In royal garments each was dreft,
Each with a gold and purple veft:
I faw them of their garments ftript;
Their throats were cut, their bellies ript;
Twice were they bury'd, twice were born,
Twice from their fepulchres were torn;
But now difmember'd here are caft,
And find a refting-place at last.
Here oft' the curious traveller finds
The combat of oppofing winds;
And seeks to learn the fecret cause,
Which alien feems from nature's laws,
Why at this cave's tremendous mouth
He feels at once both north and fouth;
Whether the winds, in caverns pent,
Through clefts oppugnant force a vent;
Or whether, opening all bis flores,
Fierce Æolus in tempeft roars.
Yet, from this mingled mass of things,
In time a new creation fprings.
These crude materials once fhall rife
To fill the earth, and air, and skies;
In various forms appear again,
Of vegetables, brutes, and men.
So Jove pronounc'd among the gods,
Olympus trembling as he nods.
VIII. LOUISA TO STREPHON.
Au! Strephon, how can you despise
Her who without thy pity dies?
To Strephon I have ftill been true,
And of as noble blood as you;
Fair iffue of the genial bed,
A virgin in thy bofom bred;
Embrac'd thee closer than a wife;
When thee I leave, I leave my life.
Why should my fhepherd take amifs,
That oft' I wake thee with a kifs?
Yet you of every kifs complain;
Ah! is not love a pleafing pain?
A pain which every happy night
You cure with cafe and with delight;
With pleasure, as the poet fings,
Too great for mortals lefs than kings.
Chloe, when on thy breast I lie,
Obferves me with revengeful eye :
If Chloe o'er thy heart prevails,
She'll tear me with her defperate nails,
And with relentless hands destroy
The tender pledges of our joy.
Nor have I bred a fpurious race;
They all were born from thy embrace.
Confider, Strephon, what you do ;
For, fhould I die for love of you,
I'll haunt thy dreams, a bloodlefs ghoft;
And all my kin (a numerous hoft,
Who down direct our lineage bring
From victors o'er the Memphian king;
Renown'd in fieges and campaigns,
Who never fled the bloody plains,
Who in tempeflucus feas can fport,
And fcorn the pleafures of a court,
From whom great Sylla found his doom,
Who scourg'd to death that fcourge of Rome)
* This Riddle is folved by an Anagram.
Shall on thee take a vengeance dire;
Thou, like Alcides, fhalt expire,
When his envenom'd fhirt he wore,
And skin and flesh in pieces tore.
Nor less that shirt, my rival's gift,
Cut from the piece that made her shift,
Shall in thy dearest blood be dy'd,
And make thee tear thy tainted hide.
DEPRIV'D of root, and branch, and rind,
Yet flowers I bear of every kind;
And fuch is my prolific power,
They bloom in lefs than half an hour;
Yet ftanders-by may plainly fee
They get no nourishment from me.
My head with giddinefs goes round,
And yet I firmly ftand my ground:
All over naked I am seen,
And painted like an Indian queen.
No couple-beggar in the land
E'er join'd fuch numbers hand in hand;
I join them fairly with a ring;
Nor can our parfon blame the thing:
And, though no marriage words are spoke,
They part not till the ring is broke;
Yet hypocrite fanatics cry,
I'm but an idol rais'd on high:
And once a weaver in our town,
A dainn'd Cromwellian, knock'd me down.
I lay a prifoner twenty years,
And then the jovial cavalliers
To their old poft, reftor'd all three,
I mean the church, the king, and me.
I WITH borrow'd filver fhine,
What you fee is none of mine.
First I fhow you but a quarter,
Like the bow that guards the Tartar;
Then the half, and then the whole,
Ever dancing round the pole.
And what will raife your admiration,
I am not one of God's creation,
But fprung (and I this truth maintain)
Like Pallas from my father's brain.
And, after all, I chiefly owe
My beauty to the shades below.
Moft wondrous forms you see me wear,
A man, a woman, lion bear,
A fish, a fowl, a cloud, a field,
All figures heaven or earth can yield;
Like Daphne, fometimes in a tree:
Yet am not one of all you fee.
