Chapter III: Part 3

The gods of old were logs of wood,
And worship was to puppets paid;
In antic dress the idol stood,
And priests and people bowed the head.

No wonder then, if art began
The simple votaries to frame,
To shape in timber foolish man,
And consecrate the block to fame.

From hence poetic fancy learned
That trees might rise from human forms
The body to a trunk be turned,
And branches issue from the arms.

Thus Daedalus and Ovid too,
That man's a blockhead have confessed,
Powel and Stretch {1} the hint pursue;
Life is the farce, the world a jest.

The same great truth South Sea hath proved
On that famed theatre, the ally,
Where thousands by directors moved
Are now sad monuments of folly.

What Momus was of old to Jove
The same harlequin is now;
The former was buffoon above,
The latter is a Punch below.

This fleeting scene is but a stage,
Where various images appear,
In different parts of youth and age
Alike the prince and peasant share.

Some draw our eyes by being great,
False pomp conceals mere wood within,
And legislators rang'd in state
Are oft but wisdom in machine.

A stock may chance to wear a crown,
And timber as a lord take place,
A statue may put on a frown,
And cheat us with a thinking face.

Others are blindly led away,
And made to act for ends unknown,
By the mere spring of wires they play,
And speak in language not their own.

Too oft, alas! a scolding wife
Usurps a jolly fellow's throne,
And many drink the cup of life
Mix'd and embittered by a Joan.

In short, whatever men pursue
Of pleasure, folly, war, or love,
This mimic-race brings all to view,
Alike they dress, they talk, they move.

Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand,
Mortals to please and to deride,
And when death breaks thy vital band
Thou shalt put on a puppet's pride.

Thou shalt in puny wood be shown,
Thy image shall preserve thy fame,
Ages to come thy worth shall own,
Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name.

Tell Tom he draws a farce in vain,
Before he looks in nature's glass;
Puns cannot form a witty scene,
Nor pedantry for humour pass.

To make men act as senseless wood,
And chatter in a mystic strain,
Is a mere force on flesh and blood,
And shows some error in the brain.

He that would thus refine on thee,
And turn thy stage into a school,
The jest of Punch will ever be,
And stand confessed the greater fool.

CADENUS AND VANESSA.

_Written Anno 1713_.

The shepherds and the nymphs were seen Pleading before the Cyprian Queen. The counsel for the fair began Accusing the false creature, man.

The brief with weighty crimes was charged, On which the pleader much enlarged: That Cupid now has lost his art, Or blunts the point of every dart; His altar now no longer smokes; His mother's aid no youth invokes-- This tempts free-thinkers to refine, And bring in doubt their powers divine, Now love is dwindled to intrigue, And marriage grown a money-league. Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave) Were (as he humbly did conceive) Against our Sovereign Lady's peace, Against the statutes in that case, Against her dignity and crown: Then prayed an answer and sat down.

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes: When the defendant's counsel rose, And, what no lawyer ever lacked, With impudence owned all the fact. But, what the gentlest heart would vex, Laid all the fault on t'other sex. That modern love is no such thing As what those ancient poets sing; A fire celestial, chaste, refined, Conceived and kindled in the mind, Which having found an equal flame, Unites, and both become the same, In different breasts together burn, Together both to ashes turn. But women now feel no such fire, And only know the gross desire; Their passions move in lower spheres, Where'er caprice or folly steers. A dog, a parrot, or an ape, Or some worse brute in human shape Engross the fancies of the fair, The few soft moments they can spare From visits to receive and pay, From scandal, politics, and play, From fans, and flounces, and brocades, From equipage and park-parades, From all the thousand female toys, From every trifle that employs The out or inside of their heads Between their toilets and their beds.

In a dull stream, which, moving slow, You hardly see the current flow, If a small breeze obstructs the course, It whirls about for want of force, And in its narrow circle gathers Nothing but chaff, and straws, and feathers: The current of a female mind Stops thus, and turns with every wind; Thus whirling round, together draws Fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws. Hence we conclude, no women's hearts Are won by virtue, wit, and parts; Nor are the men of sense to blame For breasts incapable of flame: The fault must on the nymphs be placed, Grown so corrupted in their taste.

The pleader having spoke his best, Had witness ready to attest, Who fairly could on oath depose, When questions on the fact arose, That every article was true; _Nor further those deponents knew_: Therefore he humbly would insist, The bill might be with costs dismissed.

The cause appeared of so much weight, That Venus from the judgment-seat Desired them not to talk so loud, Else she must interpose a cloud: For if the heavenly folk should know These pleadings in the Courts below, That mortals here disdain to love, She ne'er could show her face above. For gods, their betters, are too wise To value that which men despise. "And then," said she, "my son and I Must stroll in air 'twixt earth and sky: Or else, shut out from heaven and earth, Fly to the sea, my place of birth; There live with daggled mermaids pent, And keep on fish perpetual Lent."

But since the case appeared so nice, She thought it best to take advice. The Muses, by their king's permission, Though foes to love, attend the session, And on the right hand took their places In order; on the left, the Graces: To whom she might her doubts propose On all emergencies that rose. The Muses oft were seen to frown; The Graces half ashamed look down; And 'twas observed, there were but few Of either sex, among the crew, Whom she or her assessors knew. The goddess soon began to see Things were not ripe for a decree, And said she must consult her books, The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes. First to a dapper clerk she beckoned, To turn to Ovid, book the second; She then referred them to a place In Virgil (_vide_ Dido's case); As for Tibullus's reports, They never passed for law in Courts: For Cowley's brief, and pleas of Waller, Still their authority is smaller.

