Mat never to mankind be told,
Nor shall the conscious Mufe unfold.

Meantime the mournful Queen of Love Led but a weary life above.

She ventures now to leave the skies,
Grown by Vaneffa's conduct wife:
For, though by one perverse event
Pallas had crois'd her first intent;
Though her defign was not obtain'd;
Yet had the much experience gain'd,
And, by the project vainly try'd,
Could better now the caufe decide.
She gave due notice that both parties,
Coram Regina, prox' die Martis,
Should at their peril, without fail,
Come and appear, and fave their bail.
All met; and, filence thrice proclaim'd,
One lawyer to each fide was nam'd.
The judge difcover'd in her face
Refentments for her late disgrace;
And, full of anger, fhame, and grief,
Directed them to mind their brief,

Not spend their time to show their reading;
She'd have a fummary proceeding.
She gather'd under every head
The fam of what each lawyer said,
Gave her own reafons laft, and then
Decreed the cause against the men.
But, in a weighty cafe like this,
To how the did not judge amifs,
Which evil tongues might else report,
She made a speech in open court;
Wherein the grievously complains,

How the was cheated by the fwains;"
On whofe petition (humbly showing,
That women were not worth the wooing,
And that, unless the sex would mend,
The race of lovers foon must end)---

She was at Lord knows what expence
To form a nymph of wit and sense,
A model for her fex defign'd,
Who never could one lover find.
She faw her favour was misplac'd;
The fellows had a wretched tafte;
She needs muft tell them to their face,
They were a stupid, fenseless race ;
And, were the to begin again,

She'd ftudy to se form the men;

Or add fome grains of folly more
To women, than they had before,
To put them on an equal foot;

And this, or nothing elfe, would do 't.

This might their mutual fancy strike,

"Since every being loves its like.

But now, repenting what was done,

She left all bufinefs to her fon;

She puts the world in his poffeffion,

And let him use it at discretion.”

The cryer was order'd to dismiss The court, fo made his last O yes! The goddess would no longer wait; But rifing from her chair of state, Left all below at fix and seven, Harnefs'd her doves, and flew to heaven.

TO LOVE*.

In all I wish, how happy fhould 1 be,
Thou grand deluder, were it not for thee!
So weak thou art, that fools thy power defpife;
And yet so strong, thou triumph'ft o'er the wife.
Thy traps are laid with fuch peculiar art,
They catch the cautious, let the rash depart.
Moft nets are fill'd by want of thought and care
But too much thinking brings us to thy fnare;
Where, held by thee, in lavery we stay,
And throw the pleafing part of life away.
But, what does moft my indignation move,
Difcretion! thou wert ne'er a friend to love:
Thy chief delight is to defeat thofe arts,
By which he kindles mutual flames in hearts;
While the blind loitering God is at his play,
Thou steal'ft his golden-pointed darts away;
Those darts which never fail; and in their stead
Convey'ft malignant arrows tipt with lead:
The heedlefs God, fufpecting no deceits,
Shoots on, and thinks he has done wondrous feats:
But the poor nymph who feels her vitals burn,
And from her thepherd can find no return,
Laments, and rages at the power divine,
When, curft Discretion! all the fault was thine:
Cupid and Hymen thou haft set at odds,

And bred fuch feuds between thofe kindred gods,
That Venus cannot reconcile her fons;
When one appears, away the other runs.
The former fcales, wherein he us'd to poise
Love against love, and equal joys with joys,
Are now fill'd up with avarice and pride,
Where titles, power, and riches, still subside.
Then, gentle Venus, to thy father run,
And tell him how thy children are undone;
Prepare his bolts to give one fatal blow,
And ftrike Difcretion to the fhades below.

ODE TO SPRING.
BY A LADY t.

HAIL, blushing goddess, beauteous Spring,
Who, in thy jocund train, doft bring
Loves and Graces, smiling Hours,
Balmy breezes, fragrant flowers;
Come, with tints of rofeate hue,
Nature's faded charms renew.

Yet why should I thy prefence hail?
To me no more the breathing gale
Comes fraught with fweets; no more the rofe
With fuch transcendant beauty blows,

As when Cadenus bleft the scene,
And shar'd with me those joys ferene;
When, unperceiv'd, the lambent fire
Of friendship kindled new defire:
Still liftening to his tuneful tongue,
The truths which angels might have sung,
Divine, impreft their gentle fway,
And fweetly stole my foul away.
My guide, inftructor, lover, friend,
(Dear names!) in one idea blend;

*Found in Mifs Vanhomrigh's desk, after her death, in the hand-writing of Swift.

