*

His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck'd his victuals through a quill.
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head;
Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence, by wise farmers we are told
Old hay is equal to old gold:
And hence a critic deep maintains,
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit;
And people fancied he had wit.
Two gods their skill in music tried,
And both chose Midas to decide:
He against Phoebus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to shew his grudge,
Clapt asses' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims,

The golden scurf peels off his limbs :
Fame spreads the news, and people travel
From far to gather golden gravel;
Midas, exposed to all their jeers,
Had lost his art, and kept his ears.

*The reader will recollect, that the Duke of Marlborough was accused of having received large sums, as perquisites, from the contractors, who furnished bread, forage, &c., to the army.

This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader;
To whom from Midas down descends
That virtue in the fingers' ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per cent. ?
By places and commissions sold,
And turning dung itself to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
As t'other Midas did before?

None e'er did modern Midas choose
Subject or pattern of his muse,

But found him thus their merit scan,
That Phoebus must give place to Pan:
He values not the poet's praise,
Nor will exchange his plumes for bays.
To Pan alone rich misers call;
And there's the jest, for Pan is ALL.
Here English wits will be to seek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.

Besides, it plainly now appears
Our Midas, too, has asses' ears:
Where every fool his mouth applies,
And whispers in a thousand lies;
Such gross delusions could not pass
Through any ears but of an ass.

But gold defiles with frequent touch,
Theres nothing fouls the hand so much;
And scholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws;

Which, while the senate strove to scour,
They wash'd away the chemic power.*

* The result of the investigations of the House of Commons was the removal of the Duke of Marlborough from his command, and all his employments.

While he his utmost strength applied, To swim against this popular tide, The golden spoils flew off apace; Here fell a pension, there a place: The torrent merciless imbibes Commissions, perquisites, and bribes; By their own weight sunk to the bottom; Much good may 't do them that have caught 'em! And Midas now neglected stands,

With asses' ears, and dirty hands.

TOLAND'S INVITATION TO DISMAL,

TO DINE WITH THE CALF'S HEAD CLUB.

Imitated from HORACE, Lib. I. Epist, 5.

TOLAND, the Deist, distinguished himself as a party writer in behalf of the Whigs. He wrote a pamphlet on the demolition of Dunkirk, and another called "The Art of Reasoning," in which he directly charged Oxford with the purpose of bringing in the Pretender. The Earl of Nottingham, here, as elsewhere, called Dismal, from his swarthy complexion, was bred a rigid HighChurch-man, and was only induced to support the Whigs, in their resolutions against a peace, by their consenting to the bill against occasional conformity. He was so distinguished for regularity, as to be termed by Rowe

"The sober Earl of Nottingham,

Of sober sire descended."

From these points of his character, we may estimate the severity of the following satire, which represents this pillar of HighChurch principles as invited by the infidel and republican Toland to solemnize the 30th January, by attending the Calves' Head Club.

Swift mentions the satire in his Journal, 1st July, 1712."Have you seen Toland's Invitation to Dismal? How do you like it? But it is an imitation of Horace, and perhaps you don't understand Horace." It is again mentioned in the 17th of the same month.

IF, dearest Dismal, you for once can dine
Upon a single dish, and tavern wine,
Toland to you this invitation sends,

To eat the calf's head with your trusty friends.
Suspend awhile your vain ambitious hopes,
Leave hunting after bribes, forget your tropes.
To-morrow we our mystic feast prepare,
Where thou, our latest proselyte, shalt share:
When we, by proper signs and symbols, tell,
How by brave hands the royal traitor fell;
The meat shall represent the tyrant's head,
The wine his blood our predecessors shed;
While an alluding hymn some artist sings,
We toast, "Confusion to the race of kings!"
At monarchy we nobly shew our spite,
And talk, what fools call treason, all the night.

Si potes Archaicis conviva recumbere lectis,
Nec modicâ coenare times olus omne patellâ,
Supremo te sole domi, Torquate, manebo.

Mitte leves spes, et certamina divitiarum,
Et Moschi causam. Cras, nato Cæsare, festus
Dat veniam somnumque dies: impune licebit
Estivam sermone benigno tendere noctem.

Quid non ebrietas designat? operta recludit;
Spes jubet esse ratas; in prælia trudit inertem ;
Sollicitis animis onus eximit; addocet artes.
Fœcundi calices quem non fecere disertum ?
Contractâ quem non in paupertate solutum ?
Hæc ego procurare et idoneus imperor, et non
Invitus; ne turpe toral, ne sordida mappa

Who, by disgraces or ill fortune sunk,

Feels not his soul enlivened when he's drunk?
Wine can clear up Godolphin's cloudy face,
And fill Jack Smith with hopes to keep his place:
By force of wine, even Scarborough is brave,
Hal* grows more pert, and Somers† not so grave:
Wine can give Portland wit, and Cleaveland sense,
Montague learning, Bolton eloquence:

Cholmondeley, when drunk, can never lose his wand;
And Lincoln then imagines he has land.

My province is, to see that all be right, Glasses and linen clean, and pewter bright; From our mysterious club to keep out spies, And Tories (dress'd like waiters) in disguise. You shall be coupled as you best approve, Seated at table next the man you love.

Sunderland, Orford, Boyle, and Richmond's grace, Will come; and Hampden shall have Walpole's place;

Wharton, unless prevented by a whore,

Will hardly fail; and there is room for more.
But I love elbow-room whene'er I drink;
And honest Harry is too apt to stink.

Let no pretence of business make you stay;
Yet take one word of comfort by the way.

Corruget nares; ne non et cantharus, et lanx,
Ostendat tibi te; ne fidos inter amicos
Sit, qui dicta foras eliminet: ut coëat par,
Jungaturque pari. Brutum tibi, Septimiumque,
Et, nisi cœna prior potiorque puella Sabinum
Detinet, assumam; locus est et pluribus umbris:
Sed nimis arcta premunt olidæ convivia capræ.
Tu, quotus esse velis, rescribe; et, rebus omissis,
Atria servantem postico falle clientem.

* Right Honourable Henry Boyle.

+ Swift elsewhere objects to the formality of Somers's manners.