THE walls of this town
Are full of renown,
And strangers delight to walk round 'em:
But as for the dwellers,
Both buyers and sellers,
For me, you may hang 'em, or drown 'em.
VII. ANOTHER, AT HOLYHEAD.
O NEPTUNE! Neptune! must I still
Be here detain'd against my will?
Is this your justice, when I'm come
Above two hundred miles from home;
O'er mountains steep, o'er dusty plains,
Half chok'd with dust, half drown'd with rains,
Only your Godship to implore,
To let me kiss your other shore?
A boon so small! but I may weep,
While you're like Baal, fast asleep.
* These verses are signed J- K- ; but written, as it is presumed, in Dr Swift's hand.-D. S.
VIII. ANOTHER, WRITTEN UPON A WINDOW WHERE
THERE WAS NO WRITING BEFORE.
THANKS to my stars, I once can see
A window here from scribbling free!
Here no conceited coxcombs pass,
To scratch their paltry drabs on glass;
Nor party fool is calling names,
Or dealing crowns to George and James.
IX. ON SEEING VERSES WRITTEN UPON WINDOWS
THE
sage,
Of windows in his breast,
who said he should be proud
Because he ne'er a thought allow'd
That might not be confest;
His window scrawl'd by every rake,
His breast again would cover,
And fairly bid the Devil take
The diamond and the lover.
By Satan taught, all conjurors know
Your mistress in a glass to show,
And you can do as much:
In this the Devil and you agree:
None e'er made verses worse than he,
And thine, I swear, are such.
THAT love is the Devil, I'll prove when requir'd;
Those rhymers abundantly show it:
They swear that they all by love are inspir'd,
And the Devil's a damnable poet.
* To these Verses, inscribed on the Windows of Inns, may be added the following inscription, copied from the Spiritual Quixote of the Rev. Mr Greaves, and said to have been found by his hero, at the George in the Tree, a public house near Meriden, on the Chester road.
"As he was examining the parlour windows in this little hotel (which, affording entertainment for horse as well as men, might be called an inn), he observed the following remarkable inscription:
J. S. D. S. P. D. Hospes Ignotus,
Patriæ (ut nunc est) plusquam vellet
notus,
tempestate pulsus
hic pernoctavit
A. D. M,DCC, XXVI.
"Jonathan Swift, Dean of St Patrick's in Dublin, here a stranger unknown, but in his own country (such as it now is) better known than he would wish to be, being driven by a storm, lodged here all night, in the year of our Lord 1726.
"Mr Wildgoose having at present little curiosity of that kind, did not take out the pane, as he probably might have done for three-halfpence, and as was done soon after by some more curious traveller."-Spiritual Quixote, Lond. 1774. Vol. III. p. 218.
TO JANUS, ON NEW-YEARS DAY, 1726. *
Two-fac'd Janus, god of Time!
Be my Phoebus while I rhime;
To oblige your crony Swift,
Bring our dame a new-year's gift;
She has got but half a face;
Janus, since thou hast a brace,
To my lady once be kind;
Give her half thy face behind.
God of Time, if you be wise,
Look not with your future eyes;
What imports thy forward sight?
Well, if you could lose it quite..,
Can you take delight in viewing
This poor Isle's † approaching ruin,
When thy retrospection vast
Sees the glorious ages past.
Happy nation, were we blind,
Or had only eyes behind!
Drown your morals, madam cries,
I'll have none but forward eyes;
Prudes decay'd about may tack,
Strain their necks with looking back.
Give me time when coming on;
Who regards him when he's gone?
By the Dean though gravely told,
New-years help to make me old;
Yet I find a new-year's lace
Burnishes an old-year's face.
Give me velvet and quadrille,
I'll have youth and beauty still.
A MOTTO FOR MR JASON HASARD,
WOOLLEN-DRAPER IN DUBLIN,
WHOSE SIGN WAS THE GOLDEN FLEECE.
JASON, the valiant prince of Greece,
From Colchis brought the Golden Fleece:
We comb the wool, refine the stuff,
For modern Jasons, that's enough.
Oh! could we tame yon watchful dragon,
Old Jason would have less to brag on.
ORE cibum portans catulus dum spectat in undis,
Apparet liquido præde melioris imago:
Dum speciosa diu damna admiratur, et altè
Ad latices inhiat, cadit imo vortice præceps
Ore cibus, nec non simulacrum corripit una.
Occupat ille avidus deceptis faucibus umbram,
Illudit species, ac dentibus aëra mordet.
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