"The world shall feel her scratch and bite."
Her talent she display'd beries:
For in twice tmelve revolving moons
She seem'd to laugh and squam in rhymes,
And all her gestures were lampoons.
At six years 11 the subtle jade
Stole to the pantry-door, and found
The batter with my lady's maid;
And you may swear the tale went round.
She made a song how little miss
Was kiss'd and slobber'd by a lad:
And how when master went to —,
Miss came and peep'd at all he had.
At twelve, a wit and a coquette;
Marries for love, half whore, half wife;
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in debt;
Turns authoress, and is Curll's for life.
Her commonplace-book all gallant is,
Of scandal now a cornucopia;
She pours it out in Atalantis,
Or memoirs of the New Utopia.
THE FABLE OF MIDAS. 1712.
MIDAS, we are in story told,
Turn'd everything he touch'd to gold:
He chipp'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground;
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would straight become a golden pippin:
He call'd for drink; you saw him sup
Potable gold in golden cup:
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck'd his victuals through a quill.
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or 't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head;
Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence, by wise farmers we are told
Old hay is equal to old gold:
And hence a critic deep inaintains
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit,
And people fancied he had wit.
Two gods their skill in music tried,
And both chose Midas to decide:
He against Phoebus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to show his grudge,
Clapp'd asses' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims,
The golden scurf peels off his limbs:
Fame spreads the news, and people travel
From far to gather golden gravel;
Midas, exposed to all their jeers,
Had lost his art and kept his ears.
This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader;
To whom from Midas down descends
That virtue in the fingers' ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per cent.?
By places and commissions sold,
And turning dung itself to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
Their Conyngs mark1 thou; for I have been told
They assassine when young, and poison when old.
Root out these Carrots, O thou, whose name
Is backwards and forwards always the same;
And keep close to thee always that name,
Which backwards and forwards is almost the same.
And, England, wouldst thou be happy still,
Bury those Carrots under a Hill.4
CORINNA, A BALLAD. 1712.
THIS day (the year I dare not tell)
Apollo play'd the midwife's part;
Into the world Corinna fell,
And he endow'd her with his art.
But Cupid with a Satyr comes;
Both softly to the cradle creep;
Both stroke her hands and rub her gums,
While the poor child lay fast asleep.
Then Cupid thus: "This little maid
Of love shall always speak and write;"
"And I pronounce, ," the Satyr said,
"The world shall feel her scratch and bite."
Her talent she display'd betimes;
For in twice twelve revolving moons
She seem'd to laugh and squall in rhymes,
And all her gestures were lampoons.
At six years old the subtle jade
Stole to the pantry-door, and found
The butler with my lady's maid;
And you may swear the tale went round.
She made a song how little miss
Was kiss'd and slobber'd by a lad:
And how when master went to -
Miss came and peep'd at all he had.
At twelve, a wit and a coquette;
Marries for love, half whore, half wife;
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in debt;
Turns authoress, and is Curll's for life.
Her commonplace-book all gallant is,
Of scandal now a cornucopia;
She pours it out in Atalantis,
Or memoirs of the New Utopia.
THE FABLE OF MIDAS. 1712.
MIDAS, we are in story told,
Turn'd everything he touch'd to gold:
He chipp'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground;
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would straight become a golden pippin:
He call'd for drink; you saw him sup
Potable gold in golden cup:
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck'd his victuals through a quill.
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or 't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head;
Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence, by wise farmers we are told
Old hay is equal to old gold:
And hence a critic deep maintains
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit,
And people fancied he had wit.
Two gods their skill in music tried,
And both chose Midas to decide:
He against Phoebus' harp decreed,
And gave it for l'an's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to show his grudge,
Clapp'd asses' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims,
The golden scurf peels off his limbs:
Fame spreads the news, and people travel
From far to gather golden gravel;
Midas, exposed to all their jeers,
Had lost his art and kept his ears.
This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader;
To whom from Midas down descends
That virtue in the fingers' ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per cent. ?
By places and commissions sold,
And turning dung itself to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
None e'er did modern Midas choose
Subject or patron of his muse,
But found him thus their merit scan,
That Phoebus must give place to Pan:
He values not the poet's praise,
Nor will exchange his plums for bays.
To Pan alone rich misers call:
And there's the jest, for pan is ALL.
Here English wits will be to seek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.
Besides, it plainly now appears
Our Midas, too, has asses' ears;
Where every fool his mouth applies,
And whispers in a thousand lies;
Such gross delusions could not pass
Through any ears but of an ass.
But gold defiles with frequent touch,
There's nothing fouls the hands so much,
And scholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws;
Which, while the senate strove to scour,
They wash'd away the chemic power.
While he his utmost strength applied,
To swim against this popular tide,
The golden spoils flew off apace;
Here fell a pension, there a place:
The torrent merciless imbibes
Commissions, perquisites, and bribes;
By their own weight sunk to the bottom;
Much good may't do them that have caught em,
And Midas now neglected stands,
With asses' ears and dirty hands.
TOLAND'S INVITATION TO DISMAL,
TO DINE WITH THE CALF'S-HEAD CLUB.
Imitated from IIORACE, lib. i. epist. 5.
SWIFT mentions the satire in his Journal, 1st. July, 1712.-" Have you seen Toland's Invitation to Dismal? How do you like it! But it is an imitation of Horace, and perhaps you do not understand Horace." It is again mentioned in the 17th of the same month.
Ir dearest Dismal, you for once can dine
Upon a single dish and tavern wine,
Toland to you this invitation sends,
To eat the calf's head with your trusty friends.
Suspend awhile your vain ambitious hopes,
Leave hunting after bribes, forget your tropes.
To-morrow we our mystic feast prepare,
Where thou, our latest proselyte, shalt share:
When we, by proper signs and symbols, tell
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