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Which still their ancient nature keep
By lodging folks dispos'd to sleep.

The cottage by such feats as these
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then desir'd their host
To ask for what he fancy'd most.
Philemon, having paus'd a while,
Return'd them thanks in homely style:
Then said, My house is grown so fine,
Methinks I still would call it mine;
I'm old, and fain would live at ease;
Make me the parson if you please.

He spoke, and presently he feels
His grazier's coat fall down his heels:
He sees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-sleeve;
His waistcoat to a cassock grew,
And both assum'd a sable hue;
But, being old, continued just
As threadbare, and as full of dust.
His talk was now of tithes and dues:
He smok'd his pipe, and read the news;
Knew how to preach old sermons next,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text;
At christenings well could act his part,
And had the service all by heart;
Wish'd women might have children fast,
And thought whose sow had farrow'd last;
Against dissenters would repine,
And stood up firm for right divine;
Found his head fill'd with many a system;
But classic authors,-he ne'er miss'd 'em.

Thus having furbish'd up a parson, Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on. Instead of home-spun coifs, were seen Good pinners edg'd with colberteen; Her petticoat, transform'd apace, Became black satin flounc'd with lace.. Plain goody would no longer down; "Twas madam in her grogram gown. Philemon was in great surprise, And hardly could believe his eyes, Amaz'd to see her look so prim; And she admir'd as much at him.

Thus happy in their change of life Were several years this man and wife; When on a day, which prov'd their last, Discoursing o'er old stories past, They went by chance, amidst their talk, To the church-yard to take a walk; When Baucis hastily cry'd out, My dear, I see your forehead sprout! Sprout! quoth the man; what's this you tell us? I hope you don't believe me jealous! But yet, methinks, I feel it true; And really yours is budding tooNay, now I cannot stir my foot; It feels as if 'twere taking root.

Description would but tire my Muse; In short they both were turn'd to yews. Old Goodman Dobson of the green Remembers he the trees has seen;

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He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to show the sight:
On Sundays, after evening-prayer,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew;

Here Baucis, there Philemon grew:

Till once a parson of our town,
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;
At which 'tis hard to be believed
How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew scrubbed, dy'd a-top, was stunted;
So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING. 1709.

Now hardly here and there an hackney coach
Appearing, show'd the ruddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And softly stole to discompose her own.
The slipshod 'prentice from his master's door
Had par'd the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dext'rous airs,
Prepar'd to scrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy stumps began to trace
The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The small-coal-man was heard with cadence deep,
Till drown'd in shriller notes of chimney-sweep.
Duns at his Lordship's gate began to meet;
And brick-dust Moll had scream'd through half the
The turnkey now his flock returning sees, [street.
Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees:
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands,
And school-boys lag with satchels in their hands.

A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER.
IN IMITATION OF VIRGIL'S GEORGICS. 1710.
Careful observers may foretel the hour
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower.
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you'll find the sink
Strike your offending sense with double stink.
If you be wise, then go not far to dine;
You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.
A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage.
Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.

Meanwhile the south, rising with dabbled wings, A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,

That swill'd more liquor than it could contain,
And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope:
Such is that sprinkling which some careless quean
Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean :
You fly, invoke the gods; then, turning, stop
To rail; she, singing, still whirls on the mor

Not yet the dust had shunn'd th' unequal strife, Was now dispos’d to crack a jest,
But, aided by the wind, fought still for life;

And bid friend Lewis go in quest,
And, wasted with its foe by violent gust,

(This Lewis is a cunning shaver, 'Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was dust. And very much in Harley's favour) Al! where must needy poet seek for aid,

In quest who might this parson be, When dust and rain at once his coat invade?

What was his name, of what degree ; Sole coat! where dust cemented by the rain

If possible, to learn his story,
Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain!

And whether he were Whig or Tory.
Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, Lewis his patron's humour knows,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town. Away upon his errand goes,
To shops in crowds the daggled females fly, And quickly did the matter sift;
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.

Found out that it was Doctor Swift,
The templar spruce, while every spout's abroach, A clergyman of special note
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.

For shunning those of his own coat;
The tuck’d-up sempstress walks with hasty strides, Which made his brethren of the gown
While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides. Take care betimes to run him down :
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,

No libertine, nor over nice, Commence acquaintance underneath a shed:

Addicted to no sort of vice, Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs

Went where he pleas'd, said what he thought; Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs. Not rich, but ow'd no man a groat: Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient sits,

In state opinions à-la-mode,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, He hated Wharton like a toad,
And ever and anon with frightful din

Had given the faction many a wound,
The leather sounds; he trembles from within. And libel'd all the junto round;
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed, Kept company with men of wit,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed,

Who often father'd what he writ:
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do, His works were hawk'd in every street,
Instead of paying chairmen, ran them through) But seldom rose above a sheet:
Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,

Of late indeed the paper-stamp
And each imprison'd hero quaked for fear.

Did very much his genius cramp:
Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow, And since he could not spend his fire,
And bear their trophies with them as they go: He now intended to retire.
Filths of all hues and odours seem to tell

Said Harley, “ I desire to know
What street they sail'd from by their sight and smell. From his own mouth if this be so;
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force, Step to the Doctor straight, and say,
From Smithfieldor St. 'Pulchre's shape their course, I'd have him dine with me to-day.”
And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge, Swift seem'd to wonder what he meant,
Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn-bridge. Nor would believe my Lord had sent;
Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and So never offer'd once to stir;
blood,

[mud, But coldly said, “ Your servant, sir!" Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in “ Does he refuse me?” Harley cry'd ; Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down “ He does, with insolence and pride." the flood.

Some few days after, Harley spies
The Doctor fasten'd by the eyes

At Charing-cross among the rout,
HORACE, BOOK I. EP. VII.

Where painted monsters are hung out;
1713.

He pull'd the string, and stopt his coach,

Beckoning the Doctor to approach. Harley, the nation's great support,

Swist, who could neither fly nor hide, Returning home one day from court,

Came sneaking to the chariot side, (His mind with public cares possess'd,

And offer'd many a lame excuse : All Europe's business in his breast)

He never meant the least abuseObserv'd a parson near Whitehall

My Lord—the honour you design'd Cheapening old authors on a stall.

Extremely proud-but I had din'dThe priest was pretty well in case,

I'm sure I never should neglectAnd show'd some humour in his face;

No man alive has more respect,” Look'd with an easy, careless mien,

Well, I shall think of that no more, A perfect stranger to the spleen;

If you'll be sure to come at four." Of size that might a pulpit fill,

The Doctor now obeys the summons, But more inclining to sit still.

Likes both his company and commons; My Lord (who if a man may say 't,

Displays his talent, sits till ten; Loves mischief better than his meat)

Next day invited comes again ;

ADDRESSED TO THE EARL OF OXFORD.

9

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Soon grows domestic, seldom fails

HORACE, BOOK II. SAT. VI. Either at moruing or at meals : Came early, and departed late ;

I've often wish'd that I had clear, In short, the gudgeon took the bait.

For life, six hundred pounds a-year, My Lord would carry on the jest,

A handsome house to lodge a friend, And down to Windsor takes his guest.

A river at my garden's end, Swift much admires the place and air,

A terrace walk, and half a rood And longs to be a canon there ;

Of land set out to plant a wood. In summer, round the park to ride ;

Well, now I have all this and more, In winter, never to reside.

I ask not to increase my store; A canon ! that's a place too mean;

“ But here a grievance seems to lie, No Doctor, you shall be a Dean;

All this is mine but till I die; Two dozen canons round your stall,

I can't but think 'twould sound more clever, And you the tyrant o'er them all:

To me and to my heirs for ever. You need but cross the Irish seas,

If I ne'er got or lost a groat, To live in plenty, power, and ease.

By any trick, or any fauit; Poor Swift departs; and, what is worse,

And if I pray by reason's rules, With borrow'd money in his purse,

And not like forty other fools : Travels at least an hundred leagues,

As thus, “ Vouchsafe, oh gracious Maker! And suffers numberless fatigues.

To grant me this and t'other acre ; Suppose bim now a Dean complete,

Or, if it be thy will and pleasure, Demurely lolling in his seat ;

Direct my plough to find a treasure !" The silver verge, with decent pride,

But only what my station fits, Stuck underneath his cushion side:

And to be kept in my right wits, Suppose him gone through all vexations,

Preserve, Almighty Providence ! Patents, instalments, abjurations,

Just what you gave me, competence : First-fruits and tenths, and chapter-treats;

And let me in these shades compose Dues, paymeuts, fees, demands, and cheats

Something in verse as true as prose ; (The wicked laity's contriving

Remov'd from all th' ambitious scene, To hinder clergymen from thriving).

Nor puff’d by pride, nor sunk by spleen.” Now all the Doctor's money's spent,

In short, I'm perfectly content, His tenants wrong him in his rent;

Let me but live on this side Trent; The farmers, spitefully combin'd,

Nor cross the Channel twice a year, Force him to take his tithes in kind :

To spend six months with statesmen here. And Parvisol discounts arrears

I must by all means come to town, By bills for taxes and repairs.

'Tis for the service of the Crown. Poor Swift, with all his losses vex'd,

" Lewis, the Dean will be of use ; Not knowing where to turn him next,

Send for him up, take no excuse.” Above a thousand pounds in debt,

The toil, the danger of the seas, Takes horse, and in a mighty fret

Great ministers ne'er think of these; Rides day and night at such a rate,

Or let it cost five hundred pound, He soon arrives at Harley's gate ;

No matter where the money's found, But was so dirty, pale, and thin,

It is but so much more in debt, Old Read would hardly let him in.

And that they ne'er consider'd yet. Said Harley,“ Welcome, Reverend Dean!

“ Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown, What makes your worship look so lean ?

Let my Lord know you're come to town.” Why, sure you wou't appear in town

I hurry me in haste away, In that old wig and rusty gown?

Not thinking it is levee-day; I doubt your heart is set on pelf

Aud find his honour in a pound, So much, that you neglect yourself.

Hemm’d by a triple circle round, What! I suppose, now stocks are high

Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green: You've some good purchase in your eye?

How should I thrust myself between? Or is your money out at use ?”—

Some wag observes me thus perplex'd, “ Truce, good my Lord, I beg a truce,"

And, smiling, whispers to the next, (The Doctor in a passion cry'd)

“ I thought the Dean had been too proud, “ Your raillery is misapply’d;

To justle here among the crowd!" Experience I have dearly bought;

Another, in a surly fit, You know I am not worth a groat:

Tells me I have more zeal than wit, But you resolv'd to have your jest ;

“ So eager to express your love, And 'twas a folly to contest;

You ne'er consider whom you shove, Then, since you have now done your worst,

But rudely press before a duke." Pray leave me where you found me first.”

I own, I'm pleas'd with this rebuke,

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TILL HIS PALACE WAS RE-BUILT.

And take it kindly meant, to show

They stand amaz'd, and think me grown What I desire the world should know.

The closest mortal ever known. I get a whisper, and withdraw;

Thus in a sea of folly tost, When twenty fools I never saw

My choicest hours of life are lost 3 Come with petitions fairly penn'd,

Yet always wishing to retreat, Desiring I would stand their friend.

Oh, could I see my country seat! This humbly offers me his case

There leaning near a gentle brook, That begs my interest for a place

Sleep, or peruse some ancient book; A hundred other men's affairs,

And there in sweet oblivion drown
Like bees, are humming in my ears.

Those cares that haunt the court and town.
“ To-morrow my appeal comes on;
Without your help the cause is gone-
The duke expects my lord and you,

A True and Faithful INVENTORY of the Goods beAbout some great affair, at two_"

longing to DR. SWIFT, Vicar of Laracor ; “ Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind, To get my warrant quickly sign'd:

UPON LENDING HIS HOUSE TO THE BISHOP OF WEATH, Consider, 'tis my first request."Be satisfy'd I'll do my best. Then presently he falls to teaze,

An oaken, broken elbow-chair ; “ You may for certain, if you please :

A cawdle-cup, without an ear; I doubt not, if his lordship knew

A batter'd, shatter'd ash bedstead ; And, Mr. Dean, one word from you—".

A box of deal, without a lid; 'Tis (let me see) three years and more,

A pair of tongs, but out of joint; (October next it will be four)

A backsword-poker without point ; Since Harley bid me first attend,

A pot that's crack'd across, around And chose me for an humble friend;

With an old knotted garter bound; Would take me in his coach to chat,

An iron lock, without a key; And question me of this and that;

A wig, with hanging quite grown gray ; As, “'What's o'clock?” And,“ How's the wind ?" A curtain, worn to half a stripe : “ Whose chariot's that we left behind ?"

A pair of bellows, without pipe ; Or gravely try to read the lines

A dish, which might good meat afford once ; Writ underneath the country signs;

An Ovid, and an old Concordance ; Or,“ Have you nothing new to-day

A bottle bottom, wooden platter, From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay?"

One is for meal, and one for water: Such tattle often entertains

There likewise is a copper skillet, My Lord and me as far as Staines,

Which runs as fast out as you fill it; As once a week we travel down

A candlestick, snuff-dish, and save-all: To Windsor, and again to town,

And thus his household goods you have all. Where all that passes inter nos

These to your Lordship as a friend, Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross.

Till

you have built, I freely lend: Yet some I know with envy swell,

They'll serve your Lordship for a shift;
Because they see me us'd so well:

Why not, as well as Doctor Swift?
“ How think you of our friend the Dean?
I wonder what some people mean.
My Lord and he are grown so great,

CADENUS AND VANESSA.
Always together, tête-à-tête ;

WRITTEN AT WINDSOR, 1713.
What! they admire him for his jokes !
See but the fortune of some folks!"

