Among the surplus of such meat
As in his hose he could not get :
These would inveigle rats with th' scent,
To forage when the cocks were bent,
And sometimes catch 'em with a snap,
As cleverly as the ablest trap:
They were upon hard duty still,
And ev'ry night stood sentinel,
To guard the magazine i' th' hose
From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes.
Thus clad and fortify'd, Sir Knight,
From peaceful home, set forth to fight:
But first, with nimble, active force,
He got on th' outside of his horse!
For having but one stirrup ty'd
This saddle on the further side,
It was so short h' had much ado
To reach it with his desp'rate toe;
But after many strains and heaves,
He got up to the saddle-eaves,
From whence he vaulted into th' seat
With so much vigor, strength, and heat,
That he had almost tumbled over
With his own weight, but did recover,
By laying hold on tail and mane,
Which oft he used instead of rein.'
The good old couple were amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;
For both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry,-" What ar't ?”
Then softly turn'd aside to view
Whether the lights were burning blue.
The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't,
Told them their calling, and their errand:
"Good folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but saints," the hermits said;
"No hurt shall come to you or yours:
But for that pack of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on Christian ground,
They and their houses shall be drown'd;
Whilst you shall see your cottage rise,
And grow a church before your eyes."
They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft
The roof began to mount aloft;
Aloft rose every beam and rafter;
The heavy wall climb'd slowly after.
The chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Became a steeple with a spire.
The kettle to the top was hoist,
And there stood fasten'd to a joist,
But with the upside down, to show
Its inclination for below:
In vain ; for a superior force,
Baucis and Philemon.-1708. On the ever-Apply'd at bottom, stops its course:
lamented loss of the two Yew-Trees, in the Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell,
Parish of Chilthorne, Somerset. Imitated 'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.
from the eighth Book of Ovid. SWIFT.
In ancient times, as story tells,
The saints would often leave their cells,
And stroll about, but hide their quality,
To try good people's hospitality.
It happen'd on a winter's night,
As authors of the legend write,
Two brother-hermits, saints by trade,
Taking their tour in masquerade,
Disguis'd in tatter'd habits, went
To a small village down in Kent;
Where, in the strollers' canting strain,
They begg'd from door to door in vain,
Tried every tone might pity win;
But not a soul would let them in.
Our wandering saints, in woful state,
Treated at this ungodly rate,
Having through all the village pass'd,
To a small cottage came at last!
Where dwelt a good, old, honest ye'man,
Call'd, in the neighborhood, Philemon;
Who kindly did these saints invite
In his poor hut to pass the night;
And then the hospitable sire
Bid goody Baucis mend the fire;
While he from out the chimney took
A flitch of bacon off the hook,
And freely from the fattest side
Cut out large slices to be fry'd;
Then stepp'd aside to fetch them drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
And saw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful!) they found,
'Twas still replenish'd to the top,
As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop.
A wooden jack, which had almost
Lost by disuse the art to roast,
A sudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by new intestine wheels ;
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion slower :
The flier, though 't had leaden feet,
Turn'd round so quick, you scarce could
But, slacken'd by some secret power,
Now hardly moves an inch an hour.
The jack and chimney, near ally'd,
Have never left each other's side:
The chimney to the steeple grown,
The jack would not be left alone;
But, up against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and still adher'd;
And still its love to household cares,
By a shrill voice at noon, declares,
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roast-meat which it cannot turn.
The groaning-chair began to crawl,
Like a huge snail, along the wall;
There stuck aloft in public view,
And, with small change, a pulpit grew.
The porringers, that in a row
Hung high, and made a glittering show,
To a less noble substance chang'd,
Were now but leathern buckets rang'd.
The ballads, pasted on the wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood,
Now seem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in picture, size, and letter;
And, high in order plac'd, describe
The heraldry of every tribe.
A bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did use,
Was metamorphos'd into pews;
Which still their ancient nature keep
By lodging folks dispos'd to sleep.
The cottage by such feats as these
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then desir'd their host
To ask for what he fancy'd most.
Philemon, having paus'd a while,
Return'd them thanks in homely style:
Then said, "My house is grown so fine,
Methinks I still would call it mine;
I'm old, and fain would live at ease;
Make me the parson, if you please."
