THE LOGICIANS REFUTED

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT 1

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human kind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglecius,
By ratiocinations specious,

Have strove to prove with great precision,
With definition and division,
Homo est ratione praeditum,-

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 mortal's pride;
And that brute beasts are far before 'em
Deus est anima brutorum.

Who ever knew an honest brute

At law his neighbour prosecute,
Bring action for assault and battery,

Or friends 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;

[ First printed in The Busy Body, 18th October, 1759, with the heading :-"The following poem, written by Dr. SWIFT, is communicated to the Public by the BUSY BODY, to whom it was presented by a Nobleman of distinguished Learning and Taste." But tradition, and the early editors, ascribe the lines to Goldsmith.]

Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for B-b.1
Fraught with invective they ne'er go,
To folks at Paternoster Row;
No judges, 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 confessed, 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 a minister of state;

View him soon after to inferiors,
Aping the conduct of superiors;
He promises with equal air;
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators ;

At court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters,
Their master's manners still contract,
And footmen, lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court both great and small
Behave alike, for all ape all.

A SONNET 2

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;

MYRA, too sincere for feigning,

Fears th' approaching bridal night.

[1 Sir Robert Walpole.]

[ First printed in The Bee, 20th October, 1759. It is said to be an imitation of Denis Sanguin de St. Pavin, d. 1670.]

Yet, why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had MYRA follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.

STANZAS

ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH OF GENERAL

AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells the raptures which from pleasures start. O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe, Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear ; Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow, Whilst thy sad fate exhorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though deadSince from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!

AN ELEGY ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX,
MRS. MARY BLAIZE 2

GOOD people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam BLAIZE,
Who never wanted a good word—
From those who spoke her praise.

[First printed in The Busy Body, 20th October, 1759, a week after the news of Wolfe's death (on 13th September previous) had reached England.]

[ First printed in The Bee, 27th October, 1759. It is modelled on the old song of M. de la Palice, a version of which is to be found in Part iii. of the Ménagiana.]

The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,—
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wond'rous winning,
And never followed wicked ways,—
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumber'd in her pew,--
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her,-
When she has walk'd before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;

The doctors found, when she was dead,--
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,

For Kent-street well may say,

That had she lived a twelve-month more,—
She had not died to-day.

DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S
BEDCHAMBER1

WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;

[First printed in a Chinese Letter in The Public Ledger, 2nd May, 1760, afterwards Letter xxix. of The Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 121.]

[2i.e."entire butt beer" or porter.]

There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,

The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread :
The royal game of goose was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,
And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black face;'
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire;

1

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board;
A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night-a stocking all the day! 3

ON SEEING MRS. *

*

PERFORM IN THE

CHARACTER OF * * ** 4

FOR you, bright fair, the Nine address their lays,
And tune my feeble voice to sing thy praise.
The heartfelt power of every charm divine,
Who can withstand their all commanding shine?
She how she moves along with every grace,

While soul-brought tears steal down each shining face.
She speaks! 'tis rapture all, and nameless bliss,
Ye gods! what transport e'er compared to this?
As when in Paphian groves the Queen of Love
With fond complaint address'd the listening Jove;

Vide note I, p. 29.]

William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, 1721-65,-probably a silhouette.]

Cf. The Deserted Village, p. 29:

"A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day."] [From Letter lxxxii. of The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 87, first printed in The Public Ledger, 21st October, 1760. The verses are intended as a specimen of the newspaper muse.]