Had you but through a cranny fpy'd
On house of eafe your future bride,
In all the postures of her face
Which nature gives in fuch a cafe;
Distortions, groanings, trainings, heavings;
"Twere better you had lick'd her leavings,
Than from experience find too late
Your goddefs grown a filthy mate.
Your fancy then had always dwelt
On what you faw, and what you smelt;
Would ftill the fame ideas give ye,
As when you fpy'd her on the privy;
And, fpite of Chloe's charms divine,
Your heart had been as whole as mine.

Authorities, both old and recent,
Direct that women must be decent;
And from the spouse each blemish hide,
More than from all the world befide,

tammph, opprefs'd before, behind,
ps are tols'd by waves and wind,
cut her hand, by nature led,
brings a vuffel into bed;
utentil, as fmooth and white
Chloe's fkin, almost as bright.
rephon, who heard the fuming rill
from a mofy cliff diftil,

d out, Ye gods! what found is this?
Chloe, heavenly Chice, -?

at when he felt a noifome fleam,
ich oft attends that luke-warm ftream;
kro both together joins

Sovereign medicines for the loins ;)
thegh contriv'd, we may fuppofe,
Sp his ears, yet firuck his nofe;

ad her, while the fcent increas'd,
ras himself at least.
foca, with like occafions preft,
beidly sent his hand in queft
pard with courage from his bride)
reach the pot on t'other fide;
d, as be fill'd the reeking vase,
taroufer in her face.
The Ene Cupids hovering round,
#pictures prove, with garlands crown'd)
a'dat what they faw and heard,
of, nor ever more appear'd.
d to ravishing delights,

raptures, and romantic flights;
goddeiles fo heavenly fweet,

ghepherds at their feet;
fver meads and fhady bowers,
ds'd up with amaranthine flowers.
How great a change! how quickly made!
hey learn to call a fpade a spade.
They foon from all conftraints are freed;
Can fee each other do their need..
Or box of cedar fits the wife,
And makes it warm for dearest life;
A by the beatly way of thinking,
great fociety in ftinking.
Nepton daily entertains
He Cher in the homelieft ftrains;
Arde, more experienc'd grown,
With relt pays him back his own.
Ned at Court is lefs afham'd,
Howe'er for felling bargains fam'd,
The to name her parts behind,

when a-bed to let out wind.
Fair Decency, celeftial maid!
cred from heaven to beauty's aid!
Though beauty may beget defire,
To thou must fan the lover's fire:
Er beauty, like fupreme dominion,
bet iupported by opinion:
Y decency brings no fupplies,
Opinion falls, and beauty dies.
To fee fome radiant nymph appear
In all her glittering birth-day gear,
You think fome goddefs from the sky
Detrended, ready cut and dry:
But, ere you fell yourfelf to laughter,
Confider well what may come after;
For fine ideas vanish fat,
While all the grofs and filthy laft.
ere that fatal day

O Strepton,

Wha Chloe fole your heart away,

Some try to learn polite behaviour By reading books against their Saviour; Some call it witty to reflect

On every natural defect;
Some fhow they never want explaining,
To comprehend a double meaning.
But fure a tell-tale out of fchool
Is of all wits the greatest fool;
Whofe rank imagination fills
Her heart, and from her lips difils:
You'd think the utter'd from behind,
Or at her mouth was breaking wind.
Why is a handfome wife ador'd
By every coxcomb but her lord?
From yonder puppet-man inquire,
Who wifely hides his wood and wire;
Shows Sheba's queen completely dreft,
And Solomon in royal veft:
But view them litter'd on the floor,
Or ftrung on pegs behind the door;
Punch is exactly of a piece
With Lorrain's duke, and prince of Greece.