This and the next ode have been afcribed to Vanesa.

THE nymph who wrote this in an amorous fit,
I cannot but envy the pride of her wit,
Which thus she will venture profufely to throw
On fo mean a defign, and a fubjeЯ fo low.
For mean's her defign, and her fubje& as mean,
The first but a Rebus, the laft but a Dean.
A Dean's but a parfon : and what is a Rebus?
A thing never known to the Mufes or Phoebus.
The corruption of verfe; for, when all is done,
It is but a paraphrafe made on a pun.
But a genius like her's no fubject can ftifle,
It shows and discovers itself through a trifle.
By reading this trifle, I quickly began

To find her a great wit, but the dean a fmall man.
Rich ladies will furnish their garrets with stuff,
Which others for mantuas would think fine enough:
So the wit that is lavishly thrown away here,
Might furnish a second-rate poet a year.
Thus much for the verfe; we proceed to the next
Where the Nymph had entirely forsaken her text:

Her fine panegyrics are quite out of feason, And what he defcribes to be merit is treafon: The changes which faction has made in the stat Have put the dean's politics quite out of date: Now no one regards what he utters with fr dom,

And, fhould he write pamphlets, no great m would read 'em ;

And should want or defert ftand in need of aid,

This racer would prove but a dull-founder'd j

HORACE, BOOK. II. ODE I.
PARAPHRASED.

Addreffed to Richard Steel, Efq. 1714.
"En qui promittit cives, urbem fibi curæ,
Imperium fore, & Italiam, & delubra deorum
HOR. I. Sat. vi.

Dick, thou'rt refolv'd, as I am told,
Some strange arcana to unfold,
And, with the help of Buckley's pen,
To vamp the good old caufe again,

Which thou (fuch Burnet's fhrew'd advice is)
Muft furbish up, and nickname Crifis.
Thou pompously wilt let us know
What all the world knew long age,
(E'er fince Sir William Gore was mayor,
And Harley fill'd the Common's chair)
That we a German Prince muft own
When Anne for heaven refigns her throne.
But, more than that, thou'lt keep a rout
With-who is in-and who is out;
Thou'lt rail devoutly at the peace,
And all its fecret causes trace,
The bucket-play 'twixt Whig and Tories,
Their ups and downs, with fifty stories
Of tricks the Lord of Oxford knows,
And errors of our Plenipoes.

Thow 'It tell of leagues among the great,
Portending ruin to our state;
And of that dreadful coup d'eclat,
Which has afforded thee much chat.
The queen, forfooth, (despotic) gave
Twelve coronets without thy leave!
A breach of liberty, 'tis own'd,
For which no heads have yet aton'd!
Believe me, what thou'ft undertaken
May bring in jeopardy thy bacon;
For madmen, children, wits, and fools,
Should never meddle with edg'd tools.
But, fince thou'rt got into the fire,
And can't not easily retire,

Thou must no longer deal in farce,
Nor pump to cobble wicked verse;
Until thou shalt have eas'd thy confcience,
Of fpleen, of politics, and nonfere;
And, when thou'ft bid adieu to cares,
And fettled Europe's grand affairs,
'Twill then, perhaps, be worth thy while
For Drury-Lane to fhape thy ftyle:
"To make a pair of jolly fellows,
"The fon and father join, to tell us
"How fons may fafely difobey,
"And father's never should fay nay;'

Br which wife conduct they grow friends

Atlaft-and fo the story ends *."

When first I knew thee, Dick, thou wert

Renown'd, for skill in Fauftus' art †,
Which made thy clofet much frequented
Er barom laffesfome repented
Their lucklefs choice of hufbands--others;
Instint to be like their mothers,
Receir'd from thee profound directions
How bet to fettle their affections.
This thou, a friend to the diftrefs'd,
De in thy calling do thy best.

Bet now the Senate (if things bit,
And thon at Stockbridge wert not bit)
Mut feel thy eloquence and fire,
Approve thy fchemes, thy wit admire,
The with immortal bonours crown,

Whi, Patrist-like, thou'lt strut and frown.
What though by enemics 'tis faid,
The lured which adorns thy head,
Mat one day come in competition
By virtue of fome fly petition:

Yet as for that; hope ftill the best,
Ner let fuch cares difturb thy reft.
Methinks I hear thee loud as trumpet,
A bag-pipe fhrill, or oyfter-strumpet;
Methinks I fee thee, fpruce and fine,
With coat embroider'd richly shine,
And dazzle all the idol faces

