The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 44

[Footnote 17: "Sir John Bingham, Bart., county of Mayo.--His brother, Henry Bingham, sat in parliament for some time for Castlebar."]

[Footnote 18: John Allen represented the borough of Carysfort; Robert Allen the county of Wicklow. The former was son, and the latter brother to Joshua, the second Viscount Allen, hated and satirized by Swift, under the name of Traulus. The ancestor of the Allens, as has been elsewhere noticed, was an architect in the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign; and was employed as such by many of the n.o.bility, particularly Lord Howth. He settled in Ireland, and was afterwards consulted by Lord Stafford in some of his architectural plans.--_Scott_.]

[Footnote 19: There were then two Clements in parliament, brothers, Nathaniel and Henry. Michael Obrien Dilks represented the borough of Castlemartye. He was barrack-master-general.]

[Footnote 20: Doctor Marcus Antonius (which Swift calls his "heathenish Christian name") Morgan, chairman to that committee to whom was referred the pet.i.tion of the farmers, graziers, etc. against t.i.the agistment. On this pet.i.tion the House reported, and agreed that it deserved the strongest support.]

[Footnote 21: Whose hair consisted of snakes, and who turned all she looked upon to stone.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 22: A suggestion that if the t.i.the of _agistment_ were abolished, the clergy might be sent to graze.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 23: On the margin of a Broadside containing this poem is written by Swift: "Except the righteous Fifty Two To whom immortal honour's due, Take them, Satan, as your due All except the Fifty Two."--_Forster._ probably the number of those who opposed the Bill.--_W. E. B._]

ON A PRINTER'S[1] BEING SENT TO NEWGATE

Better we all were in our graves, Than live in slavery to slaves; Worse than the anarchy at sea, Where fishes on each other prey; Where every trout can make as high rants O'er his inferiors, as our tyrants; And swagger while the coast is clear: But should a lordly pike appear, Away you see the varlet scud, Or hide his coward snout in mud.

Thus, if a gudgeon meet a roach, He dares not venture to approach; Yet still has impudence to rise, And, like Domitian,[2] leap at flies.

[Footnote 1: Mr. Faulkner, for printing the "Proposal for the better Regulation and Improvement of Quadrille."]

[Footnote 2: "Inter initia princ.i.p.atus cotidie secretum sibi horarum sumere solebat, nec quicquam amplius quam muscas captare ac stilo praeacuto configere; ut cuidam interroganti, essetne quis intus c.u.m Caesare, non absurde responsum sit a Vibio Crispo, _ne muscam quidem_"

(Suet. 3).--_W. E. B._]

A VINDICATION OF THE LIBEL; OR, A NEW BALLAD, WRITTEN BY A SHOE-BOY, ON AN ATTORNEY WHO WAS FORMERLY A SHOE-BOY

"Qui color ater erat, nunc est contrarius atro."[1]

WITH singing of ballads, and crying of news, With whitening of buckles, and blacking of shoes, Did Hartley set out, both shoeless and s.h.i.+rtless, And moneyless too, but not very dirtless; Two pence he had gotten by begging, that's all; One bought him a brush, and one a black ball; For clouts at a loss he could not be much, The clothes on his back as being but such; Thus vamp'd and accoutred, with clouts, ball, and brush, He gallantly ventured his fortune to push: Vespasian[2] thus, being bespatter'd with dirt, Was omen'd to be Rome's emperor for't.

But as a wise fiddler is noted, you know, To have a good couple of strings to one bow; So Hartley[3] judiciously thought it too little, To live by the sweat of his hands and his spittle: He finds out another profession as fit, And straight he becomes a retailer of wit.

One day he cried--"Murders, and songs, and great news!"

Another as loudly--"Here blacken your shoes!"

At Domvile's[4] full often he fed upon bits, For winding of jacks up, and turning of spits; Lick'd all the plates round, had many a grubbing, And now and then got from the cook-maid a drubbing; Such bastings effect upon him could have none: The dog will be patient that's struck with a bone.

Sir Thomas, observing this Hartley withal So expert and so active at brushes and ball, Was moved with compa.s.sion, and thought it a pity A youth should be lost, that had been so witty: Without more ado, he vamps up my spark, And now we'll suppose him an eminent clerk!

Suppose him an adept in all the degrees Of scribbling _c.u.m dasho_, and hooking of fees; Suppose him a miser, attorney, _per_ bill, Suppose him a courtier--suppose what you will-- Yet, would you believe, though I swore by the Bible, That he took up two news-boys for crying the libel?

