Part 12

Observe the dying father speak: Try, lads, can you this bundle break? Then bids the youngest of the six Take up a well-bound heap of sticks. They thought it was an old man's maggot; And strove, by turns, to break the fagot: In vain: the complicated wands Were much too strong for all their hands. See, said the sire, how soon 'tis done: Then took and broke them one by one. So strong you'll be, in friendship ty'd; So quickly broke, if you divide. Keep close then, boys, and never quarrel: Here ends the fable, and the moral. This tale may be applied in few words, To treasurers, comptrollers, stewards; And others, who, in solemn sort, Appear with slender wands at court; Not firmly join'd to keep their ground, But lashing one another round: While wise men think they ought to fight With quarterstaffs instead of white; Or constable, with staff of peace, Should come and make the clatt'ring cease; Which now disturbs the queen and court, And gives the Whigs and rabble sport. In history we never found The consul's fasces[2] were unbound: Those Romans were too wise to think on't, Except to lash some grand delinquent, How would they blush to hear it said, The praetor broke the consul's head! Or consul in his purple gown, Came up and knock'd the praetor down! Come, courtiers: every man his stick! Lord treasurer,[3] for once be quick: And that they may the closer cling, Take your blue ribbon for a string. Come, trimming Harcourt,[4] bring your mace; And squeeze it in, or quit your place: Dispatch, or else that rascal Northey[5] Will undertake to do it for thee: And be assured, the court will find him Prepared to leap o'er sticks, or bind them. To make the bundle strong and safe, Great Ormond, lend thy general's staff: And, if the crosier could be cramm'd in A fig for Lechmere, King, and Hambden! You'll then defy the strongest Whig With both his hands to bend a twig; Though with united strength they all pull, From Somers,[6] down to Craggs[7] and Walpole.

[Footnote 1: This fable is one of the vain remonstrances by which Swift strove to close the breach between Oxford and Bolingbroke, in the last period of their administration, which, to use Swift's own words, was "nothing else but a scene of murmuring and discontent, quarrel and misunderstanding, animosity and hatred;" so that these two great men had scarcely a common friend left, except the author himself, who laboured with unavailing zeal to reconcile their dissensions.--_Scott._ With this exception, the notes are from the Dublin Edition.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: The bundle of rods carried before the Consuls at Rome.]

[Footnote 3: The dilatory Earl of Oxford.]

[Footnote 4: Lord Chancellor.]

[Footnote 5: Sir Edward Northey, attorney-general, brought in by Lord Harcourt; yet very desirous of the Great Seal.]

[Footnote 6: Who had been at different times Lord Chancellor and President of the Council.]

[Footnote 7: Afterwards Secretary of State].

IMITATION OF PART OF THE SIXTH SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.[1] 1714