He spoke, and presently he feels
His grazier's coat fall down his heels:
He sees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-sleeve;
His waistcoat to a cassock grew,
And both assum'd a sable hue;
But, being old, continued just
As thread-bare, and as full of dust.
His talk was now of tithes and dues:
He smok'd his pipe, and read the news;
Knew how to preach old sermons next,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text;
At christenings well could act his part,
And had the service all by heart;
Wish'd women might have children fast,
And thought whose sow had farrow'd last;
Against dissenters would repine,
And stood up firm for right divine;
Found his head fill'd with many a system;
But classic authors,-he ne'er miss'd 'em.
Thus having furbish'd up a parson,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.
Instead of home-spun coifs, were seen
Good pinners edg'd with colberteen;
Her petticoat, transform'd apace,
Became black satin, flounc'd with lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down;
'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown.
Philemon was in great surprise,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amaz'd to see her look so prim;
And she admir'd as much at him.
Thus happy in their change of life
Were several years this man and wife;
When, on a day, which prov'd their last,
Discoursing o'er old stories past,
They went by chance, amidst their talk,
To the church-yard to take a walk ;
When Baucis hastily cry'd out,
"My dear, I see your forehead sprout!"
Sprout!" quoth the man; "what's this you
tell us?
I hope you don't believe me jealous?
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really yours is budding too :-
Nay-now I cannot stir my foot;
It feels as if 'twere taking root."
Description would but tire my muse; In short, they both were turn'd to yews. Old Goodman Dobson of the green Remembers, he the trees has seen: He'll talk of them from noon till night, And goes with folks to show the sight: On Sundays, after evening prayer, He gathers all the parish there; Points out the place of either yew; Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew: Till once a parson of our town, To mend his barn, cut Baucis down; At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd How much the other tree was griev'd, Grew scrubbed, dy'd a-top, was stunted; So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it.
To the Earl of Peterborow, who commanded
the British forces in Spain. SWIFT.
MORDANTO fills the trump of fame,
The Christian world his deeds proclaim,
And prints are crowded with his name.
In journeys he outrides the post,
Sits up till midnight with his host,
Talks politics, and gives the toast;
Knows every prince in Europe's face,
Flies like a squib from place to place,
And travels not, but runs a race.
From Paris gazette à-la-main,
This day arriv'd, without his train,
Mordanto in a week from Spain.
A messenger comes all a-reek,
Mordanto at Madrid to seek;
He left the town above a week.
Next day the post-boy winds his horn,
And rides through Dover in the morn :
Mordanto 's landed from Leghorn.
Mordanto gallops on alone;
The roads are with his followers strown;
This breaks a girth and that a bone.
His body active as his mind,
Returning sound in limb and wind,
Except some leather lost behind.
A skeleton in outward figure,
His meager corpse, though full of vigor,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.
So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you like an apparition :
Shines in all climates like a star;
In senates bold, and fierce in war;
A land commander, and a tar:
Heroic actions early bred in,
Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading.
But by his name-sake, Charles of Sweden.
Upon Nothing. ROCHESTER.
NOTHING! thou elder brother ev'n to shade, That hadst a being ere the world was made, And (well fix'd' art alone of ending not afraid.
Ere Time and Place were, Time and Place The great man's gratitude to his best friend, were not, [begot, Kings' promises, whores' vows, towards thee When primitive Nothing Something straight they tend,
Then all proceeded from the great united-Flow swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end. The Secular Masque. DRYDEN.
Something, the general attribute of all,
Sever'd from thee, its sole original,
Into thy boundless self must undistinguish'd
Yet Something did thy mighty power command,
And from thy fruitful emptiness's hand
Snatch'd men, beasts, birds, fire, air, and land.
Matter, the wicked'st offspring of thy race,
By Form assisted, flew from thy embrace;
And rebel Light obscur'd thy reverend, dusky
face.
With Form and Matter, Time and Place did
Enter Janus.
CHRONOS, Chronos, mend thy pace.
A hundred times the rolling sun
Around the radiant belt has run
In his revolving race.
Behold, behold the goal in sight, Spread thy fans and wing thy flight. Enter Chronos with a sithe in his hand, and a globe on his back; which he sets down at his entrance,
Chronos. Weary, weary of my weight,
But turn-coat Time assists the foe in vain,
And, brib'd by thee, asserts thy short-liv'd Momus.