A prudent builder should forecast
How long the ftuff is like to laft;
And carefully obferve the ground,
To build on fome foundation found.
What houfe, when its materials crumble,
Muft not inevitably tumble?
What edifice can long endure,
Rais'd on a bafis unfecure?
Rash mortals, ere you take a wife,
Contrive your pile to laft for life:
Since beauty fcarce endures a day,
And youth fo fwiftly glides away;

Why will you make yourfelf a bubble,
To build on fand with hay and stubble?
On fenfe and wit your paffion found,
By decency cemented round;
Let prudence with good-nature strive
To keep efteem and love alive.
Then, come old age whene'er it will,
Your friendship fhall continue ftill:
And thus a mutual gentle fire
Shall never but with life expire.

APOLLO;

OR, A PROBLEM SOLVED. 1731.

APOLLO, god of light and wit,
Could verfe infpire, but feldom writ;
Refin'd all metals with his looks,
As well as chemifts by their books:
As handsome as my lady's page;
Sweet five-and-twenty was his age.
His wig was made of funny rays,
He crown'd his youthful head with bays;
Not all the court of Heaven could fhow
So niece and fo complete a beau.
No heir upon his first appearance,
With twenty thousand pounds a-year rents,
E'er drove, before he fold his land,
So fine a coach along the frand;
The fpokes, we are by Ovid told,
Were filver, and the axle gold:
(I own, 'twas but a coach and four;
For Jupiter allows no more!)

Yet, with his beauty, wealth, and parts,
Enough to win ten thousand hearts,
No vulgar deity above
Was fo unfortunate in love.
Three weighty caufes were affign'd,
That mov'd the nymphs to be unkind.
Nine mufes always waiting round him,
He left them virgins as he found them.
His finging was another fault;
For he could reach to Bin alt:
And, by the fentiments of Pliny,
Such fingers are like Nicolini.
At laft, the point was fully clear'd;
In short, Apollo had no beard.

THE PLACE OF THE DAMNED. 1731.

ALL folks who pretend to religion and grace,
Allow there's a bell, but difpute of the place:
But, if bell may by logical rules be defin'd
The place of the damn'd-I'll tell you my mind.
Wherever the damn'd do chiefly abound,
Moft certainly there is bell to be found.
Damn'd poets, damn'd critics, damn'd blockheads,
damn'd knaves,

Damn'd fenators brib'd, damn'd proftitute faves;
Damn'd lawyers and judges,damn'd lords and damn'd
Squires,
(damn'd liars;
Damn'd fpies and informers, dann'd friends and
Damn'd villains, corrupted in every flation;
Damn'd time-ferving priests all over the nation;
And into the bargain I'll readily give you
Damn'd ignorant prelates and counfeturs privy.

Then let us no longer by parfons be flamm'd,
For we know by the femarks the place of the damn
And bell to be fure is at Paris or Rome.
How happy for as that it is not at home!

JUDA S, 1731.

By the juft vengeance of incensed skies,
Poor Bishop Judas late repenting dies.
The Jews engag'd him with a paltry bribe,
Amounting hardly to a crown a tribe:

.hich though his confcience forc'd him to re
(And, parfons tell us, no man could do more);
Yet, through defpair, of God and man accurit,
He loft his bifhopric, and hang'd or burst.
Thofe former ages differ'd much from this;
Judas betray'd his master with a kiss:
But fome have kifs'd the gofpel fifty times,
Whofe perjury's the least of all their crimes;
Some who can perjure through a two-inch boar
Yet keep their bifhoprics, and 'fcape the cord:
Like hemp, which, by a skilful fpinster drawn
To flender threads, may fometimes pafs for law
As ancient Judas by tranfgreffion fell,
And burfi afunder ere he went to hell;
So could we fee a set of new Ifcariots
Come headlong tumbling from their mitred c
Each modern Judas perifh like the first;
Drop from the tree, with all his bowels burft;
Who could forbear, that view'd each guilty fact,
"Lo! Judas gone to his old place;
"His habitation let all men forfake,
"And let his biopric another take!"

То сгу,

fric

AN EPISTLE TO MR. GAY*. 1931. How could you, Gay, difgrace the mufes' rais, To ferve a taftelefs court twelve years in vain! Fain would I think our female friendt fincere, Till Bob, the poet's foe, poffefs'd her ear. Did female virtue e'er fo high afcend, To lofe an inch of favour for a friend?

