Who both our follies and impertinences fee, Our fhallow fearch and judgment to direct. Our wit and learning narrow as our trade; We fondly stay at home, in fear Forcing a wretched trade by beating down the fale, The wits, I mean the atheists of the age, Who fain would rule the pulpit as they do the Wondrous refiners of philofophy, Of morals and divinity, [ftage; By the new modifh fyftem of reducing all to sense, This hopeful fect, now it begins to fee Their firft and chiefeft force And, by their never-failing ways all. I laugh at the grave answer they will make, Which they have always ready, general, and cheap: "Tis but to fay, that what we daily meet, And by a fond mistake Perhaps imagine to be wondrous wit, Which from eternal feeds begun, Juftling fome thousand years till ripen'd by the sun; But as for poor contented me, Who must my weakness and my ignorance confefs, That I believe in much I ne'er can hope to fee; Methinks I'm fatisfy'd to guefs That this new, noble, and delightful scene Is wonderfully mov'd by fome exalted men, Who have well ftudied in the world's disease (That epidemic error and depravity, Or in our judgment or our eye), That what furprifes us can only please. We often fearch contentedly the whole world round, To make fome great difcovery; And scorn it when 'tis found. Juft fo the mighty Nile has fuffer'd in its fame, Becaufe 'tis faid (and perhaps only faid) We've found a little inconfiderable head, That feeds the huge unequal ftream. Confider human folly, and you'll quickly own, That all the praises it can give, By which fome fondly boaft they fhall for ever live, Won't pay th' impertinence of being known: Elfe why should the fam'd Lydian king (Whom all the charms of an ufurped wife and state, With all that power unfelt courts mankind to be great, Did with new unexperienc'd glories wait) Still wear, ftill doat, on his invisible ring? Were I to form a regular thought of fame, Which is perhaps as hard t' imagine right As to paint echo to the fight; I would not draw th' idea from an empty name; Although they praise the learning and the wit, Thefe days! where e'en th' extravagance of poetry Is at a lofs for figures to exprefs Men's folly, whimfies and inconftancy, And by a faint defcription makes them lefs. Then tell us what is fame, where shall we search Look where exalted virtue and religion fit [for it? Enthron'd with heavenly wit! Look where you fee The greatest scorn of learned vanity! And then how much a nothing is mankind! Whose reason is weigh'd down by popular air, Who, by that, vainly talks of baffling death; And hopes to lengthen life by a transfufion of breath, Which yet whoe'er examines right will find To be an art as vain as bottling up of wind! And when you find out these, believe true fame is there, Far above all reward, yet to which all is due ; And this, ye great unknown? is only known in you. The juggling fea-god, when by chance trepan'd By fome instructed querift fleeping on the fand, Impatient of all anfwers, ftrait became A ftealing brook, and strove to creep away Vext at their follies, murmur'd in his ftream; Ne'er borrow'd more variety of shapes and air, Of doubts, impertinence, and niceties, From every age through which it pafs'd, But always with a ftronger relish of the last. This beauteous queen, by Heaven defign'd To be the great original For man to drefs and polifh his uncourtly mind, In what mock habits have they put her fince the fall! [fages, More oft' in fools' and madmen's hands than With a huge fardingale to fwell her fustian stuff, Of comments and difputes, ridiculous and vain, How foon have you reftor'd her charms, And rid her of her lumber and her books, Dreft her again genteel and neat, And rather tight than great! How fond we are to court her to our arms! Thus the deluding Mufe oft' blinds me to her ways, Cruel unknown! what is it you intend? Ah! could you, could you hope a poet for your friend! Rather forgive what my first tranfport faid: May all the blood, which fhall by woman's fcorn And which they've now the confciences to weigh [us, la the fame balance with our tears, And with fuch fcanty wages pay The bondage and the slavery of years. Let the vain fex dream on; the empire comes from And, had they common generosity, They would not use us thus. Well-though you've rais'd her to this high Ourfelves are rais'd as well as the ; [degree, And, fpite of all that they or you can do, 'Tis pride and happiness enough to me Still to be of the fame exalted sex with you. Alas, how fleeting and how vain lev'n the nobler man, our learning and our wit! I figh whene'er I think of it: As at the closing of an unhappy scene Of fome great king and conqueror's death, When the fad melancholy mufe Stays but to catch his utmost breath. grieve, this nobfer work moft happily begun, So quickly and fo wonderfully carry'd on, Which ftill the fooner it arrives, No conqueft ever yet begun, And by one mighty hero carried to its height, The body, though gigantic, lies all cold and dead. vernment: Yet fhall these traces of your wit remain, How ftrange a parodox is true, That men who liv'd and dy'd without a name Are the chief heroes in the facred lift of fame. WRITTEN IN A LADY'S IVORY TABLE-BOOK, 1699. PERUSE my leaves through every part, There, in her own, "For an el breth ;" MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION, 1679. To their Excellencies the Lords Juftices of Ireland,the humble petition of Frances Harris, Who muft ftarve, and die a maid, if it mifcarries; Humbly fheweth, That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's + chamber, becaufe I was cold; And I had in a purfe feven pounds, four fhillings, and fixpence, befides farthings, in money and gold; So, because I had been buying things for my Lady laft night, I was refolv'd to tell my money, to see if it was right. Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock, Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows, is a very small stock, I keep in my pocket, ty'd about my middle, next to my fmock. So when I went to put up my purfe, as God would have it, my fmock was unript, And, instead of putting it into my pocket, down it flipt; Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to bed; And, God knows, I thought my money was as fafe as my maidenhead. So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light: But when I fearch'd, and mifs'd my purfe, Lord! I thought I should have funk outright. Lord! Madam, fays Mary, how d' ye do? Indeed, fays I, never worfe: But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my purfe? Lord help me! faid Mary, I never ftirr'd out of this place; Nay, faid, I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain cafe. So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm: However, the ftole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm. So I tumbled and tofs'd all night, as you may very well think, [wink. But hardly ever fet my eyes together, or flept a So I was adream'd, methought that we went and fearch'd the folks round, And in a corner of Mrs. Dukes's ‡ box, ty'd in a rag, the money was found. So next morning we told Whittle §, and he fell a-fwearing; Then my dame Wadgar || came; and fe, you know, is thick of hearing. Dame, faid I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know what a lofs I have had? Nay, faid fhe, my Lord Colway's folks are all The Earls of Bokeley and of Galway. Earl of Berkeley's valet. The old deaf boufekeeper. Galway. **The Earl of Drogheda, who, with the Primate, was to fucceed the two Earls. Says Cary, fays he, I have been a fervant this five and twenty years come fpring, And in all the places I liv'd I never heard of fuch a thing. Yes, fays the fteward, t, I remember, when I was at my Lady Shrewsbury's, Such a thing as this happen'd just about the time of geofeberries. So I went to the party fufpected, and I found her full of grief, (Now, you must know, of all things in the world, However, I am refolv'd to bring the difcourfe ftily I hate a thief.) [about: Mrs. Dukes, faid 1, here's an ugly accident has happen'd out; [loufe ; "Tis not that I value the money three fkips of a But the thing I ftand upon is the credit of the houfe. "Tis true, feven pounds, four fhillings, and fixpence, makes a great hole in my wages: Befides, as they fay, fervice is no inheritance in thefe ages. Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body understands, That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go without hands. The devil take me! faid the (bleffing herself) if ever I faw't! So fhe roar'd like a bedlam, as though I had call'd her all to naught. So you know, what could I fay to her any more? I e'en left her, and came away as wife as I was before. Well; but then they would had me gone to the cunning man! [here anon. No, faid I, 'tis the fame thing, the chaplain will be So the chaplain § came in. Now the servants say he is my fwee heart, Because he's always in my chamber, and I always take his part. So as the devil would have it, before I was aware, Parfon, faid I, can you caft a nativity, when a boout I blunder'd, dy's plunder'd! (Now, you must know, he hates to be call'd parfon like the devil!) Truly, fays he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil; If your money begone, as a learned divine fays, d'ye fee, [from me; You are no text for my handling; fo take that I was never taken for a conjurer before, I'd have yon to know. Lord! faid I, don't be angry, I am fure I never thought you fo; You know I honour the cloth; I defign to be a parfon's wife; [my life; I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all With that he twifted his girdle at me like a rope, as who fhould fay, Now you may go hang yourfelf for me, and fo went away. Well: I thought I would have fwoon'd. Lord! faid I, what shall I do! [too! I have lost my money, and fhall lofe my true love ON THE GAME OF TRAFFIC, Mr Lord †, to find out who must deal, But the first knave does feldom fail But then his Honour cry'd, Gadzooks! For on a knave he never looks, “To deafen them with puns and rhyme." A BALL A D, To the tune of the Cut-Purse §. Oxer on a time, as old stories rehearse, A friar would needs fhow his talent in Latin; Acant word of Lord and Lady B. to Mrs. Harris. The Earl of Berkeley. Paymaster of the army. Lady Betty Berkeley, finding the preceding verfes in the author's room unfinised, wrote under them the cm lading flanza, zubich gave occafion to this ballad, written by the author in a counterfeit land, as if a third prjon had done it, But was forely put to't in the midst of a verfe, Because he could find no word to come pat in: Then all in the place He left a void space, And fo went to bed in a defperate cafe; [dle! Then behold the next morning a wonderful ridHe found it was ftrangely fill'd up in the middle. Cho. Let cenfuring critics then think what they lift on't ; [fftant? Who would not write verfes with fuch an af This put me, the friar, into an amazement : For he wifely confider'd it must be a fprite; That he came through the key-hole, or in at the cafement; [and write: And it needs must be one that could beth read Yet he did not know When folks came thick to make their court; Out flipt a mystery of ftate, To give the town and country fport. Now enters Bufh with new state airs, His Lordfhip's premier minifter; And who in all profound affairs Is held as needful as his clyfter. With head reclining on his shoulder, He deals and hears myfterious chat, While every ignorant beholder Afks of his neighbour, Who is that? With this he put up to my Lord, The courtiers kept their distance due, He twitch'd his fleeve, and stole a word; Then to a corner both withdrew. Imagine now, my Lord and Bush Whispering in junto most profound, * To Ireland, as one of the Lords Juftices. Bufb, by fome underband irfinuation, obtained the poft of fecretary, which had been promised to Swift. Always taken before my Lord went to council. § See The Rebearfal" At length a fpark not too well bred, For fure (thought he) it can't be lefs. How markets went for hay and oats, With that he draws two handfuls out, The one was oats, the other hay; Puts this to's Excellency's fnout, And begs he would the other weigh. Bufh, fmiling round on all, retreats. By two fuch whifpering kings of Brentford. THE PROBLEM, THAT MY LORD BERKELEY STINKS, WHEN HE IS IN LOVE." Din ever problem thus perplex, Love's fire, it feems, like inward heat, None but the favourite nymph can fmell it. Whether all paffions, when in ferment, By favour or defert preferr'd But fill, though fix'd among the stars, And now, the ladies all are bent Watching the first unfavoury wind, The ladies vanish in the fmother,. Pliny, Nat. Hift. Lib. x. c. 67. lib. xxix. c. 4p As maftiff dogs in modern phrase are To fhow their valour, ftrength, or wit: To paint a hero, we inquire For fomething that will conquer fire. Are thefe too low ?-then find out grander, First, then, our author has defin'd So, when the war has rais'd a storm, |