The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume I Part 8

POPE, _Imitations of Horace_, ii, Sat. 1.

Lord Peterborough seems to have been equally famous for his skill in cookery. See note to above Satire, Pope's Works, edit. Elwin and Courthope, iii, 298.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: See Voltaire's "History of Charles the Twelfth of Sweden."

"He left the name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral or adorn a tale."

JOHNSON, _Vanity of Human Wishes_.]

ON THE UNION

The queen has lately lost a part Of her ENTIRELY-ENGLISH[1] heart, For want of which, by way of botch, She pieced it up again with SCOTCH.

Blest revolution! which creates Divided hearts, united states!

See how the double nation lies, Like a rich coat with skirts of frize: As if a man, in making posies, Should bundle thistles up with roses.

Who ever yet a union saw Of kingdoms without faith or law?[2]

Henceforward let no statesman dare A kingdom to a s.h.i.+p compare; Lest he should call our commonweal A vessel with a double keel: Which, just like ours, new rigg'd and mann'd, And got about a league from land, By change of wind to leeward side, The pilot knew not how to guide.

So tossing faction will o'erwhelm Our crazy double-bottom'd realm.

[Footnote 1: The motto on Queen Anne's coronation medal.--_N_.]

[Footnote 2: _I.e._, Differing in religion and law.]

ON MRS. BIDDY FLOYD;

OR, THE RECEIPT TO FORM A BEAUTY. 1707

When Cupid did his grandsire Jove entreat To form some Beauty by a new receipt, Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene, Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene: From which ingredients first the dext'rous boy Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy.

The Graces from the court did next provide Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride: These Venus cleans'd from ev'ry spurious grain Of nice coquet, affected, pert, and vain.

Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd; Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD.

THE REVERSE

(TO SWIFT'S VERSES ON BIDDY FLOYD); OR, MRS. CLUDD

Venus one day, as story goes, But for what reason no man knows, In sullen mood and grave deport, Trudged it away to Jove's high court; And there his G.o.ds.h.i.+p did entreat To look out for his best receipt: And make a monster strange and odd, Abhorr'd by man and every G.o.d.

Jove, ever kind to all the fair, Nor e'er refused a lady's prayer, Straight oped 'scrutoire, and forth he took A neatly bound and well-gilt book; Sure sign that nothing enter'd there, But what was very choice and rare.

Scarce had he turn'd a page or two,-- It might be more, for aught I knew; But, be the matter more or less, 'Mong friends 'twill break no squares, I guess.

Then, smiling, to the dame quoth he, Here's one will fit you to a T.

But, as the writing doth prescribe, 'Tis fit the ingredients we provide.

Away he went, and search'd the stews, And every street about the Mews; Diseases, impudence, and lies, Are found and brought him in a trice.

From Hackney then he did provide, A clumsy air and awkward pride; From lady's toilet next he brought Noise, scandal, and malicious thought.

These Jove put in an old close-stool, And with them mix'd the vain, the fool.

But now came on his greatest care, Of what he should his paste prepare; For common clay or finer mould Was much too good, such stuff to hold.

At last he wisely thought on mud; So raised it up, and call'd it--_Cludd._ With this, the lady well content, Low curtsey'd, and away she went.

APOLLO OUTWITTED

TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. FINCH,[1] UNDER HER NAME OF ARDELIA

Phoebus, now short'ning every shade, Up to the northern _tropic_ came, And thence beheld a lovely maid, Attending on a royal dame.

The G.o.d laid down his feeble rays, Then lighted from his glitt'ring coach; But fenc'd his head with his own bays, Before he durst the nymph approach.

Under those sacred leaves, secure From common lightning of the skies, He fondly thought he might endure The flashes of Ardelia's eyes.

The nymph, who oft had read in books Of that bright G.o.d whom bards invoke, Soon knew Apollo by his looks, And guess'd his business ere he spoke.

He, in the old celestial cant, Confess'd his flame, and swore by Styx, Whate'er she would desire, to grant-- But wise Ardelia knew his tricks.

Ovid had warn'd her to beware Of strolling G.o.ds, whose usual trade is, Under pretence of taking air, To pick up sublunary ladies.

Howe'er, she gave no flat denial, As having malice in her heart; And was resolv'd upon a trial, To cheat the G.o.d in his own art.

"Hear my request," the virgin said; "Let which I please of all the Nine Attend, whene'er I want their aid, Obey my call, and only mine."

By vow oblig'd, by pa.s.sion led, The G.o.d could not refuse her prayer: He way'd his wreath thrice o'er her head, Thrice mutter'd something to the air.

And now he thought to seize his due; But she the charm already try'd: Thalia heard the call, and flew To wait at bright Ardelia's side.

On sight of this celestial _prude_, Apollo thought it vain to stay; Nor in her presence durst be rude, But made his leg and went away.

He hop'd to find some lucky hour, When on their queen the Muses wait; But Pallas owns Ardelia's power: For vows divine are kept by Fate.

Then, full of rage, Apollo spoke: "Deceitful nymph! I see thy art; And, though I can't my gift revoke, I'll disappoint its n.o.bler part.

"Let stubborn pride possess thee long, And be thou negligent of fame; With ev'ry Muse to grace thy song, May'st thou despise a poet's name!

"Of modest poets be thou first; To silent shades repeat thy verse, Till Fame and Echo almost burst, Yet hardly dare one line rehea.r.s.e.

"And last, my vengeance to compleat, May you descend to take renown, Prevail'd on by the thing you hate, A Whig! and one that wears a gown!"

[Footnote 1: Afterwards Countess of Winchelsea.--_Scott_. See Journal to Stella Aug. 7, 1712. The Countess was one of Swift's intimate friends and correspondents. See "Prose Works," xi, 121.--_W. E. B._]