The shepherds and the nymphs were seen
There flics about a strange report

Pleading before the Cyprian Queen. Of some express arriv'd at court:

The counsel for the fair began, I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet,

Accusing the false creature man. And catechis'd in every street.

The brief with weighty crimes was charg'd, “ You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great ;

On which the pleader much enlarg'd; Inform us, will the Emperor treat ?

That Cupid now has lost his art, Or do the prints and papers lie?”

Or blunts the point of every dart ;Faith, sir, you know as much as I.

His altar now no longer smokes, “ Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest !

His mother's aid no youth invokes ; 'Tis now no secret”-I protest

This tempts freethinkers to refine, 'Tis one to me—“ Then tell us. pray,

And bring in doubt their powers divine ; When are the troops to have their pay;"

Now love is dwindled to intrigue, And, though I solemnly declare

And marriage grown a money league. I know no more than my lord mayor,

Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)

Were (as he humbly did conceive)

Else she must interpose a cloud: Against our sovereigu lady's peace,

For if the heavenly folk should know Against the statiite in that case,

These pleadings in the courts below, Against her dignity and crown:

That mortals here disdain to love, , Then pray'd an answer, and sat down.

She ne'er could show her face above ; The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes : For gods, their betters, are too wise When the defendant's counsel rose,

To value that which men despise. And, what no lawyer ever lack’d,

And then, said she, my son and I With impudence own'd all the fact;

Must stroll in air, 'twixt land and sky; But, what the gentlest heart would vex,

Or else, shut out from heaven and earth, Laid all the fault on t'other sex.

Fly to the sea, my place of birth ; That modern love is no such thing

There live, with daggled mermaids pent, As what those ancient poets sing;

And keep on fish perpetual Lent. A fire celestial, chaste, refin'd,

But, since the case appear'd so nice, Conceiv'd and kindled in the mind;

She thought it best to take advice. Which, having found an equal flame,

The Muses, by their king's permission, Unites, and both become the same,

Though foes to love, attend the session, In different breats together burn,

And on their right hand took their places Together both to ashes turn.

In order; on the left, the Graces : But women now feel no such fire,

To whom she might her doubts propose And only know the gross desire.

On all emergencies that rose. Their passions move in lower spheres,

The Muses oft were seen to frown; Where'er caprice or folly steers,

The Graces half-asham'd look down ; A dog, a parrot, or an ape,

And 'twas observ'd, there were but few Or some worse brute in human shape,

Of either sex among the crew, Ingross the fancies of the fair,

Whom she or her assessors knew. The few soft moments they can spare

The goddess soon began to see, From visits to receive and pay,

Things were not ripe for a decree; From scandal, politics, and play,

And said she must consult her books, From fans, and flounces, and brocades,

The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes. From equipage and park-parades,

First to a dapper clerk she beckon'd,

a From all the thousand female toys,

To turn to Ovid, book the second ; From every trife that employs

She then referr'd them to a place The out or inside of their heads,

In Virgil (vide Dido's case): Between their toilets and their beds.

As for Tibullus's reports, In a dull stream, which moving slow,

They never pass'd for law in courts : You hardly see the current flow;

For Cowley's briefs, and pleas of Waller, If a small breeze obstruct the course,

Still their authority was smaller. It whirls about, for want of force,

There was on both sides much to say: And in its narrow circle gathers

She'd hear the cause another day. Nothing but chaff, and straws and feathers.

And so she did; and then a third The current of a female mind

She heard it—there she kept her word: Stops thus, and turns with every wind;

But, with rejoinders or replies, Thus whirling round together draws

Long bills, and answers stuff'd with lies, Fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws.

Demur, imparlance, and essoign, Hence we conclude, so women's hearts

The parties ne'er could issue join : Are won by virtue, wit, and parts :

For sixteen years the cause was spun, Nor are the men of sense to blame,

And then stood where it first begun. For breasts incapable of flame;

Now, gentle Clio, sing or say, The fault must on the nymphs be plac'd,

What Venus meant by this delay. Growa so corrupted in their taste.

The goddess, much perplex'd in mind The pleader, having spoke his best,

To see her empire thus deelin'd, Had witness ready to attest,

When first this grand debate arose, Who fairly could on oath depose,

Above her wisdom to compose, When questions on the fact arose,

Conceiv'd a project in her head That every article was true;

To work her ends; which, if it sped, Nor further these deponents knew:

Would show the merits of the cause Therefore he humbly would insist,

Far better than consulting laws. The bill might be with costs dismiss'd.

In a glad hour Lucina's aid The cause appear’d of so much weight,

Produc'd on earth a wondrous maid, That Venus, from her judgment-seat,

On whom the Queen of Love was bent Desir'd them not to talk so loud,

To try a new experiment,

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