Jonathan Swift

“ I can't pray in quiet for you and your verses; But now let us hear what the Muse from your car says. Hum—excellent good—your anger was stirr'd; Well, punners and rhymers must have the last word. But let me advise you, when next I hear from you, To leave off this passion which does not become you; For we who debate on a subject important, Must argue with calmness, or else will come short on't. For myself, I protest, I care not a fiddle, For a riddle and sieve, or a sieve and a riddle; And think of the sex as you please, I'd as lieve You call them a riddle, as call them a sieve. ”

“ 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. ”

“ TO DEAN SWIFT, BY SIR ARTHUR ACHESON. 1728 Good cause have I to sing and vapour, For I am landlord to the Drapier: He, that of every ear's the charmer, Now condescends to be my farmer, And grace my villa with his strains; Lives such a bard on British plains? No; not in all the British court; For none but witlings there resort, Whose names and works (though dead) are made Immortal by the Dunciad; And, sure as monument of brass, Their fame to future times shall pass; How, with a weakly warbling tongue, Of brazen knight they vainly sung; A subject for their genius fit ”

“ Fair issue of the genial bed, A virgin in thy bosom bred: Embraced thee closer than a wife; When thee I leave, I leave my life. Why should my shepherd take amiss, That oft I wake thee with a kiss? Yet you of every kiss complain; Ah! is not love a pleasing pain? A pain which every happy night You cure with ease and with delight; With pleasure, as the poet sings, Too great for mortals less than kings. Chloe, when on thy breast I lie, Observes me with revengeful eye: If Chloe o'er thy heart prevails, She'll tear me with her desperate nails ”

“ Friend Sheridan, when will you know your own good? 'Twas to teach you in modester language your duty; For, were you a dog, I could not be rude t'ye; As a good quiet soul, who no mischief intends To a quarrelsome fellow, cries, Let us be friends. But we like Antfus and Hercules fight, The oftener you fall, the oftener you write: And I'll use you as he did that overgrown clown, I'll first take you up, and then take you down; And, 'tis your own case, for you never can wound The worst dunce in your school, till he's heaved from the ground. ”

“ It makes the weak the strong pursue, A goose attack a swan; It makes a woman, tooth and nail, Her husband's hands and face assail, While he's no longer man. Though some, we find, are more discreet, Before the world are wondrous sweet, And let their husbands hector: But when the world's asleep, they wake, That is the time they choose to speak: Witness the curtain lecture. Such was the case with you, I find: All day you could conceal your mind; But when St. Patrick's chimes Awaked your muse, (my midnight curse, When I engaged for better for worse,) You scolded with your rhymes. ”

“ Self-love, in nature rooted fast, Attends us first, and leaves us last; Why she likes him, admire not at her; She loves herself, and that's the matter. How was her tutor wont to praise The geniuses of ancient days! (Those authors he so oft had named, For learning, wit, and wisdom, famed;) Was struck with love, esteem, and awe, For persons whom he never saw. Suppose Cadenus flourish'd then, He must adore such godlike men. If one short volume could comprise All that was witty, learn'd, and wise, How would it be esteem'd and read, Although the writer long were dead! ”

“ Marry come up! I wonder where you were bred. I'm sure such words does not become a man of your cloth; I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you call'd my master a knave; fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a shame For a parson who should know better things, to come out with such a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a shame and a sin; And the Dean, my master, is an honester man than you and all your kin: He has more goodness in his little finger than you have in your whole body: My master is a personable man, and not a spindle-shank hoddy doddy. ”

“ Envy's a fiend all excellence pursues, But mostly poets favour'd by the Muse; Who wins the laurel, sacred verse bestows, Makes all, who fail in like attempts, his foes; No puny wit of malice can complain, The thorn is theirs, who most applauses gain. Whatever gifts or graces Heaven design'd To raise man's genius, or enrich his mind, Were Swift's to boast—alike his merits claim The statesman's knowledge, and the poet's flame; The patriot's honour, zealous to defend His country's rights—and faithful to the end ”

