VII.

With thee in private modest Dulness lies,

And in thy bofom lurks in Thought's disguise; Thou varnisher of Fools, and cheat of all the Wise! VIII.

Yet thy indulgence is by both confeft;
Folly by thee lies fleeping in the breast,
And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for reft.

IX.

Silence, the knave's repute, the whore's good name, The only honour of the wishing dame;

Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.

X.

But couldft thou feize fome tongues that now are free, How Church and State should be oblig'd to thee ! At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome wouldst thou be! XI.

Yet speech ev'n there, fubmiffively withdraws,

From rights of subjects, and the poor man's caufe: Then pompous Silence reigns, and ftills the noify Laws. XII.

Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,

What Favourites gain, and what the Nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repofe. XIII.

The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier's learning, policy o' th' gown,
Are beft by thee exprefs'd; and shine in thee alone,
XIV.

The parfon's cant, the lawyer's fophiftry,
Lord's quibble, critic's jeft; all end in thee,
All reft in peace at last, and fleep eternally.

E. OF

VI.

E. OF DORSET.

ARTEMISI A.

THOUGH Artemifia talks, by fits,
Of councils, claffics, fathers, wits;
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
Yet in fome things methinks the fails,
'Twere well if she would pair her nails,
And wear a cleaner fmock.

Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such naftiness, and fo much pride,

Are oddly join'd by fate:

On her large fquab you find her spread,
Like a fat corpfe upon a bed,

That lies and ftinks in state.

She wears no colours (fign of grace)
On any part except her face;

All white and black befide:
Dauntless her look, her gefture proud,
Her voice theatrically loud,

And mafculine her ftride.

So have I feen, in black and white
A prating thing, a Magpye hight,
Majestically stalk;

A ftately, worthlefs animal,

That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
All flutter, pride, and talk.

5

ΤΟ

15

20

PHRYNE.

PHRY NE.

P

HRYNE had talents for mankind,

Open she was, and unconfin'd,

Like fome free port of trade;

Merchants unloaded here their freight,
And Agents from each foreign state
Here first their entry made.

Her learning and good-breeding fuch,
Whether th' Italian or the Dutch,
Spaniards or French came to her :
To all obliging she'd appear:
'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer,
'Twas S'il vous plaist, Monfieur.
Obfcure by birth, renown'd by crimes,
Still changing names, religion, climes,
At length fhe turns a Bride:

In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades,
She shines the first of batter'd jades,
And flutters in her pride.

So have I known those Infects fair
(Which curious Germans hold so rare)

Still vary shapes and dyes ;

Still gain new Titles with new forms;
Firft grubs obfcene, then wriggling worms,
Then painted butterflies.

10

5

15

20

VOL. I.

A a

DR.

VII.

DR. SWIFT.

The Happy Life of a COUNTRY PARSON.

ARSON, these things in thy poffeffing

PARSO

Are better than the Bishop's bleffing.

A Wife that makes conferves; a Steed
That carries double when there's need :
October ftore, and best Virginia,
Tythe-Pig, and mortuary Guinea:
Gazettes fent gratis down, and frank'd,
For which thy Patron's weekly thank'd;
A large Concordance, bound long fince;
Sermons to Charles the Firft, when Prince:
A Chronicle of ancient standing;
A Chryfoftom to smooth thy band in.
The Polyglott-three parts,-my text,
Howbeit,-likewise-now to my next..
Lo here the Septuagint,—and Paul,
To fum the whole,-the clofe of all.

He that has thefe, may pass his life,
Drink with the 'Squire, and kifs his Wife;
On Sundays preach, and eat his fill;
And fast on Fridays if he will;

Toast Church and Queen, explain the News,
Talk with Church-Wardens about Pews,
Pray heartily for fome new Gift,

And shake his head at Doctor Swift.

A FARE

May knock up whores alone.

To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd
Till the third watchman toll;
Let Jervais gratis paint, and Frowde
Save three-pence and his foul.

Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery
On every learned fot;

And Garth, the beft good chriftian he,
Although he knows it not.

Lintot, farewell! thy bard muft go;

Farewel, unhappy Tonfon!

Heaven gives thee, for thy lofs of Rowe,
Lean Philips, and fat Johnson.

Why should I ftay? Both parties rage;
My vixen mistress fqualls;

The wits in envious feuds engage;
And Homer (damn him!) calls.