I'm up and down, and round about,
Yet all the world can't find me out;
Though hundreds have employ'd their leifure
They never yet could find my measure.
I'm found almoft in every garden,
Nay in the compafs of a farthing.
There's neither charict, coach, nor mill,
Can move an inch, except I will,
A jet black, as you may see,
The fon of pitch, and gloomy night,
Yet all that know me will agree,
I'm dead except I live in light.
Sometimes in panegyric high,
Like lofty Pindar, I can foar;
And rail a virgin to the sky,
Or fink her to a pocky whore.
My blood this very day is sweet,
To-morrow of a bitter juice;
Like milk, 'tis cried about the street,
And so apply'd to different use.
Mot wondrous is my magic power:
For with one colour I can paint;
I'll make the devil a faint this hour,
Next make a devil of a faint.
Through diftant regions I can fly,
Provide me but with paper wings;
And fairly show a reason, why
There should be quarrels among kings.
And, after all, you'll think it odd,
When learned doctors will difpute,
That I should point the word of GOD,
And how where they can beft confute.
Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats:
Tis I that muft the lands convey,
And trip the clients to their coats,
Nay, give their very fouls away.
XIII. ON THE FIVE SENSES.
ALL of us in one you'll find,
Brethren of a wondrous kind;
Yat among us all no brother
Knows one tittle of the other.
We in frequent councils are,
And our marks of things declare,
Where, to us unknown, a clerk
Sits, and takes them in the dark.
He's the register of all
In our ken, both great and small;
By us forms his laws and rules:
He's our mafter, we his tools;
Yet we can with greatest ease
Turn and wind him where we please.
One of us alone can fleep,
Ye Do watch the rest will keep,
But the moment that he closes,
Every brother elfe reposes.
I wine's bought, or victuals drest, Oce enjoys them for the rest.
Pierce us all with wounding steel, One for all of us will feel.
Though ten thousand cannons roar, Add to them ten thousand more, Yet but one of us is found Who regards the dreadful found. Do what is not fit to tell, There's but one of us can smell.
XIV. FONTINELLA TO FLORINDA.
WHEN on my bosom thy bright eyes,
Florinda, dart their heavenly beams,
I feel not the leaft love-furprise,
Yet endless tears flow down in ftreams;
There's nought fo beautiful in thee,
But you may find the fame in me.
The lilies of thy fkin compare;
In me you fee them full as white.
The roses of your cheeks, I dare
Affirm, can't glow to more delight.
Then, fince fhow as fine a face,
Can you refuse a soft embrace?
Ah! lovely nymph, thou'rt in thy prime?
And fo am I whilft thou art here;
But foon will come the fatal time,
When all we see fhall disappear.
'Tis mine to make a juft reflexion,
And yours to follow my direction.
Then catch admirers while you may;
Treat not your lovers with disdain :
For time with beauty flies away,
And there is no return again.
To you the fad account I bring,
Life's autumn has no second spring.
NEVER fleeping, ftill awake,
Pleafing moft when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I fpeak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog, or cow;
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can fing
Like the warblers of the fpring.
Let the love-fick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy fwain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice;
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either fport or toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out:
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudeft thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep me under;
Yet fo tender is my ear,
That the loweft voice I fear.
Much I dread the courtier's fate,
When his merit's out of date;
For I hate a filent breath,
And a whifper is my death.
XIV. ON A SHADOW IN A GLASS.
By fomething form'd, I nothing am, Yet every thing that you can name.
In no place have I ever been,
Yet every where I may be feen;
In all things falfe, yet always true,
I'm ftill the fame-but ever new.
Lifelefs, life's perfect form I wear,
Can row a nofe, eye, tongue, or ear,
Yet neither fmell, fee, tafte, or hear.
All shapes and features I can boast,
No flesh, no bones, no blood-no ghost;
All colours, without paint, put on,
And change like the cameleon.
