The Works of Jonathan Swift ...

And not my compliment to spoil,
By calling this your native soil;
Or vex the ladies, when they knew
That you are turning forty-two;
But if these topics shall appear
Strong arguments to keep you here,
I think, though you judge hardly of it,
Good manners must give place to profit.
The nymphs, with whom you first began,
Are each become a harridan;

And Montague so far decay'd,
Her lovers now must all be paid;

And every belle that since arose,
Has her contemporary beaux.

Your former comrades, once so bright,
With whom you toasted half the night,
Of rheumatism and pox complain,
And bid adieu to dear champagne.
Your great protectors, once in power,
Are now in exile or the Tower.
Your foes triumphant o'er the laws,
Who hate your person and your cause,
If once they get you on the spot,
You must be guilty of the plot;
For true or false they'll ne'er inquire,
But use you ten times worse than Prior.

In London! what would you do there?
Can you, my friend, with patience bear
(Nay, would it not your passion raise
Worse than a pun or Irish phrase)
To see a scoundrel strut and hector,
A footboy to some rogue director,
To look on vice triumphant round,
And virtue trampled on the ground?
Observe where bloody ***** stands
With torturing engines in his hands;
Hear him blaspheme, and swear, and rail,
Threatening the pillory and jail:
If this you think a pleasing scene,
To London straight return again;
Where, you have told us from experience,
Are swarms of bugs and presbyterians.

I thought my very spleen would burst
When fortune hither drove me first;
Was full as hard to please as you,
Nor persons' names nor places knew:
But now I act as other folk,
Like prisoners when their jail is broke.

If you have London still at heart,
We'll make a small one here by art;
The difference is not much between
St. James's-park and Stephen's-green;
And Dawson-street will serve as well

Nor want a passage through the palace,
To choke your sight and raise your malice.
The deanery-house may well be match'd,
Under correction, with the Thatch'd.1
Nor shall I, when you hither come,
Demand a crown a-quart for stum..
Then for a middle-aged charmer,
Stella may vie with your Monthermer ;2
She's now as handsome every bit,
And has a thousand times her wit.
The dean and Sheridan, I hope,
Will half supply a Gay and Pope.
Corbet, though yet I know his worth not,
No doubt will prove a good Arbuthnot.
I throw into the bargain Tim;
In London can you equal him?
What think you of my favorite clan,
Robin and Jack, and Jack and Dan;
Fellows of modest worth and parts,
With cheerful looks and honest hearts?
Can you on Dublin look with scorn?
Yet here were you and Ormond born.
O! were but you and I so wise,
To see with Robert Grattan's eyes!
Robin adores that sport of earth,
That literal spot which gave him birth;
And swears 46
Belcamp is, to his taste,
As fine as Hampton-court at least."
When to your friends you would enhance
The praise of Italy or France,

For grandeur, elegance, and wit,

We gladly hear you and submit ;

But then, to come and keep a clutter,
For this or that side of a gutter,
To live in this or t'other isle,
We cannot think it worth your while;
For, take it kindly or amiss,

The difference but amounts to this,
We bury on our side the channel
In linen; and on yours in flannel.
You for the news are ne'er to seek,
While we perhaps may wait a week;
You happy folks are sure to meet
A hundred whores in every street,
While we may trace all Dublin o'er
Before we find out half a score.

A tavern in St. James's-street.

Mary duchess of Montague and marchioness of Monthermer, youngest daugh. ter of John duke of Marlborough.

Dr. Corbet, afterwards dean of St. Patrick's.

R. and J. Grattan, and J. and D. Jackson.

In Fingal, about five miles from Dublin.

You see my arguments are strong,
I wonder you held out so long;
But since you are convinced at last,
We'll pardon you for what is past.
So let us now for whist prepare;
Twelve pence a corner if you dare.

ON DREAMS.

AN IMITATION OF PETRONIUS.

"Somnia quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris," &c.
THOSE dreams that on the silent night intrude,
And with false flitting shades our minds delude,
Jove never sends us downward from the skies;
Nor can they from infernal mansions rise;
But are all mere productions of the brain,
And fools consult interpreters in vain.

For when in bed we rest our weary limbs,
The mind unburden'd sports in various whims ;
The busy head with mimic art runs o'er
The scenes and actions of the day before.

The drowsy tyrant, by his minions led,
To regal rage devotes some patriot's head,
With equal terrors, not with equal guilt,
The murderer dreams of all the blood he spilt.

The soldier smiling hears the widow's cries.
And stabs the son before the mother's eyes.
With like remorse his brother of the trade,
The butcher, fells the lamb beneath his blade.

The statesman rakes the town to find a plot, And dreams of forfeitures by treason got. Nor less Tom-t-d-man, of true statesman mould, Collects the city filth in search of gold.

Orphans around his bed the lawyer sees,

And takes the plaintiff's and defendant's fees,
His fellow pickpurse watching for a job,

Fancies his fingers in the cully's fob.

The kind physician grants the husband's prayers,

Or gives relief to long-expecting heirs.

The sleeping hangman ties the fatal noose,

Nor unsuccessful waits for dead men's shoes.

The grave divine, with knotty points perplex'd, As if he was awake, nods o'er his text;

While the sly mountebank attends his trade,
Harangues the rabble, and is better paid.

The hireling senator of modern days
Bedaubs the guilty great with nauseous praise;
And Dick the scavenger, with equal grace

AN ANSWER TO DR. DELANY.

THE wise pretend to make it clear
'Tis no great loss to lose an ear.
Why are we then so fond of two,
When by experience one would do?
'Tis true, say they, cut off the head,
And there's an end; the man is dead;
Because, among all human race,

None e'er was known to have a brace:
But confidently they maintain

That where we find the members twain,
The loss of one is no such trouble,
Since t'other will in strength be double.
The limb surviving, you may swear,
Becomes his brother's lawful heir:
Thus, for a trial, let me beg of
Your reverence but to cut one leg off,
And you shall find, by this device,
The other will be stronger twice;
For every day you shall be gaining
New vigor to the leg remaining.
So, when an eye has lost its brother,
You see the better with the other;
Cut off your hand, and you may do
With t'other hand the work of two:
Because the soul her power contracts,
And on the brother limb re-acts.

But yet the point is not so clear in
Another case, the sense of hearing:
For, though the place of either ear
Be distant, as one head can bear,
Yet Galen most acutely shows you
(Consult his book de partium usu)
That from each ear, as he observes,
There creep two auditory nerves,
Not to be seen without a glass,
Which near the os petrosum pass;

Thence to the neck; and moving thorough there,
One goes to this, and one to t'other ear;

Which made my grandam always stuff her ears
Both right and left, as fellow-sufferers.
You see my learning; but, to shorten it,
When my left ear was deaf a fortnight,
To t'other ear I felt it coming on:
And thus I solve this hard phenomenon.
'Tis true, a glass will bring supplies
To weak, or old, or clouded eyes:

Your arms, though both your eyes were lost,
Would guard your nose against a post:
Without your legs, two legs of wood
Are stronger, and almost as good: