14 The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry, Lord's quibble, critic's jest, all end in thee, All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.

VI. EARL OF DORSET.

ARTEMISIA.[62]

1 Though Artemisia talks, by fits, Of councils, classics, fathers, wits; Reads Malebranche, Boyle, and Locke: Yet in some things methinks she fails-- 'Twere well if she would pare her nails, And wear a cleaner smock.

2 Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride, Such nastiness, and so much pride Are oddly join'd by fate: On her large squab you find her spread, Like a fat corpse upon a bed, That lies and stinks in state.

3 She wears no colours (sign of grace) On any part except her face; All white and black beside: Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, Her voice theatrically loud, And masculine her stride.

4 So have I seen, in black and white A prating thing, a magpie height, Majestically stalk; A stately, worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk.

PHRYNE.

1 Phryne had talents for mankind, Open she was, and unconfined, Like some free port of trade: Merchants unloaded here their freight, And agents from each foreign state Here first their entry made.

2 Her learning and good breeding such, Whether the Italian or the Dutch, Spaniards or French came to her: To all obliging she'd appear, 'Twas 'Si, Signor,' 'twas 'Yaw, Mynheer,'

'Twas 'S' il vous plait, Monsieur.'

3 Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes, Still changing names, religions, climes, At length she turns a bride: In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades, She shines the first of batter'd jades, And flutters in her pride.

4 So have I known those insects fair, (Which curious Germans hold so rare) Still vary shapes and dyes; Still gain new titles with new forms; First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms, Then painted butterflies.

VII. DR SWIFT.

THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON.

Parson, these things in thy possessing Are better than the bishop's blessing:-- A wife that makes conserves; a steed That carries double when there's need: October store, and best Virginia, Tithe-pig, and mortuary guinea: Gazettes sent gratis down, and frank'd, For which thy patron's weekly thank'd: A large Concordance, bound long since: Sermons to Charles the First, when prince: A Chronicle of ancient standing; A Chrysostom to smooth thy band in: The Polyglot--three parts--my text, Howbeit--likewise--now to my next: Lo, here the Septuagint--and Paul, To sum the whole--the close of all.

He that has these, may pass his life, Drink with the squire, and kiss his wife; On Sundays preach, and eat his fill; And fast on Fridays--if he will; Toast Church and Queen, explain the news, Talk with churchwardens about pews, Pray heartily for some new gift, And shake his head at Doctor S----t.

THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXI.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The hint of the following piece was taken from Chaucer's 'House of Fame.' The design is in a manner entirely altered, the descriptions and most of the particular thoughts my own: yet I could not suffer it to be printed without this acknowledgment. The reader who would compare this with Chaucer, may begin with his third book of 'Fame,' there being nothing in the two first books that answers to their title. Wherever any hint is taken from him, the passage itself is set down in the marginal notes.

In that soft season, when descending showers Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flowers; When opening buds salute the welcome day, And earth relenting feels the genial ray; As balmy sleep had charm'd my cares to rest, And love itself was banish'd from my breast, (What time the morn mysterious visions brings, While purer slumbers spread their golden wings), A train of phantoms in wild order rose, And, join'd, this intellectual scene compose. 10

I stood, methought, betwixt earth, seas, and skies; The whole creation open to my eyes: In air self-balanced hung the globe below, Where mountains rise and circling oceans flow; Here naked rocks, and empty wastes were seen, There towery cities, and the forests green: Here sailing ships delight the wandering eyes: There trees, and intermingled temples rise; Now a clear sun the shining scene displays, The transient landscape now in clouds decays. 20

O'er the wide prospect, as I gazed around, Sudden I heard a wild promiscuous sound, Like broken thunders that at distance roar, Or billows murmuring on the hollow shore: Then gazing up, a glorious pile beheld, Whose towering summit ambient clouds conceal'd.

High on a rock of ice the structure lay, Steep its ascent, and slippery was the way; The wondrous rock like Parian marble shone, And seem'd, to distant sight, of solid stone. 30 Inscriptions here of various names I view'd, The greater part by hostile time subdued; Yet wide was spread their fame in ages past, And poets once had promised they should last.

Some fresh engraved appear'd of wits renown'd; I look'd again, nor could their trace be found.

Critics I saw, that other names deface, And fix their own, with labour, in their place: Their own, like others, soon their place resign'd, Or disappear'd, and left the first behind. 40 Nor was the work impair'd by storms alone, But felt the approaches of too warm a sun; For Fame, impatient of extremes, decays Not more by envy than excess of praise.

Yet part no injuries of heaven could feel, Like crystal faithful to the graving steel: The rock's high summit, in the temple's shade, Nor heat could melt, nor beating storm invade.

Their names inscribed unnumber'd ages past From time's first birth, with time itself shall last; 50 These ever new, nor subject to decays, Spread, and grow brighter with the length of days.

So Zembla's rocks (the beauteous work of frost) Rise white in air, and glitter o'er the coast; Pale suns, unfelt, at distance roll away, And on the impassive ice the lightnings play; Eternal snows the growing mass supply, Till the bright mountains prop the incumbent sky: As Atlas fix'd, each hoary pile appears, The gather'd winter of a thousand years. 60

On this foundation Fame's high temple stands.

Stupendous pile! not rear'd by mortal hands.

Whate'er proud Rome or artful Greece beheld, Or elder Babylon, its frame excell'd.

Four faces had the dome, and every face Of various structure, but of equal grace; Four brazen gates, on columns lifted high, Salute the different quarters of the sky.

Here fabled chiefs in darker ages born, Or worthies old, whom arms or arts adorn, 70 Who cities raised, or tamed a monstrous race, The walls in venerable order grace; Heroes in animated marble frown, And legislators seem to think in stone.

