Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold:
He chipp'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground:
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would straight become a golden pippin:
He call'd for drink; you saw him sup:
Potable gold in golden cup:
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck'd his victuals through a quill.
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or't had been happy for gold finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head;
Whene'er he chanc'd his hands to lay
On magazine's of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd, instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence by wise farmers we are told,
Old hay is equal to old gold:
And hence a critic deep maintains,
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit;
And people fancy'd he had wit.
*" To day I published The Fable of Midas,' a poem printed on a loose half sheet of paper. I know not how it will take; but it passed wonderfully at our society to-night; and Mr. secretary read it before me the other night, to lord treasurer, at lord Masham's where they equally approved of it. Tell me how it passes with you." Journal to Stella, Feb. 14, 1711-12. N.
Two gods their skill in music try'd,
And both chose Midas to decide:
He against Phoebus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to show his grudge,
Clapt asses' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims,
The golden scurf peels off his limbs:
Fame spreads the news and people travel
From far to gather golden gravel;
Midas, expos'd to all their jeers,
Had lost his art, and kept his ears.
This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader;
To whom from Midas down, descends
That virtue in the fingers' ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per
By places and commissions sold,
And turning dung itself to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
As t'other Midas did before?
None e'er did modern Midas choose,
Subject or patron of his Muse,
But found him thus their merit scan,
That Phoebus must give place to Pan:
He values not the poet's praise,
Nor will exchange his plums for bays.
To Pan alone rich misers call;
And there's the jest, for Pan is ALL.
Here English wits will be to seek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.
Besides, it plainly now appears
Our Midas too has asses' ears:
Where every fool his mouth applies,
And whispers in a thousand lies;
Such gross delusions could not pass
Through any ears but of an ass.
But gold defiles with frequent touch,
There's nothing fouls the hand so much;
And scholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws;
Which, while the senate strove to scour,
They wash'd away the chemic power.
While he his utmost strength apply'd,
To swim against this popular tide,
The golden spoils flew off apace,
Here fell a pension, there a place :
The torrent merciless imbibes
Commissions, perquisites, and bribes;
By their own weight sunk to the bottom;
Much good may do them that have caught 'em!
And Midas now neglected stands,
With asses' ears, and dirty hands,
TOLAND'S INVITATION TO DISMAL,*
TO DINE WITH THE CALF'S HEAD CLUB.t
Imitated from HORACE, Lib. I. Epist. 5.
IF, dearest Dismal, you for once can dine
Upon a single dish, and tavern wine,
Toland to you this invitation sends,
To eat the calf's-head with your trusty friends.
Suspend awhile your vain ambitious hopes,
Leave hunting after bribes, forget your tropes.
To-morrow we our mystic feast prepare,
Where thou, our latest proselyte, shalt share:
When we, by proper signs and symbols, tell,
How by brave hands, the royal traitor fell;
Si potes Archaicis conviva recumbere lectis,
Nec modicâ cœnare times olus omne patellâ,
Supremo te sole domi, Torquate, manebo.
Mitte leves spes, et certamina divitiarum,
Et Moschi causam. Cras nato Cæsare festus
Dat veniam somnumque dies: impune licebit
Estivam sermone benigno tendere noctem.
Quid non ebrietas designat? operta recludit;
*"Have you seen Toland's Invitation to Dismal? How do you like it? But it is an imitation of Horace; and perhaps you do not understand Horace." Journal to Stella, July 1, 1712."Have you seen Toland's Invitation to Dismal," or, "A Hue and Cry after Dismal," or, "A Ballad on Dunkirk,” or, “An Agreement that Dunkirk is not in our Hands?" Ibid. July 17, 1712. N.
†This poem, and that which follows it, are two of the penny papers mentioned in Swift's Journal to Stella, Aug. 7, 1712. They are printed from folio copies in the Lambeth Library. N.
The meat shall represent the tyrant's head,
The wine his blood our predecessors shed;
While an alluding hymn some artist sings,
We toast, "Confusion to the race of kings!"
At monarchy we nobly show our spite,
And talk, what fools call treason, all the night.
Who, by disgraces or ill fortune sunk,
Feels not his soul enliven'd when he's drunk?
Wine can clear up Godolphin's cloudy face,
And fill Jack Smith with hopes to keep his place:
By force of wine, ev'n Scarborough is brave,
Hal grows more pert, and Somers not so grave:
Wine can give Portland wit, and Cleaveland sense,
Montague learning, Bolton eloquence:
Cholmondeley, when drunk, can never lose his wand;
And Lincoln then imagines he has land.
My province is, to see that all be right, Glasses and linen clean, and pewter bright; From our mysterious club to keep out spies, And tories (dress'd like waiters) in disguise. You shall be coupled as you best approve, Seated at table next the men you love. Sunderland, Orford, Boyle, and Richmond's grace, Will come; and Hampden shall have Walpole's place; Wharton, unless prevented by a whore, Will hardly fail; and there is room for more.
Spes jubet esse ratas; in prælia trudit inermem;
Solicitis animis onos eximit; addocet artes.
Fœcundi calices quem non fecere disertum ?
Contractâ quem non in paupertate solutum ?
Hæc ego procurare et idoneus imperor, et non
Invitus; ne turpe toral, ne sordida mappa
Corrugat nares; ne non et cantharus, et lanx,
Ostendat tibi te; ne fidos inter amicos
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