Jonathan Swift
The Poems of Jonathan Swift
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Table of contents
PREFACE
INTRODUCTION
ODE TO DOCTOR WILLIAM SANCROFT[1]
IV
ODE TO THE HON. SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE
ODE TO KING WILLIAM
ODE TO THE ATHENIAN SOCIETY[1]
TO MR. CONGREVE
OCCASIONED BY SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE'S LATE ILLNESS AND RECOVERY
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S IVORY TABLE-BOOK, 1698
MRS. FRANCES HARRIS'S PETITION, 1699
A BALLAD ON THE GAME OF TRAFFIC
A BALLAD TO THE TUNE OF THE CUT-PURSE[1]
THE DISCOVERY
THE PROBLEM,
THE DESCRIPTION OF A SALAMANDER, 1705
TO CHARLES MORDAUNT, EARL OF PETERBOROUGH[1]
ON THE UNION
ON MRS. BIDDY FLOYD;
THE REVERSE
APOLLO OUTWITTED
ANSWER TO LINES FROM MAY FAIR[1]
VANBRUGH'S HOUSE[1]
VANBRUGH'S HOUSE,[1]
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON[1]
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON[1]
A GRUB-STREET ELEGY
THE EPITAPH
A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING
A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER[1]
A TOWN ECLOGUE. 1710[1]
A CONFERENCE
CHARIOT
TO LORD HARLEY, ON HIS MARRIAGE[1] OCTOBER 31, 1713
PHYLLIS; OR, THE PROGRESS OF LOVE, 1716
HORACE, BOOK IV, ODE IX ADDRESSED TO ARCHBISHOP KING,[1] 1718
TO MR. DELANY,[1]
AN ELEGY[1]
EPITAPH ON THE SAME
TO MRS. HOUGHTON OF BOURMONT, ON PRAISING HER HUSBAND TO DR. SWIFT
VERSES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE DEANERY HOUSE, ST. PATRICK'S
ON ANOTHER WINDOW[1]
APOLLO TO THE DEAN.[1] 1720
NEWS FROM PARNASSUS BY DR. DELANY
APOLLO'S EDICT OCCASIONED BY "NEWS FROM PARNASSUS"
THE DESCRIPTION OF AN IRISH FEAST
THE PROGRESS OF BEAUTY. 1719[1]
THE PROGRESS OF MARRIAGE[1]
THE PROGRESS OF POETRY
THE SOUTH-SEA PROJECT. 1721
FABULA CANIS ET UMBRAE
A PROLOGUE
EPILOGUE[1]
PROLOGUE[1]
EPILOGUE TO A BENEFIT PLAY, GIVEN IN BEHALF OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVERS. BY THE DEAN. SPOKEN BY MR. GRIFFITH
ANSWER TO DR. SHERIDAN'S PROLOGUE, AND TO DR. SWIFT'S EPILOGUE. IN BEHALF OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVERS. BY DR. DELANY.
ON GAULSTOWN HOUSE
THE COUNTRY LIFE
DR. DELANY'S VILLA[1]
ON ONE OF THE WINDOWS AT DELVILLE
CARBERIAE RUPES
CARBERY ROCKS
COPY OF THE BIRTH-DAY VERSES
ON DREAMS
SENT BY DR. DELANY TO DR. SWIFT, IN ORDER TO BE ADMITTED TO SPEAK TO HIM WHEN HE WAS DEAF. 1724
THE ANSWER
A QUIET LIFE AND A GOOD NAME TO A FRIEND WHO MARRIED A SHREW. 1724
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE
DESIRE AND POSSESSION 1727
CLEVER TOM CLINCH GOING TO BE HANGED. 1727
DR. SWIFT TO MR. POPE, WHILE HE WAS WRITING THE "DUNCIAD"
A LOVE POEM FROM A PHYSICIAN TO HIS MISTRESS
BOUTS RIMEZ[1]
HELTER SKELTER; OR, THE HUE AND CRY AFTER THE ATTORNEYS UPON THEIR RIDING THE CIRCUIT
THE PUPPET-SHOW
THE JOURNAL OF A MODERN LADY
THE LOGICIANS REFUTED
THE ELEPHANT; OR, THE PARLIAMENT MAN
PAULUS: AN EPIGRAM
THE ANSWER. BY DR. SWIFT
A DIALOGUE
DR. SWIFT
ON BURNING A DULL POEM
AN EXCELLENT NEW BALLAD OR, THE TRUE ENGLISH DEAN[1] TO BE HANGED FOR A RAPE. 1730
ON STEPHEN DUCK THE THRESHER, AND FAVOURITE POET
THE LADY'S DRESSING-ROOM. 1730
THE POWER OF TIME. 1730
CASSINUS AND PETER
A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG NYMPH GOING TO BED.