I often wish'd that I had clear, For life, six hundred pounds a-year, A handsome house to lodge a friend, A river at my garden's end, A terrace walk, and half a rood Of land, set out to plant a wood. Well, now I have all this and more, I ask not to increase my store;[2] But should be perfectly content, Could I but live on this side Trent;[3] Nor cross the channel twice a-year, To spend six months with statesmen here. I must by all means come to town, 'Tis for the service of the crown. "Lewis, the Dean will be of use; Send for him up, take no excuse." The toil, the danger of the seas, Great ministers ne'er think of these; Or let it cost a hundred pound, No matter where the money's found, It is but so much more in debt, And that they ne'er consider'd yet. "Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown, Let my lord know you're come to town." I hurry me in haste away, Not thinking it is levee-day; And find his honour in a pound, Hemm'd by a triple circle round, Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green: How should I thrust myself between? Some wag observes me thus perplex'd, And, smiling, whispers to the next, "I thought the Dean had been too proud, To justle here among a crowd!" Another, in a surly fit, Tells me I have more zeal than wit. "So eager to express your love, You ne'er consider whom you shove, But rudely press before a duke." I own I'm pleased with this rebuke, And take it kindly meant, to show What I desire the world should know. I get a whisper, and withdraw; When twenty fools I never saw Come with petitions fairly penn'd, Desiring I would stand their friend. This humbly offers me his case; That begs my interest for a place; A hundred other men's affairs, Like bees, are humming in my ears. "To-morrow my appeal comes on; Without your help, the cause is gone--" "The duke expects my lord and you, About some great affair, at two--" "Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind, To get my warrant quickly sign'd: Consider, 'tis my first request."-- Be satisfied I'll do my best: Then presently he falls to tease, "You may for certain, if you please; I doubt not if his lordship knew--- And Mr. Dean, one word from you[4]----" 'Tis (let me see) three years and more, (October next it will be four,) Since Harley bid me first attend,[5] And chose me for an humble friend; Would take me in his coach to chat, And question me of this and that; As "What's o'clock?" And, "How's the wind?" "Whose chariot's that we left behind?" Or gravely try to read the lines Writ underneath the country signs;[6] And mark at Brentford how they spell Hear is good Eal and Bear to cell. Or, "Have you nothing new to-day To shew from Parnell, Pope and Gay?" Such tattle often entertains My lord and me as far as Staines, As once a-week we travel down To Windsor, and again to town; Where all that passes _inter nos_ Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross. Yet some I know with envy swell, Because they see me used so well: "How think you of our friend the Dean? I wonder what some people mean! My lord and he are grown so great, Always together, _tête-à-tête_; What! they admire him for his jokes?-- See but the fortune of some folks!" There flies about a strange report Of mighty news arrived at court: I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet, And catechised in every street. "You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great: Inform us, will the emperor treat? Or do the prints and papers lie?" Faith, sir, you know as much as I. "Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest! 'Tis now no secret"--I protest It's one to me--"Then tell us, pray, When are the troops to have their pay?" And, though I solemnly declare I know no more than my lord mayor, They stand amazed, and think me grown The closest mortal ever known. Thus in a sea of folly toss'd, My choicest[7] hours of life are lost: Yet always wishing to retreat, O, could I see my country-seat! There leaning near a gentle brook, Sleep, or peruse some ancient book; And there in sweet oblivion drown Those cares that haunt the court and town.[8]

[Footnote 1: Collated with Stella's copy in the Duke of Bedford's volume.--_Forster._]

[Footnote 2: Here followed twenty lines inserted by Pope when he published the Miscellanies. The version is here printed as written by Swift.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 3: Swift was perpetually expressing his deep discontent at his Irish preferment, and forming schemes for exchanging it for a smaller in England, and courted Queen Caroline and Sir Robert Walpole to effect such a change. A negotiation had nearly taken place between the Dean and Mr. Talbot for the living of Burfield, in Berkshire. Mr. Talbot himself informed me of this negotiation. Burfield is in the neighbourhood of Bucklebury, Lord Bolingbroke's seat.--_Warton._]

[Footnote 4: Very happily turned from "Si vis, potes----."--_Warton._]

[Footnote 5: The rise and progress of Swift's intimacy with Lord Oxford is minutely detailed in his Journal to Stella. And the reasons why a man, that served the ministry so effectually, was so tardily, and so difficultly, and so poorly rewarded, are explained in Sheridan's Life of Swift. See also Coxe's "Memoirs of Walpole." Both Gay and Swift conceived every thing was to be gained by the interest of Mrs. Howard, to whom they paid incessant court.--_Bowles._]

[Footnote 6: Another of their amusements in these excursions consisted in Lord Oxford and Swift's counting the poultry on the road, and whichever reckoned thirty-one first, or saw a cat, or an old woman, won the game. Bolingbroke, overtaking them one day in their road to Windsor, got into Lord Oxford's coach, and began some political conversation; Lord Oxford said, "Swift, I am up; there is a cat." Bolingbroke was disgusted with this levity, and went again into his own carriage. This was "Nugari et discincti ludere," [HORAT., _Sat._, ii, I, 73] with a witness.--_Warton._]

[Footnote 7: Stella's transcript, "sweetest."--_Forster._]

[Footnote 8: Thus far was translated by Dr. Swift in 1714. The remaining part of the satire was afterwards added by Pope, in whose works the whole is printed. See Pope's Works, edit. Elwin and Courthope.--_W. E. B._]

