Others are blindly led away,

And made to act for ends unknown; By the mere spring of wires they play,. And fpeak in language not their own. Too oft', alas! a fcolding wife

Ufurps a jolly fellow's throne ; And many drink the cup of life, Mir'd and embitter'd by a Joan. In short, whatever men purfue,

Of pleasure, folly, war, or love; This mimic race brings all to view: Alike they drefs, they talk, they move. Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand, Martals to please and to deride; And, when death breaks thy vital band, Thou shalt put on a puppet's pride. Then halt in puny wood be shown,

Thy image fhall preferve thy fame; Ages to come thy worth fhall own,

Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name. Tell Tom, he draws a farce in vain, Before he looks in nature's glafs; Pens cannot form a witty scene, Not pedantry for humour pass. To make men act as fenfeless wood, And chatter in a myftic ftrain,

Is a mere force on flesh and blood,

And thows fome error in the brain.

He that would thus refine on thee,

And turn thy ftage into a school,

The jeft of Punch will ever be,
And ftand confeft the greater fool.

"Aftone and a quarter of beef from my furloin. "If I make it a barrack, the crown is my tenant; "My dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't: "In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent; "Whatever they give me, I must be content, "Or join with the court in every debate ;> "And rather than that, I would lofe my estate."

Thus ended the knight: thus began his meek "It must, and it shall be a barrack, my life. [wife = "I'm grown a mere mopus; no company comes, "But a rabble of tenants, and rufty dull* rums. "With parfons what lady can keep herself clean? "I'm all over daub'd when I fit by the Dean. "But if you will give us a barrack, my dear, "The captain, I'm fure, will always come here; "I then thall not value his Deanfhip a straw,

66

For the captain, I warrant, will keep him in

awe;

"Or, fhould he pretend to be brisk and alert, "Will tell him that chaplains should not be fo 86 pert;

"That men of his coat should be minding their 66 prayers,

"And not among ladies to give themselves airs.", Thus argued my lady, but argued in vain ; The knight his opinion refolv'd to maintain.

But Hannahı t, who liften'd to all that was paft, And could not endure fo vulgar a tafte,

As foon as her ladyship call'd to be dreft, Cry'd," Madam, why furely my mafter's poffeft. "Sir Arthur the maltfter! how fine it will found! "I'd rather the bawn were funk under ground. "But madam, I guess'd there would never come

“And rather than come in the fame pair of fheets "With fuch a crofs man, I would lie in the streets: "But, madam, I beg you contrive and invent, "And worry him out, till he gives his confent. "Dear madam, whene'er of a barrack I think, "An I were to be hang'd, I can't sleep a wink: "For if a new crotchet comes into my brain, I can't get it out, though I'd never fo fain. "I fancy already a barrack contriv'd "At Hamilton's bawn, and the troop is arriv'd;

* A cant word in Ireland for a poor clergy

man.

My lady's waiting-woman. Two of Sir Arthur's managers. Hj

My humble refpects to my lady unknown. "I hope you will ufe my houfe as your own."

"Go bring me my fmock, and leave off your prate,

"Thou hast certainly gotten a cup in thy pate." "Pray, madam, be quiet; what was it I faid? "You had like to have put it quite out of my head. "Next day, to be fure, the captain will come,

At the head of his troops, with trumpet and "drum.

"Now, madam, obferve how he marches in state: "The man with the kettle-drum enters the gate: "Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow, "Tantara, tantara; while all the boys hollow. "See now comes the captain all daub'd with gold lace:

"Ola! the fweet gentleman! look in his face; "And fee how he rides like a lord of the land, "With the fine flaming fword that he holds in "his hand;

"And his horfe, the dear creter, it prances and

"pride,

"For the captain's entreated to fit by your fide; "And, because he's their betters, you carve for "him firft;

"The parlons for envy are ready to burst. "The fervants amaz'd are scarce ever able "To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the "table,

"And Molly and I have thruft in our nose "To peep at the captain in all his fine clo'es. "Dear madam, be fure he's a fine-spoken man, "Do but here on the clergy how glib his tongue

66

ran;

"I ne'er knew a parfon without a good nofe; "But the devil's as welcome wherever he goes: “G―d―n me! they bid us reform and repent, "Bat, z-ds! by their looks they never keep Lent. "Mifter Curate, for all your grave looks, I'm "afraid

"You caft a sheep's eye on her ladyship's maid: "I with she would lend you her pretty white hand "In mending your caflock, and fmoothing your "band

(For the Dean was fo fhabby, and look'd like

a ninny,

"That the captain fuppos'd he was curate to Jinny).