There was on both sides much to say; She'd hear the cause another day; And so she did, and then a third, She heard it--there she kept her word; But with rejoinders and replies, Long bills, and answers, stuffed with lies Demur, imparlance, and essoign, The parties ne'er could issue join: For sixteen years the cause was spun, And then stood where it first begun.

Now, gentle Clio, sing or say, What Venus meant by this delay. The goddess, much perplexed in mind, To see her empire thus declined, When first this grand debate arose Above her wisdom to compose, Conceived a project in her head, To work her ends; which, if it sped, Would show the merits of the cause Far better than consulting laws.

In a glad hour Lucina's aid Produced on earth a wondrous maid, On whom the queen of love was bent To try a new experiment. She threw her law-books on the shelf, And thus debated with herself:--

"Since men allege they ne'er can find Those beauties in a female mind Which raise a flame that will endure For ever, uncorrupt and pure; If 'tis with reason they complain, This infant shall restore my reign. I'll search where every virtue dwells, From Courts inclusive down to cells. What preachers talk, or sages write, These I will gather and unite, And represent them to mankind Collected in that infant's mind."

This said, she plucks in heaven's high bowers A sprig of Amaranthine flowers, In nectar thrice infuses bays, Three times refined in Titan's rays: Then calls the Graces to her aid, And sprinkles thrice the now-born maid. From whence the tender skin assumes A sweetness above all perfumes; From whence a cleanliness remains, Incapable of outward stains; From whence that decency of mind, So lovely in a female kind. Where not one careless thought intrudes Less modest than the speech of prudes; Where never blush was called in aid, The spurious virtue in a maid, A virtue but at second-hand; They blush because they understand.

The Graces next would act their part, And show but little of their art; Their work was half already done, The child with native beauty shone, The outward form no help required: Each breathing on her thrice, inspired That gentle, soft, engaging air Which in old times adorned the fair, And said, "Vanessa be the name By which thou shalt be known to fame; Vanessa, by the gods enrolled: Her name on earth--shall not be told."

But still the work was not complete, When Venus thought on a deceit: Drawn by her doves, away she flies, And finds out Pallas in the skies: Dear Pallas, I have been this morn To see a lovely infant born: A boy in yonder isle below, So like my own without his bow, By beauty could your heart be won, You'd swear it is Apollo's son; But it shall ne'er be said, a child So hopeful has by me been spoiled; I have enough besides to spare, And give him wholly to your care.

Wisdom's above suspecting wiles; The queen of learning gravely smiles, Down from Olympus comes with joy, Mistakes Vanessa for a boy; Then sows within her tender mind Seeds long unknown to womankind; For manly bosoms chiefly fit, The seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit, Her soul was suddenly endued With justice, truth, and fortitude; With honour, which no breath can stain, Which malice must attack in vain: With open heart and bounteous hand: But Pallas here was at a stand; She know in our degenerate days Bare virtue could not live on praise, That meat must be with money bought: She therefore, upon second thought, Infused yet as it were by stealth, Some small regard for state and wealth: Of which as she grew up there stayed A tincture in the prudent maid: She managed her estate with care, Yet liked three footmen to her chair, But lest he should neglect his studies Like a young heir, the thrifty goddess (For fear young master should be spoiled) Would use him like a younger child; And, after long computing, found 'Twould come to just five thousand pound.

The Queen of Love was pleased and proud To we Vanessa thus endowed; She doubted not but such a dame Through every breast would dart a flame; That every rich and lordly swain With pride would drag about her chain; That scholars would forsake their books To study bright Vanessa's looks: As she advanced that womankind Would by her model form their mind, And all their conduct would be tried By her, as an unerring guide. Offending daughters oft would hear Vanessa's praise rung in their ear: Miss Betty, when she does a fault, Lets fall her knife, or spills the salt, Will thus be by her mother chid, "'Tis what Vanessa never did." Thus by the nymphs and swains adored, My power shall be again restored, And happy lovers bless my reign-- So Venus hoped, but hoped in vain.

For when in time the martial maid Found out the trick that Venus played, She shakes her helm, she knits her brows, And fired with indignation, vows To-morrow, ere the setting sun, She'd all undo that she had done.

But in the poets we may find A wholesome law, time out of mind, Had been confirmed by Fate's decree; That gods, of whatso'er degree, Resume not what themselves have given, Or any brother-god in Heaven; Which keeps the peace among the gods, Or they must always be at odds. And Pallas, if she broke the laws, Must yield her foe the stronger cause; A shame to one so much adored For Wisdom, at Jove's council-board. Besides, she feared the queen of love Would meet with better friends above. And though she must with grief reflect To see a mortal virgin deck'd With graces hitherto unknown To female breasts, except her own, Yet she would act as best became A goddess of unspotted fame; She knew, by augury divine, Venus would fail in her design: She studied well the point, and found Her foe's conclusions were not sound, From premises erroneous brought, And therefore the deduction's nought, And must have contrary effects To what her treacherous foe expects.

