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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 takes his guest.
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, power, 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 tithes 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
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 cry'd)
"Your raillery is misapply'd ;
Experience I have dearly bought;
You know I am not worth a groat:
But you resolv'd to have your jest;
And 'twas a folly to contest ;
Then, since you have now done your worst,
* leave me where you found me first."

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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,
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 l die;
I can't but think 'twould sound more clever,
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, oh 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 1
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 gown,
Let my Lord know you're come to town.”
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,
You ne'er consider whom you shove,
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. This humbly offers me his ease— 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—” “Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind, To get my warrant quickly sign'd: Consider, 'tis my first request.”— Be satisfy'd I'll do my best. Then presently he falls to teaze, “You may for certain, if you please : I doubt not, if his lordship knew— And, 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 question me of this and that; As, “What's o'clock?” And, “How's the wind?” “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 2” Such tattle often entertains My Lord and me as far as Staines, As once a week we travel down To Windsor, and again to town, Where all that passes inter nos Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross. Yet some I know with envy swell, Because they see me us’d so well: “How think you of our friend the Dean * I wonder what some people mean. My Lord and he are grown so great, Always together, téte-à-tête ; What they admire him for his jokes!— See but the fortune of some folks I’” There flies about a strange report Of some express arriv'd at court: I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet, And catechis'd in every street. “You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great; Inform us, will the Emperor treat Or do the prints and papers lie?” Faith, sir, you know as much as I. “Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest! 'Tis now no secret”—I protest 'Tis one to me—“Then tell us. pray, When are the troops to have their pay " And, though I solemnly declare I know no more than my lord mayor,

They 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;
Yet always wishing to retreat,
Oh, could I see my country seat!
There leaning near agentle brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient book;
And there in sweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town.

A True and Faithful INventory of the Goops * longing to DR. Swift, Vicar of Laracor;

Upon LENDING his House To The Bishop of Meath, Till, his PALACE was re-built.

An oaken, broken elbow-chair;
A cawdle-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 backsword-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 gray;
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-all :
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?

CADENUS AND PANESSA. written At windsor, 1713.

The shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counsel for the fair began,
Accusing the false creature man.
The brief with weighty crimes was charg’d,
On which the pleader much enlarg’d;
That Cupid now has lost his art,
Or blunts the point of every dart –
His altar now no longer smokes,
His mother's aid no youth invokes;
This tempts freethinkers to refine,
And bring in doubt their powers divine;
Now love is dwindled to intrigue,
And marriage grown a money league.
Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)

Were (as he humbly did conceive)
Against our sovereign lady's peace,
Against the statute in that case,
Against her dignity and crown:
Then pray'd an answer, and sat down.

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes;

When the defendant's counsel rose, And, what no lawyer ever lack'd, With impudence own’d all the fact; But, what the gentlest heart would vex, Laid all the fault on t'other sex. That modern love is no such thing As what those ancient poets sing; A fire celestial, chaste, refin'd, Conceiv'd and kindled in the mind; Which, having found an equal flame, Unites, and both become the same, In different breasts together burn, Together both to ashes turn. But women now feel no such fire, And only know the gross desire. Their passions move in lower spheres, Where'er caprice or folly steers, A dog, a parrot, or an ape, 9, some worse brute in human shape, Ingross the fancies of the fair, The few soft moments they can spare From visits to receive and pay, From scandal, politics, and play, from fans, and flounces, and brocades, From equipage and park-parades, From all the thousand female toys, From every trifle that employs The out or inside of their heads, *ween their toilets and their beds. In a dull stream, which moving slow, * Yo"hardly see the current flow; ****mall breeze obstruct the course, ***hirls about, for want of force, * * in its narrow circle gathers Nothing but chaff, and straws and feathers. s *current of a female mind **thus, and turns with every wind; *whirling round together draws Fools, sops, and rakes, for chaff and straws. | Hence we conclude, nowomen's hearts Are won by virtue, wit, and parts: Nor are the men of sense to blame, ** breast, incapable of flame; *** flult muon the nymphs be plac'd, own so corrupted in their taste. e pleader, having spoke his best, *** witness ready to attest, W. **sairly could on oath depose, on questions on the fact arose, No. *tevery article was true; T * further these deponents knew: **refore he humbly would insist, *bill might be with costs dismiss'd. The s * appeard of so much weight, s Venus, from her judgment-seat, "them not to talk so loud,

