A man with expense and infinite toil, By digging and dunging, enn.o.bled his soil; There fruits of the best your taste did invite, And uniform order still courted the sight.

No degenerate weeds the rich ground did produce, But all things afforded both beauty and use: Till from dunghill transplanted, while yet but a seed, A nettle rear'd up his inglorious head.

The gard'ner would wisely have rooted him up, To stop the increase of a barbarous crop; But the master forbid him, and after the fashion Of foolish good nature, and blind moderation, Forbore him through pity, and chose as much rather, To ask him some questions first, how he came thither.

Kind sir, quoth the nettle, a stranger I come, For conscience compell'd to relinquish my home, 'Cause I wouldn't subscribe to a mystery dark, That the prince of all trees is the Jesuit's bark,[2]

An erroneous tenet I know, sir, that you, No more than myself, will allow to be true.

To you, I for refuge and sanctuary sue, There's none so renown'd for compa.s.sion as you; And, though in some things I may differ from these, The rest of your fruitful and beautiful trees; Though your digging and dunging, my nature much harms, And I cannot comply with your garden in forms: Yet I and my family, after our fashion, Will peaceably stick to our own education.

Be pleased to allow them a place for to rest 'em, For the rest of your trees we will never molest 'em; A kind shelter to us and protection afford, We'll do you no harm, sir, I'll give you my word.

The good man was soon won by this plausible tale, So fraud on good-nature doth often prevail.

He welcomes his guest, gives him free toleration In the midst of his garden to take up his station, And into his breast doth his enemy bring, He little suspected the nettle could sting.

'Till flush'd with success, and of strength to be fear'd, Around him a numerous offspring he rear'd.

Then the master grew sensible what he had done, And fain he would have his new guest to be gone; But now 'twas too late to bid him turn out, A well rooted possession already was got.

The old trees decay'd, and in their room grew A stubborn, pestilent, poisonous crew.

The master, who first the young brood had admitted, They stung like ingrates, and left him unpitied.

No help from manuring or planting was found, The ill weeds had eat out the heart of the ground.

All weeds they let in, and none they refuse That would join to oppose the good man of the house.

Thus one nettle uncropp'd, increased to such store, That 'twas nothing but weeds what was garden before.

[Footnote 1: These verses relate to the proposed repeal of the Test Act, and may be compared with the "Fable of the b.i.t.c.hes," _ante_, p.181.]

[Footnote 2: In allusion to the supremacy of Rome.--_Scott_.]

A SATIRICAL ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A LATE FAMOUS GENERAL[1]

His Grace! impossible! what, dead!

Of old age too, and in his bed!

And could that mighty warrior fall, And so inglorious, after all?

Well, since he's gone, no matter how, The last loud trump must wake him now; And, trust me, as the noise grows stronger, He'd wish to sleep a little longer.

And could he be indeed so old As by the newspapers we're told?

Threescore, I think, is pretty high; 'Twas time in conscience he should die!

This world he c.u.mber'd long enough; He burnt his candle to the snuff; And that's the reason, some folks think, He left behind so great a stink.

Behold his funeral appears, Nor widows' sighs, nor orphans' tears, Wont at such times each heart to pierce, Attend the progress of his hea.r.s.e.

But what of that? his friends may say, He had those honours in his day.

True to his profit and his pride, He made them weep before he died.

Come hither, all ye empty things!

Ye bubbles raised by breath of kings!

Who float upon the tide of state; Come hither, and behold your fate!

Let Pride be taught by this rebuke, How very mean a thing's a duke; From all his ill-got honours flung, Turn'd to that dirt from whence he sprung.[2]

[Footnote 1: The Duke of Marlborough died on the 16th June, 1722.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: See the "Fable of Midas," _ante_, p. 150; and The Examiner, "Prose Works," ix, 95.--_W. E. B._]

POEMS CHIEFLY RELATING TO IRISH POLITICS

PARODY ON THE SPEECH OF DR. BENJAMIN PRATT,[1]

PROVOST OF TRINITY COLLEGE TO THE PRINCE OF WALES

Ill.u.s.trious prince, we're come before ye, Who, more than in our founders, glory To be by you protected; Deign to descend and give us laws, For we are converts to your cause, From this day well-affected.[2]

The n.o.ble view of your high merits Has charm'd our thoughts and fix'd our spirits, With zeal so warm and hearty; That we resolved to be devoted, At least until we be promoted, By your just power and party.

