The toast :: :: University of Virginia Library

The toast

An heroick poem: In four Books, Written originally in Latin, by Frederick Scheffer: Now done into English, and illustrated with Notes and Observations, by Peregrine Odonald [i.e. William King]

King, William (1685-1763)

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To the Most Illustrious FREDERICK SCHEFFER, Tir-Oen, of the County of Cork; Sendeth Greeting.

To the Illustrious FREDERICK SCHEFFER,

BY ------ KNAPP, Ænigmatical-Almanack Maker of the City of Cork, Upon reading the HERMAPHRODITE OF Mr. FREDERICK SCHEFFER.

THE TOAST.

THE APPENDIX.

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Si quis erat dignus describi, quòd Malus, aut Fur,
Quòd Moechus foret, aut Sicarius, aut alioqui
Famosus; multâ cum libertate notabant.
Hor.

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To the Most Illustrious FREDERICK SCHEFFER, Tir-Oen, of the County of Cork; Sendeth Greeting.

Scheffer, 'tis to thee we owe
All of Hermaphrodites we know.
Thy jocund Muse will never tire one,
Pleas'd with thy Peruke and Gridiron.
Is there on earth a wanton dame,
Who does not evny Myra's frame?
Is there a God, that wou'd not be
Vol, or the Warriour, sung by thee?

To the Illustrious FREDERICK SCHEFFER,

The most Renowned of all the Vandal Poets.

While the Peruke and Gridir'n the Muses resound,
Let thy Temples, O Scheffer, with Laurel be crown'd!
Hadst not thou, mighty Poet, such Wonders reveal'd,
The Exploits of our Heroes had still been conceal'd;
We shou'd still have believ'd J---nn---y P---t a mere Clod;
And whoe'er had suspected old Smyth was a God?
You inform us, for what Master Ottor thus brags,
Interlining Iocco—between the two Hags.
In the Pleader what Grace! When an Infant, he knew it.
How illustrious Ott's House! for the Sun could shine thro' it.
Well beseems you the Thief, and the Pam-Priest to dight,
Now the one is a Lord, and the other a Knight.
You disclose en passant the Conclusions of Dill,
The Attempts of Sir Cacus, and eke the quaint Will.
Nor unaptly you point out the Tribad's Abodes,
Their Employments, their Configurations, and Modes.

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Other wrinkled old Matrons some Vigour may boast;
But the Virtue of Man is affix'd to thy Toast.
Thus in Petticoats clad was Achilles unknown;
Thus the Nymphs he deceiv'd—and all Wives were his own.
Till, like thee, cunning Uly found out the Mock-dame,
And restor'd to the Hero his Arms, and his Name.
One would think too, that Chiron thy Myra had taught:
As his Pupil so furious she look'd—and she fought:
Both impatient in Love—and relentless in Hate;
Nor unskilful their Foes—nor unequal their Fate:
Nor a Weapon more sure, thrown alike by Surprize,
Was the Dart in his Heel, than the Dust in her Eyes.

Philip Christian.

Castle Town in the Kingdom of Man. 1. Oct.

Myra and her Imp.

Sir Piercy.

The Will of Sir Mars.

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BY ------ KNAPP, Ænigmatical-Almanack Maker of the City of Cork, Upon reading the HERMAPHRODITE OF Mr. FREDERICK SCHEFFER.

Quaint Riddles I compose, but Scheffer brings
A nobler Verse—The British Myra sings;
The mighty Thing, which Lesbian Loves began,
Whilom the wanton Wife of every Man;
Now hap'ly form'd, in the decline of Life,
A vig'rous Gallant fit for ev'ry Wife.
Tiresias thus some sportful God employs,
Changing the Sex, to try alternate Joys.

Then in sublimer Strains he tells—
What Forms and Arts from Dublin Gods have sprung.
Such Jove ne'er practis'd, nor has Ovid sung.
How wily Vol new Rules of Counting taught,
And the Glass Bottle to Perfection brought:
How Mars Beperriwig'd redeem'd his Fame,
Subdu'd a Monster, once his lovely Dame.

THE TOAST.

AN HEROICK POEM

THE ARGUMENTS TO THE FOUR BOOKS OF The TOAST.

Argument to the First Book. The Night Ramble of the Sun.

The Subject proposed. The Invocation. The Sun arises at Night from the Atlantic Ocean in the Form of a Toupee-Beau. Comes to Dublin. Surveys

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the Lights in the Streets. Goes to Court. Admires the Splendor of the Place. A Description of the Vice-Queen's Circle. Cupid in Clara's Eyes. Phœbus retiring meets with Vol (or Volcan) and Mars, who had long before been banished from Heaven. They invite him to sup in Vol's Hole. They enquire of the present State of Affairs, and censure the Conduct of the Gods. The artful Answer made by Phœbus. Vol's Account of Mars and himself, and of their Manner of living on Earth. He fills a Bumper, and calls for a Toast.

The Scene is first in the Western Ocean, afterwards changes to the Streets of Dublin, then to the Castle, and lastly to a Tavern, called Vol's Hole.

This Book and the next following take up the Space of one Night.

Argument to the Second Book. The Marriage of Mars and Myra.

The Poet's Inscription or Address to Ottor and Iocco. The several Orders of Toasts. The Rules of Toasting. Why little Ali was rejected. Phœbus proposes a Poetical Toast. The Out-cry thereupon. Mars relates the History of his Marriage with Myra, her Amours, and Extravagance. His unfortunate Encounter with the

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Squire of Gafny. How he was cheated by Prometheus in the Make of his Body. The Fortitude and Activity of his Spirit, attested by Vol; who wishes to become a Poet in Order to celebrate his Brother's Mental Exploits. The Advice which Phœbus gives him. Mars proceeds in his Narrative. Sells his Commission by the Persuasion of Myra, who spends all the Money on her Paramours, and denies her Husband a Subsistence. Mars, reduced to great Straits, studies Kynogeticks, and is appointed Chief Huntsman of Ireland. The Excellency and Praise of his Hounds. Phœbus recants his Poetical Toast. Promises Mars to punish Prometheus, and to engage the Viceroy and the Goddess of Hunters in his Interest. A new Round of Toasts. Mars and Vol grow drunk, and talk Nonsense.

The same Night continues, and the Scene is still in Vol's Hole.

Argument to the Third Book. The Acts of Myra and her Imp.

The Proposition. The Poet's Address to Peircy and Lord Pam. He invokes Phœbus, and begs his Protection. A comparative Description of the Palace of the Sun. His Chariot, his Hand-Maids and Horses. His

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excellent Skill in driving. He ruminates by the Way on his last Night's Adventure. Doubts the Truth of Mars's Relation, and resolves to survey the Person of Myra. Stops at Ushers Quay, and peeps into Myra's Bed-chamber, just as she gets out of Bed. A Description of her Figure, her Dress, and the Qualities of her Mind. Her Morning Oraisons, and Morning Exercises. A Description of Myra's Imp. How she was changed into a Woman. The Use which Myra makes of her. The Poet's Apology to Clara. The Exclamation of Phœbus. He hastens to finish his Stage. Publishes an Edict, and interdicts old Myra all Commerce with Men.

The Episode of the Gridiron.

Mercury comes to visit Phœbus in the Palace of Thetis. Their Discourse concerning Mars and Vol. The History of Vol's Banishment. His Copper Countenance; and the excellent Materials, of which his Head was formed. His Request to Mercury, who instructs him in the Art of Thieving. Vol's Arrival in Ireland. He deceives the Viceroy, and is made Surintendant of the Royal Finances. He dines at Sot's Hole. A Description of that Place. Vol's Address to the Master of the House. He purchases a large Gridiron, and conveys it to the Treasury Chamber. The Use he makes of

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it in counting the public Money. Vol's great Riches. His Ambition. How he was discovered by a Vice-King that understood Greek. Vol's Art on that Occasion, and how happily he compounded his Peculation. This Episode concludes with some general Reflections made by Mercury and Thetis.

The Scene is first in the Palace of the Sun, then changes to Myra's Bed-Chamber, and from thence to the Palace of Thetis.

This Book takes up the Space of one Day, and about half the following Night.

Argument to the Fourth Book. The Combat of Mars and the Hermaphrodite.

The Poet inscribes his last Work to Cacus. He invokes Fortune; and proposes to consult the Sieur Dill. A Description of the Morning. The Assembly of the Gods. Jupiter reviews his Vice-gerents. Momus drolls on the Absence of Vol and Mars. Juno is angry and demands their Recall. Why Jupiter refuses to comply with her Request. The Matter compromised by the Mediation of Momus. Venus expostulates with the Sun about his Edict. Praises Myra, and changes her into an Hermaphrodite. Fame flies to the Phœnix

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Lodge, and informs Mars of all that had passed above. Mars resolves to attack the Hermaphrodite. A Description of his Arms. He drives to Usher's Quay in Dublin, and enters the Hermaphrodite's Castle notwithstanding the Opposition he met with. Surprizes the Hermaphrodite and her Imp in a very indecent Posture. The taunting Speech of Mars. The Hermaphrodite's insolent Answer. The Imp is frightened, and runs under the Hermaphrodite's Petticoats. The Combat described. Mars in danger of being drowned in the Imp's Pool. He spits in the Hermaphrodite's Face. Avoids the missile Weapons, which the Hermaphrodite darts at his Head, but is much incommoded by losing the Waist-band Buttons of his Breeches. The Hermaphrodite endeavours to wound him in the Groin. He is preserved by his Muff, and wounds the Hermaphrodite. Her Rage. The dreadful Weapon, with which she attempts to finish the Combat. Mars his Presence of Mind. The excellent Stratagem, by which he repels his Enemy. The Hermaphrodite is deprived of her Sight, and obliged to quit her Arms. Jupiter in his golden Balances weighs the Fates of the Combatants. Mars trips up the Hermaphrodite, and while she lies in a Swoon, binds her Hand and Foot. As soon as she revives, he offers her Conditions of Ransom, which at first she rejects with Indignation; but at length, in great Danger

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of being eunuchated, she supplicates the Conqueror, and submits at Discretion.

The Scene (except where the Heavenly Machines are used) is partly in the Phœnix Lodge near Dublin, and partly in the Hotel of the Hermaphrodite.

The Time employed in this Book is one Day, which is the third from the opening the Poem.

BOOK THE FIRST.

Απεοντος δ' ουτις ενδειξεν λαχος ΑΕΛΙ'ΟΨ. Pindar.

Nota magis nulli domus est sua, quam mihi Lucus
Martis, & Æoliis vicinum rupibus Antrum
Volcani.
Juvenal.

Sing, O Muse, Phœbus' Wrath! say what Cause could persuade
So polite a young God his own Toast to degrade.
In a Matron say how a new Furor began;
Who extended her Figure, and stretch'd it to Man.

O resound the Utensil invented for Grilling!
Let it henceforth be Splendid as Philips his Shilling!

Tell us how 'twas apply'd to confound Calculation,
To enrich a great Artist and beggar a Nation:
Which to thy own Exchequer O--- translate,
To remain there confest the chief Engine of State.

To a Warrior of Fame my last Labours belong:
Who will ever refuse the great Warrior a Song?
Be sonorous the Lay, that no Grub may exceed it;
Nor a King may disdain at his Leisure to read it!

For a Combat I sing, by a Stratagem won,
And a Peruke which conquer'd as sure as a Gun:
Wond'rous Peruke, which Jove in his Sky should have plac'd,
Nearest where Berenice's fair Tresses are grac'd;
And have chang'd all the Curls into Ringlets of Stars,
Then have call'd 'em, The new Constellation of Mars.

While the Steeps of Parnass thus advent'rous I climb,
Mighty things, tho' unskilful, attempting in Rhyme,

On a Pegasus mount me—or aid me some God,
That unstumbling I tread in a Way that's untrod!

O! my Captain, Arch-Collier, or thee shall I call
Vitriarious Volcan, or only plain Vol!

Cease thy Breath from thy Bottles awhile to aspire on
Me, the first of all Mortals, who sung thy Gridiron:
So may long last thy Pots! so may all thy new Glass,
Running smooth, as my Lines, Bristow Bottles surpass!

And O thou! whether most thou delightest to hear
Co-lonel or chief Huntsman, or Mars Chevalier,

Leave thy Doxies and Dogs, to attend to my Verse,
And protect me, while I thy own Battles rehearse.

So to read thy Memorial may Viceroy incline,
And a Pension bestow—or invite thee to dine!

Sol was now in the Ocean; his Horses were drest;
And the Houshold of Thetis was order'd to rest.

When his Godship, or curious to visit old Night,
To see how we supply the Defect of his Light;
Or perhaps to invent a new Subject for Mirth,
Took a Fancy to strole for one Evening on Earth.
But he dost all his Rays, and his Bow he laid down:
For a God by his Ensigns of Honour is known;
As an Idiot's distinguish'd by putting a Bib on,
And a great Chevalier by a Cross and a Ribbon.
Tho' the Magi assure us, the Sun is not proud,
Yet his Habit was made of the brightest blue Cloud
Well embroider'd, and spangled: He seem'd a mere Beau;
For he knew that fine Clothes are a Passport below.

Nor his Tresses neglected now flow in the Wind,
But were furl'd, and with Art in a Silk Bag confin'd.
Who of all the smart Toupees so graceful appears?
Who can please the Nymphs more by producing his—Ears?
From the Head of the Xiphias he cut off a Sword,
Fit to grace a new Mayor, tho' he's titled My Lord;
For the Handle was Pearl, and the Scabbard Shagreen;
And his Sword-Knot, unsully'd, had garter'd a Queen.
From a Tortoise-Shell Trident he shap'd a neat Cane,
With a Gold Head adorn'd, tho' the Work was but plain.
Shone his Shoes with Gold Buckles: Well lin'd were his Fobs
With a Watch of chas'd Gold, and a Purse of Gold Cobs.

Nor pronounce the good Muse, who bedights him, too bold:
For we know, when he pleases, the Sun can make Gold.
But he needs not to work, nor the Muse want a Plea;
For who doubts there is Plenty of Gold in the Sea?
Thus his Godship equipt sallies out from his Port,
And as swift, as a Triton, thro' Mare del Nort,
To thy Channel, O George! with a Spring-tide he flows;
And anon on Ierne's fair Island arose.
Still the Stairs may be seen, in the Deep far extended,
(Mighty Work of the Sea Gods!) by which he ascended,
Giants Causey—(For Sol, in his travelling Dress,
Hieroglyphical Giants are us'd to express.)

Over Mountains and Bogs, speeding hence in a Line,
He arriv'd at Port Eblane exactly at nine.
Here he travers'd the Streets, every Bridge and each Quay;
(For the Turnings he often had noted by Day.)
First the Lamps he examin'd, concave and convex;
How the same were supply'd, with their various Aspects:
But condemn'd the dull Glare, that would scarcely suffice
To direct a Night-walker, who wanted good Eyes:
He remark'd, that short Links serv'd to light home poor Wits;
That a Lanthorn mov'd slowly before the rich Cits:
That the Traders become by their drinking more dull,
And the Bards debonnair, when their Bellies are full.

To the God were more grateful the well scented Flames
Of the Flambeaux, conducting the Chairs of high Dames:
How inviting the Belles! how diffusive the Blaze!
How their Eyes—and the Glasses reflected the Rays!
But astonish'd he look'd, where his Excellence shone
In a Berlin, whose Guard was a counterfeit Moon:
Such an Orb, as a Deluge of Rain had endur'd,
Unextinguish'd by Winds, and by Clouds unobscur'd:
Phœbe views with much Envy a Rival so bright,
Who assumes her own Form, and eclipses her Light!
How the Streets were adorn'd, when his Godship had seen,
He would know, how the Houses were lighted within:
So to Court he repairs to make Observation;
For at Court must needs be the grand Illumination.
Here the Bougies and Tapers soon drew his Attention:
Much the Form he admir'd, much he prais'd the Invention.
Such a Radiance can Matter, thus moulded, display!
Can a Night-Beam be made to resemble the Day!

