A batter'd shatter'd ash bedstead; A back-sword poker, without point; A wig, with hanging quite grown grey; A pair of bellows, without pipe; A dish which might good meat afford once; $239. An Elegy on the Death of Demar the Usurer, who died the 6th of July 1720. KNOW all men by these presents, Death the tamer By mortgage hath secur'd the corpse of Demar: praising her Husband to Dr. Swift. Nor can four hundred thousand sterling pound § 241. To Mrs. Houghton of Bormount, upon Plutus, the god of wealth, will joy to know He din'd and supp'd at charge of other folk; Where'er he went he never saw his betters; Lords, knights, and squires, were all his humble debtors; And under hand and seal the Irish nation In half a minute is not worth a groat. He touch'd the pence, when others touch'd the pot; The hand that sign'd the mortgage paid the shot. Old as he was, no vulgar known disease On him could ever boast a pow'r to seize ; You always are making a god of your spouse, But this neither reason nor conscience allows : Perhaps you will say, 'tis in gratitude due, And you adore him because he adores you: Your argument's weak, and so you will find; For you, by this rule, must adore all mankind. § 242. Dr. Delany's Villa. WOULD you that Delville I describe ? You scarce upon the borders enter, Both walks, walls, meadows, and parterres, * A tavern in Dublin where Demar kept his office. + These four lines were written by Stella. Though small's the farm, yet there's a house You say you will eat grass on his grave: a Full large to entertain a mouse; But where a rat is dreaded more A little riv'let seems to steal Next come I to your kitchen-garden, Christian eat grass! Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or an ass: But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye; Well, well, that's as God pleases; and I don't believe that's a true story: And so say I told you so, and you may go tell my master, what care I? [Mary. And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil; [should be civil. I am but a poor servant, but I think gentlefolks Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here; [the year; I remember it was on a Tuesday, of all days in Where one poor mouse would fare but hard in; And Saunders the man says you are always And round this garden is a walk, No longer than a tailor's chalk. In short, in all your boasted seat, There's nothing but yourself that's great. He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a dishclout to his tail." And now I must go and get Saunders to direct this letter; For I write but a sad scrawl, but my sister Marget she writes better. § 243. Mary the Cook-maid's Letter to Dr. Well, but I must run and make the bed, before Sheridan. 1723. WELL, if ever I saw such another man since my mother bound my head! You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred. I'm sure such words do not become a man of your cloth: my master comes from pray'rs : And see now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up stairs: Whereof I could say more to your verses, if I could write written hand: And so I remain, in a civil way, your servant to command, MARY. I would not give such language to a dog, faith § 244. Riddles, by Dr. Swift and his Friends. and troth. Written in or about the Year 1724. On a Pen. IN youth exalted high in air, Or bathing in the waters fair, Nature to form me took delight, And clad my body all in white, My person tall, and slender waist, On either side with fringes grac'd; Till me that tyrant man espied, And dragg'd me from my mother's side. No wonder now I look so thin; The tyrant stripp'd me to the skin; My skin he flay'd, my hair he cropp'd; At head and foot my body lopp'd: And then, with heart more hard than stone, He pick'd my marrow from the bone. To vex me more, he took a freak To slit my tongue, and make me speak: But that which wonderful appears; I speak to eyes, and not to ears. He oft employs me in disguise, And makes me tell a thousand lies: To me he chiefly gives in trust To please his malice or his lust; From me no secret he can hide, But while I thus my life relate, My tongue is black, my mouth is furr'd, And on some dunghill left to rot. § 245. On Gold. ALL-RULING tyrant of the earth, To vilest slaves I owe my birth. How is the greatest monarch blest, When in my gaudy liv'ry drest! No haughty nymph has pow'r to run From me, or my embraces shun. Stabb'd to the heart, condemn'd to flame, My constancy is still the same. The favourite messenger of Jove, The Lemnian God, consulting strove To make me glorious to the sight Of mortals, and the gods' delight. Soon would their altars' flame expire If I refus'd to lend them fire. $246. On a Corkscrew. THOUGH I, alas! a prisoner be, My trade is, prisoners to set free. No slave his lord's commands obeys With such insinuating ways; My genius piercing, sharp, and bright, Wherein the men of wit delight. The clergy keep me for their ease, And turn and wind me as they please. A new and wondrous art I show Of raising spirits from below; In scarlet some, and some in white: They rise, walk round, yet never fright. In at each mouth the spirits pass, Distinctly seen as through a glass; O'er head and body make a rout, And drive at last all secrets out: And still the more I show my art, The more they open ev'ry heart. A greater chemist none than I, Who from materials hard and dry Have taught men to extract with skill More precious juice than from a still. Although I'm often out of case, I'm not asham'd to show my face. Though at the tables of the great I near the sideboard take my seat; Yet the plain squire, when dinner's done, I hourly wait some fatal end; I AM jet-black, as you may see, I'm dead, except I live in light. When learned doctors will dispute, That I should point the word of God, And show where they can best confute. Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats; "Tis I that must their lands convey, And strip the clients to their coats; Nay, give their very souls away. $249. On the Five Senses. ALL of us in one you'll find, Brethren of a wondrous kind; Ye among us all no brother Knows one tittle of the other. We in frequent councils are, And our marks of things declare, Where to us unknown a clerk In our ken, both great and small; If wine's bought, or victuals drest, One enjoys them for the rest. Pierce us all with wounding steel, One for all of us will feel. Though ten thousand cannons roar, Add to them ten thousand more, Yet but one of us is found Who regards the dreadful sound. Do what is not fit to tell, There's but one of us can smell. $ 250. On an Echo. Drums and trumpets bring me out; When I'm vex'd, can't keep me under; Much I dread the courtier's fate, $251. On a Shadow in a Glass. By something form'd, I nothing am, Yet every thing that you can name; In no place have I ever been, Yet ev'ry where I may be seen; In all things false, yet always true, I'm still the same, but ever new. Lifeless, life's perfect form I wear, Can show a nose, eye, tongue, or ear, Yet neither smell, see, taste, or hear. All shapes and features I can boast, All things on earth I imitate $252. On Time. EVER eating, never cloying, All devouring, all destroying; Never finding full repast, Till I eat the world at last. § 253. On the Vowels. We are little airy creatures, All of diff'rent voice and features: One of us in glass is set, One of us you'll find in jet; T' other you may see in tin, And the fourth a box within; If the fifth you should pursue, It can never fly from you. § 254. On Snow. FROM heaven I fall, tho' from earth I begin, No lady alive can shew such a skin. I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather, But heavy and dark when you squeeze me together. Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear, Yet many poor creatures I help to ensnare. Though so much of heaven appears in my make, The foulest impressions I easily take. § 255. On a Cannon. BEGOTTEN, and born, and dying, with noise, The terror of women, and pleasure of boys; Like the fiction of poets concerning the wind, I'm chiefly unruly when strongest confin'd. For silver and gold I don't trouble my head, But all I delight in is pieces of lead; Except when I trade with a ship or a town, $256. To Quilca, a Country-House of Dr. Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait. "Let me have your advice in a weighty affair: This Hamilton's Bawn whilst it sticks on my hand, I lose by the house what I get by the land; "First let me suppose I make it a malt-house, Here I have computed the profit will fall thus; There's nine hundred pounds for labor and grain, [main; I increase it to twelve, so three hundred reA handsome addition for wine and good cheer, Three dishes a day, and three hogsheads a year: With a dozen large vessels my vault shall be stored; No little scrub joint shall come on my board, A stone and a quarter of beef from my sirloin. "It must and it shall be a barrack, my life. I'm grown a mere mopus; no company comes But a rabble of tenants and rusty dull rums || : • The name of an Irish servant. With parsons what lady can keep herself clean? I'm all over daub'd when I sit by the Dean. But if you will give us a barrack, my dear, The Captain, I'm sure, will always come here; I then shall not value his Deanship a straw, For the Captain, I warrant, will keep him in awe; Or, should he pretend to be brisk and alert, Will tell him that chaplains should not be so pert; That men of his coat should be minding their pray'rs, And not among ladies to give themselves airs." And could not endure so vulgar a taste, And now my dream's out; for I was a-dream'd That I saw a huge rat-O dear, how I scream'd! And after, methought, I had lost my new shoes; And Molly she said I should hear some ill news. "Dear madam, had you but the spirit to tease, You might have a barrack whenever you please: And, madam, I always believ'd you so stout, That for twenty denials you would not give out. If I had a husband like him, I purtest, Till he gave me my will, I would give him no rest; And, rather than come in the same pair of sheets With such a cross man, I would lie in the streets: But, madam, I beg you, contrive and invent, your slave: You honor me much. The honor is mine.' "Twas a sad rainy night.'-' But the morning is fine.' 'Pray how does my Lady?'—'My wife's at your service.' I think I have seen her picture by Jervas.'— + Sir Arthur Acheson, at whose seat this was written. A large old house, two miles from Sir Arthur's seat. § The army in Ireland is lodged in strong buildings over the whole kingdom, called barracks. A cant word in Ireland for a poor country-clergyman. My lady's waiting-woman. |