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Scatter your favours on a fop,
Ingratitude 's the certain crop;
And 'tis but just, I 'll tell ye wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wise man always is, or should
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a difference in his thought
Betwixt a guinea and a groat.

Now this I 'll say, you 'll find in me
A safe companion, and a free;
But if you'd have me always near-
A word, pray, in your honour's ear.
I hope it is your resolution
To give me back my constitution !
The sprightly wit, the lively eye,
The engaging smile, the gaiety,
That laugh'd down many a summer-sun,
And kept you up so oft till one :
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda raised my strain.1

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1 [This is an agreeable touch of egotism. The lively eye Pope certainly possessed; and his early gaiety of spirits must have been heightened by the

voluntary vein " of the Rape of the Lock, which established his reputation, and by the success of his Homer, which rendered him independent in his circumstances. Mr. Bowles has an interesting note, comparing the succession of Pope's original productions with the progress of his mind and character. "In his earliest effusion-the‘Ode on Solitude'-all is rural quiet, innocence, content, &c. We next see in his Pastorals the golden age of happiness while the

'Shepherd lad leads forth his flock

Beside the silver Thame.' “His next step, Windsor Forest, exhibits the same rural turn, but with views more diversified and extended, and approaching more to the real history and concerns of life. The warm passions of youth succeed, and we are interested in the fate of the tender Sappho, or the ardent and unfortunate Eloise. As the world opens, local manners are displayed. In the Rape of the Lock we see the first playful effort of satire, without ill nature, at once gay, elegant and delightful :

'Belinda smiles, and all the world is gay.' The man of severer thought now appears in the Essay on Man. The same vein shows itself in the Moral Essays; but the investigation is directed to individual failings, and mingled with spleen and anger. In the later satires we witness the language of acrimony and bitterness. The Dunciad closes

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A weasel once made shift to slink
In at a corn-loft through a chink;
But having amply stuff’d his skin,
Could not get out as he got in:
Which one belonging to the house

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('Twas not a man, it was a mouse)
Observing, cried, “ You 'scape not so,
Lean as you came, sir, you must go.”

Sir, you may spare your application,
I'm no such beast, nor his relation;
Nor one that temperance advance,
Cramm'd to the throat with ortolans :
Extremely ready to resign
All that may make me none of mine.
South Sea subscriptions take who please,

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Leave me but liberty and ease.
'Twas what I said to Craggs and Child,?
Who praised my modesty, and smiled.
Give me, I cried, (enough for me),
My bread, and independency !

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So bought an annual rent or two,
And lived—just as you see I do;
Near fifty, and without a wife,
I trust that sinking fund, my life.
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well,

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Shrink back to my paternal cell,
A little house, with trees a-row,
And, like its master, very low.
There died my father, no man's debtor,
And there I 'll die, nor worse nor better.

80 the prospect, and we there behold the aged bard amid a swarm of enemies, who began his career all innocence, happiness, and smiles.” The ingenious and poetical commentator omitted the reasoning and reflective vein, not un. mingled with satire, which Pope had displayed in the Essay on Criticism, before he painted the charms of Belinda.]

2 (Craggs the younger, and Sir Francis Child, the eminent banker, and M.P. for Middlesex, who died in 1740. Warburton says that Mr. Craggs gave the poet some South Sea subscriptions, but he was so indifferent about them as to neglect making any benefit of them. “He used to say it was a satisfaction to him that he did not grow rich, as he might have done, by the public calamity.” In fact, Pope, like Gay, lost by his South Sea speculations, but it is not stated to what extent. He says in one of his letters, that, after the failure of the scheme, he was left with half of what he imagined he had.]

To set this matter full before ye,
Our old friend Swift will tell his story.

Harley, the nation's great support,”-
But you may read it,--I stop short.

BOOK II. SATIRE VI.

THE FIRST PART IMITATED IN THE YEAR 1714, BY DR. SWIFT; THE LATTER

PART ADDED AFTERWARDS.