As if this was his Noon-tide, his Sight was as clear;
Nor himself could cause Objects more plainly appear.
He distinguish'd Lord John by his noble Greek Mien;
And observ'd all who circled the graceful Vice Queen:
Haughty Dames set with Di'monds, and stiffen'd with Gold;
Whom to dress for one Day half a County is sold:
Mitred Priests, who besides a good Conscience and Wise,
Here enjoy all the other good things of this Life:

Who refuse, what they ask, which to Lay-men sounds odd;
And are forc'd to accept, tho' the Gifts are of God,
Fair Revenues and Lordships: Hortensius and I know
That Episcopal Coaches are Jure Divino.
Then he view'd the fair Warriors, the Pride of ------
All be-powder'd a top, and be-broider'd all over;
Ever ready for Honour to hazard their Lives,
To repel all our Foes, and to solace our Wives.
And among 'em he noted a Wight of great Fame,
Who resembled the Heroes in colour and Name;

Bully Milo I wot, a huge B---x Chief,
Who derives both his Title and Prowess from Beef.
Then he mark'd the trim Pages, well skill'd in Intriguing;
And the noble Patricians Brib'd, Bribing and Briguing:
And the Patriots, whose Speeches are honest and bold;
Who are not to be bought—but with Places or Gold.
Next to these in Disguise stood a Dozen young Friers;
And a Group of Long Robe-men, Knights, Sergeants and Squires;
Solemn Sages, deep read in the Magic of Coke,
Who confound eve'ry Sense by explaining his Book:

In the Grant made to Adam would find out a Flaw,
And amend the great Fiat—according to Law.

Ev'ry Belle he survey'd, gave the God new Delight,
And inclin'd him to stay in the Castle all Night:
When, to others unseen, roguish Cupid he spies,
Shooting Arrows at random from Clara's bright Eyes:
Rigid Dame! whom his Youth, nor his Voice might persuade,
By her Conquests unmov'd, or the Wounds she had made.
Hard the Fate of a Lover! Winds temper the Heat;
And our Hunger is quickly appeas'd, if we eat:
Water quenches the Thirst: Wine our Cares will remove:
But, alas! Love is only extinguish'd by Love.
Well experienc'd, the God to secure his own Heart,
Lest again he be Daphne'd, resolv'd to depart:
And in Night-Scenes intent to accumulate Knowledge,
He propos'd to examine each Room in the College:

He had heard of hard Students destroy'd by Night-Damps;
And had read many Authors, that smelt of the Lamps:
But retiring in haste, when they open'd the Ball,
In the Guard Room he jostled Sir Mars and old Vol:
And by Contact one God can discover another;
As a learned Free-Mason by Signs knows a Brother.
Now Sir Mars and old Vol (who had oft been forgiven)
For repeated Offences were exiled from Heaven;
On the Earth for some Ages condemn'd to abide,
And imbodied as Mortals, in Flesh to be try'd:
Casuistical Sages have offer'd great Odds,
That they ne'er will return to th'Assembly of Gods.
But Inquiries sublime, so far out of thy reach,
O! my Muse leave to Clerks, who are skilful to preach:
And proceed now to say, How polite was Sol's Greeting!
How rejoic'd the Vejovites at such a Chance-Meeting!

Mars invited the Stranger to sup in the Park.
“'Tis too far, (quoth the Collier) too late and too dark:
“For the Purpose what Place is so fit as a Tavern?”
And without a Word more he led on to the Cavern,
Where so oft he vouchsafes with his Trulla to dine;
And where, Nectar surpassing, he promis'd old Wine.
Now the Supper bespoke, the Trium-dei sate;
Mars began to ask Questions concerning the State.

“Who has now the Ascendant in Jupiter's House?
“Does the Monarch grow old, and submit to his Spouse?
“Who is most in his Favour, young Ganny or Hebe?
“Has he found a fit Match for his Daughter Miss Phœbe?
“Are your Triple Alliances like to stand good?
“Are the Titan Pretenders yet wholly subdu'd?

“Was there not a new Star very lately call'd forth?
“For methinks I espy a young Bear in the North.
“Can you tell a new Tale of a Jove-Transformation?
“Or intriguing that Way, is it grown out of Fashion?
“Modern Spinsters, experienc'd in all Masquerade,
“Will no more by a Bull or a Swan be betray'd;
“But resistless the Pow'r, tho' the Figure be old,
“Which addresses the Dame in a Shower of Gold.”

He proceeds next enquiring, “What Gods are assign'd
“To be Tutelars here, and to govern Mankind?

“Are our Kindred intent to preserve, and destroy
“Mighty Kings, and their Kingdoms, as whilom at Troy?
“Who has ta'en from the Persian Usurper his Trophies?
“Who so kind to restore the old Race of the Sophies?
“Who so wide has extended the Austr'an Domain?
“Who instructed in King-craft the Donna of Spain?
“Who permitted the Romans to Fawn and Deceive?
“Who has fix'd the light Gaul, and has taught him to Weave?
“Who bestow'd on Britannia so potent a Fleet?
“Why so fearless her Sons—but unskilful to Treat?
“Have the Dutch any Gods? or—perhaps they don't want 'em,
“Since so faithful are found the good Pagods of Bantam?
“Why are Men of Ierne depriv'd of all Trade;
“Nor a Patron allow'd, but the Saint they have made;

“Who is ever controul'd by the Speech of Vice-King;
“Nor has yet obtain'd leave to restore his own Spring?
“Ah! if thus ye reject your own People's Complaints,
“And to Mortals subject the good Lares and Saints:
“Even Pro-Excellencies will rule us with Rods,
“And your Vice-Roys will fancy, that they are Vice-Gods.”

Unconcern'd, as unactive in War or in Peace,
(So the Danger's remote, and himself be at Ease,)
Heavy Vol, looking wisely, then casting side-leer,
Only ask'd a few Questions, and all with a Sneer.

“Who above are your Smiths? Are they Drunkards or Fools,
“Who, usurping my Forges, have spoil'd all my Tools?
“How dishonour'd is Jove by their Bungling and Blunders?
“For the Darts that fall here, are but second-rate Thunders.

“When our Brother Mars bellows, more dreadful the Voice!
“Or when Elrington thunders, he makes as much Noise!
“Proper Weapons can such Operators devise
“For the Blue-ey'd Virago, so curious and nice?
“I'm assur'd, that the Ægis is cover'd with Rust,
“That the Gorgon's Head now only serves for a Bust.
“Vol is gone, and there is not another has Skill
“To restore the dire Look, or its Virtue to kill!

“But for thee, my good Phœbus, is chiefly my Care:
“Who thy Axle can mend, when 'tis out of Repair?
“Much I fear, that the Work is but clumsily done:
“For I've lately remark'd many Spots in the Sun.

“For the rest—If you mind our Affairs here below,
“Or to chance leave the World, I'm not curious to know.
“This I know, as Mars hinted, all Nations complain,
“That ye seldom are present, where Lieutenants reign.
“Little differs their Rule in the East or the West:
“Whether Bashaw or Viceroy—the Subject's opprest:
“And the Gods in their Wrath never yet made two Things,
“That are so much alike as two Deputy ------.”

Thus the Collier. But Phœbus, unapt to disclose
The Arcana of Heaven, or enlighten Jove's Foes,

Here observ'd the wise Rule of Political Men,
And reply'd to their Questions, by asking agen;
“How they far'd in flesh-clothing, and how at such distance,
“By the Gods unassisted, they got a Subsistence?
“Are the Dons of Ierne averse to a Stranger?
“Is the Warrior disarm'd, and but only a Ranger?
“Still Unpension'd is Vol forc'd to drudge in a Hole,
“Or to melt down old Bottles, or mete out bad Coal?
“I surmise things go ill, if 'tis lawful to guess
“By the Plight of your Bodies, Attendants and Dress.
“And a dear-bought Experience has taught me to know,
“Tho' Divine are our Talents, they're useless below.
“We are only rais'd high, that our Fall may be greater:
“And a God in Disgrace is a very poor Creature.

“For my Wisdom so fam'd, and so tuneful a Bard,
“Was not I once reduc'd to a simple Cow-herd?
“Nor my Temples or Priests might a Refuge afford;
“For my Living I work'd, where I then was ador'd.”

Vol, observing the Knight eat his Nails, and grow pale,
(Ugly Omen! Presage of a long winded Tale!)
Sudden answer'd: “Tho' now my good Brother looks mean,
“Pray review him to-morrow array'd in his Green;

“When he mounts his Pad-Nag, and assumes a new Grace;
“When he rides (how undaunted!) directing the Chace:
“Thus acquiring at sixty more Honour unsought,
“Than he got by his Battles,—tho' furious he fought.
“He has now slung his Arms—and his Pension is scant:
“Yet so wide his Domain, that he never can want.
“To his Office appendant are delicate Fees;
“And he sits, the Chief Umbra, at Feasts of Grandees.—

“As for me—had Apollo consulted his Books;
“Would he judge an old Smith by his Habit and Looks?
“Ought a Wight who is banish'd to make a fine Shew?
“Who above would contain to see Volcan a Beau?
“Yet allow to my Labours the Honour that's due:
“If I melt down old Bottles, I likewise make new.
“Be the Metal despis'd, yet I cause it to pass;
“And for Silver and Gold I can barter my Glass.
“If the Fuel be bad, which my Coal-Mine produces,
“It is sold at low Rates, and it serves for all Uses.
“Lo! the great Legislators encourage my Trade;
“And remember no more the Misreck'nings I made.

“While the Holyday Youths my Volcanos admire,
“And, unknowing, confess me the Father of Fire.
“Thus among the Sicilians, when first I appear'd;
“Ere the Mountain had flam'd, or my Thunder was heard;
“Twas in vain to point upwards, and boast of my Race;
“For they laugh'd me to Scorn, when they look'd in my Face:

“Yet, my Speech tho' ungraceful, and Figure so odd,
“When I open'd my Shop, they confess'd me a God.

“But a serious Discourse, now we're met to carouse,
“Will defeat our Design, and dishonour the House:
“Nor ought I, in the Presence of Phœbus, to boast.”
So he fill'd up his Glass, and demanded a Toast.

BOOK THE SECOND.

Credo ædepol Solem appotum probe.
Mira—Sed invitavit sese in Cœnâ plusculum.
Plaut. Amph.

Had I Mouths a whole Hundred, an Hundred loud Tongues,
Or the Voice of the Warrior, or Vol's Iron Lungs;
Yet I could not unerring the Beauties recite,
Who in Bumpers were crown'd—happy Toasts of this Night.

To my Aid learned Ottor! thy Eloquence bring,
To support a weak Goth, and assist him to sing.

Long ago thy great Talents from far I discerned:
Let it profit me something to say, Thou art learned.

Let me change into Rhyme thy mellifluous Prose,
Which thou usest in Senates to silence thy Foes:
Which thy Table supplies with new Quirks and old Jests,
To instruct or divert thy good Clients and Guests.
Yet alas! who, that saw me in illis diebus,
At a Banquet with Clio and Bacchus and Phœbus,
And beheld thee in Brogues at the Feet of thy Sire,
With a Bowl of Skim-milk, by a smoaky Turf fire,
Could without some horoscopal Knowledge divine,
That the Bard should drink Water, when thou should'st drink Wine?
That the Fates should chip out, not regarding the Stock,
Both a Doctor and Judge from a Carpenter's Block?

And, O thou, great Iocco, whose Logic I dread,
Who canst make an Ass speak, or perplex a God's Head,
Since alas! by thy Counsel I'm plunder'd and Ousted,
Be appeas'd; and insult me no more in the Frow's stead.
Nor my Incense disdain, while I'm bowing so low;
Nor refuse a good Fee, tho' Sir Piercy's my Foe.

Nor demur to my Song, or declare me unjust,
Or aver that I've taken my Tale upon Trust;
Nor implead an old Bard, whom a King has respected;
Nor defend an old Toast, whom the Gods have rejected.
So Ierne's rich Suitors shall ever supply thee;
And allow thee those Talents, which Britain's deny thee.
Till embarrass'd no more by the Length of a Brief,
Thou impurpled sit high, and be titled a Chief:

Or increasing in Wealth, and unaw'd by Appeals,
Be prefer'd to the Prime, and succeed to the Seals.
Then the Donnybrook Naiads thy Temples shall grace;
And shall lengthen thy Wig, and thy Words, and thy Face:
While the Birds of Minerva resound thy Success;
And, to please thee, ev'n I Interline an Address.

Now the Glasses were match'd to the Breadth of an Hair,
That the Gods might be just to themselves and the Fair;

They began (as 'twas meet) with the Houshold of Jove;
With the Goddesses all, and Court Ladies above.
But they hail'd the great Queen, who gives Charms to the rest,
Still Herself of all Beings the Fairest confest.
Then to Thetis they fill'd, and the Nymphs of her Train,
Who inchant with their Voices, and smooth the rough Main;
Merry Nereids, by Venus well fashion'd to please:
For the Goddess remembers she sprung from the Seas.
Next are toasted the Naiads, who murmuring glide,
Or in Rivers roll rapid, where Urn Gods reside.
Then the tall Hamadryads, who sport in the Groves:
Nor the Eyes of the Sun can discover their Loves.
Then the little bright Donnas, who flit thro' the Air:
Not a Silph was forgot, who was deem'd to be fair.

Then in order they drink all the Muses and Graces,
And the Dames of their Court, who had Shapes and young Faces.
A Dispute here arose, if they should not pass by
Both the Virgins of Vesta, and Damsels of Dy;
Of a Converse too chaste to allow a small hint;
And wou'd kill a poor Man for but looking asquint.
But the Doubt was soon clear'd. Mars swore they were Prudes;
Nor so squeamish were found, when alone in the Woods:

That he knew, the pale Goddess, so modest, and nice,
Ev'ry Night to Endymion stole down in Disguise.

Thus the merry Gods quaff'd, much commending the Wine;
And debating with Freedom of Females divine.
Till at length having number'd high Dames of this sort all,
They vouchsaf'd to descend unto Toasts that were Mortal.
For (as Ovid records) they are often so good,
To impress their own Image on plain Flesh and Blood.
O'er the Earth they range wide, ev'ry Country and Town,
All Assemblies and Temples, and Baths of Renown;
Great Seraglios, ungallant, impervious Abodes,
For a Tyrant reserv'd—or invisible Gods;
Where the Flowers of Beauty ungather'd decay,
And the fairest of Mortals are kill'd by delay;
Or alas! with one Man Joys indelicate prove,
Unexperienc'd in Friendship, unpractis'd in Love.

But the Topers dwell long in the Courts of the West;
Which are sacred to Venus, by Venus are blest.
Here her Younker his Train of Artillery brings,
To demolish the Pride of uncircumcis'd Kings:
Nor is Youth unemploy'd, nor of Beauty is waste,
Nor are here Great Sultanas compell'd to be Chaste.

Thus enquiring, they toasted all Names they could hit on,
From remotest Japan to the Isles of Great Britain.
And as dignify'd thus were the Daughters of Earth,
So the Gods they inspir'd, and enliven'd their Mirth.

But unjustly lest proud Hypercriticks accuse,
Or untruths indecorous impute to the Muse;
(For so much cou'd three Gods; or for Gods was it fitting,
Thus to drink all the Toasts of two Worlds at a Sitting?)
Be my Patrons absolv'd; yet my Song be unfeign'd,
While Calliope tells, how their Choice was restrain'd.

With unanimous Voice they establish'd this Rule,
To allow of no Beauty, which cover'd a Fool:

Yet so carnal were minded no Dame to admit,
Who was only adorn'd with the Charms of her Wit.
They excepted all Blacks, as offending the Sight;
And no Wonder, since Females Divine are all White:
All with Austrian-made Lips, Shapes and Udders Teutonic,
Noses Flat, or high-Roman, Chins Downy or Conic,
Danish Legs, and Dutch Feet; (such howe'er wou'd not please,
As are moulded by Nurse for the noble Chinese:)
All above Venus' Standard, and all under Size:
All who wore yellow Locks, or who wanted black Eyes.
Hence infer, ye old Bards, that your Strokes are too bold,
Which have drawn the fair Paphian with Tresses of Gold.

Nor is Homer's Report of Minerva more true,
That her Eyes, which contended for Beauty were Blue.

They rejected the Jilt, the Coquet, and the Prude;
And the Nymphs, who took Money, or who were too lewd:
Pretty Cloe had sold herself twice to the Jews,
And Corinna had often been seen in the Stews.

They excepted more justly all Nations of Picts,
Who supply by Machin'ry their various Defects.
Not a Counterfeit Belle cou'd their prying escape,
Who had made a new Face, or had mended her Shape.
One was censur'd for combing her Eye-brows with Lead,
And another for spreading a Grain of French Red.

Little Ali, whom erst I invok'd for my Goddess,
Now alas! was untoasted for wearing steel Bodice.