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT[1]
JUDAS. 1731
TO A LADY WHO DESIRED THE AUTHOR TO WRITE SOME VERSES UPON HER IN THE HEROIC STYLE
EPIGRAM ON THE BUSTS[1] IN RICHMOND HERMITAGE. 1732
ANOTHER
A CONCLUSION
DR. SWIFT'S ANSWER
TO THE REVEREND DR. SWIFT
VERSES LEFT WITH A SILVER STANDISH ON THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S DESK, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. BY DR. DELANY
VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE FOREGOING PRESENTS
AN INVITATION, BY DR. DELANY, IN THE NAME OF DR. SWIFT
THE BEASTS' CONFESSION TO THE PRIEST, ON OBSERVING HOW MOST MEN MISTAKE THEIR OWN TALENTS. 1732
THE PARSON'S CASE
A LOVE SONG IN THE MODERN TASTE. 1733
THE STORM
ODE ON SCIENCE
A YOUNG LADY'S COMPLAINT[1] FOR THE STAY OF THE DEAN IN ENGLAND
ON THE DEATH OF DR. SWIFT
ON POETRY A RHAPSODY. 1733
VERSES SENT TO THE DEAN ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, WITH PINE'S HORACE, FINELY BOUND. BY DR. J. SICAN[1]
EPIGRAM BY MR. BOWYER INTENDED TO BE PLACED UNDER THE HEAD OF GULLIVER. 1733
ON PSYCHE[1]
WRITTEN BY DR. SWIFT ON HIS OWN DEAFNESS, IN SEPTEMBER, 1734
THE DEAN'S COMPLAINT, TRANSLATED AND ANSWERED
THE DEAN'S MANNER OF LIVING
EPIGRAM BY MR. BOWYER
VERSES MADE FOR FRUIT-WOMEN
ASPARAGUS
ONIONS
OYSTERS
HERRINGS
ORANGES
ON ROVER, A LADY'S SPANIEL
EPIGRAMS ON WINDOWS
TO JANUS, ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1726
A MOTTO FOR MR. JASON HASARD
TO A FRIEND WHO HAD BEEN MUCH ABUSED IN MANY INVETERATE LIBELS
CATULLUS DE LESBIA[1]
ON A CURATE'S COMPLAINT OF HARD DUTY
TO BETTY, THE GRISETTE
EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH[1]
EPIGRAM[1]
EPIGRAM ADDED BY STELLA[1]
JOAN CUDGELS NED
VERSES ON TWO CELEBRATED MODERN POETS
EPITAPH ON GENERAL GORGES,[1] AND LADY MEATH[2]
VERSES ON I KNOW NOT WHAT
DR. SWIFT TO HIMSELF ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY
AN ANSWER TO A FRIEND'S QUESTION
EPITAPH INSCRIBED ON A MARBLE TABLET, IN BERKELEY CHURCH, GLOUCESTERSHIRE
EPITAPH
VERSES WRITTEN DURING LORD CARTERET'S ADMINISTRATION OF IRELAND
AN APOLOGY TO LADY CARTERET
THE BIRTH OF MANLY VIRTUE
ON PADDY'S CHARACTER OF THE "INTELLIGENCER."[1] 1729
AN EPISTLE TO HIS EXCELLENCY JOHN, LORD CARTERET BY DR. DELANY. 1729[1]
AN EPISTLE UPON AN EPISTLE
TO DR. DELANY ON THE LIBELS WRITTEN AGAINST HIM. 1729
DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING A BIRTH-DAY SONG. 1729
DEAN SMEDLEY'S PETITION TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON[1]
THE DUKE'S ANSWER BY DR. SWIFT
PARODY ON A CHARACTER OF DEAN SMEDLEY, WRITTEN IN LATIN BY HIMSELF[1]
PREFACE
The
works of Jonathan Swift in prose and verse so mutually illustrate
each other, that it was deemed indispensable, as a complement to the
standard edition of the Prose Works, to issue a revised edition of
the Poems, freed from the errors which had been allowed to creep into
the text, and illustrated with fuller explanatory notes. My first
care, therefore, in preparing the Poems for publication, was to
collate them with the earliest and best editions available, and this
I have done.But,
thanks to the diligence of the late John Forster, to whom every lover
of Swift must confess the very greatest obligation, I have been able
to do much more. I have been able to enrich this edition with some
pieces not hitherto brought to light—notably, the original version
of "Baucis and Philemon," in addition to the version
hitherto printed; the original version of the poem on "Vanbrugh's
House"; the verses entitled "May Fair"; and numerous
variations and corrections of the texts of nearly all the principal
poems, due to Forster's collation of them with the transcripts made
by Stella, which were found by him at Narford formerly the seat of
Swift's friend, Sir Andrew Fountaine—see Forster's "Life of
Swift," of which, unfortunately, he lived to publish only the
first volume. From Swift's own copy of the "Miscellanies in
