ANOTHER.
EVER fpeaking, ftill awake,
Pleafing moft when moft I fpeak,
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 crow,
I can bark, or I can low,
I can bleat, or I can fing,
Like the warblers of the fpring.
Let the love fick-bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy fwain 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 lóudeft thunder,
When I'm vex'd can't keep me under ;
Yet fo tender is my ear,
And as I please they're great and small;
Invading foes, without refiftance,
With ease I make to keep their distance ;
Again, as I'm difpos'd, the foe
Will come, though not a foot they go.
Both mountains, woods, and hills, and rocks,
And gaming goats, and fleecy flocks,
And lowing herds, and piping fwains,
Come dancing to me o'er the plains.
The greatest whale that swims the fea,
Does inftantly my pow'r obey.
In vain from me the failor flies ;
The quickeft fhip I can furprize,
And turn it as I have a mind,
And move it against tide and wind.
Nay, bring me here the tallest man,
I'll fqueeze him to a little span.
Or bring a tender child and pliant,
You'll fee me ftretch him to a giant ;
Nor fhall they in the leaft complain,
Because my magic gives no pain.
Befides a brace of grave divines
Adore the fmoothness of thy lines;
Smooth as our bafon's filver flood,
Ere George had robb'd it of its mud;
Smoother than Pegasus' old fhoe,
Ere Vulcan comes to make him new.
The board on which we fet our a
Is not so smooth as are thy verses.
Compar'd with which, (and that's enough),
A fmoothing-ir'n itself is rough.
Nor praise I lefs that circumcifion,
By modern poets call'd elifion,
With which, in proper station plac'd,
Thy polish'd lines are firmly brac'd.
Thus, a wife tailor is not pinching,
But turns at ev'ry seam an inch in,
Or elfe, be fure, your broad-cloth breeches
Will ne'er be fmooth, nor hold their stitches.
Thy verfe, like bricks, defy the weather,
When smooth'd by rubbing them together;
Thy words fo closely wedg'd and short are,
Like walls, more lafting without mortar;
By leaving out the needlefs vowels,
You fave the charge of lime and trowels..
One letter ftill another locks,
Each groov'd, and dove-tail'd, like a box;
Thy mufe is tuckt up and fuccin&t;
In chains thy fyllables are linkt.
Thy words together ty'd in fmall hanks,
Close as the Macedonian phalanx;
Or like the umbo of the Romans,
Which fiercest foes could break by no means.
The critic to his grief will find,
How firmly these indentures bind :
So in the kindred painter's art
The fhort'ning is the nicest part.
PHILOLOGERS of future ages,
How will they pore upon thy pages!
Nor will they dare to break the joints,
But help thee to be read with points :
Or elfe, to fhew their learned labour, you
May backward be perus'd like Hebrew,
Wherein they need not lose a bit
Or of thy harmony or wit.
To make a work completely fine,
Number, and weight, and measure join;
Then all must grant your lines are weighty,
Where thirty weigh as much as eighty.
All must allow your numbers more,
Where twenty lines exceed fourscore;
Nor can we think your measure short,
Where lefs than forty fill a quart,
With Alexandrian in the clofe,
Long, long, long, long, like Dan's long nofe.
A REBUS written by a LADY on the Reverend Dean SWIFT. With his ANSWER.
CUT the name of the MAN who his mi- Jo-feph.
And let the first of it be only apply'd
To join with the prophet who DAVID did Nathan.
Then fay, what a horfe is that runs very fast,
And that which deferves to be first put the laft;
Spell all then, and put them together, to find
The NAME and the VIRTUES of him I defign'd.
Like the patriarch in Egypt, he's vers'd in the fate;
Like the prophet in Jewry, he's free with the great ;
Like a racer, he flies to fuccour with speed,
When his friends want his aid, or defert is in need.
THE nymph who wrote this in an amorous fit,
I cannot but envy the pride of her wit,
Which thus fhe will venture profusely to throw
On fo mean a defign, and a subject so low.
For mean's her defign, and her fubject as mean,
The first but a REBUS, the last but a DEAN.
A dean's but a parson, and what is a rebus ?
A thing never known to the mufes or Phœbus;
The corruption of verfe; for when all is done,
It is but a paraphrase made on a pun.
But a genius like hers no fubject can ftifle,
It fhews and discovers itself thro' a trifle.
By reading this trifle, I quickly began
To find her a great wit, but the Dean a fmall man.
Rich ladies will furnish their garrets with stuff,
Which others for mantuas would think fine enough:
So the wit that is lavishly thrown away here,
Might furnish a fecond-rate post a year.
Thus much for the verfe, we proceed to the next,
Where the NYMPH has intirely forfaken her text: 20
Her fine panegyrics are quite out of season,
And what he defcribes to be merit is treafon :
The changes which faction has made in the state,
Have put the Dean's politics quite out of date:
Now no one regards what he utters with freedom, 25
And should he write pamphlets, no great man would
And should want or defert ftand in need of his aid,
This racer would prove but a dull founder'd jade.
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