And to thy hungry womb drives back thy slaves
Though mysteries are barr'd from laic eyes,
And the divine alone, with warrant, pries
Into thy bosom, where the truth in private lies;
Yet this of thee the wise may freely say,
Thou from the virtuous Nothing tak'st away,
And to be part with thee the wicked wisely
pray.
Great Negative! how vainly would the wise
Inquire, define, distinguish, teach, devise,
Didst thou not stand to point their dull phi-
losophies!
Is, or is not, the two great ends of Fate,
And, true or false, the subject of debate,
That perfect or destroy the vast designs of
Fate;
And nothing there like stately Nothing reigns.
With shouting and hooting we pierce through the sky, [the cry. And Echo turns hunter, and doubles
Nothing, who dwell'st with fools in grave dis- Cho. of all. With shouting and hooting `we
For whom they reverend shapes and forms de-
Lawn sleeves, and furs, and gowns, when they'
like thee look wise.
French truth, Dutch prowess, British policy,
Hibernian learning, Scotch civility,
Spaniards' despatch, Danes' wit, are mainly
seen in thee.
pierce through the sky, And Echo turns hunter,
doubles the cry. Then our age was in it's prime,
Janus.
Chronos. Free from rage,
And free from crime. A very merry, dancing, drinking, Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.
Mars. Inspire the vocal brass, inspire;
The world is past its infant age:
Arms and honor,
Arms and honor,
Set the martial mind on fire,
And kindle manly rage.
Mars has look'd the sky to red;
And Peace, the lazy good, is fled.
Plenty, peace, and pleasure fly;
The sprightly green
In woodland walks no more is seen;
The sprightly green has drunk the
Cho. of all. Plenty, peace, &c. [Tyrian dye.
Mars. Sound the trumpet, beat the drum ;
Through all the world around
Sound a reveille, sound, sound,
The warrior god is come.
Cho. of all. Sound the trumpet, &c.
Momus. Thy sword within the scabbard keep,
And let mankind agree;
Better the world were fast asleep,
Than kept awake by thee.
The fools are only thinner,
With all our cost and care;
But neither side a winner,
For things are as they were.
Cho. of all. The fools are only, &c.
Enter Venus.
Venus. Calms appear, when storms are past;
Love will have his hour at last :
Nature is my kindly care;
Mars destroys, and I repair:
Take me, take me, while you may,
Venus comes not every day..
Cho. of all. Take her, take her, &c.
Chronos. The world was then so light,
I scarcely felt the weight;
Joy rul'd the day, and love the night.
But since the Queen of Pleasure left
I faint, I lag,
¡the ground,
And feebly drag
The ponderous orb around.
Momus. All, all of a piece throughout;
Thy chase had a beast in view;
[To Mars.] Thy wars brought nothing about;
[To Venus.] Thy lovers were all untrue.
Janus. 'Tis well an old age is out,
Chronos. And time to begin anew.
Cho. of all. All, all of a piece throughout :
Thy chase had a beast in view;
Thy wars brought nothing about;
Thy lovers were all untrue.
"Tis well an old age is out,
And time to begin anew.
A Session of the Poets. SUCKLING.
A SESSION was held the other day,
And Apollo himself was at it, they say ;
The laurel, that had been so long reserv'd,
Was now to be given to him best deserv'd.
And therefore the wits of the town came
'Twas strange to see how they flock'd together;
Each, strongly confident of his own way,
Thought to gain the laurel away that day.
There was Selden, and he sat close by the
chair;
Wainman not far off, which was very fair;
Sands with Townsend, for they kept the order;
Digby and Shillingsworth a little further:
There was Lucan's translator too, and he
That makes God so big in's poetry :
Selwin and Waller, and Bartlets both the
brothers;
Jack Vaughan and Porter, and divers others.
The first that broke silence was good old Ben,
Prepar'd with Canary wine,
And he told them plainly he deserv'd the bays,
For his were call'd works, where others were
but plays.
And bid them remember how he had purg'd the stage
Of errors that had lasted many an age,
And he hop'd they did not think the Silent
[man.