“ But, Stella, say, what evil tongue Reports you are no longer young; That Time sits with his scythe to mow Where erst sat Cupid with his bow; That half your locks are turn'd to gray? I'll ne'er believe a word they say. 'Tis true, but let it not be known, My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown; For nature, always in the right, To your decays adapts my sight; And wrinkles undistinguished pass, For I'm ashamed to use a glass: And till I see them with these eyes, Whoever says you have them, lies. No length of time can make you quit Honour and virtue, sense and wit ”

“ The high may fall, the rich be poor. The only favourite at court, To-morrow may be Fortune's sport; For all her pleasure and her aim Is to destroy both power and fame. Of this the Dean is an example, No instance is more plain and ample. The world did never yet produce, For courts a man of greater use. Nor has the world supplied as yet, With more vivacity and wit; Merry alternately and wise, To please the statesman, and advise. Through all the last and glorious reign, Was nothing done without the Dean; The courtier's prop, the nation's pride ”

“ She may then grow wise for spight. No—that scheme will ne'er succeed, She has better learnt her creed; She's too cunning and too skilful, When to yield, and when be wilful. Nature holds her forth two mirrors, One for truth, and one for errors: That looks hideous, fierce, and frightful; This is flattering and delightful: That she throws away as foul; Sits by this to dress her soul. Thus you have the case in view, Daphne, 'twixt the Dean and you: Heaven forbid he should despise thee, But he'll never more advise thee. ”

“ What planter will attempt to yoke A sapling with a falling oak? As years increase, she brighter shines; Cadenus with each day declines: And he must fall a prey to time, While she continues in her prime. Cadenus, common forms apart, In every scene had kept his heart; Had sigh'd and languish'd, vow'd and writ, For pastime, or to show his wit, But books, and time, and state affairs, Had spoil'd his fashionable airs: He now could praise, esteem, approve, But understood not what was love. His conduct might have made him styled A father, and the nymph his child. ”

“ Why, Stella, should you knit your brow, If I compare you to a cow? 'Tis just the case; for you have fasted So long, till all your flesh is wasted; And must against the warmer days Be sent to Quilca down to graze; Where mirth, and exercise, and air, Will soon your appetite repair: The nutriment will from within, Round all your body, plump your skin; Will agitate the lazy flood, And fill your veins with sprightly blood. Nor flesh nor blood will be the same Nor aught of Stella but the name: For what was ever understood, By human kind, but flesh and blood? ”

“ Although 'tis open night and day, They for that reason shun this way: Both dukes and lords abhor its wood, They can't come near it for their blood. What other way they take to go, Another time I'll let you know. Yet commoners with greatest ease Can find an entrance when they please. The poorest hither march in state (Or they can never pass the gate) Like Roman generals triumphant, And then they take a turn and jump on't, If gravest parsons here advance, They cannot pass before they dance; There's not a soul that does resort here, But strips himself to pay the porter. ”

“ No passion so weak but gives it a tweak; Love, joy, and devotion, set it always in motion. And as for trie tragic effects of its magic, Which you say it can kill, or revive at its will, The dead are all sound, and they live above ground: After all you have writ, it cannot be wit; Which plainly does follow, since it flies from Apollo. Its cowardice such it cries at a touch; 'Tis a perfect milksop, grows drunk with a drop, Another great fault, it cannot bear salt: And a hair can disarm it of every charm. ”

“ No slave his lord's commands obeys With such insinuating ways. My genius piercing, sharp, and bright, Wherein the men of wit delight. The clergy keep me for their ease, And turn and wind me as they please. A new and wondrous art I show Of raising spirits from below; In scarlet some, and some in white; They rise, walk round, yet never fright. In at each mouth the spirits pass, Distinctly seen as through a glass: O'er head and body make a rout, And drive at last all secrets out; And still, the more I show my art, The more they open every heart. ”

“ 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. ”

“ But now, in all our sex's name, My artless Muse shall sing your fame. Indulgent you to female kind, To all their weaker sides are blind: Nine more such champions as the Dean Would soon restore our ancient reign; How well to win the ladies' hearts, You celebrate their wit and parts! How have I felt my spirits raised, By you so oft, so highly praised! Transform'd by your convincing tongue To witty, beautiful, and young, I hope to quit that awkward shame, Affected by each vulgar dame, To modesty a weak pretence; And soon grow pert on men of sense ”