HORACE, BOOK II, ODE I, PARAPHRASED ADDRESSED TO RICHARD STEELE, ESQ. 1714

Dick, thou'rt resolved, as I am told, Some strange arcana to unfold, And with the help of Buckley's[1] pen, To vamp the good old cause again: Which thou (such Burnet's shrewd advice is) Must furbish up, and nickname Crisis. Thou pompously wilt let us know What all the world knew long ago, (E'er since Sir William Gore was mayor, And Harley fill'd the commons' chair,) That we a German prince must own, When Anne for Heaven resigns her throne. But, more than that, thou'lt keep a rout, With--who is in--and who is out; Thou'lt rail devoutly at the peace, And all its secret causes trace, The bucket-play 'twixt Whigs and Tories, Their ups and downs, with fifty stories Of tricks the Lord of Oxford knows, And errors of our plenipoes. Thou'lt tell of leagues among the great, Portending ruin to our state: And of that dreadful _coup d'éclat_, Which has afforded thee much chat. The queen, forsooth! (despotic,) gave Twelve coronets without thy leave! A breach of liberty, 'tis own'd, For which no heads have yet atoned! Believe me, what thou'st undertaken May bring in jeopardy thy bacon; For madmen, children, wits, and fools, Should never meddle with edged tools. But, since thou'st got into the fire, And canst not easily retire, Thou must no longer deal in farce, Nor pump to cobble wicked verse; Until thou shall have eased thy conscience, Of spleen, of politics, and nonsense; And, when thou'st bid adieu to cares, And settled Europe's grand affairs, 'Twill then, perhaps, be worth thy while For Drury Lane to shape thy style: "To make a pair of jolly fellows, The son and father, join to tell us, How sons may safely disobey, And fathers never should say nay; By which wise conduct they grow friends At last--and so the story ends."[2] When first I knew thee, Dick, thou wert Renown'd for skill in Faustus' art;[3] Which made thy closet much frequented By buxom lasses--some repented Their luckless choice of husbands--others Impatient to be like their mothers, Received from thee profound directions How best to settle their affections. Thus thou, a friend to the distress'd, Didst in thy calling do thy best. But now the senate (if things hit, And thou at Stockbridge[4] wert not bit) Must feel thy eloquence and fire, Approve thy schemes, thy wit admire, Thee with immortal honours crown, While, patriot-like, thou'lt strut and frown. What though by enemies 'tis said, The laurel, which adorns thy head, Must one day come in competition, By virtue of some sly petition: Yet mum for that; hope still the best, Nor let such cares disturb thy rest. Methinks I hear thee loud as trumpet, As bagpipe shrill or oyster-strumpet; Methinks I see thee, spruce and fine, With coat embroider'd richly shine, And dazzle all the idol faces, As through the hall thy worship paces; (Though this I speak but at a venture, Supposing thou hast tick with Hunter,) Methinks I see a blackguard rout Attend thy coach, and hear them shout In approbation of thy tongue, Which (in their style) is purely hung. Now! now you carry all before you! Nor dares one Jacobite or Tory Pretend to answer one syl-lable, Except the matchless hero Abel.[5] What though her highness and her spouse, In Antwerp[6] keep a frugal house, Yet, not forgetful of a friend, They'll soon enable thee to spend, If to Macartney[7] thou wilt toast, And to his pious patron's ghost. Now, manfully thou'lt run a tilt "On popes, for all the blood they've spilt, For massacres, and racks, and flames, For lands enrich'd by crimson streams, For inquisitions taught by Spain, Of which the Christian world complain." Dick, we agree--all's true thou'st said, As that my Muse is yet a maid. But, if I may with freedom talk, All this is foreign to thy walk: Thy genius has perhaps a knack At trudging in a beaten track, But is for state affairs as fit As mine for politics and wit. Then let us both in time grow wise, Nor higher than our talents rise; To some snug cellar let's repair, From duns and debts, and drown our care; Now quaff of honest ale a quart, Now venture at a pint of port; With which inspired, we'll club each night Some tender sonnet to indite, And with Tom D'Urfey, Phillips, Dennis, Immortalize our Dolls and Jennys.

[Footnote 1: Samuel Buckley, publisher of "The Crisis."]

[Footnote 2: This is said to be a plot of a comedy with which Mr. Steele has long threatened the town.--_Swift._]

[Footnote 3: Alluding to Steele's advice in "The Tatler" to distressed females, in his character of Bickerstaff.]

[Footnote 4: The borough which, for a very short time, Steele represented in Parliament.]

[Footnote 5: Abel Roper, the printer and publisher of a Tory newspaper called "The Post Boy," often mentioned by Swift, who contributed news to it. See "Prose Works," ii, 420; v, 290; ix, 183.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 6: The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough then resided at Antwerp.]

