The surgeon who bled her, his lancet out drew sick,
And stopt the distemper, as being but new sick.
The yacht, the last storm, had all her whole crew sick;
Had we two been there, it would have made me and
you sick :

A lady that long'd, is by eating of glew sick;
Did you ever know one in a very good Q sick?
I'm told that my wife is by winding a clue sick;
The doctors have made her by rhyme and by rue sick.
There's a gamester in town, for a throw that he
threw sick,

And yet the old trade of his dice he'll pursue sick;
I've known an old miser for paying his due sick;
At present I'm grown by a pinch of my shoe sick,
And what would you have me with verses to do sick?
Send rhymes, and I'll send you some others in lue
Of rhymes I've a plenty, (sick.
And therefore send twenty.
Answered the same day when sent, Nov. 23.
I desire you will carry both these to the doctor,
together with his own; and let him know we are
not persons to be insulted.

"Can you match with me,
Who send thirty-three?
You must get fourteen more,
To make up thirty-four:
But, if me you can conquer,

I'll own you a strong cur 2."

This morning I'm growing by smelling of yew sick; My brother's come over with gold from Peru sick; Last night I came home in a storm that then blew sick; This moment my dog at a cat I halloo sick; [sick, I hear, from good hands, that my poor cousin Hugh's By quaffing a bottle, and pulling a screw sick : And now there's no more I can write (you 'll excuse) sick;

You see that I scorn to mention word musick.

I'll do my best,

To send the rest; Without a jest,

I'll stand the test.

[sick;

These lines that I send you, I hope you'll peruse I'll make you with writing a little more news sick: Last night I came home with drinking of booze sick; My carpenter swears that he'll hack and he'll hew An officer's lady, I 'm told, is tattoo sick : [sick; I'm afraid that the line thirty-four you will view Lord! I could write a dozen more; [sick. You see, I've mounted thirty-four.

EPIGRAM,

ON THE BUSTS IN RICHMOND HERMITAGE, 1732.
Sie sibi lætantur docti.

WITH honour thus by Carolina plac'd,
How are these venerable bustoes grac'd!
O queen, with more than regal title crown'd,
For love of arts and piety renown'd!

2 The lines" thus marked" were written by Dr. Swift, at the bottom of Dr. Helsham's twenty lines; and the following fourteen were afterwards added to the same paper. N.

Newton, Locke, Clarke, and Woolaston,

TO THE REVEREND DR. SWIFT. WITH A PRESENT OF A PAPER-BOOK FINELY BOUND, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1732.

BY JOHN EARL OF ORRERY.

To thee, dear Swift, these spotless leaves I send;
Small is the present, but sincere the friend.
Think not so poor a book below thy care;
Who knows the price that thou canst make it bear?
Though tawdry now, and, like Tyrilla's face,
The specious front shines out with borrow'd grace;
Though paste-boards, glittering like a tinsel'd coat,
A rasa tabula within denote:

Yet, if a venal and corrupted age,

And modern vices, should provoke thy rage;
If, warn'd once more by their impending fate,
A sinking country and an injur'd state
Thy great assistance should again demand,
And call forth reason to defend the land;
Then shall we view these sheets with glad surprise
Inspir'd with thought, and speaking to our eyes:
Fach vacant space shall then, enrich'd, dispense
True force of eloquence, and nervous sense;
Inform the judgment, animate the heart,
And sacred rules of policy impart.
The spangled covering, bright with splendid ore,
Shall cheat the sight with empty show no more;
But lead us inward to those golden mines,
Where all thy soul in native lustre shines.
So when the eye surveys some lovely fair,
With bloom of beauty grac'd, with shape and air
How is the rapture heighten'd, when we find
Her form excell'd by her celestial mind!

VERSES

LEFT WITH A SILVER STANDISH

ON THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S DESK ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.

BY DR. DELANY.

HITHER from Mexico I came,
To serve a proud Iernian dame :
Was long submitted to her will;
At length she lost me at quadrille.
Through various shapes I often pass'd,
Still hoping to have rest at last;
And still ambitious to obtain
Admittance to the patriot dean;
And sometimes got within his door,
But soon turn'd out to serve the poor 1;
Not strolling Idleness to aid,
But honest Industry decay'd.
At length an artist purchas'd me,

And wrought me to the shape you see.
This done, to Hermes I apply'd:
"O Hermes! gratify my pride;
Be it my fate to serve a sage,
The greatest genius of his age:
That matchless pen let me supply,
Whose living lines will never die !"

66

I grant your suit," the god reply'd; And here he left me to reside.