Prose and Verse," 1727-32, with notes in his own handwriting,
sold at auction last year, I was able to make several corrections of
the poems contained in those four volumes, which serve to show how
Swift laboured his works, and revised and improved them whenever he
had an opportunity of doing so. It is a mistake to suppose that he
was indifferent to literary fame: on the contrary, he kept some of
his works in manuscript for years in order to perfect them for
publication, of which "The Tale of a Tub," "Gulliver's
Travels," and the "Verses on his own Death" are
examples.I
am indebted to Miss Wilmot-Chetwode, of Wordbrooke, for the loan of a
manuscript volume, from which I obtained some various readings. By
the advice of Mr. Elrington Ball, I applied to the librarians of
Trinity College and of the National Library, and from the latter I
received a number of pieces; but I found that the harvest had already
been reaped so fully, that there was nothing left to glean which
could with certainty be ascribed to Swift. On the whole, I believe
that this edition of the Poems will be found as complete as it is now
possible to make it.In
the arrangement of the poems, I have adopted nearly the same order as
in the Aldine edition, for the pieces seem to fall naturally into
those divisions; but with this difference, that I have placed the
pieces in their chronological order in each division. With regard to
the notes in illustration of the text, many of them in the Dublin
editions were evidently written by Swift, especially the notes to the
"Verses on his own Death." And as to the notes of previous
editors, I have retained them so far as they were useful and correct:
but to many of them I have made additions or alterations wherever, on
reference to the authorities cited, or to other works, correction
became necessary. For my own notes, I can only say that I have sought
to make them concise, appropriate to the text, and, above all,
accurate.Swift
and the educated men of his time thought in the classics, and his
poems, as well as those of his friends, abound with allusions to the
Greek and Roman authors, especially to the latter. I have given all
the references, and except in the imitations and paraphrases of so
familiar a writer as Horace, I have appended the Latin text.
Moreover, Swift was, like Sterne, very fond of curious and recondite
reading, in which it is not always easy to track him without some
research; but I believe that I have not failed to illustrate any
matter that required elucidation.W.
E. B.
INTRODUCTION
Dr.
Johnson, in his "Life of Swift," after citing with approval
Delany's character of him, as he describes him to Lord Orrery,
proceeds to say: "In the poetical works there is not much upon
which the critic can exercise his powers. They are often humorous,
almost always light, and have the qualities which recommend such
compositions, easiness and gaiety. They are, for the most part, what
their author intended. The diction is correct, the numbers are
smooth, and the rhymes exact. There seldom occurs a hard laboured
expression or a redundant epithet; all his verses exemplify his own
definition of a good style—they consist of 'proper words in proper
places.'"Of
his earliest poems it is needless to say more than that if nothing
better had been written by him than those Pindaric Pieces, after the
manner of Cowley—then so much in vogue—the remark of Dryden,
"Cousin Swift, you will never be a Poet," would have been
fully justified. But conventional praise and compliments were foreign
to his nature, for his strongest characteristic was his intense
sincerity. He says of himself that about that time he had writ and
burnt and writ again upon all manner of subjects more than perhaps
any man in England; and it is certainly remarkable that in so doing
his true genius was not sooner developed, for it was not till he
became chaplain in Lord Berkeley's household that his satirical
humour was first displayed—at least in verse—in "Mrs.
