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Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,
And each imprison'd hero quaked for fear.

Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow, And bear their trophies with them as they go: Filths of all hues and odours seem to tell

What street they sail'd from by their sight and smell. They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force, From Smithfield or St. 'Pulchre's shape their course, And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge, Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn-bridge. Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood, [mud, Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.



HARLEY, the nation's great support,
Returning home one day from court,
(His mind with public cares possess'd,
All Europe's business in his breast,)
Observ'd a parson near Whitehall
Cheapening old authors on a stall.
The priest was pretty well in case,
And show'd some humour in his face;
Look'd with an easy, careless mien,
A perfect stranger to the spleen;
Of size that might a pulpit fill,
But more inclining to sit still.
My Lord (who if a man may say't,
Loves mischief better than his meat,)
Was now dispos'd to crack a jest,
And bid friend Lewis go in quest,
(This Lewis is a cunning shaver,
And very much in Harley's favour ;)
In quest who might this parson be,
What was his name, of what degree;
If possible, to learn his story,
And whether he were Whig or Tory.
Lewis his patron's humour knows,
Away upon his errand goes,
And quickly did the matter sift;
Found out that it was Doctor Swift,
A clergyman of special note

For shunning those of his own coat;
Which made his brethren of the gown
Take care betimes to run him down:
No libertine, nor over nice,
Addicted to no sort of vice,


Went where he pleas'd, said what he thought; Not rich, but ow'd no man a groat:

In state opinions à-la-mode,

He hated Wharton like a toad,

Had given the faction many a wound,
And libell'd all the junto round;
Kept company with men of wit,
Who often father'd what he writ:

His works were hawk'd in every strect,
But seldom rose above a sheet:
Of late indeed the paper-stamp
Did very much his genius cramp:
And since he could not spend his fire,
He now intended to retire.


Said Harley, "I desire to know From his own mouth if this be so; Step to the Doctor straight, and say, I'd have him dine with me to-day.' Swift seem'd to wonder what he meant, Nor would believe my Lord had sent; So never offer'd once to stir;


But coldly said, Your servant, sir!"
"Does he refuse me?" Harley cry'd:
"He does, with insolence and pride."
Some few days after, Harley spies
The Doctor fasten'd by the eyes
At Charing-cross, among the rout,
Where painted monsters are hung out;
He pull'd the string, and stopp'd his coach,
Beckoning the Doctor to approach.

Swift, who could neither fly nor hide,
Came sneaking to the chariot side,
And offer'd many a lame excuse:
He never meant the least abuse-

"My Lord-the honour you design'd—
Extremely proud-but I had din'd
I'm sure I never should neglect-
No man alive has more respect—”
"Well, I shall think of that no more,
If you'll be sure to come at four."

The Doctor now obeys the summons,
Likes both his company and commons;
Displays his talent, sits till ten;
Next day invited comes again;
Soon grows domestic, seldom fails
Either at morning or at meals:
Came early, and departed late;
In short, the gudgeon took the bait.
My Lord would carry on the jest,
And down to Windsor takes his guest.
Swift much admires the place and air,
And longs to be a canon there;

In summer, round the park to ride;
In winter, never to reside.

A canon! that's a place too mean;
No, Doctor, you shall be a Dean;
Two dozen canons round your stall,
And you the tyrant o'er them all:
You need but cross the Irish seas,
To live in plenty, power, and ease.
Poor Swift departs; and, what is worse,
With borrow'd money in his purse,
Travels at least a hundred leagues,
And suffers numberless fatigues.

Suppose him now a Dean complete,
Demurely lolling in his seat;
The silver verge, with decent pride,
Stuck underneath his cushion side:
Suppose him gone through all vexations,
Patents, instalments, abjurations,
First-fruits and tenths, and chapter-treats;
Ducs, payments, fees, demands, and cheats-
(The wicked laity's contriving
To hinder clergymen from thriving :)
Now all the Doctor's money's spent,
His tenants wrong him in his rent;
The farmers, spitefully combin'd,
Force him to take his tithes in kind:
And Parvisol discounts arrears
By bills for taxes and repairs.

