, said I, I would rather than a quart ALL-RULING tyrant of the earth, [pin a dishclout to his tail. le would come into our kitchen, and I would And now I must go and get Saunders to direct this letter; [Marget she writes better. or I write but a sad scrawl, but my sister Vell, but I must run and make the bed, before my master comes from pray'rs : nd see now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up stairs;

Thereof I could say more to your verses, if could write written hand

I

nd so I remain, in a civil way, your servant to command, MARY.

239. Riddles, by Dr. Swift and his Friends. Written in or about the Year 1724.

On a Pen.

✯ youth exalted high in air,
Or bathing in the waters fair,
ature to form me took delight,
nd clad my body all in white,
ly person tall, and slender waist,
n either side with fringes grac'd;
ill me that tyrant man espied,

nd dragg'd me from my mother's side:
o wonder now I look so thin;
he tyrant stripp'd me to the skin:
ly skin he flay'd, my hair he cropp'd;
f head and foot my body lopp'd:

nd then, with heart more hard than stone,
e pick'd my marrow from the bone.
o vex me more, he took a freak
o slit my tongue, and make me speak:
ut, that which wonderful appears,
speak to eyes, and not to ears.
le oft employs me in disguise,
nd makes me tell a thousand lies:
o me he chiefly gives in trust
o please his malice or his lust;
rom me no secret he can hide,
see his vanity and pride:

To vilest slaves I owe my birth.
When in my gaudy liv'ry drest!
How is the greatest monarch blest,
No haughty nymph has pow'r to run
From me, or my embraces shun.
Stabb'd to the heart, condemn'd to flame,
My constancy is still the same.
The favourite messenger of Jove,
And Lemnian God, consulting strove
To make me glorious to the sight
Of mortals, and the gods' delight.
Soon would their altars' flame expire
If I refus'd to lend them fire.

$241. On a Corkscrew.
THOUGH I, alas! a prisoner be,

My trade is prisoners to set free.
No slave his lord's commands obeys
With such insinuating ways.
My genius piercing, sharp, and bright,
Wherein the men of wit delight.
The clergy keep me for their ease,
And turn and wind me as they please.
A new and wondrous art I shew
Of raising spirits from below;
In scarlet some, and some in white :
They rise, walk round, yet never fright,
In at each mouth the spirits pass,
Distinctly seen as through a glass:
O'er head and body make a rout,
And drive at last all secrets out:
And still, the more I shew my art,
The more they open ev'ry heart.

A greater chemist none than I,
Who from materials hard and dry
Have taught men to extract with skill
More precious juice than from a still.
Although I'm often out of case,
I'm not asham'd to shew my face.
Though at the tables of the great
I near the side-board take my seat;

Yet

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