«Pray, madam, be quiet; what was it I "faid?

You had like to have put it quite out of my "head.

Next day, to be fure, the Captain will come, At the head of his troops, with trumpet and ❝ drum.

Now, madam, obferve how he marches in «ftate;

The man with the kettle-drum enters the gate: Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters fol86 low,

Tantara, tantara; while all the boys hollow. Dee now coines the Captain all daub'd with gold "lace:

Ola! the fweet gentleman! look in his face; And fee how he rides like a lord of the land, With the fine flaming fword that he holds in "his hand;

And his horfe, the dear creter, it prances and

"Hift, huffy, I think I hear fomebody com"ing-"

"No, madam; 'tis only Sir Arthur a-humming. "To fhorten my tale (for I hate a long ftory), "The Captain at dinner appears in his glory; "The Dean and the *Doctor have humbled "their pride,

"For the Captain's entreated to fit by your fide; "And, becaufe he 's their betters, you carve "for him first;

"The Parions for envy are ready to burst. "The fervants amaz'd are fcarce ever able "To keep on their eyes, as they wait at the <<<table;

"And Molly and I have thruft in our nofe "To peep at the Captain in all his fine cloes. "Dear madam, be fure he 's a fine-fpoken man, "Do but hear on the Clergy how glib his tongue

«ran;

"And, madam, fays he, if fuch dinners you "give,

"You ll ne'er want for Parfons as long as you "live.

"I ne'er knew a Parfon without a good nofe; "But the devil's as welcome wherever he goes: "Gd-n me ! they bid us reform and repent, "But, z-s! by their looks they never keep Lent." Mifter Curate, for all your grave looks, I'm

" afraid

"You caft a fheep's eye on her Ladyfhip's maid: "I wifh fhe would lend you her pretty white "hand

"In mending your caffock, and fmoothing your "band

"(For the Dean was fo fhabby, and look'd like "aninny,

"That the Captain fuppos'd he was Curate to "Jinny).

"Whenever you fee a caflock and gown, "A hundred to one but it covers a clown. "Obferve how a Parfon comes in o a room; "Gd-n me! he hobbles as bad as my

"groom;

"A fholard, when juft from his college broke "loofe,

"Can hardly tell how to cry be to a goofe; "Your Noveds, and Bluturcks, and Omurs, and "fluff,

"By G-, they don't fignify this pinch of fnuff. "To give a young gentleman right education, "The army's the only good fchool in the nation: "My fchool-mafter call'd me a dunce and a fool, "But at cuffs I was always the cock of the "fchool;

"cheer,

You come in the very worst time of the year: f I had expected fo worthy a guest"

Lord! madam! your Ladyfhip fure is in jeft;

You banter me, madam; the kingdom must grant-"

You officers, Captain, are fo complaifant !”

I never could take to my book for the blood o'

"He caught me one morning coquetting his "wife;

"But he maul'd me, I ne'er was fo maul'd in "my life:

"So I took to the road, and, what 's very odd, "The firft man I robb'd was a Parfon, by G

Dr. Finny, a clergyman in the neighbourhood. F.
Ovids, Plutarchs, Hemers,

"And, madam, I laugh'd till I thought I should «fplit.

"So then you look'd scornful, and snift at the "Dean,

"As who fhould fay, Now, am I skinny and "lean?

"But he durft not fo much as once open his lips, "And the Doctor was plaguily 'down in the "hips."

Thus mercilefs Hannah ran on in her talk, Till he heard the Dean call, « Will your Lady"fhip walk?>

Her Ladyship answers, « I'm juft coming down:" Then, turning to Hannah, and forcing a frown, Although it was plain in her heart fhe was glad, Cry'd, «Huffy, why fure the wench is gone "mad!

"How could these chimera's get into your brains? "Come hither, and take this old gown for your "pains.

"But the Dean, if this fecret fhould come to his

TO DEAN SWIFT.