The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean)
By proclamation gave command,
That every subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious wolf begins:
"Good father, I must own with shame,
That often I have been to blame :
I must confess, on Friday last,
Wretch that I was! I broke my fast:
But I defy the basest tongue
To prove I did my neighbour wrong;
Or ever went to seek my food
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood."
The ass, approaching next, confess'd,
That in his heart he lov'd a jest:
A wag he was, he needs must own.
And could not let a dunce alone:
Sometimes his friend he would not spare,
And might perhaps be too severe :
But yet, the worst that could be said,
He was a wit both born and bred;
And, if it be a sin or shame,
Nature alone must bear the blame:
One fault he hath, is sorry for 't,
His ears are half a foot too short;
Which could he to the standard bring,
He'd show his face before the king:
Then for his voice, there 's none disputes
That he 's the nightingale of brutes.

The swine with contrite heart allow'd,
His shape and beauty made him proud:
In diet was perhaps too nice
But gluttony was ne'er his vice:
In every turn of life content,
And meekly took what fortune sent :
Inquire through all the parish round,
A better neighbour ne'er was found:
His vigilance might some displease;
'Tis truc, he hated sloth like pease.

The mimic ape began his chatter, How evil tongues his life bespatter: Much of the censuring world complain'd, Who said, his gravity was feign'd: Indeed the strictness of his morals Engag'd him in a hundred quarrels : He saw, and he was griev'd to see 't, His zeal was sometimes indiscreet: He found his virtues too severe For our corrupted times to bear: Yet such a lewd licentious age Might well excuse a stoic's rage.

The goat advanc'd with decent pace; And first excus'd his youthful face; Forgiveness begg'd, that he appear'd ('Twas nature's fault) without a beard. 'Tis true, he was not much inclin'd To fondness for the female kind; Not, as his enemies object, From chance, or natural defect; Not by his frigid constitution; But through a pious resolution: For he had made a holy vow Of chastity, as monks do now; Which he resolv'd to keep for ever hence, And strictly too, as doth his reverence 1. Apply the tale, and you shall find, How just it suits with human-kind.

LI

! The priest his confessor.

Some faults we own: but, can you guess?
-Why, virtues carried to excess,
Wherewith our vanity endows us,
Though neither foe nor friend allows us.
The lawyer swears (you may rely on 't)
He never squeez'd a needy client;
And this he makes his constant rule;
For which bis brethren call him fool:
His conscience always was so nice,
He freely gave the poor advice;
By which he lost, he may affirm,
A hundred fees last Easter-term.
While others of the learned robe
Would break the patience of a Job,
No pleader at the bar could inatch
His diligence and quick dispatch;
Ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast,
Above a term, or two at most.

The cringing knave who seeks a place
Without success, thus tells his case:
Why should he longer mince the matter?
He fail'd, because he could not flatter;
He had not learn'd to turn his coat,
Nor for a party give his vote:
His crime he quickly understood;
Too zealous for the nation's good:
He found the ministers resent it,
Yet could not for his heart repent it.

The chaplain vows he cannot fawn,
Though it would raise him to the lawn:
He pass'd his hours among his books;
You find it in his meagre looks:
He might, if he were worldly wise,
Preferment get, and spare his eyes;
But own'd he had a stubborn spirit,
That made him trust alone to merit:
Would rise by merit to promotion;
Alas! a mere chimeric notion.

The doctor, if you will believe him,
Confess'd a sin; and (God forgive him!)
Call'd up at midnight, ran to save
A blind old beggar from the grave:
But see how Satan spreads his snares;
He quite forgot to say his prayers.
He cannot help it for his heart
Sometimes to act the parson s part:
Quotes from the Bible many a sentence,
That moves his patients to repentance:
And, when his medicines do no good,
Supports their minds with heavenly food,
At which, however well intended,
He hears the clergy are offended,
And grown so bold behind his back,
To call him hypocrite and quack.
In his own church he keeps a seat;
Says grace before and after meat;
And calls, without affecting airs,
His household twice a day to prayers.
He shuns apothecaries' shops,
And hates to cram the sick with slops:
He scorns to make his art a trade,
Nor bribes my lady's favourite maid :
Old nurse-keepers would never hire,
To recommend him to the squire;
Which others, whom he will not name,
Have often practis'd to their shame.

The statesman tells you, with a sneer, His fault is to be too sincere ; And, having no sinister ends, Is apt to disoblige his friends.

The nation's good, his master's glory,
Without regard to Whig or Tory,
Were all the schemes he had in view;

Yet he was seconded by few:

Though some had spread a thousand lyes,
'Twas he defeated the excise.

