Doll never flies to cut her lace,
Or throw cold water in her face,
Because she heard a fudden drum,
Or found an earwig in a plum.
Her hearers are amaz'd from whence
Proceeds that fund of wit and fense;
Which, though her modesty would shroud,
Breaks like the fun behind a cloud;
While gracefulness its art conceals,
And yet through every motion steals.
Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind,
And, forming you, mistook your kind?
No; 'twas for you alone he ftole
The fire that forms a manly foul ;
Then, to compleat it every way,
He moulded it with female clay :
To that you owe the nobler flame,
To this the beauty of your frame.
How would ingratitude delight,
And how would cenfure glut her fpight,
If I fhould Stella's kindness hide
In filence, or forget with pride!
When on my fickly couch I lay
Impatient both of night and day,
Lamenting in unmanly strains,
Call'd every power to ease my pains;
Then Stella ran to my relief
With chearful face and inward grief;
And, though by Heaven's fevere decree
She fuffers hourly more than me,
No cruel mafter could require,
From flaves employ'd for daily lire,
What Stella, by her friendship warm'd,
With vigour and delight perform'd:
My finking fpirits now fupplies
With cordials in her hands and eyes;
Now with a foft and filent tread
Unheard the moves about my bed.
I fee her tafte each nauseous draught,
And fo obligingly am caught,
1 bless the hand from whence they came,
Nor dare diftort my face for fhame.
friends! beware:
Best pattern of true
You pay too dearly for your care,
If, while your tenderness fecures
My life it must endanger yours;
For fuch a fool was never found,
Who pull'd a palace, to the ground,
́Only to have the ruins made
Materials for an house decay'd.
On the DEATH of DEMAR, the USURER; Who died the fixth of July, 1720.
KNOW all men by these presents, Death the tamer
By mortgage hath fecur'd the corpse of Demar:
Nor can four hundred thousand ferling pound
Redeem him from his prison under ground.
His heirs might well, of all his wealth poffefs'd,
Bestow to bury him one iron cheft.
Plutus the god of wealth will joy to know.
His faithful steward in the fhades below.
He walk'd the streets, and wore a threadbare cloak;
He din'd and fupp'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 faw his betters; Lords, knights, and squires, were all his humble debtors; And under hand and feal the Irish nation
Were forc'd to own to him their obligation.
He that could once have half a kingdom bought,
In half a minute is not worth a groat.
His coffers from the coffin could not fave,
Nor all his intereft keep him from the grave.
A golden monument would not be right,
Because we wish the earth upon him light.
Oh London tavern! thou haft loft a friend,
Though in thy walls he ne'er did farthing spend :
He touch'd the pence, when others touch'd the pot;
The hand that fign'd the mortgage paid the fhot.
Old as he was, no vulgar known disease
On him could ever boast a power to seize; "But, as he weigh'd his gold, grim Death in fpight “ Cast-in his dart, which made three moidores light;
* A tavern in Dublin, where Demar kept his office. + Thefe four lines were written by Stella.
"And, as he faw his darling money fail,
"Blew his laft breath, to fink the lighter fcale."
He who fo long was current, 'twould be strange
If he should now be cry'd down fince his change.
The fexton fhall green fods on thee beftow;
Alas, the fexton is thy banker now!
A difmal banker muft that banker be,
Who gives no bills but of mortality.
EPITAPH ON A MISER.
BENEATH this verdant hillock lies
Demar, the wealthy and the wife.
His beirs, that he might fafely rest,
Have put his carcafe in a cheft;
The very cheft, in which, they fay,
His other felf, his money, lay.
And, if his heirs continue kind
To that dear self he left behind,
I dare believe, that four in five
Will think his better half alive.
TO MRS. HOUGHTON OF BORMOUNT. Upon praising her Hufband to Dr. SWIFT. YOU always are making a God of your Spoufe;
But this neither Reafon nor Confcience allows : Perhaps you will fay, 'tis in gratitude due, And you adore him, because he adores you. Your argument 's weak, and fo you will find; For you, by this rule, muft adore all mankind. .
VERSES, WRITTEN ON A WINDOW,
At the DEANRY HOUSE, ST. PATRICK'S.
RE the guests of this houfe ftill doom'd to be
[treated. Sure, the fates have decreed they by halves fhould be In the days of good * John, if you came here to dine, You had choice of good meat, but no choice of good In Jonathan's reign, if you come here to eat, [wine. You have choice of good wine, butno choice of good meat.. Oh, Jove then how fully might all fides be bleft, Would't thou but agree to this humble request ? Put both deans in one; or, if that's too much trouble, Instead of the deans, make the deanry double,
ON ANOTHER WINDOWt.
BARD, on whom Phoebus his spirit bestow'd,
Refolving t' acknowledge the bounty he ow'd,.
Found out a new method at once of confeffing,
And making the most of so mighty a bleffing:
To the God he'd be grateful; but mortals he'd choufe,
By making his patron prefide in his house;
And wifely forefaw this advantage from thence,
That the God would in honour bear most of th' expence ?
So the bard he finds drink, and leaves Phoebus to treat:
With the thoughts he infpires, regardless of meat.
Hence they, that come hither expecting to dine,
Are always fobb'd off with sheer wit and sheer wine.
* Dean Sterne was diftinguished for his hofpitality. By Dr. Delany, in conjunction with Stella.
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