[Footnote 1: Variation from Ovid, "Met.," ii, 541: "Qui color albus erat, nunc est contrarius albo."--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: So in _Hudibras_, Pt. II, Canto II: "_Vespasian_ being dawb'd with Durt, Was destin'd to the Empire for't And from a Scavinger did come To be a mighty Prince in _Rome_."]

[Footnote 3: Squire Hartley Hutcheson, "that zealous prosecutor of hawkers and libels," who signed Faulkner's committal to prison. See "Prose Works," vii, 234.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 4: Sir T. Domvile, patentee of the Hanaper office.--_F._]

A FRIENDLY APOLOGY FOR A CERTAIN JUSTICE OF PEACE BY WAY OF DEFENCE OF HARTLEY HUTCHESON, ESQ.

BY JAMES BLACK-WELL, OPERATOR FOR THE FEET

But he by bawling news about, And aptly using brush and clout, A justice of the peace became, To punish rogues who do the same.

I sing the man of courage tried, O'errun with ignorance and pride, Who boldly hunted out disgrace With canker'd mind, and hideous face; The first who made (let none deny it) The libel-vending rogues be quiet.

The fact was glorious, we must own, For Hartley was before unknown, Contemn'd I mean;--for who would chuse So vile a subject for the Muse?

'Twas once the n.o.blest of his wishes To fill his paunch with sc.r.a.ps from dishes, For which he'd parch before the grate, Or wind the jack's slow-rising weight, (Such toils as best his talents fit,) Or polish shoes, or turn the spit; But, unexpectedly grown rich in Squire Domvile's family and kitchen, He pants to eternize his name, And takes the dirty road to fame; Believes that persecuting wit Will prove the surest way to it; So with a colonel[1] at his back, The Libel feels his first attack; He calls it a seditious paper, Writ by another patriot Drapier; Then raves and blunders nonsense thicker Than alderman o'ercharged with liquor: And all this with design, no doubt, To hear his praises hawk'd about; To send his name through every street, Which erst he roam'd with dirty feet; Well pleased to live in future times, Though but in keen satiric rhymes.

So, Ajax, who, for aught we know, Was justice many years ago, And minding then no earthly things, But killing libellers of kings; Or if he wanted work to do, To run a bawling news-boy through; Yet he, when wrapp'd up in a cloud, Entreated father Jove aloud, Only in light to show his face, Though it might tend to his disgrace.

And so the Ephesian villain [2] fired The temple which the world admired, Contemning death, despising shame, To gain an ever-odious name.

[Footnote 1: Colonel Ker, a Scotchman, lieutenant-colonel to Lord Harrington's regiment of dragoons, who made a news-boy evidence against The printer.--_F_.]

[Footnote 2: Herostratus, who set fire to the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, 356 B.C.--_W. E. B._]

AY AND NO

A TALE FROM DUBLIN.[1] WRITTEN IN 1737

At Dublin's high feast sat Primate and Dean, Both dress'd like divines, with band and face clean: Quoth Hugh of Armagh, "The mob is grown bold."

"Ay, ay," quoth the Dean, "the cause is old gold."

"No, no," quoth the Primate, "if causes we sift, This mischief arises from witty Dean Swift."

The smart one replied, "There's no wit in the case; And nothing of that ever troubled your grace.

Though with your state sieve your own notions you split, A Boulter by name is no bolter of wit.

It's matter of weight, and a mere money job; But the lower the coin the higher the mob.

Go tell your friend Bob and the other great folk, That sinking the coin is a dangerous joke.

The Irish dear joys have enough common sense, To treat gold reduced like Wood's copper pence.

It is a pity a prelate should die without law; But if I say the word--take care of Armagh!"

[Footnote 1: In 1737, the gold coin had sunk in current value to the amount of 6_d._ in each guinea, which made it the interest of the Irish dealers to send over their balances in silver. To bring the value of the precious metals nearer to a par, the Primate, Boulter, who was chiefly trusted by the British Government in the administration of Ireland, published a proclamation reducing the value of the gold coin threepence in each guinea. This scheme was keenly opposed by Swift; and such was the clamour excited against the archbishop, that his house was obliged to be guarded by soldiers. The two following poems relate to this controversy, which was, for the time it lasted, nearly as warm as that about Wood's halfpence. The first is said to be the paraphrase of a conversation which actually pa.s.sed between Swift and the archbishop. The latter charged the Dean with inflaming the mob, "I inflame them?" retorted Swift, "were I to lift but a finger, they would tear you to pieces."--_Scott_.]

A BALLAD

Patrick astore,[1] what news upon the town?

By my soul there's bad news, for the gold she was pull'd down, The gold she was pull'd down, of that I'm very sure, For I saw'd them reading upon the towlsel[2] _doore_.

Sing, och, och, hoh, hoh.[3]