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Should with poker fiery red,
Crack the ftones, and melt the lead;
Drive them down on every fcull,
While the den of thi ves is full;
Quite deftroy the harpies' neft;
How might then our ifle be bleft!
For Divines allow, that God
Sometimes makes the devil his rod;
And the Gofpel will inform us,
He can punish fins enormous.

Yet fhould Swift endow the schools,
For his lunaticks and fools,
With a rood or two of land;
I allow the pile may ftand.

You perhaps will ask me, Why fo?
But it is with this provifo :
Since the houfe is like to laft,
Let the royal grant be pafs'd,
That the club have right to dwell
Each within his proper cell,
With a paffage left to creep in,
And a hole above for peeping.

Let them, when they once get in,
Sell the nation for a pin ;
While they fit a picking ftraws,
Let them rave at making laws;
While they never hold their tongue,
Let them dabble in their dung:
Let them form a grand committee,
How to plague and flarve the city;
Let them flare, and form, and frown,
When they fee a clergy-gown;
Let them, ere they crack a loufe,
Call for th' orders of the houfe;
Let them, with their gofling quills,
Scribble fenfelefs heads of bills.

We may, while they ftrain their throats,
Wipe our as with their votes.

Let Sir Tom*, that rampant afs,
Stuff his guts with flax and grafs ;
Eut, before the priest he fleeces,
Tear the Bible all to pieces :
At the parfons, Tom, halloo, boy,
Worthy offsprig of a fhoe-boy,
Footman, traitor, vile feducer,
Perjur'd rebel, Frib'd accufer,
Lay thy paltry privilege afide,
Sprung from papifs, and a regicide;
Fall a-working like a mole,
Raife the dirt about your hole.

Come, affifi me, Muie obedient !
Let us try fome new expedient;
Shift the scene for half an hour,
Time and place are in thy power.
Thither, gentle Mufe, conduct me ;
I fhall afk, and you infiruct me.

Sec, the Mufe unbars the gate!
Haik, the monkeys, how they prate!
All ye gods who rule the foul!
Styx, through hell whofe waters roll!
Let me be allow'd to tell
What I heard in ynder hell.

Near the door an entrance gapes,
Crowded round with antic fhapes,

25 Poverty, and Grief, and Care,
Caufelefs Joy, and true Defpair;
Difcord periwigg'd with fuakes,
See the dreadful frides fhe takes !
By this odious crew befet,

30 I began to rage and fret,
And refolv'd to break their pates,
Ere we enter'd at the gates;
Had not Clio in the nick
Whifper'd me, "Lay down your ftick."
33 What, faid 1, is this the mud-besje ?
Thefe, the answer'd, are but shadows,
Phantoms bodilefs and vain,
Empty vifions of the brain.

In the porch Briarcus ftands, 40 Shows a bribe in all his hands; Briareus the fecretary,

45

But we mortals call him Carey.
When the rogues their country fleece,
They may hope for pence a-piece.
Clio, who had been fo wife
To put-on a fool's difguife,
To befpeak fome approbation,
And be thought a near relation,
When the faw three hundred brutes
50 All involv'd in wild difputes,

Roaring till their lungs were fpent,
PRIVILEGE OF PARLIAMENT,
Now a new misfortune feels,
Dreading to be laid by th' heels.
55 Never durft a Mufe before
Enter that infernal door;
Clio, ftifled with the fmell,
Into fpleen and vapours fell,
By the Stygian fteams that flew
60 From the dire infectious crew.

Not the stench of Lake Avernus
Could have more offended her nofe;
Had the flown but o'er the top,
She had felt her pinions drop,
65 And by exhalations dire,

Though a goddess, must expire.
In a fright the crept away;
Bravely I refolv'd to stay.

When I faw te keeper frown,
70 Tipping him with half a crown,
Now, faid I, we are alone,
Name your heroes one by one.
Who is that hell-featur ́d brawler?
Is it Satan? No, 'tis Waller.
75 In what figure can a bard drefs

Jack the grandion of Sir Hardrefs? Honeft keepes, drive him further, 'n his looks are hall and murther; See the fcowling vifage drop, 80 Just as when he murder'd -P. Keeper, fhow me where to fix On the puppy pair of Dicks; By their lantern jaws and leathern, You might fwear they both are brethren: Dick Fitz-Baker, Dick the player, Old acquaintance, are you there? Dear companions, hug and kifs, Toaft Old Glorious in your pifs: Tie them, keeper, in a tether, Let them farve and stink together;

* A pr vy-counsellor, mentioned in p. 85. N.