"Whenever you fee a caffock and gown, "A hundred to one but it covers a clown. "Obferve how a parfon comes into a room; G--- d---n me! he hobbles as bad as my groom: A fcholard, when juft from his college broke

ર

loofe,

"Can hardly tell how to cry bo to a goofe; "Your Noveds, and Bluturcks, and Omurs "and stuff,

"By G---, they don't fignify this pinch of fnuff. "To give a young gentleman right education, "The army's the only good fchool in the nation "My fchool-mafter call'd me a dunce and a fool "But at cuffs I was always the cock of the "fchool:

*Dcor Finny, a clergyman in the neighbour hood.

Quids, Plutarchs, Homers.

Good caufe have I to fing and vapour, For I am landlord to the Drapier: He that of every ear's the charmer, Now condefcends to be my farmer, And grace my villa with his ftrains. Lives fuch a bard on British plains? No, not in all the British court; Fr one but witlings there refort,

Nay, he can make, what's greater far,
A middle ftate 'twixt peace and war;
And say, there fhall, for years together,
Be peace and war, and both, and neither.
Happy, O Market-hill! at least,
That court and courtiers have no taste :
You never else had known the Dean,
But, as of old, obfcurely lain;

All things gone on the fame dull track,
And Drapier's-hill been ftill Drumlack;
But now your name with Penshurst vies,
And wing'd with fame fhall reach the skies.

DRAPIER'S-HILL.

We give the world to understand, Our thriving Dean has purchas'd land; A purchase which will bring him clear Above his rent four pounds a year; Provided, to improve the ground, He will but add two hundred pound; And, from his endless hoarded store, To build a house, five hundred more. Sir Arthur too fhall have his will, And call the manfion Drapier's-hill: That, when a nation, long enflav'd, Forgets by whom it once was fav'd; When none the Drapier's praise fhall fing; His figns aloft no longer swing; His medals and his prints forgotten; And all his handkerchiefs are rotten; His famous letters made wafte-paper; This hill may keep the name of Drapier; In spight of envy, flourish ftill,

And Drapier's vie with Cooper's hill.

THE DEAN'S REASONS

FOR NOT BUILDING AT DRAPIER'S-HILL.

I WILL not build on yonder mount: -
And, fhould you call me to account,
Confulting with myself, I find
It was no levity of mind.
Whate'er I promis'd or intended,
No fault of mine, the fcheme is ended:
Nor can you tax me as unfteady,
I have a hundred caufes ready;
All rifen fince that flattering time,

When Drapier's-hill appear'd in rhyme.

I

am, as now too late I find,

Imortal by the Dunciad;

Aa, iure as monument of brass,

The fame to future times shall pass,

How, with a weakly warbling tongue,
Of brazen knight they vainly fung:
Abject for their genius fit;
He dares defy both fenfe and wit.
What dares he not? He can, we know it,

A lasteat make that is no poet;

A judge, without the leaft pretence
To common law, or common fenfe;
A bishop that is no divine;

And coxcombs in red ribbons shine:

† Nick-names for my lady.

The lowest boy in Martin's school
May turn and wind me like a fool.
How could I form fo wild a vifion,
To feek, in deferts, Fields Elyfian?
To live in fear, suspicion, variance,
With thieves, fanatics, and barbarians?

*The Dean gave this name to a farm called Drumlack, which he rented of Sir Arthur Achefon, whofe feat lay between that and Marketbill; and intended to build an boufe upon it, but afterwards changed his mind.

+ Medals were caft, many figns hung up, and handkerchiefs made with devices, in honour of the Dean, under the name of M. B. Drapier.

But here my Lady will object:
Your Deanship ought to recollect,
That, near the Knight of Gosford plac'd,
Whom you allow a man of taste,
Your intervals of time to spend
With fo converfable a friend,
It would not fignify a pin
Whatever climate you were in.
'Tis true, but what advantage comes
To me from all a ufurer's plumbs;
Though I should see him twice a day,
And am his neighbour cross the way;
If all my rhetoric must fail
Toftrike him for a pot of ale?

