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FOR BEC* 1723.4.
For Bec, a new supply of cares,
Sent in a bag to Doctor Swift,
Who thus displays the New-year's-gift.
First, this large parcel brings you tidings
Of our good Dean's eternal chidings;
Of Nelly's pertness, Robin's leafings,
And Sheridan's perpetual teazings.
This box is cramm’d on 'every fille
With Stella's magisterial pride.
Behold a cage with sparrows fill'd,
First to be fondled, then be kill'd.
Now to this hamper I invite you,
With fix imagin'd cares to fright you.
Here in this bundle Janus sends
Concerns by thousands for your friends:
And here 's a pair of leathern pokes,
To hold your cares for other folks.
Here from this barrel you may broach
A peck of troubles for a coach.
This ball of wax your 'ears will darken,
Still to be curious, never hearken.
Lest you the town may have less trouble in,
Bring all your Quilca's + cares to Dublin,
For which he sends this empty sack ;
And so take all upon your back.
* Mrs. Dingley, Stella’s friend and companion.
+ A country-house of Dr. Sheridan.
To the tune of, “ Ye Commons and Peers."
DINGLEY and Brent,
Wherever they went,
Ne'er minded a word that was spoken ;
Whatever was said,
They ne'er troubled their head, But laugh'd at their own filly joking.
Should Solomon wise
In majesty rise,
And shew them his wit and his learning;
They never would hear,
But turn the deaf ear,
As a matter they had no concern in.
You tell a good jest,
And please all the rest ;
Comes Dingley, and asks you, What was it?
And, curious to know,
Away she will go
To seek an old rag in the closet.
# Dr. Swift's house-keeper.
TO STELLA, 1723-4. Written on the Day of her Birth, but not on
the SUBJECT, when I was fick in Bed.
ORMENTED with incessant pains,
Can I devise poetic strains ?
"Time was, when I could yearly pay
My verse on Stella's native day :
But now, unable grown to write,
I grieve she ever saw the light.
Ungrateful! since to her I owe
That I thesc pains can undergo.
She tends me, like an humble slave;
And, when indecently I rave,
When out my brutish passions break,
With gall in every word I speak,
She, with soft speech, my anguish chears,
Or melts my passions down with tears :
Although 'tis easy to descry
She wants assistance more than I.;
Yet seems to feel my pains alone,
And is a Stoic in her own.
When, among scholars, can we find
So soft, and yet so firm a mind?
All accidents of life conspire
To raise up Stella's virtue higher ;
Or else to introduce the rest
Which had been latent in her breaft.
Her firmness who could e'er have known,
Had the not evils of her own?
Her kindness who could ever guess,
Had not her friends been in distress ?
Whatever base returns you find
From me, dear Stella, still be kind.
Though I continue still a brute.
But, when I once am out of pain,
I promise to be good again :
Meantime, your other juster friends
Shall for my follies make amends :
So may we long continue thus,
Admiring you, you pitying us.
AN IMITATION OF PETRONIUS.
“ Somnia quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris," &c. THO *HOSE dreams, that on the filent night intrude,
And with false fitting shades our minds delude,
Jove never sends us downward from the skies;
Nor can they from infernal mansions rise;
But are all mere productions of the brain,
And fools consult interpreters in vain.
For, when in bed we rest our weary limbs,
The mind unburden'd sports in various whims;
The bufy head with mimic art runs o'er
The scenes and actions of the day before.
The drowsy tyrant, by his minions led,
To regal rage devotes some patriot's head.
With equal terrors, not with equal guilt,
The murderer dreams of all the blood he spilt.
The soldier smiling hears the widow's cries,
And frabs the son before the inother's eyes.
With like remorse his brother of the trade,
The butcher, fells the lamb beneath his blade.
The statesman rakes the town to find a plot,
And dreams of forfeitures by treason got.
Nor less Tom-t-d-man, of true statesman mold,,
Collects the city filth in search of gold.
Orphans around his bed the lawyer sees,
And takes the plaintiff's and defendant's fees.
His fellow pick-purse, watching for a job,
Fancies his finger's in the cully's fob.
The kind physician grants the husband's prayers,
Or gives relief to long-expecting heirs.
The flecping hangman ties the fatal noose,
Nor unsuccessful waits for dead mens shoes.
The grave divine, with knotty points perplext,
As if he was awake, nods o'er his text:
While the Ny mountebank attends his trade,
Harangues the rabble, and is better paid.
The hireling fenator of modern days
Bedaubs the guilty great with nauseous praise :
And Dick the scavenger with equal grace.
Flirts from his cart the mud in * * * * * *s face,