Say, had the court no better place to choose For thee than make a dry-nurfe of thy mufe? How cheaply had thy liberty been fold, To fquire a royal girl of two years old; In leading rings her infant-fteps to guide, Or with her go-cart amble fide by fide!

But princely Douglas and his glorious dame Advanc'd thy fortune, and preferv'd thy fame. Nor will your nobler gifts be misapply'd, When o'er your patron's treafure you prefide The world fhall own, his choice was wife and ju For fons of Phœbus never break their truft.

Not love of beauty lefs the heart inflames Of guardian eunuchs to the Sultan's dames: Their paffions not more impotent and cold, Than thofe of poets to the luft of gold. With Paan's pureft fire his favourites glow, The dregs will ferve to ripen ore below;

* The Dean, having been told by an intimate friend that the Duke of Queensberry bad employed Gay to Spelt the accounts and management of his Grace's re ceivers and fterwards (which bowever proved to be miflake), wrote this epifile to his friend.

The Countess of Suffolk.

meane work: for, had he thought it fit wealth should be the appennage of wit, god of light could ne'er have been so blind al it to the worst of human-kind.

let me now, for I can do it well, ar conduc in this new employ foretel. And firit: to make my obfervation right, lace a fatifman full before my fight, bated minifier in all his geer, th thameless vilage and perfidious leer; vo rows of teeth arm each devouring jaw, d oftrich-like his all-digefting maw. y fancy drags this monffer to my view, how the world his chief reverse in you loud suncing founds a rapid flood is from his mouth in plenteous ftreams of mud; ith these the court and fenate-house he plies, ade up of noife, and impudence, and lies. Now let me fhow how Bob and you agree: ferve a patent prince, as well as he. A coffers, trufted to your charge, #bocrit care may fill, perhaps enlarge: vaffals eafy, and the owner bleft;

pay a trifle, and enjoy the reit. to a manon's revenues are paid: efervant's faults are on the mafter laid. pople with a figh their taxes bring; caring Bob, forget to blefs the king. et hearken, Gay, to what thy charge re

quires,

birenti, tenants, and the neighbouring Squires, domeftics feel your gentle fway; bribe, infult, nor flatter, nor betray. Gue reward to merit be allow'd;

with your kindred half the palace crowd ;
tak yourself feçure in doing wrong,
ng with a party firong.

Bench; but of your wealth make no parade; it tall, before your mafter's debts are paid

me paler, built with charge immenfe,
em to treat him at his own expence.
farmer in the neighbourhood can count
What your lawful perquifites amount.

as poor, the hardness of the times,
acules for a fervant's crimes.

reit, and a premium paid befide, ter's preffing wants must be supply'd; y zeal behold the flevard come own credit to advance the fum; While th' unrighteous mammon is his friend, well conclude his power will never end. tal treasurer! what could be do more? où my Lord what was my Lord's before. e law fo ftrictly guards the monarch's health, ophyfician dares prefcribe by ftealth : uncii fit; approve the doctor's fkill; give advice, before he gives the pill. the fate empiric acts a fafer part; 24, while he perfons, wins the royal heart. how can I defcribe the ravenous breed? let me now by negatives proceed. pofe your Lord a trufty fervant fend

3 wo

ghty bufinefs to fome neighbouring friend: In not Gay, unless you ferve a drone, centermand his orders by your own.

ad forme imperious neighbour fink the boats, And drain the fijb-ponds, while your mafter dotes ;

Shall he upon the ducal rights intrench,
Because he brib'd you with a brace of tench?
Nor from your Lord his bad condition hide,
To feed his luxury, or foothe his pride
Nor at an under-rate his timber fell,
And with an oath affure him, all is well ;
Or fwear it retten, and with bumble airs
Requeft it of bim to complete your flairs:
Nor, when a mortage lies on half his lands,
Come with a purfe of guincas in your hands.
Have Peter Waters always in your mind:
That rogue of genuine minifterial kind,
Can half the peerage by his arts bewitch,
Starve twenty lords to make one scoundrel rich;
And, when he gravely has undone a score,
Is humbly pray'd to ruin twenty more.