Poor Swift, with all his losses vex'd,
Not knowing where to turn him next,
Above a thousand pounds in debt,
Takes horse, and in a mighty fret
Rides day and night at such a rate,
He soon arrives at Harley's gate;
But was so dirty, pale, and thin,
Old Read would hardly let him in.

Said Harley, "Welcome, Reverend Dean!
What makes your worship look so lean?
Why, sure you won't appear in town
In that old wig and rusty gown?
I doubt your heart is set on pelf
So high that you neglect yourself:
What! I suppose, now stocks are high
You've some good purchase in your eye?
Or is your money out at use ?"____

"Truce, good my Lord, I beg a truce," (The Doctor in a passion cry'd) Your raillery is misapply'd; Experience I have dearly bought; You know I am not worth a groat: But you resolv'd to have your jest ; And 'twas a folly to contest;

Then, since you have now done your worst, Pray leave me where you found me first."


I'VE often wish'd that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a-year,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace walk, and half a rood
Of land set out to plant a wood.

Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store;
"But here a grievance seems to lie,
All this is mine but till I die;

I can't but think 'twould sound more clever,
To me and to my heirs for ever.

If I ne'er got or lost a groat,

By any trick, or any fault;
And if I pray by reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools:

As thus, Vouchsafe, O gracious Maker!
To grant me this and t'other acre;
Or, if it be thy will and pleasure,
Direct my plough to find a treasure!'
But only what my station fits,
And to be kept in my right wits,
Preserve, Almighty Providence!
Just what you gave me, competence:
And let me in these shades compose
Something in verse as true as prose;
Remov'd from all th' ambitious scene,
Nor puff'd by pride, nor sunk by spleen."
In short, I'm perfectly content,
Let me but live on this side Trent;
Nor cross the Channel twice a year,
To spend six months with statesmen here.
I must by all means come to town,
'Tis for the service of the Crown.
"Lewis, the Dean will be of use;
Send for him up, take no excuse.'

The toil, the danger of the seas,
Great ministers ne'er think of these;
Or let it cost five hundred pound,
No matter where the money's found,
It is but so much more in debt,
And that they ne'er consider'd yet.

"Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown,
Let my Lord know you're come to town."
I hurry me in haste away,

Not thinking it is levee-day;
And find his honour in a pound,
Hemm'd by a triple circle round,
Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green :
How should I thrust myself between?
Some wag observes me thus perplex'd,
And, smiling, whispers to the next,
"I thought the Dean had been too proud,
To justle here among the crowd!"
Another, in a surly fit,

Tells me I have more zeal than wit;
"So cager to express your love,
You ne'er consider whom you shove,
But rudely press before a duke."
I own, I'm pleas'd with this rebuke.
And take it kindly meant, to show
What I desire the world should know.

I get a whisper, and withdraw;
When twenty fools I never saw
Come with petitions fairly penn'd,
Desiring I would stand their friend.

This humbly offers me his case-
That begs my interest for a place-
A hundred other men's affairs,
Like bees, are humming in my ears.
"To-morrow my appeal comes on;
Without your help the cause is gone-
The duke expects my lord and you,
About some great affair, at two-
"Put my lord Bolingbroke in mind,
To get my warrant quickly sign'd :
Consider, 'tis my first request.".
Be satisfy'd, I'll do my best.
Then presently he falls to teaze,
"You may for certain, if you please:
I doubt not, if his lordship knew—
And, Mr. Dean, one word from you-"
'Tis (let me see) three years and more,
(October next it will be four)
Since Harley bid me first attend,
And chose me for an humble friend;
Would take me in his coach to chat,

And question me of this and that;

As, "What's o'clock ?" and, "How's the wind?" "Whose chariot's that we left behind ?"

Or gravely try to read the lines

Writ underneath the country signs;
Or, "Have you nothing new to-day
From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay ?"
Such tattle often entertains

My Lord and me as far as Staines,
As once a week we travel down
To Windsor, and again to town,
Where all that passes inter nos
Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross.
Yet some I know with envy swell,
Because they see me us'd so well:

"How think you of our friend the dean?
I wonder what some people mean.
My lord and he are grown so great,
Always together, tête-à-tête;

What! they admire him for his jokes!—
See but the fortune of some folks!"

