And Griz (no clock more certain) cries,
Hot mutton-pies!"

Exact at seven, 66

There lady Luna in her sphere

Once shone, when Paunceforth was not near, But now she wanes, and, as 'tis said,

Keeps sober hours, and goes to bed.

There but 'tis endless to write down

All the amusements of the town;

And spouse will think herself quite outdone,
To trudge to Connor1 from sweet London;
And care we must our wives to please,
Or else we shall be ill at ease.

You see, my lord, what 'tis I lack,
'Tis only some convenient tack,
Some parsonage-house with garden sweet,
To be my late, my last retreat;
A decent church, close by its side;
There preaching, praying, to reside;
And as my time securely rolls
To save my own and other souls.

THE DUKE'S ANSWER.

DEAR Smed, I read thy brilliant lines,
Where wit in all its glory shines;
Where compliments, with all their pride,
Are by their numbers dignified:

I hope to make you yet as clean
As that same Viz, St. Patrick's dean.
I'll give thee surplice, verge, and stall,
And may be something else withal;
And, were you not so good a writer,
I should present you with a mitre.
Write worse, then, if you can
- be wise
Believe me, 'tis the way to rise.
Talk not of making of thy nest:
Ah! never lay thy head to rest!
That head so well with wisdom fraught,
That writes without the toil of thought!
While others rack their busy brains,
You are not in the least at pains.
Down to your dean'ry new repair,
And build a castle in the air.
I'm sure a man of your fine sense
Can do it with a small expense.

There your dear spouse and you together

May breathe your bellies full of ether,

When lady Luna is your neighbor,

She'll help your wife when she's in labor;

Well skill'd in midwife artifices,

For she herself oft falls in pieces.

There you shall see a raree show
Will make you scorn this world below,
When you behold the milky-way,
As white as snow, as bright as day;
The glittering constellations roll
About the grinding arctic pole;
The lovely tingling in your ears,
Wrought by the music of the spheres-
Your spouse shall then no longer hector,
You need not fear a curtain-lecture;
Nor shall she think that she is undone
For quitting her beloved London.
When she's exalted in the skies,
She'll never think of mutton-pies;
When you're advanced above dean Viz,
You'll never think of Goody Griz;
But ever, ever live at ease,

And strive, and strive your wife to please;
In her you'll centre all your joys,
And get ten thousand girls and boys;
Ten thousand girls and boys you'll get,
And they like stars shall rise and set,

While you and spouse, transform'd, shall soon
Be a new sun and a new moon:

Nor shall you strive your horns to hide,
For then your horns shall be your pride.

PARODY

ON THE CHARACTER OF DEAN SMEDLEY.

Written in Latin by himself.

THE very reverend dean Smedley,

Of dulness, pride, conceit, a medley,
Was equally allow'd to shine
As poet, scholar, and divine;
With godliness could well dispense,
Would be a rake, but wanted sense;
Would strictly after Truth inquire,
Because he dreaded to come nigh her.
For Liberty no champion bolder,
He hated bailiffs at his shoulder.
To half the world a standing jest,
A perfect nuisance to the rest;
From many (and we may believe him)
Had the best wishes they could give him.
To all mankind a constant friend,
Provided they had cash to lend.

One thing he did before he went hence,
He left us a laconic sentence,

But cutting of his phrase, and trimming,

Poor Envy durst not show her phiz,
She was so terrified at his.

He waded, without any shame,
Through thick and thin to get a name,
Tried every sharping trick for bread,
And after all he seldom sped.
When Fortune favor'd, he was nice;
He never once would cog the dice;
But, if she turn'd against his play,
He knew to stop à quatre trois.
Now sound in mind, and sound in corpus,
(Says he) though swell'd like any porpoise,
Ile hies from hence at forty-four
(But by his leave he sinks a score)
To the East Indies, there to cheat,
Till he can purchase an estate;
Where, after he has filled his chest,
He'll mount his tub and preach his best,
And plainly prove, by dint of text,
This world is his, and theirs the next.
Lest that the reader should not know
The bank where last he set his toe.
'Twas Greenwich. There he took a ship,
And gave his creditors the slip.
But lest chronology should vary,
Upon the ides of February,

In seventeen hundred eight-and-twenty,
To Fort St. George, a pedlar went he.
Ye Fates, when all he gets is spent,
RETURN HIM BEGGAR AS HE WENT!

