Ambition, avarice, and luft,
And factious rage, and breach of trust,
And flattery tipt with nauseous fleer
And guilty fhame, and fervile fear,
Envy, and cruelty, and pride,
Will in your tainted heart prefide.
Heroes and heroines of old
By honour only were inroll'd
Among their brethren in the fkies,
To which (though late) fhall Stella rife.
Ten thousand oaths upon record
Are not fo facred as her word :
The world fhall in its atoms end,
Ere Stella can deceive a friend.
By honour feated in her breast
She ftill determines what is best:
What indignation in her mind
Against inflavers of mankind!
Bafe kings, and minifters of ftate,
Eternal objects of her hate!
She thinks that nature ne'er defign'd
Courage to man alone confin'd.
Can cowardice her fex adorn,
Which most exposes ours to fcorn?
She wonders where the charm appears
In Florimel's affected fears;
For Stella never learn'd the art
At proper times to fcream and start;
Nor calls up all the house at night,
And fwears the faw a thing in white.
VOL. I.
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 sense;
Which, though her modefty 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, miftook 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 ftrains,
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 hire,
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 taste each naufeous draught;
And fo obligingly am caught,
I bless the hand from whence they came,
Nor dare distort my face for fhame.
Best pattern of true friends! beware:
You pay too dearly for your care,
If, while your tenderness secures
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 prefents, 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 chest.
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 seal 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 save,
Nor all his interest 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 shot.
Old as he was, no vulgar known disease
On him could ever boaft a power to feize;
"But, as he weigh'd his gold, grim Death in fpight "Caft-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 bestow;
Alas, the fexton is thy banker now!
A difinal banker must that banker be,
Who gives no bills but of mortality.
ENEATH this verdant hillock lies
Demar, the wealthy and the wife.
His heirs, that he might fafely reft,
Have put his carcafe in a chest ;
The very cheft, in which, they fay,
His other felf, his money, lay.
And, if his heirs continue kind
To that dear felf he left behind,
1 dare believe, that four in five
Will think his better half alive.
TO MRS. HOUGHTON OF BORMOUNT. Upon praifing her Hufband to Dr. SWIFT. You always are making a God of your Spouse;
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.
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