A dextrous fteward, when his tricks are found
Hafb-money fends to all the neighbours round;
His mafter, unfufpicious of his pranks,
Pays all the coft, and gives the villain thanks.
And, fhould a friend attempt to fet him right,
His Lordship would impute it all to fpight;
Would love his favourite better than before,
And trust his honesty just so much more.
Thus families, like realms, with equal fate,
Are funk by premier minifters of fate.

Some, when an heir fucceeds, go boldly on,
And, as they robb'd the father, rob the fon.
A knave, who deep embroils his lord's affairs,
Will foon grow neceffary to his heirs.
His policy confifts in fetting traps,

In finding ways and means, and flopping gaps;
He knows a thousand tricks whene'er he pleafe
Though not to cure, yet palliate each difeafe.
In either cafe, an equa chance is run;
For, keep or turn him out, my Lord's undone
You want a hand to clear a filthy fink;
No cleanly workman can endure the ftink.
Aftrong dilemma in a defperate cafe!
To act with infamy, or quit the place.

A bungler thus, who fcarce the nail can hit,
With driving wrong will make the pannel split :
Nor dares an abler workman undertake
To drive a fecond, left the whole fhould break.
In every court the parallel will hold;
And kings, like private folks, are bought and fold
The ruling rogue, who dreads to be cashier'd,
Contrives, as he is hated, to be fear'd;
Confounds accounts, perplexes all affairs;
For vengeance more embroils, than fill repairs.
So robbers (and their ends are just the fame),
To 'fcape inquiries, leave the boufe in flame.
I knew a brazen minister of state,
Who bore for twice ten years the public hate.
In every mouth the question moft in vogue
Was, When will they turn out this odious rogue.
A juncture happen'd in his highest pride:
While he went robbing on, old mafter dy'd.
We thought there now remain'd no room to doubt;
His work is done, the minifter muft out.
The court invited more than one or two;
Will you, Sir Spencer? or, Will you, or you?
But not a foul his office durft accept;
The fubtle knave had all the plunder fwept:
And, fuch was then the temper of the times,
He ow'd his prefervation to his crimes.
The candidates obferv'd his dirty paws,
Nor found it difficult to guess the cause

?

But, when they fmelt fuch foul corruptions round him,

Away they fled, and left him as they found him. Thus, when a greedy floven once has thrown His not into the mefs, 'tis all bis own.

ON THE IRISH BISHOPS *. 1731.

OLD Latimer preaching did fairly defcribe
A bishop, who rul'd all the rest of his tribe:
And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell?
Why truly 'tis Satan, archbishop of hell.
And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre
Surrounded with jewels of fulphur and nitre.
How nearly this bifhop our bishops resembles!
But he has the odds, who believes and who trembles.
Could you fee his grim grace, for a pound to a penny,
You'd fwear it must be the baboon of Kilkenny:
Poor Satan will think the comparifon odious;
I wish I could find him out one more commodious.
But this I am fure, the mof reverend old dragon
Has got on the bench many bishops fuffragan;
And all men believe he refides there incog.
To give them by turns an invifible jog.

Our bishops, puff'd up with wealth and with pride, To hell on the backs of the clergy would ride. They mounted and labour'd with whip and with fpur, In vain-for the devil a parfon would ftir. [doom, So the Commons unhors'd them; and this was their On their crofiers to ride, like a witch on a broom. Though they gallop'd so fast, on the road you may find 'em,

And have left us but three out of twenty behind'em,
Lord Bolton's good grace, Lord Car, and Lord
Howard,

