The food of worms and beasts obscene, Who round the vault luxuriant reign. See where those mangled corpses lie, Condemn'd by female hands to die! A comely dame, once clad in white, Lies there consign'd to endless night; By cruel hands her blood was spilt, And yet her wealth was all her guilt. And here six virgins in a tomb, All-beauteous offspring of one womb, Oft in the train of Venus seen, As fair and lovely as their queen : In royal garments each was drest, Each with a go'd and purple vest: I saw them of their garments stript; Their throats were cut, their bellies ript; Twice were they bury'd, twice were born, Twice from their sepulchres were toru; But now dismember'd here are cast, And find a resting-place at last.

Here oft the curious traveller finds The combat of opposing winds; And seeks to learn the secret cause, Which alien seems from nature's laws, Why at this cave's tremendous mouth He feels at once both north and south; Whether the winds, in caverns pent, Through clefts oppugnant force a vent; Or whether, opening all his stores, Fierce Aolus in tempest roars.

Yet, from this mingled mass of things, In time a new creation springs. These crude materials once shall rise To fill the earth, and air and skies; In various forms appear again, Of vegetables, brutes, and men. So Jove pronounc'd among the gods, Olympus trembling as he nods.

VIII.

LOUISATO STREPHON.

An! Strephon, how can you despise
Her who without thy pity dies?
To Strephon I have still been true,
And of as noble blood as you ;
Fair issue of the genial bed,
A virgin in thy bosom bred;
Embrae'd 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 tear me with her desperate nails,
And with relentless hands destroy
The tender pledges of our joy.
Nor have I bred a spurious race;
They all were born from thy embrace,

1 This riddle is solved by an anagram.

Consider, Strephon, what you do; For, should I die for love of you, I'll haunt thy dreams, a bloodless ghost; And all my kin (a numerous host, Who down direct our lineage bring From victors o'er the Memphian king; Renown'd in sieges and campaigns, Who never fled the bloody plains, Who in tempestuous seas can sport, And scorn the pleasures of a court, From whom great Sylla found his doom, Who scourg'd to death that scourge of Rome) Shall on thee take a vengeance dire; Thou, like Alcides, shalt expire, When his envenom'd shirt he wore, And skin and flesh in pieces tore. Nor less that shirt, my rival's gift, Cut from the piece that made her shift, Shall in thy dearest blood be dy'd, And make thee tear thy tainted hide.

IX.

DEPRIV'D of root, and branch, and rind,
Yet flowers I bear of every kind;
And such is my prolific power,
They bloom in less than half an hour;
Yet standers-by may plainly see
They get no nourishment from me.
My head with giddiness goes round,
And yet I firmly stand my ground;
All over naked I am seen,

And painted like an Indian queen.
No couple-beggar in the land

F'er join'd such numbers hand in hand;
I join them fairly with a ring;

Nor can our parson blame the thing:
And, though no marriage words are spoke,
They part not till the ring is broke;
Yet hypocrite fanatics cry,
I'm but an idol rais'd on high:
And once a weaver in our town,

A damn d Cromwellian, knock'd me down.
I lay a prisoner twenty years,
And then the jovial cavaliers

To their old post restor'd all three,

I mean the church, the king, and me.

X. ON THE MOON.

I WITH borrow'd silver shine,
What you see is none of mine.
First I show you but a quarter,
Like the bow that guards the Tartar;
Then the half, and then the whole,
Ever dancing round the pole.
And what will raise your admiration,

I am not one of God's creation,

But sprung (and I this truth maintain) Like Pallas from my father's brain.

And, after all, I chiefly owe

My beauty to the shades below.

Most wondrous forms you see me wear,

A man, a woman, lion, bear,

A fish, a fowl, a cloud, a field,

All figures Heaven or Earth can yield;

Like Daphne sometimes in a tree: Yet am not one of all you see.

XI. ON A CIRCLE.

I'm up and down, and round about,
Yet all the world can't find me out ;
Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure,
They never yet could find my measure.
I'm found almost in every garden,
Nay in the compass of a farthing.
There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill,
Can move an inch, except I will.

One of us alone can sleep, Yet no watch the rest will keep, But the moment that he closes, Every brother else reposes.

If wine 's bought, or victuals drest, One enjoys them for the rest.

