The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 36

The students, drinking, raised their wit and parts; Here, for an age and more, improved their vein, Their Phoebus I, my spring their Hippocrene.

Discouraged youths! now all their hopes must fail, Condemn'd to country cottages and ale; To foreign prelates make a slavish court, And by their sweat procure a mean support; Or, for the cla.s.sics, read "The Attorney's Guide;"

Collect excise, or wait upon the tide.

Oh! had I been apostle to the Swiss, Or hardy Scot, or any land but this; Combined in arms, they had their foes defied, And kept their liberty, or bravely died; Thou still with tyrants in succession curst, The last invaders trampling on the first; Nor fondly hope for some reverse of fate, Virtue herself would now return too late.

Not half thy course of misery is run, Thy greatest evils yet are scarce begun.

Soon shall thy sons (the time is just at hand) Be all made captives in their native land; When for the use of no Hibernian born, Shall rise one blade of gra.s.s, one ear of corn; When sh.e.l.ls and leather shall for money pa.s.s, Nor thy oppressing lords afford thee bra.s.s,[8]

But all turn leasers to that mongrel breed,[9]

Who, from thee sprung, yet on thy vitals feed; Who to yon ravenous isle thy treasures bear, And waste in luxury thy harvest there; For pride and ignorance a proverb grown, The jest of wits, and to the court unknown.

I scorn thy spurious and degenerate line, And from this hour my patronage resign.

[Footnote 1: Italy was not properly the native place of St. Patrick, but the place of his education, and whence he received his mission; and because he had his new birth there, by poetical license, and by scripture figure, our author calls that country his native Italy.--_Dublin Edition_.]

[Footnote 2: Orpheus, or the ancient author of the Greek poem on the Argonautic expedition, whoever he be, says, that Jason, who manned the ship Argos at Thessaly, sailed to Ireland. And Adria.n.u.s Junius says the same thing, in these lines: "Ilia ego sum Graiis, olim glacialis Ierne Dicta, et Jasoniae puppis bene cognita nautis."--_Dublin Edition_.]

[Footnote 3: Tacitus, comparing Ireland to Britain, says of the former: "Melius aditus portusque per commercia et negotiatores cogniti."--_Agricola,_ xxiv.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 4: Fordun, in his Scoti-Chronicon, Hector Boethius, Buchanan, and all the Scottish historians, agree that Fergus, son of Ferquard, King of Ireland, was the first King of Scotland, which country he subdued.--_Scott_.]

[Footnote 5: In the reign of Henry II, 1172, Dermot Macmorrogh, King of Leinster, having been expelled from his kingdom by Roderick, King of Connaught, sought and obtained the a.s.sistance of the English for the recovery of his dominions. See Hume's "History of England," vol. i, p. 380.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 6: There are no snakes, vipers, or toads in Ireland; and even frogs were not known here till about the year 1700. The magpies came a short time before; and the Norway rats since.--_Dublin Edition_. These plagues are all alluded to in this and the subsequent stanzas.--_Scott_.]

[Footnote 7: The University of Dublin, called Trinity College, was founded by Queen Elizabeth in 1591.--_Dublin Edition_.]

[Footnote 8: Wood's ruinous project against the people of Ireland was supported by Sir Robert Walpole in 1724.--_Dublin Edition_.]

[Footnote 9: The absentees, who spent the income of their Irish estates, places, and pensions, in England.--_Dublin Edition_.]

ON READING DR. YOUNG'S SATIRE, CALLED THE UNIVERSAL Pa.s.sION 1726

If there be truth in what you sing, Such G.o.dlike virtues in the king; A minister[1] so fill'd with zeal And wisdom for the commonweal; If he[2] who in the chair presides, So steadily the senate guides; If others, whom you make your theme, Are seconds in the glorious scheme; If every peer whom you commend, To worth and learning be a friend; If this be truth, as you attest, What land was ever half so blest!