Else she must interpose a cloud: For if the heavenly folk should know These pleadings in the courts below, That mortals here disdain to love, She ne'er could show her face above; For gods, their betters, are too wise To value that which men despise. And then, said she, my son and I Must stroll in air, 'twixt land and sky; Or else, shut out from heaven and earth, Fly to the sea, my place of birth; There live, with daggled mermaids pent, And keep on fish perpetual Lent. But, since the case appear'd so nice, She thought it best to take advice. The Muses, by their king's permission, Though foes to love, attend the session, And on their right hand took their places In order; on the left, the Graces: To whom she might her doubts propose On all emergencies that rose. The Muses oft were seen to frown; The Graces half-asham'd look down; And 'twas observ'd, there were but few Of either sex among the crew, Whom she or her assessors knew. The goddess soon began to see, Things were not ripe for a decree; And said she must consult her books, The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes. First to a dapper clerk she beckon'd, To turn to Ovid, book the second; She then referr'd them to a place In Virgil (vide Dido's case): As for Tibullus's reports, They never pass'd for law in courts: For Cowley's briefs, and pleas of Waller, Still their authority was smaller. There was on both sides much to say t She'd hear the cause another day. And so she did; and then a third She heard it—there she kept her word: But, with rejoinders or replies, Long bills, and answers stuff'd with lies, Demur, imparlance, and essoign, The parties ne'er could issue join: For sixteen years the cause was spun, And then stood where it first begun. Now, gentle Clio, sing or say, What Venus meant by this delay. The goddess, much perplex'd in mind To see her empire thus declin'd, When first this grand debate arose, Above her wisdom to compose, Conceiv'd a project in her head To work her ends; which, if it sped, Would show the merits of the cause Far better than consulting laws. In a glad hour Lucina's aid Produc’d on earth a wondrous maid, On whom the Queen of Love was bent To try a new experiment.

She threw her law-books on the shelf,
And thus debated with herself.
Since men allege, they ne'er can find
Those beauties in a female mind,
Which raise a flame that will endure
For ever uncorrupt and pure ;
If 'tis with reason they complain,
This infant shall restore my reign.
I'll search where every virtue dwells,
From courts inclusive down to cells:
What preachers talk, or sages write;
These I will gather and unite,
And represent them to mankind
Collected in that infant's mind.
This said, she plucks in heaven's high bowers
A sprig of amaranthine flowers;
In nectar thrice infuses bays,
Three times refin'd in Titan's rays;
Then calls the Graces to her aid,
And sprinkles thrice the new-born maid:
From whence the tender skin assumes
A sweetness above all perfumes:
From whence a cleanliness remains,
Incapable of outward stains:
From whence that decency of mind,
So lovely in the female kind,
Where not one careless thought intrudes,
Less modest than the speech of prudes;
Where never blush was call'd in aid,
That spurious virtue in a maid,
A virtue but at second-hand ;
They blush, because they understand.
The Graces next would act their part,
And show'd but little of their art :
Their work was half already done,
The child with native beauty shone;
The outward form no help requir'd :
Each, breathing on her thrice, inspir'd
That gentle, soft, engaging air,
Which in old times adorn'd the fair:
And said, “ Vanessa be the name
By which thou shalt be known to fame;
Vanessa, by the gods inroll'd:
Her name on earth shall not be told.”
But still the work was not complete :
When Venus thought on a deceit:
Drawn by her doves, away she flies,
And finds out Pallas in the skies.
Dear Pallas, I have been this morn
To see a lovely infant born;
A boy in yonder isle below,
So like my own without his bow,
By beauty could your heart be won,
You'd swear it is Apollo's son:
But it shall ne'er be said, a child
So hopeful has by me been spoil'd ;
I have enough besides to spare,
And give him wholly to your care.
Wisdom's above suspecting wiles:
The Queen of Learning gravely smiles,
Down from Olympus comes with joy,
Mistakes Vanessa for a boy;

Then sows within her tender mind
Seeds long unknown to womankind;
For manly bosoms chiefly fit,
The seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit.
Her soul was suddenly endued
With justice, truth, and fortitude :
With honour, which no breath can stain,
Which malice must attack in vain;
With open heart and bounteous hand.
But Pallas here was at a stand;
She knew, in our degenerate days,
Bare virtue could not live on praise;
That meat must be with money bought:
She therefore, upon second thought,
Infus’d, yet as it were by stealth,
Some small regard for state and wealth;
Of which, as she grew up, there staid
A tincture in the prudent maid :
She manag'd her estate with care,
Yet lik'd three footmen to her chair.
But, lest he should neglect his studies,
Like a young heir, the thrifty goddess
(For fear young master should be spoil'd)
Would use him like a younger child;
And, after long computing, found
'Twould come to just five thousand pound.
The Queen of Love was pleas'd, and proud,
To see Vanessa thus endow'd :
She doubted not but such a dame
Through every breast would dart a flame:
That every rich and lordly swain
With pride would drag about her chain;
That scholars would forsake their books,
To study bright Vanessa's looks;
As she advanc'd, that womankind
Would by her model form their mind,
And all their conduct would be try’d
By her, as an unerring guide;
Offending daughters oft would hear
Vanessa's praise rung in their ear:
Miss Betty, when she does a fault,
Lets fall her knife, or spills the salt,
Will thus be by her mother chid,
“”Tis what Vanessa never did '''
Thus by the nymphs and swains ador'd,
My power shall be again restor'd,
And happy lovers bless my reign—”
So Venus hop'd, but hop'd in vain.
For when in time the martial maid
Found out the trick that Venus play'd,
She shakes her helm, she knits her brows,
And, fir'd with indignation, vows,
To-morrow, ere the setting sun,
She'd all undo that she had done.
But in the poets we may find
A wholesome law, time out of mind,
Had been confirm'd by fate's decree,
That gods, of whatsoe'er degree,
Resume not what themselves have given,
Or any brother-god in Heaven;
Which keeps the peace among the gods,
Or they must always be at odds:

