Now enters Bush with new state airs,
His lordship's premier minister;
And who, in all profound affairs,
Is held as needful as his clyster.†
With head reclining on his shoulder,
He deals and hears mysterious chat,
While every ignorant beholder,
Asks of his neighbour, who is that?
With this he put up to my lord,
The courtiers kept their distance due,
He twitch'd his sleeve, and stole a word;
Then to a corner both withdrew.
Imagine now, my lord and Bush
Whispering in junto most profound,
Like good king Phyz and good king Ush,+
While all the rest stood gaping round.
At length a spark not too well bred,
Of forward face and ear acute,
Advanc'd on tiptoe, lean'd his head,
To overhear the grand dispute;
To learn what Northern kings design,
Or from Whitehall some new express,
Papists disarm'd, or fall of coin;
For sure (thought he) it can't be less.
My lord, said Bush, a friend and I,
Disguis'd in two old threadbare coats,
Ere morning's dawn, stole out to spy
How markets went for hay and oats.
*Bush, by some underhand insinuation, obtained the post of secretary; which had been promised to Swift. H.
† Always taken before my lord went to council. H.
With that he draws two handfuls out,
The one was oats, the other hay;
Put's this to's excellency's snout,
And begs he would the other weigh.
My lord seems pleas'd, but still directs.
By all means to bring down the rates;
Then, with a conjée circumflex,
Bush, smiling round on all, retreats.
Our listener stood a while confus'd,
But gathering spirits, wisely ran for't,
Enrag'd to see the world abus'd,
By two such whispering kings of Brentford.
"THAT MY LORD BERKELEY STINKS WHEN HE IS IN LOVE."
DID ever problem thus perplex,
Or more employ the female sex?
So sweet a passion, who would think,
Jove ever form'd to make a stink?
The ladies vow and swear, they'll try,
Whether it be a truth or lie.
Love's fire, it seems, like inward heat,
Works in my lord by stool and sweat,
Which brings a stink from every pore,
And from behind and from before;
Yet what is wonderful to tell it,
None but the favourite nymph can smell it.
But now, to solve the natural cause
By sober philosophic laws:
Whether all passions, when in ferment,
Work out as anger does in vermin;
So, when a weasel you torment,
You find his passion by his scent.
We read of kings, who, in a fright,
Though on a throne, would fall to sh-.
Beside all this, deep scholars know,
That the main string of Cupid's bow,
Once on a time was an a- gut;
Now to a nobler office put,
By favour or desert preferr'd
From giving passage to a t-;
But still, though fix'd among the stars,
Does sympathize with human a—.
Thus, when you feel a hardbound breech,
Conclude love's bowstring at full stretch,
Till the kind looseness comes, and then
Conclude the bow relax'd again.
And now, the ladies all are bent
To try the great experiment,
Ambitious of a regent's heart,
Spread all their charms to catch a f—;
Watching the first unsavoury wind,
Some ply before, and some behind.
My lord, on fire amid the dames,
F-ts like a laurel in the flames.
The fair approach the speaking part,
To try the back-way to his heart.
For, as when we a gun discharge,
Although the bore be ne'er so large,
Before the flame from muzzle burst,
Just at the breech it flashes first:
So from my lord his passion broke,
He f-d first, and then he spoke.
The ladies vanish in the smother,
To confer notes with one another;
And now they all agreed to name
Whom each one thought the happy dame.
Quoth Neal, whate'er the rest may think,
I'm sure 'twas I, that smelt the stink.
You smell the stink! by G-d, you lye,
Quoth Ross, for I'll be sworn 'twas I.
Ladies, quoth Levens, pray forbear:
Let's not fall out; we all had share,
And, by the most I can discover,
My lord's a universal lover.
THE DESCRIPTION OF A SALAMANDER.*
As mastiff dogs in modern phrase are
Call'd Pompey, Scipio, and Cæsar;
As pies and daws are often styl'd
With Christian nicknames, like a child;
As we say Monsieur to an ape,
Without offence to human shape;
So men have got, from bird and brute,
Names that would best their nature suit.
The Lion, Eagle, Fox, and Boar,
Were heroes titles heretofore,
Bestow'd as hieroglyphics fit
To show their valour, strength, or wit:
For what is understood by fame,
Beside the getting of a name?
But, e'er since men invented guns,
A different way their fancy runs :
* From Pliny, Nat. Hist. lib. x. c. 67. lib. xxix, c. 4,
To paint a Hero, we inquire
For something that will conquer fire.
Would you describe Turenne or Trump?
Think of a bucket or a pump.
Are these too low ?-then find out grander,
Call my lord CUTTS a Salamander.
'Tis well;-but, since we live among
Detractors with an evil tongue,
Who may object against the term,
Pliny shall prove, what we affirm :
Pliny shall prove, and we'll apply,
And I'll be judg'd by standers by.
First, then, our author has defin'd
This reptile of the serpent kind,
With gaudy coat and shining train;
But loathsome spots his body stain:
Out from some hole obscure he flies,
When rains descend, and tempests rise,
Till the sun clears the air; and then
Crawls back neglected to his den.
So, when the war has rais'd a storm,
I've seen a snake in human form,
All stain'd with infamy and vice,
Leap from the dunghill in a trice,
Burnish, and make a gaudy show,
Become a general, peer, and beau,
Till peace has made the sky serene;
Then shrink into its hole again.
"All this we grant-why then look yonder.
Sure that must be a Salamander!"
Further, we are by Pliny told,
This serpent is extremely cold;
So cold that put it in the fire,
'Twill make the very flames expire:
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