No falsehood now among the great, And tradesmen now no longer cheat: Now on the bench fair Justice shines; Her scale to neither side inclines: Now Pride and Cruelty are flown, And Mercy here exalts her throne; For such is good example's power, It does its office every hour, Where governors are good and wise; Or else the truest maxim lies: For so we find all ancient sages Decree, that, _ad exemplum regis_, Through all the realm his virtues run, Ripening and kindling like the sun.

If this be true, then how much more When you have named at least a score Of courtiers, each in their degree, If possible, as good as he?

Or take it in a different view.

I ask (if what you say be true) If you affirm the present age Deserves your satire's keenest rage; If that same universal pa.s.sion With every vice has fill'd the nation: If virtue dares not venture down A single step beneath the crown: If clergymen, to show their wit, Praise cla.s.sics more than holy writ: If bankrupts, when they are undone, Into the senate-house can run, And sell their votes at such a rate, As will retrieve a lost estate: If law be such a partial wh.o.r.e, To spare the rich, and plague the poor: If these be of all crimes the worst, What land was ever half so curst?

[Footnote 1: Sir Robert Walpole, afterwards Earl of Orford. Young's seventh satire is inscribed to him.--_Scott_.]

[Footnote 2: Sir Spencer Compton, then Speaker, afterwards Earl of Wilmington, to whom the eighth satire is dedicated. See vol. i, 219.--_W. E. B._]

THE DOG AND THIEF. 1726

Quoth the thief to the dog, let me into your door And I'll give you these delicate bits.

Quoth the dog, I shall then be more villain than you're, And besides must be out of my wits.

Your delicate bits will not serve me a meal, But my master each day gives me bread; You'll fly, when you get what you came here to steal, And I must be hang'd in your stead.

The stockjobber thus from 'Change Alley goes down, And tips you the freeman a wink; Let me have but your vote to serve for the town, And here is a guinea to drink.

Says the freeman, your guinea to-night would be spent!

Your offers of bribery cease: I'll vote for my landlord to whom I pay rent, Or else I may forfeit my lease.

From London they come, silly people to chouse, Their lands and their faces unknown: Who'd vote a rogue into the parliament-house, That would turn a man out of his own?

A DIALOGUE[1] BETWEEN MAD MULLINIX AND TIMOTHY 1728

_M_.

I own, 'tis not my bread and b.u.t.ter, But prithee, Tim, why all this clutter?

Why ever in these raging fits, d.a.m.ning to h.e.l.l the Jacobites?

When if you search the kingdom round, There's hardly twenty to be found; No, not among the priests and friars---- _T_. 'Twixt you and me, G--d d--n the liars!

_M_. The Tories are gone every man over To our ill.u.s.trious house of Hanover; From all their conduct this is plain; And then---- _T_. G--d d--n the liars again!

Did not an earl but lately vote, To bring in (I could cut his throat) Our whole accounts of public debts?

_M_. Lord, how this frothy c.o.xcomb frets! [_Aside._ _T_. Did not an able statesman bishop This dangerous horrid motion dish up As Popish craft? did he not rail on't?

Show fire and f.a.got in the tail on't?

Proving the earl a grand offender; And in a plot for the Pretender; Whose fleet, 'tis all our friends' opinion, Was then embarking at Avignon?

_M_. These wrangling jars of Whig and Tory, Are stale and worn as Troy-town story: The wrong, 'tis certain, you were both in, And now you find you fought for nothing.

Your faction, when their game was new, Might want such noisy fools as you; But you, when all the show is past, Resolve to stand it out the last; Like Martin Marall,[2] gaping on, Not minding when the song is done.

When all the bees are gone to settle, You clatter still your brazen kettle.

The leaders whom you listed under, Have dropt their arms, and seized the plunder; And when the war is past, you come To rattle in their ears your drum: And as that hateful hideous Grecian, Thersites,[3] (he was your relation,) Was more abhorr'd and scorn'd by those With whom he served, than by his foes; So thou art grown the detestation Of all thy party through the nation: Thy peevish and perpetual teasing With plots, and Jacobites, and treason, Thy busy never-meaning face, Thy screw'd-up front, thy state grimace, Thy formal nods, important sneers, Thy whisperings foisted in all ears, (Which are, whatever you may think, But nonsense wrapt up in a stink,) Have made thy presence, in a true sense, To thy own side, so d--n'd a nuisance, That, when they have you in their eye, As if the devil drove, they fly.