CADENUS AND VANESSA.1

Written at Windsor, 1713.

THE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian queen.

The counsel for the fair began,

Accusing the false creature Man.

The brief with weighty crimes was charged,
On which the pleader much enlarged;
That Cupid now has lost his art,

;

Or blunts the point of every dart;-
His altar now no longer smokes,

His mother's aid no youth invokes:

This tempts freethinkers to refine,

And bring in doubt their powers divine;

This is thought to be one of Dr. Swift's correctest pieces. Its chief merit, indeed, is the elegant ease with which a story but ill conceived in itself, is told. GOLDSMITH.

Miss Vanhomrigh, daughter to Bartholomew Vanhomrigh, a Dutch merchant

Now love is dwindled to intrigue,
And marriage grown a money league;
Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)
Were (as he humbly did conceive)
Against our sovereign lady's peace,
Against the statute in that case,
Against her dignity and crown:
Then pray'd an answer, and sat down.
The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes:
When the defendant's counsel rose,

And, what no lawyer ever lack'd,
With impudence own'd all the fact:
But, what the gentlest heart would vex,
Laid all the fault on t'other sex.
That modern love is no such thing
As what those ancient poets sing:
A fire celestial, chaste, refined,
Conceived and kindled in the mind;
Which, having found an equal flame,
Unites, and both become the same,
In different breasts together burn,
Together both to ashes turn.
But women now feel no such fire,
And only know the gross desire.
Their passions move in lower spheres,
Where'er caprice or folly steers,
A dog, a parrot, or an ape,

Or some worse brute in human shape,
Engross the fancies of the fair,

The few soft moments they can spare,
From visits to receive and pay,
From scandal, politics, and play;
From fans, and flounces, and brocades,
From equipage and park parades,
From all the thousand female toys,
From every trifle that employs
The out or inside of their heads,
Between their toilets and their beds.
In a dull stream, which moving slow,
You hardly see the current flow;
If a small breeze obstruct the course,
It whirls about for want of force,
And in its narrow circle gathers

Nothing but chaff, and straws, and feathers.
The current of a female mind

Stops thus, and turns with every wind:

Thus whirling round together draws

Fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws.

Hence we conclude, no women's hearts

Are won by virtue, wit, and parts:

Nor are the men of sense to blame,
For breasts incapable of flame;

The faults must on the nymphs be placed,
Grown so corrupted in their taste.

The pleader having spoke his best,
Had witness ready to attest,
Who fairly could on oath depose,
When questions on the fact arose,
That every article was true;

Nor further those deponents knew:
Therefore he humbly would insist
The bill might be with costs dismiss'd.
The cause appear'd with so much weight,
That Venus, from her judgment seat,
Desired them not to talk so loud,
Else she must interpose a cloud:
For if the heavenly folks should know
These pleadings in the courts below,
That mortals here disdain to love,
She ne'er could show her face above;
For gods, their betters, are too wise
To value that which men despise.
And then, said she, my son and I
Must stroll in air, 'twixt land and sky;
Or else, shut out from heaven and earth,
Fly to the sea, my place of birth:
There live with daggled mermaids pent,
And keep on fish perpetual Lent.

But since the case appear'd so nice,
She thought it best to take advice.
The Muses, by the king's permission,
Though foes to love attend the session,
And on the right hand took their places
In order; on the left, the Graces:
To whom she might her doubts propose
On all emergencies that rose.

The Muses oft were seen to frown;
The Graces half ashamed looked down;
And 'twas observed, there were but few
Of either sex among the crew,
Whom she or her assessors knew.
The goddess soon began to see
Things were not ripe for a decrec;
And said, she must consult her books,
The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes.
First to a dapper clerk she beckon'd
To turn to Ovid, book the second:
She then referr'd them to a place
In Virgil, vide Dido's case:

As for Tibullus's reports,

They never pass'd for law in courts;

For Cowley's briefs, and pleas of Waller,

Still their authority was smaller.

There was on both sides much to say: