Jonathan Swift

“ The Dean sits plodding on a book; Pope walks, and courts the Muse. Now backs of letters, though design'd For those who more will need 'em, Are fill'd with hints, and interlined, Himself can hardly read 'em. Each atom by some other struck, All turns and motions tries; Till in a lump together stuck, Behold a poem rise: Yet to the Dean his share allot; He claims it by a canon; That without which a thing is not, Is causa sine quâ non. Thus, Pope, in vain you boast your wit; For, had our deaf divine Been for your conversation fit, You had not writ a line. ”

“ Let the vain sex dream on; the empire comes from us; And had they common generosity, They would not use us thus. Well—though you've raised her to this high degree, Ourselves are raised as well as she; And, spite of all that they or you can do, 'Tis pride and happiness enough to me, Still to be of the same exalted sex with you. XI Alas, how fleeting and how vain Is even the nobler man, our learning and our wit! I sigh whene'er I think of it: As at the closing an unhappy scene Of some great king and conqueror's death, When the sad melancholy Muse Stays but to catch his utmost breath. ”

“ How shall we pass the time between? "Here, Betty, let me take my drops; And feel my pulse, I know it stops; This head of mine, lord, how it swims! And such a pain in all my limbs!" "Dear madam, try to take a nap"— But now they hear a footman's rap: "Go, run, and light the ladies up: It must be one before we sup." The table, cards, and counters, set, And all the gamester ladies met, Her spleen and fits recover'd quite, Our madam can sit up all night; "Whoever comes, I'm not within." Quadrille's the word, and so begin. How can the Muse her aid impart, Unskill'd in all the terms of art? ”

“ The war, methinks, has made Our wit and learning narrow as our trade; Instead of boldly sailing far, to buy A stock of wisdom and philosophy, We fondly stay at home, in fear Of every censuring privateer; Forcing a wretched trade by beating down the sale, And selling basely by retail. The wits, I mean the atheists of the age, Who fain would rule the pulpit, as they do the stage, Wondrous refiners of philosophy, Of morals and divinity, By the new modish system of reducing all to sense, Against all logic, and concluding laws, Do own th'effects of Providence, And yet deny the cause. ”

“ At length they in the rubbish spy A thing resembling a goose-pie. Thither in haste the Poets throng, And gaze in silent wonder long, Till one in raptures thus began To praise the pile and builder Van: "Thrice happy Poet! who may'st trail Thy house about thee like a snail: Or harness'd to a nag, at ease Take journeys in it like a chaise; Or in a boat whene'er thou wilt, Can'st make it serve thee for a tilt! Capacious house! 'tis own'd by all Thou'rt well contrived, tho' thou art small: For ev'ry Wit in Britain's isle May lodge within thy spacious pile. ”

“ But I defy the basest tongue To prove I did my neighbour wrong; Or ever went to seek my food, By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood. The Ass approaching next, confess'd, That in his heart he loved a jest: A wag he was, he needs must own, And could not let a dunce alone: Sometimes his friend he would not spare, And might perhaps be too severe: But yet the worst that could be said, He was a wit both born and bred; And, if it be a sin and shame, Nature alone must bear the blame: One fault he has, is sorry for't, His ears are half a foot too short ”

“ The strongest friendship yields to pride, Unless the odds be on our side. Vain human kind! fantastic race! Thy various follies who can trace? Self-love, ambition, envy, pride, Their empire in our hearts divide. Give others riches, power, and station, 'Tis all on me an usurpation. I have no title to aspire; Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher. In Pope I cannot read a line, But with a sigh I wish it mine; When he can in one couplet fix More sense than I can do in six; It gives me such a jealous fit, I cry, "Pox take him and his wit!" ”

“ Nor ever choose to work with tools Forged up in colleges and schools, Consider how much more is due To all their journeymen than you: At table you can Horace quote; They at a pinch can bribe a vote: You show your skill in Grecian story; But they can manage Whig and Tory; You, as a critic, are so curious To find a verse in Virgil spurious; But they can smoke the deep designs, When Bolingbroke with Pulteney dines. Besides, your patron may upbraid ye, That you have got a place already; An office for your talents fit, To flatter, carve, and show your wit ”

“ But prodigies are wrought to prove Nothing impossible to Jove. Virtue was for this sex design'd, In mild reproof to womankind; In manly form to let them see The loveliness of modesty, The thousand decencies that shone With lessen'd lustre in their own; Which few had learn'd enough to prize, And some thought modish to despise. To make his merit more discern'd, He goes to school—he reads—is learn'd; Raised high above his birth, by knowledge, He shines distinguish'd in a college; Resolved nor honour, nor estate, Himself alone should make him great. ”