Frances Harris' Petition."—His great prose satires, "The
Tale of a Tub," and "Gulliver's Travels," though
planned, were reserved to a later time.—In other forms of poetry he
soon afterwards greatly excelled, and the title of poet cannot be
refused to the author of "Baucis and Philemon"; the verses
on "The Death of Dr. Swift"; the "Rhapsody on Poetry";
"Cadenus and Vanessa"; "The Legion Club"; and
most of the poems addressed to Stella, all of which pieces exhibit
harmony, invention, and imagination.Swift
has been unduly censured for the coarseness of his language upon
Certain topics; but very little of this appears in his earlier poems,
and what there is, was in accordance with the taste of the period,
which never hesitated to call a spade a spade, due in part to the
reaction from the Puritanism of the preceding age, and in part to the
outspeaking frankness which disdained hypocrisy. It is shown in
Dryden, Pope, Prior, of the last of whom Johnson said that no lady
objected to have his poems in her library; still more in the
dramatists of that time, whom Charles Lamb has so humorously
defended, and in the plays of Mrs. Aphra Behn, who, as Pope says,
"fairly puts all characters to bed." But whatever
coarseness there may be in some of Swift's poems, such as "The
Lady's Dressing Room," and a few other pieces, there is nothing
licentious, nothing which excites to lewdness; on the contrary, such
pieces create simply a feeling of repulsion. No one, after reading
the "Beautiful young Nymph going to bed," or "Strephon
and Chloe," would desire any personal acquaintance with the
ladies, but there is a moral in these pieces, and the latter poem
concludes with excellent matrimonial advice. The coarseness of some
of his later writings must be ascribed to his misanthropical hatred
of the "animal called man," as expressed in his famous
letter to Pope of September 1725, aggravated as it was by his exile
from the friends he loved to a land he hated, and by the reception he
met with there, about which he speaks very freely in his notes to the
"Verses on his own Death."On
the morning of Swift's installation as Dean, the following scurrilous
lines by Smedley, Dean of Clogher, were affixed to the doors of St.
Patrick's Cathedral:To-day
this Temple gets a Dean Of
parts and fame uncommon,Us'd
both to pray and to prophane, To
serve both God and mammon.When
Wharton reign'd a Whig he was; When
Pembroke—that's dispute, Sir;In
Oxford's time, what Oxford pleased, Non-con,
or Jack, or Neuter.This
place he got by wit and rhime, And
many ways most odd,And
might a Bishop be in time, Did
he believe in God.Look
down, St. Patrick, look, we pray, On
thine own church and steeple;Convert
thy Dean on this great day, Or
else God help the people.And
now, whene'er his Deanship dies, Upon
his stone be graven,A
man of God here buried lies, Who
never thought of heaven.It
was by these lines that Smedley earned for himself a niche in "The
Dunciad." For Swift's retaliation, see the poems relating to
Smedley at the end of the first volume, and in volume ii, at p. 124,
note.This
bitterness of spirit reached its height in "Gulliver's Travels,"
surely the severest of all satires upon humanity, and writ, as he
tells us, not to divert, but to vex the world; and ultimately, in the
fierce attack upon the Irish Parliament in the poem entitled "The
Legion Club," dictated by his hatred of tyranny and oppression,
and his consequent passion for exhibiting human nature in its most
degraded aspect.But,
notwithstanding his misanthropical feelings towards mankind in
general, and his "scorn of fools by fools mistook for pride,"
there never existed a warmer or sincerer friend to those whom he
loved—witness the regard in which he was held by Oxford,
Bolingbroke, Pope, Gay, Arbuthnot, and Congreve, and his readiness to
assist those who needed his help, without thought of party or
politics. Although, in some of his poems, Swift rather severely
exposed the follies and frailties of the fair sex, as in "The
Furniture of a Woman's Mind," and "The Journal of a Modern
Lady," he loved the companionship of beautiful and accomplished
women, amongst whom he could count some of his dearest and truest
friends; but He loved to be bitter at A lady illiterate; and
therefore delighted in giving them literary instruction, most notably
in the cases of Stella and Vanessa, whose relations with him arose
entirely from the tuition in letters which they received from him.