BY SIR ARTHUR ACHESON

1OOD caufe have I to fing and vapour,

G For Lam landlord to the Drapier

He that of every ear 's the charmer,
Now condefcends to be my farmer,
And grace my villa with his ftrains.
Lives fuch a bard on British plains?
No; not in all the British court;
For none but witlings there refort,

Whofe names and works (though dead) are made
Immortal by the Dunciad;

And, fure as monument of brafs,
Their fame to future times fhall pass,
How, with a weakly warbling tongue,
Of brazen knight they vainly fung:
A fubject for their genius ft;
He dares defy botli fenfe and wit.
What dares he not? He can, we know it,
A laureat make that is no poet;
A judge, without the leaft pretence
To common law, or common fenfe;
A bishop that is no divine;

And coxcombs in red ribbons fine:
Nay, he can make, what's greater far,
A middle-ftate 'twixt peace and war;
And fay, there fhall, for years together,
Be peace and war, and both, and neither.
Happy, O Market-hill! at leaft,

That court and courtiers have no tafte:

*Nick-names for my lady.

>

You never elfe had known the Dean,
But, as of old, obscurely lain;
All things gone on the fame dull track,
And Drapier's-hill* been still Drumlack;
But now your name with Penshurst vict,
And wing'd with fame shall reach the skies,

DRAPIER'S HILL.

WE give the world to understand,

Our thriving Dean has purchas'd land; A purchase which will bring him clear Above his rent four pounds a year; Provided, to improve the ground, He will but add two hundred pound; And, from his endless hoarded ftore, To build a house, five hundred more. Sir Arthur too fhall have his will, And call the manfion Drapier's-hill: That, when a nation, long enflav'd, Forgets by whom it once was fav'd; When none the Drapier's praise fhall fing; His figns aloft no longer fwing; His medals and his prints forgotten; And all his handkerchiefs are rotten; His famous Letters made wafte-paper; This hill may keep the name of Drapier; In fpight of envy, flourish ftill, And Drapier's vie with Cooper's hill.

It was no levity of mind.

Whate'er I promis'd or intended,

No fault of mine, the fcheme is ended;
Nor can you tax me as unsteady,

I have a hundred caufes ready:
All rifen fince that flattering time,
When Drapier's-hill appear'd in rhyme.
I am, as now too late I find,
The greateft cully of mankind :
The loweft boy in Martin's fchool
May turn and wind me like a fool.
How could I form fo wild a vifion,
To feek, in deferts, Fields Elyfan?
To live in fear, fufpicion, variance,
With thieves, fanatics, and barbarians?

But here my Lady will object:
Your Deanship ought to recollect,
That, near the Knight of Gosford plac❜d,
Whom you allow a man of taste,
Your intervals of time to spend
With fo conversable a friend,

*The Dean gave this name to a farm called Drumlack, which he rented of Sir Arthur Achefer, whofe feat lay between that and Market-hill; and intended to build an houfe upon it, but afterwards changed his mind. F.

Medals were caft, many figns hung up, and handkerchiefs made with devices, in honour of c'e Dean, under the name of M. B. Drațier. F.

would not fignify a pin
hatever climate you were in.
Tis true, but what advantage comes
me from all a ufurer's plumbs;
ough I fhould fee him twice a day,
d am his neighbour cross the way;
all my rhetoric must fail
ftrike him for a pot of ale?
Thus, when the learned and the wife
ceal their talents from our eyes,
d from deferving friends with-hold
eir gifts, as Mifers do their gold;
eir knowledge to themfelves confin'd
he fame avarice of mind;

r makes their converfation better,
an if they never knew a letter.
h is the fate of Gosford's Knight,
10 keeps his wifdom out of fight;
hofe uncommunicative heart

Il fcarce one precious word impart :
Il rapt in fpeculations deep,'
outward fenfes faft afleep;
10, while I talk, a fong will hum,
with his fingers, beat the druni;
yond the skies tranfports his mind,
d leaves a lifeless corpfe behind.

But, as for me, who ne'er could clamber high,
understand Malebranche or Cambray ;
10 fend my mind (as I believe) lefs
an others do, on errands fleeve!efs;
liften to a tale humdrum,

d with attention read Tom Thumb; 7 fpirits with my body progging, th hand in hand together jogging; nk over head and ears in matter, or can of metaphyfics fmatter; n more diverted with a quibble, tan dream of worlds intelligible; id think all notions too abstracted e like the ravings of a crackt head; hat intercourfe of minds can be twixt the Knight fublime and me, when I talk, as talk I muft, is but prating to a bust? Where friendship is by Fate defign'd, ferms an union in the mind: at here I differ from the Knight every point, like black and white: or none can fay that ever yet We both in one opinion met; ot in philosophy, or ale, ftate affairs, or planting cale; rhetoric, or picking ftraws; roafting larks, or making laws; 1 public schemes, or catching flies;

1 parliaments, or pudding-pies.

The neighbours wonder why the Knight would in a country life delight, Tho not one pleafure entertains cheer the folitary fcenes:

is guests are few, his vifits rare?

for ufes time, nor time will spare ;

or rides, nor walks, nor hunts, nor fowls,
for plays at cards, or dice, or bowls;
But, feated in an eafy chair,
Defpifes exercife and air.

His rural walks he ne'er adorns :
Here poor Pomona fits on thorns;
And there neglected Flora fettles
Her bum upon a bed of nettles.

Thofe thankless and officious cares
I us'd to take in friends' affairs,
From which I never could refrain,
And have been often chid in vain;
From thefe I am recover'd quite,
At least in what regards the Knight.
Preferve his health, his ftore increase;
May nothing interrupt his peace!
But now let all his tenants round
First milk his cows, and after, pound:
Let every cottager confpire

To cut his hedges down for fire:
The naughty boys about the village
His crabs and floes may freely pillage:
He ftill may keep a pack of knaves
To fpoil his work, and work by halves:
His meadows may be dug by fwine,
It fhall be no concern of mine.
For why should I continue ftill
To ferve a friend against his will?

A PANEGYRICK ON THE DEAN,

In the Perfon of a Lady in the North*. 1730.

Refrice Reverend Dean, for all I owe,

ESOLV'D my gratitude to show,

Too long I have my thanks delay'd,
Your favours left too long unpaid;
But now, in all our fex's name,
My artless Mufe fhall fing your fame.
Indulgent you to female kind,
To all their weaker fides are blind;
Nine more fuch champions as the Dean
Would foon reftore our ancient reign.
How well, to win the ladies' hearts,
You celebrate their wit and parts!
How have I felt my fpirits rais'd,
By you fo oit', fo highly prais'd!
Transform'd by your convincing tongue
To witty, beautiful, and young,
I hope to quit that aukward frame,
Affected by each vulgar dame,
To modefty a weak pretence;
And foon grow pert on men of fenfe,
To fhew my face with fcornful air,
Let others match it, if they dare.

Impatient to be out of debt,

Oh, may I never once forget
The bard who humbly deigns to choose
Me for the fubject of his Mufe!
Behind my back, before my nofe,
He founds my praife in verfe and profe.
My heart with emulation burns
To make you fuitable returns :
My gratitude the world fall know;
And fee, the Printer's boy below;
Ye hawkers all, your voices lift:
"A Panegyrick on Dean Swift!"
Anc then, to mend the matter ftill,
"By Lady Anne of Market-hill."

* De lady of Sir Arthur Addfer,

I thus begin: My grateful Mufe
Salutes the Dean in dinerent views;
Dean, butler, ufher, jetter, tutor;
*Robert and Darby's coadjutor:
And, as you in commifhon fit,
To rule the dairy next to †Kit.

In each capacity I mean

To fing your praife. And firft as Dean:
Envy must own, you understand your
Precedence, and fupport your grandeur;
Nor of your rank will bate an ace,
Except to give Dean Daniel place.

In

you fuch dignity appears;

So fuited to your ftate and years!
With ladies what a ftri&t decorum!
With what devotion you adore 'ein!
Treat me with fo much complaifance,
As fits a princefs in ron arce!
By your example and affiftance,
The fellows learn to know their distance.
Sir Arthur, fince you fet the pattern,
No longer calls me fripe and flattern;
Nor dares he, though he were a duke,
Offend me with the leaft rebuke.

Proceed we to your preaching next:
How nice you fplit the nardeft text!
How your fuperior learning fhines
Above our neighbouring dull divines!
At Beggars' Opera not fo full pit
Is feen, as when you mount our pulpit.
Confider now your converfation:
Regardful of your age and flation,
You ne'er was known, by paffion stirr'd,
To give the leaft offenfive word;
But ftill, whene'er you filence break,
Watch every fyllable you speak:
Your ftyle fo clear, and fo concife,
We never ask to hear you twice.
But then, a parfon fo genteel,
So nicely clad from head to heel;
So fine a gown, a band fo clean,
As well become St. Patrick's Dean,
Such reverential awe exprefs,

That cow-boys know you by your drefs!
Then, if our neighbouring friends come here,
How proud are we when you appear,
With fuch addrefs and graceful port,
As clearly fhews you bred at court!

Now raise your spirits, Mr. Dean,

I lead you to a nobler scene.
When to the vault you walk in state.
In quality of butler's-mate;
You next to Dennis bear the fway :
To you we often trust the key:
Nor can he judge with all his art
So well, what bottle holds a quart;
What pints may best for bottles pafs,
Just to give every man his glafs;
When proper to produce the best,
And what may ferve a common guest.

With Dennis you did ne'er combine,
Not you, to teal your mafter's wine;
Except a bottle now and then,
To welcome brother ferving-men:
But that is with a good defign,

To drink Sir Arthur's health and mine;
Your master's honour to maintain,
And get the like returns again.

Your uher's poit must next be handled;
How blefs'd am I by fuch a man led!
Under whofe wife and careful guardip
I now defpife fatigue and hardthip:
Familiar grown to dirt and wet,
Though daggled round, I fcorn to fret :
From you my chamber-damfels learn
My broken hole to patch and dearn.
Now as a je er 1 accoft you;
Which never yet one friend has loft you.
You judge fo nicely to a hair,
How far to go, and when to fpare;
By long experience grown fo wife,
Of every tafie to know the Lze ;
There's none fo ignorant or weak
†To take offence at what you fpeak.
Whene'er you joke, 'tis all a cafe
Whether with Dermot, or His Grace;
With Teague C'Murphey, or an Earl;
A duchefs, or a kitchen-girl.
With fuch dexterity you fit

Their feveral talents with your wit,
That Moll the chamber-maid can fioke,
And Gahagant take every joke.

I now become your humble fuitor
To let me praife you as my tuter §.
Poor I, a favage bred and born,
By you inftructed every morn,
Already have improv'd fo well,
That I have almoft learnt to fpell:
The neighbours who come here to dine,
Admire to hear me fpeak fo fine.
How enviously the ladies look,
When they furprise me at my book!
And fure as they're alive at night,
As foon as gone will fhow their spight:
Good lord! what can my lady mean,
Converting with that rufty Dean!
She's grown fo nice, and so penurious,
With Socrates and Epicurius.
How could the fit the live-long day,
Yet never ask us once to play?

But I admire your patience moft;
That when I'm duller than a post,
Nor can the plaine ft word pronounce,
You neither fume, nor fret, nor flounce;
Are fo indulgent, and fo mild,
As if I were a darling child.

He fometimes ufed to walk with the lady. F. The neighbouring ladies were no great unistfanders of raillery. F.

The clown that cut down the old thorn at Mer ket-Hill. See above, p. 366.