“ THE DUKE'S ANSWER BY DR. SWIFT Dear Smed, I read thy brilliant lines, Where wit in all its glory shines; Where compliments, with all their pride, Are by their numbers dignified: I hope to make you yet as clean As that same Viz, St. Patrick's dean. I'll give thee surplice, verge, and stall, And may be something else withal; And, were you not so good a writer, I should present you with a mitre. Write worse, then, if you can—be wise- Believe me, 'tis the way to rise. Talk not of making of thy nest: Ah! never lay thy head to rest! ”

“ For, youth, believe, to you unseen, is fix'd A mighty gulf, unpassable betwixt. Nor tax the goddess of a mean design To praise your parts by publishing of mine; That be my thought when some large bulky writ Shows in the front the ambition of my wit; There to surmount what bears me up, and sing Like the victorious wren perch'd on the eagle's wing. This could I do, and proudly o'er him tower, Were my desires but heighten'd to my power. Godlike the force of my young Congreve's bays, Softening the Muse's thunder into praise ”

“ The very reverend Dean Smedley, Of dulness, pride, conceit, a medley, Was equally allow'd to shine As poet, scholar, and divine; With godliness could well dispense, Would be a rake, but wanted sense; Would strictly after Truth inquire, Because he dreaded to come nigh her. For Liberty no champion bolder, He hated bailiffs at his shoulder. To half the world a standing jest, A perfect nuisance to the rest; From many (and we may believe him) Had the best wishes they could give him. To all mankind a constant friend, Provided they had cash to lend. ”

“ There let him starve, and vent his rage: Or would they but in fetters bind This enemy of human kind! Harmonious Coffee, [2] show thy zeal, Thou champion for the commonweal: Nor on a theme like this repine, For once to wet thy pen divine: Bestow that libeller a lash, Who daily vends seditious trash: Who dares revile the nation's wisdom, But in the praise of virtue is dumb: That scribbler lash, who neither knows The turn of verse, nor style of prose; Whose malice, for the worst of ends, Would have us lose our English friends: [3] Who never had one public thought, Nor ever gave the poor a groat. ”

“ How noble a reprisal on the great! How is the Muse luxuriant grown! Whene'er she takes this flight, She soars clear out of sight. These are the paradises of her own: Thy Pegasus, like an unruly horse, Though ne'er so gently led, To the loved pastures where he used to feed, Runs violent o'er his usual course. Wake from thy wanton dreams, Come from thy dear-loved streams, The crooked paths of wandering Thames. Fain the fair nymph would stay, Oft she looks back in vain, Oft 'gainst her fountain does complain, And softly steals in many windings down, As loth to see the hated court and town ”

“ The bullion stamp'd in your refining mind Serves by retail to furnish half mankind. With indignation I behold your wit Forced on me, crack'd, and clipp'd, and counterfeit, By vile pretenders, who a stock maintain From broken scraps and filings of your brain. Through native dross your share is hardly known, And by short views mistook for all their own; So small the gains those from your wit do reap, Who blend it into folly's larger heap, Like the sun's scatter'd beams which loosely pass, When some rough hand breaks the assembling glass. ”

“ This bids some curious praters here below Call Titan sick, because their sight is so; And well, methinks, does this allusion fit To scribblers, and the god of light and wit; Those who by wild delusions entertain A lust of rhyming for a poet's vein, Raise envy's clouds to leave themselves in night, But can no more obscure my Congreve's light, Than swarms of gnats, that wanton in a ray Which gave them birth, can rob the world of day. ”

“ And while they toss my name about, With favour some, and some without, One, quite indiff'rent in the cause, My character impartial draws: The Dean, if we believe report, Was never ill receiv'd at court. As for his works in verse and prose I own myself no judge of those; Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em: But this I know, all people bought 'em. As with a moral view design'd To cure the vices of mankind: And, if he often miss'd his aim, The world must own it, to their shame, The praise is his, and theirs the blame. ”

“ Yet malice never was his aim; He lash'd the vice, but spared the name; No individual could resent, Where thousands equally were meant; His satire points at no defect, But what all mortals may correct; For he abhorr'd that senseless tribe Who call it humour when they gibe: He spared a hump, or crooked nose, Whose owners set not up for beaux. True genuine dulness moved his pity, Unless it offer'd to be witty. Those who their ignorance confest, He ne'er offended with a jest; But laugh'd to hear an idiot quote A verse from Horace learn'd by rote. ”

