In di'monds, pearls, and rich brocades, So have I known thofe infects fair (Which curious Germans hold so rare) Still gain new titles with new forms; VII. Dr. SWIFT. The Happy Life of a Country Parfon. Toast Church and Queen, explain the news, And thake his head at Doctor S-t. 20 24 5 10 15 20 24 BEING THE PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES. Advertisement To the First Publication of this Epifle. THIS paper is a fort of bill of complaint, begun many years fince, and drawn up by fnatches as the feveral occafions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased fome perfons of rank and fortune [the authors of Verfes to the Imitator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court] to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings, (of which, being public, the public is judge,) but my perfon, morals, and family, whereof, to thofe who know me not, a truer information may be requifite. Being divided between the neceffity to fay fomething of myself, and my own lazinefs to undertake fo awkward a task, I thought it the fhortest way to put the laft hand to this Epittle. If it have any thing pleafing, it will be that by which I am moft defirous to please, the truth and the fentiment; and if any thing offenfive, it will be only to thofe I am leaft forry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous. Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumftance but what is true: but I have, for the most part, fpared their names, and they may escape being laughed at if they please. I would have fome of them know it was owing to the request of the learned and candid friend to whom it is infcribed, that I make not as free ufe of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I fhall have this advantage and honour on my fide, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abufe may be directed at any man, no injury can poffibly be done by mine, fince a nameless character can never be found out but by its truth and likenefs. P. EPISTLE P. SHUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I faid ; Tie up the knocker; fay I'm fick, I'm dead. The dog-ftar rages! nay, 'tis paft a doubt, All Bedlam or Parnaffus is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, 5 What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide ? They pierce my thickets, thro' my grot they glide; By land, by water, they renew the charge, They ftop the chariot, and they board the barge. 10 Is there a parfon much bemus'd in beer, A maudlin poetefs, a rhyming peer, A clerk foredoom'd his father's foul to cross, 15 Is there who, lock'd from ink and paper, fcrawls With defp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls? 20 All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain Apply to me to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whofe giddy fon neglects the laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd Works the caufe: 25 If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead. 30 35 With honeft anguish, and an aching head, And And drop at laft, but in unwilling ears, 39 This faving counfel," Keep your peace nine years.' 50 55 "The piece, you think, is incorrect? why take it; 45 "I'm all fubmiffion; what you'd have it—make it." Three things another's modest wishes bound, My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon fends to me; "You know his Grace; "I want a patron; afk him for a place." Pitholeon libell'd me-" But here's a letter "Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better. "Dare you refufe him? Curll invites to dine; "He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn divine.' Ble's me! a packet. 'Tis a stranger fues, "A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse." If I diflike it, "Furies, death and rage!" If I approve," Commend it to the stage. There (thank my ftars) my whole commiffion ends; The play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends. Fir'd that the House rejects him, "Sdeath, I'll print it, "And thame the fools--Your int'reft, Sir, with Lintot." Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much : "Not, Sir, if you revife it, and retouch." All my demurs but double his attacks; At last he whifpers, "Do, and we go fnacks." Glad of a quarrel, ftraight I clap the door; "Sir, let me fee your works and you no more." 'Tis fung, when Midas' ears began to fpring, (Midas, a facred perfon and a king,) His very minifter, who spy'd them first, (Some fay his queen,) was forc'd to speak or burst. And is not mine, my friend, a forer cafe, When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face? 60 65 70 74 A. Good friend! forbear; you deal in dang'rous I'd never name queens, minifters, or kings; [things; Keep clofe to ears, and those let affes prick, 'Tis nothing.-P. Nothing! if they bite and kick? Out Out with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass, The truth once told, (and wherefore fhould we lie?) The Queen of Midas flept, and fo may I. You think this cruel? take it for a rule, No creature fmarts fo little as a fool. 80 90 。 Let peals of laughter, Codrus, round thee break, 85 95 100 Still Sappho.-A. Hold! for God's fake, you'll offend; But foes like thefe-P. One flatt'rer's worse than all. Of all mad creatures, if the learn❜d are right, 105 115 Go |