Swiftly I come, and enter there,
Where not a chink lets in the air;
Like thought, I'm in a moment gone,
Nor can I ever be alone;
All things on earth I imitate,
Fafter than nature can create;
Sometimes imperial robes I wear,
Anon in beggar's rags appear;
A giant now, and ftrait an elf,
I'm every one, but ne'er myfelf;
Ne'er fad I mourn, ne'er glad rejoice;
I move my lips, but want a voice;
I ne'er was born, nor e'er can die;
Then prythee tell me what am 1.
MOST things by me do rife and fall,
And as I please they're great and small;
Invading foes, without refiftance,
With eafe I make to keep their distance;
Again, as I'm difpos'd, the foe
Will come, though not a foot they go.
Both mountains, woods, and hills, and rocks,
And gaming goats, and ficccy flocks,
And lowing herds, and piping fwains,
. Come dancing to me o'er the plains.
The greatest whale that fwims the fea
Does instantly my power obey.
In vain from me the failor flies;
The quickeft fhip I can furprife,
And turn it as I have a mind,
And move it against tide and wind.
Nay, bring me here the tallest man,
I'll squeeze him to a little fpan;
Or bring a tender child and pliant,
You'll fee me ftretch him to a giant;
Nor fhall they in the leaft complain,
Because my magic gives no pain.
EVER eating, never cloying, All devouring, all deftroying, Never finding full repaft,
'Till I eat the world 2; laft.
THERE is a gate, we know full well,
That stands 'twixt heaven, and earth, and hell,
Where many for a paffage venture,
Yet very few are fond to enter;
Although 'tis open night and day,
They for that reafon fhun this way:
Both dukes and lords abhor its wood,
They can't come near it for their blood.
What other way they take to go,
Another time I'll let you know.
Yet commoners with greatest ease
Can find an entrance when they please.
The poorest hither march in ftate
(Or they can never pass the gate),
Like Roman generals triumphant,
And then they take a turn and jump on't.
If graveft parfons here advance,
They cannot pafs before they dance;
There's not a foul that does refort here,
But ftrips himself to pay the porter.
We are little airy creatures,
All of different voice and features:
One of us in glafs is fet,
One of us you'll find in jet,
T'other you may see in tin,
And the fourth a box within;
If the fifth you should purfue,
It can never fly from you.
FROM heaven I fall, though from earth I begin: No lady alive can fhow fuch a fkin,
I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather;
But heavy and dark when you squeeze me togethe
Though candour and truth in my afpect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to enfnare.
Though fo much of heaven appears in my make,
The fouleft impreffions I eafily take.
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mothe
BEGOTTEN, and born, and dying with noife,
The terror of women, and pleafure of boys,
Lile the fiction of poets concerning the wind,
I'm chiefly unruly when strongest confin'd.
For filver and gold I don't trouble my head,
But all I delight in is picces of lead;
Except when I trade with a fhip or a town,
Why then I make pieces of iron go down.
One property more I would have you remark,
No lady was ever more fond of a spark;
The moment I get one, my foul's all a-fire,
And I roar out my joy, and in transport expire.
XXIII. ON A PAIR OF DICE.
We are little brethren twain,
Arbiters of lofs and gain;
Many to our counters fun,
Some are made, and fome undone :
But men find it to their coft,
Few are made, but numbers loft.
Though we play them tricks for ever,' Yet they always bope our favour.
O all inhabitants on earth,
To man alone I owe my birth;
And yet the cow, the fheep, the bee,
Arvall my parents more than he.
1ue ftrange and rare,
Make the fairest look more fair;
And myfelf, which is yet rarer,
Growing old, grow ftill the fairer.
Licots, alone I'm dull enough,
When dos'd with fmoke, and fmear'd with snuff;
Be in the midft of mirth and wine,
with double luftre shine.
Emblem of the fair am I,
F'd neck, and radiant eye;
say eye my greatest grace,
Em of the Cyclop's race;
Meals I like them fubdue,
tave like them to Vulcan too.