In fpight of the devil, would ftill be untoward :
They came of good kindred, and could not endure
Their former companiens fhould beg at their door.
When Chrift was betray'd to Pilate the prætor,
Of a dozen apofles bet one prov'd a traitor :
One traitor alone, and faithful cleven;
But we can afford you fix traitors in feven.
What a clutter with clippings, dividings, and
cleavings!
(leavings.
And the clergy forfooth muft take up with their
If making divifions was all their intent, [meant;
They've done it, we thank them, but not as they
And fo may fuch bifhops for ever divide,

That no honett heathen would be on their fide.
How should we rejoice, if, like Judas the first,
Thofe fplitters of parfons in funder fhould burst!
Now hear an allufion:-A mitre, you know,
Is divided above, but united below.
If this you confider, our emblem is right;
The bishops divide, but the clergy unite.
Should the bottom be fplit, our bithops would dread
That the mitre would never stick faft on their head:
And yet they have learnt the chief art of a fovereign,
As Machiavel taught them; divide, and ye govern.
But courage, my lords; though it cannot be faid
That one cloven tongue ever fat on your head;
I'll hold you a groat (and I wish I could fee't),
If your stockings were off, you could fhow cloven feet..

Occafioned by the'r en learouring to get an act to divide the chur blenny: alieb bill was rejected by the Iris Heufe of Commons.

But hold, cry the bishers; and give us fair pl Before you condemn us, hear what we can fay. What truer affections could ever be shown, Than faving your fouls by damning our own? And have we not practis'd all methods to gain y With the tithe of the tithe of the tithe to main Provided a fund for building your fpittals? You are only to live four years without viata.

Content, my good lords; but let us change har First take you our tithes, and give us your lan So God bless the church and three of our mitre And God bless the Commons, for biting the liter

ON THE DEATH OF DR. SWIFT *.

Occafioned by reading the following MAXIM in ROCE FOUCAULT, Dans l'adverfité de nos meille "amis, nous trouvons toujours quelque ch "qui ne nous déplait pas.'

"In the adverfity of our beft friends, we alw "find something that doth not difplease us.”

As Rochefoucault his maxims drew
From nature, I believe them true:
They argue no corrupted mind
In him; the fault is in mankind.

This maxim more than all the rest Is thought too base for human breast: "In all diftreffes of our friends, "We first confult our private ends; "While nature, kindly bent to eafe us, "Points out fome circumftance to please us." If this perhaps your patience move, Let reafon and experience prove.

We all behold with envious eyes
Our equals rais'd above our fize.
Who would not at a crowded fhow
Stand high himfelf, keep others low?
I love my friend as well as you:
But why fhould he obftruct my view?
Then let me have the higher poft
Suppofe it but an inch at most.
If in a battle you should find
One, whom you love of all mankind,
Had fome heroic action done,
A champion kill'd, or trophy won;
Rather than thus be over-topt,
Would you not wifh his laurels cropt?
Dear honeft Ned is in the gout,
Lies rack'd with pain, and you without:
How patiently you hear him groan!
How glad the cafe is not your own!

What poet would not grieve to fee
His brother write as well as he?
But, rather than they fhould excel,
Would with his rivals all in hell?

Her end when emulation miffes,
She turns to envy, ftings, and hiffes:
The ftrongest friendship yields to pride,
Unlefs the odds be on our fide.
Vain human-kind! fantastic race!
Thy various follies who can trace?

* Written in November 1731-There are tod tindi poems on this fubject, one of them containing my Spuriste lines. In bat is bere printed, the genuine fr of both are profervel.

f-love, ambition, envy, pride, Tacir empire in our hearts divide. Give others riches, power, and station, Tis all to me an ufurpation.

I have no title to afpire;

Yet, when you fink, I feem the higher.
In Pope I cannot read a line,
But with a figh I wist it mine:
When he can in one couplet fix
More fenfe than I can do in fix;
It gives me fuch a jealous fit,

I cry, Pox take him and his wit!"
I grieve to be outdone by Gay
In my own humorous biting way.
Arbuthnot is no more my friend,
Who dares to irony pretend,
Which I was born to introduce,
Refin'd at first, and show'd its ufe.
St. John, as well as Pulteney, knows
That had fome repute for profe;
And, till they drove me out of date,
Could maul a minister of state.
If they have mortified my pride,
And made me throw my pen afide;

If with fuch talents heaven hath blefs'd 'em, Hare I not reafon to deteft 'em?

