The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 37

No more my dear delightful way tread Of keeping up a party hatred?

Will none the Tory dogs pursue, When through the streets I cry halloo?

Must all my d--n me's! bloods and wounds!

Pa.s.s only now for empty sounds?

Shall Tory rascals be elected, Although I swear them disaffected?

And when I roar, "a plot, a plot!"

Will our own party mind me not?

So qualified to swear and lie, Will they not trust me for a spy?

Dear Mullinix, your good advice I beg; you see the case is nice: O! were I equal in renown, Like thee to please this thankless town!

Or blest with such engaging parts To win the truant schoolboys' hearts!

Thy virtues meet their just reward, Attended by the sable guard.

Charm'd by thy voice, the 'prentice drops The snow-ball destined at thy chops; Thy graceful steps, and colonel's air, Allure the cinder-picking fair.

_M_. No more--in mark of true affection, I take thee under my protection; Your parts are good, 'tis not denied; I wish they had been well applied.

But now observe my counsel, _(viz.)_ Adapt your habit to your phiz; You must no longer thus equip ye, As Horace says _optat ephippia;_ (There's Latin, too, that you may see How much improved by Dr.--) I have a coat at home, that you may try: 'Tis just like this, which hangs by geometry; My hat has much the nicer air; Your block will fit it to a hair; That wig, I would not for the world Have it so formal, and so curl'd; 'Twill be so oily and so sleek, When I have lain in it a week, You'll find it well prepared to take The figure of toupee and snake.

Thus dress'd alike from top to toe, That which is which 'tis hard to know, When first in public we appear, I'll lead the van, keep you the rear: Be careful, as you walk behind; Use all the talents of your mind; Be studious well to imitate My portly motion, mien, and gait; Mark my address, and learn my style, When to look scornful, when to smile; Nor sputter out your oaths so fast, But keep your swearing to the last.

Then at our leisure we'll be witty, And in the streets divert the city; The ladies from the windows gaping, The children all our motions aping.

Your conversation to refine, I'll take you to some friends of mine, Choice spirits, who employ their parts To mend the world by useful arts; Some cleansing hollow tubes, to spy Direct the zenith of the sky; Some have the city in their care, From noxious steams to purge the air; Some teach us in these dangerous days How to walk upright in our ways; Some whose reforming hands engage To lash the lewdness of the age; Some for the public service go Perpetual envoys to and fro: Whose able heads support the weight Of twenty ministers of state.

We scorn, for want of talk, to jabber Of parties o'er our bonnyclabber; Nor are we studious to inquire, Who votes for manors, who for hire: Our care is, to improve the mind With what concerns all human kind; The various scenes of mortal life; Who beats her husband, who his wife; Or how the bully at a stroke Knock'd down the boy, the lantern broke.

One tells the rise of cheese and oatmeal; Another when he got a hot-meal; One gives advice in proverbs old, Instructs us how to tame a scold; One shows how bravely Audouin died, And at the gallows all denied; How by the almanack 'tis clear, That herrings will be cheap this year.

_T_. Dear Mullinix, I now lament My precious time so long mispent, By nature meant for n.o.bler ends: O, introduce me to your friends!

For whom by birth I was design'd, Till politics debased my mind; I give myself entire to you; G---d d--n the Whigs and Tories too!

[Footnote 1: This is a severe satire upon Richard Tighe, Esq., whom the Dean regarded as the officious informer against Sheridan, in the matter of the choice of a text for the accession of George I, Swift had faithfully promised to revenge the cause of his friend, and has certainly fully redeemed his pledge, in this and the following pasquinades. Mad Mullinix, or Molyneux, was a sort of crazy beggar, a Tory politician in His madness, who haunted the streets of Dublin about this time. In a paper subscribed Dr. Anthony, apparently a mountebank of somewhat the same description, the doctor is made to vindicate his loyalty and regard for the present const.i.tution in church and state, by declaring that he always acted contrary to the politics of Captain John Molyneux. The immediate occasion for publication is a.s.signed in the Intelligencer, in which paper the dialogue first appeared.--_Scott_.