Yet the Dames, who pollute their own Sex, they lik'd worse,
And the Tribads were all set aside with a Curse:
Nor a Sappho, says Phœbus, shall please with her Songs;
Nor Homassa, cries Vol, would I touch with my Tongs.

By Exceptions so nice, such severe Regulation,
Scarce suffic'd the whole Globe for one Night's Compotation.
Tho' so cautious, their Godships, as Beauties grew scant,
Often laps'd—but were never asham'd to recant.
Thus it happen'd, that Phœbus was so much put to it,
He attempted to borrow a Toast from a Poet.

“Have we so long neglected a Nymph of great Fame,
“Or is Myra forgot! Be immortal the Name!

“Let the Glasses resound it!” Tho' serious he spoke,
You'd have thought Vol and Mars never heard such a Joke.
Follow'd such a loud Laugh, such a Hoop, and a Hollow,
That it shook the whole House, and confounded Apollo:
So astounding the Roar, and their Sides were so try'd;
'Tis agreed, if they had not been Gods, they had dy'd.—
“Pray excuse us, quoth Mars: for by Venus' bright Eyes,
“By the Horrors of Styx, you had caus'd less Surprise,

“Had your Godship propos'd one of Pluto's Hag-Ghosts:
“Nor Alecto wou'd thus have dishonour'd our Toasts.
“Tho' so famous is Myra in quaint Roundelay,
“Twenty Winters have seen her deep Wrinkled and Grey.
“When afraid of a Man—if she e'er was afraid;
“When she bloom'd a young Maid—if she e'er was a Maid;
“Even then, if I guess Phœbus' manner of thinking,
“Tho' so dull my own Fancy, she was not worth drinking.
“Did you mark a huge Matron, ybent like a Bow,
“In the Circle o'ershad'wing a little Dutch Frow,

“Ogling all Men of Might, and of Appetites keen,
“Talking loud, and unseemly directing Vice-Queen?
“But has Momus not told you, that this is the Dame,
“Who has ruin'd my Fortune, and injur'd my Fame;
“Who has caus'd all my Projects on Earth to miscarry;
“Whom the Caitif young Hymen entic'd me to marry?

“'Tis the same, whom before me two Mortals had wedded;
“And (if Fame does her Justice) two hundred had bedded.

“But her various Amours never gave me great Pain;
“Things unpractis'd perhaps in old Saturn's cold Reign.
“Well I wot, modern Wives are refin'd in their Taste:
“Who pretends, since th'Accession of Jove, to be chaste?
“But the Matter, which made the poor Husband repent,
“Was the State she assum'd, and the Money she spent.
“For she now would be worship'd (a Goddess by Marriage!)
“Rich, as Juno's her Dress, and as haughty her Carriage;
“With Contempt looking down on simple Mortality,
“What an Havock she made to support her new Quality!
“All my Jewels, and Plate, all my Goods, and my Chattels,
“All the Pay, and the Presents I got by my Battles;

“All I gain'd by exporting War-Horses to Gallia,
“She accounted Para-(what d'ye call 'em?)-phernalia.
“Nor my Jewels, or Chattels, or Pay would suffice:
“Ev'ry Banker was wheedled to furnish Supplies.
“As my Debts thus encreas'd, she enlarg'd her Demands;
“Till I sold my fine Stud; and then mortgag'd my Lands.
“Nor the Pistoles she spar'd, when I beg'd for the Few,
“Which remain'd—My dear Mars, there are more in Peru:
“Canst not thou here import 'em by Magic Divine?
“Or else open on Bellewstown Hills a Gold Mine?

“But to this I objected—I live here Incog,
“And derive no more Pow'r from above than King Log.
“I'm Chevalier, 'tis true: But alas! modern Knight-
“Hood's become a mere Jest, and there's nothing got by't.
“And your Highness would want a plain Dinner, and Dwelling,
“In my Youth had I not understood Colonelling.
“But if thus you make waste, I must hide my old Head,
“Or sollicit the Sutler to trust us for Bread.—
“Sudden answer'd the Dame:—Unabash'd who can hear
“The renown'd God of Battle expressing such Fear;

“With his own loving Wife Money Matters disputing:
“Is the Genius of Mars thus unskill'd in Recruiting?
“For Subsistence, to whom need a Soldier owe Thanks,
“Where a King has Exchequers, and Subjects have Banks?
“Could I wear your bold Front, and your Breeches, would I go
“Into Flanders, and plunder, as you did at Vigo.
“Modern Knighthood, I ween, much Relief may afford,
“If, instead of a Muff, you would wield a Broad Sword.

“Is not he a mere Rec'rant, whose Wife is unfed,
“When by storming a Windmill he's sure to get Bread?
“Thus reproaching she fir'd me. I sold my Debentures;
“And equipt, like St. George, went in quest of Adventures:
“Having first swore by Styx not to Borrow, or Pay;
“Or to bow at the Castle, or sweat on the Quay;
“Till that I, by my Prowess, a Kingdom had won;
“Or had forc'd from great Chymists Philosopher's Stone.

“While I thus form the Hero of future Romances;
“Lo! a dire Disaster ruins all my gay Fancies.
“For Minerva, that Prude, on a silly Pretence,
“That my Actions on Earth gave her Highness Offence,
“Here incites a young Squire, by my Presence unaw'd,
“To revile me in Publick—and Cudgel a God!
“Nor so great the Affront, so malicious the Trick,
“Which she serv'd me at Troy in defending the Greek;

“For the Wound that was giv'n me by Diomed's Spear,
“Was a Mark of my Courage—Fortune de la Guerre!
“But a curs'd Bastinado imprints such Disgrace,
“As my Merit can't cover, nor Time can efface.
“Nor if you, Sir, or Jove should be stain'd with this Blot,
“And ye both were to die, would it e'er be forgot.”
Here Apollo enquir'd, “Why he did not oppose
“All his Force to revenge, or to parry the Blows?—
Thus the Knight answer'd shrugging:—“Nor could I oppose;
“Or had Force to revenge, or to parry the Blows.

“When I fell from Olympus (unjust was my Doom!)
“For my Safety compel'd human Form to assume;
“Well compacted, and nervous, becoming a God, I
“To Prometheus gave Orders to make me a Body.
“But my Grinders excepted, a little fine Blood,
“And a favourite Member, that whilom was good;
“He has work'd up my Carcase with very coarse Paste;
“Or 'tis else some old Stuff, which the Knave has new cast.
“As you see, I'm Wrong-headed: Too thick is my Scull,
“With a deep Pia Mater, that is not half full.
“I've within a white Liver, o'erflow'd with black Gall,
“And a hollow false Heart, very hard, and too Small.

“Pray observe my soft Look, and how supple my Face;
“(Tho' the Rascal pretends there's a Mixture of Brass)
“How my Ears are the same, you bestow'd on the King;
“Him I mean, who deny'd, that Apollo could sing.
“That, my Breath, and my Features are vastly too strong;
“Full of Evil my Tongue, and three Inches too long.

“But behold these curs'd Members, the Source of my Harms,
“Inoffensive weak Hands, and unmuscular Arms;
“Vilest Parts, unendu'd with a Power elastic,
“That insensible suffer the Pressures of a Stick!
“Yet the Cudgel unseen, and the Foe at a Distance;
“How they brandish a Weapon, and feign a Resistance!
“Better form'd was Sir Hudi—and eke his low Squire;
“More robust in their Limbs (tho' they wanted my Fire)
“Which undaunted have oft a dry Basting withstood;
“Tho' afraid of cold Iron, durst rise against Wood.

“Now so weak in the Flesh, yet, by Jupiter, I am
“In my Spirit, as brave, as when we fought for Priam.
“Vol, who knows all my Thoughts, if he pleases, can tell you,
“Many times, in my Mind, I have kill'd that Jack Bellew.

Vol attested the Fact, swearing hard, “That he knew,
“All his Brother had urg'd, to a tittle was true.—

(If the Knight's at a Loss, Vol unfolds the Affair,
Ever ready, when Seconds are wanting, to swear.)
And he added,—“Hard Fate! that so gallant a Mind
“Should be thus to a vile Habitation confin'd.
“How Heroic his Thoughts, tho' his Figure is mean!
“How his Spirit would shine, if it could but be seen!

“His Assassins thus hide in dark Lanterns their Light:
“Thus his Scabbard, tho' rusty; his Sword, it is bright.
“But be just, O ye Gods! Let his Talents be known;
“And the Conquests he makes, when the Chieftain's alone!
“Let his mental Atchievements, which Quixot's surpass,
“Or be writ in Gold Letters, or graven on Brass!
“Or to me lend thy Pipe, and Poetical Power;
“And an Iliad I'll frame—with the Acts of one Hour.
“While my Works in full Brightness his Spirit produce;
“Tho' you fancy at present 'tis fit for no Use:
“As you see me extract a bright Flame from a Flint,
“When perhaps not a Spark to your thinking is in't.
“Well, O Vol, hast thou spoke, said Apollo, and smil'd:
“Yet be not by false Fire, or thy Genius beguil'd!
“Nor can I tune thy Voice, or instruct thee to play:
“For attempting to chaunt, I'm afraid, thou would'st bray.
“If an Iliad you want, and are truly inclin'd
“To extol the bold Knight, and to image his Mind;

“Go address the great Bard, whom I've chosen to sing;
“To exalt Men of Merit, but flatter no King.
“Lilliputians who feign'd, pretty Pygmy Dwarf People;
“And the Brob-dig-nag Giants built high as a Steeple.

“Who repell'd the Brass Thunder, by darting his own;
“And, destroying Salmoneus, preserv'd the poor Town.
“How facetious he'll tell the great Deeds, you have thought; To Mars.

“And the Battles record, which your Fancy has fought!”
Ceas'd the God.—When, in Accents uncouth, Chevalier
Thus proceeds—and Apollo has Patience to hear.—
“This Mishap being past, I retreat to my House
“Much abash'd, and sore dreading the Taunts of my Spouse:
“But how great my Surprise, when I mark'd the Alarm,
“And the Footmen, and Women preparing to arm!
“When the Dame thus begun, looking piteous and sighing,
“(Nor she seem'd to grieve more, when her Monkey was dying)
“How uncertain is War, and how vain are our Cares!
“How the Fates have inverted all human Affairs!
“Since a saucy raw Squire may insult a good Knight;
“And a Col'nel be cudgel'd, and Jockeys dare fight.

“Yet 'tis some Consolation, and lessens my Pain,
“That you only were drubb'd—For you might have been slain.
“Then be cheary, my Mars! Be assur'd, at my suit
“That their High Excellencies shall end the Dispute;
“If you look not too fierce, or unaptly inter-
“Mix a martial long Speech—and refuse to refer.
“But as Cudgels are wont to change mortal Condition;
“I advise, 'tis expedient to sell your Commission.
“Go, and feign a Disgust, well dissembling your Fears,
“That Cadogan and Temple are made Brigadeers.

“Quit the Army in Ire, where you have not your Right:
“As Achilles be stout, and resolve—not to fight.—
“Thus she guileful bespoke me.—Again I believ'd,
“Tho' so oft by a Semblance of Kindness deceiv'd.
“Then the Staff of my Age and my Office I sold;
“And resign'd my last Stake, but my Wife seiz'd the Gold;
“Which one Winter consum'd, scarce supplying her Wants,
“To retain learned Pandars, and purchase Gallants;
“To adorn her for Birth-Nights, and furnish for Play;
“While I could not obtain her own Grenadier's Pay.

“Now forlorn and despis'd, when I had not a Friend,
“Who my Signet would trust, or a Moidore would lend;
“Brother Vol, (who has Skill to diversify Shapes,
“Nor so wily is Proteus, or boasts such Escapes,

“Who a Constable, Captain, or Treasurer shines,
“Or descends to blow Glass, or to delve in Coal Mines)
“Thus Uncol'nell'd, instructs me, to act a new Part,
“To pretend, I had learnt Cynogetical Art.
“And behold my Success! where so gross an Affront
“I had whilom receiv'd, I commenc'd the Chief Hunt.
“Well I wot, that above ye are most of Opinion,
“That we ought, who have over all Beasts the Dominion,
“Or to hunt the wild Boar, or to rouse the fierce Lion;
“But to leave fearful Bucks to the Handmaids of Dian.
“Yet the Youth of Ierne the Ranger revere,
“Who alone is intrusted to kill Royal Deer;
“Ever praising my Hounds: Nor a Pack of more speed
“Or thy Gratius has sung, or Britannia can breed.

“Dogs, you know, in my Glory were sacred to Mars;
“And are now the good Creatures, I chuse for Converse.
“Be recorded my Pets, all ye Nations Canine!
“Be your Manners, and Genius' the Emblems of mine!”
Here the Ranger concluded, and seem'd to wax wroth;
Mutter'd something, and trembling, turn'd white as the Cloth.
When Apollo rejoin'd.—(But the God first knock'd under;
And the Table resounded, as if it were Thunder.)

“Lo! I give up my Toast; and enough has been said,
“To convince me, your Consort's unworthy your Bed:
“I confess, I was dup'd by George G---n---lle's Report;
“Yet the Dame you describe, made a Figure at Court:
“In the Circle no Belle was so Gorgeous, and Gay;
“And, by Wax Light, she seem'd neither Wrinkled, nor Grey.
“Long ago we had heard your unmartial Exploit:
“But the Cause was unknown, why you're thus unadroit.
“I'm amaz'd the good Maid, rather apt to caress,
“Than insult an old Friend—or a Foe in Distress,
“Should a Stripling incite (horrid Deed!) to cudg-el you:
“If he is not a Greek, how could she know Jack Bellew?
“But hereafter be safe; eat and drink, live at Ease;
“And in spite of Minerva, act just as you please:

“While the Man-making Knave I reward for his Pains;
“For I'll send him a Vulture, and lay him in Chains.
“As for hunting the Buck, which you so much delight in,
“Tho' I think it low Game—yet 'tis better than fighting.
“But to make more important your Office of Ranger;
“And so bold since you ride, that you mayn't ride in Danger;
“I'll prevail on Lord John to salute you at Court,
“And I'll order my Sister to favour your Sport.”

The Debate was thus ended: New Toasts went about,
Till the Wine tasted flat, and their Wit was all out.

Mars began an old Tale of a little Welch Queen;
Of a Battle and Siege, which he never had seen:
Like a Tully he'd speech it!—like Phœbus he'd sing!—
And the World shall be mended—when he is a King!—
Vol, who likewise was tipsy, talk'd out of his Trade;
Of the Vows, and the Cures, and the Horns he had made:

He'd invent a new Crystal! and hammer his Glasses!
And his Mountains improve by a Stock of She Asses!—

Phœbus here, looking out, feign'd a sudden Surprise.—
“Oh! my Friends, see the Phosphor just ready to rise:

“Tho' I'm tipling with you so remote in the West,
“I must set out exactly at Six from the East:
“And besides—I have promis'd to call by the Way,
“With the Muses to chat, ere I open the Day.

So the God took his Leave, flying strait to Parnassus;
To the Lodge drove Sir Mars, and Vol trudg'd to his Glass-House.

BOOK THE THIRD.

Indicio Solis—Quis Solem fallere possit?
Ovid.

Γυνη μετα γυναικος ως Ανηρ ανδρογυνους ερωτας ασχημονουσα. Lucian.

Apollo subveni mihi atque adjuva;
Confige sagittis Fures Thesaurarios.
Plaut. Aulular.

Mighty Goddess, who whilom thro' Hudibras spoke,
You, who taught Frier Ihon, and Pança to joke;

To my Cottage repair, and my Carol renew:
Let the Prelude be short, and the Story be true:
Let me borrow your Spirit to dight the old Toast,
And advance a foul Kern to a Treasurer's Post.
Half remains yet unsung, and I grieve 'twas delay'd:
'Tis a Tribute I owe, and the Debt must be paid.

O! do thou, most redoubtable Piercy, attend,
Whilst a Column I raise to thy Mistress and Friend.

Nor impatient, as whilom, my Merit deny:
Such a Builder as thou; such a Poet am I.
Tho' a Goth, and unbred, and unfashion'd by Vol;
In our Manners I trow, the Resemblance is small.
To the Great I ne'er cring'd; nor am dubb'd by his Grace;
Nor betray'd my old Friend to succeed to his Place;
Nor the Stranger's Possessions unjustly I sought;
Nor my Verse is the Work of another Man's Thought.