There flies about a strange report Of some express arriv'd at court: I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet, And catechis'd in every street. "You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great ;` Inform us, will the emperor treat? Or do the prints and papers lie?" "Faith, sir, you know as much as I." "Ah, doctor, how you love to jest! 'Tis now no secret"-" I protest 'Tis one to me"-" Then tell us, pray, When are the troops to have their pay?" And, though I solemnly declare

I know no more than my lord mayor,
They stand amaz'd, and think me grown
The closest mortal ever known.

Thus in a sea of folly tost,
My choicest hours of life are lost;
Yet always wishing to retreat,
Oh, could I see my country seat!
There leaning near a gentle brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient book;
And there in sweet oblivion drown

Those cares that haunt the court and town.

A True and Faithful INVENTORY of the GOODS belonging to DR. SWIFT, Vicar of Laracor;


AN oaken, broken elbow-chair;
A cawdle-cup, without an ear;
A batter'd, shatter'd ash bedstead;
A box of deal, without a lid;
A pair of tongs, but out of joint;
A backsword-poker without point;
A pot that's crack'd across, around
With an old knotted garter bound;
An iron lock, without a key;

A wig, with hanging quite grown gray;
A curtain, worn to half a stripe:
A pair of bellows, without pipe;

A dish, which might good meat afford once;
An Ovid, and an old Concordance;
A bottle bottom, wooden platter,
One is for meal, and one for water:
There likewise is a copper skillet,
Which runs as fast out as you fill it;
A candlestick, snuff-dish, and save-all:

And thus his household goods you have all.
These to your lordship as a friend,
Till you have built, I freely lend:

They'll serve your lordship for a shift;

Why not, as well as Doctor Swift?



THE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counsel for the fair began,
Accusing the false creature man.
The brief with weighty crimes was charg'd,
On which the pleader much enlarg'd;
That Cupid now has lost his art,
Or blunts the point of every dart ;-
His altar now no longer smokes,
His mother's aid no youth invokes ;
This tempts freethinkers to refine,
And bring in doubt their powers divine;
Now love is dwindled to intrigue,
And marriage grown a money league.
Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)
Were (as he humbly did conceive)
Against our sovereign lady's peace,
Against the statute in that case,
Against her dignity and crown:

Then pray'd an answer, and sat down.

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes:
When the defendant's counsel rose,
And, what no lawyer ever lack'd,
With impudence own'd all the fact;
But, what the gentlest heart would vex,
Laid all the fault on t'other sex.
That modern love is no such thing
As what those ancient poets sing;
A fire celestial, chaste, refin'd,
Conceiv'd and kindled in the mind;
Which, having found an equal flame,
Unites, and both become the same,
In different breasts together burn,
Together both to ashes turn.
But women now feel no such fire,
And only know the gross desire.
Their passions move in lower spheres,
Where'er caprice or folly steers,
A dog, a parrot, or an ape,

Or some worse brute in human shape,
Engross the fancies of the fair,
The few soft moments they can spare
From visits to receive and pay,
From scandal, politics, and play,
From fans, and flounces and brocades,
From equipage and park-parades,
From all the thousand female toys,
From every trifle that employs
The out or inside of their heads,
Between their toilets and their beds.

In a dull stream, which moving slow,
You hardly see the current flow;
If a small breeze obstruct the course,

It whirls about, for want of force,

And in its narrow circle gathers

Nothing but chaff, and straws and feathers:

The current of a female mind

Stops thus, and turns with every wind;

Thus whirling round together draws

Fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws.

Hence we conclude, no women's hearts

Are won by virtue, wit, and parts:

Nor are the men of sense to blame,
For breasts incapable of flame;
The fault must on the nymphs be plac'd,
Grown so corrupted in their taste.