In proper season Pallas meets The queen of love, whom thus she greets (For Gods, we are by Homer told, Can in celestial language scold), "Perfidious Goddess! but in vain You formed this project in your brain, A project for thy talents fit, With much deceit, and little wit; Thou hast, as thou shalt quickly see, Deceived thyself instead of me; For how can heavenly wisdom prove An instrument to earthly love? Know'st thou not yet that men commence Thy votaries, for want of sense? Nor shall Vanessa be the theme To manage thy abortive scheme; She'll prove the greatest of thy foes, And yet I scorn to interpose, But using neither skill nor force, Leave all things to their natural course."

The goddess thus pronounced her doom, When, lo, Vanessa in her bloom, Advanced like Atalanta's star, But rarely seen, and seen from far: In a new world with caution stepped, Watched all the company she kept, Well knowing from the books she read What dangerous paths young virgins tread; Would seldom at the park appear, Nor saw the play-house twice a year; Yet not incurious, was inclined To know the converse of mankind.

First issued from perfumers' shops A crowd of fashionable fops; They liked her how she liked the play? Then told the tattle of the day, A duel fought last night at two About a lady--you know who; Mentioned a new Italian, come Either from Muscovy or Rome; Gave hints of who and who's together; Then fell to talking of the weather: Last night was so extremely fine, The ladies walked till after nine. Then in soft voice, and speech absurd, With nonsense every second word, With fustian from exploded plays, They celebrate her beauty's praise, Run o'er their cant of stupid lies, And tell the murders of her eyes.

With silent scorn Vanessa sat, Scarce list'ning to their idle chat; Further than sometimes by a frown, When they grew pert, to pull them down. At last she spitefully was bent To try their wisdom's full extent; And said, she valued nothing less Than titles, figure, shape, and dress; That merit should be chiefly placed In judgment, knowledge, wit, and taste; And these, she offered to dispute, Alone distinguished man from brute: That present times have no pretence To virtue, in the noble sense By Greeks and Romans understood, To perish for our country's good. She named the ancient heroes round, Explained for what they were renowned; Then spoke with censure, or applause, Of foreign customs, rites, and laws; Through nature and through art she ranged, And gracefully her subject changed: In vain; her hearers had no share In all she spoke, except to stare. Their judgment was upon the whole, --That lady is the dullest soul-- Then tipped their forehead in a jeer, As who should say--she wants it here; She may be handsome, young, and rich, But none will burn her for a witch.

A party next of glittering dames, From round the purlieus of St. James, Came early, out of pure goodwill, To see the girl in deshabille. Their clamour 'lighting from their chairs, Grew louder, all the way up stairs; At entrance loudest, where they found The room with volumes littered round, Vanessa held Montaigne, and read, Whilst Mrs. Susan combed her head: They called for tea and chocolate, And fell into their usual chat, Discoursing with important face, On ribbons, fans, and gloves, and lace: Showed patterns just from India brought, And gravely asked her what she thought, Whether the red or green were best, And what they cost? Vanessa guessed, As came into her fancy first, Named half the rates, and liked the worst. To scandal next--What awkward thing Was that, last Sunday, in the ring? I'm sorry Mopsa breaks so fast; I said her face would never last, Corinna with that youthful air, Is thirty, and a bit to spare. Her fondness for a certain earl Began, when I was but a girl. Phyllis, who but a month ago Was married to the Tunbridge beau, I saw coquetting t'other night In public with that odious knight.

They rallied next Vanessa's dress; That gown was made for old Queen Bess. Dear madam, let me set your head; Don't you intend to put on red? A petticoat without a hoop! Sure, you are not ashamed to stoop; With handsome garters at your knees, No matter what a fellow sees.

Filled with disdain, with rage inflamed, Both of herself and sex ashamed, The nymph stood silent out of spite, Nor would vouchsafe to set them right. Away the fair detractors went, And gave, by turns, their censures vent. She's not so handsome in my eyes: For wit, I wonder where it lies. She's fair and clean, and that's the most; But why proclaim her for a toast? A baby face, no life, no airs, But what she learnt at country fairs. Scarce knows what difference is between Rich Flanders lace, and Colberteen. I'll undertake my little Nancy, In flounces has a better fancy. With all her wit, I would not ask Her judgment, how to buy a mask. We begged her but to patch her face, She never hit one proper place; Which every girl at five years old Can do as soon as she is told. I own, that out-of-fashion stuff Becomes the creature well enough. The girl might pass, if we could get her To know the world a little better. (_To know the world_! a modern phrase For visits, ombre, balls, and plays.)

Thus, to the world's perpetual shame, The queen of beauty lost her aim, Too late with grief she understood Pallas had done more harm than good; For great examples are but vain, Where ignorance begets disdain. Both sexes, armed with guilt and spite, Against Vanessa's power unite; To copy her few nymphs aspired; Her virtues fewer swains admired; So stars, beyond a certain height, Give mortals neither heat nor light.