And do thou, O Lord Pam, thy Anathemas spare,
And to second Sir Piercy's rude Insults forbear:
Nor be mov'd, if I stand at thy Elbow next Winter;
Nor endeavour to bribe, or to frighten my Printer:
Nor pronounce me prophane, and my Poem a Libel;
Since Hermaphrodites no where are found in the Bible.

For, unseemly if thus on a Tribad you fawn,
And unhallow the fair Hierarchical Lawn;

Or defame the good Bard, to exalt the black Frow,
In the Language thou learn'st from thy Father at Plow;
I'll record thee in Farce: Tho' again thou'rt translated,
And again, and so oft, till your Pamship's Primated;
I'll translate thee once more, lest thy Works should escape us,
And create thee High-priest of our Irish Priapus.

HERE, by changing the Scene, now my Fancy grows strong,
O assist me, my Muse, to embellish my Song!
As a Sibyl pronounce, but without Agitation
Of your Body or Mind, Scheffer's Vaticination.

For, of Epode or Epic higher rais'd is the Merit,
In the Bard if there breathe a prophetical Spirit.
Nor obscure be my Numbers: no Censure I fear:
'Tis Apollo, who whispers these Truths in my Ear.
When the P---y shall lose all its Splendor and Power,
And a brutal Beotian command in the Tower;
When the Lords of the Mountains their Forces assemble,
And Britannia, as shook by an Earthquake, shall tremble;
When the Drums ecclesiastic, unheard in this Age,
Beat to Arms in all Pulpits, and kindle our Rage;

While the Warrior A---p his Province alarms,
And instructs Saints and Sinners to handle their Arms,
And impels Knights and Squires, whether sober or Sots,
To renounce the Fox-chace, and to hunt down the Scots;
When unmilitant Peers by a warlike Cockade,
Or, allur'd by the Gain, sudden Heroes are made;

When a Group of young Templars shall act a grave Farce,
And bedight Father Coke with the Armour of Mars;
And the stout Leather-sellers no Perils shall shun,
Since Bellona has taught 'em to shoot in a Gun;

When the City is govern'd by Time-serving H---,
And the Nation is farm'd by a G---n and G---;

When the Patriots are Placemen, the People are Slaves;
When the P---s are Kings, and the ---s are Knaves;
When a Youth (this I add, lest ye fancy, I rage,
As the Prophets, who always dire Evils presage)
Crown'd with Laurel appears, who, the Destinies tell us,
If his Thread they shall lengthen, will be a Marcellus;
Then expect, in the Senate, where Lælius shall sit,
For his Virtues rever'd, and renown'd for his Wit,

On the Bench, for rare Merit design'd, shall be seen
Other Pams, puff'd in Lawn, but ignoble their Mien;
Who disdaining, like H---t, old Apostolic Marks,
Are become sacred Bishops, yet never were Clerks.
How the Goddess, who rules the vast Dunciad, will smile,
When she robes with bright Ermin her M---, and L---!
When, around the old K--- while her Bat-wings are spread,
She adorns with a Mitre a Busto of Lead!

Judge, my Friends, of the rest by the Men I here name,
And believe ev'ry Pam-Priest in Britain the same:
Nor an Argus can spy in that Cast any Odds,
Who submit to all Kings, and who worship all Gods.
Is a Hengist our Ruler? the Cross they abhor,
And begin a Te Deum to Woden and Thor.
Or suppose a young Bacchus (observe, 'tis a Thing,
Which I only suppose) here receiv'd as a King;
They attend on his Car with Evohes and Hollas.
Or, is Mahomet come? they are Mufties and Mollas.

Be a Pharaoh the Lord of the British Dominions:
Lo! the Pams offer Incense to Oxen and Onions.
Or, imagine a Tartar possess'd of the Throne;
See 'em croud to a Pagod, and worship a Stone!
Nor accuse, ye great Priests, my oracular Rhymes:
Nor alledge, that all Craftsmen conform to the Times:
Nor insist, thro' all Changes this Merit you've gain'd;
When your Gods have been false, all your Prayers have been feign'd.
I contend, (and I borrow my Logic from Paul)
If ye honour one Idol, ye honour 'em all.

And there is (nor it moves you, that two or three Jews,
Or the wild Cameronians Obedience refuse)
What your Pamships approach with Rev'rence and Pleasure:
'Tis the Image set up by King Nebucadnezzar.
Whether English or Irish, young Pam-Priests and old,
Ever worship in Truth, if the God be of Gold.
“Future Acts, through thy Favour, while thus I relate;
“Is it lawful to ask, What will be my own Fate?

“Shall my Eyes, sacred Pæan, these Wonders behold?
“Will thy Kindness still last, if I live to be old?
“My Predictions, I fear, will be hardly believ'd,
“Or in Jest, as a Star-gazing Knave's, be receiv'd;
“If so knowing I seem, to myself yet unknown;
“If I tell others Fortunes, unskill'd in my own.
Thus, unless 'twas a Vision, his Godship I tried;
Thus, methought, from his Tripod Apollo replied.
“In thy Days will all happen, which here is foretold:
“Nor my Favour shall fail thee, when thou art grown old.
“Where the Muses and I oft have chosen our Seat,
“I'll provide thee ('twas always thy Wish) a Retreat.

“Unambitious, unstain'd by Corruption thy Breast,
“And the Passion, which most has disturb'd thee, at Rest;
“Looking down on the Great, and despising thy Foes,
“There enjoy, O my Scheffer, a learned Repose.
“And, as now you discuss, with a Freedom of Mind,
“What is worthy yourself, what is due to Mankind;
“I will hallow thy Lips with a Spark of my Fire,
“And the Love of thy Country the Theme shall inspire.
“Lo! to Britain's great Goddess a Temple you raise:
“Lo! I deck thee, old Bard, with a Chaplet of Bays.

“While the Muses their Tribute to Liberty bring;
“And, protected by us, you may censure a King.
“As you sink into Age, you shall rise into Fame;
“And the noblest of Britons shall honour thy Name:
“Fane, and Tufton, and Lee to thy Verse shall attend;
“And a Boyle shall be known thy Companion and Friend.
“Then, whene'er thou'rt perplex'd, or of Bus'ness afraid,
“See Aristo! how kindly he lends thee his Aid:
“How polite and humane! in his Honour what Trust!
“Did he e'er urge the Cause, which he knew was unjust?

100

“Did he ever fair Virtue and Merit expose,
“Like Ierne's rude Pleaders, like --- and B---s?
“Tho' unread in no Law, for the Bar how unfit,
“Who with Truth mingles Learning, and Manners with Wit!
“Nor forget thy old Chum; who, whene'er thou complain,
“Still attends thy sick Couch, and relieves thee from Pain.
“That a Spirit so blith in thy Numbers is found,
“And at Sixty thy Mind, as thy Body, is sound,
“To his Skill and his learned Prescriptions you owe:
“What Machaon was once, such is now my Monro.

101

This observant I heard, and was pleas'd with the Theme:
Yet, if haughty Court-Chaplains imagine, I dream,
And pronounce my prophetical Proem a Crime,
I appeal, to confound all their Cavils, to Time.
But I'm sure, I'm awake, while my Tale I pursue;
And the Wonders, which follow, are known to be true.

In the Champain above, which old Poets descry,
Overlooking vast Worlds, and adorning the Sky,

102

Stands a spacious fair Palace, possess'd by the Sun;
Built before Time was measur'd, or Ages begun;
And, as Connoisseurs own, in an excellent Tast,
Of Materials so firm, it for ever must last.
Nor to this be compar'd any Fabric below,
Whether fashion'd for Use, or invented for Shew:
Nor the new House of Commons, nor Parmeno's Folly,
Nor the College, or Castle, or Villa-Conolly;
Nor Britannia's strong Towers, where reside the Lord-Jaylors,
Nor the Courts she has made for her Kings and her Sailors;

103

Nor a Chatsworth, or Blenheim, nor Paul's House of Prayer,
Nor the Mansion design'd for a London Lord-Mayor;
Nor the Plans, which on Paper Palladio projected,
Nor the Structures Friend Gibbs hath so neatly erected;
Nor the Chapels of Rome, or the Inns of Almain,
Nor the gaudy Versailles, or Escurial of Spain;
Nor a Nero's huge Pile (may we never behold
Such an Architect here!) cover'd over with Gold.

104

Much inferior I deem that magnificent House,
By Aladdin contriv'd, to oblige his fair Spouse;
Or the vast Pandæmonium, in Story so fam'd,
Which the Cunning of Mammon, or Milton hath fram'd.

All the Seats, where rich Muses have lodg'd their own Lares,
And the Domes Madam D'Anois has rais'd for her Fairies;
All erected by Syd for the Planets' Debate;
All invented by P---ce for the Good of the State;
All the Grottos, where Witches for Solace repair,
And the Castles, which Alchymists build in the Air.

But perhaps you'll suspect, that my Song is a Fable,
When I tell you this Hotel is only a Stable;
That capacious Gold Mangers, with Rubies thick set,
In the Salon are plac'd, like a modern Buffet;

That his Godship's fair Daughters sweep clean all the Rooms,
And, excelling all House-wives, are Hand-maids, and Grooms;
That his fiery fierce Steeds, with Ambrosia high fed,
At their Pleasure these Virgins can guide with a Thread;
That so swift are the Coursers, they think it mere Play,
Or a Breathing—to measure the Globe in a Day.
Nor unween I, that modern Copernican Sages
Ridicule the Sun's Hotel, his Chariot and Stages;

And pretend, with their Glasses his Nags may be seen;
That they travel above, like our Horse on the Green,
Made to prance and curvet with so martial a Grace,
Yet unable to move half an Inch from his Place.
But advance these new Sophists such Doctrines as list 'em;
Let the Poet adhere to Dan Ovid's old System.

Now it dawn'd—and the vigilant Purple-face Morning,
Of the Sun's near Approach, gave his Houshold due Warning.
All the Horæ look'd out; drove away ev'ry Star,
And, before his Arrival, got ready his Car.
Tho' so late he had tippled, he had not misreckon'd:
When he mounted, of Six it just wanted a Second.

In his Mounting what Grace! in his Driving what Skill!
Nor his Horses he spar'd, tho' the Way was up Hill;
Never stopping to kiss a young Wife, or to drink;
Never whistling or swearing, --- because he can't think.
As he urg'd on his Stage, he revolv'd in his Mind
All the Toasts of last Night,—how his own was defin'd:
And resolv'd to inspect, since she liv'd in his Way,
If, as Mars had asserted, his Consort was Grey.
For in Matters important, the God is too wise,
When his own are the best, to trust other Folks Eyes.
Well he wot too, the Warrior was apt to defame
Holy Rites of young Hymen, and ev'ry chaste Dame;

To relate an old Tale, but to swear it was new;
And repeat it so oft, till he fancied 'twas true.
True suppose it; his Spouse fail'd in conjugal Duty;
Was expensive and lewd, yet she might be a Beauty.
Many Belles are observ'd to lead whimsical Lives,
And some excellent Toasts, who are very bad Wives.
So to judge for himself, and the Donna survey;
As he roll'd over Dublin, he stopt on the Quay;
And dispelling the Clouds, which obstructed his Sight,
Darted in at her Bed-Chamber Windows his Light.

There he saw—How unpleasing the Scene I unfold!
But the Tale will be spoil'd, or the Truth must be told.

Sacred Mithra, since now I have brought thee so nigh,
Be propitious—and keep me a while in thine Eye:
Nor thy Name I invoke, (well I know the vast Odds)
As before I address'd to those foolish old Gods.
Be propitious; for lo! the rude Satire I frame
Adds a Topic of Praise, and enlarges thy Fame.
Since to emulate thee, the foul Fiends I defied;
Give me Courage:—But still let me fight by thy Side.
So shall I, unappal'd, meet Hermaphrodites Form,
Tho' she rides in a Whirl-wind, and spouts out a Storm,

Arm'd with all the dire Spells, which three Husbands destroy'd,
When the Wretches grew weak, or the Beldam was cloy'd;
Tho' she comes, well supported by all her black Host,
By the Piercy, and t'other fierce Knight of the Post;
Felly raging, and vengeful, imputing to me,
That unbid, I recorded thy righteous Decree.
Nor I'll fear the Imp-Fury, tho' dreadful she shakes,
And commands her black Locks to be chang'd into Snakes:
On herself shed the Venom, unable to sting
Any Bard, who from thee has a Licence to sing.

But beware, my good Muse, lest thy Work grow too long,
And, digressing so oft, thou embarass the Song.

To the Quay, where you left our great Master, repair;
And be bold to report what his Godship saw there.

There he saw the huge Mass tumble out of her Bed;
Like Bellona's her Stature, the Gorgon's her Head;

Hollow Eyes with a Glare, like the Eyn of an Ox;
And a Forehead deep furrow'd, and matted grey Locks;
With a toothless wide Mouth, and a Beard on her Chin,
And a yellow rough Hide in the Place of a Skin;
Brawny Shoulders up-rais'd; Cow-Udders; Imp's Teat;
And a Pair of bow'd Legs, which were set on Splay Feet.
With the Figure the God was surpriz'd and offended,
When he mark'd how these various Defects were amended;
How her Back was laid flat with an Iron Machine,
And her Breasts were lac'd down, with a sweet Bag between:

How she shaded her Eyes, and the squalid black Beard
Was so smoothly shav'd off, scarce a Bristle appear'd;
How she clear'd the old Ruins, new plaister'd her Face,
And apply'd Red or White, as it suited the Place:
With a Set of Watts' Teeth, and a Cap of Deard's Hair,
Like a Virgin she bloom'd, and at sixty seem'd Fair.

Thus you see an old Hulk, many Years Weather-beaten,
All the Timbers grown rotten, the Plank all Worm-eaten;
Which the Owners, who doom her to make one more Trip,
Scrape and calk, tar and paint, till she seems a new Ship.
But alas! for the Wretches, whose Gods have forgot 'em,
That are bound to adventure in such a foul Bottom.

Here his Godship (inclin'd to examine the whole,
Which compos'd this odd Creature) look'd into her Soul.
He conceiv'd a faint Hope, that within he should find
Hidden Beauties, good Sense, and a virtuous fair Mind:
Which, he knew, for Exteriors would make full Amends,
And enrol her a Toast among Platonic Friends.

100

But again he was baulk'd:—For a Soul he espy'd
Full of Envy, black Malice, base Leasing, and Pride;
Hypocritical, sordid, vain-glorious, ingrate;
In her Frienships most false, and relentless in Hate.
He beheld, at one View, all the Acts of her Life;
How experienc'd a Miss; how abandon'd a Wife!

101

That advancing in Years, all her Wants she supply'd,
By an Art, which the fam'd Messalina ne'er try'd.
Tho' her Gallants were few, or not made to her Mind;
Yet her Joyance was full, if the Jewess was kind.

While the God, that no Room might be left for a Doubt,
Turn'd her upside and down, and then inside and out;

102

And survey'd all her Parts—many more, than is fit
For the Bard to describe;—but still found himself bit:
While he ponder'd, by Turns, much enrag'd and asham'd
To behold the fine Toast, which his Highness had nam'd:
Heark! the Voice of a Fury invades his nice Ear;
And so dreadful her Curses!—he trembled to hear.
Such the Morning Oraisons she us'd to repeat,
Since the Bead-roll of Aves were grown obsolete.
She began with great Jove, whom she curs'd for his Spleen,
Here to fix her Abode, and not make her Vice-Queen:
And she curs'd him again for his Meanness of Spirit,
Who assign'd her a Pension far short of her Merit.

103

Then, because at Threescore she was out of her Prime,
And her Tresses were hoary, she curs'd Father Time.
Ought her Head, like Mount Ætna's, be cover'd with Snow,
While she feels the fierce Flames, which consume her below?
Then she curs'd her next Kin, who refus'd to abjure,
And the useless old Matrons, untaught to procure.
All the Bankers she curs'd;—for they weigh foreign Gold:
And she curs'd the poor Players;—for their House is too old.

104

Then she curs'd from her Soul, since her Luck was so ill,
Ace of Hearts, and Groom Porter, and odious Quadrille;
All the Duns, who want Manners, or Patience to wait;
All the Rich, who pass by, and the Poor at her Gate;
Little Priests, and great Prelates, who fix the Church-Pales,
From the Red-Hats of Rome, to the Fidlers of Wales;
All the Belles of this Isle, who abhor the French Mode;
And the Bards, who address an old Witch in an Ode.
Next, the Morning she curs'd, 'twas so hot and so light;
(If the Sun had been set, she had then curs'd the Night)

105

Little thinking Don Phœbus that Instant was near her,
That the God, whom she thus was blaspheming, could hear her.
Let us honour the God, who to Mortals so kind,
Order'd all her vain Curses be stopt by the Wind!
And I fancy, since now he hath mark'd her mad Airs,
He'll enforce this Command, if she offers up Prayers.

