RICHMOND LODGE

My master, scarce a fortnight since, Was grown as wealthy as a prince; But now it will be no such thing, For he'll be poor as any king; And by his crown will nothing get, But like a king to run in debt.

MARBLE HILL

No more the Dean, that grave divine, Shall keep the key of my (no) wine; My ice-house rob, as heretofore, And steal my artichokes no more; Poor Patty Blount[3] no more be seen Bedraggled in my walks so green: Plump Johnny Gay will now elope; And here no more will dangle Pope.

RICHMOND LODGE

Here wont the Dean, when he's to seek, To spunge a breakfast once a-week; To cry the bread was stale, and mutter Complaints against the royal b.u.t.ter.

But now I fear it will be said, No b.u.t.ter sticks upon his bread.[4]

We soon shall find him full of spleen, For want of tattling to the queen; Stunning her royal ears with talking; His reverence and her highness walking: While Lady Charlotte,[5] like a stroller, Sits mounted on the garden-roller.

A goodly sight to see her ride, With ancient Mirmont[6] at her side.

In velvet cap his head lies warm, His hat, for show, beneath his arm.

MARBLE HILL

Some South-Sea broker from the city Will purchase me, the more's the pity; Lay all my fine plantations waste, To fit them to his vulgar taste: Chang'd for the worse in ev'ry part, My master Pope will break his heart.

RICHMOND LODGE

In my own Thames may I be drownded, If e'er I stoop beneath a crown'd head: Except her majesty prevails To place me with the Prince of Wales; And then I shall be free from fears, For he'll be prince these fifty years.

I then will turn a courtier too, And serve the times as others do.

Plain loyalty, not built on hope, I leave to your contriver, Pope; None loves his king and country better, Yet none was ever less their debtor.

MARBLE HILL

Then let him come and take a nap In summer on my verdant lap; Prefer our villas, where the Thames is, To Kensington, or hot St. James's; Nor shall I dull in silence sit; For 'tis to me he owes his wit; My groves, my echoes, and my birds, Have taught him his poetic words.

We gardens, and you wildernesses, a.s.sist all poets in distresses.

Him twice a-week I here expect, To rattle Moody[7] for neglect; An idle rogue, who spends his quartridge In tippling at the Dog and Partridge; And I can hardly get him down Three times a-week to brush my gown.

RICHMOND LODGE

I pity you, dear Marble Hill; But hope to see you flourish still.

All happiness--and so adieu.

MARBLE HILL

Kind Richmond Lodge, the same to you.

[Footnote 1: The King left England on the 3rd June, 1727, and after supping heartily and sleeping at the Count de Twellet's house near Delden on the 9th, he continued his journey to Osnabruck, where he arrived at the house of his brother, the Duke of York, on the night of the 11th, wholly paralyzed, and died calmly the next morning, in the very same room where he was born.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: Swift was probably not aware how nearly he described the narrowed situation of Mrs. Howard's finances. Lord Orford, in a letter to Lord Strafford, 29th July, 1767, written shortly after her death, described her affairs as so far from being easy, that the utmost economy could by no means prevent her exceeding her income considerably; and states in his Reminiscences, that, besides Marble Hill, which cost the King ten or twelve thousand pounds, she did not leave above twenty thousand pounds to her family.--See "Lord Orford's Works," vol. iv, p.

304; v, p. 456.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 3: Who was "often in Swift's thoughts," and "high in his esteem"; and to whom Pope dedicated his second "Moral Epistle."--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 4: This also proved a prophecy more true than the Dean suspected.]

[Footnote 5: Lady Charlotte de Roussy, a French lady.--_Dublin Edition_.]

[Footnote 6: Marquis de Mirmont, a Frenchman, who had come to England after the Edict of Nantes (by which Henri IV had secured freedom of religion to Protestants) had been revoked by Louis XIV in 1685. See Voltaire, "Siecle de Louis XIV."--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 7: The gardener.]

DESIRE AND POSSESSION 1727

'Tis strange what different thoughts inspire In men, Possession and Desire!

Think what they wish so great a blessing; So disappointed when possessing!

A moralist profoundly sage (I know not in what book or page, Or whether o'er a pot of ale) Related thus the following tale.