140

Both are apt to be unruly,

Lafh them daily, lafh them duly;
Though 'tis hopeless to reclaim them,
Scorpion rods perhaps may tame them.
Keeper, yon old dotard fmeak,
Sweetly fnoring in his cloak:
Who is he? 'Tis humdrum Wynne,
Half encompafs'd by his kin:
There obferve the tribe of Bingham,
For he never fails to bring 'em ;
While he fleeps the whole debate,
They fubmiffive round him wait;
Yet would gladly fee the hunks
In his grave, and search his trunks.
See, they gently twitch his coat,
Juft to yawn and give his vote,
Always firm in his vocation,
For the court, against the nation.
Thefe are A-s Jack and Bob,
First in every wicked job,
Son and brother to a queer
Brain-fick brute, they call a peer.
We must give them better quarter,
For their anceft or trod mortar,
And H-th, to boat his fame,
On a chimney cut his name.

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There fit Clements, D-ks, and Harrison:
How they swagger from their garrifon!
Such a triplet could you tell

Where to find on this fide hell?
Harrison, and D-ks, and Clements,
Keeper, fee they have their payments;
Every mischief 's in their hearts;

If they fail, 'tis want of parts.

Blefs us, Morgan! are thou there, man!
Blefs mine eyes! art thou the chairman !
Chairman to your damn'd committee !
Yet I look on thee with pity.

Dreadful fight! what! learned Morgan
Metamorphos'd to a Gorgon?
For thy horrid looks, I own,

Half convert me to a ftone.

Haft thou been fo long at fchool,

Now to turn a factious tool?

Alma Mater was thy mother, Every young divine thy brother.

Thou, a difobedient varlet, Treat thy mother like a harlot ! Thou ungrateful to thy teachers,

Who are all grown reverend preachers!
Morgan, would not it furprize one!
Turn thy nourishment to poison !
When you walk among your books,
They reproach you with their looks:
Bind them faft, or from their shelves
They will come and right themselves;
Homer, Plutarch, Virgil, Flaccus,
All in arms prepare to back us :
Soon repent, or put to flaughter
Every Greek and Roman author.
Will you, in your faction's phrafe,
Send the clergy all to graze,
And, to make your project pass,
Leave them not a blade of grals?

How I want thee, humorous Hogarth! Thou, I hear, a pleasant rogue art.

170

With the noife, the fight, the scent.
"Pray be patient; you fhall find
"Half the beft are ftill behind.
"You have hardly feen a score;
"I can fhow two hundred more.'
Keeper, I have feen enough.-
Taking then a pich of fnuff,

175 I concluded, looking round them,

180

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235

240

"May their god, the devil, confound them!"

A

AN APOLOGY, &c.

LADY, wife as well as fair,

Whofe confcience always was her care,

185 Thoughtful upon a point of moment,

190

195

200

205

210

Would have the text as well as comment :
So hearing of a grave Divine,

She fent to bid him come and dine.
But, you must know, he was not quite
So grave as to be unpolite;

Thought human learning would not leffen
The dignity of his profeffion :

And, if you 'd heard the man difcourfe,
Or preach, you'd like him fcarce the worfe.
He long had bid the court farewell,
Retreating filent to his cell;
Sufpe&ed for the love he bore

To one who fway'd fome time before;
Which made it more furprising how
He fhould be fent for thither now.

The meffage told, he gapes, and stares,
And fearce believes his eyes or cars:
Could not conceive what it should mean,
And fain would hear it told again.
But then the 'fquire fo trim and nice,
"Twere rude to make him tell it twice:
So how'd, was thankful for the honour;
And would not fail to wait upon her.
His beaver brush'd, his fhoes, his gown,
Away he trudges into town;

Paffes the lower castle-yard;

And now advancing to the guard,

He trembles at the thoughts of state;

For, conicious of his fheepish gait,

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Or may be I miftook the word; My Lady-it must be my Lord.

My Lord 's abroad; my Lady too: What must th' unhappy Doctor do?

Is Captain Cracherode here, pray?""No." 4 Nay, then 'tis time for me to go." Am I awake, or do I dream?