Here she ceas'd for a while to unlock the Canteen:
Sure Relief! when loud Talk has created the Spleen.
Twas the Price she receiv'd for a Virgin betray'd,
Fill'd with Liquor nectareous, true Eau de Barbade.

When, imbibing fresh Vigour, the Dame at a Sup
Had exhausted the large aromatical Cup;
How her hollow Orbs redden'd, recruiting their Ire,
And her Breath from her drinking redoubled its Fire!

106

Now she swells with new Matter, devoting whole Nations;
And the Castle re-ecchoes her dire Imprecations.
But behold what a Change Love is pleas'd to perform!
[Nor a Power less mighty, could quiet the Storm]
She has heard the soft rap. Lo! her Gallants appear:
First approaches majestic the tall Grenadier.
All her Fury the Sight of such Manhood suppress'd;
And a train of soft Passions re-enter her Breast.
She embrac'd the great Soldier; she measur'd his Length;
Into Action she warm'd, and experienc'd his Strength:
Nor so much had false Dalilah's Spouse in his Locks:
Nor the Witch was more pleas'd, when she strove in the Box.
Introduc'd in good Order, succeed to the Fight
A Mechanic, a Courtier, a Collier, and Knight:

107

As he finish'd to each she assign'd a new Day,
And, extolling his Labours, advanc'd a Week's Pay.
Thus dismiss'd the Male Gallants, in-crawl'd her own Imp
In a scaly small Body, contors'd like a Shrimp.
In a Rapture she stroak'd it, and gave it the Teat,
By the Suction to raise sympathetical Heat.
Then by Hecate she swore, she was sated with Men;
Sung a wanton Sapphoic, and stroak'd it agen;

108

And agen—And then thrice she erected her Rod:
(For the Numbers in Magic must always be odd.)
See the Force of her Spells mighty Circe's surpass,
And the Beldams, which made Apuleius an Ass!
See a Reptile transform'd to a Shape near the Human,
And the Imp, that erst enter'd, resemble a Woman!
Not a Woman—like those, which the Mussulmen use,
Or the Grandees of Britain for Mistresses chuse:
The indelible Mark, on her Forehead impress'd,
God's Revenge, and old Shylock's curs'd Lineage confess'd;

109

With the Locks of a Negress half mingled with Grey,
And a Carcase ill-moulded of dirty Red Clay;
Clammy, livid, cold Lips, with a crooked long Nose;
And a Skin full of Spots from her Head to her Toes.
Nor a Daughter of Eve has a Body so foul;
Nor has Envy herself so envenom'd a Soul.
But to Myra most dear! nor so fair in her Sight,
Was Anacthon or Cydno thus form'd for Delight:

110

O ma Vie, ma Femme! What a Shape, and a Face!
Then impatient she rush'd to a closer Embrace.
Let the rest be untold!—And thus ever forbear,
Lest thy Numbers, O Scheffer, offend the chaste Fair.

111

And do thou, O my Clara, this Freedom excuse;
Since a Vengeance so just has created the Muse;
Or a Passion more noble. I hang out my Lights,
To direct foreign Sailors in dreery long Nights:
I expose to their Ken (and dear-bought was my Wit)
Both the Pools, which ingulph'd me, and Rocks, where I split.
When a Pair of foul Tribads I rudely unveil,
'Tis Charybdis I shew you, 'tis Scylla's Dog-Tail.

112

Shall it therefore concern me, who blames or commends?
Friends to Virtue, I know, will be ever my Friends.

113

For the rest—Let me view 'em with equal Regard,
Whether B---ps, or Bravos, who threaten the Bard:
For the vitious and proud, whether Statesmen, or Fools;
Whether Myra's old Gallants, or Ali's new Tools,
Whether Red-Coats, or Black-Coats, are all of one Sort;
And we see in Curculio the Image of ---

Now the God (and who doubts it?) grown sick of his Station,
Paus'd a while—and then broke into this Exclamation;
“Could the Sins of thylke People make Jove thus severe,
“To unhallow the Land, and cause Venom live here?
“Who'd believe such a Creature from B---l had sprung?
“Or that this is the Myra, George Gr---ville hath sung?

114

As he spake, to the Westward he hied him away;
Lest beyond the due Bounds he should lengthen the Day.
But his Steeds knew their Work; and so swift was their Motion,
That exact to a Minute they plung'd in the Ocean.
Here saluting fair Thetis, he sunk in her Lap;
And, to act without Passion, he took a short Nap.
For whenever he censures, he makes it a Rule,
That his Fancy be warm, but his Judgment be cool.
Then distinctly consid'ring all Matters as predict,
He commanded his Heralds to publish this Edict.

For as much as George G---ville, forgetting his Duty,
Has impos'd a foul Creature on me for a Beauty;

115

And bespoke me so fair, that I taught him my Trade,
And, as oft as he sung, ne'er refus'd him my Aid:
And whereas modern Lays (to my Sorrow) discover,
That the blindest of all is the Rhythmical Lover,
Who implores my Assistance, unseemly to laud
Or the crooked Coquet, or the Quality-Bawd:
Now, for better preventing such heinous Abuses,
I the Lord of Parnass' (with Advice of the Muses)
Make it known to all People, both Commons and Peers,
From the Writers of Epic to low Sonneteers;
That hereafter no Bard, on Pretence he's in Distress,
Shall presume on his Judgment, and chuse his own Mistress;
Or invoke mortal Females of any Degree,
Who have not been approv'd by the Graces, and me.

116

And whereas wicked Myra hath brought me to shame;
I command the said G---ville to rase out her Name,
And the beautiful Clara insert in her Place,
Or the bright Patroness of the Oxford Borlace.
And whereas, maugre all the old Creature's Disguises,
I discern her true Form, and unnatural Vices;
'Tis my Will, since to wayward Amours she's inclin'd,
She be only permitted to mix with her Kind:
Tho' the Fates to an Hundred should lengthen her Span,
Let the Matron no more be compress'd by a Man.

117

And whereas I foresee, that a Mind so impure
Will incite the decrepit old Dame to procure;

118

By the Force of her Spells, with a forward Court Air,
And the Semblance of Virtue to ruin the Fair.
By a special Grace mov'd, I enjoin and command
You the Tutelar Gods, who bear Sway in that Land,
All her Actions to watch, all her Witchcrafts to cross,
And to save other Nymphs, as ye sav'd Lady R---sse.

Thus APOLLO decreed—When to stop further Fury,
Who should enter the Closet but little Mer-cury.

113

Ken ye not the young Thief?—But you'll think my Head wrong,
If without a new Patron I sing a new Song:
And Thalia consents, that instead of a Fee
I inscribe this quaint Episode, Bocca, to thee:
That with Patience I sit, where the C---r dotes;
Where the Register Lion scowls over his Notes;
And presumes, tho' unask'd, his own Rules to report,
To instruct hoarse Iocco, and biass the Court.

114

While Miracides gapes like an Idiot at stool:
How unhappy the Bard, who contends with a Fool!
See the Orator there in his Glory appear!
See me tremble, great Bocca, to view thee so near!
Let the Stagyrite yield, when the Pleader disputes;
And avaunt my black Hero, when Bocca computes!
When he proves by his Brief (and the Problem is new)
That a Dozen and ten will make Thirty and two.
Or, if ten from the Thirty and two you substract,
Nought remains. “This, my Lord, is a state of the Fact.

115

Then behold, how sagacious he points out the Flaws,
While his Figures and Tropes heavy hang on my Cause!
To supply all Defects, and develope the Trust,
How polite his Remarks, and his Reas'ning how just!
His Conclusion so apt, it admits no Reply!
For, my Lord, in a Word, the whole Deed is a Lie.
But alas! if your Logic, O Bocca, should fail ye,
And the Judge turn averse; Crier, call P---r D---
To expound the Knight's Will, and support the Imp's League,
Who, of all the uncoiff'd, is so fit as the Teague?

116

Hear Iocco, and Prime! chuse ye, Sirs, utrum horum!
Arrha! P---r is fast after coming before 'um.
Tho' the Dean laughs aside, and Apollo detests
Teague's unmusical Voice, and his wretched low Jests;
To the Force of his Brogue all his Brethren submit,
And the Juries of Connaught have found him a Wit.

This Address now suffice: Nor repute it a Crime;
Since the Muses can make my low Numbers sublime;

117

Crown with Ivy my Head, and a Monument raise,
Tho' my Theme be despis'd; tho' an Insect I praise,
By Corruption produc'd, like a Mite, in old Cheese,
Or exhal'd by thy Sun-beams, O W---st, from foul Lees.
With Apostrophes thus I repair my Neglects;
Thus I pay you, great Robemen, my grateful Respects.
Ariosto as oft his high Subject suspends
And deserts all his Heroes, to honour his Friends.

118

And a greater than he, learned Sirs, ye know, who
Left the Muses and Phœbus, to wait upon you.

But, resuming my Tale, now again I begin.
While Apollo sat frowning, young Hermes came in.

119

As it happen'd, the Courier, scarce ever at rest,
Had by Jove been commanded to settle the West;
To unite a Free-State, make the Prime Scientifick,
And to render a War-breathing Monarch pacifick.
For Mythologists say, that this excellent God
Can incline all to Peace by the Touch of his Rod;
Cause a Fleet or an Army to serve for a Shew,
And prevent the fierce Warriors from striking a Blow:
Or in case he permits the hot Youth to engage;
'Tis a Battle in Jest, without Mixture of Rage:
As among the Train-Bands, not a Soldier shall fall;
And the Fight, as at Mulberg, shall end in a Ball.

120

When the Nuncio had sped, and his Bus'ness was done;
He resolv'd, now so near him, to sup with the Sun.
They saluted, as Gods well descended, well-bred:
How the Wit flew about! how polite all they said!
One reported the Errand, on which he was sent here,
And the other related his last Night's Adventure.
Thety raillied her Gallant about the old Toast;
And she vow'd, the Debauch made him look like a Ghost.
Much delighted she seem'd (for a Goddess may judge ill)
With the Warrior's Mishap, and the Tale of the Cudgel.

Tho' I hate (quoth young Hermes) that Bully Sir Mars;
And would fain unteach Mortals all Knowledge of Wars:
Yet disgrac'd, and deserted, I pity my Foe;
And we all should be touch'd, when a God falls so low.
Had I known the Knight's Body unfitly was made,
Of Materials so course, so unsuiting his Trade;
When he march'd into Dick's, I'd have mix'd in the Crowd,
And enwrap'd him, when Bellew approach'd, in a Cloud.

121

Better furnish'd was Vol --- from his Cradle accurst,
Ever conscious of Guilt, and prepar'd for the worst.
For the Moment our Smith-God had learnt his Disgrace,
From an old Plate of Copper he cut out a Face;
Made a Scull of cast Iron, and lin'd it with Lead:
Nor a Bomb is so heavy and hard, as his Head.

Then to me thus beseeching—“Dear Hermes my Child,
“Since (how justly, Heav'n knows) I again am exil'd,
“And Mechanicks (hard Fate!) tho' divine is their Birth,
“Very rarely grow rich, or respected on Earth;

122

“To a Brother be gracious; thy Science reveal;
“Tune my Voice to thy Notes, and instruct me to steal.
Much I pitied the Kern; and to screen him from Want,
All my Craft I infus'd, and I taught him to cant;
How to bubble rich Bankers, and Senates deceive;
How to make a Retreat, when he ventured to thieve.
And so fast he improv'd; tho' he seems a non sol,
Not a Robber on Earth fares so well, as old Vol:
Many Chests of good Moidores are sunk in his Hole;
And unenvy'd he keeps all the Treasure he stole.

123

Donna Thetis, admiring how Vol got his Gold,
Here requested fair Hermes the Scheme to unfold:
Nor she ask'd him in vain—For the wing-footed Youth
Thus began with a Smile; and his Tale was all Truth.
Many Figures and Changes poor Vol had essay'd;
But was ever by some Poetaster betray'd:
Till at length having travers'd the Globe all around,
He selected a Spot of Unclassical Ground.
Such Ierne was then; till by Jove's high Command,
All the Muses descended to hallow the Land;
And a Genius arose, with a Voice so divine,
We imagin'd his Numbers were Clio's or To Apollo.
Thine.
Here assuming a Title, and changing his Name,
Vol address'd the good Viceroy, a Man of great Fame.

124

As the Heroes and Gods, he was honest and brave;
Yet alas! he prefer'd both the Coward and Knave:
For the Man who speaks Truth, is inclin'd to believe;
And a Fool, who can flatter, will often deceive.
Vol dissembled his State, and cajol'd the Grandee,
By pretending long Service at Land and at Sea;
That he fled into England, and fought at the Boyn,
And is now an Adept in all Species of Coin.

125

That he ever was firmly attach'd to his Grace;
As he soon would perceive—if he gave him a Place.
So the good-natur'd Duke my Disciple advances,
Makes him Sur-intendant of the Royal Finances.
Now behold him look big at the Head of his Board,
With the Sneer of a Courtier, and Train of a Lord;
But disdaining like Men to grow rich by Degrees,
All his Craft well applying to multiply Fees:
Such a Craft, as to --- and me was unknown.
Let the Glory be Vol's! for the Scheme was his own.

Thine, O Vol, be the Glory, and mine be the Bays!
While so trimly I sing, and thus eccho thy Praise.
Criticising like Piercy, with 'sdeinful Regard,
Ne aread me a mean, unmechanical Bard:
Tho' to arch the wide Dome, I perchance am unfit,
And distaste the rough Works of Unclassical Wit;

126

Tho' abhorring base Fraud, I have surely no Skill,
To supplant the right Heir, or to frame a quaint Will;

127

Yet, if aught such a Prophet as I can divine,
Long my Numbers shall live, to be Records of thine.

Near the Bridge, where, high-mounted, the Brass Monarch rides,
Looking down the rough Liffy, and marking the Tides;
Near the Dome, where great Publicans meet once a Day,
To collect Royal Imposts, and stop their own Pay;

128

Far within a Recess, a large Cavern was made,
Which to Plenty is sacred, the Place of Grilliade:
Here the Goddess supplies a Succession of Steaks,
To Mechanicks and Lordlings, old Saints and young Rakes;
Here Carnivorous Kerns find a present Relief,
And the Britains with Glee recognize their own Beef.
By the Fame of the House, Vol invited to dine,
(So the Fates had decreed it) here form'd the Design
Of accompting his Treasure by Ferrumination,
Unassisted by Figures, or Book-Calculation.
For the Collier, whose Stomach incites him to look in
Ev'ry Kitchen of Note, to remark on the Cooking,

129

(Where the Glutton no Dish, that was dainty e'er spar'd,
Tho' to welcome a Vice-roy, the Feast were prepar'd)
Here survey'd with Attention the Grilling Utensil;
Which he measur'd, and sketch'd on a Card with his Pencil.
Half a Rump he devoured, and drank off his Pot sole;
Then bespoke with a Leer the good Master of Sot's Hole.
“Honest Landlord, your Steaks were exceeding well drest:
“Since I now know the Way, I'll be often your Guest.
“On the Fast-Days and Lord's-Days, I'll send in my Wine;
“And I'll bring you a Club of young Courtiers to dine.
“Many thanks to your Honour! O ever depend
“On a Treasurer's Word! But to bind me your Friend,
“As a Token between us, I'll take this Machine:
(Here he seiz'd a huge Gridir'n the Cook had made clean.