"Having lately had an account, that a certain person of some distinction swore in a public coffee-house, that party should never die while he lived, (although it has been the endeavour of the best and wisest among us, to abolish the ridiculous appellations of Whig and Tory, and entirely to turn our thoughts to the good of our prince and const.i.tution in church and state,) I hope those who are well-wishers to our country, will think my labour not ill-bestowed, in giving this gentleman's principles the proper embellishments which they deserve; and since Mad Mullinix is the only Tory now remaining, who dares own himself to be so, I hope I may not be censured by those of his party, for making him hold a dialogue with one of less consequence on the other side. I shall not venture so far as to give the Christian nick-name of the person chiefly concerned, lest I should give offence, for which reason I shall call him Timothy, and leave the rest to the conjecture of the world."--_Intelligencer_, No. viii. See an account of this paper in "Prose Works," ix, 311.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: "Sir Martin Marall," one of Dryden's most successful comedies. See Malone's "Life of Dryden," p. 93.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 3: "Ilias," lib. ii, 211, _seq.--W. E. B._]

[Footnote 4: To reach at vomiting.]

[Footnote 5: King William III.]

[Footnote 6: Old word for a puppet-show.--_Scott_.]

TIM AND THE FABLES

MY meaning will be best unravell'd, When I premise that Tim has travell'd.

In Lucas's by chance there lay The Fables writ by Mr. Gay.

Tim set the volume on a table, Read over here and there a fable: And found, as he the pages twirl'd, The monkey who had seen the world; (For Tonson had, to help the sale, Prefix'd a cut to every tale.) The monkey was completely drest, The beau in all his airs exprest.

Tim, with surprise and pleasure staring, Ran to the gla.s.s, and then comparing His own sweet figure with the print, Distinguish'd every feature in't, The twist, the squeeze, the rump, the fidge in all, Just as they look'd in the original.

"By --," says Tim, and let a f--t, "This graver understood his art.

'Tis a true copy, I'll say that for't; I well remember when I sat for't.

My very face, at first I knew it; Just in this dress the painter drew it."

Tim, with his likeness deeply smitten, Would read what underneath was written, The merry tale, with moral grave; He now began to storm and rave: "The cursed villain! now I see This was a libel meant at me: These scribblers grow so bold of late Against us ministers of state!

Such Jacobites as he deserve-- D--n me! I say they ought to starve."

TOM AND d.i.c.k[1]

Tim[2] and d.i.c.k had equal fame, And both had equal knowledge; Tom could write and spell his name, But d.i.c.k had seen the college.

d.i.c.k a c.o.xcomb, Tom was mad, And both alike diverting; Tom was held the merrier lad, But d.i.c.k the best at farting.

d.i.c.k would c.o.c.k his nose in scorn, But Tom was kind and loving; Tom a footboy bred and born, But d.i.c.k was from an oven.[3]

d.i.c.k could neatly dance a jig, But Tom was best at borees; Tom would pray for every Whig, And d.i.c.k curse all the Tories.

d.i.c.k would make a woful noise, And scold at an election; Tom huzza'd the blackguard boys, And held them in subjection.

Tom could move with lordly grace, d.i.c.k nimbly skipt the gutter; Tom could talk with solemn face, But d.i.c.k could better sputter.

d.i.c.k was come to high renown Since he commenced physician; Tom was held by all the town The deeper politician.

Tom had the genteeler swing, His hat could nicely put on; d.i.c.k knew better how to swing His cane upon a b.u.t.ton.

d.i.c.k for repartee was fit, And Tom for deep discerning; d.i.c.k was thought the brighter wit, But Tom had better learning.

d.i.c.k with zealous noes and ayes Could roar as loud as Stentor, In the house 'tis all he says; But Tom is eloquenter.

[Footnote 1: This satire is a parody on a song then fas.h.i.+onable.--_Scott_.]

[Footnote 2: Sir Thomas Prendergast. See _post_, "The Legion Club."]

[Footnote 3: Tighe's ancestor was a contractor for furnis.h.i.+ng the Parliament forces with bread during the civil wars. Hence Swift calls him Elsewhere Pistorides. See "Prose Works," vii, 233; and in "The Legion Club," d.i.c.k Fitzbaker.--_W.E.B_.]

d.i.c.k, A MAGGOT

As when, from rooting in a bin, All powder'd o'er from tail to chin, A lively maggot sallies out, You know him by his hazel snout: So when the grandson of his grandsire Forth issues wriggling, d.i.c.k Drawcansir, With powder'd rump and back and side, You cannot blanch his tawny hide; For 'tis beyond the power of meal The gipsy visage to conceal; For as he shakes his wainscot chops, Down every mealy atom drops, And leaves the tartar phiz in show, Like a fresh t--d just dropp'd on snow.

CLAD ALL IN BROWN

TO d.i.c.k[1]