The pleader, having spoke his best,
Had witness 'ready to attest,
Who fairly could on oath depose,
When questions on the fact arose,
That every article was true;
Nor further these deponents knew:
Therefore he humbly would insist,
The bill might be with costs dismiss'd.
The cause appear'd of so much weight,
That Venus, from her judgment-seat,
Desir'd them not to talk so loud,
Else she must interpose a cloud :
For if the heavenly folk should know
These pleadings in the courts below,
That mortals here disdain to love,
She ne'er could show her face above;
For gods, their betters, are too wise
To value that which men despise.
And then, said she, my son and I
Must stroll in air, 'twixt land and sky;
Or else, shut out from heaven and earth,
Fly to the sea, my place of birth;
There live, with daggled mermaids pent,
And keep on fish perpetual Lent.

But, since the case appear'd so nice,
She thought it best to take advice.
The Muses, by their king's permission,
Though foes to love, attend the session,
And on their right hand took their places
In order; on the left, the Graces:

To whom she might her doubts propose
On all emergencies that rose.
The Muses oft were seen to frown;
The Graces half-asham'd look down;
And 'twas observ'd, there were but few
Of either sex among the crew,
Whom she or her assessors knew.
The goddess soon began to see
Things were not ripe for a decree;
And said she must consult her books,
The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes.
First to a dapper clerk she beckon'd,
To turn to Ovid, book the second;
She then referr'd them to a place
In Virgil (vide Dido's case):

As for Tibullus's reports,

They never pass'd for law in courts:

For Cowley's briefs, and pleas of Waller, Still their authority was smaller.

There was on both sides much to say: She'd hear the cause another day. And so she did; and then a third She heard it there she kept her word: But, with rejoinders or replies, Long bills, and answers stuff'd with lies, Demur, imparlance, and essoign, The parties ne'er could issue join: For sixteen years the cause was spun, And then stood where it first begun.

Now, gentle Clio, sing or say, What Venus meant by this delay. The goddess, much perplex'd in mind

To see her empire thus declin'd,
When first this grand debate arose,
Above her wisdom to compose,
Conceiv'd a project in her head
To work her ends; which, if it sped,
Would show the merits of the cause
Far better than consulting laws.

In a glad hour Lucina's aid
Produc'd on earth a wondrous maid,
On whom the Queen of Love was bent
To try a new experiment.

She threw her law-books on the shelf,
And thus debated with herself.

Since men allege, they ne'er can find
Those beauties in a female mind,
Which raise a flame that will endure
For ever uncorrupt and pure;
If 'tis with reason they complain,
This infant shall restore my reign.
I'll search where every virtue dwells,
From courts inclusive down to cells:
What preachers talk or sages write,
These I will gather and unite,
And represent them to mankind
Collected in that infant's mind.

This said, she plucks in heaven's high bowers A sprig of amaranthine flowers;

In nectar thrice infuses bays,

Three times refin'd in Titan's rays;

Then calls the Graces to her aid,

And sprinkles thrice the new-born maid:
From whence the tender skin assumes

A sweetness above all perfumes:
From whence a cleanliness remains,
Incapable of outward stains:

From whence that decency of mind,
So lovely in the female kind,
Where not one careless thought intrudes,
Less modest than the speech of prudes;
Where never blush was call'd in aid,
That spurious virtue in a maid,
A virtue but at second-hand;
They blush, because they understand.
The Graces next would act their part,
And show'd but little of their art;
Their work was half already done,
The child with native beauty shone;
The outward form no help requir'd:
Each, breathing on her thrice, inspir'd
That gentle, soft, engaging air,
Which in old times adorn'd the fair:
And said, "Vanessa be the name
By which thou shalt be known to fame;
Vanessa, by the gods inroll'd:
Her name on earth shall not be told."

But still the work was not complete:
When Venus thought on a deceit ;
Drawn by her doves, away she flies,
And finds out Pallas in the skies.
Dear Pallas, I have been this morn
To see a lovely infant born;
A boy in yonder isle below,
So like my own without his bow,
By beauty could your heart be won,
You'd swear it is Apollo's son :
But it shall ne'er be said, a child

So hopeful has by me been spoil'd;
I have enough besides to spare,
And give him wholly to your care.