Westward, a sumptuous frontispiece appear'd, On Doric pillars of white marble rear'd, Crown'd with an architrave of antique mould, And sculpture rising on the roughen'd gold.

In shaggy spoils here Theseus was beheld, And Perseus dreadful with Minerva's shield: 80 There great Alcides stooping with his toil, Rests on his club, and holds th' Hesperian spoil.

Here Orpheus sings; trees, moving to the sound, Start from their roots, and form a shade around; Amphion there the loud creating lyre Strikes, and behold a sudden Thebes aspire!

Cythaeron's echoes answer to his call, And half the mountain rolls into a wall: There might you see the lengthening spires ascend, The domes swell up, the widening arches bend, 90 The growing towers, like exhalations rise, And the huge columns heave into the skies.

The eastern front was glorious to behold, With diamond flaming, and barbaric gold.

There Ninus shone, who spread the Assyrian fame, And the great founder of the Persian name: There in long robes the royal Magi stand, Grave Zoroaster waves the circling wand, The sage Chaldeans robed in white appear'd, And Brachmans, deep in desert woods revered. 100 These stopp'd the moon, and call'd the unbodied shades To midnight banquets in the glimmering glades; Made visionary fabrics round them rise, And airy spectres skim before their eyes; Of talismans and sigils knew the power, And careful watch'd the planetary hour.

Superior, and alone, Confucius stood, Who taught that useful science--to be good.

But on the south, a long majestic race Of Egypt's priests the gilded niches grace, 110 Who measured earth, described the starry spheres, And traced the long records of lunar years.

High on his car Sesostris struck my view, Whom sceptred slaves in golden harness drew: His hands a bow and pointed javelin hold; His giant limbs are arm'd in scales of gold.

Between the statues obelisks were placed, And the learn'd walls with hieroglyphics graced.

Of Gothic structure was the northern side, O'erwrought with ornaments of barbarous pride. 120 There huge Colosses rose, with trophies crown'd, And Runic characters were graved around.

There sat Zamolxis[63] with erected eyes, And Odin here in mimic trances dies.

There on rude iron columns, smear'd with blood, The horrid forms of Seythian heroes stood, Druids and Bards (their once loud harps unstrung) And youths that died to be by poets sung.

These, and a thousand more of doubtful fame, To whom old fables gave a lasting name, 130 In ranks adorn'd the temple's outward face; The wall, in lustre and effect like glass, Which o'er each object casting various dyes, Enlarges some, and others multiplies: Nor void of emblem was the mystic wall, For thus romantic Fame increases all.

The temple shakes, the sounding gates unfold Wide vaults appear, and roofs of fretted gold: Raised on a thousand pillars, wreathed around With laurel foliage, and with eagles crown'd: 140 Of bright, transparent beryl were the walls, The friezes gold, and gold the capitals: As heaven with stars, the roof with jewels glows, And ever-living lamps depend in rows.

Full in the passage of each spacious gate, The sage historians in white garments wait; Graved o'er their seats the form of Time was found, His scythe reversed, and both his pinions bound.

Within stood heroes, who through loud alarms In bloody fields pursued renown in arms. 150 High on a throne, with trophies charged, I view'd The youth[64] that all things but himself subdued; His feet on sceptres and tiaras trod, And his horn'd head belied the Libyan god.

There Caesar, graced with both Minervas, shone; Caesar, the world's great master, and his own; Unmoved, superior still in every state, And scarce detested in his country's fate.

But chief were those, who not for empire fought, But with their toils their people's safety bought: 160 High o'er the rest Epaminondas stood; Timoleon,[65] glorious in his brother's blood; Bold Scipio, saviour of the Roman state; Great in his triumphs, in retirement great; And wise Aurelius, in whose well-taught mind, With boundless power unbounded virtue join'd, His own strict judge, and patron of mankind.

Much-suffering heroes next their honours claim, Those of less noisy, and less guilty fame, Fair Virtue's silent train: supreme of these 170 Here ever shines the godlike Socrates: He whom ungrateful Athens[66] could expel, At all times just, but when he sign'd the shell: Here his abode the martyr'd Phocion claims, With Agis, not the last of Spartan names: Unconquer'd Cato shows the wound he tore, And Brutus his ill Genius meets no more.

But in the centre of the hallow'd choir, Six pompous columns o'er the rest aspire; Around the shrine itself of Fame they stand, 180 Hold the chief honours, and the fane command.

High on the first, the mighty Homer shone; Eternal adamant composed his throne; Father of verse! in holy fillets dress'd, His silver beard waved gently o'er his breast; Though blind, a boldness in his looks appears; In years he seem'd, but not impair'd by years.

The wars of Troy were round the pillar seen: Here fierce Tydides wounds the Cyprian Queen; Here Hector, glorious from Patroclus' fall, 190 Here dragg'd in triumph round the Trojan wall: Motion and life did every part inspire, Bold was the work, and proved the master's fire; A strong expression most he seem'd to affect, And here and there disclosed a brave neglect.

A golden column next in rank appear'd, On which a shrine of purest gold was rear'd; Finish'd the whole, and labour'd every part, With patient touches of unwearied art: The Mantuan there in sober triumph sate, 200 Composed his posture, and his look sedate; On Homer still he fix'd a reverend eye, Great without pride, in modest majesty.

In living sculpture on the sides were spread The Latian wars, and haughty Turnus dead; Eliza stretch'd upon the funeral pyre, aeneas bending with his aged sire: Troy flamed in burning gold, and o'er the throne, ARMS AND THE MAN in golden cyphers shone.

Four swans sustain a car of silver bright, 210 With heads advanced, and pinions stretch'd for flight: Here, like some furious prophet, Pindar rode, And seem'd to labour with the inspiring god.

Across the harp a careless hand he flings, And boldly sinks into the sounding strings.