TO IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN
SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual offering shall I make
Expressive of my duty?
My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver-
Say, would the angry fair one prize
The gift, who slights the giver?
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give; and let them;
If gems or gold impart a joy,
I'll give them when I get them.
I'll give—but not the full-blown rose,
Or rose-bud more in fashion-
Such short-lived offerings but disclose
A transitory passion-
I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not less sincere than civil:
I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee to the devil!
IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.
LOGICIANS have but ill defined
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man-
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglecious,
By ratiocinations specious,
Have strove to prove with great precision, With definition and division,
Homo est ratione præditum1-
But for my soul I cannot credit 'em:
And must in spite of them maintain
That man and all his ways are vain,
And that this boasted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature-
That instinct is a surer guide
Than reason, boasting mortals' pride,
And that brute beasts are far before 'em,
Deus est anima brutorum.2
Who ever knew an honest brute
At law his neighbour prosecute;
Bring action for assault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,
No politics disturb their mind;
They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court;
They never to the levee go
To treat as dearest friend a foe;
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,
Nor draw the quill to write for Bob.
Fraught with invective they ne'er go
To folks at Paternoster-row:
No jugglers, fiddlers, dancing-masters.
No pickpockets, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupeds;
No single brute his fellow leads;
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each other's throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape:
Like man, he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling passion,
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape surpasses.
Behold him, humbly cringing, wait
Upon the minister of state:
View him soon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of superiors:
Man is endowed with reason.
2 God is the soul of brutes.
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators:
At court, the porters, lackeys, waiters,
Their masters manners still contract-
And footmen lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court, both great and smali
Behave alike-for all ape all.
MANNER OF SWIFT.
LONG had I sought in vain to find
A likeness for the scribbling kind-
The modern scribbling kind, who write
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite-
Till reading, I forgot what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there,
To suit my purpose to a hair.
But let us not proceed too furious,
First please to turn to god Mercurius:
You'll find him pictured at full length
In book the second, page the tenth.
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis, pray observe his hat;
Wings upon either side-mark that,
Well! what is it from thence we gather ?
Why these denote a brain of feather.
A brain of feather! very right-
With wit that's flighty, learning light;
Such as to modern bards decreed;
A just comparison-proceed.
In the next place, his feet peruse;
Wings grow again from both his shoes;
Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft his godship through the air.
And here my simile unites-
For, in a modern poet's flights,
I'm sure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.
Lastly, vouchsafe to observe his hand,
Fill'd with a snake-encircled wand;
By classic authors term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses:
To wit-most wondrously endu’d,
No poppy water half so good-
For let folks only get a touch,
Its soporific virtue's such,
Though ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore:
Add, too, what certain writers tell-
With this he drives men's souls to hell—
Now to apply, begin we then:
His wand's a modern author's
pen;
The serpents round about it twin'd
Denote him of the reptile kind—
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy slaver, venom❜d bites;
An equal semblance still to keep,
Alike, too, both conduce to sleep-
This difference only, as the god
Drove souls to Tartarus with his rod,
With his goosequill the scribbling elf
Instead of others damns himself.
And here my simile almost tripp'd,
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.
Moreover, Mercury had a failing;
Well! what of that ? out with it-stealing;
In which all modern bards agree,
Being each as great a thief as he..
But e'en this deity's existence
Shall lend my simile assistance:
Our modern bards! why what a-pox
Are they-but senseless stones and blocks?
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,
Rather in pity than in hate,
That he should be, like Cupid, blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate.
ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
GOOD people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short-
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran-
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes,
The naked every day he clad-
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But, when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring street
The wondering neighbours ran;
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That show'd the rogues they lied:
The man recover'd of the bite;
The dog it was that died.
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