The next to be preferr'd, I think,

Is the glafs in which I drink

The shelves on which my books I keep;
And the bed on which I fleep;
An antique elbow-chair between,
Big enough to hold the Dean;
And the ftore that gives delight
In the cold bleak wintery night;
To these we add a thing below,
More for use referv'd than fhow:
These are what the Dean do pleafe;
All fuperfluous are but thefe.

IR

APOLLO'S EDICT*.

RELAND is now our royal care,
We lately fix'd our Viceroy there;
How near was fhe to be undone,
Till pious love infpir'd her Son !
What cannot our Vicegerent do,
As Poet and as Patriot too?
Let his fuccefs our fubjects fway,
Our infpirations to obey,

And follow where He leads the way:
Then ftudy to correct your taste;
Nor beaten paths be longer trac'd.

}

*This poem was originally written in 1720; the latter part of it was re-published in 1743, on the death of the Countess of Donegal. N.

No

No fimile fhall be begun,
With rising or with setting fun ;
And let the fecret head of Nile
Be ever banish'd from your ifle.

When wretched lovers live on air,
I beg you 'll the Camelion spare;
And, when you'd make a hero grander,
Forget he 's like a Salamander.

No fon of mine shall dare to say,
Aurora ufber'd-in the Day,
Or ever name the milky-way.

You all agree, I make no doubt,
Elijah's mantle is worn out.

The bird of Jove shall toil no more
To teach the humble Wren to foar.
Your Tragic Heroes shall not rant,
Nor Shepherds ufe poetic cant.
Simplicity alone can grace
The manners of the rural race.
Theocritus and Philips be

Your guides to true fimplicity.

When Damon's soul shall take its flight,
Though Poets have the fecond-fight,
They fhall not fee a trail of light.
Nor fhall the vapours upward rife,
Nor a new ftar adorn the fkies:
For who can hope to place one there,
As glorious as Belinda's hair?
Yet, if his name you 'd eternize,
And muft exalt him to the fkies;

}

}

Without

Without a far, this may be done :.
So Tickell mourn'd his Addifon.

If Anna's happy reign you praise,
Pray, not a word of halcyon-days ;
Nor let my votaries fhew their skill
In aping lines from Cooper's-Hill;
For know, I cannot bear to hear
The mimickry of deep, yet clear.
Whene'er my Viceroy is address'd,
Against the Phoenix I proteft.
When Poets foar in youthful ftrains,
No Phaeton to hold the reins.

When you defcribe a lovely girl,
No lips of coral, teeth of pearl.
Cupid shall ne'er mistake another,
However beauteous, for his mother:
Nor fhall his darts at random fly
From magazine in Cælia's

eye.

With women-compounds I am cloy'd,
Which only pleas'd in Biddy Floyd.
For foreign aid, what need they roam,
Whom Fate has amply bleft at home?
Unerring Heaven, with bounteous hand,
Has form'd a model for your land,
Whom Jove endow'd with every grace;
The glory of the Granard race;
Now deftin'd by the powers divine
The bleffing of another line.

Then, would you paint a matchlefs dame,

Whom you'd confign to endless fame?

VOL. II.

Bb.

Invoke

Invoke not Cytherea's aid,

Nor borrow from the blue-ey'd maid;
Nor need you on the Graces call,
Take qualities from Donegal.

EPIGRAM.

BEHOLD! a proof of Irish sense !

Here Irish wit is feen!

When nothing's left, that's worth defence,
We build a magazine.

EPIGRAMS, Occafioned by Dr. SWIFT's intended Hospital for IDEOTS and LUNATICKS.

HE Dean muft die

TH

I.

our Ideots to maintain.

Perish, ye Ideots! and long live the Dean!

came to the Park,

* The Dean, in his lunacy, had some intervals of fense; at which time his guardians, or physicians, took him out for the air. On one of these days, when they Swift remarked a new building, which he had never feen, and asked what it was designed for. To which Dr. Kingsbury answered, "That, Mr. “Dean, is the magazine for arms and powder, for the "fecurity of the city." "Oh! oh!" fays the Dean, pulling out his pocket-book, " let me take an item of "that. This is worth remarking: my tablets, as "Hamlet fays, my tablets-memory put down that!" Which produced the above lines, faid to be the laft he ever wrote. N.

II. O GENIUS

II.

O GENIUS of Hibernia's ftate,
Sublimely good, feverely great!

How doth this latest act excel

All you have done or wrote fo well! *Satire may be the child of spite,

And Fame might bid the Drapier write :
But to relieve, and to endow,

Creatures that know not whence or how,
Argues a foul both good and wife,
Refembling Him who rules the fkies.
He to the thoughtful mind displays
Immortal skill ten thoufand ways;
And, to compleat his glorious task,
Gives what we have not sense to ask !

III.

LO! Swift to Ideots bequeaths his flore: Be wife, ye rich! confider thus the

poor

!

On the DEAN of ST. PATRICK'S Birth-day *, Nov. 30, ST. ANDREW'S-DAY.

BETWEEN the hours of twelve and one,

When half the world to reft were gone,

Intranc'd in foftest sleep I lay,

Forgetful of an anxious day;
From every care and labour free,
My foul as calm as it could be.

*See, in Parnell's Poems, an elegant compliment on

the fame occafion. N.

Bb 2

The