Pierce us all with wounding steel, One for all of us will feel.

Though ten thousand cannons roar, Add to them ten thousand more, Yet but one of us is found Who regards the dreadful sound. Do what is not fit to tell, There's but one of us can smell.

XII. ON INK.

I AM jet black, as you may see,

The son of pitch, and gloomy night: Yet all that know me will agree,

I'm dead except I live in light. Sometimes in panegyric high,

Like lofty Pindar, I can soar; And raise a virgin to the sky,

Or sink her to a pocky whore.
My blood this day is very sweet,

To morrow of a bitter juice;
Like milk, 'tis cry'd about the street,

And so apply'd to different use.
Most wondrous is my magic power :
For with one colour I can paint ;
I'll make the devil a saint this hour,
Next make a devil of a saint.
Through distant regions I can fly,
Provide me but with paper wings;
And fairly show a reason, why

There should be quarrels among kings. And, after all, you 'll think it odd,

When learned doctors will dispute, That I should point the word of God,

And show where they can best confute. Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats: "Tis I that must the lands convey, And strip the clients to their coats, Nay, give their very souls away.

XIII. ON THE FIVE SENSES.

ALL of us in one you 'll find,
Brethren of a wondrous kind;
Yet among us all no brother
Knows one tittle of the other.
We in frequent councils are,
And our marks of things declare,
Where, to us unknown, a clerk
Sits, and takes them in the dark.
He's the register of all

In our ken, both great and small;
By us forms his laws and rules:
He's our master, we his tools;
Yet we can with greatest ease
Turn and wind him where we please.

XIV.

FONTINELLA TO FLORINDA. WHEN on my bosom thy bright eyes, Florinda, dart their heavenly beams,

I feel not the least love-surprise,

Yet endless tears flow down in streams;
There's nought so beautiful in thee
But you may find the same in me.
The lilies of thy skin compare ;

In me you see them full as white.
The roses of your cheeks, I dare

Affirm, can't glow to more delight,
Then, since I show as fine a face,
Can you refuse a soft embrace?
Ah! lovely nymph, thou 'rt in thy prime!
And so am I whilst thou art here;
But soon will come the fatal time,

When all we see shall disappear.
'Tis mine to make a just reflection,
And yours to follow my direction.
Then catch admirers while you may;
Treat not your lovers with disdain;
For time with beauty flies away,

And there is no return again.
To you the sad account I bring,
Life's autumn has no second spring.

XV. ON AN ECHO.

NEVER sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak ;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.

Now I am a dog, or cow;
I can bark, or I can low;

I can bleat, or I can sing

Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the love-sick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice;
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out :

Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep me under;
Yet so tender is my ear,

That the lowest voice I fear.
Much I dread the courtier's fate,
When his merit 's out of date;
For I hate a silent breath,

And a whisper is my death.

XVIII. ON TIME.

EVER eating, never cloying,
All devouring, all destroying,
Never finding full repast,

Till I eat the world at last.

XVI. ON A SHADOW IN A GLASS.

By something form'd, I nothing am,
Yet every thing that you can name
In no place have I ever been,
Yet every where I may be seen;
In all things false, yet always true,
I'm still the same-but ever new.
Lifeless, life's perfect form I wear,
Can show a nose, eye, tongue, or ear,
Yet neither smell, see, taste, or hear.
All shapes and features I can boast,
No flesh, no bones, no blood--no ghost;
All colours, without paint, put on,
And change like the cameleon.
Swiftly I come, and enter there,
Where not a chink lets in the air;
Like thought, I'm in a moment gone,
Nor can I ever be alone;

All things on Earth I imitate,
Faster than Nature can create;
Sometimes imperial robes I wear,
Anon in beggar's rags appear;
A giant now, and straight an elf,
I'm every one, but ne'er myself;
Ne'er sad I mouru, ne'er glad rejoice
I move my lips, but want a voice;
I ne'er was born, nor e'er can die;
Then prythee tell me what am I.

XIX. ON THE GALLOWS.

THERE is a gate, we know full well,

That stands 'twixt Heaven, and Earth, and Hell,
Where many for a passage venture,
Yet very few are fond to enter;
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.

