There Cerberus lay watching in his den,
(He had not seen a hare the Lord knows when)
Out bounc'd the mastiff of the triple head;
Away the hare with double swiftness fled;
Hunted from earth, and sea, and Hell, he flies
(Fear lent him wings) for safety to the skies.
How was the fearful animal distrest!
Behold a foe more fierce than all the rest:
Sirius, the swiftest of the heavenly pack,
Fail'd but an inch to seize him by the back.
He fled to earth, but first it cost him dear:
He left his scut behind, and half an ear.

Thus was the hare pursu'd, though free from guilt; Thus, Bob, shalt thou be maul'd, fly where thou wilt. Then, honest Robin, of thy corpse beware;

Thou art not half so nimble as a hare:

Too ponderous is thy bulk to mount the sky;
Nor can you go to Hell, before you die.

So keen thy hunters, and thy scent so strong,
Thy turns and doublings cannot save thee long.*

*This hunting ended in the promotion of Will and Bob. Bob was no longer first minister, but earl of Orford; and Will was no longer his opponent, but earl of Bath, H.

EPITAPH

ON FREDERICK DUKE OF SCHOMBERG.*

Hic infra situm est corpus FREDERICI DUCIS DE SCHOMBERG. ad BUDINDAM occisi, A. D. 1690, DECANUS et CAPITULUM maximopere etiam atque etiam petierunt,

UT HÆREDES DUCIS monumentum
In memoriam PARENTIS erigendum curarent:
Sed postquam per epistolas, per amicos,
diu ac sæpè orando nil profecêre;
Hunc demum lapidem ipsi statuerunt,
+Saltem ut scias, hospes,

Ubinam terrarum SCONBERGENSIS cineres

delitescunt.

"Plus potuit fama virtutis apud alienos,
Quam sanguinis proximitas apud suos."
A. D. 1731.

The duke was unhappily killed, in crossing the river Boyne, July 1, 1690; and was buried in St. Patrick's cathedral; where the dean and chapter erected a small monument to his honour, at their own expense. N.

The words that Dr. Swift first concluded the epitaph with were, "Saltem ut sciat viator indignabundus, quali in cellulâ, tapti ductoris cineres delitescens." N.

×â

VI.

This protestant zealot, this English divine,
In church and in state was of principles sound;
Was truer than Steele to the Hanover line,

And griev'd that a tory should live above ground.
Shall a subject so loyal be hang'd by the nape,
For no other crime but committing a rape?

VII.

By old popish canons, as wise men have penn'd 'em,
Each priest had a concubine, jure ecclesiæ;
Who'd be dean of Fernes without a commendam?
And precedents we can produce, if it please ye:
Then why should the Dean, when whores are so cheap,
Be put to the peril and toil of a rape?

VIII.

If fortune should please but to take such a crotchet
(To thee I apply, great Smedley's successor)

To give thee lawn sleeves, a mitre, and rochet,
Whom wouldst thou resemble? I leave thee a guesser.
But I only behold thee in Atherton's* shape,
For sodomy hang'd: as thou for a rape.

IX.

Ah! dost thou not envy the brave Colonel Chartres,
Condemn'd for thy crime at threescore and ten?
To hang him, all England would lend him their garters,
Yet he lives, and is ready to ravish again.
Then throttle thyself with an ell of strong tape,
For thou hast not a groat to atone for a rape.

* A bishop of Waterford, of infamous character. H.

X.

The Dean he was vex'd that his whores were so willing He long'd for a girl that would struggle and squall; 'He ravish'd her fairly, and sav'd a good shilling;

But here was to pay the devil and all.

His trouble and sorrows now come in a heap,
And hang'd he must be for committing a rape.

XI.

If maidens are ravish'd, it is their own choice:
Why are they so wilful to struggle with men?
If they would but lie quiet, and stifle their voice,
No devil nor Dean could ravish them then.
Nor would there be need of a strong hempen cape
Tied round the Dean's neck for committing a rape.

XII.

Our church and our state dear England maintains, For which all true Protestant hearts should be glad: She sends us our bishops, our judges, and deans,

And better would give us, if better she had. But, lord how the rabble will stare and will gape, When the good English dean is hang'd up for a rape:

From threshing corn he turns to thresh his brains;
For which her majesty allows him grains:
Though 'tis confest, that those, who ever saw
His poems, think them not all worth a straw!
Thrice happy Duck, employ'd in threshing stubble
Thy toil is lessen'd, and thy profits double.

THE LADY'S DRESSING ROOM.* 1730.

FIVE hours (and who can do it less in ?)
By haughty Cælia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Array'd in lace, brocades, and tissues.
Strephon, who found the room was void,
And Betty otherwise employ'd,
Stole in, and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay:
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here:

And, first, a dirty smock appear'd,
Beneath the armpits well besmear'd;
Strephon, the rogue, display'd it wide,
And turn'd it round on every side:
On such a point, few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest ;
But swears, how damnably the men lie
In calling Cælia sweet and cleanly.

* A defence of "The Lady's Dressing Room," by some facetious friend of our author, is printed in Faulkner's edition; which, after a humorous travesty of ten lines only of "Horace's Art of Poetry," decides clearly that there are ten times more slovenly expressions in those ten lines of Horace, than in the whole poem of Dr. Swift. N.