Urged by a pa.s.sionate desire Of being raised a little higher, From lazy cloister'd life; We cannot flatter you nor fawn, But fain would honour'd be with lawn, And settled by a wife.[3]

For this we have before resorted, Paid levees[4] punctually, and courted, Our charge at home long quitting, But now we're come just in the nick, Upon a vacant[5] bishopric, This bait can't fail of hitting.

Thus, sir, you see how much affection, Not interest, sways in this election, But sense of loyal duty.

For you surpa.s.s all princes far, As glow-worms do exceed a star, In goodness, wit, and beauty.

To you our Irish Commons owe That wisdom which their actions show, Their principles from ours springs, Taught, ere the deel himself could dream on't, That of their ill.u.s.trious house a stem on't, Should rise the best of kings.

The glad presages with our eyes Behold a king, chaste, vigilant, and wise, In foreign fields victorious, Who in his youth the Turks attacks, And [made] them still to turn their backs; Was ever king so glorious?

Since Ormond's like a traitor gone, We scorn to do what some have done, For learning much more famous;[6]

Fools may pursue their adverse fate, And stick to the unfortunate; We laugh while they condemn us.

For, being of that gen'rous mind, To success we are still inclined, And quit the suffering side, If on our friends cross planets frown, We join the cry, and hunt them down, And sail with wind and tide.

Hence 'twas this choice we long delay'd, Till our rash foes the rebels fled, Whilst fortune held the scale; But [since] they're driven like mist before you, Our rising sun, we now adore you, Because you now prevail.

Descend then from your lofty seat, Behold th' attending Muses wait With us to sing your praises; Calliope now strings up her lyre, And Clio[7] Phoebus does inspire, The theme their fancy raises.

If then our nursery you will nourish, We and our Muses too will flourish, Encouraged by your favour; We'll doctrines teach the times to serve, And more five thousand pounds deserve, By future good behaviour.

Now take our harp into your hand, The joyful strings, at your command, In doleful sounds no more shall mourn.

We, with sincerity of heart, To all your tunes shall bear a part, Unless we see the tables turn.

If so, great sir, you will excuse us, For we and our attending Muses May live to change our strain; And turn, with merry hearts, our tune, Upon some happy tenth of June, To "the king enjoys his own again."

[Footnote 1: Dr. Pratt's speech, which is here parodied, was made when the Duke of Ormond, Swift's valued friend, was attainted, and superseded in the office of chancellor of Trinity College, which he had held from 1688-9, by the Prince of Wales, afterwards George II.

There is great reason to suppose that the satire is the work of Swift, whose attachment to Ormond was uniformly ardent. Of this it may be worth while to mention a trifling instance. The duke had presented to the cathedral of St. Patrick's a superb organ, surmounted by his own armorial bearings. It was placed facing the nave of the church. But after Ormond's attainder, Swift, as Dean of St. Patrick's, received orders from government to remove the scutcheon from the church. He obeyed, but he placed the shield in the great aisle, where he himself and Stella lie buried, and where the arms still remain. The verses have suffered much by the inaccuracy of the n.o.ble transcriber, Lord Newtoun Butler.

The original speech will be found in the London Gazette of Tuesday, April 17, 1716, and Scott's edition of Swift, vol. xii, p. 352. The Provost, it appears, was attended by the Rev. Dr. Howard, and Mr. George Berkeley, (afterwards Bishop of Cloyne,) both of them fellows of Trinity College, Dublin. The speech was praised by Addison, in the Freeholder, No. 33.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: The Rev. Dr. Pratt had been formerly of the Tory party; to which circ.u.mstance the phrase, "from this day well-affected,"

alludes.--_Scott._]

[Footnote 3: The statutes of the university enjoin celibacy.--_Scott_.]

[Footnote 4: The provost was a most constant attendant at the levees at St. James's palace.--_Scott_.]