So, the Bard he finds Drink, and leaves Phabus

to treat

With the Thoughts he infpires, regardless of

Meat.

Hence they that come hither expecting to dine, Are always fobb'd off with sheer Wit and sheer Wine.

A

On another Window.

RE the Guefts of this House still doom'd to be cheated?

Sure the Fates have decreed they by Halves should be treated?

In the Days of good * John, if you came here to dine,

You had choice of good Meat, no Choice of good Wine.

In Jonathan's Reign if you come here to eat, You have Choice of good Wine, no Choice of good Meat.

Oh Jove! then how fully might all Sides be

bleft,

Would'st thou but agree to this humble Request:

Put

Dr. John Stearne, late Lord Bishop of Clogher, who had been the Predeceffor of Dr. Swift, in the Deanery of St. Patrick's, and was always diftinguished for his great Hofpitality.

Put both Deans in one; or if that's too much

Trouble,

Instead of the Deans, make the Deanery double.

To a LADY, who defired the AUTHOR to write some Verses upon her in the heroic Style,

Written at London in the Year 1736.

A

FTER venting all my Spight,

Tell me, what have I to write?

Ev'ry Error I could find

Thro' the Mazes of

your

Mind;

Have my bufy Mufe employ'd
"Till the Company is cloy'd,
Are you pofitive and fretful,
Heedlefs, ignorant, forgetful?
These, and twenty Follies more,
I have often told before.

Hearken what my Lady fays, Have I nothing then to praise? Ill it fits you to be witty,

Where a Fault should move your Pity,

If you think me too conceited,
Or to Paffion quickly heated:

If my wand'ring Head be lefs
Set on Reading than on Dress;
If I always feem so dull t'ye;
I can folve the Difficulty,

You would teach me to be wife;
Truth and Honour how to prize ;
How to fhine in Converfation,
And with Credit fill my Station:
How to relish Notions high;
How to live, and how to die.

But it was decreed by Fate,
Mr. Dean you come too late 5
Well I know, you can difcern,
I am now too old to learn:
Follies from my Youth inftill'd,
Have my Soul entirely fill'd :
In my Head and Heart they center;
Nor will let your Leffons enter.

Bred a Fondling, and an Heiress ;
Dreft like any Lady May'refs;
Cocker'd by the Servants round,
Was too good to touch the Ground;
Thought the Life of ev'ry Lady
Should be one continual Play-day;

Balls, and Masquerades, and Shows,
Vifits, Plays, and powder'd Beaux.

Thus you have my Cafe at large, And may now perform your Charge. Those Materials I have furnish'd, When by you refin'd and burnish'd, Muft, that all the World may know 'em, Be reduc'd into a Poem.

But, I beg, fufpend a while

That fame paultry, burlesque Style;
Drop for once your conftant Rule,
Turning all to Ridicule :

Teaching others how to ape you;
Court nor Parliament can 'scape ye;
Treat the Publick and your Friends
Both alike, while neither mends.

Sing my Praise in Strain fublime; Treat not me with doggrel Rhyme. 'Tis but juft, you should produce With each Fault, each Fault's Excufe: Not to publish ev'ry Trifle,

And my few Perfections ftifle.

With fome Gifts at least endow me,
Which my very Foes allow me.
Am I fpightful, proud, unjust?
Did I ever break my Truft?

Which of all your modern Dames
Cenfures lefs, or lefs defames?
In good Manners am I faulty?
Can you call me rude or haughty?
Did I e'er my Mite withhold
From the impotent and old?
When did ever I omit

Due Regard for Men of Wit?
When have I Efteem express'd
For a Coxcomb gaily dress'd?
Do I, like the Female Tribe,
Think it Wit to fleer and gibe?
Who, with lefs-defigning Ends,
Kindly'r entertains their Friends?

With good Words, and Count'nance fprightly,
Strive to treat them all politely.

Think not Cards my chief Diverfion,

"Tis a wrong, unjust Afperfion;

Never knew I any Good in 'um,
But to doze my Head like Laudnum :
We by Play, as Men by Drinking,
Pass our Nights to drive out Thinking.
From my
Ailments give me Leisure,
I shall read and think with Pleasure :

Converfation learn to relish,

And with Books my

Mind embellish.

Now,