XXIII. On a Pair of DICE.
WE are little brethren twain,
Arbiters of lofs and gain,
Many to our counters run,
Some are made, and fome undone :
But men find it to their coft,
Few are made, but numbers loft.
Though we play them tricks for ever,
Yet they always hope our favour.
XXIV. On a CANDLE.
TO LADY CARTERET.
F all inhabitants on earth,
To Man alone I owe my birth,
And yet the Cow, the Sheep, the Bee,
Are all my parents more than he :
I, a virtue, ftrange and rare,
Make the faireft look more fair;
And myfelf, which yet is rarer,
Growing old, grow ftill the fairer.
Like fots, alone I'm dull enough,
When dos'd with fmoak, and fmear'd with fnuff: But, in the midft of mirth and wine,
I with double luftre fhine.
Emblem of the Fair am I,
Polish'd neck, and radiant eye;
In my eye my greatest grace,
Emblem of the Cyclops' race;
Metals I like them fubdue,
Slave like them to Vulcan too.
Emblem of a monarch old,
Wife, and glorious to behold
Wafted he appears, and pale,
Watching for the public weal:-
Emblem of the bashful dame,
That in fecret feeds her flame,
Often aiding to impart
All the fecrets of her heart:
Various is my bulk and hue,
Big like Befs, and small like Sue;
Now brown and burnish'd like a nut,
At other times a very flut;
Often fair, and foft, and tender,
Taper, tall, and smooth, and flender;
Like Flora deck'd with faireft flowers,
Like Phoebus, guardian of the hours ::
But, whatever be my drefs,
Greater be my fize or less,
Swelling be my fhape or fmall,
Like thyself I fhine in all.
Clouded if my face is feen,
My complexion wan and green,.
Languid like a love-fick maid,
Steel affords me present aid.
Soon or late, my date is done,.
As my thread of life is fpun;
Yet to cut the fatal thread
Oft' revives my drooping head:
Yet I perish in my prime,
Seldom by the death of time;
Die like lovers as they gaze,
Die for thofe I live to please ;
Pine unpitied to my urn,
Nor warm the fair for whom I burn;
Unpitied, unlamented too,
Die like all that look on you.
I REACH all things near me, and far off to boot,
Without stretching a finger, or stirring a foot,
I take them all in too, to add to your wonder,
Though many and various, and large and asunder.
Without jostling or crowding they pass fide by fide,
Through a wonderful wicket, not half an inch wide:
Then I lodge them at ease in a very large store,
Of no breadth or length, with a thousand things more.
All this I can do without witchcraft or charm,
Though fometimes, they fay, I bewitch and do harm;
Though cold, I inflame; and though quiet, invade;
And nothing can fhield from my fpell but a fhade.
A thief that has robb'd you, or done you difgrace,
In magical mirrour I'll fhew you his face :
Nay, if you 'll believe what the poets have faid,
They'll tell you I kill, and can call back the dead.
Like conjurers fafe in my circle I dwell,
I love to look black too, it heightens my fpell;
Though my magick is mighty in every hue,
Who fee all my power muft fee it in You.
ANSWERED BY DR. SWIFT.
WITH half an eye your riddle I fpy.
I obferve your wicket hemm'd in by a thicket,
And whatever paffes is ftrained through glaffes.
You fay it is quiet: I flatly deny it.
It wanders about, without ftirring out;
No paffion fo weak but gives it a tweak ;
Love, joy, and devotion, fet it always in motion.
And as for the tragic effects of its magick
Which you fay it can kill, or revive at its will,
The dead are all found, and revive above ground,
After all you have writ, it cannot be wit;
Which plainly does follow, fince it flies from Apollo.
Its cowardice fuch, it cries at a touch,
'Tis a perfect milkfop, grows drunk with a drop.
· Another great fault, it cannot bear falt :
And a hair can disarm it of every charm.
BY DR. SWIFT.
ROM India's burning clime I 'm brought,
With cooling gales like Zephyrs fraught..
Not Iris, when the paints the fky,
Can fhew more different hue than 1;
Nor can fhe change her form fo fast,
I'm now a fail, and now a mast.
I here am red, and there am green,
A beggar there, and here a queen.
I fometimes live in houfe of hair,
And oft' in hand of lady fair.
I please the young, I grace the old,
And am at once both hot and cold..
Say what I am then, if you can,
And find the rhyme, and you 're the man.
ANSWERED BY DR. SHERIDAN.
YOUR houfe of hair and lady's hand
At first did put me to a stand.
I have it now 'tis plain enough
Your hairy business is a muff.
Your engine fraught with cooling gales,
At once fo like your mafts and fails ;
And for the rhyme to you 're the man,
What fits it better than a fan?
TO RESTORE STELLA'S YOUTH. 1724-5•
HE Scottish hinds, too poor to house
In frofty nights their ftarving cows,
While not a blade of grafs or hay
Appears from Michaelmas to May,
Must let their cattle range in vain
For food along the barren plain.
Meagre and lank with fasting grown,
And nothing left but skin and bone;
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