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From me no secret he can hide,
I see his vanity and pride:
And my delight is to expose
His follies to his greatest foes.
All languages I can command,
Yet not a word I understand.
Without my aid, the best divine
In learning would not know a line;
The lawyer must forget his pleading;
The scholar could not show his reading.
Nay, man, my master, is my slave:
I give command to kill or save;
Can grant ten thousand pounds a year,
And make a beggar's brat a peer.

But while I thus my life relate,
I only hasten on my fate.

My tongue is black, my mouth is furr'd,
I hardly now can force a word.
I die unpitied and forgot,

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 nyinph 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,
Is never pleas'd till I make one:
He kindly bids me near him stand,
And often takes me by the hand.
I twice a day a hunting go,
Nor ever fail to seize my foe;
And, when I have him by the pole,
I drag him upwards from his hole;
Though some are of so stubborn kind,
I'm forc'd to leave a limb behind.
I hourly wait some fatal end;
For I can break, but scorn to bend.

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I AM jet-black, as you may see,
The son of Pitch and gloomy Night:
Yet all that know me will agree

I'm dead, except I live in light.
Sometimes in panegyric high,
Like lofty Pindar I can soar;
And raise a virgin to the sky,
Or sink her to a pocky whore.
My blood this day is very sweet,
To-morrow of a bitter juice;
Like milk, 'tis cried about the street,
And so applied to different use.
Most wondrous is my magic pow'r,
For with one color I can paint;
I'll make the devil a saint this hour,
Next inake a devil of a saint.
Through distant regions I can fly,
Provide me with but paper wings;
And fairly show a reason why
There should be quarrels among kings.
And, after all, you'll think it odd,

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; Yet 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
Sits and takes them in the dark.
He's the register of all

In our ken, both great and small;
By us forms his laws and rules;
He's our master, we his tools,
Yet we can, with greatest ease,
Turn and wind him where we please.
One of us alone can sleep,
Yet no watch the rest will keep;
But the moment that he closes,
Ev'ry brother else reposes.

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.
NEVER sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak :
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue :
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret and rave and gabble
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog or cow,
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can sing
Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the love-sick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice;
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,

Drums and trumpets bring me out;
Then I clash, and roar and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,

When I'm vex'd, can't keep me under;
Yet so tender is my ear,

That the lowest voice I fear.

Much I dread the courtier's fate,
When his merit's out of date;
For I hate a silent breath,

And a whisper is my death.

$ 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,
No flesh, no bones, no blood-no ghost:
All colours, without paint, put on,
And change like the cameleon.
Swiftly I come and enter there
Where not a chink lets in the air;
Like thought, I'm in a moment gone,
Nor can I ever be alone;

All things on earth I imitate
Faster than nature can create;
Sometimes imperial robes I wear,
Anon in beggar's rags appear;
A giant now, and straight an elf,
I'm ev'ry one, but ne'er myself;
Ne'er sad, I mourn; ne'er glad, rejoice;
I move my lips, but want a voice;
I ne'er was born, nor e'er can die:
Then pr'ythee tell me, what am I?

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Except when I trade with a ship or a town,
Why then I make pieces of iron go down.
One property more I would have you remark,
No lady was ever more fond of a spark;
The moment I get one, my soul's all afire,
And I roar out my joy, and in transport expire.

§ 256. 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 Shelah * toil,
Fire will not roast, nor water boil.
Through all the valleys, hills, and plains,
The goddess Want in triumph reigns:
And her chief officers of state,

Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.

$257. The grand Question debated, whether Hamilton's Bawn should be turned into a Barrack or a Malt-House. 1729.

THUS spoke to my Lady the Knight‍† full of

care:

"Let me have your advice in a weighty affair: This Hamiltou's Bawn whilst it sticks on my hand,

I lose by the house what I get by the land;
But how to dispose of it to the best bidder,
For a barrack or malt-house, we now must
consider.

"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, And you and the Dean no more shall combine To stint me at night to one bottle of wine; Nor shall I, for his humor, permit you to pur

loin

A stone and a quarter of beef from my sirloin.
If I make it a barrack, the crown is my tenant;
My dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't:
In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent;
Whatever they give me, I must be content,
Or join with the court in every debate,
And rather than that I would lose my estate."
Thus ended the Knight. Thus began his
meek wife:

"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 ainong ladies to give themselves airs."
Thus argued my Lady, but argued in vain;
The Knight his opinion resolv'd to maintain.
But Hannah, who listen'd to all that was
past,

And could not endure so vulgar a taste,
As soon as her Ladyship call'd to be dress'd,
Cried, "Madam, why surely my master's pos-

sest.