I'm fure he call'd me by my name ;
Nam'd me as plain as he could speak;
And yet there must be fome mistake.
Why, what a jeft should I have been,
Had now my Lady been within!
What could I've faid? I'm mighty glad
She went abroad-fhe 'd thought me mad.
The hour of dining now is part :
Well then, I'll e'en go home and fast ;
And, fince I 'fcap'd being made a scoff,
I think I'm very fairly off.
My Lady now returning home,

Calls, Cracherode, is the Doctor come?"
He had not heard of him-" Pray fee,
""Tis now a quarter after three."
The Captain walks about, and searches
Through all the rooms, and courts, and arches ;
Examines all the fervants round,

In vain-no Doctor's to be found.

My Lady could not choofe but wonder:

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Captain, I fear you 've made fome blunder: "But pray, to-morrow go at ten, "I'll try his manners once again; "If rudeness be the effect of knowledge, "My fon fhall never fee a college."

The Captain wa, a man of reading,
And much good fenfe, as well as breeding,
Who, loath to blame, or to incenfe,
Said little in his own defence.

Next day another meffage brought: The Doctor, frighten'd at his fault, Is drefs'd, and ftealing through the crowd, Now pale as death, then blush'd and bow'd, Panting-and faultering-humm'd and ha`d "Her Ladyship was gone abroad; "The Captain too-he did not know "Whether he ought to stay or go;" Begg'd the 'd forgive him. In conclufion, My Lady, pitying his confufion, Call'd her good-nature to relieve him;

Told him, the thought the might believe him; And would not only grant his fuit,

But vifit him, and eat fome fruit;

Provided, at a proper time,
He told the real truth in rhyme.
'Twas to no purpose to oppofe,
She'd hear of no excufe in profe.
The Doctor ftood not to debate,
Glad to compound at any rate;
So, bowing, feemingly comply'd;
Though, if he durft, he had deny'd.
But first, refolv'd to fhow his taste,
Was too refin'd to give a feast:
He'd treat with nothing that was rare,
But winding walks and purer air;
Would entertain without expence,
Or pride, or vain magnificence:

For well he knew, to such a guest
The plainest meals must be the best.
To ftomachs clogg'd with coftly fare
Simplicity alone is rare ;

Whilft high, and nice, and curious meats,
Are really but vulgar treats.
Instead of spoils of Perfian looms,
The coftly boafts of regal rooms,
Thought it more courtly and difcreet
To fcatter rofes at her feet;
Rofes of richeft dye, that fhone
With native luftre, like her own:
Beauty that needs no aid of art
Through every sense to reach the heart.
The gracious dame, though well she knew
All this was much beneath her due,
Lik'd every thing--at least thought fit
To praise it par maniere d' acquit.

Yet fhe, though seeming pleas'd, can't bear
The fcorching fun, or chilling air;
Disturb'd alike at both extremes,
Whether he fhows or hides the beams :
Though feeming pleas'd at all she fees,
Starts at the ruffling of the trees;
And scarce can speak for want of breath,
In half a walk fatigu'd to death.
The Doctor takes his hint from hence,
T'apologise his late offence :

"Madam, the mighty power of use "Now ftrangely pleads in my excuse: "If you unus'd have scarcely ftrength "To gain this walk's untoward length "If, frightened at a scene so rude, "Through long difuse of folitude; "If, long confin'd to fires and screen "You dread the waving of these greens; "If you, who long have breath'd the fumes "Of city-fogs and crowded rooms, "Do now folicitously fhun "The cooler air and dazzling fun; "If his Majestic eye you flee, "Learn hence t' excufe and pity me. "Confider what it is to bear "The powder'd courtier's witty sneer; "To fee th' important man of dress "Scoffing my college-awkardness; "To be the ftrutting cornet's fport, "To run the gauntlet of the court, "Winning my way by flow approaches, "Through crowds of coxcombs and of coaches, "From the first fierce cockaded centry, "Quite through the tribe of waiting-gentry; "To pafs fo many crowded stages, "And ftand the ftaring of your pages; "And, after all, to crown my spleen, "Be told-" You are not to be feen :" "Or, if you are, be forc'd to bear "The awe of your majestic air. "And can I then be faulty found, "In dreading this vexatious round? "Can it be ftrange, if I efchew "A fcene fo glorious and fo new? "Or is he criminal that flies "The living luftre of your eyes?"

THE

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To make their water pafs:

Oh, 'tis pretty picking
With a tender chicken!

MERRINGS.

BE not fparing, Leave off fwearing. Buy my herring Fresh from Malahide*, Better never was try'd.

Come, eat them with pure fresh butter and muf

tard;

Their bellies are foft, and as white as a custard. Come, fix-pence a dozen to get me fome bread, Or, like my own herrings I foon shall be dead.