Again, when on a visit at Sir Arthur Acheson's, he insisted upon
making Lady Acheson read such books as he thought fit to advise, and
in the doggerel verses entitled "My Lady's Lamentation,"
she is supposed to resent his "very imperious" manner of
instruction:No
book for delightMust
come in my sight;But
instead of new plays,Dull
Bacon's Essays,And
pore every day onThat
nasty Pantheon.As
a contrast to his imperiousness, there is an affectionate simplicity
in the fancy names he used to bestow upon his female friends. Sir
William Temple's wife, Dorothea, became Dorinda; Esther Johnson,
Stella; Hester Vanhomrigh, Vanessa; Lady Winchelsea, Ardelia; while
to Lady Acheson he gave the nicknames of Skinnybonia, Snipe, and
Lean. But all was taken by them in good part; for his rather
dictatorial ways were softened by the fascinating geniality and
humour which he knew so well how to employ when he used to "deafen
them with puns and rhyme."Into
the vexed question of the relations between Swift and Stella I do not
purpose to enter further than to record my conviction that she was
never more to him than "the dearest friend that ever man had."
The suggestion of a concealed marriage is so inconsistent with their
whole conduct to each other from first to last, that if there had
been such a marriage, instead of Swift having been, as he was, a man
of intense
sincerity, he must
be held to have been a most consummate hypocrite. In my opinion,
Churton Collins settled this question in his essays on Swift, first
published in the "Quarterly Review," 1881 and 1882. Swift's
relation with Vanessa is the saddest episode in his life. The story
is amply told in his poem, "Cadenus and Vanessa," and in
the letters which passed between them: how the pupil became
infatuated with her tutor; how the tutor endeavoured to dispel her
passion, but in vain, by reason; and how, at last, she died from love
for the man who was unable to give love in return. That Swift ought,
as soon as Hester disclosed her passion for him, at once to have
broken off the intimacy, must be conceded; but how many men possessed
of his kindness of heart would have had the courage to have acted
otherwise than he did? Swift seems, in fact, to have been
constitutionally incapable of the
passion of love,
for he says, himself, that he had never met the woman he wished to
marry. His annual tributes to Stella on her birthdays express the
strongest regard and esteem, but he "ne'er admitted love a
guest," and he had been so long used to this Platonic affection,
that he had come to regard women as friends, but never as lovers.
Stella, on her part, had the same feeling, for she never expressed
the least discontent at her position, or ever regarded Swift
otherwise than as her tutor, her counsellor, her friend. In her
verses to him on his birthday, 1721, she says:Long
be the day that gave you birthSacred
to friendship, wit, and mirth;Late
dying may you cast a shredOf
your rich mantle o'er my head;To
bear with dignity my sorrowOne
day alone, then die tomorrow.Stella
naturally expected to survive Swift, but it was not to be. She died
in the evening of the 28th January 1727-8; and on the same night he
began the affecting piece, "On the Death of Mrs. Johnson."