Sir Arthur the maltster! how fine it will sound! I'd rather the bawn were sunk under ground. But, Madam, I guess'd there would never come good,

When I saw him so often with Darby and Wood **.

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,
And worry him out till he gives his consent.
Dear madam, whene'er of a barrack I think,
An I were to be hang'd, I can't sleep a wink:
For if a new crotchet comes into my brain,
I can't get it out, though I never so fain.
I fancy already a barrack contriv'd
At Hamilton's Bawn, and the troop is arriv'd;
Of this to be sure Sir Arthur has warning,
And waits on the Captain betimes the next
morning.
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Now see, when they meet, how their honors 'Noble Captain, your servant.'- Sir Arthur, your slave:

You honor me much.-The honor is mine.' 'Twas a sad rainy night. But the morning is fine.'

6

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. *Two of Sir Arthur's managers.

My lady's waiting-woman.

Good morrow, good Captain, I'll wait on you | If I had expected so worthy a guestdown.'

"You shan't stir a foot.'- You'll think me a clown.

For all the world, Captain.'-' Not half an
inch farther.'

You must be obey'd!'-' Your servant, Sir
Arthur!

My humble respects to my Lady unknown.'
I hope you will use my house as your own.'
"Go bring me my smock, and leave off your
prate,

Thou hast certainly got a cup in thy pate."

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Pray, madam, be quiet, what was it I said? You had like to have put it quite out of my

head.

Next day, to be sure, the Captain will come At the head of his troop, with trumpet and drum. [state: Now, madam, observe how he marches in The man with the kettle-drums enters the gate;

Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow, Tantara, tantara; while all the boys halloo. See now comes the Captain, all daub'd with gold lace:

O la! the sweet gentleman! look in his face; And see how he rides like a lord of the land, With the fine flaming sword that he holds in his hand;

And his horse, the dear cretur, it prances and

rears,

With ribands in knots at its tail and its ears: At last comes the troop, by the word of command,

Drawn up in our court; when the Captain cries, STAND!

Your Ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen (For sure I have dizen'd you out like a queen). The Captain, to show he is proud of the favor, Looks up to your window, and cocks up his beaver;

(His beaver is cock'd; pray, madam, mark that, For a Captain of horse never takes off his hat, Because he has never a hand that is idle; For the right holds the sword, and the left holds the bridle ;)

Then flourishes thrice his sword in the air,` As a compliment due to a lady so fair; (How I tremble to think of the blood it hath spilt!)

Then he lowers down the point, and kisses the hilt.

Your ladyship smiles, and thus you begin:

Pray, Captain, be pleas'd to alight and walk in.' The Captain salutes you with congee profound, And your Ladyship curtsies half-way to the ground.

Kit, run to your master, and bid him come

to us:

I'm sure he'll be proud of the honor you do us. And, Captain, you'll do us the favor to stay And take a short dinner here with us to-day: You're heartily welcome: but as for good cheer, You come in the very worst time of the year;

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Lord, madam! your ladyship sure is in jest : You banter me, niadam. The kingdom must grant,

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You officers, Captain, are so complaisant!'" 'Hist, hussy, I think I hear somebody coming." "No, madam, 'tis only Sir Arthur a humming. To shorten my tale (for I hate a long story) The Captain at dinner appears in his glory: The Dean and the Doctor have humbled their pride,

For the Captain's entreated to sit by your side: And, because he's their betters, you carve for him first:

The parsons for envy are ready to burst.
The servants, amazed, are scarce ever able
To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the table;
And Molly and I have thrust in our nose
To peep at the Captain in all his fine clo'es.
Dear madam, be sure he's a fine spoken man,
Do but hear on the Clergy how glib his tongue

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[afraid

Mister Curate, for all your grave looks, I'm You cast a sheep's eye on her Ladyship's maid: I wish she would lend you her pretty white hand

[band In mending your cassock, and smoothing your (For the Dean was so shabby, and look'd like a ninny, [Jinns). That the Captain suppos'd he was curate to Whenever you see a cassock and gown, A hundred to one but it covers a clown. Observe how a Parson comes into a room; G-d-n me! he hobbles as bad as my groom: A scollard, when just from his college broke loose,

Can hardly tell how to cry bo to a goose: Your ↑ Noveds, and Blueturks, and Omurs, and stuff,

By G-, they don't signify this pinch of snuff; To give a young gentleman right education, The army's the only good school in the nation: My schoolmaster call'd me a dunce and a fool, But at cuffs I was always the cock of the school: I never could take to my book for the blood o' me, [o' me. And the puppy confess'd he expected no good He caught me one morning coquetting his wife, flife:

But he maid me, I ne'er was so maul'd in my So I took to the road; and what's very odd, The first man I robb'd was a parson, by G—. Now, madam, you'll think it a strange thing to say,

But the sight of a book makes me sick to this day.'

