Till the kind looseness comes, and then,
Conclude the bow relax'd again.
And now, the ladies all are bent,
To try the great experiment,
Ambitious of a regent's heart,
Spread all their charms to catch a f―
Watching the first unsavoury wind,
Some ply before, and some behind.
My lord, on fire amid the dames,
F-ts like a laurel in the flames.
The fair approach the speaking part,
To try the back-way to his heart.
For, as when we a gun discharge,
Although the bore be ne'er so large,
Before the flame from muzzle burst,
Just at the breech it flashes first;
So from my lord his passion broke,
He fd first, and then he spoke.
The ladies vanish in the smother,
To confer notes with one another;
And now they all agreed to name
Whom each one thought the happy dame.
Quoth Neal, Whate'er the rest may think,
I'm sure 'twas I that smelt the stink.
You smell the stink! by G-d, you lie,
Quoth Ross, for I'll be sworn 'twas I.
Ladies, quoth Levens, pray forbear;
Let's not fall out; we all had share;
And, by the most I can discover,
My lord's a universal lover.
DESCRIPTION OF A SALAMANDER.* 1705.
AT the siege of Namur, in 1695, Lord Cutts commanded a body of English employed as a storming party, and displayed such cool intrepidity amidst a most tremendous fire of artillery and musketry, that he was complimented with the name of the Salamander, as if the scene of flame and terror had been his proper element.
Swift, no admirer of military merit, and unfriendly to Lord Cutts in particular, has employed his wit in deducing from his vices and follies, the name bestowed on him for his intrepid bravery.
As mastiff dogs, in modern phrase, are
Call'd Pompey, Scipio, and Cæsar;
As pies and daws are often styled
With Christian nicknames, like a child;
As we say Monsieur to an ape,
Without offence to human shape;
So men have got, from bird and brute,
Names that would best their nature suit.
The Lion, Eagle, Fox, and Boar,
Were heroes' titles heretofore,
Bestow'd as hieroglyphics fit
To shew their valour, strength, or wit:
* From Pliny, Nat. Hist. lib. x. c. 67, lib. xxix. c. 4.
For what is understood by fame,
Besides the getting of a name?
But, e'er since men invented guns
A different way their fancy runs :
To paint a hero, we inquire
For something that will conquer fire.
Would you describe Turenne or Trump?
Think of a bucket or a pump.
Are these too low ?-then find out grander,
Call my LORD CUTTS a Salamander.
'Tis well;-but since we live among
Detractors with an evil tongue,
Who may object against the term,
Pliny shall prove what we affirm:
Pliny shall prove, and we'll apply,
And I'll be judged by standers by.
First, then, our author has defined.
This reptile of the serpent kind,
With gaudy coat and shining train;
But loathsome spots his body stain :
Out from some hole obscure he flies,
When rains descend, and tempests rise,
Till the sun clears the air; and then
Crawls back neglected to his den.
So, when the war has raised a storm,
I've seen a snake in human form,
All stain'd with infamy and vice,
Leap from the dunghill in a trice,
Burnish and make a gaudy show,
Become a general, peer, and beau,
Till peace has made the sky serene,
Then shrink into its hole again.
"All this we grant-why then, look yonder,
Sure that must be a Salamander!"
Further, we are by Pliny told, This serpent is extremely cold;
So cold, that, put it in the fire,
'Twill make the very flames expire:
Besides, it spews a filthy froth
(Whether through rage or love, or both)
Of matter purulent and white,
Which, happening on the skin to light,
And there corrupting to a wound,
Spreads leprosy and baldness round.
So have I seen a batter'd beau,
By age and claps grown cold as snow,
Whose breath or touch, where'er he came,
Blew out love's torch, or chill'd the flame:
And should some nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like Carleton cheap, or famed Du-Ruel,
Receive the filth which he ejects,
She soon would find the same effects,
Her tainted carcase to pursue,
As from the salamander's spew ;
A dismal shedding of her locks,
And, if no leprosy, a pox.
"Then I'll appeal to each bystander,
If this be not a Salamander?"
TO THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH,
WHO COMMANDED THE BRITISH FORCES IN SPAIN.
MORDANTO fills the trump of fame,
The Christian worlds his deeds proclaim,
And prints are crowded with his name.
In journeys he outrides the post,
Sits
up till midnight with his host,
Talks politics, and gives the toast.
Knows every prince in Europe's face, Flies like a squib from place to place, And travels not, but runs a race.
From Paris gazette a-la-main,
This day's arrived, without his train,
Mordanto in a week from Spain.
A messenger comes all a-reek Mordanto at Madrid to seek; He left the town above a week.
Next day the post-boy winds his horn, And rides through Dover in the morn: Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.
Mordanto gallops on alone,
The roads are with his followers strewn, This breaks a girth, and that a bone;
His body active as his mind, Returning sound in limb and wind, Except some leather lost behind.
A skeleton in outward figure,
His meagre corpse, though full of vigour, Would halt behind him, were it bigger.
So wonderful his expedition, When you have not the least suspicion, He's with you like an apparition.
Shines in all climates like a star; In senates bold, and fierce in war; A land commander, and a tar :
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