The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume I Part 43

So geographers, in Afric maps, With savage pictures fill their gaps, And o'er unhabitable downs Place elephants for want of towns.

But, though you miss your third essay, You need not throw your pen away.

Lay now aside all thoughts of fame, To spring more profitable game.

From party merit seek support; The vilest verse thrives best at court.

And may you ever have the luck To rhyme almost as ill as Duck;[6]

And, though you never learn'd to scan verse Come out with some lampoon on D'Anvers.

A pamphlet in Sir Bob's defence Will never fail to bring in pence: Nor be concern'd about the sale, He pays his workmen on the nail.[7]

Display the blessings of the nation, And praise the whole administration.

Extol the bench of bishops round, Who at them rail, bid ---- confound; To bishop-haters answer thus: (The only logic used by us) What though they don't believe in ---- Deny them Protestants--thou lyest.

A prince, the moment he is crown'd, Inherits every virtue round, As emblems of the sovereign power, Like other baubles in the Tower; Is generous, valiant, just, and wise, And so continues till he dies: His humble senate this professes, In all their speeches, votes, addresses.

But once you fix him in a tomb, His virtues fade, his vices bloom; And each perfection, wrong imputed, Is fully at his death confuted.

The loads of poems in his praise, Ascending, make one funeral blaze: His panegyrics then are ceased, He grows a tyrant, dunce, or beast.

As soon as you can hear his knell, This G.o.d on earth turns devil in h.e.l.l: And lo! his ministers of state, Transform'd to imps, his levee wait; Where in the scenes of endless woe, They ply their former arts below; And as they sail in Charon's boat, Contrive to bribe the judge's vote; To Cerberus they give a sop, His triple barking mouth to stop; Or, in the ivory gate of dreams,[8]

Project excise and South-Sea[9] schemes; Or hire their party pamphleteers To set Elysium by the ears.

Then, poet, if you mean to thrive, Employ your muse on kings alive; With prudence gathering up a cl.u.s.ter Of all the virtues you can muster, Which, form'd into a garland sweet, Lay humbly at your monarch's feet: Who, as the odours reach his throne, Will smile, and think them all his own; For law and gospel both determine All virtues lodge in royal ermine: I mean the oracles of both, Who shall depose it upon oath.

Your garland, in the following reign, Change but the names, will do again.

But, if you think this trade too base, (Which seldom is the dunce's case) Put on the critic's brow, and sit At Will's, the puny judge of wit.

A nod, a shrug, a scornful smile, With caution used, may serve a while.

Proceed no further in your part, Before you learn the terms of art; For you can never be too far gone In all our modern critics' jargon: Then talk with more authentic face Of unities, in time and place: Get sc.r.a.ps of Horace from your friends, And have them at your fingers' ends; Learn Aristotle's rules by rote, And at all hazards boldly quote; Judicious Rymer[10] oft review, Wise Dennis,[11] and profound Bossu.[12]

Read all the prefaces of Dryden, For these our critics much confide in; Though merely writ at first for filling, To raise the volume's price a shilling.

A forward critic often dupes us With sham quotations _peri hupsous_: And if we have not read Longinus, Will magisterially outshine us.

Then, lest with Greek he overrun ye, Procure the book for love or money, Translated from Boileau's translation,[13]

And quote quotation on quotation.

At Will's you hear a poem read, Where Battus[14] from the table head, Reclining on his elbow-chair, Gives judgment with decisive air; To whom the tribe of circling wits As to an oracle submits.

He gives directions to the town, To cry it up, or run it down; Like courtiers, when they send a note, Instructing members how to vote.

He sets the stamp of bad and good, Though not a word be understood.

Your lesson learn'd, you'll be secure To get the name of connoisseur: And, when your merits once are known, Procure disciples of your own.

For poets (you can never want 'em) Spread through Augusta Trin.o.bantum,[15]

Computing by their pecks of coals, Amount to just nine thousand souls: These o'er their proper districts govern, Of wit and humour judges sovereign.

