He ftill was comforted to find
That hope at last remain'd behind:
So Strephon, lifting up the lid,..
To view what in the cheft was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent;
But Strephon, cautious, never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope,
And foul his hands in fearch of hope.
O! ne'er may fuch a vile machine.
Be once in Cælia's chamber feen!
O! may she better learn to keep
Thofe fecrets of the boary deep *!
As mutton-cutlets, † prime of meat,
Which, though with art you falt and beat,
As laws of cookery require,
And roaft them at the clearest fire;
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon a cinder drops,
To ftinking fmoke it turns the flame,
Poisoning the flesh from whence it came,
And up exhales a greasy stench,
For which you curse the careless wench :
So things which must not be expreft,
When plumpt into the reeking cheft,
Send up an excremental fmell
To taint the parts from whence they fell:
The petticoats and gown perfume,
And waft a ftink round every room.
Thus finishing his grand furvey,
The fwain difgufted flunk away;
Repeating in his amorous fits,
"Oh! Cælia, Cælia, Cælia fh-- !'
But Vengeance, goddess never fleeping,
Soon punish'd Strephon for his peeping:
His foul imagination links
Each dame he fees with all her flinks;
And, if unfavory odours fly,
Conceives a lady standing by.
All women his description fits,
And both ideas jump like wits;
By vicious fancy coupled faft,
And ftill appearing in contrast.
I pity wretched Strephon, blind
To all the charms of woman-kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refuse,
Because the rofe from flinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene,
Statira's but fome pocky quean..
When Calia all her glory shows,
If Strephon would but ftop his nofe,
Who now fo impiously blafphemes
Her ointments, daubs, and paints, and creams,
Her wafhes, flops, and every clout,
With which he makes fo foul a rout:
He foon would learn to think like me,
And bless his ravish'd eyes to see
Such order from confusion sprung,
Such gaudy tulips rais'd from dung
neither brafs nor marble can withstand
The mortal force of Time's deftructive hand;
If mountains fink to vales, if cities die,
And leffening rivers mourn their fountains dry :
When
my old caffock (faid a Welsh divine)
Is out at elbows; why should I repine ?
ON MR. PULTENEY'S
BEING PUT OUT OF THE COUNCIL. 1731.
SIR Robert, weary'd by Will Pulteney's teazings,
Who interrupted him in all his leafings,
Refolv'd that Will and he fhould meet no more :
Full in his face Bob fhuts the council-door;
Nor lets him fit as juftice on the bench,
To punish thieves, or lafh a fuburb-wench.
Yet ftill St. Stephen's chapel open lies
For Will to enter.-What thall I advise?
Ev'n quit the HOUSE, for thou too long haft fat in 't,
Produce at last thy dormant ducal patent;
There, near thy master's throne in shelter plac'd,
Let Will unheard by thee his thunder waste.
Yet ftill I fear your work is done but half :
For, while he keeps his pen, you are not safe.
Hear an old fable, and a dull one too;
It bears a moral, when apply'd to you.
A hare had long escap'd pursuing hounds
By often shifting into diftant grounds;
Till, finding all his artifices vain,
To fave his life he leap'd into the main.
But there, alas! he could no safety find,
A pack of dog-fib had him in the wind.
He fcours away; and, to avoid the foe,
Defcends for fhelter to the fhades below:
There Cerberus lay watching in his den
(He had not feen a hare the lord knows when),
Out bounc'd the mastiff of the triple head ;
Away the hare with double swiftness fled;
Hunted from earth, and fea, and hell, he flies
(Fear lent him wings) for fafety to the skies.
How was the fearful animal diftreft!
Behold a foe more fierce than all the rest:
Sirius, the swifteft of the heavenly pack,
Fail'd but an inch to feize him by the back,
He fled to earth, but firft it coft him dear:
He left his fcut behind, and half an ear.
Thus was the hare pursued, though free from guilt, Thus, Bob, shalt thou be maul'd, fly where thou wilt. Then, honeft Robin, of thy corpfe beware;
Thou art not half fo nimble as a hares
Too ponderous is thy bulk to mount the sky;
Nor can you go to hell, before you die.
So keen thy hunters, and thy fcent fo ftrong,
Thy turns and doublings cannot fave thee long
* This hunting ended in the promotion both of Will and Bob. Bob was no longer first minister, but earl of Orford; and Will was no longer his opponent, bot earl of Bath. H...
FREDERICK DUKE OF SCHOMBERG.
Hic infra fitum 'est corpus
FREDERICI DUCIS DE SCHOMBERG, ad BUDINDAM occifi, A. D. 1699. DECANUS et CAPITULUM maximopere etiam - atque etiam petierunt,
Ut HÆREDES DUCIS monumentum
In memoriam PARENTIS crigendum cufarent:
Sed poftquam per epiftolas, per amicos,
diu ac fæpè orando nil profecêre ;
Hunc demum lapidem ipfi ftatuerunt,
+ Saltem ut fcias, hofpes,
Ubinam terrarum SCONBERGENSES cineres
"Plus potuit fama virtutis apud alienos,
Quam fanguinis proximitas apud fuos.”
A. D. 1731.
The duke was unhappily killed, in croffing the river Bovne, July 1, 1690; and was buried in St. Patrick's cathedral; where the dean and chapter erected a small monument to his honour, at their own expence.
The words that Dr. Swift firft concluded the opi taph with, were "Saltem ut fciat viator indignabundus, "quali in cellula tanti ductoris cineres delitefcunt." VOL. II.
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