Here no conceited coxcombs pass,
To scratch their paltry drabs on glass;
Nor party fool is calling names,

Or dealing crowns to George and James.

IX. ON SEEING VERSES WRITTEN UPON WINDOWS

THE

AT INNS.

sage, who said he should be proud Of windows in his breast,

Because he ne'er a thought allow'd
That might not be confest ;
His window scrawl'd by every rake,
His breast again would cover,

And fairly bid the devil take
The diamond and the lover.

X. ANOTHER.

By Satan taught, all conjurers know
Your mistress in a glass to show,
And you can do as much :
In this the devil and you agree;
None e'er made verses worse than he,
And thine, I swear are such.

XI. ANOTHER.

THAT love is the devil, I'll prove when required;
Those rhymers abundantly shew it:

They swear that they all by love are inspired,
And the devil's a damnable poet.*

* To these Verses, inscribed on the Windows of Inns, may be added the following inscription, copied from the Spiritual Quixote of the Rev. Mr. Greaves, and said to have been found by his hero, at the George in the Tree, a public-house near Meriden, on the Chester road.

"As he was examining the parlour windows in this little hotel, (which, affording entertainment for horse as well as men, might be called an inn), he observed the following remarkable inscription:

J. S. D. S. P. D. Hospes Ignotus,
Patriæ (ut nunc est) plusquam vellet
notus,
tempestate pulsus
hic pernoctavit

A.D. M,DCC,XXVI.

"Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's in Dublin, here a stranger unknown, but in his own country (such as it now is) better known than he would wish to be, being driven by a storm, lodged here all night, in the year of our Lord 1726.

"Mr. Wildgoose having at present little curiosity of that kind, did not take out the pane, as he probably might have done for three-halfpence, and as was done soon after by some more curious traveller."-Spiritual Quixote, Lond. 1774. Vol. III. p. 218.

VOL. XIV.

2

TO JANUS, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY.

1726.*

TWO-FACED Janus, god of Time!
Be my Phoebus while I rhyme;
To oblige your crony Swift,
Bring our dame a new-year's gift;
She has got but half a face;
Janus, since thou hast a brace,
To my lady once be kind;
Give her half thy face behind.
God of Time, if you be wise,
Look not with your future eyes;
What imports thy forward sight?
Well, if you could lose it quite.
Can you take delight in viewing
This poor Isle's approaching ruin,
When thy retrospection vast
Sees the glorious ages past?
Happy nation, were we blind,
Or had only eyes behind!

Drown your morals, madam cries,
I'll have none but forward eyes;
Prudes decay'd about may tack,
Strain their necks with looking back.
Give me time when coming on;
Who regards him when he's gone?
By the Dean though gravely told,
New-years help to make me old ;

1729, Irish edit.

† Ireland.-H.

Yet I find a new-year's lace
Burnishes an old-year's face.
Give me velvet and quadrille,
I'll have youth and beauty still.

A MOTTO FOR MR. JASON HASARD,

WOOLLEN-DRAPER IN DUblin,

WHOSE SIGN WAS THE GOLDEN FLEECE.

JASON, the valiant prince of Greece,
From Colchis brought the Golden Fleece;
We comb the wool, refine the stuff,
For modern Jasons, that's enough.
Oh! could we tame yon watchful dragon,*
Old Jason would have less to brag on.

TO A FRIEND,

WHO HAD BEEN MUCH ABUSED IN MANY INVETERATE LIBELS.

THE greatest monarch may be stabb'd by night, And fortune help the murderer in his flight; The vilest ruffian may commit a rape,

Yet safe from injured innocence escape;

And calumny, by working under ground,
Can, unrevenged, the greatest merit wound.
What's to be done? Shall wit and learning choose
To live obscure, and have no fame to lose?
By Censure frighted out of Honour's road,
Nor dare to use the gifts by Heaven bestow'd?
Or fearless enter in through Virtue's gate,
And buy distinction at the dearest rate.

CATULLUS DE LESBIA.*

LESBIA for ever on me rails,
To talk of me she never fails.
Now, hang me, but for all her art,
I find that I have gain'd her heart.
My proof is this: I plainly see,
The case is just the same with me;
I curse her every hour sincerely,
Yet, hang me but I love her dearly.

ON A CURATE'S COMPLAINT OF
HARD DUTY.

I MARCH'D three miles through scorching sand, With zeal in heart, and notes in hand;

* Lesbia mî dicit semper male; nec tacet unquam
De me.
Lesbia me, dispeream, nisi amat.
Quo signo? quia sunt totidem mea: deprecor illam
Assiduè; verum, dispeream, nisi amo.