Wisdom's above suspecting wiles:
The Queen of Learning gravely smiles,
Down from Olympus comes with joy,
Mistakes Vanessa for a boy;
Then sows within her tender mind
Seeds long unknown to womankind;
For manly bosoms chiefly fit

The seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit.
Her soul was suddenly endued
With justice, truth, and fortitude;
With honour, which no breath can stain,
Which malice must attack in vain;
With open heart and bounteous hand :-
But Pallas here was at a stand;
She knew, in our degenerate days,
Bare virtue could not live on praise;
That meat must be with money bought:
She therefore, upon second thought,
Infus'd, yet as it were by stealth,
Some small regard for state and wealth;
Of which, as she grew up, there staid
A tincture in the prudent maid:
She manag'd her estate with care,
Yet lik'd three footmen to her chair.
But, lest he should neglect his studies,
Like a young heir, the thrifty goddess
(For fear young master should be spoil'd)
Would use him like a younger child;
And, after long computing, found
"Twould come to just five thousand pound.
The Queen of Love was pleas'd, and proud,
To see Vanessa thus endow'd:
She doubted not but such a dame
Through every breast would dart a flame:
That every rich and lordly swain
With pride would drag about her chain;
That scholars would forsake their books,
To study bright Vanessa's looks;
As she advanc'd, that womankind
Would by her model form their mind,
And all their conduct would be try'd
By her, as an unerring guide;
Offending daughters oft would hear
Vanessa's praise rung in their ear:
Miss Betty, when she does a fault,
Lets fall her knife, or spills the salt,
Will thus be by her mother chid,
""Tis what Vanessa never did!"
Thus by the nymphs and swains ador'd,
My power shall be again restor❜d,
And happy lovers bless my reign-
So Venus hoped, but hoped in vain.

For when in time the martial maid
Found out the trick that Venus play'd,
She shakes her helm, she knits her brows,
And, fir'd with indignation, vows,
To-morrow, ere the setting sun,
She'd all undo that she had done.

But in the poets we may find
A wholesome law, time out of mind,
Had been confirm'd by fate's decree,
That gods, of whatsoe'er degree,

Resume not what themselves have given,

Or any brother-god in heaven;
Which keeps the peace among the gods,
Or they must always be at odds:
And Pallas, if she broke the laws,
Must yield her foe the stronger cause;
A shame to one so much ador'd
For wisdom at Jove's council-board.
Besides, she fear'd the Queen of Love
Would meet with better friends above.
And though she must with grief reflect,
To see a mortal virgin deck'd
With graces hitherto unknown
To female breasts, except her own;
Yet she would act as best became
A goddess of unspotted fame.
She knew, by augury divine,
Venus would fail in her design:
She study'd well the point, and found
Her foe's conclusions were not sound,
From premises erroneous brought;
And therefore the deduction's nought,"
And must have contrary effects
To what her treacherous foe expects.
In proper season Pallas meets

The Queen of Love, whom thus she greets
(For gods, we are by Homer told,
Can in celestial language scold):
Perfidious goddess! but in vain
You form'd this project in your brain;

A project for thy talents fit,
With much deceit and little wit.
Thou hast, as thou shalt quickly see,
Deceiv'd thyself, instead of me:
For how can heavenly wisdom prove
An instrument to earthly love?

Know'st thou not yet, that men commence
Thy votaries, for want of sense?
Nor shall Vanessa be the theme
To manage thy abortive scheme:
She'll prove the greatest of thy foes!
And yet I scorn to interpose,

But, using neither skill nor force,
Leave all things to their natural course.

The goddess thus pronounc'd her doom:
When lo! Vanessa in her bloom
Advanc'd, like Atalanta's star,
But rarely seen, and seen from far:
In a new world with caution stept,
Watch'd all the company she kept,
Well knowing, from the books she read,
What dangerous paths young virgins tread:
Would seldom at the park appear,
Nor saw the playhouse twice a year;
Yet, not incurious, was inclin'd
To know the converse of mankind.
First issued from perfumers' shops
A crowd of fashionable fops;
They ask'd her how she lik'd the play;
Then told the tattle of the day;
A duel fought last night at two,
About a lady-you know who:
Mention'd a new Italian come
Either from Muscovy or Rome;
Gave hints of who and who's together;
Then fell a talking of the weather;
Last night was so extremely fine,


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