Yet some of either sex, endowed With gifts superior to the crowd, With virtue, knowledge, taste, and wit, She condescended to admit; With pleasing arts she could reduce Men's talents to their proper use; And with address each genius hold To that wherein it most excelled; Thus making others' wisdom known, Could please them and improve her own. A modest youth said something new, She placed it in the strongest view. All humble worth she strove to raise; Would not be praised, yet loved to praise. The learned met with free approach, Although they came not in a coach. Some clergy too she would allow, Nor quarreled at their awkward bow. But this was for Cadenus' sake; A gownman of a different make. Whom Pallas, once Vanessa's tutor, Had fixed on for her coadjutor.

But Cupid, full of mischief, longs To vindicate his mother's wrongs. On Pallas all attempts are vain; One way he knows to give her pain; Vows on Vanessa's heart to take Due vengeance, for her patron's sake. Those early seeds by Venus sown, In spite of Pallas, now were grown; And Cupid hoped they would improve By time, and ripen into love. The boy made use of all his craft, In vain discharging many a shaft, Pointed at colonels, lords, and beaux; Cadenus warded off the blows, For placing still some book betwixt, The darts were in the cover fixed, Or often blunted and recoiled, On Plutarch's morals struck, were spoiled.

The queen of wisdom could foresee, But not prevent the Fates decree; And human caution tries in vain To break that adamantine chain. Vanessa, though by Pallas taught, By love invulnerable thought, Searching in books for wisdom's aid, Was, in the very search, betrayed.

Cupid, though all his darts were lost, Yet still resolved to spare no cost; He could not answer to his fame The triumphs of that stubborn dame, A nymph so hard to be subdued, Who neither was coquette nor prude. I find, says he, she wants a doctor, Both to adore her, and instruct her: I'll give her what she most admires, Among those venerable sires. Cadenus is a subject fit, Grown old in politics and wit; Caressed by Ministers of State, Of half mankind the dread and hate. Whate'er vexations love attend, She need no rivals apprehend Her sex, with universal voice, Must laugh at her capricious choice.

Cadenus many things had writ, Vanessa much esteemed his wit, And called for his poetic works! Meantime the boy in secret lurks. And while the book was in her hand, The urchin from his private stand Took aim, and shot with all his strength A dart of such prodigious length, It pierced the feeble volume through, And deep transfixed her bosom too. Some lines, more moving than the rest, Struck to the point that pierced her breast; And, borne directly to the heart, With pains unknown, increased her smart.

Vanessa, not in years a score, Dreams of a gown of forty-four; Imaginary charms can find, In eyes with reading almost blind; Cadenus now no more appears Declined in health, advanced in years. She fancies music in his tongue, Nor farther looks, but thinks him young. What mariner is not afraid To venture in a ship decayed? What planter will attempt to yoke A sapling with a falling oak? As years increase, she brighter shines, Cadenus with each day declines, And he must fall a prey to Time, While she continues in her prime.

Cadenus, common forms apart, In every scene had kept his heart; Had sighed and languished, vowed and writ, For pastime, or to show his wit; But time, and books, and State affairs, Had spoiled his fashionable airs, He now could praise, esteem, approve, But understood not what was love. His conduct might have made him styled A father, and the nymph his child. That innocent delight he took To see the virgin mind her book, Was but the master's secret joy In school to hear the finest boy. Her knowledge with her fancy grew, She hourly pressed for something new; Ideas came into her mind So fact, his lessons lagged behind; She reasoned, without plodding long, Nor ever gave her judgment wrong. But now a sudden change was wrought, She minds no longer what he taught. Cadenus was amazed to find Such marks of a distracted mind; For though she seemed to listen more To all he spoke, than e'er before. He found her thoughts would absent range, Yet guessed not whence could spring the change. And first he modestly conjectures, His pupil might be tired with lectures, Which helped to mortify his pride, Yet gave him not the heart to chide; But in a mild dejected strain, At last he ventured to complain: Said, she should be no longer teased, Might have her freedom when she pleased; Was now convinced he acted wrong, To hide her from the world so long, And in dull studies to engage One of her tender sex and age. That every nymph with envy owned, How she might shine in the _Grande-Monde_, And every shepherd was undone, To see her cloistered like a nun. This was a visionary scheme, He waked, and found it but a dream; A project far above his skill, For Nature must be Nature still. If she was bolder than became A scholar to a courtly dame, She might excuse a man of letters; Thus tutors often treat their betters, And since his talk offensive grew, He came to take his last adieu.

Vanessa, filled with just disdain, Would still her dignity maintain, Instructed from her early years To scorn the art of female tears.

Had he employed his time so long, To teach her what was right or wrong, Yet could such notions entertain, That all his lectures were in vain? She owned the wand'ring of her thoughts, But he must answer for her faults. She well remembered, to her cost, That all his lessons were not lost. Two maxims she could still produce, And sad experience taught her use; That virtue, pleased by being shown, Knows nothing which it dare not own; Can make us without fear disclose Our inmost secrets to our foes; That common forms were not designed Directors to a noble mind. Now, said the nymph, I'll let you see My actions with your rules agree, That I can vulgar forms despise, And have no secrets to disguise. I knew by what you said and writ, How dangerous things were men of wit; You cautioned me against their charms, But never gave me equal arms; Your lessons found the weakest part, Aimed at the head, but reached the heart.