At through the ball thy worship paces;
Though this I fpeak but at a venture,
poing thou haft tick with Hunter)
Mennks I fee a black-guard rout
And thy coach and hear them fhout
probation of thy tongue,
Wh (in their style) is purely bung,
! now you carry all before you!
We dares one Jacobite or Tory
Fend to answer one fyllable,

st the matchlefs hero Abelt.
What though her highness and her spouse
Antwerp & keep a frugal houfe,
le not forgetful of a friend,
They'll food enable thee to spend,
Macartney thou will toast,
Azt to his pious patron's ghoft.
Aw manfully, thou'lt run a tilt
On paper, for all the blood they've fpilt,

* For maffacres, and tacks, and flames,
For lands enrich'd by crimson streams,
For inquifitions taught by Spain,
Of which the Chriftian world complain."
Dick, we agree-all's true thou'st said,
A that my mufe is yet a maid.
Bif I may with freedom talk,
Athis is foreign to thy walk:
Typs has perhaps a knack
Aging in a beaten track,
Betis for fate affairs as fit
Ate for politics and wit.

Then let us both in time grów wife,
Nor higher than our talents rife ;
To fome fnug cellar let's repair

From duns and debts, and drown our care;
Now quaff of honest ale a quart,
Now venture at a pint of port,
With which infpir'd, we'll club each night
Some tender fonnet to indite,

And with Tom D'Urfey, Philips, Dennis,
Immortalize our Dolls and Jenneys.

HORACE, BOOK I. EP. V.

John Dennis the feel'ering Poet's Invitation to Richard Steele, the fecluded Party-writer, and Member, ▸ come and live with him in the Mint. 1714*.

FIT TO BE BOUND UP WITH THE CRISIS.

If thou canst lay afidé a spendthrift's air,
And condefcend to feed on homely fare,
Such as we Minters, with ragouts unftor'd,
Will, in defiance of the law, afford:
Quit thy patrols with Toby's Christmas-box,
And come to me at The Two Fighting Cocks;
Since printing by fubfcription now is grown
The ftaleft, idleft cheat about the town;
And ev'n Charles Gildon, who, a Papift bred,
Has an alarm against that worship spread,
Is practifing thofe beaten paths of cruising,
And for new levies on Propofais mufing.

"Tistrue, that Bloomsbury Square's a noble place:
But what are lofty buildings in thy cafe?
What's a fine houfe embellifh'd to profufion,
Where shoulder-dabbers are in execution?
Or whence its timorous tenant feldom fallies,
But apprehenfive of infulting bailiffs?
This once be mindful of a friend's advice,
And ceafe to be improvidently nice;

Exchange the profpects that delude thy fight, From Highgate's fteep afcent, and Hampstead's height,

With verdant scenes, that, from St. George's field, More durable and fafe enjoyments yield.

Here I, ev'n I, that ne'er till now could find
Eafe to my troubled and fufpicious mind,
But ever was with jealoufies poffefs'd,
Am in a state of indolence and reft;
Fearful no more of Frenchmen in disguise,
Nor looking upon ftrangers as on fpies,
But quite divested of my former spleen,
Am unprovok'd without and calm within:
And here I'll wait thy coming, till the fun
Shall its diurnal courfe completely run.
Think not that thou of fturdy butt fhalt fail;
My landlord's cellar is stock'd with beer and ale,
With every fort of malt that is in ufe,

And every county's generous produce.
The ready (for here Christian faith is fick,
Which makes us seldom trefpaís upon tick)
Inftantly brings the choiceft liquors out,
Whether we ask for home-brew'd or for ftout,
For mead or cyder, or, with dainties fed,
Ring for a flask or two of white or red,

This and the preceding poem are printed from can pies in the Lambeth Library.

Such as the drawer will not fail to fwear
Was drunk by Pilkington when third time mayor.
That name, methinks, fo popularly known
For oppofition to the church and crown,
Might make the Lufitanian grape to pass,
And almoft give a fanction to the glafs;
Efpecially with thee, whofe hafty zeal
Against the late rejected commerce-bill
Made thee rife up, like an audacious elf,
To do the fpeaker bonour, not thyself.

But, if thou foar'ft above the common prices,
By virtue of fubfcription to thy Crisis,
And nothing can go down with thee, but wines
Prefs'd from Burgundian and Campanian vines,
Bid them be brought; for, though I hate the French,
I love their liquors, as though lov'ft a wench;
Elfe thou muft humble thy expenfive taste,
And, with us, hold contentment for a feast.