'Twas known, though he had borne aspersion,
That standing troops were his aversion :
His practise was, in every station,
To serve the king, and please the nation;
Though hard to find in every case
The fittest man to fill a place:
His promises he ne'er forgot,
But took meinorials on the spot :
His enemies, for want of charity,
Said, he affected popularity:
'Tis true, the people understood,
That all he did was for their good;
Their kind affections he has try'd;
No love is lost on either side.

He came to court with fortune clear,
Which now he runs out every year :
Must, at the rate that he goes on,
Inevitably be undone :

Oh! if his majesty would please
To give him but a writ of ease,
Would grant him licence to retire,
As it hath long been his desire,
By fair accounts it would be found,
He 's poorer by ten thousand pound.
He owns, and hopes it is no sin,
He ne'er was partial to his kin;
He thought it base for men in stations
To crowd the court with their relations:
His country was his dearest mother,
And every virtuous man his brother;
Through modesty or awkward shame
(For which he owns himself to blame),
He found the wisest man he could,
Without respect to friends or blood;
Nor never acts on private views,
When he hath liberty to choose.

The sharper swore he hated play,
Except to pass an hour away:
And well he might; for, to his cost,
By want of skill he always lost:
He heard there was a club of cheats,
Who had contriv'd a thousand feats;
Could change the stock, or cog a dye,
And thus deceive the sharpest eye.
Nor wonder how his fortune sunk ;
His brothers fleece him when he 's drunk.
I own the moral not exact:
Besides, the tale is false in fact;
And so absurd, that could I raise up
From fields Flysian, fabling Asop,

I would accuse him to his face

For libeling the four-foot race.
Creatures of every kind but ours
Well comprehend their natural powers;
While we, whom reason ought to sway,
Mistake our talents every day.
The ass was never known so stupid
To act the part of Tray or Cupid;
Nor leaps upon his master's lap,
There to be strok'd, and fed with pap,
As Esop would the world persuade;
He better understands his trade:
Nor comes, whene'er his lady whistles;
But carries loads, and feeds on thistles.

WOULD you rise in the church? be stupid and dull;
Be empty of learning, of insolence full;
Though lewd and immoral, be formal and grave,
In flattery an artist, in fawning a slave:
No merit, no science, no virtue, is wanting
In him that 's accomplish'd in cringing and canting.
Be studious to practise true meanness of spirit;
For who but lord Bolton was mitred for merit?
Would you wish to be wrapt in a rochet? in short,
Be pox'd and profane as F-n or Horte 2.

THE PARSON'S CASE.

THAT you, friend Marcus, like a stoic,
Can wish to die in strains heroic,
No real fortitude implies:
Yet, all must own, thy wish is wise.
Thy curate's place, thy fruitful wife,
Thy busy drudging scene of life,
Thy insolent, illiterate vicar,
Thy want of all-consoling liquor,
Thy thread bare gown, thy cassoc rent,
Thy credit sunk, thy money spent,
Thy week made up of fasting-days,
Thy grate unconscious of a blaze,
And, to complete thy other curses,
The quarterly demands of nurses,
Are ills you wisely wish to leave,
And fly for refuge to the grave:
And, oh, what virtue you express,
In wishing such afflictions less!

But, now, should Fortune shift the scene,
And make thy curateship a dean;
Or some rich benefice provide,
To pamper luxury and pride;

With labour small, and income great ;
With chariot less for use than state;
With swelling scarf and glossy gown,
And licence to reside in town;
To shine, where all the gay resort,
At concerts, coffee-house, or court,
And weekly persecute his grace
With visits, or to beg a place;
With underlings thy flock to teach,
With no desire to pray or preach;
With haughty spouse in vesture fine,

With plenteous meals and generous wine;
Wouldst thou not wish, in so much ease,
Thy years as numerous as thy days?

Then archbishop of Cashell.
2 At that time bishop of Kilmore

THE HARDSHIP UPON THE LADIES.

1733.

POOR ladies! though their business be to play,
'Tis hard they must be busy night and day:
Why should they want the privilege of men,
Nor take some small diversions now and then?
Had women been the makers of our laws
(And why they were not, I can see no cause),
The men should slave at cards from morn till night,
And female pleasures be to read and write.

A LOVE SONG,

IN THE MODERN TASTE. 1733.

FLUTTERING Spread thy purple pinions,
Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart;
I a slave in thy dominions;
Nature must give way to art.
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
See my weary days consuming

All beneath yon flowery rocks.
Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping

Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth: Him the boar, in silence creeping, Gor'd with unrelenting tooth. Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; Fair Discretion, string the lyre! Sooth my ever-waking slumbers; Bright Apollo, lend thy choir. Gloomy Pluto, king of terrours,

Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors
Watering soft Elysian plains.

Mournful cypress, verdant willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows.