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And Pallas, if she broke the laws,
Must yield her foe the stronger cause;
A shame to one so much ador'd
For wisdom at Jove's council-board.
Besides, she fear'd the Queen of Love
Would meet with better friends above.
And though she must with grief reflect,
To see a mortal virgin deck'd
With graces hitherto unknown
To female breasts, except her own ;
Yet she would act as best became
A goddess of unspotted fame.
She knew, by augury divine,
Venus would fail in her design :
She study'd well the point, and found
Her foe's conclusions were not sound,
From premises erroneous brought;
And therefore the deduction's nought,
And must have contrary effects
To what her treacherous foe expects.
In proper season Pallas meets
The Queen of Love, whom thus she greets
(For gods, we are by Homer told,
Can in celestial language scold):
Perfidious goddess! but in vain
You form'd this project in your brain;
A project for thy talents fit,
With much deceit and little wit.
Thou hast, as thou shalt quickly see,
Deceiv'd thyself, instead of me:
For how can heavenly wisdom prove
An instrument to earthly love?
Know'st thou not yet, that men commence
Thy votaries, for want of sense
Nor shall Vanessa be the theme
To manage thy abortive scheme:
She'll prove the greatest of thy foes |
And yet I scorn to interpose,
But, using neither skill nor force,
Leave all things to their natural course.
The goddess thus pronounc'd her doom:
When lo! Vanessa in her bloom
Advanc'd, like Atalanta's star,
But rarely seen, and seen from far:
In a new world with caution stept,
Watch'd all the company she kept,
Well knowing, from the books she read,
What dangerous paths young virgins tread:
Would seldom at the park appear,
Nor saw the playhouse twice a year;
Yet, not incurious, was inclin'd
To know the converse of mankind.
First issued from perfumers' shops
A crowd of fashionable fops;
They ask'd her how she lik'd the play;
Then told the tattle of the day;
A duel fought last night at two,
About a lady—you know who:
Mention'd a new Italian come
Either from Muscovy or Rome;
Gave hints of who and who's together;
Then fell a talking of the weather;

Last night was so extremely fine,
The ladies walk'd till after nine :
Then, in soft voice and speech absurd,
With nonsense every second word,
With fustain from exploded plays,
They celebrate her beauty's praise;
Run o'er their cant of stupid lies,
And tell the murders of her eyes.

With silent scorn Vanessa sat,
Scarce listening to their idle chat;
Further than sometimes by a frown,
When they grew pert, to pull them down.
At last she spitefully was bent
To try their wisdom's full extent;
And said she valued nothing less
Than titles, figure, shape and dress;
That merit should be chiefly plac'd
In judgment, knowledge, wit, and taste;
And these, she offer'd to dispute,
Alone distinguish'd man from brute:
That present times have no pretence
To virtue, in the noble sense
By Greeks and Romans understood,
To perish for our country's good.
She nam'd the ancient heroes round,
Explain'd for what they were renown'd,
Then spoke with censure or applause
Of foreign customs, rites, and laws;
Through nature and through art she rang'd,
And gracefully her subject chang'd :
In vain her hearers had no share
In all she spoke, except to stare.
Their judgment was upon the whole,
—That lady is the dullest soul —
Then tipt their forehead in a jeer,
As who should say—she wants it here
She may be handsome, young, and rich,
But none will burn her for a witch 1

A party next of glittering dames, From round the purlieus of St. James, Came early, out of pure good-will, To see the girl in dishabille. Their clamour, 'lighting from their chairs, Grew louder all the way up stairs; At entrance loudest, where they found The room with volumes litter'd round. Vanessa held Montaigne, and read, Whilst Mrs. Susan comb'd her head. They call'd for tea and chocolate, And fell into their usual chat, Discoursing, with important face, On ribbons, fans, and gloves, and lace; Show'd patterns just from India brought, And gravely ask'd her what she thought, Whether the red or green were best." And what they cost Vanessa guess'd, As came into her fancy first; Nam'd half the rates, and lik'd the worst. To scandal next—What awkward thing Was that last Sunday in the ring * I'm sorry Mopsa breaks so fast: I said her face would never last.

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