Invokes his mistress and his muse, `
And stays at home for want of fhoes:
Should but his mufe, defcending, drop
A flice of bread and mutton-chop;
Or kindly, when his credit's out,
Surprise him with a pint of ftout ; *
Or patch his broken ftocking-foals,
Or fend him in a peck of coals;
Exalted in his mighty mind,
He flies, and leaves the ftars behind;
Counts all his labours amply paid,
Adores her for the timely aid.
Or, fhould a porter make enquiries
For Chloe, Sylvia, Phillis, Iris,
Be told the lodging, lane, and fign,
Whofe fcoundrel fathers would not know 'em,
If they fhould meet them in a poem.
True poets can deprefs and raife,
Are lords of infamy and praife;
They are not fcurrilous in fatire,
Nor will in panegyric flatter.
* A cant word for ftrong beer.
+ See an account of Curll, in vol. 7.
Unjustly poets we asperse;
Truth fhines the brighter clad in verse;
And all the fictions they pursue,
Do but infinuate what is true.
Now, fhould my praises owe their truth
To beauty, drefs, or paint, or youth,
What Stoics call without our pow'r,
They could not be infur'd an hour:
'Twere grafting on an annual flock,.
That muft our expectation mock,
And, making one luxuriant fhoot,
Die the next year for want of root:
Before I could my verses bring,
Perhaps you're quite another thing.
So Mævius, when he drain'd his fcull
To celebrate fome fuburb-trull,
His fimiles in order fet,
And ev'ry crambo he could get;
Had gone thro' all the common places
Worn out by wits, who rhyme on faces ::
Left you fhould take them for a bribe,
Refolv'd to mortify your pride,
I'll here expofe your weaker fide..
Your fpirits kindle to a flame,
Moy'd with the lighteft touch of blame;
And when a friend in kindness tries
To fhew you where your error lies,
Conviction does but more incense;
Perverfenefs is your whole defence;
Truth, judgment, wit, give place to spite,
Regardless both of wrong and right;
Your virtues all fufpended wait
Till Time hath open'd Reason's gate;
And, what is worse, your passion bends
Its force against your nearest friends,
Which manners, decency, and pride,
Have taught you from the world to hide :
In vain; for fee, your friend hath brought
To public light your only fault;
And yet a fault we often find
Mix'd in a noble gen'rous mind;
And may compare to Ætna's fire,
Which, tho' with trembling, all admire ;
The heat that makes the fummit glow,
Enriching all the vales below.
Those who in warmer climes complain
From Phoebus' rays they suffer pain,
Muft own, that pain is largely paid
By gen'rous wines beneath a fhade.
Yet, when I find your paffions rife,
And anger sparkling in your eyes,
I grieve those spirits fhould be spent,
For nobler ends by nature meant.
One paffion with a diff'rent turn-
Makes wit inflame, or anger burn..
So the fun's heat with diff'rent pow'rs
Ripens the grape, the liquor fours.
Thus Ajax, when with rage possest
By Pallas breath'd into his breast,
His valour would no more employ,
Which might alone have conquer'd Troy ;
But, blinded by refentment, feeks
For vengeance on his friends, the Greeks.
You think this turbulence of blood
From ftagnating preferves the flood,
Which thus fermenting, by degrees.
Exalts the fpirits, finks the lees.
Stella, for once you reason wrong;
For, fhould this ferment last too long,
By time fubfiding, you may find:
Nothing but acid left behind:
From paffion you may then be freed,
When peevithness and fpleen fucceed.
Say, Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep ftrictly to the text?
Dare you let these reproaches ftand,
And to your failing set your hand?
Or, if these lines your anger fire,
Shall they in bafer flames expire ?>
Whene'er they burn, if burn they muft,
They'll prove my accusation just.
*STELLA to Dr. SWIFT, on his BirthDay, Nov. 30, 1721 t.
T. Patrick's Dean, your country's pride,
My early and my only guide,
Let me among the rest attend,
Your pupil and your humble friend,
To celebrate, in female ftrains,
The day that paid your mother's pains;
Defcend to take that tribute due
In gratitude alone to you.
When men began to call me fair
You interpos'd your timely care;
You early taught me to defpife
The ogling of a coxcomb's eyes;
Shew'd where my judgment was mifplac'd;
Refin'd my fancy and my tafte.
Behold that beauty juft decay'd,.
Invoking art to nature's aid;
Forfook by her admiring train,
She spreads her tatter'd nets in vain ;
Short was her part upon the ftage;
Went fmoothly on for half a page;
This poem fhews the delicacy of Stella's tafte. It is the only remaining performance of that improved and lovely woman that I know of. in the poetic ftrain. It was given by Dr. Swift to a lady of his acquaintance, who had a great esteem for the virtues and accomplishments of the amiable Stella, although fhe never had the leaft intimacy with her. The Doctor affured this lady, that it was a piece entirely genuine from the hands of Stella, without any fort of correction whatsoever. Swift.See Bons mots de Stella, in Vol. II. and her character in Dr. Swift's life, prefixed to Vol. I.
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