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I'VE
'VE often wish'd that I had clear

For life, six hundred pounds a-year,
A handsome house, to lodge a friend;
A river at my garden's end;
A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land, set out to plant a wood.

Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store;
But here a grievance seems to lie,
All this is mine, but till I die;
I can't but think 'twould sound more clever,
To me and to my heirs for ever.

If I ne'er got or lost a groat,
By any trick, or any fault';
And if I pray by reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools:
As thus, “ Vouchsafe, O gracious Maker!
To grant me this and t other acre :
Or, if it be thy will and pleasure,
Direct my plough to find a treasure :"
But only what my station fits,
And to be kept in my right wits.
Preserve, Almighty Providence !
Just what you gave me, competence :
And let me in these shades compose
Something in verse as true as prose :
Removed from all the ambitious scene,
Nor puff'd by pride, nor sunk by spleen.

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In short, I'm perfectly content, Let me but live on this side Trent;3

30 Nor cross the Channel twice a year, To spend six months with statesmen here.

I must, by all means, come to town, "Tis for the service of the crown. “Lewis, the dean will be of use,

35 Send for him up; take no excuse.” The toil, the danger of the seas; Great ministers ne'er think of these; Or let it cost five hundred pound, No matter where the money's found :

40 It is but so much more in debt, And that they ne'er considered yet.

“ Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown, Let my lord know you're come to town.” I hurry me in haste away,

45 Not thinking it is levee-day; And find his honour in a pound, Hemm’d by a triple circle round. Chequered with ribands blue and green : How should I thrust myself between ?

50 Some wag observes me thus perplex'd, And smiling, whispers to the next, “I thought the Dean had been too proud To justle here among a crowd.” Another, in a surly fit,

55 Tells me I have more zeal than wit: “So eager to express your love, You ne'er consider whom you shove; But rudely press before a duke." I own, I'm pleased with this rebuke,

60 8 [Swift always considered his preferment to the Deanery of St. Patrick's as a banishment. Various references to this occur in his correspondence in Scott's edition of his works. In the Additional MSS., British Museum, are two letters addressed by Swift, in 1709, to the Earl of Halifax, entreating for preferment, and specifying particularly the reversion of Dr. South's prebend, at Westminster. If this reversion could not be compassed, he was anxious to be named for the bishopric of Cork. (See “ Letters of Eminent Literary Men,” by Sir H. Ellis, Camden Soc. 1843.) Lord Orrery's conjecture is, no doubt, the true one. Swift's English friends wished him promoted at a distance, not in England, where his intractable spirit and eccentric movements might have occasioned uneasiness and trouble.]

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And take it kindly meant to show,
What I desire the world should know.

I get a whisper, and withdraw;
When twenty fools, I never saw,
Come, with petitions fairly penn'd,
Desiring I would stand their friend.

This, humbly offers me his case-
That, begs my interest for a place-
A hundred other men's affairs,
Like bees, are humming in my ears.
“ To-morrow my appeal comes on,
Without your help the cause is gone :"
The duke expects my lord and you,
About some great affair, at two-
“Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind,
To get my warrant quickly sign'd:
Consider, 'tis my first request.”.
Be satisfied, I'll do my best :
Then presently he falls to tease,
“ You may for certain, if you please ;
I doubt not, if his lordship knew-
And, Mr. Dean, one word from you”-

'Tis (let me see) three years and more,
(October next it will be four),
Since Harley bid me first attend,
And chose me for an humble friend ;
Would take me in his coach to chat,
And question me of this and that;
As, “ What's o'clock ?” and, “How's the wind?”
“ Whose chariot's that we left behind ?
Or gravely try to read the lines,
Writ underneath the country-signs ;
Or, “ Have you nothing new to-day
From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay ?"
Such tattle often entertains
My lord and me as far as Staines,
As once a-week we travel down
To Windsor, and again to town,
Where all that passes, inter nos,
Might be proclaimed at Charing-cross.

Yet some I know with envy swell,
Because they see me used so well:

"_

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