He cock'd his hat, you would have said Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head; Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay On magazines 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. 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, exposed 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 cent.?
* The reader will recollect, that the Duke of Marlborough was accused of having received large sums, as perquisites, from the contractors, who furnished bread, forage, &c. to the army.
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 planly 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;
*The result of the investigations of the House of Commons, was the removal of the Duke of Marlborough from his command, and all his employments.
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.
Imitated from HORACE, Lib. I. Epist. 5.
[Toland, the Deist, distinguished himself as a party writer in behalf of the whigs. He wrote a pamphlet on the demolition of Dunkirk, and another called "The Art of Restoring," in which he directly charged Oxford with the purpose of bringing in the Pretender. The Earl of Nottingham, here, as elsewhere, called Dismal, from his swarthy complexion, was bred a rigid HighChurch-man, and was only induced to support the whigs, in their resolutions against a peace, by their consenting to the bill against occasional conformity. He was so distinguished for regularity, as to be termed by Rowe
The sober Earl of Nottingham,
Of sober sire descended.
From these points of his character, we may estimate the severity of the following satire, which represents this pillar of highchurch principles as invited by the infidel and republican Toland, to solemnize the 30th January, by attending the Calves' Head Club.
Swift mentions the satire in his Journal, 1st July, 1712. you seen Toland's Invitation to Dismal? How do you like it?
But it is an imitation of Horace, and perhaps you don't under stand Horace." Vol. III., p. 93. It is again mentioned in the 17th of the same month. Ibid. p. 95.
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; 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,
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;
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 man 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 Sit, qui dicta foras eliminet: ut coëat par. Jungaturque pari. Brutum tibi, Septimiumque, Et, nisi cœna prior potiorque puella Sabinum Detinet, assumam; locus est et pluribus umbris: Sed nimis arcta premunt olidæ conviva capræ. Tu, quotus esse velis, rescribe; et rebus omissis, Atria servantem postico falle clientem.
* Right Honourable Henry Boyle.
+ Swift elsewhere objects to the formality of Somers' manVol. III. p. 240.
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