Emblem of a monarch old,
Wit, and glorious to behold,
Wated he appears, and pale,
Watching for the public weal:
Emblen of the bathful dame,
That in fecret feeds her flame,
Ohen aiding to impart
All the fecrets of her heart.
Various is my bulk and hue;
Ez like Befs, and fmall like Sue;
how brown and burnish'd as a nut,
At other times a very flut;
On fair, and foft, and tender,
Taper, tall, and fimooth, and flender;
Like Flora deck'd with various flowers;
Like Phebus, guardian of the hours:
E., whatever be my drefs,
Greater be my fize or lefs,
Swelling be my fhape or small,
Lite thyfelf I thine in all.
Chaded if my face is seen,
My complexion wan and green,
Linguid like a love-fick maid,
Seafords me prefent aid.
Soon or late, my date is done,
As my thread of life is fpun;
Yet to cut the fatal thread
O revives my drooping head:
Yet I perish in my prime,
Sed by the death of time;
De he lovers as they gaze,
Us for those I live to please;
Fe united to my urn,
Newarn the fair for whom I burn;
Lapid, unlamented too,
Di ke all that look on you.
IRACE all things near me, and far off to boot,
Without ftretching a finger, or stirring a foot;
take them all in too, to add to your wonder,
Though many and various, and large and afunder.
Without jofling or crowding they pafs fide by fide, Through a wonderful wicket, not half an inch wide:
Then I lodge them at ease in a very large ftore, Of no breadth or length, with a thousand things
All this I can do without witchcraft or charm; Though fometimes, they fay, I bewitch and de harm.
Though cold, I inflame; and though quiet, invade;
And nothing can fhield from my spell but a fhade.
A thief that has robb'd you, or done you difgrace,
In magical mirror I'll fhow you his face:
Nay, if you'll believe what the poets have faid,
They'll tell you I kill, and can call back the dead,
Like conjurers fafe in my circle 1 dwell;
I love to look black too, it heightens my spell
Though my magic is mighty in every hue,
Who fee all my power must see it in you,
ANSWERED BY DR. SWIFT.
WITH half an eye your riddle I fpy.
I obferve your wicket hemm'd in by a thicket,
And whatever paffes is trained through glaffes.
You fay it is quict: I flatly deny it.
It wanders about, without firring out;
No paffion fo weak but gives it a tweak;
Love, joy, and devotion, fut it always in motion,
And as for the tragic effects of its magic,
Which you fay it can kill or revive at its will,
The dead are all found, and revive above ground.
After all you have writ, it cannot be wit;
Which plainly does follow, fince it flies from Apollo.
Its cowardice fuch, it cries at a touch:
'Tis a perfect milkfop, grows drunk with a drop.
Another great fault, it cannot bear falt:
And a hair can difarm it of every charm,
TO RESTORE STELLA'S YOUTH. 1724-5.
THE Scottish hinds, too poor to houfe
In frosty nights their starving cows,
While not a blade of grafs or hay
Appears from Michaeimas to May,
Muft let their cattle range in vain
For food along the barren plain.
Meagre and lank with fafting grown,
And nothing left but skin and bone;
Expos'd to want, and wind, and weather,
They just keep life and foul together,
Till fummer-fhowers and evening's dew
Again the verdant glebe renew;
And, as the vegetables rife,
The famifh'd cow her want fupplies:
Without an ounce of last year's flesh,
Whate'er the gains is young and fresh;
Grows plump and round, and full of mettle,
As rifing from Medea's kettle,
With youth and beauty to inchant
Europa's counterfeit gallant.
Why, Stella, fhould you knit your brow,
If I compare you to the cow?
'Tis juft the cafe; for you have fafted
So long, till all your flesh is wafted,
And muft against the warmer days
Be fent to Quilca down to graze;
Where mirth, and exercife, and air,
Will foon your appetite repair:
The nutriment will from within,
Round all your body, plump your fkin;
Will agitate the lazy flood,
And fill your veins with fprightly blood:
Nor fleth nor blood will be the fame,
Nor aught of Stella but the name;
For what was ever understood,
By human kind, but flesh and blood?
