BY DR SWIFT AND HIS FRIENDS.*
WRITTEN IN OR ABOUT THE YEAR 1724.
FROM Venus born, thy beauty shows; But who thy father, no man knows : Nor can the skilful herald trace The founder of thy ancient race;
* The following notice is subjoined to some of those riddles in the Dublin edition :-" About nine or ten years ago, (i. e. about 1724) some ingenious gentlemen, friends to the author, used to entertain themselves with writing riddles, and send them to him and their other acquaintance; copies of which ran about, and some of them were printed, both here and in England. The author, at his leisure hours, fell into the same amusement; although it be said that he thought them of no great merit, entertainment, or use. However, by the advice of some persons, for whom the author hath a great esteem, and who were pleased to send us the copies, we have ventured to print the few following, as we have done two or three before, and which are allowed to be genuine : Because we are informed that several good judges have a taste for such kind of compositions."-Dubl. Ed.
+ This name is a filthy anagram.-H.
Whether thy temper, full of fire, Discovers Vulcan for thy sire, The god who made Scamander boil, And round his margin sing'd the soil; (From whence, philosophers agree, An equal power descends to thee) Whether from dreadful Mars you claim The high descent from whence you came, And, as a proof, show numerous scars By fierce encounters made in wars, Those honourable wounds you bore From head to foot, and all before, And still the bloody field frequent, Familiar in each leader's tent; Or whether, as the learn'd contend, You from the neighbouring Gaul descend ; Or from Parthenope the proud,
Where numberless thy votaries crowd; Whether thy great forefathers came From realms that bear Vespuccio's name, For so conjectures would obtrude; And from thy painted skin conclude; Whether, as Epicurus shows,
The world from justling seeds arose, Which, mingling with prolific strife In chaos, kindled into life :
So your production was the same, And from contending atoms came. Thy fair indulgent mother crown'd Thy head with sparkling rubies round: Beneath thy decent steps the road Is all with precious jewels strow'd. The bird of Pallas knows his post, Thee to attend, where'er thou goest.
* Bubo, the owl.-Ed. Dubl.
Byzantians boast, that on the clod
Where once their Sultan's horse hath trod, Grows neither grass, nor shrub, nor tree : The same thy subjects boast of thee. The greatest lord, when you appear, Will deign your livery to wear, In all the various colours seen Of red and yellow, blue and green. With half a word when you require, The man of business must retire. The haughty minister of state, With trembling must thy leisure wait; And, while his fate is in thy hands, The business of the nation stands.
Thou dar'st the greatest prince attack, Cans't hourly set him on the rack; And, as an instance of thy power, Enclose him in a wooden tower, With pungent pains on every side: So Regulus in torments died.
From thee our youth all virtues learn, Dangers with prudence to discern ; And well thy scholars are endued With temperance and with fortitude; With patience, which all ills supports, And secrecy, the art of courts.
The glittering beau could hardly tell, Without your aid, to read or spell; But, having long convers'd with you, Knows how to scrawl a billet-doux. With what delight, methinks, I trace Your blood in every noble race! In whom thy features, shape, and mien, Are to the life distinctly seen! The Britons, once a savage kind, By you were brighten'd and refin'd,
Descendants to the barbarous Huns, With limbs robust, and voice that stuns : But you have moulded them afresh, Remov'd the tough superfluous flesh, Taught them to modulate their tongues, And speak without the help of lungs. Proteus on you bestow'd the boon To change your visage like the moon; You sometimes half a face produce, Keep t'other half for private use.
How fam'd thy conduct in the fight With Hermes, son of Pleias bright! Outnumber'd, half encompass'd round, You strove for every inch of ground; Then, by a soldierly retreat, Retir'd to your imperial seat.
The victor, when your steps he trac'd, Found all the realms before him waste: You, o'er the high triumphal arch Pontific, made your glorious march: The wond'rous arch behind you fell, And left a chasm profound as Hell: You, in your capital secur'd, A siege as long as Troy endur'd.
IN youth exalted high in air, Or bathing in the waters fair, Nature to form me took delight, And clad my body all in white.
My person tall, and slender waist, On either side with fringes grac'd; Till me that tyrant man espy'd, And dragg'd me from my mother's side: No wonder now I look so thin; The tyrant stript me to the skin: My skin he flay'd, my hair he cropt: At head and foot my body lopt:
And then, with heart more hard than stone, He pick'd my marrow from the bone. To vex me more, he took a freak To slit my tongue and make me speak: But, that which wonderful appears, I speak to eyes, and not to ears. He oft employs me in disguise, And makes me tell a thousand lies! To me he chiefly gives in trust To please his malice or his lust. From me no secret he can hide; I see his vanity and pride: And my delight is to expose His follies to his greatest foes. All languages I can command, Yet not a word I understand. Without my aid, the best divine In learning would not know a line: The lawyer must forget his pleading; The scholar could not show his reading. Nay; man my master is my slave; I give command to kill or save, Can grant ten thousand pounds a-year, And make a beggar's brat a peer. But, while I thus my life relate,
I only hasten on my fate.
My tongue is black, my mouth is furr'd, I hardly now can force a word.
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