POEMS FROM JONATHAN SWIFT (1667-1745) APOLLO OUTWITTED. To the Honourable Mrs. Finch, under her Name of Ardelia Phoebus now shortning every Shade, Up to the Northern Tropick came, And thence Beheld a Lovely Maid Attending on a Royal Dame. The God laid down his Feeble Rays, Then lighted from his Glitt'ring Coach But fenc'd his Head with his own Bays Before he durst the Nymph approach. Under those Sacred Leaves, Secure From common Lightning of the Skies, He fondly thought he might endure The Flashes of Ardelia's Eyes. The Nymph who oft had read in Books, Of that Bright God whom Bards invoke, Soon knew Apollo by his looks, And Guest his Business e're he Spoke. He in the old Celestial Cant, Confest his Flame, and Swore by Styx, What e're she would desire, to Grant, But Wise Ardelia knew his Tricks. Ovid had warn'd her to beware, Of strolling God's, whose usual Trade is, Under pretence of Taking Air, To Pick up Sublunary Ladies. Howe'er she gave no flat Denial, As having Malice in her Heart, And was resolv'd upon a Tryal, To Cheat the God in his own Art. Hear my Request the Virgin said Let which I please of all the Nine Attend when e'er I want their Aid, Obey my Call, and only mine. By Vow Oblig'd, By Passion led, The God could not refuse her Prayer; He wav'd his Wreath Thrice o'er her Head, Thrice mutter'd something to the Air. And now he thought to Seize his due, But she the Charm already try'd, Thalia heard the Call and Flew To wait at Bright Ardelia's Side. On sight of this Celestial Prude, Apollo thought it vain to stay, Nor in her Presence durst be Rude, But made his Leg and went away. He hop'd to find some lucky Hour, When on their Queen the Muses wait; But Pallas owns Ardelia's Power, For Vows Divine are kept by Fate. Then full of Rage Apollo Spoke, Deceitful Nymph I see thy Art, And tho' I can't my gift revoke, I'll disappoint its Nobler Part. Let Stubborn Pride Possess thee long, And be though Negligent of Fame, With ev'ry Muse to Grace thy Song, May'st thou despise a Poet's Name. Of Modest Poets thou be first, To silent Shades repeat thy Verse, Till Fame and Eccho almost burst, Yet hardly dare one Line Rehearse. And last, my Vengeance to Compleat, May you Descend to take Renown, Prevail'd on by the Thing you hate, A ---- and one that wears a Gown. A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach Appearing, showed the ruddy morn's approach. Now Betty from her master's bed had flown, And softly stole to discompose her own; And slipshod 'prentice from his master's door Had pared the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor. Now Moll had whirled her mop with dext'rous airs, Prepared to scrub the entry and the stairs. The youth with broomy stumps began to trace The kennel-edge, where wheels had worn the place. The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep, Till drowned in shriller notes of chimney-sweep. Duns at his lordship's gate began to meet, And brickdust Moll had screamed through half a street. The turnkey now his flock returning sees, Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees. The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands, And schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands. A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER. OCTOBER, 1710. Careful observers may foretell the hour (By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower: While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er Her frolics and pursues her tail no more. Returning home at night, you'll find the sink Strike your offended sense with double stink. If you be wise, then go not far to dine: You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine. A coming shower your shooting corns presage, Old aches throb, your hollow tooth will rage. 10 Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen; He damns the climate and complains of spleen. Meanwhile the South, rising with dabbled wings, A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings, That swilled more liquor than it could contain And like a drunkard gives it up again. Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope, While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope: Such is that sprinkling which some careless quean Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean. 20 You fly, invoke the gods; then turning, stop To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop. Not yet the dust had shunned th' unequal strife, But, aided by the wind, fought still for life, And wafted with its foe by violent gust, 'Twas doubtful which was rain and which was dust. Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid When dust and rain at once his coat invade; His only coat, where dust confus'd with rain Roughen the nap and leave a mingled stain. Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, 30 Threatening with deluge this devoted town. To shops in crowds the daggled females fly, Pretend to cheapen goods but nothing buy. The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach, Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach. The tucked-up sempstress walks with hasty strides While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides. Here various kinds by various fortunes led Commence acquaintance underneath a shed. 40 Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs Forget their feuds and join to save their wigs. Boxed in a chair the beau impatient sits, While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits; And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds; he trembles from within. So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed, Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed, (Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do, Instead of paying chairmen, run them through), 50 Laocoon struck the outside with his spear, And each imprisoned hero quaked for fear, Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow, And bear their trophies with them as they go: Filth of all hues and odours seem to tell What street they sailed from, by their sight and smell. They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force From Smithfield or St. Pulchre's shape their course And in huge confluent join at Snow Hill ridge, Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn Bridge. 