Melancholy smooth Mæander,
Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander,
With thy flowery chaplets crown'd.
Thus when Philomela drooping

Softly seeks her silent mate,
See the bird of Juno stooping;
Melody resigns to fate

Whole ricks of hay, and stacks of corn,
Were down the sudden current borne ;
While things of heterogeneous kind
Together float with tide and wind.
The generous wheat forgot its pride,
And sail'd with litter side by side;
Uniting all, to show their amity,
As in a general calamity.

THE YAHOO'S OVERTHROW;

A ball of new-dropt horse's dung, Mingling with apples in the throng, Said to the pippin plump and prim, "See, brother, how we apples swim." Thus Lamb, renown'd for cutting corns, An offer'd fee of Radcliff scorns : "Not for the world-we doctors, brother, Must take no fees of one another." Thus to a dean some curate sloven Subscribes, "Dear sir, your brother loving." Thus all the footmen, shoe-boys, porters, About St. James's, cry, "We courtiers." Thus H-e in the house will prate, "Sir, we the ministers of state." Thus at the bar the blockhead Bettesworth, Though half a crown o'erpays his sweat's worth, Who knows in law nor text nor margent, Calls Singleton his brother sergeant. And thus fanatic saints, though neither in Doctrine nor discipline our brethren, Are Brother Protestants and Christians, As much as Hebrews and Philistines: But in no other sense, than nature Has made a rat our fellow-creature. Lice from your body suck their food; But is a louse your flesh and blood? Though born of human filth and sweat, it May as well be said man did beget it: But maggots in your nose and chin As well may claim you for their kin.

Yet critics may object, "Why not?"
Since lice are brethren to a Scot:
Which made our swarm of sects determine
Employments for their brother vermin.
But be they English, Irish, Scottish,
What Protestant can be so sottish,
While o'er the church these clouds are gathering,
To call a swarm of lice his brethren?
As Moses, by divine advice,

In Egypt turn'd the dust to lice;
And as our sects, by all descriptions,
Have hearts more harden'd than Egyptians;
As from the trodden dust they spring,
And, turn'd to lice, infest the king:
For pity's sake, it would be just,
A rod should turn them back to dust.
Let folks in high or holy stations
Be proud of owning such relations;
Let courtiers hug them in their bosom,
As if they were afraid to lose 'em :
While I, with humble Job, had rather

Say to corruption-" Thou'rt my father."
For he that has so little wit

To nourish vermin, may be bit.

OR,

THE KEVAN BALY'S NEW BALLAD,

UPON SERGEANT KITE'S INSULTING THE DEAN.

TO THE TUNE OF DERRY DOWN."

JOLLY boys of St. Kevan's, St. Patrick's, Donore, And Smithfield, I'll tell you, if not told before, How Bettesworth, that booby, and scoundrel in grain, Hath insulted us all by insulting the dean.

Knock him down, down, down, knock him dowṛ. The dean and his merits we every one know; But this skip of a lawyer, were the de'el did he grow! How greater his merit at Four-courts or House, Than the barking of Towzer, or leap of a louse? Knock him down, &c.

That he came from the Temple, his morals do show; But where his deep law is, few mortals yet know i His rhetoric, bombast, silly jests, are by far More like to lampooning, than pleading at bar. Knock him down, &&

This pedlar, at speaking and making of laws, Hath met with returns of all sorts but applause; Has, with noise and odd gestures, been prating some

years,

What honester folks never durst for their ears. Knock him down, &c

Of all sizes and sorts, the fanatical crew Are his Brother Protestants, good men and true; Red hat, and blue bonnet, and turbant's the same: What the de'el is 't to him whence the devil they came?

Knock him down, &c.

Hobbes, Tindal, and Woolston, and Collins, and
Nayler,

And Muggleton, Toland, and Bradley the tailor,
Are Christians alike; and it may be averr'd,
He's a Christian as good as the rest of the herd.
Knock him down, &c

He only the rights of the clergy debates, [rates Their rights! their importance! We'll set on new On their tithes at half-nothing, their priesthood at less:

What's next to be voted, with ease you may guess, Knock him down, &c.

At length his old master (I need not him name) To this damnable speaker had long ow'd a shame; When his speech came abroad, he paid him off clean, By leaving him under the pen of the dean.

Knock him down, &c.

He kindled, as if the whole satire had been The oppression of virtue, not wages of sin : He began, as he bragg'd, with a rant and a roar; He bragg'd how he boure'd, and he swore how he

swore.

Knock him down, &c.

Though he cring'd to his deanship in very low

strains,

To others he boasted of knocking out brains,
And slitting of noses, and cropping of ears, [shears.
While his own ass's zaggs were more fit for the
Knock him down, ke.