Cadenus felt within him rise Shame, disappointment, guilt, surprise. He know not how to reconcile Such language, with her usual style: And yet her words were so expressed, He could not hope she spoke in jest. His thoughts had wholly been confined To form and cultivate her mind. He hardly knew, till he was told, Whether the nymph were young or old; Had met her in a public place, Without distinguishing her face, Much less could his declining age Vanessa's earliest thoughts engage. And if her youth indifference met, His person must contempt beget, Or grant her passion be sincere, How shall his innocence be clear? Appearances were all so strong, The world must think him in the wrong; Would say he made a treach'rous use. Of wit, to flatter and seduce; The town would swear he had betrayed, By magic spells, the harmless maid; And every beau would have his jokes, That scholars were like other folks; That when Platonic flights were over, The tutor turned a mortal lover. So tender of the young and fair; It showed a true paternal care-- Five thousand guineas in her purse; The doctor might have fancied worst,-- Hardly at length he silence broke, And faltered every word he spoke; Interpreting her complaisance, Just as a man sans consequence. She rallied well, he always knew; Her manner now was something new; And what she spoke was in an air, As serious as a tragic player. But those who aim at ridicule, Should fix upon some certain rule, Which fairly hints they are in jest, Else he must enter his protest; For let a man be ne'er so wise, He may be caught with sober lies; A science which he never taught, And, to be free, was dearly bought; For, take it in its proper light, 'Tis just what coxcombs call a bite.

But not to dwell on things minute, Vanessa finished the dispute, Brought weighty arguments to prove, That reason was her guide in love. She thought he had himself described, His doctrines when she fist imbibed; What he had planted now was grown, His virtues she might call her own; As he approves, as he dislikes, Love or contempt her fancy strikes. Self-love in nature rooted fast, Attends us first, and leaves us last: Why she likes him, admire not at her, She loves herself, and that's the matter. How was her tutor wont to praise The geniuses of ancient days! (Those authors he so oft had named For learning, wit, and wisdom famed). Was struck with love, esteem, and awe, For persons whom he never saw. Suppose Cadenus flourished then, He must adore such God-like men. If one short volume could comprise All that was witty, learned, and wise, How would it be esteemed, and read, Although the writer long were dead? If such an author were alive, How all would for his friendship strive; And come in crowds to see his face? And this she takes to be her case. Cadenus answers every end, The book, the author, and the friend, The utmost her desires will reach, Is but to learn what he can teach; His converse is a system fit Alone to fill up all her wit; While ev'ry passion of her mind In him is centred and confined.

Love can with speech inspire a mute, And taught Vanessa to dispute. This topic, never touched before, Displayed her eloquence the more: Her knowledge, with such pains acquired, By this new passion grew inspired. Through this she made all objects pass, Which gave a tincture o'er the mass; As rivers, though they bend and twine, Still to the sea their course incline; Or, as philosophers, who find Some fav'rite system to their mind, In every point to make it fit, Will force all nature to submit.

Cadenus, who could ne'er suspect His lessons would have such effect, Or be so artfully applied, Insensibly came on her side; It was an unforeseen event, Things took a turn he never meant. Whoe'er excels in what we prize, Appears a hero to our eyes; Each girl, when pleased with what is taught, Will have the teacher in her thought. When miss delights in her spinnet, A fiddler may a fortune get; A blockhead, with melodious voice In boarding-schools can have his choice; And oft the dancing-master's art Climbs from the toe to touch the heart. In learning let a nymph delight, The pedant gets a mistress by't. Cadenus, to his grief and shame, Could scarce oppose Vanessa's flame; But though her arguments were strong, At least could hardly with them wrong. Howe'er it came, he could not tell, But, sure, she never talked so well. His pride began to interpose, Preferred before a crowd of beaux, So bright a nymph to come unsought, Such wonder by his merit wrought; 'Tis merit must with her prevail, He never know her judgment fail. She noted all she ever read, And had a most discerning head.

'Tis an old maxim in the schools, That vanity's the food of fools; Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to take a bit.

So when Cadenus could not hide, He chose to justify his pride; Construing the passion she had shown, Much to her praise, more to his own. Nature in him had merit placed, In her, a most judicious taste. Love, hitherto a transient guest, Ne'er held possession in his breast; So long attending at the gate, Disdain'd to enter in so late. Love, why do we one passion call? When 'tis a compound of them all; Where hot and cold, where sharp and sweet, In all their equipages meet; Where pleasures mixed with pains appear, Sorrow with joy, and hope with fear. Wherein his dignity and age Forbid Cadenus to engage. But friendship in its greatest height, A constant, rational delight, On virtue's basis fixed to last, When love's allurements long are past; Which gently warms, but cannot burn; He gladly offers in return; His want of passion will redeem, With gratitude, respect, esteem; With that devotion we bestow, When goddesses appear below.

While thus Cadenus entertains Vanessa in exalted strains, The nymph in sober words intreats A truce with all sublime conceits. For why such raptures, flights, and fancies, To her who durst not read romances; In lofty style to make replies, Which he had taught her to despise? But when her tutor will affect Devotion, duty, and respect, He fairly abdicates his throne, The government is now her own; He has a forfeiture incurred, She vows to take him at his word, And hopes he will not take it strange If both should now their stations change The nymph will have her turn, to be The tutor; and the pupil he: Though she already can discern Her scholar is not apt to learn; Or wants capacity to reach The science she designs to teach; Wherein his genius was below The skill of every common beau; Who, though he cannot spell, is wise Enough to read a lady's eyes? And will each accidental glance Interpret for a kind advance.