[Footnote 7: General Macartney, second to Lord Mohun, in the fatal duel with the Duke of Hamilton. For an account of the duel, see Journal to Stella of Nov. 15, 1712, "Prose Works," ii, and x, xxii, and 178.--W. E. B._]

DENNIS’ INVITATION TO STEELE

HORACE, BOOK I, EP. V

JOHN DENNIS, THE SHELTERING POET'S INVITATION TO RICHARD STEELE, THE SECLUDED PARTY-WRITER AND MEMBER, TO COME AND LIVE WITH HIM, IN THE MINT 1714

Fit to be bound up with "The Crisis"

If thou canst lay aside a spendthrift's air, And condescend to feed on homely fare, Such as we minters, with ragouts unstored, Will, in defiance of the law, afford: Quit thy patrols with Toby's Christmas box,[1] And come to me at The Two Fighting Cocks; Since printing by subscription now is grown The stalest, idlest cheat about the town; And ev'n Charles Gildon, who, a Papist bred, Has an alarm against that worship spread, Is practising those beaten paths of cruising, And for new levies on proposals musing. 'Tis true, that Bloomsbury-square’s a noble place: But what are lofty buildings in thy case? What's a fine house embellish'd to profusion, Where shoulder dabbers are in execution? Or whence its timorous tenant seldom sallies, But apprehensive of insulting bailiffs? This once be mindful of a friend's advice, And cease to be improvidently nice; Exchange the prospects that delude thy sight, From Highgate's steep ascent and Hampstead's height, With verdant scenes, that, from St. George's Field, More durable and safe enjoyments yield. Here I, even I, that ne'er till now could find Ease to my troubled and suspicious mind, But ever was with jealousies possess'd, Am in a state of indolence and rest; Fearful no more of Frenchmen in disguise, Nor looking upon strangers as on spies,[2] But quite divested of my former spleen, Am unprovoked without, and calm within: And here I'll wait thy coming, till the sun Shall its diurnal course completely run. Think not that thou of sturdy bub shalt fail, My landlord's cellar stock'd with beer and ale, With every sort of malt that is in use, And every country's generous produce. The ready (for here Christian faith is sick, Which makes us seldom trespass upon tick) Instantly brings the choicest liquors out, Whether we ask for home-brew'd or for stout, For mead or cider, or, with dainties fed, Ring for a flask or two of white or red, Such as the drawer will not fail to swear Was drunk by Pilkington[3]when third time mayor. That name, methinks, so popularly known For opposition to the church and crown, Might make the Lusitanian grape to pass, And almost give a sanction to the glass; Especially with thee, whose hasty zeal Against the late rejected commerce bill Made thee rise up, like an audacious elf, To do the speaker honour, not thyself. But if thou soar'st above the common prices, By virtue of subscription to thy Crisis, And nothing can go down with thee but wines Press'd from Burgundian and Campanian vines, Bid them be brought; for, though I hate the French, I love their liquors, as thou lovest a wench; Else thou must humble thy expensive taste, And, with us, hold contentment for a feast. The fire's already lighted; and the maid Has a clean cloth upon the table laid, Who never on a Saturday had struck, But for thy entertainment, up a buck. Think of this act of grace, which by your leave Susan would not have done on Easter Eve, Had she not been inform'd over and over, 'Twas for th'ingenious author of The Lover.[4] Cease, therefore, to beguile thyself with hopes, Which is no more than making sandy ropes, And quit the vain pursuit of loud applause, That must bewilder thee in faction's cause. Pr'ythee what is't to thee who guides the state? Why Dunkirk's demolition is so late? Or why her majesty thinks fit to cease The din of war, and hush the world to peace? The clergy too, without thy aid, can tell What texts to choose, and on what topics dwell; And, uninstructed by thy babbling, teach Their flocks celestial happiness to reach. Rather let such poor souls as you and I, Say that the holidays are drawing nigh, And that to-morrow's sun begins the week, Which will abound with store of ale and cake, With hams of bacon, and with powder'd beef, Stuff d to give field-itinerants relief. Then I, who have within these precincts kept, And ne'er beyond the chimney-sweeper's stept, Will take a loose, and venture to be seen, Since 'twill be Sunday, upon Shanks's green; There, with erected looks and phrase sublime, To talk of unity of place and time, And with much malice, mix'd with little satire, Explode the wits on t'other