Come, Courtiers: every man his stick! Lord Treasurer, for once be quick :
And, that they may the clofer cling,
Take your blue ribbon for a string.
Come, trimming Harcourt *, bring your mace;
And squeeze it in, or quit your place :
Difpatch, or else that rascal Northey +
Will undertake to do it for thee :
And, be assur'd, the Court will find him
Prepar'd to leap o'er sticks, or bind them.
To make the bundle ftrong and fafe,
Great Ormond, lend thy General's staff:
And, if the Crofier could be cramm'd in,
A fig for Lechmere, King, and Hambden!
You 'll then defy the strongest Whig
With both his hands to bend a twig;
Though with united strength they all pull,
From Somers down to Craggs and Walpole.
ESBIA 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 thus: I plainly fee,
The cafe is just the fame with me;
I curse her every hour fincerely,
Yet, hang me but I love her dearly.
*Lord Chancellor.
+ Sir Edward Northey, Attorney General.
EPIGRAM. From the FRENCH *.
WHO can believe with common fenfe,
A bacon-flice gives God offence;
Or, how a herring hath a charm
Almighty vengeance to difarm ?
Wrapt up in Majefty divine,
Does he regard on what we dine ?
On a CURATE'S Complaint of HARD DUTY.
I MARCH'D three miles through scorching fand,
With zeal in heart, and notes in hand:
I rode four more to Great St. Mary,
Ufing four legs, when two were weary:
To three fair virgins I did tie men,
In the close bands of pleasing Hymen:
I dipp'd two babes in holy water,
And purify'd their mother after.
Within an hour and eke a half,
I preach'd three congregations deaf;
Where thundering out, with lungs long-winded,
I chopp'd fo falt, that few there minded.
My emblem, the laborious fun,
Saw all these mighty labours done
Before one race of his was run.
All this perform'd by Robert Hewit:
What mortal else could e'er go through it!
* Written extempore by a gentleman who was reproved by fome of his companions for eating eggs and bacon on a faft-day.
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 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 back-fword 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 meat afford once;
An Ovid, and an old Concordance;
A bottle-bottom, wooden platter,
One is for meal, and one for water:
There likewife is a copper skillet,
Which runs as faft out as you fill it;
A candlestick, snuff-dish, and save-all:
And thus his housho'd-goods you have all,
These to your Lordship, as a friend,
Till you have built, I freely lend :
They 'll ferve your Lordship for a shift;
Why not, as well as Doctor Swift?
CADENUS AND VANESSA*.
Written at Windfor, 1713.
THE shepherds and the nymphs were feen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counfel 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 fimokes,
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 fovereign lady's peace,
Against the statute in that cafe,
Against her dignity and crown :
Then pray'd an anfwer, and fat down.
The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes:
When the defendant's counsel rose,
* Founded on an offer of marriage made by Mifs Vanhomrigh to Dr. Swift, who was occafionally her preceptor. The lady's unhappy story is well known.
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 fuch 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 fame,
In different breafts together burn,
Together both to ashes turn.
But women now feel no such fire,
And only know the grofs defire.
Their paffions move in lower spheres,
Where'er caprice or folly steers..
A dog, a parrot, or an ape,
Or fome worse brute in human shape,
Ingross the fancies of the fair,
The few foft moments they can spare,
From vifits to receive and pay;
Froin fcandal, politicks, 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 infide of their heads,
Between their toilets and their beds.
In a dull stream, which moving flow,
You hardly fee the current flow;
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