But what success Vanessa met Is to the world a secret yet; Whether the nymph, to please her swain, Talks in a high romantic strain; Or whether he at last descends To like with less seraphic ends; Or to compound the bus'ness, whether They temper love and books together; Must never to mankind be told, Nor shall the conscious muse unfold.

Meantime the mournful queen of love Led but a weary life above. She ventures now to leave the skies, Grown by Vanessa's conduct wise. For though by one perverse event Pallas had crossed her first intent, Though her design was not obtained, Yet had she much experience gained; And, by the project vainly tried, Could better now the cause decide. She gave due notice that both parties, _Coram Regina prox' die Martis_, Should at their peril without fail Come and appear, and save their bail. All met, and silence thrice proclaimed, One lawyer to each side was named. The judge discovered in her face Resentments for her late disgrace; And, full of anger, shame, and grief, Directed them to mind their brief; Nor spend their time to show their reading, She'd have a summary proceeding. She gathered under every head, The sum of what each lawyer said; Gave her own reasons last; and then Decreed the cause against the men.

But, in a weighty case like this, To show she did not judge amiss, Which evil tongues might else report, She made a speech in open court; Wherein she grievously complains, "How she was cheated by the swains." On whose petition (humbly showing That women were not worth the wooing, And that unless the sex would mend, The race of lovers soon must end); "She was at Lord knows what expense, To form a nymph of wit and sense; A model for her sex designed, Who never could one lover find, She saw her favour was misplaced; The follows had a wretched taste; She needs must tell them to their face, They were a senseless, stupid race; And were she to begin again, She'd study to reform the men; Or add some grains of folly more To women than they had before. To put them on an equal foot; And this, or nothing else, would do't. This might their mutual fancy strike, Since every being loves its like.

But now, repenting what was done, She left all business to her son; She puts the world in his possession, And let him use it at discretion."

The crier was ordered to dismiss The court, so made his last O yes! The goddess would no longer wait, But rising from her chair of state, Left all below at six and seven, Harnessed her doves, and flew to Heaven.

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1718.

Stella this day is thirty-four (We shan't dispute a year or more) However, Stella, be not troubled, Although thy size and years are doubled Since first I saw thee at sixteen, The brightest virgin on the green. So little is thy form declined; Made up so largely in thy mind.

Oh, would it please the gods to split Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit, No age could furnish out a pair Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair: With half the lustre of your eyes, With half your wit, your years, and size. And then, before it grew too late, How should I beg of gentle fate, (That either nymph might lack her swain), To split my worship too in twain.

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1720.

All travellers at first incline Where'er they see the fairest sign; And if they find the chambers neat, And like the liquor and the meat, Will call again and recommend The Angel Inn to every friend What though the painting grows decayed, The house will never lose its trade: Nay, though the treach'rous tapster Thomas Hangs a new angel two doors from us, As fine as daubers' hands can make it, In hopes that strangers may mistake it, We think it both a shame and sin, To quit the true old Angel Inn.

Now, this is Stella's case in fact, An angel's face, a little cracked (Could poets, or could painters fix How angels look at, thirty-six): This drew us in at first, to find In such a form an angel's mind; And every virtue now supplies The fainting rays of Stella's eyes. See, at her levee, crowding swains, Whom Stella freely entertains, With breeding, humour, wit, and sense; And puts them but to small expense; Their mind so plentifully fills, And makes such reasonable bills, So little gets for what she gives, We really wonder how she lives! And had her stock been less, no doubt, She must have long ago run out.

Then who can think we'll quit the place, When Doll hangs out a newer face; Or stop and light at Cloe's Head, With scraps and leavings to be fed.

Then Cloe, still go on to prate Of thirty-six, and thirty-eight; Pursue your trade of scandal picking, Your hints that Stella is no chicken. Your innuendoes when you tell us, That Stella loves to talk with fellows; And let me warn you to believe A truth, for which your soul should grieve: That should you live to see the day When Stella's locks, must all be grey, When age must print a furrowed trace On every feature of her face; Though you and all your senseless tribe, Could art, or time, or nature bribe To make you look like beauty's queen, And hold for ever at fifteen; No bloom of youth can ever blind The cracks and wrinkles of your mind; All men of sense will pass your door, And crowd to Stella's at fourscore.

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY.

_A great bottle of wine, long buried, being that day dug up_. _1722_.

Resolved my annual verse to pay, By duty bound, on Stella's day; Furnished with paper, pens, and ink, I gravely sat me down to think: I bit my nails, and scratched my head, But found my wit and fancy fled; Or, if with more than usual pain, A thought came slowly from my brain, It cost me Lord knows how much time To shape it into sense and rhyme; And, what was yet a greater curse, Long-thinking made my fancy worse

Forsaken by th' inspiring nine, I waited at Apollo's shrine; I told him what the world would sa If Stella were unsung to-day; How I should hide my head for shame, When both the Jacks and Robin came; How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer, How Sh---r the rogue would sneer, And swear it does not always follow, That _Semel'n anno ridet_ Apollo. I have assured them twenty times, That Phoebus helped me in my rhymes, Phoebus inspired me from above, And he and I were hand and glove. But finding me so dull and dry since, They'll call it all poetic licence. And when I brag of aid divine, Think Eusden's right as good as mine.