60 Sweepings from butchers stalls, dung, guts, and blood, Drowned puppies, stinking sprats, all drenched in mud, Dead cats and turnip-tops come tumbling down the flood. Notes 2. Indications. 3. Impends. 5. Sewer. 12. Melancholy. 20. Tosses back and forth. 32. Doomed. 33. Bedraggled; mud-spattered. 34. Haggle over the price. 35. Well-dressed man about town (law student) 43. Sedan chair. 46. The roof resounds. 50. With his sword. 53. The gutters in the middle of the street. 58. The livestock market. 60. The bridge over fleet ditch, the main open sewer. 62. Herring --------------------------------------------------------- THE LADY'S DRESSING ROOM Five hours, (and who can do it less in?) The haughty Celia spent in dressing; The goddess from her chamber issues, Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tissues. Strephon, who found the room was void And Betty otherwise employed, Stole in and took a strict survey Of all the litter as it lay; Whereof, to make the matter clear, An inventory follows here. 10 And first a dirty smock appeared, Beneath the arm-pits well besmeared. Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide And turned it round on every side. On such a point few words are best, And Strephon bids us guess the rest; And swears how damnably the men lie In calling Celia sweet and cleanly. Now listen while he next produces The various combs for various uses, 20 Filled up with dirt so closely fixt, No brush could force a way betwixt. A paste of composition rare, Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair; A forehead cloth with oil upon't To smooth the wrinkles on her front. Here alum flower to stop the steams Exhaled from sour unsavory streams; There night-gloves made of Tripsy's hide, Bequeath'd by Tripsy when she died, 30 With puppy water, beauty's help, Distilled from Tripsy's darling whelp;. Here gallypots and vials placed, Some filled with washes, some with paste, Some with pomatum, paints and slops, And ointments good for scabby chops. Hard by a filthy basin stands, Fouled with the scouring of her hands; The basin takes whatever comes, The scrapings of her teeth and gums, 40 A nasty compound of all hues, For here she spits, and here she spews. But oh! it turned poor Strephon's bowels, When he beheld and smelt the towels, Begummed, besmattered, and beslimed With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grimed. No object Strephon's eye escapes: Here petticoats in frowzy heaps; Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot All varnished o'er with snuff and snot. 50 The stockings, why should I expose, Stained with the marks of stinking toes; Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking, Which Celia slept at least a week in? A pair of tweezers next he found To pluck her brows in arches round, Or hairs that sink the forehead low, Or on her chin like bristles grow. The virtues we must not let pass, Of Celia's magnifying glass. 60 When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't It shewed the visage of a giant. A glass that can to sight disclose The smallest worm in Celia's nose, And faithfully direct her nail To squeeze it out from head to tail; (For catch it nicely by the head, It must come out alive or dead.) Why Strephon will you tell the rest? And must you needs describe the chest? 70 That careless wench! no creature warn her To move it out from yonder corner; But leave it standing full in sight For you to exercise your spite. In vain, the workman shewed his wit With rings and hinges counterfeit To make it seem in this disguise A cabinet to vulgar eyes; For Strephon ventured to look in, Resolved to go through thick and thin; 80 He lifts the lid, there needs no more: He smelt it all the time before. As from within Pandora's box, When Epimetheus oped the locks, A sudden universal crew Of humane evils upwards flew, He still was comforted to find That Hope at last remained behind; So Strephon lifting up the lid To view what in the chest was hid, 90 The vapours flew from out the vent. But Strephon cautious never meant The bottom of the pan to grope And foul his hands in search of Hope. O never may such vile machine Be once in Celia's chamber seen! O may she better learn to keep "Those secrets of the hoary deep"! As mutton cutlets, prime of meat, Which, though with art you salt and beat 100 As laws of cookery require And toast them at the clearest fire, If from adown the hopeful chops The fat upon the cinder drops, To stinking smoke it turns the flame Poisoning the flesh from whence it came; And up exhales a greasy stench For which you curse the careless wench; So things which must not be exprest, When plumpt into the reeking chest, 110 Send up an excremental smell To taint the parts from whence they fell, The petticoats and gown perfume, Which waft a stink round every room. Thus finishing his grand survey, Disgusted Strephon stole away Repeating in his amorous fits, Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits! But vengeance, Goddess never sleeping, Soon punished Strephon for his peeping: 120 His foul Imagination links Each dame he see with all her stinks; And, if unsavory odors fly, Conceives a lady standing by. All women his description fits, And both ideas jump like wits By vicious fancy coupled fast, And still appearing in contrast. I pity wretched Strephon blind To all the charms of female kind. 130 Should I the Queen of Love refuse Because she rose from stinking ooze? To him that looks behind the scene Satira's but some pocky queen. When Celia in her glory shows, If Strephon would but stop his nose (Who now so impiously blasphemes Her ointments, daubs, and paints and creams, Her washes, slops, and every c lout With which he makes so foul a rout), 140 He soon would learn to think like me And bless his ravished sight to see Such order from confusion sprung, Such gaudy tulips raised from dung. Notes 24. Used as a fixative. 26. Forehead. 31. Urine. 32 Offspring. 36. Pimply cheeks. 53. Nightcaps. 70. Portable toilet containing a chamberpot. 71. Maid. 98. Milton, Paradise Lost, II.891. 126. Ideas now wholly associated. 139. Cloth.