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Mordanto gallops on alone,
The roads are with his foll'wers ftrown,
This breaks a girth, and that a bone :
His body active as his mind,
Returning found in limb and wind,
Except fome leather loft behind.
A keleton in outward figure,
His meagre corpse, tho' full of vigour,
Would halt behind kim, were it bigger.
So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you like an apparition.
Shines in all climates like a star ;
In senates bold, and fierce in war ;
A land commander, and a tar :
Heroic actions early bred in,
Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading,
But by his name-fake Charles of Sweden.
Written in the year 1712. *MIDAS, we are in tory told,
Turn'd ev'ry thing he touch'd to gold:
He chip'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground:
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would strait become a golden pippin :
He callid for drink ; you saw him sup
Potable gold in golden cup :
Y The Dean, tho' he did not much change the natural order of words, was yet very exact in his versification. But it may be remarked, that verses of eight syllables are never harmonious, if the accent be placed on the first, and not repeated till the third or fourth. The first, fourth, and eight verses are, among others,
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He fuck'd his victuals thro' a quill;
Untouch'd it pafs'd between his grinders,
Or't had been happy for gold-finders :
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head :
Whene'er he chanc'd his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd, instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence by wise farmers we are told,
Old hay is equal to old gold ;
20 And hence a critic deep maintains, We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit ; And people fancy'd he had wit. Two gods their skill in music try'd,
25 And both chofe Midas to decide ; He against Phæbus' harp decreed, And gave
it for Pan's.oaten reed: examples of this rule ; which will be illustrated by changing the structure, so as to remove the accent from the first fyllable to the Jecond. If instead of,
Glitter'd like Spangles on the ground, the fourth verse be read,
Like Spangles glitter'd on the ground; the ear will easily determine which should be preferred. It is however true, that when the accent is placed on the first fyllable, and repeated at the second, the measure is not only harmonious,
but acquires a peculiar force. The eleventh verse is of this kind,
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders; which would be greatly
by changing it t It pass'd untouch'd between his grinders; tho' the cadence would still be poetical, as the first accent would fall on the second syllable. Hawkes.
The god of wit, to thew his grudge,
Clapt alles' ears upon the judge ;
A goodly pair erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactoluso sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims,
The golden scurf peels off his limbs:
Fame spreads the news, and people travel
From far to gather golden gravel;
Midas, exposd to all their jeer's,
Had loft his art, and kept his ears.
This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader ;
To whom from Midas down descends
That virtue in the fingers ends.
What else by perquifite's are meant,
By penfions; bribės, and bree per cent.
By places and commifims fold,
And turning dung itself. to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
As t'other Midas did before ?:
None e'er did modern Midas chufe
Subject or patron of his muse,
But found him thus their merit scan,
That Phæbus must give place to Pan:
He values not the poet's praise,
Nor will exchange his plumbs for bays :
To Pan alone rich misers call
And there's the jeft, for Pan is ALL.-
Here English wits will be to seek,
Howe'er, 'ris all one in the Greek.
Besides, it plainly now appears
Our Midas too hath afjes' ears ;
A cant word for 100,000 1. Duboedir.
Where ev'ry fool his mouth applies,
And whispers in a thousand lies;
Such gross delusions could not pass
Thro' any ears but of an ass.
But gold defiles with frequent touch ;
There's nothing fouls the hand so much;
And scholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws ;
Which while the senale trove to fcour,
They walh d away the <bymic power.
While he his utmost strength apply'd,
To swim against this pop'lar side,
The golden spoils few off apace ;
Here fell a pension, there a place :
The torrent merciless imbibes
Gommifions, perquistes, and bribes;
By their own weight funk to the bottom ;
Mucb good may’r do 'em that have caught 'em.
And Midas now neglected ftands
ears and dirty hands. The Rev. Dr SHERIDAN to Dr Swift.
Written in the year 1712.
EAR Dean, since in cruxes and puns you and I deal,
Pray why is a woman a fieve and a riddle?
'Tis a thought that came into my noddle this morning,
In bed as I lay, Sir, a tofing and turning.
You'll find, if you read but a few of your histories, 5
All women as Eve, all women are myfteries.
To find out this riddle I know you'll be eager,
And make every one of the fex a Bel-phagor.
But that will not do, for I mean to commend 'em :
I swear withouc jest I an honour intend them.
In a fieve, Sir, their antient extraction I quite tell,
In a riddle I give you their power and their title.
This I told you before, do you know what I mean, Sir? * Not ), by my troth, Sir. -Then read it again, Sir. The reason I send you these lines of rhymes double, "S Is purely thro' pity to save you
Of thinking two hours for a rhyme as you did last ;
When your Pegafus canter'd in triple, and rid faft.
As for my little nag, which I keep at Parnassus,
With Phæbus's leave, to run with his asses,
Now and sure, and he never is jaded ;
While your fiery steed is whipp'd, spurr’d, baitinaded.
Dean Swift's answer to the Reverend
IN reading your letter alone in my hackney,
Your damnable riddle my poor brains did rack nigh,
And when with much labour the matter I crackt,
I found you mistaken in matter of fact.
A woman's no sieve (for with that you begin), 5 Because she lets out more than e'er she takes in. And that she's a riddle, can never be right; For a riddle is dark, but a woman is light., But grant her a fieve, I can say something archer ; Pray what is a man? he's a fine linen searcher,
Now tell me a thing that wants interpretation,
What name for a maidt, was the first man's damnation?
If your Worship will please to explain me this rebus,
I swear from henceforward