The Fox and the Alchymist outdone by no
Apollo stopp'd him there, and bid him not go
Must carry't; at which Ben turn'd about,
"Twas merit, he said, and not presumption,
And in great choler offer'd to go out:
But those that were there thought it not fit
To discontent so ancient a wit:
And therefore Apollo call'd him back again,`
And made him mine host of his own New Inn.
Tom Carew was next, but he had a fault
That would not well stand with a laureat;
His Muse was hard bound, and the issue of's
[and pain.
Was seldom brought forth but with trouble
And all that were present there did agree,
A Laureat-Muse should be easy and free,
Yet sure 'twas not that, but 'twas thought that
his Grace
[place.
Consider'd he was well he had a cup-bearer's
That he had got lately travelling in France,
Will Davenant, asham'd of a foolish mischance
Modestly hop'd the handsomeness of's Muse
Might any deformity about him excuse.
And surely the company would have been con-
If they could have found any precedent; [tent,
But in all their records, either in verse or
prose,
There was not one Laureat without a nose.
To Will Bartlet sure all the wits meant well,
[Dance of huntsmen, nymphs, warriors and But first they would see how his show would
Will smil'd, and swore in their judgments they Though, to say the truth, and Apollo did know
That concluded of merit upon success.
Suddenly taking his place again,
He gave way to Selwin, who straight stepp'd
But alas! he had been so lately a wit,
That Apollo himself scarce knew him yet.
Toby Matthews, (pox on him!) how came he
it,
[poet.
He might have been both his priest and his
[in; At length who but an Alderman did appear,
At which Will Davenant began to swear;
But wiser Apolló bade him draw nigher,
And, when he was mounted a little higher,
He openly declar'd, that the best sign [coin,
Of good store of wit 's to have good store of
And without a syllable more or less said,
He put the laurel on the Alderman's head.
At this all the wits were in such amaze [gaze
That, for a good while, they did nothing but
One upon another; not a man in the place
But had discontent writ at large in his face.
Only the small poets cheer'd up again,
Out of hope, as 'twas thought, of borrowing;
But sure they were out, for he forfeits his
Was whispering nothing in somebody's ear,
When he had the honor to be nam'd in court,
But, sir, you may thank my Lady Carlisle for't:
For had not her characters furnish'd you out
With something of handsome, without all
You and your sorry Lady-Muse had been
In the number of those that were not let in.
In haste from the court two or three came in,
And they brought letters, forsooth, from the
Queen,
"Twas discreetly done too, for if th' had come
Without them, th' had scarce been let into the
This made a dispute; for 'twas plain to be seen
Each man had a mind to gratify the Queen:
But Apollo himself could not think it fit;
There was difference, he said, betwixt fooling
and wit.
Suckling next was call'd, but did not appear,
But straight one whisper'd Apollo i' th' ear,
That of all men living he car'd not for't,
He lov'd not the Muses so well as his sport;
And priz'd black eyes, or a lucky hit
At bowls, above all the trophies of wit;
But Apollo was angry, and publicly said
"Twere fit that a fine were set upon 's head.
Wat Montague now stood forth to his trial,
And did not so much as suspect a denial;
But witty Apollo ask'd him first of all
If he understood his own pastoral.
For if he could do it, 'twould plainly appear
He understood more than any man there,
And did merit the bays above all the rest,
But the Monsieur was modest; and silence
What tool is there job after job will not hack?
Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess'd,
And their temper, like E- -nb'r-h's,
[upon trying,
But you'll find them good hard-working Tools
Wer't but for their brass, they are well worth
the buying;
[screens,
They're famous for making blinds, sliders, and
And they're, some of them, excellent turning
machines !
The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a Chan-
cellor)
Heavy concern to both purchaser and sellerThough made of pig iron, yet worthy of note 'tis,
'Tis ready to melt at a half minute's notice. Who bids? Gentle buyer! 'twill turn as thou [Papist ;
"Twill make a good thumb-screw to torture a
Or else a cramp-iron to stick in the wall [fall;
of some church that old women are fearful will
Or better, perhaps, (for I'm guessing at ran-
dom,)
A heavy drag-chain for some Lawyer's old
Tandem!
Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, sir→→
Once, twice, going, going, thrice, gone !—it is
To pay ready money you sha'n't be distress'd;
As a bill at long date suits the Chancellor best,
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