Possession, and Desire, his brother, But still at variance with each other, Were seen contending in a race; And kept at first an equal pace; 'Tis said, their course continued long, For this was active, that was strong: Till Envy, Slander, Sloth, and Doubt, Misled them many a league about; Seduced by some deceiving light, They take the wrong way for the right; Through slippery by-roads, dark and deep, They often climb, and often creep.

Desire, the swifter of the two, Along the plain like lightning flew: Till, entering on a broad highway, Where power and t.i.tles scatter'd lay, He strove to pick up all he found, And by excursions lost his ground: No sooner got, than with disdain He threw them on the ground again; And hasted forward to pursue Fresh objects, fairer to his view, In hope to spring some n.o.bler game; But all he took was just the same: Too scornful now to stop his pace, He spurn'd them in his rival's face.

Possession kept the beaten road, And gather'd all his brother strew'd; But overcharged, and out of wind, Though strong in limbs, he lagg'd behind.

Desire had now the goal in sight; It was a tower of monstrous height; Where on the summit Fortune stands, A crown and sceptre in her hands; Beneath, a chasm as deep as h.e.l.l, Where many a bold adventurer fell.

Desire, in rapture, gazed awhile, And saw the treacherous G.o.ddess smile; But as he climb'd to grasp the crown, She knock'd him with the sceptre down!

He tumbled in the gulf profound; There doom'd to whirl an endless round.

Possession's load was grown so great, He sunk beneath the c.u.mbrous weight; And, as he now expiring lay, Flocks every ominous bird of prey; The raven, vulture, owl, and kite, At once upon his carca.s.s light, And strip his hide, and pick his bones, Regardless of his dying groans.

ON CENSURE 1727

Ye wise, instruct me to endure An evil, which admits no cure; Or, how this evil can be borne, Which breeds at once both hate and scorn.

Bare innocence is no support, When you are tried in Scandal's court.

Stand high in honour, wealth, or wit; All others, who inferior sit, Conceive themselves in conscience bound To join, and drag you to the ground.

Your alt.i.tude offends the eyes Of those who want the power to rise.

The world, a willing stander-by, Inclines to aid a specious lie: Alas! they would not do you wrong; But all appearances are strong.

Yet whence proceeds this weight we lay On what detracting people say!

For let mankind discharge their tongues In venom, till they burst their lungs, Their utmost malice cannot make Your head, or tooth, or finger ache; Nor spoil your shape, distort your face, Or put one feature out of place; Nor will you find your fortune sink By what they speak or what they think; Nor can ten hundred thousand lies Make you less virtuous, learn'd, or wise.

The most effectual way to balk Their malice, is--to let them talk.

THE FURNITURE OF A WOMAN'S MIND 1727

A set of phrases learn'd by rote; A pa.s.sion for a scarlet coat; When at a play, to laugh or cry, Yet cannot tell the reason why; Never to hold her tongue a minute, While all she prates has nothing in it; Whole hours can with a c.o.xcomb sit, And take his nonsense all for wit; Her learning mounts to read a song, But half the words p.r.o.nouncing wrong; Has every repartee in store She spoke ten thousand times before; Can ready compliments supply On all occasions cut and dry; Such hatred to a parson's gown, The sight would put her in a swoon; For conversation well endued, She calls it witty to be rude; And, placing raillery in railing, Will tell aloud your greatest failing; Nor make a scruple to expose Your bandy leg, or crooked nose; Can at her morning tea run o'er The scandal of the day before; Improving hourly in her skill, To cheat and wrangle at quadrille.

In choosing lace, a critic nice, Knows to a groat the lowest price; Can in her female clubs dispute, What linen best the silk will suit, What colours each complexion match, And where with art to place a patch.

If chance a mouse creeps in her sight, Can finely counterfeit a fright; So sweetly screams, if it comes near her, She ravishes all hearts to hear her.

Can dext'rously her husband teaze, By taking fits whene'er she please; By frequent practice learns the trick At proper seasons to be sick; Thinks nothing gives one airs so pretty, At once creating love and pity; If Molly happens to be careless, And but neglects to warm her hair-lace, She gets a cold as sure as death, And vows she scarce can fetch her breath; Admires how modest women can Be so robustious like a man.

In party, furious to her power; A bitter Whig, or Tory sour; Her arguments directly tend Against the side she would defend; Will prove herself a Tory plain, From principles the Whigs maintain; And, to defend the Whiggish cause, Her topics from the Tories draws.

O yes! if any man can find More virtues in a woman's mind, Let them be sent to Mrs. Harding;[1]