And if your flesh and blood be new,
You'll be no more the former you;
But for a blooming nymph will pass,
Juft fifteen, coming fummer's grafs,
Your jetty locks with garlands crown'd :
While all the 'fquires for nine miles round,
Attended by a brace of curs,
With jocky boots and filver spurs,
No lefs than juftices o'quorum,
Their cow-boys bearing cloaks before 'em,
Shall leave deciding broken pates,
To kifs your fteps at Quilca's gates.
But, left you should my skill difgrace,
Come back before you're out of cafe:
For if to Michaelmas you stay,
The new-born flesh will melt away;
The 'fquire in fcorn will fly the house
For better game, and look for grouse;
But here, before the froft can mar it,
We'll make it firm with beef and claret.
STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY. 1724-5.
As, when a beauteous nymph decays,
We fay, fhe's past her dancing days;
So poets lofe their feet by time,
And can no longer dance in rhyme.
Your annual bard had rather chofe
To celebrate your birth in profe:
Yet merry folks, who want by chance
A pair to make a country-dance,
Call the old houfe-keeper, and get her
To fill a place, for want of better:
While Sheridan is off the hooks,
And friend Delany at his books,
That Stella may avoid difgrace,
Once more the Dean fupplies their place.
Beauty and wit, too fad a truth!
Have always been confin'd to youth;
The god of wit, and beauty's queen,
He twenty-one, and fhe fifteen.
No poet ever fweetly fung,
Unless he were, like Phoebus, young;
Nor ever nymph inspir'd to rhyme,
Unless, like Venus, in her prime.
At fifty-fix, if this be true,
Am I a poet fit for you?
Or, at the age of forty-three,
Are you a fubject fit for me?
Adieu! bright wit, and radiant eyes!
You must be grave, and I be wife.
Our fate in vain we would oppose:
But I'll be fill your friend in profe:
Efteem and friendship to exprefs,
Will not require poetic drefs;
And, if the muse deny her aid
To have them fung, they may be said.
But, Stella, fay, what evil tongue
Reports you are no longer young;
That Time fits, with his fcythe, to mow
Where erft fat Cupid with his bow;
That half your locks are turn'd to gray?
I'll ne'er believe a word they say.
"Tis true, but let it not be known,
My eyes are fomewhat dimmifh
For nature, always in the right,
To your decays adapts my fight;
And wrinkles undistinguish'd pass,
For I'm asham'd to use a glass ;
And till I fee them with these eyes,
Whoever fays you have them, lies.
No length of time can make you quit Honour and virtue, fense and wit: Thus you may ftill be young to me, While I can better bear than fee. Oh, ne'er may fortune fhow her fpight, To make me deaf, and mend my fight!
AN EPIGRAM ON WOOD's BRASS MON
CARTERET was welcomed to the fhore
First with the brazen cannons roar;
To meet him next the foldier comes,
With brazen trumps and brazen drums;
Approaching near the town he hears
The brazen bells falute his ears:
But, when Wood's brafs began to found,
Guns, trumpets, drums, and bells, were drown
ON OUR WANT OF SILVER:
And the only Way to Remedy it. 1725.
As when of old fome forcerefs threw O'er the moon's face a fable hue, To drive unfeen her magic chair, At midnight, through the darken'd air; Wife people, who believ'd with reafon That this eclipfe was out of season, Affirm'd the moon was fick, and fell To cure her by a counter-spell. Ten thoufand cymbals now begin To rend the fkics with brazen din; The cymbals' rattling founds difpel The cloud, and drive the hag to hell. The moon deliver'd from her pain, Difplays her filver face again (Note here, that in the chemie ftyle, The moon is filver all this while).
So (if my fimile you minded, Which I confefs is too long-winded) When late a feminine magician', Join'd with a brazen politician, Expos'd, to blind the nation's eyes, A parchment of prodigious fize; Conceal'd behind that ample fereen, There was no filver to be seen.
* A great lady was faid to have been bribed by W + The patent for coining balfpence.
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