The fire's already lighted; and the maid Has a clean cloth upon the table laid, Who never on a Saturday had ftruck, But for thy entertainment, up a buck. Think of this act of grace, which by your leave Sufan would not have done on Easter Eve, Had the not been inform'd over and over, 'Twas for the ingenious Author of The Lover. Cease therefore to beguile thyfelf with hopes, Which is no more than making fandy ropes, And quit the vain purfuit of loud applaufe, That muft bewilder thee in faction's caufe. Pry thee what is't to thee who guides the state? Why Dunkirk's demolition is fo late? Or why her Majefty thinks fit to cease The din of war, and hufh the world to peace? The clergy too, without thy aid, can tell What texts to choose, and on what topics dwell; And, uninftructed by thy babbling, teach Their flocks celeftial happiness to reach. Rather let fuch poor fouls as you and I Say that the holidays are drawing nigh, And that to-morrow's fun begins the week, Which will abound with ftore of ale and cake, With hams of bacon, and with powder'd beef, Stuff'd to give field-itinerants relief.

Then 1, who have within thefe precincts kept, And ne'er beyond the chimney-fweeper's fept, Will take a loofe, and venture to be seen, Since 'twill be Sunday, upon Shanks's green; There, with erected looks and phrafe fublime, To talk of unity of place and time,

And with much malice, mix'd with little fatire, Explode the wits on t'other fide o'th' water.

Why has my Lord Godolphin's fpecial grace
Invested me with a queen's-waiter's place,
If I, debarr'd of feftival delights,

Am not allow'd to spend the perquifites?
He's but a fhort remove from being mad,
Who at a time of jubilee is fad;
And, like a griping ufurer, does fpare
His money to be fquander'd by his heir;
Flutter'd away in liveries and in coaches,
And washy forts of feminine debauches.
As for my part, whate'er the world may think,
I'll bid adieu to gravity, and drink ;
And, though I can't put off a woeful mien,
Will be all mirth and cheerfulnefs within :
As, in defpight of a cenforious race,

I most incontinently fuck my face.

What mighty projects does not he defign, [win
Whofe ftomach flows, and brain turns round wi
Wine, powerful wine, can thaw the frozen cit,
And fashion him to humour and to wit;
Makes even S**** to disclose his art,

By racking every fecret from his heart,
As he flings off the statefman's fly difguife,
To name the cuckold's wife with whom he lics
Ev'n Sarum, when he quaffs it ftead of tea,
Fancies himself in Canterbury's fee;
And S******, when he caroufing reels,
Imagines that he has regain'd the feals:
W******, by virtue of its juice, can fight,
And Stanhope of commiffioners make light.
Wine gives Lord William aptitude of parts,
And fwells him with his family's deferts:
Whom can it not make eloquent of speech?
Whom in extremeft poverty not rich?
Since, by the means of the prevailing grape,
Th****n can Lechmere's warmth not only apc
But, half-feas-o'er, by its infpiring bounties,
Can qualify himself in feveral counties.
What I have promis'd, thou mayft reft affur'd,
Shall faithfully and gladly be procur'd.
Nay, I'm already better than my word,
New plates and knives adorn the jovial board:
And, left thou at their sight shouldst make wry fac
The girl has fcower'd the pots, and wash'd the glat
Ta'en care fo excellently well to clean 'em,
That thou mayst fee thine own dear picture in 'e
Morcover, due provifion has been made,
That converfation may not be betray'd;
I have no company but what is proper
To fit with the most flagrant Whig at fupper.
There's not a man among them but muft pleaf
Since they're as like each other as are peas.
Toland and Hare have jointly fent me word,
They 'll come; and Kennet thinks to make a thi
Provided he 'as no other invitation,
From men of greater quality and station.
Room will for Oldmixon and J-s be left;
But their difcourfes fmell too much of theft:
There would be no abiding in the room,
Should two fuch ignorant pretenders come.
However, by this trufty bearer write,
If I fhould any other fcabs invite;
Though if I may my ferious judgment give,
I'm wholly for King Charles's number five:
That was the ftint in which that monarch fix'd
Who would not be with noifinefs perplex'd:
And that, if thou 'It agree to think it beft,
Shall be our tale of heads, without one other gu
I've nothing more, now this is faid, to say,
But to request thou 'It inftantly away,
And leave the duties of thy prefent polt,
To fome well-fkill'd retainer to a host;
Doubtless he 'll carefully thy place fupply,
And o'er his Grace's horfes have an eye,
While thou, who 'ft flunk through postern moret
Doft by that means avoid a crowd of duns,
And, crolling o'er the Thames at Temple-ftair
Leav'ft Philips with good words to cheat their e

TO LORD HARLEY,
ON HIS MARRIAGE, 1713.
AMONG the numbers who employ
Their tongues and pens to give you joy,

Dear Harley! generous youth, admit
What friendship dictates more than wit.
Forgive me, when I fondly thought
(By frequent obfervations taught)
A fpirit fo inform'd as yours
Could never profper in amours.