(See "Prose Works," vol. xi.)With
the death of Stella, Swift's real happiness ended, and he became more
and more possessed by the melancholy which too often accompanies the
broadest humour, and which, in his case, was constitutional. It was,
no doubt, to relieve it, that he resorted to the composition of the
doggerel verses, epigrams, riddles, and trifles exchanged betwixt
himself and Sheridan, which induced Orrery's remark that "Swift
composing Riddles is Titian painting draught-boards;" on which
Delany observes that "a Riddle may be as fine painting as any
other in the world. It requires as strong an imagination, as fine
colouring, and as exact a proportion and keeping as any other
historical painting"; and he instances "Pethox the Great,"
and should also have alluded to the more learned example—"Louisa
to Strephon."On
Orrery's seventh Letter, Delany says that if some of the "coin
is base," it is the fine impression and polish which adds value
to it, and cites the saying of another nobleman, that "there is
indeed some stuff in it, but it is Swift's stuff." It has been
said that Swift has never taken a thought from any writer ancient or
modern. This is not literally true, but the instances are not many,
and in my notes I have pointed out the lines snatched from Milton,
Denham, Butler—the last evidently a great favourite.It
seems necessary to state shortly the causes of Swift not having
obtained higher preferment. Besides that Queen Anne would never be
reconciled to the author of the "Tale of a Tub"—the true
purport of which was so ill-understood by her—he made an
irreconcilable enemy of her friend, the Duchess of Somerset, by his
lampoon entitled "The Windsor Prophecy." But Swift seldom
allowed prudence to restrain his wit and humour, and admits of
himself that he "had too much satire in his vein"; and that
"a genius in the reverend gown must ever keep its owner down";
and says further:Humour
and mirth had place in all he writ;He
reconciled divinity and wit.But
that was what his enemies could not do.Whatever
the excellences and defects of the poems, Swift has erected, not only
by his works, but by his benevolence and his charities, a
monumentum aere perennius,
and his writings in prose and verse will continue to afford
instruction and delight when the malevolence of Jeffrey, the
misrepresentations of Macaulay, and the sneers and false statements
of Thackeray shall have been forgotten.
ODE TO DOCTOR WILLIAM SANCROFT[1]
LATE LORD BISHOP OF CANTERBURYWRITTEN
IN MAY, 1689, AT THE DESIRE OF THE LATE LORD BISHOP OF ELYITruth
is eternal, and the Son of Heaven, Bright
effluence of th'immortal ray,Chief
cherub, and chief lamp, of that high sacred Seven,Which
guard the throne by night, and are its light by day; First
of God's darling attributes, Thou
daily seest him face to face,Nor
does thy essence fix'd depend on giddy circumstance Of
time or place,Two
foolish guides in every sublunary dance; How
shall we find Thee then in dark disputes? How
shall we search Thee in a battle gain'd, Or
a weak argument by force maintain'd?In
dagger contests, and th'artillery of words,(For
swords are madmen's tongues, and tongues are madmen's
swords,) Contrived
to tire all patience out, And
not to satisfy the doubt?IIBut
where is even thy Image on our earth? For
of the person much I fear,Since
Heaven will claim its residence, as well as birth,And
God himself has said, He shall not find it here.For
this inferior world is but Heaven's dusky shade,By
dark reverted rays from its reflection made; Whence
the weak shapes wild and imperfect pass, Like
sunbeams shot at too far distance from a glass; Which
all the mimic forms express,Though
in strange uncouth postures, and uncomely dress; So
when Cartesian artists try To
solve appearances of sight In
its reception to the eye,And
catch the living landscape through a scanty light, The
figures all inverted show, And
colours of a faded hue; Here
a pale shape with upward footstep treads, And
men seem walking on their heads; There
whole herds suspended lie, Ready
to tumble down into the sky; Such
are the ways ill-guided mortals go To
judge of things above by things below.Disjointing
shapes as in the fairy land of dreams, Or
images that sink in streams; No
wonder, then, we talk amiss Of
truth, and what, or where it is; Say,
Muse, for thou, if any, know'st,Since
the bright essence fled, where haunts the reverend ghost?IIIIf
all that our weak knowledge titles virtue, be(High
Truth) the best resemblance of exalted Thee, If
a mind fix'd to combat fateWith
those two powerful swords, submission and humility, Sounds
truly good, or truly great;Ill
may I live, if the good Sancroft, in his holy rest, In
the divinity of retreat, Be
not the brightest pattern earth can show Of
heaven-born Truth below; But
foolish man still judges what is best In
his own balance, false and light, Following
opinion, dark and blind, That
vagrant leader of the mind,Till
honesty and conscience are clear out of sight.