“ I'd tell of yours in rhyme and print, Folks shrug, and cry, "There's nothing in't." And, after several readings over, It shines most in the marble cover. How could so fine a taste dispense With mean degrees of wit and sense? Nor will my lord so far beguile The wise and learned of our isle; To make it pass upon the nation, By dint of his sole approbation. The task is arduous, patrons find, To warp the sense of all mankind: Who think your Muse must first aspire, Ere he advance the doctor higher. ”

“ Why will you aim to be preferr'd In wit before the common herd; And yet grow mortified and vex'd, To pay the penalty annex'd? 'Tis eminence makes envy rise; As fairest fruits attract the flies. Should stupid libels grieve your mind, You soon a remedy may find; Lie down obscure like other folks Below the lash of snarlers' jokes. Their faction is five hundred odds, For every coxcomb lends them rods, And sneers as learnedly as they, Like females o'er their morning tea. You say the Muse will not contain And write you must, or break a vein. ”

“ A prudent builder should forecast How long the stuff is like to last; And carefully observe the ground, To build on some foundation sound. What house, when its materials crumble, Must not inevitably tumble? What edifice can long endure Raised on a basis unsecure? Rash mortals, ere you take a wife, Contrive your pile to last for life: Since beauty scarce endures a day, And youth so swiftly glides away; Why will you make yourself a bubble, To build on sand with hay and stubble? On sense and wit your passion found, By decency cemented round ”

“ Lament upon their hapless fall, That Force free Virtue should enthrall? Or shall the charms of Wealth and Power Make me pollute the Muses' bower? LAWYER As from the tripod of Apollo, Hear from my desk the words that follow: "Some, by philosophers misled, Must honour you alive and dead; And such as know what Greece has writ, Must taste your irony and wit; While most that are, or would be great, Must dread your pen, your person hate; And you on Drapier's hill [5] must lie, And there without a mitre die." ”

“ When to your friends you would enhance The praise of Italy or France, For grandeur, elegance, and wit, We gladly hear you, and submit; But then, to come and keep a clutter, For this or that side of a gutter, To live in this or t'other isle, We cannot think it worth your while; For, take it kindly or amiss, The difference but amounts to this, We bury on our side the channel In linen; and on yours in flannel. [7] You for the news are ne'er to seek; While we, perhaps, may wait a week; You happy folks are sure to meet A hundred whores in every street ”

“ At table now she acts her part, Has all the dinner cant by heart: "I thought we were to dine alone, My dear; for sure, if I had known This company would come to-day— But really 'tis my spouse's way! He's so unkind, he never sends To tell when he invites his friends: I wish ye may but have enough!" And while with all this paltry stuff She sits tormenting every guest, Nor gives her tongue one moment's rest, In phrases batter'd, stale, and trite, Which modern ladies call polite; You see the booby husband sit In admiration at her wit! But let me now a while survey Our madam o'er her evening tea ”

“ And, if you find the general vogue Pronounces you a stupid rogue, Damns all your thoughts as low and little, Sit still, and swallow down your spittle; Be silent as a politician, For talking may beget suspicion; Or praise the judgment of the town, And help yourself to run it down. Give up your fond paternal pride, Nor argue on the weaker side: For, poems read without a name We justly praise, or justly blame; And critics have no partial views, Except they know whom they abuse: And since you ne'er provoke their spite, Depend upon't their judgment's right. ”

“ And the transported Muse imagined it To be a fitter birth-place for the God of wit, Or the much-talk'd-of oracular grove; When, with amazing joy, she hears An unknown music all around, Charming her greedy ears With many a heavenly song Of nature and of art, of deep philosophy and love; While angels tune the voice, and God inspires the tongue. In vain she catches at the empty sound, In vain pursues the music with her longing eye, And courts the wanton echoes as they fly. ”

“ Censure, and Pedantry, and Pride, Numberless nations, stretching far and wide, Shall (I foresee it) soon with Gothic swarms come forth From Ignorance's universal North, And with blind rage break all this peaceful government: Yet shall the traces of your wit remain, Like a just map, to tell the vast extent Of conquest in your short and happy reign: And to all future mankind shew How strange a paradox is true, That men who lived and died without a name Are the chief heroes in the sacred lists of fame. ”

“ To you the Muse this verse bestows, Which might as well have been in prose; No thought, no fancy, no sublime, But simple topics told in rhyme. Three gifts for conversation fit Are humour, raillery, and wit: The last, as boundless as the wind, Is well conceived, though not defined; For, sure by wit is only meant Applying what we first invent. What humour is, not all the tribe Of logic-mongers can describe; Here only nature acts her part, Unhelp'd by practice, books, or art: For wit and humour differ quite ”