* Dr. Jinny, a clergyman in the neighbourhood.

Ovids, Plutarchs, Homers.

Never since I was born did I hear so much wit; And, madam, I laugh'd till I thought I should split. [Dean, So then you look'd scornful, and snift at the As who should say, Now am I Skinny-and-lean? But he durst not so much as once open his lips, And the Doctor was plaguily down in the hips." Thus merciless Hannah ran on in her talk, Till she heard the Dean call, "Will your Ladyship wa ?" [down Her Ladyship answers, "I'm just coming Then turning to Hannah, and forcing a frown, Although it was plain in her heart she was glad, Cried" Hussy! why sure the wench is gone [brains? How could all these chimeras get into your Come hither, and take this old gown for your pains. [ears, But the Dean, if this secret should come to his Will never have done with his jibes and his jeers: [ye; For your life, not a word of the matter, I charge Give me but a barrack, a fig for the clergy."

mad!

§ 258. On the Death of Dr. Swift. Occasioned by reading the following Maxim in Rochefoucault: "Dans l'adversité de nos meilleurs amis, nous trouvons toujours quelque chose qui ne nous deplait pas."

"In the adversity of our best friends we always
find something that doth not displease us.'
As Rochefoucault his maxims drew
From nature, I believe them true:
They argue no corrupted mind
In him; the fault is in mankind.

This maxiin more than all the rest
Is thought too base for human breast:
"In all distresses of our friends,
We first consult our private ends;
While nature, kindly bent to ease us,
Points out some circumstance to please us."
If this perhaps your patience move,
Let reason and experience prove.
We all behold with envious eyes
Our equals rais'd above our size.
Who would not at a crowded show
Stand high himself, keep others low?
I love my friend as well as you;
But why should he obstruct my
Then let me have the higher post,
Suppose it but an inch at most.
If in a battle you should find
One, whom you love of all mankind,
Had some heroic action done,
A champion kill'd, or trophy won:
Rather than thus be over-topt,
Would you not wish his laurels cropt?
Dear honest Ned is in the gout,
Lies rack'd with pain, and you without:
How patiently you hear him groan!
How glad the case is not your own!

view?

What poet would not grieve to see His brothers write as well as he; But, rather than they should excel, Would wish his rivals all in hell?

Her end when Emulation misses, She turns to Envy, stings and hisses: The strongest friendship yields to pride, Unless the odds be on our side. Vain human kind! fantastic race! Thy various follies who can trace? Self-love, ambition, envy, pride, Their empire in our hearts divide. Give others riches, pow'r, and station, 'Tis all to me an usurpation. I have no title to aspire; Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher. In Pope I cannot read a line, But, with a sigh, I wish it mine: When he can in one couplet fix More sense than I can do in six, It gives me such a jealous fit, I cry, Pox take him and his wit!" I grieve to be outdone by Gay In my own humorous biting way. Arbuthnot is no more my friend, Who dares to irony pretend, Which I was born to introduce, Refin'd it first, and show'd its use. St. John as well as Pulteney knows That I had some repute for prose; And, till they drove me out of date, Could maul a minister of state. And made me throw my pen aside; If they have mortified my pride, If with such talents heaven hath bless'd 'em, Have I not reason to detest 'em?

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The time is not remote, when I Must, by the course of nature, die! When, I foresee, my special friends Will try to find their private ends: And, though 'tis hardly understood Which way my death may do them good, Yet thus, methinks, I hear them speak : "See how the Dean begins to break! Poor gentleman, he droops apace! You plainly find it in his face. That old vertigo in his head Will never leave him till he's dead. Besides, his memory decays: He recollects not what he says: He cannot call his friends to mind; Forgets the place where last he din'd; Plies you with stories o'er and o'er; He told them fifty times before. How does he fancy we can sit To hear this out-of-fashion wit? But he takes up with younger folks, Who for his wine will bear his jokes. Faith! he must make his stories shorter, Or change his comrades once a quarter: In half the time he talks them round, There must another set be found.

"For poetry he's past his prime: He takes an hour to find a rhyme;

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