IV
And
some, to be large ciphers in a state,Pleased
with an empty swelling to be counted great,Make
their minds travel o'er infinity of space, Rapt
through the wide expanse of thought, And
oft in contradiction's vortex caught,To
keep that worthless clod, the body, in one place;Errors
like this did old astronomers misguide,Led
blindly on by gross philosophy and pride, Who,
like hard masters, taught the sun Through
many a heedless sphere to run,Many
an eccentric and unthrifty motion make, And
thousand incoherent journeys take, Whilst
all th'advantage by it got, Was
but to light earth's inconsiderable spot.The
herd beneath, who see the weathercock of state Hung
loosely on the church's pinnacle,Believe
it firm, because perhaps the day is mild and still;But
when they find it turn with the first blast of fate, By
gazing upward giddy grow, And
think the church itself does so; Thus
fools, for being strong and num'rous known, Suppose
the truth, like all the world, their own;And
holy Sancroft's motion quite irregular appears, Because
'tis opposite to theirs.VIn
vain then would the Muse the multitude advise, Whose
peevish knowledge thus perversely lies In
gath'ring follies from the wise; Rather
put on thy anger and thy spite, And
some kind power for once dispense Through
the dark mass, the dawn of so much sense,To
make them understand, and feel me when I write; The
muse and I no more revenge desire,Each
line shall stab, shall blast, like daggers and like fire; Ah,
Britain, land of angels! which of all thy sins, (Say,
hapless isle, although It
is a bloody list we know,)Has
given thee up a dwelling-place to fiends? Sin
and the plague ever aboundIn
governments too easy, and too fruitful ground; Evils
which a too gentle king, Too
flourishing a spring, And
too warm summers bring: Our
British soil is over rank, and breeds Among
the noblest flowers a thousand pois'nous weeds, And
every stinking weed so lofty grows, As
if 'twould overshade the Royal Rose; The
Royal Rose, the glory of our morn, But,
ah! too much without a thorn.VIForgive
(original mildness) this ill-govern'd zeal,'Tis
all the angry slighted Muse can do In
the pollution of these days; No
province now is left her but to rail, And
poetry has lost the art to praise, Alas,
the occasions are so few: None
e'er but you, And
your Almighty Master, knew With
heavenly peace of mind to bear(Free
from our tyrant passions, anger, scorn, or fear)The
giddy turns of popular rage,And
all the contradictions of a poison'd age; The
Son of God pronounced by the same breath Which
straight pronounced his death; And
though I should but ill be understood, In
wholly equalling our sin and theirs, And
measuring by the scanty thread of wit What
we call holy, and great, and just, and good,(Methods
in talk whereof our pride and ignorance make use,) And
which our wild ambition foolishly compares With
endless and with infinite; Yet
pardon, native Albion, when I say,Among
thy stubborn sons there haunts that spirit of the Jews, That
those forsaken wretches who to-day Revile
his great ambassador, Seem
to discover what they would have done (Were
his humanity on earth once more)To
his undoubted Master, Heaven's Almighty Son.VIIBut
zeal is weak and ignorant, though wondrous proud, Though
very turbulent and very loud; The
crazy composition shows,Like
that fantastic medley in the idol's toes, Made
up of iron mixt with clay, This
crumbles into dust, That
moulders into rust, Or
melts by the first shower away.Nothing
is fix'd that mortals see or know,Unless,
perhaps, some stars above be so; And
those, alas, do show, Like
all transcendent excellence below; In
both, false mediums cheat our sight,And
far exalted objects lessen by their height: Thus
primitive Sancroft moves too high To
be observed by vulgar eye, And
rolls the silent year On
his own secret regular sphere,And
sheds, though all unseen, his sacred influence here.VIIIKind
star, still may'st thou shed thy sacred influence here, Or
from thy private peaceful orb appear; For,
sure, we want some guide from Heaven, to show The
way which every wand'ring fool below Pretends
so perfectly to know; And
which, for aught I see, and much I fear, The
world has wholly miss'd; I
mean the way which leads to Christ:Mistaken
idiots! see how giddily they run, Led
blindly on by avarice and pride, What
mighty numbers follow them; Each
fond of erring with his guide: Some
whom ambition drives, seek Heaven's high Son In
Caesar's court, or in Jerusalem: Others,
ignorantly wise,Among
proud doctors and disputing Pharisees:What
could the sages gain but unbelieving scorn; Their
faith was so uncourtly, when they saidThat
Heaven's high Son was in a village born; That
the world's Saviour had been In
a vile manger laid, And
foster'd in a wretched inn?IXNecessity,
thou tyrant conscience of the great,Say,
why the church is still led blindfold by the state; Why
should the first be ruin'd and laid waste, To
mend dilapidations in the last?And
yet the world, whose eyes are on our mighty Prince, Thinks
Heaven has cancell'd all our sins,And
that his subjects share his happy influence;Follow
the model close, for so I'm sure they should,But
wicked kings draw more examples than the good: And
divine Sancroft, weary with the weightOf
a declining church, by faction, her worst foe, oppress'd, Finding
the mitre almost grown A
load as heavy as the crown, Wisely
retreated to his heavenly rest.XAh!