The God of Wit, and Light, and Arts,
With all acquir'd and natural parts,
Whet harp could favage beaits enchant,
Was an unfortunate gallant.

Had Bacchus after Daphne reel'd,

The Nymph had foon been brought to yield :
Or, had embroider'd Mars puriued,

The Nymph would ne'er have been a prude.
Ten thousand footsteps, full in view,
Mark out the way where Daphne flew :
For fuch is all the fex's flight,

They fly from learning, wit, and light:
They fly, and none can overtake
But fome gay coxcomb, or a rake.

pace,

How then, Dear Harley, could I guess That you fhould meet, in love, fuccels? For, if thofe ancient tales be true, Phobus was beautiful as you : Yet Daphne never flack'd her For wit and learning spoil'd his face. And, fince the fame refemb'ance held In gifts wherein you both excell'd, 1 fancy'd every nymph would run From you, as from Latona's fon. Then where, faid I, fhall Harley find A virgin of fuperior mind, With wit and virtue to discover, And pay the merit of her lover? This character fhall Ca'endifh claim, Born to retrieve her fex's fame. The chief among the glittering crowd, Of titles, birth, and fortune proud, (As fools are infolent and vain) Madly afpir'd to wear her chain : But Pallas, guardian of the Maid, Defcending to her charge's aid, Held out Medufa's fnaky locks, Which ftupify'd them all to stocks. The Nymph with indignation view'd The dull, the noify, and the lewd: For Pallas, with celeftial light, Had purify'd her mortal sight; Show'd her the virtues all combin'd, Fresh blooming, in young Harley's mind. Terreftrial nymphs, by former arts, Difpay their various nets for hearts: Their looks are all by method fet, When to be prude, and when coquette; Yet, wanting fkill and power to choose, Their only pride is to refuse. But, when a gooddess would bestow Her love on fomne bright youth below, Rend all the earth fhe cafts her eyes; And then, defcending from the fkies, Makes choice of him the fancies beft, And bids the ravish'd youth be blefs'd. Thus the bright Empress of the Morn Chofe, for her fpoufe, a mortal born: The Goddess made advances first; Ele what afpiring hero durft? Though, like a virgin of fifteen, She blushes when by mortals feen;

Still blushes, and with fpeed retires,
When Sol purfues her with his fires.
Diana thus, Heaven's chafteft queen,
Struck with Endymion's graceful mien,
Down from her filver chariot came,
And to the Shepherd own'd her flame.
Thus Ca'cndith, as Aurora bright,
And chafter than the Queen of Night,
Defcended from her fphere, to find
A mortal of fuperior kind.

IN SICKNESS.

Written in Ireland, October 1714.

'Tis true-then why fhould I repine
To fee my life fo fatt decline?
But why obfcurely here alone,
Where I am neither lov'd nor known?
My ftate of health none care to learn;
My life is here no foul's concern:
And those with whom I now converfe;
Without a tear will tend my herfe.
Remov'd from kind Arbuthnot's aid,
Who knows his art, but not his trade,
Preferring his regard for me
Before his credit or his fce.
Some formal vifits, looks, and words,
What mere humanity affords,

I meet perhaps from three or four,
From whom I once expected more;
Which those who tend the fick for pay
Can act as decently as they :
But no obliging tender friend
To help at my approaching end.
My life is now a burden grown
To others, ere it be my own.

Ye formal weepers for the fick,
In your last offices be quick;
And spare my abfent friends the grief
To hear, yet give me no relief;
Expir'd to-day, intomb'd to-morrow,
When known, will fave a double forrow.

THE FABLE OF THE BITCHES.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1715. On an Attempt to repeal the Test Act. A BITCH that was full pregnant grown, By all the dogs and curs in town, Finding her ripen'd time was come, Her litter teeming from her womb, Went here and there, and every where, To find an eafy place to lay-her.

At length to Mufic's houfe the came, And begg'd like one both blind and lame; My only friend, my dear," said the, "You fee 'tis mere neceflity "Hath fent me to your houfe to whelp; "I'll die, if you deny your help."

With fawning whine, and rueful tone, With artful figh and feigned groan, With couchant cringe, and flattering tale, Smooth Bawty † did fo far prevail,

*The Church of England.

A Scotch name for a bitch; alluding to the kirk.