§ In bad weather the author used to dived my lady in her reading. F.

o gentle is your whole proceeding,
hat I could spend my life in reading.
You merit new employments daily :
ur thatcher, ditcher, gardener, baily.
nd to a genius fo extenfive
or work is grievous or offenfive;
Whether your fruitful fancy lies
o make for pigs convenient ftyes;
r ponder long with anxious thought
o banish rats that haunt our vault:
or have you grumbled, reverend Dean,
o keep our poultry fweet and clean;
ofweep the mansion-house they dwell in,
nd cure the rank unfavory smelling.
Now enter as the dairy hand-maid;
ich charming butter never man made.
t others with fanatic face

alk of their milk for babes of grace;
com tubs their fouffling nonfenfe utter:
by milk fhall make us rubs of butter.
he bishop with his foot may burn it†,
ut with his hand the Dean can churn it.
ow are the fervants overjoy'd

o fee thy Deanfhip thus employ'd!
tead of poring on a book,
roviding butter for the cook!

hree morning-hours you tofs and shake he bottle till your fingers ache : [ard is the toil, nor small the art, he butter from the whey to part: ehold a frothy fubftance rife; e cautious, or your bottle flies. he butter comes, our fears are ceas'd; nd out you fqueeze an ounce at least. Your Reverence thus, with like fuccefs Nor is your fkill or labour lefs),` When bent upon fome finart lampoon, fill tofs and turn your brain till noon; Which, in its jumblings round the skull, ilates and makes the veffel full: While nothing comes but froth at first, 'ou think your giddy head will burst; ut, squeezing out four lines in rhyme, re largely paid for all your time.

But you have rais'd your generous mind To works of more exalted kind. alladio was not half so skill'd în

he grandeur or the art of building. Two temples of magnific fize Attract the curious traveller's eyes, That might be envy'd by the Greeks; air'd up by you in twenty weeks : Here gentle goddefs Cloacine Receives all offerings at her frine. 1 teparate cells the he's and he's dere pay their vows with bended knees:

For 'tis profane when fexes mingle,
And every nymph must enter fingle,
And when the feels an inward motion,
Come fill'd with reverence and devotion.
The bashful maid, to hide our blush,
Shall creep no more behind a bush;
Here urobferv'd the boldly goes,
As who fhould fay, to pluck a refe.

Ye who frequent this hallow'd scene,
Be not ungrateful to the Dean;
But duly, ere you leave your ftation,
Offer to him a pure libation
Or of his own or Smedley's lay,
Or billet-doux, or lock of hay:
And, oh! may all who hither come,
Return with unpolluted thumb!

Yet, when your lofty domes I praise,
I figh to think of ancient days.
Permit me then to raise my style,
And fweetly moralize awhile.

Thee, bounteous goddess Cloacine,
To temples why do we confine?
Forbid in open air to breathe,
Why are thine altars fixt beneath?

When Saturn rul'd the skies alone
(That golden age to geld unknown),
This earthly globe, to thee affign'd,
Receiv'd the gifts of all mankind.
Ten thousand altars Smoaking round
Were built to thee with offerings crown'd:
And here thy daily votaries plac'd
Their facrifice with zeal and hafte :
The margin of a purling ftream
Sent up to thee a grateful team

(Though fometimes thou wert pleas'd to wink,
If Naiads fwept them from the brink).
Or where appointing lovers rove,
The fhelter of a fhady grove;
Or, offer'd in fome Howery vale,
Were wafted by a gentle gale:
There many a flower abfter five grew,
The favourite flowers of yellow hue;
The crocus, and the daffodil,
The cowflip foft, and sweet jonquil,

But when at laft ufurping Jove
Old Saturn from his empire drove ;
Then gluttery with greafy paws
Her napkin pinn'd up to her jaws,
With watery chaps, and wagging chin,
Brac'd like a drum her oily skin;
Wedg'd in a fpacious elbow-chair,
And on her plate a treble fare,
As if the ne'er could have enough,
Taught harmlefs man ́to cram and stuff.
She fent her prieft in wooden fhoes
From haughty Gaul to make ragoos;
Inftead of whole fome bread and cheese,
To drefs their foups and fricaffees;
And, for our home-bred British cheer,
Botargo, catfup, and caveer.

This beated harpy, fprung from hell,
Confin'd thee, goddefs, to a cell:
Sprung from her womb that impious line,
Contemners of thy rights divine.
Firft, lolling fath in woollen cap
Taking her after-dinner nap:
Ddd