In every street a city bard Rules, like an alderman, his ward; His undisputed rights extend Through all the lane, from end to end; The neighbours round admire his shrewdness For songs of loyalty and lewdness; Outdone by none in rhyming well, Although he never learn'd to spell.

Two bordering wits contend for glory; And one is Whig, and one is Tory: And this, for epics claims the bays, And that, for elegiac lays: Some famed for numbers soft and smooth, By lovers spoke in Punch's booth; And some as justly fame extols For lofty lines in Smithfield drolls.

Bavius[16] in Wapping gains renown, And Maevius[16] reigns o'er Kentish town: Tigellius[17] placed in Phooebus' car From Ludgate shines to Temple-bar: Harmonious Cibber entertains The court with annual birth-day strains; Whence Gay was banish'd in disgrace;[18]

Where Pope will never show his face; Where Young must torture his invention To flatter knaves or lose his pension.[19]

But these are not a thousandth part Of jobbers in the poet's art, Attending each his proper station, And all in due subordination, Through every alley to be found, In garrets high, or under ground; And when they join their pericranies, Out skips a book of miscellanies.

Hobbes clearly proves, that every creature Lives in a state of war by nature.[20]

The greater for the smaller watch, But meddle seldom with their match.

A whale of moderate size will draw A shoal of herrings down his maw; A fox with geese his belly crams; A wolf destroys a thousand lambs; But search among the rhyming race, The brave are worried by the base.

If on Parna.s.sus' top you sit, You rarely bite, are always bit: Each poet of inferior size On you shall rail and criticise, And strive to tear you limb from limb; While others do as much for him.

The vermin only teaze and pinch Their foes superior by an inch.

So, naturalists observe, a flea Has smaller fleas that on him prey; And these have smaller still to bite 'em, And so proceed _ad infinitum_.

Thus every poet, in his kind, Is bit by him that comes behind: Who, though too little to be seen, Can teaze, and gall, and give the spleen; Call dunces, fools, and sons of wh.o.r.es, Lay Grub Street at each other's doors; Extol the Greek and Roman masters, And curse our modern poetasters; Complain, as many an ancient bard did, How genius is no more rewarded; How wrong a taste prevails among us; How much our ancestors outsung us: Can personate an awkward scorn For those who are not poets born; And all their brother dunces lash, Who crowd the press with hourly trash.

O Grub Street! how do I bemoan thee, Whose graceless children scorn to own thee!

Their filial piety forgot, Deny their country, like a Scot; Though by their idiom and grimace, They soon betray their native place: Yet thou hast greater cause to be Ashamed of them, than they of thee, Degenerate from their ancient brood Since first the court allow'd them food.

Remains a difficulty still, To purchase fame by writing ill.

From Flecknoe[21] down to Howard's[22] time, How few have reach'd the low sublime!

For when our high-born Howard died, Blackmore[23] alone his place supplied: And lest a chasm should intervene, When death had finish'd Blackmore's reign, The leaden crown devolved to thee, Great poet[24] of the "Hollow Tree."

But ah! how unsecure thy throne!

A thousand bards thy right disown: They plot to turn, in factious zeal, Duncenia to a common weal; And with rebellious arms pretend An equal privilege to descend.

In bulk there are not more degrees From elephants to mites in cheese, Than what a curious eye may trace In creatures of the rhyming race.

From bad to worse, and worse they fall; But who can reach the worst of all?

For though, in nature, depth and height Are equally held infinite: In poetry, the height we know; 'Tis only infinite below.

For instance: when you rashly think, No rhymer can like Welsted sink, His merits balanced, you shall find The Laureate leaves him far behind.

Concanen,[25] more aspiring bard, Soars downward deeper by a yard.

Smart Jemmy Moore[26] with vigour drops; The rest pursue as thick as hops: With heads to point the gulf they enter, Link'd perpendicular to the centre; And as their heels elated rise, Their heads attempt the nether skies.

O, what indignity and shame, To prost.i.tute the Muses' name!

By flattering kings, whom Heaven design'd The plagues and scourges of mankind; Bred up in ignorance and sloth, And every vice that nurses both.