side o' th' water. Why has my Lord Godolphin's special grace Invested me with a queen's waiter's place, If I, debarr'd of festival delights, Am not allow'd to spend the perquisites? He's but a short remove from being mad, Who at a time of jubilee is sad, And, like a griping usurer, does spare His money to be squander'd by his heir; Flutter'd away in liveries and in coaches, And washy sorts of feminine debauches. As for my part, whate'er the world may think, I'll bid adieu to gravity, and drink; And, though I can't put off a woful mien, Will be all mirth and cheerfulness within: As, in despight of a censorious race, I most incontinently suck my face. What mighty projects does not he design, Whose stomach flows, and brain turns round with wine? Wine, powerful wine, can thaw the frozen cit, And fashion him to humour and to wit; Makes even Somers to disclose his art By racking every secret from his heart, As he flings off the statesman's sly disguise, To name the cuckold's wife with whom he lies.[5] Ev'n Sarum, when he quaffs it’stead of tea, Fancies himself in Canterbury's see, And S****, when he carousing reels, Imagines that he has regain'd the seals: W****, by virtue of his juice, can fight, And Stanhope of commissioners make light. Wine gives Lord Wingham aptitude of parts, And swells him with his family's deserts: Whom can it not make eloquent of speech; Whom in extremest poverty not rich? Since, by the means of the prevailing grape, Th***n can Lechmere's warmth not only ape, But, half seas o'er, by its inspiring bounties, Can qualify himself in several counties. What I have promised, thou may'st rest assured Shall faithfully and gladly be procured. Nay, I'm already better than my word, New plates and knives adorn the jovial board: And, lest you at their sight shouldst make wry faces The girl has scour'd the pots, and wash'd the glasses Ta'en care so excellently well to clean 'em, That thou may'st see thine own dear picture in 'em. Moreover, due provision has been made, That conversation may not be betray'd; I have no company but what is proper To sit with the most flagrant Whig at supper. There's not a man among them but must please, Since they're as like each other as are pease. Toland and Hare have jointly sent me word They'll come; and Kennet thinks to make a third, Provided he's no other invitation From men of greater quality and station. Room will for Oldmixon and J--s be left: But their discourses smell so much of theft, There would be no abiding in the room, Should two such ignorant pretenders come. However, by this trusty bearer write, If I should any other scabs invite; Though, if I may my serious judgment give, I'm wholly for King Charles's number five: That was the stint in which that monarch fix'd, Who would not be with noisiness perplex'd: And that, if thou'lt agree to think it best, Shall be our tale of heads, without one other guest. I've nothing more, now this is said, to say, But to request thou'lt instantly away, And leave the duties of thy present post, To some well-skill'd retainer in a host: Doubtless he'll carefully thy place supply, And o'er his grace's horses have an eye. While thou, who slunk thro' postern more than once, Dost by that means avoid a crowd of duns, And, crossing o'er the Thames at Temple Stairs, Leav'st Phillips with good words to cheat their ears.

[Footnote 1: Allusion to a pamphlet written against Steele, under the name of Toby (Edward King), Abel Roper's kinsman and shopman.]

[Footnote 2: Dennis had a notion, that he was much dreaded by the French for his writings, and actually fled from the coast, on hearing that some unknown strangers had approached the town, where he was residing, never doubting that they were the messengers of Gallic vengeance. At the time of the peace of Utrecht, he was anxious for the introduction of a clause for his special protection, and was hardly consoled by the Duke of Marlborough's assurances, that he did not think such a precaution necessary in his own case, although he had been almost as obnoxious to France as Mr. Dennis.--_Scott_.]

[Footnote 3: Sir Thomas Pilkington, a leading member of the Skinners' Company, and a staunch Whig. He was elected Lord Mayor for the third time In 1690, and died in 1691.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 4: A comedy by Steele.]

[Footnote 5: See the Examiner, "Prose Works," ix, 171 _n._, for the grounds of this charge.--_W. E. B._]

IN SICKNESS

WRITTEN IN OCTOBER, 1714

Soon after the author's coming to live in Ireland, upon the Queen's death.[1]--_Swift_.