Thus, when the learned and the wife
Conceal their talents from our eyes,
And from deferving friends with-hold
Their gifts, as mifers do their gold;
Their knowledge to themselves confin'd
Is the fame avarice of mind;
Nor makes their conversation better,
Than if they never knew a letter.
Such is the fate of Gosford's Knight,
Who keeps his wisdom out of fight;
Whofe uncommunicative heart
Will scarce one precious word impart :
Still rapt in fpeculations deep,
His outward fenfes fast asleep;
Who, while I talk, a fong will hum,
Or, with his fingers, beat the drum;
Beyond the fkies transports his mind,
And leaves a lifeless corpfe behind.

But, as for me, who ne'er could clamber high,
To understand Malebranche or Cambray;
Who fend my mind (as I believe) less
Than others do, on errands fleeveless;
Can liften to a tale humdrum,
And with attention read Tom Thumb;
My fpirits with my body progging.
Both hand in hand together jogging;
Sunk over head and ears in matter,
Nor can of metaphyfics smatter;
Am more diverted with a quibble,
Than dream of worlds intelligible;
And think all notions too abstracted
Are like the ravings of a crackt head;
What intercourse of minds can be
Betwixt the knight fublime and me,
If when I talk, as talk I muft,
It is but prating to a buft?

Where friendship is by Fate defign'd,
It forms an union in the mind:
But here I differ from the Knight
In every point, like black and white:
For none can fay that ever yet
We both in one opinion met;
Not in philofophy, or ale;
In ftate affairs, or planting cale;
In rhetoric, or picking straws;
In roafting larks, or making laws;
In public fchemes, or catching flies;
In parliaments, or pudding-pies.

The neighbours wonder why the Knight
Should in a country life delight,
Who not one pleasure entertains
To cheer the folitary scenes:
His guests are few, his vifite rare ;
Nor ufes time, nor time will spare;

| Nor rides, nor walks, nor hunts, nor fowls,
Nor plays at cards, or dice, or bowls;
But, feated in an eafy chair,
Despises exercise and air.

His rural walks he ne'er adorns :
Here poor Pomona fits on thorns;
And there neglected Flora fettles
Her bum upon a bed of nettles.

Thofe thanklefs and officious cares
I us'd to take in friends' affairs,
From which I never could refrain,
And have been often chid in vain;
From these I am recover'd quite,
At least in what regards the knight.
Preferve his health, his store increase;
May nothing interrupt his peace!
But now let all his tenants round
First milk his cows, and after, pound:
Let every cottager confpire
To cut his hedges down for fire:
The naughty boys about the village
His crabs and floes may freely pillage:
He still may keep a pack of knaves
To fpoil his work, and work by halves:
His meadows may be dug by (wine,
It shall be no concern of mine.
For why should I continue still
To ferve a friend against his will?

A PANEGYRIC ON THE DEAN,

IN THE PERSON OF A LADY IN THE NORTH 1730.

RESOLV'D my gratitude to fhow,
Thrice reverend Dean, for all I owe,
Too long I have my thanks delay'd,
Your favours left too long unpaid;
But now, in all our fex's name,
My artless muse shall fing your fame.
Indulgent you to female kind,
To all their weaker fides are blind;
Nine more fuch champions as the Dean
Would foon reftore our ancient reign.
How well, to win the ladies' hearts,
You celebrate their wit and parts!
How have I felt my fpirits rais'd,
By you so oft', fo highly prais'd!
Transform'd by your convincing tongue
To witty, beautiful, and young,
I hope to quit that aukward fhame,
Affected by each vulgar dame,
To modefty a weak pretence;
And foon grow pert on men of sense;
To fhow my face with fcornful air;
Let others match it, if they dare.

Impatient to be out of debt,
Oh, may I never once forget

The bard who humbly deigns to choose
Me for the fubject of his Mute !
Behind my back, before my nose,
He founds my praise in verfe and profe.
My heart with emulation burns
To make you fuitable returns:
My gratitude the world fhall know;
And fee, the printer's boy below;

*The lady of Sir Arthur Achefon.