Nor do I ask for Stella's sake; 'Tis my own credit lies at stake. And Stella will be sung, while I Can only be a stander by.

Apollo having thought a little, Returned this answer to a tittle.

Tho' you should live like old Methusalem, I furnish hints, and you should use all 'em, You yearly sing as she grows old, You'd leave her virtues half untold. But to say truth, such dulness reigns Through the whole set of Irish Deans; I'm daily stunned with such a medley, Dean W---, Dean D---l, and Dean S---; That let what Dean soever come, My orders are, I'm not at home; And if your voice had not been loud, You must have passed among the crowd.

But, now your danger to prevent, You must apply to Mrs. Brent, {2} For she, as priestess, knows the rites Wherein the God of Earth delights. First, nine ways looking, let her stand With an old poker in her hand; Let her describe a circle round In Saunder's {3} cellar on the ground A spade let prudent Archy {4} hold, And with discretion dig the mould; Let Stella look with watchful eye, Rebecea, Ford, and Grattons by.

Behold the bottle, where it lies With neck elated tow'rds the skies! The god of winds, and god of fire, Did to its wondrous birth conspire; And Bacchus for the poet's use Poured in a strong inspiring juice: See! as you raise it from its tomb, It drags behind a spacious womb, And in the spacious womb contains A sovereign med'cine for the brains.

You'll find it soon, if fate consents; If not, a thousand Mrs. Brents, Ten thousand Archys arm'd with spades, May dig in vain to Pluto's shades.

From thence a plenteous draught infuse, And boldly then invoke the muse (But first let Robert on his knees With caution drain it from the lees); The muse will at your call appear, With Stella's praise to crown the year.

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1724.

As when a beauteous nymph decays, We say she's past her dancing days; So poets lose their feet by time, And can no longer dance in rhyme. Your annual bard had rather chose To celebrate your birth in prose; Yet merry folks who want by chance A pair to make a country dance, Call the old housekeeper, and get her To fill a place, for want of better; While Sheridan is off the hooks, And friend Delany at his books, That Stella may avoid disgrace, Once more the Dean supplies their place.

Beauty and wit, too sad a truth, Have always been confined to youth; The god of wit, and beauty's queen, He twenty-one, and she fifteen; No poet ever sweetly sung. Unless he were like Phoebus, young; Nor ever nymph inspired to rhyme, Unless like Venus in her prime. At fifty-six, if this be true, Am I a poet fit for you; Or at the age of forty-three, Are you a subject fit for me? Adieu bright wit, and radiant eyes; You must be grave, and I be wise. Our fate in vain we would oppose, But I'll be still your friend in prose; Esteem and friendship to express, Will not require poetic dress; And if the muse deny her aid To have them sung, they may be said.

But, Stella say, what evil tongue Reports you are no longer young? That Time sits with his scythe to mow Where erst sat Cupid with his bow; That half your locks are turned to grey; I'll ne'er believe a word they say. 'Tis true, but let it not be known, My eyes are somewhat dimish grown; For nature, always in the right, To your decays adapts my sight, And wrinkles undistinguished pass, For I'm ashamed to use a glass; And till I see them with these eyes, Whoever says you have them, lies.

No length of time can make you quit Honour and virtue, sense and wit, Thus you may still be young to me, While I can better hear than see: Oh, ne'er may fortune show her spite, To make me deaf, and mend my sight.

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, MARCH 13, 1726.

This day, whate'er the Fates decree, Shall still be kept with joy by me; This day, then, let us not be told That you are sick, and I grown old, Nor think on our approaching ills, And talk of spectacles and pills; To-morrow will be time enough To hear such mortifying stuff. Yet, since from reason may be brought A better and more pleasing thought, Which can, in spite of all decays, Support a few remaining days: From not the gravest of divines Accept for once some serious lines.

Although we now can form no more Long schemes of life, as heretofore; Yet you, while time is running fast, Can look with joy on what is past.

Were future happiness and pain A mere contrivance of the brain, As Atheists argue, to entice, And fit their proselytes for vice (The only comfort they propose, To have companions in their woes). Grant this the case, yet sure 'tis hard That virtue, styled its own reward, And by all sages understood To be the chief of human good, Should acting, die, or leave behind Some lasting pleasure in the mind. Which by remembrance will assuage Grief, sickness, poverty, and age; And strongly shoot a radiant dart, To shine through life's declining part.

Say, Stella, feel you no content, Reflecting on a life well spent; Your skilful hand employed to save Despairing wretches from the grave; And then supporting with your store, Those whom you dragged from death before? So Providence on mortals waits, Preserving what it first creates, You generous boldness to defend An innocent and absent friend; That courage which can make you just, To merit humbled in the dust; The detestation you express For vice in all its glittering dress: That patience under to torturing pain, Where stubborn stoics would complain.