To all my foes, dear Fortune, fend
Thy gifts; but never to my friend :
Itamely can endure the first;

Bt this with envy makes me burst.
Thus much may ferve by way of proem;
Proceed we therefore to our poem.
The time is not remote when I
Mit by the courfe of nature die;
When, I forefee, my fpecial friends
W try to find their private ends:
And, though 'tis hardly understood
Which way my death can do them good,
Ye thes, methinks, I hear them speak:
"See how the Dean begins to break!

Poor gentleman, he droops apace!

You plainly find it in his face.

That old vertigo in his head

Will never leave him, till he's dead.
Beides, his memory decays:

He recollects not what he says;

He cannot call his friends to mind;

Tergets the place where last he din'd;

Ples you with ftories o'er and o'er;

*He told them fifty times before.

How does he fancy, we can fit

To hear his out-of-fashion wit?

But he takes up with younger folks, Who for his wine will bear his jokes. Faith he must make his ftories shorter, "Or change his comrades once a quarter : In half the time he talks them round, "There must another fet be found. "For poetry, he's paft his prime: "He takes an hour to find a rhyme; His fire is out, his wit decay'd, "His fancy funk, his mufe a jade. "I'd have him throw away his pen ;— "But there's no talking to fome men!" And then their tenderness appears By adding largely to my years:

He's older than he would be reckon'd, "And well remembers Charles the Second.

"He hardly drinks a pint of wine; "And that, I doubt, is no good fign. "His ftomach too begins to fail:

"Laft year we thought him ftrong and hale;
"But now he's quite another thing:
"I wish he may hold out till fpring!"
They hug themselves, and reafon thus:
"It is not yet fo bad with us!"

In fuch a cafe, they talk in tropes,
And by their fears exprefs their hopes.
Some great misfortune to portend,
No enemy can match a friend.
With all the kindness they profefs,
The merit of a lucky guess

(When daily how-d'ye's come of course,

And fervants anfwer, "Worie and worse !")
Would please them better, than to tell,
That, "God be prais'd, the Dean is well."
Then he who prophefy'd the beft,
Approves his forefight to the reft:
"You know I always fear'd the worst,
"And often told you fo at firft."
He'd rather choofe that I fhould die,
Than his predictions prove a lie.
Not one foretells I fhall recover;
But all agree to give me over.

Yet, fhould fome neighbour feel a pain
Juft in the parts where I complain;
How many a meffage would he fend!
What hearty prayers that I fhould mend!
Inquire what regimen 1 kept;

What gave me eafe, and how I flept?
And more lament when I was dead,
Than all the fnivelers round my bed.

My good companions, never fear;
For, though you may mistake a year,
Though your prognoftics run too fait,
They must be verify'd at last.

Behold the fatal day arrive! "How is the Dean ?"-"He's juft alive." Now the departing prayer is read; He hardly breathes The Dean is dead. Before the paffing-bell begun,

The news through half the town is run. "Oh! may we all for death prepare! "What has he left? and who's his heir? "I know no more than what the news is; ""Tis all bequeath'd to public ufes. "To public ufes! there's a whim! "What had the public done for him? "Mere envy, avarice, and pride: "He gave it all-but firft he dy'd. "And had the Dean, in all the nation,

No worthy friend, no poor relation? "So ready to do strangers good,

Forgetting his own flesh and blood!" Now Grub-freet wits are all employ'd; With elegies the town is cloy'd: Some paragraph in every paper, To curfe the Dean, or if the Drapier. The doctors, tender of their fame, Wifely on me lay all the blame. "We must confefs, his cafe was nice; "But he would never take advice. "Had he been rul'd, for aught appears, "He might have liv'd thefe twenty years: To, when we open'd him, we found That all his vital parts were found.”