Ye hawkers all, your voices lift ;
A Panegyric on Dean Swift!"
And then, to mend the matter still,
By Lady Anne of Market-hill."
I thus begin: My grateful Muse
Salutes the Dean in different views;
Dean, butler, usher, jester, tutor;
* Robert and Darby's coadjutor:
And, as you in commiffion fit,
To rule the dairy next to ↑ Kit.
In each capacity I mean

To fing your praife. And first as Dean:
Envy muft own, you understand your
Precedence, and fupport your grandeur;
Nor of your rank will bate an ace,
Except to give Dean Daniel place.
In you fuch dignity appears;
So fuited to your ftate and years!
With ladies what a strict decorum!
With what devotion you adore 'em!
Treat me with fo much complaifance,
As fits a princefs in romance !
By your example and affiftance,

The fellows learn to know their distance.
Sir Arthur, fince you fet the pattern,
No longer calls me fnipe and flattern;
Nor dares he, though he were a duke,
Offend me with the leaft rebuke.
Proceed we to your ‡ preaching next:
How nice you fplit the hardest text!
How your fuperior learning fhines
Above our neighbouring dull divines!
At Beggars' Opera not fo full pit
feen, as when you mount our pulpit.
Confider now your conversation:
Regardful of your age and ftation,
You te'er was known, by paffion stirr'd,
To give the leaft offenfive word;
But fill, whene'er you filence break,
Watch every fyllable you speak:
Your ftyle fo clear, and fo concife,
We never afk to hear you twice.
But then, a parfon fo genteel,
So nicely clad from head to heel;
So fe a gown, a band so clean,
As well become St. Patrick's Dean,
Such reverential awe exprefs,

That cow-boys know you by your drefs!
Then, if our neighbouring friends come here,
How proud are we when you appear,
With fuch addrefs and graceful port,
A clearly thows you bred at court!
Now raife your fpirits, Mr. Dean,
Ilead you to a nobler scene.
When to the vault you walk in state,
In quality of butler's mate;

You next to Dennis bear the fway:
you we often truft the key:
Nor can he judge with all his art
So well, what bottle holds a quart;

What pints may best for bottles pass,
Just to give every man his glass;
When proper to produce the best,
And what may ferve a common guest.
With Dennis you did ne'er combine,
Not you, to steal your master's wine;
Except a bottle now and then,
To welcome brother serving-men:
But that is with a good defign,
To drink Sir Arthur's health and mine;
Your master's honour to maintain,
And get the like returns again.

Your uber's post muft next be handled
How blefs'd am I by fuch a man led!
Under whose wife and careful guardship
I now despise fatigue and hardship:
Familiar grown to dirt and wet,
Though daggled round, I fcorn to fret:
From you my chamber-damfels learn
My broken hofe to patch and dearn.
Now as a jefter I accost you;
Which never yet one friend has loft you.
You judge fo nicely to a hair,
How far to go, and when to fpare;
By long experience grown fo wife,
Of every tafte to know the size;
There's none fo ignorant or weak
To take offence at what you speak.
Whene'er you joke, 'tis all a cafe
Whether with Dermot, or His Grace;
With Teague O'Murphey, or an earl;
A duchefs, or a kitchen-girl.
With fuch dexterity you fit
Their feveral talents with your wit,
That Moll the chamber-maid can smoke,
And Gahagan take every joke.

I now become your humble fuitor
To let you praise you as my § tutor.
Poor I, a favage bred and born,
By you inftructed every morn,
Already have improv'd fo well,
That I have almost learnt to spell:
The neighbours who come here to dine,
Admire to hear me fpeak fo fine.
How enviously the ladies look,
When they furprise me at my book!
And fure as they're alive at night,
As foon as gone will fhow their fpight:
Good lord! what can my lady mean,
Converfing with that rusty Dean!
She's grown fo nice, and fo penurious,
With Socrates and Epicurius.
How could the fit the live-long day,
Yet never afk us once to play?

But I admire your patience moft;
That when I'm duller than a post,
Nor can the plaineft word pronounce,
You neither fume, nor fret, nor flounce;

• He fometimes used to walk with the lady. The neighbouring ladies were no great underftanders of raillery.

The clown that cut down the old thorn at Market-bill.

§ In bad weather the author used to direa my lady in her reading.