130

Nor a nobler can Birmingham Artists produce,
Nor a Cyclops could forge one so fit for his Use.)
“For in Parliament Time, when to fix the Taxation,
“I prepare with great Labour the Debts of the Nation;
“In the Hurry, if e'er I find Leisure to eat,
“I'm oblig'd in my Office to cook my own Meat.
“There I pay due Attendance both early and late!
“There I dine upon Chops—for the good of the State!
“But mistake me not, Friend: Be it far from my Thought,
“Or to beg, or to borrow the Goods you have bought:
“I'll refund the whole Sum this Utensil first cost:
“To befriend me no Man shall complain he has lost.
Thus the Bargain concluded, the Money is paid;
To the Treasury Board the Gridiron's convey'd:

131

Upon which the Cashier now incessantly pours
All the Wealth of Ierne: descend the rich Showers
From the Cup-boards, Scrutoirs, and the wide Canvass Bags,
From the long Leathern Purses, and dirty coarse Rags.
Here mishapen thick Cobs, and odd Pieces of Gold,
(Once the hoard of a Miser) grown squalid and old,
And a few, which the Gods (tho' their Faces were new)
With a Virtue magnetick were pleas'd to endue,
That appearing self-balanc'd remain'd on the Bars,
Vol assign'd the good Queen for the Use of her Wars:

132

But the Coins, that slipt thro', he accounted mere Pelf;
Proper Perquisites those he allotted himself.
Thus encreasing in Wealth, and advancing in Years,
He resolv'd to rise higher, and roll with the Peers:
When arriv'd a young Viceroy well skill'd in Greek Books,
Who discover'd the Smith by his Leer, and ill Looks:

133

He had read him at Lemnos ycleped God Hop,
And remark'd him near Ætna at Work in his Shop:

134

He was early inform'd, how my Brother was bred;
And discern'd the Materials, which furnish'd his Head.

135

He espied, now inspecting with Care the Finances,
Many Blanks, large Arrears, but no Sort of Ballances:
And forbid the Cashier to revisit his Mount,
Till the Troops were all paid, and he clear'd his Account.

136

Undismay'd Vol appear'd; but affected Delay;
Ask'd a Month, and then two—then another long Day:
Till imprison'd at length, he produc'd a false Rental.
Unavailing that Fraud, he pretended, “'Twas spent all;
“That in all his best Projects, he met with Disasters,
“As was ever the Fate of good-natur'd Pay-Masters;
“That except his Apparel [and mean he was clad]
“He agreed to assign all the Chattels he had.
Then a Largess among the poor Courtiers bestows,
And the Gifts, that were needful to soften his Foes;
Till he finds so much Favour; some think him a Fool;
Politicians report him an Englishman's Tool;
And the Viceroy persuaded (who tho' he had seen,
Ne'er suspected the Use of the Grilling Machine)
That a Chub, in his Trade so unknowing, must fail,
His Excuses accepting, believ'd the feign'd Tale;

137

Or the State being such, that he could not retrieve it,
Nor recover the Money, he seem'd to believe it.

O! ye Quaestors hence learn, that no Peril environs
Wily Wight, who computes by the Help of Gridirons:
Who was ever convict of Male-administration,
That so rightly had judg'd, as to rob a whole Nation?
Thus the finny huge Monsters, the Pride of the Sea,
Fancy all the small Fry were created for Prey;
Unresisted, unpunish'd, your Regions they scowr;
Like a Fleet of Dutch Busses, their Millions devour.

138

Sure the Nereids are cruel, and pleas'd with the Sport;
Or the Robbers have brib'd my good Uncle's whole Court.

Quick reply'd the Sea-Goddess: Youth, spare your course Gibes!
Nor the Nereids are cruel, or dare to take Bribes.
All he meets in Distress, the good Sea-God relieves:
Nor among us is found a Protector of Thieves.
I confess, as our Realms are well peopled, the Great
Make a Havock too oft—but 'tis only to eat.
And for this we exile 'em to Greenland by Troops;
Give their Flesh to make Oil, and their Bones to make Hoops.

But I beg you look up, and behold the fine Things,
You entrust with Command—Whom, I think, you call ---

139

Who oppress for their Pleasure; whose Reason is might;
Who, where'er they get Footing, establish a Right:
Who to Regions remote their new Weapons have hurl'd,
And to seize a few Toys, have unpeopled a World.
See the Deputy-Tyrants, your Godship extols,
Haughty Vizirs, and Coscias, Volpones and Vols;
Who destroy what their Masters in Conscience may spare,
And attempt greater Ills, than a Monarch would dare;
Where they govern, such Marks of fell Vengeance bestow,
As the Furies hereafter shall deal them below.

Since the Rulers of Earth thus are suffer'd to plunder,
Unrestrain'd by their Laws, and unsindg'd by your Thunder;
I suspect, that Corruption hath reach'd all above,
And the Incense of --- has blinded great Jove.

140

Ceas'd the Goddess, and frown'd. But her jocund young Guest,
Finding Matters grow serious, turn'd all to a Jest.
Soon the Fair one was calm'd by his Piping and Prating;
When a Triton gave Notice, that Supper was waiting.

141

BOOK THE FOURTH.

Est aliquid [Mirâ] Miræ novitatis in istâ
Alternare vices, & quæ modo Fæmina tergo.
Passa marem est, nunc esse marem miremur.—
Ovid.

------ Ire per ignes
Per gladios ausim, nec in hoc tamen ignibus ullis;
Aut gladiis opus est: opus est mihi Crine.—
Ovid.

143

This the last of my Works, this my noblest Design,
Now the Warriors are gone, haughty Cacus, be thine.

144

Hear the Battle I sing; nor thy Succour refuse
To the Bard, who invokes thee instead of his Muse.
For, importunate ever, I dare not rely
On my Friends of Parnass', when I'm soaring so high;
Or expect, the fair Virgins should give me a Lift,
And obey ev'ry Call, as they wait upon Swift.
Nor distrust, great Patrician, thy Force to inspire;
Lo! thy Name makes me glow with Poetical Fire;
And thy Language so pure, tho' for Rhyming unfit,
Gives a Grace to thy Truth, and an Edge to my Wit:
For an Edge must be given by a Thing, which has none;
As a Razor, you know, must be set by a Hone.

But alas! if with wicked old Vol thou combine,
And the Spirit of Piercy be mingled with thine;

145

If entic'd by the Imp, by thy Conscience unaw'd,
Thou hast sought new Possessions by Rapine and Fraud;
If thy Justice and Honour be such, as ne'er scorn'd
To assist the base Villains, whom Myra suborn'd;
To establish the Will, which her Witchcrafts had made,
And deny a plain Fact, That the Money was paid:
Then attend me, fair Fortune; revenge the great Wrong:
Or at least—Here assist me to finish my Song.
For the Muses, as all our great Criticks agree,
Often leave the best Part of their Business to thee.
Thou hast aided old Monks, in Unclassical Times,
When their Heads were in Labour, to bring forth quaint Rhymes:

146

And to humour our Taste, or to honour these Days,
Thou hast furnish'd whole Epicks, and all the new Plays.
Unconcern'd, that Apollo thy Fancy explodes,
Thou hast made the great Laureat, and all his Court-Odes.
And—to help a weak Bard should not you be inclin'd,
Who so oft have exalted the Dregs of Mankind?
You adorn'd ---, whom Nature made ugly;
You assign'd a Lord's Table to parasite ---
To declaim in the C---l Lord Traulus you chose;
You rewarded the Babble of --- and ---.
In the College you sometimes have made a Bear sing,
And transfer'd gentle E---wood's Politeness to ---;

147

You espy'd, tho' we fancy, your Sight is so short,
Rare E---pal Virtues in --- and ---.
For another B---h too you have shewn a due Care,
Since, encoiff'd by your favour, Dom Fuscus sits there:

148

You supply'd him with Law, which had never been us'd,
And a Stock of Socratical Patience infus'd:
Nor could else so much delicate Honour have born it,
When the skinny old Wife had seduc'd the young Cornet.

149

Stop a while here, old Bard, to consult the Sieur Dill;
Lest he censure your Work, by reviving the Bill:
Lest he spy in your Proem Scan. Mag. or Sedition,
And discredit your Tale by a quaint Deposition.
Can you question his Conscience, or Art to ensnare,
Who instructed the Collier and Myra to swear;

150

Who, to eat up Sir Mars, yet to strengthen his Party,
From the Scum of the Kevans selected Mc---;
Who bestow'd human Speech on an Image of Lead;
And has shewn how a Ranger may write when he's dead?
But approach him with awe: To ensure your Success,
Send a Rouleau of Gold, ere you make your Address.
Then the Sage shall opine, you are soft as a Lyrick,
That a Latin Burlesque is the best Panegyrick;
That a Tribad is chaste, who is crooked and paints;
That an Imp is an Angel, and Witches are Saints;
That the Knights, Lords and Heroes, and ev'ry great Name,
Which hath here been invok'd, shall be sacred to Fame:
Or—shou'd this not suffice, he shall make it appear,
That the Man, cleped Scheffer, has never been here.

Thrice Aurora was call'd, ere she quitted her Bed:
Overclowded she rose, and hung mournful her Head,

151

Like a Widow in Weeds: And so scant was her Light,
That she seem'd to have borrow'd the Face of old Night.
Was the cause, that the Goddess, to Tithon so true,
Less inclin'd to rise from him, the older he grew?
Or she deem'd it ill Manners to broider her Vest;
To be buskin'd with Gold; (as in Tasso she's drest.)
Or to deck her with Roses, look ruddy and gay,
When she now usher'd in so important a Day.

From Olympus Jove view'd (and who questions his Ken?)
All the Regions of Earth, all the Actions of Men:
Ev'ry Chief he mark'd well, with his Virtues inherent,
Whom himself, or the People had made his Vicegerent.

152

But he thought, tho' the Moor oft repeated his Alla,
He was ill represented by Muley Abdallah.
Nor Madona the Russ could his Godship approve:
For a Female he deem'd a feint Image of Jove.
Many others, who rul'd with an absolute Sway,
(But are not to be nam'd, till their Grandsons are grey,
Or at least till their Honours are laid in the Dust)
Tho' so God-like their Port, were unworthy their Trust.
When invested with all, that his Highness could spare,
Did he see one among 'em content with his Share?
And in truth should he choose out the Man he likes best,
Stanislaus or Carlos—to govern the rest;
Even he like young Ammon, would ask a new Boon;
And possess'd of this World, he would cry for the Moon.

153

Say, ye Vice-Gods, for what ye thus daily contend?
Not—to win a young Wife, or protect an old Friend,
Or to save your fat Beeves, like the Heroes of old;
But to fill, by Oppression, your Coffers with Gold.
The Infection spreads down: Hence the People's Disasters;
For in all, that is Evil, we copy our Masters.
'Tis for this we regard neither Honour, nor Health:
From the Prince to the Peasant, our Passion is Wealth:
And Corruption in Subjects, Ambition in Kings,
Tho' in Sound they may differ, yet are not two Things.
Have we all that we ask? Yet a little we crave;
And we mean by Enough something more, than we have.
Should the Gods, who are righteous, a Miser e'er spare,
When, to punish, they need only grant him his Prayer?
Let the Man, who loves Gold, like a Scot with his Pack,
Never move, but with all his full Bags at his Back!
To distinguish King Midas, who can't have too much,
Let him turn all to Gold, which he offers to touch!

But, my Muse, cease your Preaching: Your Labours will fail,
If you mingle grave Morals with such a light Tale.

154

And a Statesman will say, you're unskill'd in your Trade;
Or perhaps, to affront you, he'll call you old Maid.
What concerns it a Monk, if a Monarch does wrong?
Or d'ye think, you can mend the whole World with a Song?
Be advis'd; and no more interrupt your Narration:
Tell us how Jove behav'd on the present Occasion.

On his Brow sate alternate a Smile and a Frown;
'Till at length he directed his Eyes to our Town.
Tho' (at least 'tis thus storied by those, who were by)
He beheld us askaunce; not to say he look'd sly.
Near the God stood the gibing Buffoon of the Court,
Ever seeking Occasions to make himself Sport.
“How I want (quoth the Droll) the great Soldier, and Tinker;
“Mars to serve for a But, and old Vol for a Skinker!

155

“But I fear, we must reckon our Brothers, as dead.
Then he look'd upon Jove—and Jove nodded his Head.
When the Consort (who fears neither Jove, nor his Nod;
Tho' it shakes the whole Globe) thus accosted the God:
“Must I still be thus treated?—Unheeded their Birth,
“Shall my Sons be for Ages distress'd on the Earth?
“While your own dear Adopted, usurping their Place,
“May offend, as they please, and not forfeit your Grace.
“Or reverse your hard Doom, and my Children restore
“To their Heaven, and their Honours; or know me no more.

156

Thus the Thunderer answer'd; “What Fits of the Spleen,
“To disturb the great Synod, possess our good Queen?
“Tho' the Loss of your Favours we nightly deplore,
“Yet we cannot in Conscience such Spirits restore.
“Even tho' on Mount Ida your Highness request us
“In the Language of Love, and adorn'd with the Cestus.
“Shou'd a God be unrighteous, and grant a Relief
“To a Bully and Bravo, a Juggler and Thief?
“Has not Mars in all Tryals of Honour miscarried?
“Ever beaten, or bubbled! Gods! how he is married!
“Did he not (most ungrateful!) desert his own Bail?
“Did he not rob the Mortal, who sav'd him from Jayl?

157

“Does he not for the Rights of his Neighbour contend,
“And instruct curs'd Assassins to murder his Friend?
“Even now—when the Wretch is confin'd to his Bed:
“Even him—by whose Bounty alone he is fed.

158

“But recoil all their Darts! And, whate'er that Surveyor
“For his Profit projects, or the other shall swear;
“Be abortive their Plots! nor to Scheffer unknown!
“And attempting his Life let 'em forfeit their own!
“Then the Sons of Ierne shall honour the Bard;
“And the Justice of Talbot his Virtue reward.

159

“Here enrol that great Name! And, ye Gods, bless my Choice!
“Lend Minerva her Judgment, and Suada her Voice!
“Be as pure his Decrees, as Astræa's Commands!
“And her Ballance for ever remain in his Hands!

“Now a Word of old Vol—In all Dealings unjust:
“Did he not steal the Treasure assign'd him in Trust?

160

“Are his Friendships not made with Intent to betray?
“Will he not be suborn'd,—and for very small Pay?
“Don't you hear him blaspheme in revenge, that he fell,
“Ridiculing the Pow'rs both of Heaven, and of Hell?
“And if haply his Wit but half equal'd his Spite,
“Or his Head was new moulded, the Caitif wou'd write:
“He wou'd argue in Print, and my Edicts deny;
“Or insult the good Bard, who records this Reply.

“Wretched Mortals, made frail, sin agen and agen;
“Yet we find Sparks of Virtue in very bad Men:
“Not a Spark in these Wights! If your Highness can shew,
“From the Day they were sentenc'd to wander below,

161

“Any Good, any where, either Exile hath done;
“I'll absolve him that instant, and own him my Son.
Here again the old Joker: “'Twas hastily said;
“Nor intend you, great Madam, to part from Jove's Bed.
“Have you not of his favourite Pleasures bereft him?
“Nor a Concubine now to converse with is left him:
“And wou'd you, since he leads here so virtuous a Life,
“Force him down in Disguise on another Man's Wife?
“Or provoke him, when thus you're so coy, and so loud,
“To create a new Consort—perhaps of a Cloud?

162

“And the Fate of Ixion, methinks, should make you know,
“That a Cloud in the Dark is as good, as a Juno.
“When the Humours are peccant provoking to scold;
“Your Physician should order an Apple of Gold.
“But without his Assistance I'll now make you Friends;
“Tho' so arduous the Task, you shall both have your Ends.
“Sire, to please the Queen Consort the Exiles recall:
“Yet prevent their Return, that you thus may please all.
“Let Accompt-Books in Folio be pil'd at our Gate!
“In a Sheriff's Form there let a Demi-god wait
“With the Cudgel of Bellew, or Diomed's Spear;
“And annihilate me, if they ever come here!
All the Synod laugh'd loud: Then a Silence ensu'd,
Till the Droll thus to Phœbus his Gibing renew'd.

163

“I perus'd the rough Edict you publish'd last Night:
“But the Stile is uncouth; nor your Sentence is right.
“And besides—ought you stop, Sir, so long in one place
“To behold an old Hag, while she painted her Face?
“But, I find, all Love Matters you turn to a Farce,
“And expose Old or Young—Mum for Venus and Mars:
Here the Paphian grew red; and when Momus had done,
In a Passion she rose, thus upbraiding the Sun:
“Tho' so curious to pry, what Delight can you take
“To prevent better Sport, than you're able to make?
“And (because you forgot, when his Myra was young)
“To reproach gentle George, who so sweetly has sung?