may no unkind earthquake of the state, Nor
hurricano from the crown,Disturb
the present mitre, as that fearful storm of late, Which,
in its dusky march along the plain, Swept
up whole churches as it list, Wrapp'd
in a whirlwind and a mist;Like
that prophetic tempest in the virgin reign, And
swallow'd them at last, or flung them down. Such
were the storms good Sancroft long has borne; The
mitre, which his sacred head has worn,Was,
like his Master's Crown, inwreath'd with thorn.Death's
sting is swallow'd up in victory at last, The
bitter cup is from him past: Fortune
in both extremes Though
blasts from contrariety of winds, Yet
to firm heavenly minds,Is
but one thing under two different names;And
even the sharpest eye that has the prospect seen, Confesses
ignorance to judge between;And
must to human reasoning opposite conclude,To
point out which is moderation, which is fortitude.XIThus
Sancroft, in the exaltation of retreat, Shows
lustre that was shaded in his seat; Short
glimm'rings of the prelate glorified;Which
the disguise of greatness only served to hide. Why
should the Sun, alas! be proud To
lodge behind a golden cloud?Though
fringed with evening gold the cloud appears so gay,'Tis
but a low-born vapour kindled by a ray: At
length 'tis overblown and past, Puff'd
by the people's spiteful blast,The
dazzling glory dims their prostituted sight, No
deflower'd eye can face the naked light: Yet
does this high perfection well proceed From
strength of its own native seed,This
wilderness, the world, like that poetic wood of old, Bears
one, and but one branch of gold, Where
the bless'd spirit lodges like the dove,And
which (to heavenly soil transplanted) will improve,To
be, as 'twas below, the brightest plant above; For,
whate'er theologic levellers dream, There
are degrees above, I know, As
well as here below, (The
goddess Muse herself has told me so), Where
high patrician souls, dress'd heavenly gay, Sit
clad in lawn of purer woven day.There
some high-spirited throne to Sancroft shall be given, In
the metropolis of Heaven;Chief
of the mitred saints, and from archprelate here, Translated
to archangel there.XIISince,
happy saint, since it has been of late Either
our blindness or our fate, To
lose the providence of thy caresPity
a miserable church's tears, That
begs the powerful blessing of thy prayers. Some
angel, say, what were the nation's crimes, That
sent these wild reformers to our times: Say
what their senseless malice meant, To
tear religion's lovely face: Strip
her of every ornament and grace;In
striving to wash off th'imaginary paint? Religion
now does on her death-bed lie,Heart-sick
of a high fever and consuming atrophy;How
the physicians swarm to show their mortal skill,And
by their college arts methodically kill:Reformers
and physicians differ but in name, One
end in both, and the design the same;Cordials
are in their talk, while all they mean Is
but the patient's death, and gain— Check
in thy satire, angry Muse, Or
a more worthy subject choose:Let
not the outcasts of an outcast ageProvoke
the honour of my Muse's rage, Nor
be thy mighty spirit rais'd, Since
Heaven and Cato both are pleas'd—[The
rest of the poem is lost.][Footnote
1: Born Jan., 1616-17; died 1693. For his life, see "Dictionary
of National Biography."—W.
E. B.]
ODE TO THE HON. SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE
WRITTEN
AT MOOR-PARK IN JUNE 1689
I
Virtue,
the greatest of all monarchies! Till
its first emperor, rebellious man, Deposed
from off his seat, It
fell, and broke with its own weightInto
small states and principalities, By
many a petty lord possess'd,But
ne'er since seated in one single breast. 'Tis
you who must this land subdue, The
mighty conquest's left for you, The
conquest and discovery too: Search
out this Utopian ground, Virtue's
Terra Incognita, Where
none ever led the way,Nor
ever since but in descriptions found;
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!