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Not unexpert, firm to his country's cause,
Warm in the glorious interest you pursue,
And, in one word, a good man and a true.

24

TO MR HARLEY, WOUNDED BY GUISCARD.1

1711.

Ab ipso

Ducit opes animumque ferro. HOR.

1 IN one great now, superior to an age,

The full extremes of Nature's force we find; How heavenly virtue can exalt, or rage

Infernal, how degrade the human mind.

2 While the fierce monk does at his trial stand,
He chews revenge, abjuring his offence;
Guile in his tongue, and murder in his hand,
He stabs his judge to prove his innocence.

3 The guilty stroke and torture of the steel

Infixed, our dauntless Briton scarce perceives; The wounds his country from his death must feel, The patriot views, for those alone he grieves.

4 The barbarous rage that durst attempt thy life,
Harley, great counsellor, extends thy fame;
And the sharp point of cruel Guiscard's knife,
In brass and marble carves thy deathless name.

5 Faithful asserter of thy country's cause,

Britain with tears shall bathe thy glorious wound; She for thy safety shall enlarge her laws,

And in her statutes shall thy worth be found.

1 See Swift's prose works. Guiscard was an ex-abbot; became a colonelthen a spy on the English Court-was discovered, and stabbed Harley at the council before which he was sisted. Harley survived; but the assassin died of some wounds he received in the scuffle, in a few days.

6 Yet midst her sighs she triumphs, on the hand
Reflecting, that diffused the public woe;
A stranger to her altars, and her land;

No son of hers could meditate this blow.

7 Meantime thy pain is gracious Anna's care; Our queen, our saint, with sacrificing breath, Softens thy anguish; in her powerful prayer

She pleads thy service, and forbids thy death.

8 Great as thou art, thou canst demand no more, O breast bewailed by earth, preserved by heaven! No higher can aspiring virtue soar;

Enough to thee of grief, and fame is given.

AN EXTEMPORE INVITATION

TO THE EARL OF OXFORD, LORD HIGH TREASURER,
MDCCXII.

MY LORD,

OUR weekly friends to-morrow meet
At Matthew's palace, in Duke Street,
To try for once, if they can dine
On bacon-ham, and mutton-chine.
If wearied with the great affairs,
Which Britain trusts to Harley's cares,
Thou, humble statesman, mayst descend,
Thy mind one moment to unbend,
To see thy servant from his soul

Crown with thy health the sprightly bowl:
Among the guests, which e'er my house
Received, it never can produce
Of honour a more glorious proof;
Though Dorset used to bless the roof.

10

ERLE ROBERT'S MICE.

IN CHAUCER'S STYLE.

TWAY mice, full blythe and amicable,
Batten beside Erle Robert's table.

Lies there ne trap their necks to catch,
Ne old black cat their steps to watch,
Their fill they eat of fowl and fish;
Feast lyche as heart of mouse mote wish.
As guests sat jovial at the board,
Forth leaped our mice: eftsoons the lord
Of Boling, whilome John the Saint,
Who maketh oft propos full queint,
Laughed jocund, and aloud he cried,
To Matthew seated on t' other side;
To thee, lean bard, it doth pertain
To understand these creatures tweine.
Come frame us now some clean device,
Or playsant rhime on yonder mice:

They seem, God shield me, Mat. and Charles.1
Bad as Sir Topaz, or squire Quarles,2
(Matthew did for the nonce reply)
At emblem, or device am I;

But could I chaunt, or rhyme, pardie,
Clear as Dan Chaucer, or as thee,
Ne verse from me (so God me shrive)
On mouse, or other beast alive.
Certes, I have these many days
Sent myne poetic herd to graze.
Ne armed knight ydrad in war
With lyon fierce will I compare;
Ne judge unjust, with furred fox,

1 Charles Montague, Earl of Halifax.-2 Francis Quarles.

10

20

20

weene,

Harming in secret guise the flocks;
Ne priest unworth of goddes coat,
To swine ydrunk, or filthy stoat.
Elk similè farewell for aye,
From elephant, I trow, to flea.
Replied the friendlike peer, I
Matthew is angred on the spleen.
Ne so, quoth Mat, ne shall be e'er,
With wit that falleth all so fair:
Eftsoons, well weet ye, mine intent
Boweth to your commaundement.
If by these creatures ye

have seen,

Pourtrayed Charles and Matthew been,
Behoveth neet to rack my brain,
The rest in order to explain.

That cup-board, where the mice disport,
I liken to St Stephen's Court;1
Therein is space enough, I trow,
For elke comrade to come and goe:
And therein eke may both be fed
With shiver of the wheaten bread.
And when, as these mine eyne survey,

They cease to skip, and squeak, and play;
Return they may to different cells,

Auditing one, whilst t'other tells.

Dear Robert, quoth the Saint, whose mind, In bounteous deed no mean can bind;

Now as I hope to grow devout,

I deem this matter well made out;
Laugh I, whilst thus I serious pray;

80

40

50

Let that be wrought which Mat. doth say:
Yea, quoth the Erle, but not to-day.

60

1 The Exchequer.

IN THE SAME STYLE.

FULL oft doth Mat. with Topaz dine,
Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine;
But Topaz his own werke rehearseth;
And Mat. mote praise what Topaz verseth.
Now sure as priest did e'er shrive sinner,
Full hardly earneth Mat. his dinner.

IN THE SAME STYLE.

FAIR Susan did her wif-hede well menteine:
Algates assaulted sore by letchours tweine:
Now, and I read aright that auncient song,
Old were the paramours, the dame full yong.

Had thilke same tale in other guise been tolde;
Had they been young (pardie) and she been olde;
That, by St Kit, had wrought much sorer tryal;
Full merveillous, I wote, were swilk denyal.

A FLOWER PAINTED BY SIMON VERELST.1
WHEN famed Verelst this little wonder drew,
Flora vouchsafed the growing work to view:
Finding the painter's science at a stand,

The goddess snatched the pencil from his hand;
And finishing the piece, she smiling said,
Behold one work of mine, that ne'er shall fade.

1 Verelst was a Flemish painter who removed from Antwerp to England, and became famous for painting flowers and fruits.

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