164

“If the Women are Bald, or their Tresses are Grey;
“Father Time, and the Fates are in Fault—and not they.
“Shall the want of a Tooth, when a Dame is well born,
“Or perhaps a few Wrinkles expose her to Scorn?
“You confess (and we know you survey'd ev'ry Place)
“She's as young as your Godship—except in the Face.
“For the Secrets—we use to preserve the Complexion;
“They are none of your Drugs, nor create an Infection.
“Paints and Lotions on all Royal Toilets are seen:
“Mark the Court of young Lewis, and censure his Queen.
“Shou'd I make your Decree, Sir, a Matter of Quarrel;
“While I speak it, my Myra shou'd change to a Laurel.
“Then your Rhymers in Doggrel her Beauties wou'd prize,
“Proud to wear the bright Locks, they are bid to despise.

165

“But you know I love Peace; nor my Manners incline
“To impertinent Medling, like you and your Nine.
“Be the Matron restrain'd, as your Edict directs;
“But allow me to make her more fit for her Sex.
“Let her thus be erect! (Here she held out her Fan)
“And be superinduc'd all the Virtue of Man!

166

“Nor Priapus in Action shall equal her Fame;
“Nor so oft shall Dan Chanticleer feather his Dame.
“Let her Passions be strong, as her Form is compleat,
“And her Name of Distinction be Friga the Great!

168

“And, my Friga, to thee, ere revolve many Years,
“Shall the Man most renown'd of Ierne's new Peers,
“In Return for thy Labours, to honour his Bed,
“(Nor --- has done more to exalt the great Head)
“In the Plains of S---l---gan a Monument raise,
“Where the Centaurs and Satyrs shall envy thy Praise.
“What intends the quaint Figure, few Clerks shall divine;
“But the Tribads shall ken it an Emblem of thine.
“For the rest—Don't imagine I'll patient endure,
“That my Rights you invade, and forbid us procure.

169

“Is it fitting that Youth should be thus over-aw'd,
“And the Pilgrim, and Stranger depriv'd of a Bawd?
“Tho' so bright a Toupee no Assistance can need;
“And where'er you address, you are sure to succeed:
“Yet—a Word in your Ear—pretty Daph had been won,
“Had the Matron Latona made Love for her Son.
“But hereafter be cautious, nor censure Old Age,
“Nor, to injure my Friends, interrupt your own Stage.
“Let the Tutelar Gods interfere, if they dare!
“If I catch 'em—But first I'll admonish the Fair.

170

Thus the Goddess: When Phœbus smil'd on her, and bow'd:
Too polite to reply, he withdrew in a Cloud.

Fame, who heard all that pass'd, tho' she seem'd to mind nought,
Flew away to the Phœnix, as swift as a Thought.
But for Reasons of State she assum'd a Disguise,
And resembled a Dwarf, with a Pair of Jew's Eyes;
Crooked, painted, and broider'd, like Traulus's own Dame;
And the Servants, who saw her, wou'd swear, she's the same;

171

If the Gossip in propriâ personâ appears;
Like a Monster she looks, with a thousand long Ears,
With a thousand sharp Tongues, and a million of Eyes,
With her Feet on the Earth, and her Head in the Skies.
Nor a Wonder I deem it, the Donna shou'd tell
All that passes in Heaven, upon Earth, or in Hell;
All Advices last Night in the Cabinet read;
All the Monarch has whisper'd to Juno in Bed:
For she sees, what no other is able to see,
Hears and knows what ne'er happen'd, nor ever will be.
Nor she strives to oblige, nor she fears to offend
Whether Mortals, or Gods—Yet to Mars a fast Friend:
When he drove the War-Chariot yclad, as a God,
Spreading Terrors and Death, his Postilion she rode:

172

Sounding dreadful her Trump, all his Foes she defied:
And altho' he's ungodded, she still is his Guide.
Still she ventures her Neck, to demonstrate her Love,
By revealing Court-Secrets debated above.
First she told him, How Phœbus survey'd the old Wife,
And observ'd all her Arts, and examin'd her Life;
And condemn'd all he saw, or pretends to foresee.
(Here she read and expounded the famous Decree.)
Then minutely relating, How Jove was provok'd
By the Consort's Address, and how Momus had jok'd,
She assur'd him (but spoke it with Tears in her Eyes)
That he ne'er cou'd have Hopes to revisit the Skies.
With a Smile she proceeds; to a tittle repeats
All the Paphian had utter'd, her Taunts and her Threats;
When she raillied the Sun for his Edict Imperial,
And presuming to meddle in Matters Venereal.

173

Here she added, That Venus (and tho' she spoke fast,
Her Description was clear, and her Language was chaste)
Male-creating, had made the old Toast Reparation:
And she shew'd him the Length of his Wife's—Transformation.
Here she dropt a short Curt'sy, and hasten'd to Town
To report the strange News, and old Myra's Renown,
In the College and Senate, the Tholsel and Court;
Still enlarging her Theme, as she made her Report.

The Chevalier mean while, after silent Debate,
Wisely judg'd this Event was the Crisis of Fate.
In a Rage he rose up and cast off his old Frize;
And the Flame, was like Lightning, which flash'd from his Eyes.
Like a Drum his Heart beat, and it burnt like a Coal;
Equal Courage and Hatred possessing his Soul.

174

What! because in his Cups he once mention'd her Name,
“Shall Apollo (he cry'd) thus chastise the old Dame?
“And shall I God of War, to whom Vengeance belongs,
“Ever patient forbear, and submit to my Wrongs?
“Cou'd I now at threescore a Wife-Monster defeat;
“(Be the Labour Herculean, the Glory is great!)
“Such a Conquest wou'd surely lost Honour restore;
“And the Drubbing might then be remember'd no more.
Thus the Warrior—And grasping his Couteau de Chasse,
Thrice he brandish'd the Weapon, and thrice made a Pass.
Then he slung on his Muff, which no other cou'd wield,
Of a Sable so thick, it might serve for a Shield:
And altho' the bright Fur to his Belt was made fast,
Yet it haply thus prov'd to be Armour well plac'd.

175

Then a Full-bottom'd Peruke with care he unfolded,
By the Fates long preserv'd, else his Consort had sold it:
'Twas invented by Pallas, and fashion'd by Van,
As Tradition reports, in the First of Queen Ann:
So enormous the Bulk, and so pond'rous the Hair;
Such a Cov'ring no Head, that was mortal, could bear:
Modern Mortals, I ween, as are born in our Days,
To adorn a Court-Circle, Assemblies and Plays.
Nor unequal the Length, for it flow'd to his Knees:
Fifty Bobs it wou'd make, or a hundred Toupees.
Then he kemb'd it with Art; and, as Beaux Alamode
Dight their Fore-locks and Tails, so unsparing he strew'd,

176

Well diffus'd thro' the whole, a full Bag of fine Meal;
More than erst the fam'd Trompington Miller durst steal.
Molly trembled to see, nor was able to speak,
Such a Waste, as destroy'd all the Pies of the Week.
But the Hero this Lore in a Vision was taught:
And perhaps it was Phœbus who inspir'd the Thought.

Me the Bard let him also instruct in a Dream!
Let me fancy the Liffy, like Helicon's Stream!
Let my Notes, as my Subject is martial, be shrill!
And the Muses here shape to a Trumpet my Quill!

Now the Warrior impatient his Arms to essay,
Drove as furious, as Jehu, to Usher's new Quay.

177

Here alighting he enter'd Androgyne's Dome;
Tho' a Brazen-Head swore, That she was not at Home.
Nor recall'd him a Voice, as he mounted the Stairs;
Tho' the Treble squeak'd thrice, Sir, my Lady's at Prayers.
Nor abated his Rage, when he reach'd the first Floor:
But, without previous Rap, he forc'd open the Door;
And surpriz'd (well-a-day!) the great Friga and Frow
In a Posture—the Muse must not venture to shew!
So uncommon, it scap'd Peter Aretine's Touch;
Nor was practis'd before, but on Sappho's own Couch.
Thus the Warrior began; “Pretty Lambkins at play!
“Lo the Fervour, with which great Hermaphrodites pray!
The Virago bounc'd up; and, her Impy bedight,
Unabash'd she advanc'd, thus upbraiding the Knight:
“What intends this Antique? What are you, who presume
“To disturb my Repose, and intrude to my Room?

178

“Do you come here to rob, or my Manhood to try?
“Or has Traulus prevail'd on your Knightship to spy?
“Boast the noble Adventure; indulge your mad Spleen;
“Bid your Trumpeter sound the rare Feats, you have seen!
“Say, to help the good Wife, I have form'd a new Plan,
“And, as thou art turn'd Child, I am ripen'd to Man;
“That I double the Favours, which now I bestow,
“And create two Cornuto's, embracing one Frow.
Thus insulting she spake. Al scornfully hist,
Till the Elfin he silenc'd by shaking his Fist.

179

Doubled hard was his Fist, and tremendous it shook;
And so felly he stamp'd; and so stern was his Look!
For a Shelter she fled under Friga's broad Hoop;
As a Biddy-Chick flies to the Hen in a Coop.
Here we leave her Beshet (thus sings my Friend Kelly)
Like the Daughters of Sin in the Semivir's Belly.

180

But the slippery Floor, over-flow'd by her Fright,
To revenge the Affront, had nigh tript up the Knight:
Tho', in wrestling well skill'd, he recover'd his Feet;
Yet his Visage turn'd pale, and he felt his Heart beat.
Ill presage! And had Friga but made a right Use
Of a Hint so instructive, and op'd her own Sluice;
Swelling high the Imp's Pool in a Torrent had run;
And the Battle had ended, as soon as begun.
Tho' so fearless, the Knight must have quitted his Ground,
Or opposing the Deluge (strange hap!) have been drown'd.

181

But a Conquest unmanly great Friga rejected,
Nor the Force of her Arm or her Prowess suspected.
Too secure! that Sir Mars durst not offer a Blow,
She employ'd all her Thoughts how to railly her Foe.
With her Foot a long Stream from the Puddle she drew:
“Lo! a Granic, or Boyne for a Warrior like you!
“Or a Sea, if I please; and as Hercules thus,
“Or his Pillar I stand, and pronounce my Ne plus.
Scoffing thus as she spake, making aukward Grimace;
At a Ford the Knight pass'd, and spit full in her Face.
Such a sudden Assault the Virago alarms,
Turns her Scorn into Rage: Rage furnishes Arms.

182

In the Room were two Tables: One rich in decay,
Lac'd and mantled with Velvet, was hollow'd for Play:
Here the Bales of new Cards in good Order were plac'd,
And the Surface with Shoals of Pearl-Fishes was grac'd.
But the other, rare Work of the Artists of Inde,
Bore a Service for Tea-Compotations design'd;
Cups and Saucers well-suited, and cast in a Mould;
All inlaid with bright Flourets, and border'd with Gold:
Nor thy Toilets, great ---, such Colours display;
Nor thy Person is form'd of so noble a Clay.
Now a handful of Fishes old Friga snatch'd up,
Aiming right at his Head; now a Saucer or Cup:
But his Caution in War the Knight had not forgot,
And by opportune Ducking avoided the Shot.
Tho' his Cranium escap'd, not unhurt he remain'd:
For by bending so oft the Back-Muscles were strain'd;
And a Motion so vi'lent rais'd asthmatick Cough,
Forc'd the Buttons from old Galligaskins fly off.

183

Thus embarrass'd, and pain'd by his Strains and his Stitches,
Ere the Knight could recover his Breath or his Breeches,
The Virago remarking his Points were untruss'd,
Sudden drew out her Bodkin, and made a Home-thrust:
Cou'd she touch the soft Part, where he suffer'd before,
Like a Cur-Dog, she knew, he wou'd run and he'd roar.
But her Effort was vain: For the shagged old Muff
Well resisted the Point, as a Sev'n-fold of Buff.
And, as now she endeavour'd to draw back the Spear,
With a brawny broad Palm twice he measur'd her Ear.

184

Di'mond Ring, that was Pendant, impress'd a deep Wound,
And the Walls of the Hotel re-eccho'd the Sound.
Such a Rage, as provokes the old Fish-Wife to scold,
Or a Miser, or Gamester, for Loss of his Gold;
As descends from the Moon into ---'s great Head,
Or his Consort has practis'd with --- in Bed;
Or as Elrington feigns, if in Buskins he's drest:
Such the Fury, which now mighty Friga possest.
To supply the Defect of her Bodkin and Shot,
From the Grate she lug'd out a long Poker red-hot:
Nor unskilfull she couch'd it, and ran at the Knight;
Thus at once well essaying to finish the Fight.
Fend, ye Gods, your own Hero! In Flanders nor Spain,
Nor where'er in his Youth he had made a Campaign,
Was his Danger so great; nor in War had he seen,
By a Dæmon invented, this dreadful Machine!

185

But—as feeble Court-Beaux lusty Wood-Nymphs surprise,
And prevail by the Snuff, which they cast in their Eyes;
Or, as African Monkies will make a bold Stand,
And repulse the fell Lion with Handfuls of Sand:
Such the Art of Sir Mars, when he found his Distress,
Such his Presence of Mind, and as great his Success!
For remembring the Arms, which he kept in Reserve,
Lo! he snatch'd off his Wig, tho' he strain'd ev'ry Nerve;
Then retiring three Steps, to avoid the dire Pass,
And collect his whole Force, threw it right in her Face.
Pointed Atoms of Powder, in Friga's red Orbs
Deep infix'd, unresisting the Fluid absorbs:.

186

And a Torrent of Tears, while she bellows and raves,
Now impetuous descending, the Salt-Water Waves
Roll a dreery wide Waste all a down her broad Cheeks;
And of all the fine Red only leave a few Streaks.

Thus a gorgeous crown'd Head, hung aloft for a Sign
To invite thirsty Mortals to tipple bad Wine,
By the Tempests of Jove so disfigur'd I've seen,
That the Muse wou'd speak Treason to call it a Queen.

Thro' impatience of Pain, or the sudden Surprise,
That her Hands might be free to give Ease to her Eyes,
Friga threw down the Poker, which brent, where it lay;
And the Mark (that to Strangers is shewn at this Day)

187

Uneffac'd by the Rubber, or Carpenter's Plane,
Like the Blood of St. Becket shall ever remain.

Now it was, that great Jove, who the Combat survey'd,
Putting forth his Gold Scales, both the Combatants weigh'd;
Here he plac'd the huge Friga, there dangled the Knight;
And the Gods, who beheld them, were pleas'd with the Sight:
Mars ascended, as if from the Greeks he had fled;
And the Semivir sunk like a Statue of Lead.
Sure Presage of their Fates!—But shou'd Scheffer pretend
To declare in a Word, how the Battle wou'd end;

188

You'd object, he wants Skill to eke out the Relation,
Or has spoil'd a good Tale by an Anticipation:
Yet you wot here what Homer, or Maro wou'd say;
And in Staticks perhaps I'm as learned, as they.

Well! behold the Don Donna depriv'd of her Arms!
What remains for Defence, but to mumble her Charms?
Thrice she stampt—and invok'd all the Furies below,
Or to open her Eyes, or to fetch off her Foe;
Or to change the old Knight to a little grey Rat,
And herself (such she often hath been) to a Cat.
But a Dæmon, when call'd for, but rarely attends,
And, as Sages remark, still betrays his best Friends.
This she prov'd to her Cost: Nor her Curses, nor Prayers
Aught availing to raise him, the Hockle despairs,

189

Moving cautious and slow, or to this or that Side;
As a Whale among Rocks, when he loses his Guide.
Now to seize the old Warrior, or find out a Chair,
She extends both her Arms; but she fill's 'em with Air:
And the Knight, as around her thus darkling she feels,
Steals behind her on Tip-toe, and trips up her Heels.
Heavy falls the vast Lump with a greater rebound,
Than the Giant, who cover'd nine Acres of Ground.
By so rude a Blow stun'd, without Motion she lies,
And indignant her Soul seems to rush from her Eyes.

