Sullen you turn from both, and call for oats.

Others bring goods and treasure to their houses, Something to deck their pretty babes and spouses; My only token was a cup-like horn,

That's made of nothing but a lady's corn. 'Tis not for that I grieve; no, 'tis to see

The groom

and Sorrel mare preferred to me!

These, for some moments when you deign to quit, And (at due distance) sweet discourse admit,

'Tis all my pleasure thy past toil to know,
For pleased remembrance builds delight on woe.
At every danger pants thy consort's breast,
And gaping infants squall to hear the rest.
How did I tremble, when, by thousands bound,
I saw thee stretched on Lilliputian ground?
When scaling armies climbed up every part,
Each step they trod, I felt upon my heart.
But when thy torrent quenched the dreadful blaze,
King, queen, and nation, staring with amaze,
Full in my view how all my husband came,
And what extinguished theirs, increased my flame.
Those spectacles, ordained thine eyes to save,
Were once my present; love that amour gave.
How did I mourn at Bolgolam's decree!
For when he signed thy death, he sentenced me.
When folks might see thee all the country round
For sixpence, I'd have given a thousand pound.
Lord! when the giant-babe that head of thine
Got in his mouth, my heart was up in mine!
When in the marrow-bone I see thee rammed;
Or on the house-top by the monkey crammed,
The piteous images renew my pain,
And all thy dangers I weep. o'er again.
But on the maiden's nipple when you rid,

60

70

80

Pray heaven, 'twas all a wanton maiden did!
Glumdalclitch too-with thee I mourn her case:
Heaven guard! the gentle girl from all disgrace!
O may the king that one neglect forgive,
And pardon her the fault by which I live!
Was there no other way to set him free?
My life, alas! I fear proved death to thee.

O teach me, dear, new words to speak my flame!
Teach me to woo thee by thy best-loved name!
Whether the style of Grildrig please the most,
So called on Brobdingnag's stupendous coast,
When on the monarch's ample hand you sate,
And hallooed in his ear intrigues of state;
Or Quinbus Flestrin more endearment brings;
When like a mountain you looked down on kings:
If ducal Nardac, Lilliputian peer,

Or Glumglum's humbler title soothe thy ear:
Nay, would kind Jove my organs so dispose,
To hymn harmonious Houyhnhnm through the nose,
I'd call thee Houyhnhnm, that high-sounding name;
Thy children's noses all should twang the same.
So might I find my loving spouse of course
Endued with all the virtues of a horse.

LINES ON SWIFT'S ANCESTORS.

90

TOO

I10

Swift set up a plain monument to his grandfather, and also presented a cup to the church of Goodrich, or Gotheridge (in Herefordshire). He sent a pencilled elevation of the monument (a simple tablet) to Mrs. Howard, who returned it with the following lines, inscribed on the drawing by Pope. The paper is endorsed, in Swift's hand: "Model of a monument for my grandfather, with Pope's roguery."-Scott's Life of Swift.

JONATHAN SWIFT

Had the gift,

By fatherige, motherige

And by brotherige,
To come from Gotherige,
But now is spoiled clean,
And an Irish dean:

In this church he has put
A stone of two foot,
With a cup and a can, sir,
In respect to his grandsire;
So, Ireland, change thy tone,
And cry, O hone! O hone!
For England hath its own.

FROM THE GRUB STREET JOURNAL.

ESTABLISHED IN JANUARY 1730, AND CARRIED ON FOR EIGHT YEARS BY POPE AND HIS FRIENDS.

1. EPIGRAM.

OCCASIONED BY SEEING SOME SHEETS OF DR. BENTLEY'S
EDITION OF MILTON'S "PARADISE LOST.

DID Milton's prose, O Charles, thy death defend?
A furious foe unconscious proves a friend.

On Milton's verse does Bentley comment ?-Know
A weak officious friend becomes a foe.

While he but sought his author's fame to further,
The murderous critic has avenged thy murder.

II.-EPIGRAM.

SHOULD Dennis print, how once you robbed your brother,

Traduced your monarch, and debauched your mother; Say, what revenge on Dennis can be had;

Too dull for laughter, for reply too mad?

Of one so poor you cannot take the law;
On one so old your sword you scorn to draw,
Uncaged then let the harmless monster rage,
Secure in dulness, madness, want, and age.

III.-MR. J. M. SMYTHE.

CATECHISED ON HIS ONE EPISTLE TO MR. POPE.

WHAT makes you write at this odd rate?
Why, sir, it is to imitate.

What makes you steal and trifle so?

Why, 'tis to do as others do.

But there's no meaning to be seen.

Why, that's the very thing I mean.

IV. EPIGRAM.

ON MR. MOORE'S GOING TO LAW WITH MR. GILLIVER: INSCRIBED TO ATTORNEY TIBBALD.

ONCE in his life Moore judges right:

His sword and pen not worth a straw,
An author that could never write,

A gentleman that dares not fight,

Has but one way to tease-by law.
This suit, dear Tibbald, kindly hatch;
Thus thou mayst help the sneaking elf;
And sure a printer is his match,

Who's but a publisher himself.
V.-EPIGRAM.

A GOLD watch found on cinder whore,
Or a good verse on Jemmy Moore,
Proves but what either should conceal,
Not that they're rich, but that they steal.
VI.-EPITAPH.

ON JAMES MOORE-SMYTHE.

HERE lies what had nor birth, nor shape, nor fame;
No gentleman! no man! no-thing! no name!
For Jamie ne'er grew James; and what they call
More, shrunk to Smith-and Smith's no name at all.
Yet die thou canst not, phantom, oddly fated:

For how can no-thing be annihilated?

Ex nihilo nihil fit.

VII. A QUESTION BY ANONYMOUS.
TELL, if you can, which did the worse,
Caligula or Grafton's Grace?

That made a consul of a horse,

And this a laureate of an ass.

VIII.-EPIGRAM.

GREAT George, such servants since thou well canst lack, Oh! save the salary, and drink the sack.

IX.-EPIGRAM.

BEHOLD, ambitious of the British bays,
Cibber and Duck contend in rival lays.
But, gentle Colley, should thy verse prevail,
Thou hast no fence, alas! against his flail :
Therefore thy claim resign, allow his right:
For Duck can thresh, you know, as well as write.

ON SEEING THE LADIES AT CRUX-EASTON WALK IN THE WOODS BY THE GROTTO.

EXTEMPORE BY MR. POPE.

AUTHORS the world and their dull brains have traced To fix the ground where Paradise was placed;

Mind not their learned whims and idle talk;

Here, here's the place where these bright angels walk.

INSCRIPTION ON A GROTTO, THE WORK OF NINE
LADIES.

HERE, shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise;
The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,
And such a polish as disgraces art;

But fate disposed them in his humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a court.