Her talent she display'd betimes;
For in twice twelve revolving moons,
She feem'd to laugh and squall in rhymes,
And all her gestures were lampoons.
At fix old the fubtle jade
years
Stole to the pantry-door, and found
The butler with my lady's maid:
And you may fwear the tale went round.
She made a fong, how little mifs
Was kifs'd and flobber'd by a lád:
And how when mafter went to p—,
Mifs came, and peep'd at all he had.
At twelve a wit and a coquette;
Marries for love, half whore, half wife.
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in debt;
Turns authorefs, and is Curll's for life.
TOLAND'S INVITATION tô DISMAL,
To dine with the CALVES-HEAD CLUB *.
Imitated from HORACE, lib. I. epift. 5.
É, deareft Difmal, you for once can dine
Upon a fingle difh, and tavern-wine,
Toland to you this invitation sends,
To eat the calves-head with your trusty friends.
*This poem, and that which follows it, are two of the penny papers mentioned in Swift's Journal to Stella, Aug. 7. 1712. They are here printed from folio copies in the Lambeth Library.
Sufpend a while your vain ambitious hopes,
Leave hunting after bribes, forget your tropes.
To-morrow we our myflic feaft prepare,
Where thou, our latest proselyte, shalt share:
When we, by proper figns and fymbols, tell,
How, by brave hands, the royal traitor fell;
The meat fhall reprefent the tyrant's head,
The wine his blood our predeceffors thed;
Whilft an alluding hymn fome artist fings,
We toaft, "Confufion to the race of kings!"
At monarchy we nobly fhew our spight,
And talk what fools call treafon all the night.
Who, by difgraces or ill-fortune funk,
Feels not his foul enliven'd when he 's drunk?
Wine can clear up Godolphin's cloudy face,
And fill Jack Smith with hopes to keep his place:
By force of wine, ev'n Scarborough is brave,
Hal grows more pert, and Somers not fo grave;
Wine can give Portland wit, and Cleveland fenfe,
Montague learning, Bolton eloquence:
Cholmondeley, when drunk, can never lofe his wand; And Lincoln then imagines he has land.
My province is, to fee that all be right, Glaffes and linen clean, and pewter bright; From our myfterious club to keep out fpies, And Tories (drefs'd like waiters) in disguise. You fhall be coupled as you beft approve,
Seated at table next the men you love.
Sunderland, Orford, Boyle, and Richmond's Grace, Will come; and Hampden fhall have Walpole's place.
Wharton, unless prevented by a whore,
Will hardly fail; and there is room for more.
But I love elbow-room whene'er I drink ;
And honeft Harry is too apt to stink.
Let no pretence of business make you stay;
Yet take one word of counsel by the way.
If Guernsey calls, fend word
abroad;
He'll teaze you with King Charles and Bishop Laud,
Or make you faft, and carry you to prayers;
But, if he will break-in, and walk up stairs)
Steal by the back-door out, and leave him there;
Then order Squash to call a hackney-chair.
Being an excellent new SONG upon the Surrender of DUNKIRK to General HILL. 1712.
To the Tune of, "The King fhall enjoy his own again.”
PIGHT of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain fhall have peace at last :
Holland got towns, and we got blows;
But Dunkirk's ours, we 'll hold it fast.
We have got it in a string,
And the Whigs may all go fwing,
For among good friends I love to be plain;
All their falfe deluded hopes
Will or ought to end in ropes;
But the Queen fball enjoy her own again.
Right Hon. Henry Boyle, mentioned twice before.
Sunderland 's run out of his wits,
And Difmal double-Difmal looks;
Wharton can only fwear by fits,
And ftrutting Hal is off the hooks,
Old Godolphin full of spleen
Made falfe moves, and lost his queen ;
Harry look'd fierce, and shook his ragged mane :
But a prince of high renown
Swore he'd rather lofe a crown,
Than the Queen bould enjoy her own again.
Our merchant-fhips may cut the Line,
And not be fnapt by privateers,
And commoners who love good wine
Will drink it now as well as peers:
Landed-men fhall have their rent,
Yet our stocks rife cent. per cent.
The Dutch from hence fhall no more millions draint We'll bring on us no more debts,
Nor with bankrupts fill Gazettes; And the Queen shall enjoy her own again.
The towns we took ne'er did us good:
What fignified the French to beat?
We spent our money and our blood,
To make the Dutchmen proud and great :
But the lord of Oxford fwears,
Dunkirk never fhall be theirs.
The Dutch-hearted Whigs may rail and complain;
But true Englishmen may fill
A good health to General Hill;
For the Queen now enjoys her own again.
HORACE, BOOK I. E P. VII.
Addreffed to the Earl of OXFORD, 1713.
HARLEY, the nation's great fupport,
Returning home one day from court,
(His mind with public cares poffest,
All Europe's bufinefs in his breast),
Obferv'd a parfon near Whitehall
Cheapening old authors on a stall.
The priest was pretty well in case,
And fhew'd fome humour in his face;
Look'd with an eafy, careless mien,
A perfect stranger to the spleen;
Of fize that might a pulpit fill,
But more inclining to fit ftill.
My Lord (who, if a man may say 't,
Loves mifchief better than his meat)
Was now difpos'd to crack a jeft,
And bid friend Lewis* go in quest
(This Lewis is a cunning fhaver,
And very much in Harley's favour),
In queft who might this parfon be,
What was his name, of what degree;
*Erafmus Lewis efq. the treasurer's fecretary.
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