XX. ON THE VOWELS

WE are little airy creatures,
All of different voice and features:
One of us in glass is set,
One of us you'll find in jet,
T' other you may see in tin,
And the fourth a box within;
If the fifth you should pursue,
It can never fly from you.

XVII.

Most things by me do rise and fall,
And as I please they 're great and small;
Invading foes, without resistance,
With ease I make to keep their distance;
Again, as I'm dispos'd, the foe
Will come, though not a foot they so.
Both mountains, woods, and hills, and rocks,
And gaming goats, and fleecy flocks,
And lowing herds, and piping swains,
Come dancing to me o'er the plains.
The greatest whale that swims the sea
Does instantly my power obey.
In vain from me the sailor flies;
The quickest ship I can surprise,
And turn it as I have a mind,
And move it against tide and wind.
Nay, bring me here the tallest man,
I'll squeeze him to a little span ;
Or bring a tender child and pliant,
You'll see me stretch him to a giant;
Nor shall they in the least complain,
Because my magic gives no pain.

XXI. ON SNOW.

FROM Heaven I fall, though from Earth I begin: No lady alive can show such a skin.

I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather; But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together. Though candour and truth in my aspect I bear, Yet many poor creatures I help to ensnare. Though so much of Heaven appears in my make, The foulest impressions I easily take.

My parent and I produce one another,

The inother the daughter, the daughter the mother.

XXII. ON A CANNON.

BEGOTTEN, and born, and dying with noise,
The terrour of women, and pleasure of boys,
Like the fiction of poets concerning the wind,
I'm chiefly unruly when strongest contin'd.
For silver and gold I don't trouble my head,
But all I delight in is pieces of lead;
Except when I trade with a ship or a town,
Why then I make pieces of iron go down.

One property more I would have you remark,
No lady was ever more fond of a spark;
The moment I get one, my soul's all a-fire
And I roar out my joy, and in transport expire.

XXIII. ON A PAIR OF DICE.

WE are little brethren twain,
Arbiters of loss and gain;
Many to our counters run,
Some are made, and some undone :
But men find it to their cost,
Few are made, but numbers lost.
Though we play them tricks for ever,
Yet they always hope our favour.

XXIV. ON A CANDLE.

TO LADY CARTERET.

Or all inhabitants on Earth,
To man alone I owe my birth;

And yet the cow, the sheep, the bee,
Are all my parents more than he.
I, a virtue strange and rare,
Make the fairest look more fair;
And myself, which yet is rarer,
Growing old, grow still the fairer.
Like sots, alone I'm dull enough,

When dos d with smoke, and smear'd with snuff;

But, in the midst of mirth and wine,

I with double lustre shine.

Emblem of the fair am I,

Polish'd neck, and radiant eye;
In my eye my greatest grace,
Emblem of the Cyclops' race;
Metals I like them subdue,
Slave like thein to Vulcan too.
Emblem of a monarch old,
Wise, and glorious to behold;
Wasted he appears, and pale,
Watching for the public weal:
Emblem of the bashful dame,
That in secret feeds her flame,
Often aiding to impart
All the secrets of her heart.

Various is my bulk and hue;

Big like Bess, and small like Sue
Now brown and burnish'd as a nut,
At other times a very slut ;
Often fair, and soft, and tender,
Taper, tall, and smooth, and slender;
Like Flo, a deck'd with various flowers;
Like Phoebus, guardian of the hours:
But, whatever be my dress,
Greater be my size or less,
Swelling be my shape or sina!!,
Like thyself I shine in all.
Clouded if my face is seen,
My complexion wan and green,
Languid like a love-sick maid,
Steel affords me present aid.
Soon or late, my date is done,
As my thread of life is spun;
Yet to cut the fatal thread
Oft revives my drooping head:

I REACH all things near me, and far off to boot,
Without stretching a finger, or stirring a foot;
I take them all in too, to add to your wonder,
Though many and various, and large and asunder.
Without jostling or crowding they pass side by side,
Through a wonderful wicket, not half an inch wide:
Then I lodge them at ease in a very large store,
Of no breadth or length, with a thousand things more.
All this I can do without witchcraft or charm;
Though sometimes, they say, I bewitch and do harm.
Though cold, I inflame; and though quiet, invade;
And nothing can shield from my spell but a shad
A thief that has robb'd you, or done you disgrace,
In magical mirror I 'll show you his face:
Nay, if you'll believe what the poets have said,
They'll tell you I kill, and can call back the dead.
Like conjurers safe in my circle I dwell;

I love to look black too, it heightens my spell.
Though my magic is mighty in every hue,
Who see all my power must see it in You.

ANSWERED BY DR. SWIFT.

WITH half an eye your riddle I spy.

I observe your wicket hemm'd in by a thicket,
And whatever passes is strained through glasses.
You say it is quiet: I flatly deny it.

It wanders about, without stirring out;
No passion so weak but gives it a tweak;
Love, joy, and devotion, set it always in motion.
And as for the tragic effects of its magic,
Which you say it can kill or revive at its will,
The dead are all sound, and revive 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 drops
Another great fault, it cannot bear salt:
And a hair can disarm it of every charm.

Expos'd to want, and wind, and weather,
They just keep life and soul together,
Till summer-showers and evening's dew
Again the verdant glebe renew;
And, as the vegetables rise,

The famish'd cow her want supplies:
Without an ounce of last year's flesh,
Whate'er she gains is young and fresh;
Grows plump and round, and full of mettle,
As rising from Medea's kettle,
With youth and beauty to enchant
Europa's counterfeit gallant.

Why, Stella, should you knit your brow,
If I compare you to the 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?
And if your flesh and blood be new,
You'll be no more the foriner
you;
But for a blooming nymph will pass,
Just fifteen, coming summer's grass,
Your jetty locks with garlands crown'd:
While all the 'squires for nine miles round,
Attended by a brace of curs,
With jocky boots and silver spurs,
No less than justices o'quorum,

Their cow-boys bearing cloaks before 'em,
Shall leave deciding broken pates,
To kiss your steps at Quilca gates.
But, lest you should my skill disgrace,
Come back before your 're out of case:
For if to Michaelmas you stay,
The new-born flesh will melt away;
The 'squire in scorn will fly the house
For better game, and look for grouse;
But here, before the frost can mar it,
We'll make it firm with beef and claret.

STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY. 1724-5.

As, when a beauteous nymph decays,
We say, she's past her dancing-days;
So poets lose their feet by time,
And can no longer dance in rhyme.
Your annual bard had rather chose
To celebrate your birth in prose:
Yet merry folks, who want by chance
A pair to make a country-dance,
Call the old h use-keeper, and get her
To fill a place, for want of better:
While Sheridan is off the hooks,
And friend Delany at his books,
That Stella may avoid disgrace,
Once more the dean supplies their place.
Beauty and wit, too sad a truth!
Have always been contin'd to youth;

The god of wit, and beauty's queen,
He twenty-one, and she fifteen.
No poet ever sweetly sung,

Unless he were, like Phœbus, young;
Nor ever nymph inspir'd to rhyme,
Unless, like Venus in her prime.
At fifty-six, if this be true,
Am I a poet fit for you?

Or, at the age of forty-three,
Are you a subject fit for me?
Adieu! bright wit, and radiant eyes!
You must be grave, and I be wise.
Our fate in vain we would oppose :
But I'll be still your friend in prose:
Esteem and friendship to express,
Will not require poetic dress;
And, if the Muse deny her aid
To have them sung, they may be said.
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 grey?
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 undistinguish'd pass,
For I'm asham'd 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:
Thus you may still be young to me,
While I can better hear than see.
Oh ne'er may Fortune show her spight,
To make me deaf, and mend my sight!

AN EPIGRAM

ON WOOD'S BRASS MONEY.

CARTERET was welcom'd to the shore
First with the brazen cannon's roar;
To meet him next the soldier comes,
With brazen trumps and brazen drums;
Approaching near the town he hears
The brazen bells salute his ears:
But, when Wood's brass began to sound,
Guns, trumpets, drums, and bells, were drown'd.

A SIMILE,

ON OUR WANT OF SILVER:

AND THE ONLY WAY TO REMEDY IT. 1725.

As when of old some sorceress threw
O'er the Moon's face a sable hue,
To drive unseen her magic chair,
At midnight, through the darken'd air;
Wise people, who believ'd with reason
That this eclipse was cut of season,
Affirm'd the Moon was sick, and fell
To cure her by a counter-spell.