ORANGES.

COME buy my fine oranges, fauce for your

veal,

And charming when squeez'd in a pot of brown

ale;

Well roafted, with fugar and wine in a cup, They'll make a fweet bishop when gentle-folks fup.

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ON ROVER, A LADY'S SPANIEL.

Inftructions to a Painter.‡

Hanter, with thy colours grace:

"APPIEST of the spaniel-race,

Draw his forehead large and high,
Draw his blue and humid eye;
Draw his neck fo fmooth and round,
Little neck with ribbons bound;
And the mufely fwelling breaft
Where the Loves and Graces reft;
And the spreading even back,
Soft, and fleek, and gloffy black
And the tail that gently twines,
Like the tendrils of the vines;
And the filky twisted hair,
Shadowing thick the velvet ear;
Velvet ears, which, hanging low,
O'er the veiny temples flow.

With a proper light and fhade,
Let the winding hoop be laid;
And within that arching bower
(Secret circle, myftic power)

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In a downy flumber place Happiest of the Spaniel race; While the foft perspiring Dame, Glowing with the fofteft flame, On the ravifh'd favourite pours Balmy dews, ambrofial fhowers!

With thy utmost skill express
Nature in her richest drefs;
Limpid rivers fmoothly flowing,
Orchards by those rivers blowing;
Curling wood-bine, myrtle fhade
And the gay enamel'd mead;
Where the linnets fit and fing,
Little fportlings of the Spring;
Where the breathing field and grove
Sooth the heart, and kindle love:
Here for me, and for the Mufe,
Colours of refemblance chufe;
Make of lineaments divine,
Daply female Spaniels fhine,
Pretty fondlings of the fair,
Gentle damfels, gentle care;
But to one alone impart
All the flattery of thy art.

Crowd each feature, crowd each grace,
Which complete the defperate face;
Let the fpotted wanton Dame
Feel a new refiftlefs flame;
Let the happiett of his race
Win the fair to his embrace.
But in fhade the reft conceal,
Nor to fight their joys reveal,
Left the pencil and the Mufe
Loofe defires and thoughts infufe.

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THE theft:

"HE furniture that best doth please

The knife and fork with which I eat;
And, next, the pot that boils the meat;
The next to be preferr'd, I think,
Is the glafs in which I drink ;

The fhelves on which my books I keep;
And the bed on which I fleep;
An antique elbow-chair between,
Big enough to hold the Dean;
And the store that gives delight
In the cold bleak wintery night;
To these we add a thing below,
More for ufe referv'd than show:
These are what the Dean do pleafe ;
All fuperfluous are but these.

AY AND NO;

A TALE FROM DUBLIN. 1737.

AT Dublin's high feaft fat Primate and Dean, Both drefs'd like divines, with band and face clean.

Quoth Hugh of Armagh", "The mob is grown

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bold."

Ay, ay," quoth the Dean," the caufe is old gold."

"No, no," quoth the Primate," if caufes we fift,

"This mifchief arifes from witty Dean Swift." The fmart-one replied, "There's no wit in the cafe ;

"And nothing of that ever troubled your Grace. "Though with your flate-fieve your own notions you fplit,

"A Boulter by name is no telier of wit.

"It is matter of weight, and a mere moneyjobb;

"Fut the lower the coin, the higher the mob. "Go tell your friend Bob and the other great folk,

"That finking the coin is a dangerous joke.

* Dr. Hugh Boulter,

APOLLO's EDICT.*

IRELAND is now our royal care,
We lately fix'd our Viceroy there;
How near was fhe to be undone,
Till pious love infpir'd her Son!
What cannot our Viceregent do,
As Poet and as Patriot too?
Let his fuccefs our subjects sway,
And follow where He leads the way:
Our infpirations to obey,
Then ftudy to correct your taste;
Nor beaten paths be longer trac'd.

No fimile fhall be begun,
With rifing or with fetting fun;
And let the fecret head of Nile
Be ever banish'd from your ifle.

I beg you 'll the Camelion spare ;
When wretched lovers live on air,
And, when you 'd make a hero grander,
Forget he 's like a Salamander.

No fon of mine fhall dare to say,
Aurora ufber'd-in the Day,
Or ever name the milky-way,

You'll all agree, I make no doubt,
Elijah's mantle is worn out.

* This poem was originally written in 1720; the latter part of it was re published in 1743, the death of the Countess of Donegal. N.

The

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