Imágenes de páginas

Where friendship is by Fate designd,
It forms a union in the mind :
But here I differ from the knight
In every point, like black and white:
For none can say that ever yet
We both in one opinion met:
Not in philosophy, or ale;
In state affairs, or planting cale;
In rhetorick, or picking straws;
In roasting larks, or making laws;
In publick schemes, or catching flies ;
In parliaments, or padding pies.

The neighbours wonder why the kuight
Should in a country life delight,
Who not one pleasure entertains
To cheer the solitary scenes :
His guests are few, his visits rare;
Nor uses time, nor time will spare;
Nor rides, nor walks, nor hunts, nor fowls,
Nor plays at cards, or dice, or bowls;
But, seated in an easy chair,
Despises exercise and air.
His rural walks he pe'er adorns;

poor Pomona sits on thorns : And there neglected Flora settles Her bum upon a bed of nettles.

Those thankless and officious cares,
I us'd to take in friends' affairs,
From which I never could refrain,
And have been often chid in vain :
From these I am recover'd quite,
At least in what regards the knight.
Preserve his health, his store increase;
May nothing intersupt his peace !
But now let all his tenants round
First milk his cows, and after, pound;
Let every cottager conspire
To cut his hedges down for fire:

The naughty boys about the village
His crabs and sloes may freely pillage:
He still may keep a pack of knaves
To spoil his work, and work by halves:
His meadows may be dug by swine,
It shall be no concern of mine:
For why should I continue still
To serve a friend against his will?



Resort's my gratitude to show,
Thrice reverend Dean, for all I owe,
Too long I have my thanks delay'd;
Your favours left too long unpaid;
But now, in all our sex's name,
My artless Muse shall sing your fame.

Indulgent you to female kind,
To all their weaker sides are blind :
Nine more such champions as the Dean
Would soon restore our ancient reign ;
How well, to win the ladies hearts,
You celebrate their wit and parts!
How have I felt my spirits rais’d,
By you so oft, so highly prais'd!
Transform'a bý your convincing tongue
To witty, beautiful, and young,
I hope to quit that awkward shame,
Affected by each vulgar dame,

* The lady of sir Arthur Acheson, F.

To modesty a weak pretence;
And soon grow pert on men of sense;
To show my face with scornful air ;
Let others match it, if they dare.

Impatient to be out of debt,
O, may I never once forget
The bard, who humbly deigns to choose
Me for the subject of his Muse!
Behind my back, before my nose,
He sounds my praise in verse and prose.

My heart with emulation burns
To make you suitable returns :
My gratitude the world shall know:
And see, the printer's boy below;
Ye hawkers all, your voices lift;
A Panegyrick on dean Swift !"
And then to mend the matter still,
By lady Anne of Market-hill!"

I thus begin: My grateful Muse
Salutes the Dean in different views;
Dean, butler, usher, jester, tutor;
Robert and Darby's * coadjutor;
And, as you in commission sit,
To rule the dairy next to Kitti
In each capacity I mean
To sing your praise. And first as Dean:
Envy must own, you understand your
Precedence, and support your grandeur :
Nor of your rank will bate an ace,
Except to give dean Daniel place.
In you such dignity appears,
So suited to your state and years !
With ladies what a strict decorum!
With what devotion you adore 'em!
Treat me with so much complaisance,
As fits a princess in romance!

The names of two overseers. F. † My lady's footman. F.


By your example and assistance,
The fellows learn to know their distance,
Sir Arthur, since you set the pattern,
No longer calls me snipe and slattern;
Nor dares he, though he were a duke,
Offend me with the least rebuke.

Proceed we to your preaching * next;
How nice you split the hardest text!
How your superiour learning shines
Above our neighbouring dull divines !
At Beggar's Opera not so full pit
Is seen, as when you mount our pulpit.

Consider now your conversation :
Regardful of your age and station,
You ne'er were known, by passion stirrid,
To give the least offensive word:
But still,
whene'er you

silence break,
Watch every syllable you speak:
Your style so clear, and so concise,
We never ask to hear you twice.
But then, a parson so genteel,
So nicely clad from head to heel;
So fine a gown, a band so clean,
As well become St. Patrick's Dean,
Such reverential awe express,
That cowboys know you by your dress!
Then, if our neighbouring friends come here,
How proud are we when you appear,
With such address and graceful port,
As clearly shows you bred at court !

Now raise your spirits, Mr. Dean,
I lead you to a nobler scene.
When to the vault you

walk in state, In quality of butler's mate; You next to Dennis t bear the sway: To you we often trust the key : * The author preached but once while he was there. F. + The butler. F.

Nor can be judge with all his art
So well, what bottle holds a quart:
What pints may best for bottles pass,
Just to give every man his glass :
When proper to produce the best;
And what may serve a common guest.
With Dennis


did ne'er combine,
Not you, to steal your master's wine;
Except a bottle now and en,
To welcome brother serving-men;
But that is with a good design,
To drink sir Arthur's health and mine :
Your master's honour to maintain;
And get the like returns again.

Your usher's post must next be handled :
How blest am I by such a man led!
Under whose wise and careful guardship
I now despise fatigue and hardship :
Familiar grown to dirt and wet;
Though draggled round, I scorn to fret:.
From you my chamber damsels learn.
My broken hose to patch and darn.

Now as a jester I accost you ;
Which never yet one friend has lost you.
You judge so nicely to a háir,
How far to go, and when to spare ;
By long experience grown so wise,
Of every taste to know the size ;
There's none so ignorant or weak
To take offence at what you speak.
Whene'er you joke, 'tis all a case
Whether with Dermot, or his grace;
With Teague O'Murphey, or an earl;
A duchess, or a kitchen girl.
With such dexterity you

fit Their several talents with your wit, That Moll the chambermaid can smoke, And Gahagan * take every joke. * The clown that cut down the old thorn at Market-hill, F

« AnteriorContinuar »