Must these like empty shadows pass, Or forms reflected from a glass? Or mere chimaeras in the mind, That fly, and leave no marks behind? Does not the body thrive and grow By food of twenty years ago? And, had it not been still supplied, It must a thousand times have died. Then, who with reason can maintain That no effects of food remain? And, is not virtue in mankind The nutriment that feeds the mind? Upheld by each good action past, And still continued by the last: Then, who with reason can pretend That all effects of virtue end?

Believe me, Stella, when you show That true contempt for things below, Nor prize your life for other ends Than merely to oblige your friends, Your former actions claim their part, And join to fortify your heart. For virtue in her daily race, Like Janus, bears a double face. Look back with joy where she has gone, And therefore goes with courage on. She at your sickly couch will wait, And guide you to a better state.

O then, whatever heav'n intends, Take pity on your pitying friends; Nor let your ills affect your mind, To fancy they can be unkind; Me, surely me, you ought to spare, Who gladly would your sufferings share; Or give my scrap of life to you, And think it far beneath your due; You to whose care so oft I owe That I'm alive to tell you so.

TO STELLA,

_Visiting me in my sickness_, _October_, 1727.

Pallas, observing Stella's wit Was more than for her sex was fit; And that her beauty, soon or late, Might breed confusion in the state; In high concern for human kind, Fixed honour in her infant mind.

But (not in wranglings to engage With such a stupid vicious age), If honour I would here define, It answers faith in things divine. As natural life the body warms, And, scholars teach, the soul informs; So honour animates the whole, And is the spirit of the soul.

Those numerous virtues which the tribe Of tedious moralists describe, And by such various titles call, True honour comprehends them all. Let melancholy rule supreme, Choler preside, or blood, or phlegm. It makes no difference in the case. Nor is complexion honour's place.

But, lest we should for honour take The drunken quarrels of a rake, Or think it seated in a scar, Or on a proud triumphal car, Or in the payment of a debt, We lose with sharpers at piquet; Or, when a whore in her vocation, Keeps punctual to an assignation; Or that on which his lordship swears, When vulgar knaves would lose their ears: Let Stella's fair example preach A lesson she alone can teach.

In points of honour to be tried, All passions must be laid aside; Ask no advice, but think alone, Suppose the question not your own; How shall I act? is not the case, But how would Brutus in my place; In such a cause would Cato bleed; And how would Socrates proceed?

Drive all objections from your mind, Else you relapse to human kind; Ambition, avarice, and lust, And factious rage, and breach of trust, And flattery tipped with nauseous fleer, And guilt and shame, and servile fear, Envy, and cruelty, and pride, Will in your tainted heart preside.

Heroes and heroines of old, By honour only were enrolled Among their brethren in the skies, To which (though late) shall Stella rise. Ten thousand oaths upon record Are not so sacred as her word; The world shall in its atoms end Ere Stella can deceive a friend. By honour seated in her breast, She still determines what is best; What indignation in her mind, Against enslavers of mankind! Base kings and ministers of state, Eternal objects of her hate.

She thinks that Nature ne'er designed, Courage to man alone confined; Can cowardice her sex adorn, Which most exposes ours to scorn; She wonders where the charm appears In Florimel's affected fears; For Stella never learned the art At proper times to scream and start; Nor calls up all the house at night, And swears she saw a thing in white. Doll never flies to cut her lace, Or throw cold water in her face, Because she heard a sudden drum, Or found an earwig in a plum.

Her hearers are amazed from whence Proceeds that fund of wit and sense; Which, though her modesty would shroud, Breaks like the sun behind a cloud, While gracefulness its art conceals, And yet through every motion steals.

Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind, And forming you, mistook your kind? No; 'twas for you alone he stole The fire that forms a manly soul; Then, to complete it every way, He moulded it with female clay, To that you owe the nobler flame, To this, the beauty of your frame.

How would ingratitude delight? And how would censure glut her spite? If I should Stella's kindness hide In silence, or forget with pride, When on my sickly couch I lay, Impatient both of night and day, Lamenting in unmanly strains, Called every power to ease my pains, Then Stella ran to my relief With cheerful face and inward grief; And though by Heaven's severe decree She suffers hourly more than me, No cruel master could require, From slaves employed for daily hire, What Stella by her friendship warmed, With vigour and delight performed. My sinking spirits now supplies With cordials in her hands and eyes, Now with a soft and silent tread, Unheard she moves about my bed. I see her taste each nauseous draught, And so obligingly am caught: I bless the hand from whence they came, Nor dare distort my face for shame.

Best pattern of true friends beware, You pay too dearly for your care; If while your tenderness secures My life, it must endanger yours. For such a fool was never found, Who pulled a palace to the ground, Only to have the ruins made Materials for a house decayed.

_While Dr. Swift was at Sir William Temple's_, _after he left the University of Dublin_, _he contracted a friendship with two of Sir William's relations_, _Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dingley_, _which continued to their deaths_. _The former of these was the amiable Stella_, _so much celebrated in his works_. _In the year 1727_, _being in England_, _he received the melancholy news of her last sickness_, _Mrs. Dingley having been dead before_. _He hastened into Ireland_, _where he visited her_, _not only as a friend_, _but a clergyman_. _No set form of prayer could express the sense of his heart on that occasion_. _He drew up the following_, _here printed from his own handwriting_. _She died Jan. 28_, _1727_.

THE FIRST HE WROTE OCT. 17, 1727.