_T_. My good friend Mullinix, forbear; I vow to G--, you're too severe: If it could ever yet be known I took advice, except my own, It should be yours; but, d--n my blood!

I must pursue the public good: The faction (is it not notorious?) [4]Keck at the memory of Glorious:[5]

'Tis true; nor need I to be told, My _quondam_ friends are grown so cold, That scarce a creature can be found To prance with me his statue round.

The public safety, I foresee, Henceforth depends alone on me; And while this vital breath I blow, Or from above or from below, I'll sputter, swagger, curse, and rail, The Tories' terror, scourge, and flail.

_M_. Tim, you mistake the matter quite; The Tories! you are their delight; And should you act a different part, Be grave and wise, 'twould break their heart.

Why, Tim, you have a taste you know, And often see a puppet-show: Observe the audience is in pain, While Punch is hid behind the scene: But, when they hear his rusty voice, With what impatience they rejoice!

And then they value not two straws, How Solomon decides the cause, Which the true mother, which pretender Nor listen to the witch of Endor.

Should Faustus with the devil behind him Enter the stage, they never mind him: If Punch, to stir their fancy, shows In at the door his monstrous nose, Then sudden draws it back again; O what a pleasure mixt with pain!

You every moment think an age, Till he appears upon the stage: And first his b.u.m you see him clap Upon the Queen of Sheba's lap: The Duke of Lorraine drew his sword; Punch roaring ran, and running roar'd, Reviled all people in his jargon, And sold the King of Spain a bargain; St. George himself he plays the wag on, And mounts astride upon the dragon; He gets a thousand thumps and kicks, Yet cannot leave his roguish tricks; In every action thrusts his nose; The reason why, no mortal knows: In doleful scenes that break our heart, Punch comes like you, and lets a fart.

There's not a puppet made of wood, But what would hang him if they could; While, teasing all, by all he's teased, How well are the spectators pleased!

Who in the motion[6] have no share, But purely come to hear and stare; Have no concern for Sabra's sake, Which gets the better, saint or snake, Provided Punch (for there's the jest) Be soundly maul'd, and plague the rest.

Thus, Tim, philosophers suppose, The world consists of puppet-shows; Where petulant conceited fellows Perform the part of Punchinelloes: So at this booth which we call Dublin, Tim, thou'rt the Punch to stir up trouble in: You wriggle, fidge, and make a rout, Put all your brother puppets out, Run on in a perpetual round, To tease, perplex, disturb, confound: Intrude with monkey grin and clatter To interrupt all serious matter; Are grown the nuisance of your clan, Who hate and scorn you to a man: But then the lookers-on, the Tories, You still divert with merry stories, They would consent that all the crew Were hang'd before they'd part with you.

But tell me, Tim, upon the spot, By all this toil what hast thou got?

If Tories must have all the sport, I fear you'll be disgraced at court.

_T_. Got? D--n my blood! I frank my letters, Walk to my place before my betters; And, simple as I now stand here, Expect in time to be a peer-- Got? D--n me! why I got my will!

Ne'er hold my peace, and ne'er stand still: I fart with twenty ladies by; They call me beast; and what care I?

I bravely call the Tories Jacks, And sons of wh.o.r.es--behind their backs.

But could you bring me once to think, That when I strut, and stare, and stink, Revile and slander, fume and storm, Betray, make oath, impeach, inform, With such a constant loyal zeal To serve myself and commonweal, And fret the Tories' souls to death, I did but lose my precious breath; And, when I d.a.m.n my soul to plague 'em, Am, as you tell me, but their May-game; Consume my vitals! they shall know, I am not to be treated so; I'd rather hang myself by half, Than give those rascals cause to laugh.

But how, my friend, can I endure, Once so renown'd, to live obscure?

No little boys and girls to cry, "There's nimble Tim a-pa.s.sing by!"