Perhaps you say, Augustus shines, Immortal made in Virgil's lines, And Horace brought the tuneful quire, To sing his virtues on the lyre; Without reproach for flattery, true, Because their praises were his due.

For in those ages kings, we find, Were animals of human kind.

But now, go search all _Europe_ round Among the _savage monsters_ ---- With vice polluting every _throne_, (I mean all thrones except our own;) In vain you make the strictest view To find a ---- in all the crew, With whom a footman out of place Would not conceive a high disgrace, A burning shame, a crying sin, To take his morning's cup of gin.

Thus all are destined to obey Some beast of burthen or of prey.

'Tis sung, Prometheus,[27] forming man, Through all the brutal species ran, Each proper quality to find Adapted to a human mind; A mingled ma.s.s of good and bad, The best and worst that could be had; Then from a clay of mixture base He shaped a ---- to rule the race, Endow'd with gifts from every brute That best the * * nature suit.

Thus think on ----s: the name denotes Hogs, a.s.ses, wolves, baboons, and goats.

To represent in figure just, Sloth, folly, rapine, mischief, l.u.s.t; Oh! were they all but Neb-cadnezers, What herds of ----s would turn to grazers!

Fair Britain, in thy monarch blest, Whose virtues bear the strictest test; Whom never faction could bespatter, Nor minister nor poet flatter; What justice in rewarding merit!

What magnanimity of spirit!

What lineaments divine we trace Through all his figure, mien, and face!

Though peace with olive binds his hands, Confess'd the conquering hero stands.

Hydaspes,[28] Indus, and the Ganges, Dread from his hand impending changes.

From him the Tartar and Chinese, Short by the knees,[29] entreat for peace.

The consort of his throne and bed, A perfect G.o.ddess born and bred, Appointed sovereign judge to sit On learning, eloquence, and wit.

Our eldest hope, divine Iulus,[30]

(Late, very late, O may he rule us!) What early manhood has he shown, Before his downy beard was grown, Then think, what wonders will be done By going on as he begun, An heir for Britain to secure As long as sun and moon endure.

The remnant of the royal blood Comes pouring on me like a flood.

Bright G.o.ddesses, in number five; Duke William, sweetest prince alive.

Now sing the minister of state, Who shines alone without a mate.

Observe with what majestic port This Atlas stands to prop the court: Intent the public debts to pay, Like prudent Fabius,[31] by delay.

Thou great vicegerent of the king, Thy praises every Muse shall sing!

In all affairs thou sole director; Of wit and learning chief protector, Though small the time thou hast to spare, The church is thy peculiar care.

Of pious prelates what a stock You choose to rule the sable flock!

You raise the honour of the peerage, Proud to attend you at the steerage.

You dignify the n.o.ble race, Content yourself with humbler place.

Now learning, valour, virtue, sense, To t.i.tles give the sole pretence.

St. George beheld thee with delight, Vouchsafe to be an azure knight, When on thy breast and sides Herculean, He fix'd the star and string cerulean.

Say, poet, in what other nation Shone ever such a constellation!

Attend, ye Popes, and Youngs, and Gays, And tune your harps, and strew your bays: Your panegyrics here provide; You cannot err on flattery's side.

Above the stars exalt your style, You still are low ten thousand mile.

On Lewis all his bards bestow'd Of incense many a thousand load; But Europe mortified his pride, And swore the fawning rascals lied.

Yet what the world refused to Lewis, Applied to George, exactly true is.

Exactly true! invidious poet!

'Tis fifty thousand times below it.

Translate me now some lines, if you can, From Virgil, Martial, Ovid, Lucan.

They could all power in Heaven divide, And do no wrong on either side; They teach you how to split a hair, Give George and Jove an equal share.[32]

Yet why should we be laced so strait?

I'll give my monarch b.u.t.ter-weight.

And reason good; for many a year Jove never intermeddled here: Nor, though his priests be duly paid, Did ever we desire his aid: We now can better do without him, Since Woolston gave us arms to rout him.

_Caetera desiderantur_.

[Footnote 1: See Young's "Satires," and "Life" by Johnson.--_W. E. B._]