But the Hero well judging, that masculine Wives
Often rise from the Dead, and like Cats have nine Lives,

190

To assure his Success, and the Conquest compleat,
With her Garters fast bound both her Hands, and her Feet:
Singing loud Io Pæans, when thus he had tied her,
Like the Saint on the Dragon, he straddled astride her.
Happy Thought! For as thus stood triumphant our Knight,
The Virago recov'ring her Senses, and Sight,
Strives to break her new Bonds, and the Poker regain;
And applies all her Strength: But her Struggles are vain.
Such the impotent Effort, which makes an old Goat,
Lying bound on his Back, and the Knife at his Throat;

191

Or a Tortoise, when turn'd to secure the fresh Prey:
So indecent her Posture! so helpless she lay!
While the Victor insulting now whistles, now gibes;
And at length these Conditions of Ransom prescribes.
First, To beg in low Terms of Submission, her Life;
To renounce all the Rights, and the Title of Wife;
Restitution to make him in Bills, or in Gold,
For the Horses, and Patents, and Plate she had sold;
Never more to accuse him of Madness or Folly;
Or (Querelle d' Almand) to be jealous of Molly.
But the Hero's Demands, tho' so just they were fram'd,
The Virago rejecting, thus furious exclaim'd:

192

“O ye Powers of Dis be for ever accurst!
“False, ungrateful to all! To your own still the Worst!
“Have I conquer'd the Mighty, the Rich, and the Brave,
“Thus inglorious to fall by the Hands of my Slave?
“Ought ye not, ye foul Fiends, to prevent my Disgrace,
“When so oft, to oblige you, I've stood in your Place?

193

“Will ye suffer this Wretch on my Body to dance;
“Nor a Cloven-Foot now to my Succour advance?
“You! Who erst, to divert me, have come at a Call,
“To imprison Lord I---s, or to juggle old Vol;
“Or to sink a Rake's Nose, or to break a Fool's Shins;
“Or to pinch the fat Cook, and make Children spit Pins:
“But exert, Knight or Devils, your Malice and Wit!
“Yet my Mind is still free, and I'll never submit.
This enrag'd the Chevalier: He chang'd his mild Note;
And his Eyes, while he spake, were as red as his Coat.

194

“Is it thus, when my Offers are civil, you dare me?
“Do you think, at Noon-Day, that your Goblins can scare me?
“Or submit—Or by Styx (here he drew the broad Blade)
“Shall your Manhood as smooth, as black Eunuch's, be made.
Friga heard him, and trembled: The same Panick Fear
Seiz'd the Imp in her Hole; if the Imp was still there!

195

As a bold British Sailor, far distant the Shore,
All the Sea-Gods defies, bids the Elements roar;
But descends to his Prayers, is confounded, aghast,
When he hears the dire Order to cut down the Mast:
So the mighty Virago, whom nought cou'd affright;
Nor the Duns of the Day, nor the Dæmons of Night;
Nor Diseases, old Age, nor a Satire cou'd move,
Nor the Anger of Phœbus, nor Thunder of Jove,

196

Was appal'd at the Sight of a rusty short Sword,
And alas! was subdu'd by the Force of one Word.
Me an Eunuch! she cries; And with suppliant Hands,
Yet indignant submits to the Victor's Demands.

FINIS.

197

THE APPENDIX.

199

[Me, and the Muses could'st thou bribe]

Me, and the Muses could'st thou bribe,
And cause us all our Pow'rs unite,
To teach thee in Heroic Strains to write;
Yet, Scheffer, thou could'st ne'er describe
Her matchless Figure, her exalted Deeds,
And the amazing Theme pursue;
But thou must make 'em less, to make 'em true.
The simple History all Faith exceeds.
When her own Knight incircled moves,
He doubts the Virtues, which he proves.
Old P---t, who boasts the Nerves of Youth,
(Renown'd for Probity and Truth)
Wou'd be suspected, should he tell,
How he attack'd, and how he fell.
And A--- too, once Rival of her Fame,
By Man unconquer'd, when she tries
The puissant Genius of this wond'rous Dame,
Tinges her sable Cheeks, and raptur'd cries;
In Woman can there be such Might!
In Female Friendship such Delight!

209

AN EXTRACT OUT OF Mr. Scheffer's first Epistle to Hgarth, a famous British Painter*.

I.

Draw the Sun without a Ray,
Rambling by a borrow'd Light,
Tippling till the Dawn of Day,
With a Collier and a Knight:
Paint his Looks, when he was roasted;
Paint the Donna, whom he toasted.

II.

Draw a Cully Chevalier,
Near a crafty, wealthy Fox;
Then a Centry-Grenadier,
With a C---tess in his Box.
Shew the Bottle-maker's Gear;
And his Trulla with a P---x.
Paint the Warrior's Arms and Chattles,
And his Bloody-minded Battles.

211

AN EXTRACT FROM Mr. Scheffer's second Epistle to Mr. Hgarth* .

I

Hogarth , draw a Gothic Group;
Here old Myra and her Measure,
Hiding Impy in her --- Hoop:
There the Gridir'n, and the Treasure:

II

Here a Wife or wanton Maid,
With a Matron spread upon her;
There a mighty Hero laid
In the truckle-bed of Honour:

III

Here a little angry Wight,
Fam'd for Hunting, Arms, and Arts,
With an Ell of Wig bedight,
Which conceal'd a thousand Darts:

IV

There a bulky bearded Shrew,
Nor of Men or Gods afraid,
Yielding to a feeble Foe,
Lest an Eunuch she be made.

217

ODE.

[The Captain draws as fierce as stout]

The Captain draws as fierce as stout,
And A--- throws her Wit about;
With Poison, Myra too gives out,
She'll work us.

They all invoke the wicked Sprite,
Which dwelt in Body of Sir Knight,
Compell'd with Furies now to fight
In Orcus.

Bane of his House, in Blood and Strife,
Inflam'd by B---lew's wicked Wife,
He studied Vengeance all his Life,
And dying.

I value not the Sword of P---
The Croak of Raven, A---'s Chat,
The Witch—and by her Imps all that
She's trying.

An Hempen String may chance reward
Those Curses, which I disregard.
Phœbus preserves the pious Bard
From Fate here.

Phœbus instructs me how to joke,
The Hags, and Collier to provoke,
And make 'em feel the keenest Stroke
Of Satire.

221

ODE TO THE Chevalier PIERCY

[_]

(To which the Note on Ver. 17. Book III. refers.) In Imitation of Horace, Ode 6. L. 1.

Scriberis Vario fortis, & hostium
Victor, &c.

Sonorous Bards in Epic Verse
Thy matchless Virtues may rehearse;
Extol the gallant Kevan Band,
Proud to march under thy Command;
And tell what great Exploits were done,
Both with the Pole-axe and the Gun.

But shall a Ballad-singing Swain,
Who never try'd an higher Strain,
Say, how a Don of muckle Might,
Full fraught with Craft, and prone to fight,
Led forth his Troops to spoil and burn,
Resolv'd to conquer, or—return?

How some ill-fated Trees, that dar'd
Appear at Distance like a Guard,
(For Danger multiplies our Fear
And makes each Shrub a Grenadier)

222

After a Council duly held,
The Gen'ral order'd to be fell'd.

His Sword, by this Success grown vain,
He flourish'd thrice, and thrice again;
Both to express his Joy and Rage,
Like Kindred Heroes of the Stage:
Then fearless charg'd the Palisade;
Which little Opposition made,
Tho' rais'd by Mars at vast Expence,
Well form'd, and pointed for Defence.
For down he smote at ev'ry Stroke
A Pale—tho' all were Heart of Oak!

And next, to cut off fresh Supplies,
Or haply to prevent Surprize,
(For might not, Sirs, an Ambuscade
In a huge wooden Pump be laid,
As treach'rous Greeks, an armed Force,
Were whilom hid in wooden Horse?)
The Chieftain, in the Voice of Thunder,
Commands the Pump be cleft asunder.

Then round the House with martial Grace
Marching to spy the weakest Place,
He mark'd, how many Panes were crack'd,
“The Windows must be first attack'd!”
So, tho' his Vet'rans thought him rash,
He points his Guns against a Sash.
The Frame was old, the Glass was thin,
And no Resistance from within:
A Breach was made, thro' which he ventur'd,
After his Soldiers all had enter'd.

Thus fifty Wights, arm'd Cap-a-pee,
By dint of Courage conquer'd Three.
Tho' Men of Chapel-Izzod say,
The Gen'rals Conduct gain'd the Day.

223

Now, since the Poet has been crush'd,
'Tis best, the Matter should be hush'd.
I hope the K---g, who lives so far,
Will hear no Tidings of this War:
For Kings, as well as simple Knights,
Are sometimes jealous of their Rights.
And you, great Guardian of the Laws,
Gracious review the Hero's Cause.
Tho' it may seem a rash Affair,
Consider, Piercy is Surveyor!
Do not conceive, he claims a Right,
Or storm'd the Royal Lodge in spite:
He strove to burn it, ere it yielded,
In hopes hereafter—to rebuild it.

But hark, ye Warriors, how this Battle
Inclines my gossip Muse to prattle!
Tho' I have told her, 'tis not fit
To spoil great Deeds for want of Wit;
By Scraps and Hints to tell a Story,
And thus to sully Piercy's Glory.

When Phœbus will not lend a Beam,
Nor match the Numbers to the Theme;
What Bard can aptly draw Sir Mars
Acting the Hero of a Farce?
Or who describe his dreadful Note,
His warlike Strut, and broider'd Coat?

Who can relate the Rise and Fall,
The various Shapes of Dublin Vol?
Shew him among the Mud-nymphs gay,
Or a grave Evidence for Pay?
Or else, majestic in his Hole,
Meting out Bally-Castle Coal?
No British Collier is so black,
Or can produce—a broader Back.

224

But, Piercy, greatest of the Three!
Mirror of modern Chivalry!
What Verse is equal to your Merit,
Who can display your active Spirit?
Whether, exerting all your Skill,
You plan a House, or—make a Will:
Or, aided by the Beldam's Charm,
You bid your Mercenaries arm:
Take Castles without Loss of Man,
As Spanish Quixots took Oran.
Shall it suffice—thou hast a Place.
That thou art dubb'd by D---t's Grace?
Or, since the Danger all is past,
Shall this bold Action be thy last?
No—thou shalt higher—higher rise,
Till thy great Head shall touch the Skies;
Till Jove shall smile with gracious Nod,
And Scheffer change thee to a God.

Whilst I, content with humble Lays,
Repeat the sable Frokin's Praise;
Describe her Face, her Shape, her Carriage;
Her Art of Love, and Art of Marriage.
Or—ever mindful of my Wrongs,
At Leisure to compose new Songs,
I couple Donnas a-la-mode,
And dress old Myra in an Ode.

225

ODE TO MYRA

[_]

(To which the Note on Verse 194. Book III. refers) In imitation of Horace's Ode to Canidia. Lib. Ep. Od. 17.

Jam jam efficaci do manus scientiæ, &c.

Cease! thy direful Vengeance cease!
Mighty Sorc'ress, give me Ease!
Like thy self a Convert grown,
Now thy Magic Power I own.
See the Bard with supp'lant Hands
Meanest Slave of thy Commands!

Be thou pleas'd! my Voice I'll raise,
Tune my Lyre to sound thy Praise;
I will form thee all Divine;
And no Muse shall lie like mine.

By thy sacred Self I'll swear,
Thou art fairest of the Fair;
That thy Morn-or Evening Face
Modest shines with native Grace;
Thy Complexion, when 'tis Pale,
Shews the Lilies of the Vale;
When thy Cheeks are over-spread
With a bright Vermilion-red,
Greater Beauties they disclose,
Charming, as the op'ning Rose.

226

Then thy Tresses I'll display;
Swear, they are unmixt with grey:
That thy hollow Eyes are Jet,
Brilliant Di'monds, tho' ill set:
Or, low Similes to shun,
Either Orb shall be a Sun.
With thy Rays, like Cupid's Darts,
Thou shalt pierce the stoutest Hearts;
Change us, when thy Work is done,
(Like Medusa) into Stone.

Next I'll smooth thy wrinkled Skin,
Paint, without a Beard, thy Chin;
Swear, thy Breath (which never fails)
Is as sweet as spicy Gales:
That thy Teeth are all thy own,
('Tis a Set that's newly grown)
But I think I shall not Lie,
If I swear, they're Ivory.

Then a well turn'd Neck I'll shew,
Whiter than the falling Snow:
And each Breast shall be as small,
Round, and hard, as Billiard-ball.

Then I'll mould thy muckle Waist,
Shape it to a Critick's Taste:
If he fancies, 'tis too wide
To be compass'd with an Hide;
Let him measure, as did Dido;
Or else let him lie, as I do:
For I'll with a Span surround it;
Swear, that Venus' Girdle bound it.

Wou'd the modest Fair excuse
Some few Freedoms in the Muse;

227

I'd unveil a nobler Part,
Touch it with Dan Ovid's Art;
Not compare it, like a Sloven,
To a Furnace, or an Oven;
To a Bushel, or a Bowl,
Large as thy capacious Soul:
But a Figure I'd devise,
Which shou'd dignify my Lies,
By neat Metaphors express'd,
In a Virgin's Likeness dress'd;
Such as Anch'rets wou'd inspire;
Reconcile the angry Frier;
Teach an Irish King to love,
And even make a Bull of Jove.

But ah! then a Damp I'd cast;
For I'd swear, that thou art chaste;
True to every Husband's Bed,
To their Mem'ry, when they're dead:
That thou never had'st Affair
With a Porter, or a Player;
With the Bully Chevalier,
Or with Centry Grenadier;
Pam or Piercy P--- or Gore;
With—about an hundred more,
Whom the saucy People name,
Eccho'd by that Brazen Fame.

Then I'll falsify Report,
Standing Jest of Viceroy's Court;
Fabled in the Comic Play,
Tattled over Cards and Tea;

228

Always whisper'd with a Sneer,
When thy Frow and thou art near.
What if Sappho was so naught?
I'll deny, that thou hast taught
How to pair the Female Doves,
How to practise Lesbian Loves:
But when little Al is spread
In her Grove, or on thy Bed,
I will swear, 'tis Nature's Call,
'Tis exalted Friendship all.

Then, because I'm often told,
Mighty Sorc'ress, thou grow'st old;
That, few Bards in Days of Yore
Fancied Beauties of Threescore;
I'll unbend the Work of Time,
I'll restore thee to thy Prime,
Feign, that now thou art as young,
As when am'rous G---ville sung.

Then I'll strike an higher String,
And thy matchless Virtues sing;
Singing swear, that thou art Just,
Grateful, Faithful to thy Trust:
That thy Piety excels
All that Romish Legend tells;
That thou'rt Disciplin'd with Rods,
Tho' thou hast abjur'd thy Gods:
That thy Purse, and—eke thy Door
Ever opens to the Poor;

229

That thou givest without Measure,
In exchange for heav'nly Treasure.

Then to prove thy Truth and Wit,
I'll repeat what thou hast writ;
In my Numbers Both shall shine,
And be priz'd as much as—mine.

Indian Priests avert all Evil,
By cajoling angry Devil;
Praise his Beauty, and his Youth,
Give him Virtue, Wit and Truth;
Flatter, sacrifice and lie,
And old Satan deify:
So let me thy Wrath appease!
So do thou thy Vengeance cease!
Soften'd by my lying Lyre,
Gracious imitate thy Sire;
And at least such Favour shew,
As the Devil wou'd bestow.

232

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

To the Most Illustrious FREDERICK SCHEFFER, Tir-Oen, of the County of Cork; Sendeth Greeting.

To the Illustrious FREDERICK SCHEFFER,

The most Renowned of all the Vandal Poets.

BY ------ KNAPP, Ænigmatical-Almanack Maker of the City of Cork, Upon reading the HERMAPHRODITE OF Mr. FREDERICK SCHEFFER.

THE TOAST.

AN HEROICK POEM

THE ARGUMENTS TO THE FOUR BOOKS OF The TOAST.

Argument to the First Book. The Night Ramble of the Sun.

Argument to the Second Book. The Marriage of Mars and Myra.

Argument to the Third Book. The Acts of Myra and her Imp.

The Episode of the Gridiron.

Argument to the Fourth Book. The Combat of Mars and the Hermaphrodite.

BOOK THE FIRST.

BOOK THE SECOND.

BOOK THE THIRD.

BOOK THE FOURTH.

THE APPENDIX.

[Me, and the Muses could'st thou bribe]

AN EXTRACT OUT OF Mr. Scheffer's first Epistle to H*garth, a famous British Painter.

I.

II.

AN EXTRACT FROM Mr. Scheffer's second Epistle to Mr. H*garth .

I

II

III

IV

ODE.

[The Captain draws as fierce as stout]

ODE TO THE Chevalier PIERCY

ODE TO MYRA

AN EXTRACT OUT OF Mr. Scheffer's first Epistle to Hgarth, a famous British Painter*.

AN EXTRACT FROM Mr. Scheffer's second Epistle to Mr. Hgarth* .