The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D - BestLightNovel.com
You’re reading novel The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 61 online at BestLightNovel.com. Please use the follow button to get notification about the latest chapter next time when you visit BestLightNovel.com. Use F11 button to read novel in full-screen(PC only). Drop by anytime you want to read free – fast – latest novel. It’s great if you could leave a comment, share your opinion about the new chapters, new novel with others on the internet. We’ll do our best to bring you the finest, latest novel everyday. Enjoy
THE SONG
A parody on the popular song beginning, "My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent."
My time, O ye Grattans, was happily spent, When Bacchus went with me, wherever I went; For then I did nothing but sing, laugh, and jest; Was ever a toper so merrily blest?
But now I so cross, and so peevish am grown, Because I must go to my wife back to town; To the fondling and toying of "honey," and "dear,"
And the conjugal comforts of horrid small beer.
My daughter I ever was pleased to see Come fawning and begging to ride on my knee: My wife, too, was pleased, and to the child said, Come, hold in your belly, and hold up your head: But now out of humour, I with a sour look, Cry, hussy, and give her a souse with my book; And I'll give her another; for why should she play, Since my Bacchus, and gla.s.ses, and friends, are away?
Wine, what of thy delicate hue is become, That tinged our gla.s.ses with blue, like a plum?
Those bottles, those b.u.mpers, why do they not smile, While we sit carousing and drinking the while?
Ah, b.u.mpers, I see that our wine is all done, Our mirth falls of course, when our Bacchus is gone.
Then since it is so, bring me here a supply; Begone, froward wife, for I'll drink till I die.
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT FOR THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S GIVEN HIM AT QUILCA. BY SHERIDAN 1723
How few can be of grandeur sure!
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; But now, alas! he's thrown aside; He's quite forgot, and so's the queen, As if they both had never been.
To see him now a mountaineer!
Oh! what a mighty fall is here!
From settling governments and thrones, To splitting rocks, and piling stones.
Instead of Bolingbroke and Anna, Shane Tunnally, and Bryan Granna, Oxford and Ormond he supplies, In every Irish Teague he spies: So far forgetting his old station, He seems to like their conversation, Conforming to the tatter'd rabble, He learns their Irish tongue to gabble; And, what our anger more provokes, He's pleased with their insipid jokes; Then turns and asks them who do lack a Good plug, or pipefull of tobacco.
All cry they want, to every man He gives, extravagant, a span.
Thus are they grown more fond than ever, And he is highly in their favour.
Bright Stella, Quilca's greatest pride, For them he scorns and lays aside; And Sheridan is left alone All day, to gape, and stretch, and groan; While grumbling, poor, complaining Dingley, Is left to care and trouble singly.
All o'er the mountains spreads the rumour, Both of his bounty and good humour; So that each shepherdess and swain Comes flocking here to see the Dean.
All spread around the land, you'd swear That every day we kept a fair.
My fields are brought to such a pa.s.s, I have not left a blade of gra.s.s; That all my wethers and my beeves Are slighted by the very thieves.
At night right loath to quit the park, His work just ended by the dark, With all his pioneers he comes, To make more work for whisk and brooms.
Then seated in an elbow-chair, To take a nap he does prepare; While two fair damsels from the lawns, Lull him asleep with soft cronawns.
Thus are his days in delving spent, His nights in music and content; He seems to gain by his distress, His friends are more, his honours less.
TO QUILCA A COUNTRY-HOUSE OF DR. SHERIDAN, IN NO VERY GOOD REPAIR. 1725
Let me thy properties explain: A rotten cabin, dropping rain: Chimneys, with scorn rejecting smoke; Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke.
Here elements have lost their uses, Air ripens not, nor earth produces: In vain we make poor Sheelah[1] toil, Fire will not roast, nor water boil.
Through all the valleys, hills, and plains, The G.o.ddess Want, in triumph reigns; And her chief officers of state, Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.
THE BLESSINGS OF A COUNTRY LIFE 1725
Far from our debtors; no Dublin letters; Not seen by our betters.
THE PLAGUES OF A COUNTRY LIFE
A companion with news; a great want of shoes; Eat lean meat or choose; a church without pews; Our horses away; no straw, oats, or hay; December in May; our boys run away; all servants at play.
A FAITHFUL INVENTORY OF THE FURNITURE BELONGING TO ---- ROOM IN T. C. D.
IN IMITATION OF DR. SWIFT'S MANNER.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1725
----quaeque ipse miserrima vidi.[1]
This description of a scholar's room in Trinity College, Dublin, was found among Mr. Smith's papers. It is not in the Dean's hand, but seems to have been the production of Sheridan.
Imprimis, there's a table blotted, A tatter'd hanging all bespotted.
A bed of flocks, as I may rank it, Reduced to rug and half a blanket.
A tinder box without a flint, An oaken desk with nothing in't; A pair of tongs bought from a broker, A fender and a rusty poker; A penny pot and basin, this Design'd for water, that for p.i.s.s; A broken-winded pair of bellows, Two knives and forks, but neither fellows.
Item, a surplice, not unmeeting, Either for table-cloth, or sheeting; There is likewise a pair of breeches, But patch'd, and fallen in the st.i.tches, Hung up in study very little, Plaster'd with cobweb and spittle, An airy prospect all so pleasing, From my light window without glazing, A trencher and a College bottle, Piled up on Locke and Aristotle.
A prayer-book, which he seldom handles A save-all and two farthing candles.
A s.m.u.tty ballad, musty libel, A Burgersdicius[2] and a Bible.
The C****[3] Seasons and the Senses By Overton, to save expenses.
Item, (if I am not much mistaken,) A mouse-trap with a bit of bacon.
A candlestick without a snuffer, Whereby his fingers often suffer.
Two odd old shoes I should not skip here, Each strapless serves instead of slippers, And chairs a couple, I forgot 'em, But each of them without a bottom.
Thus I in rhyme have comprehended His goods, and so my schedule's ended.
[Footnote 1: Virg., "Aen.," ii, 5.--_W. E. B._]
[Footnote 2: Francis Burgersdicius, author of "An Argument to prove that the 39th section of the Lth chapter of the Statutes given by Queen Elizabeth to the University of Cambridge includes the whole Statutes of that University, with an answer to the Argument and the Author's reply."
London, 1727. He was one of those logicians that Swift so disliked.--_W. E. B._]
[Footnote 3: Illegible. John Overton, 1640-1708, a dealer in mezzotints.--_W. E. B._]
PALINODIA[1]