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The daily Anodine, and nightly Draught,

To kill those foes to fair ones, Time and Thought.
Women and Fool are too hard things to hit;
For true No-meaning puzzles more than Wit.
But what are these to great Atossa's mind? 115
Scarce once herself, by turns all Womankind:
Who, with herself, or others, from her birth
Finds all her life one warfare upon earth:
Shines in exposing Knaves, and painting Fools,
Yet is, whate'er she hates and ridicules.
No thought advances, but her Eddy Brain
Whisks it about, and down it goes again.



After Ver. 122 in the MS.

Oppress'd with wealth and wit, abundance sad!
One makes her poor, the other makes her mad.


Ver. 115. great Atossa's mind?] Atossa is a name mentioned in Herodotus, and said to be a follower of Sappho. She was daughter of Cyrus and sister of Cambyses, and married Darius. She is also named in the Persæ of Eschylus. She is said to be the first that wrote Epistles. See Bensley on Phalaris, p. 385; and Dodswell against Bentley.

Ver. 120. Yet is, whate'er she hates] These spirited lines, that paint a singular character, are designed for the famous Dutchess of Marlborough, whom Swift had also severely satirized in the Examiner. Her beauty, her abilities, her political intrigues, are sufficiently known. The violence of her temper frequently broke out into wonderful and ridiculous indecencies. In the last illness of the great Duke her husband, when Dr. Mead left his chamber, the Dutchess, disliking his advice, followed him down stairs, swore at him bitterly, and was going to tear off his periwig. Her friend Dr. Hoadley, Bishop of Winchester, was present at this These lines were shewn to her Grace as if they were intended for the portrait of the Dutchess of Buckingham; but she soon stopped the person who was reading them to her, as the


Full sixty years the World has been her Trade,
The wisest Fool much Time has ever made.
From loveless Youth to unrespected Age,
No Passion gratify'd, except her Rage.

So much the Fury still outran the Wit,
The Pleasure miss'd her, and the Scandal hit.


Who breaks with her, provokes Revenge from Hell,
But he's a bolder man who dares be well.

Her ev'ry turn with Violence pursu❜d,
No more a storm her Hate then Gratitude :
To that each Passion turns, or soon or late;
Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate :



Dutchess of Portland informed me, and called out aloud, "I cannot be so imposed upon: I see plainly enough for whom they are designed:" and abused Pope most plentifully on the subject, though she was afterward reconciled to him, and courted him, and gave him a thousand pounds to suppress this portrait, which he accepted, it is said, by the persuasion of Mrs. M. Blount; and, after the Dutchess's death, it was printed in a folio sheet, 1746, and afterward here inserted with those of Philomedé and Cloe. This is the greatest blemish in our Poet's moral character. These three portraits are all animated with the most poignant wit. That of Cloe is particularly just and happy, who is represented as content merely and only to dwell in decencies, and satisfied to avoid giving offence; and is one of those many insignificant and useless beings,

"Who want, as thro' blank life they dream along,
Sense to be right, and passion to be wrong."

As says the ingenious author of the Universal Passion; a work that abounds in wit, observation on life, pleasantry, delicacy, urbanity, and the most well-bred raillery, without a single mark of spleen and ill-nature. These were the first characteristical satires in our language, and are written with an ease and familiarity of style very different from this author's other works. The four first were published in folio, in the year 1725; and the fifth and sixth, 1727.

Superiors? death! and equals? what a curse! 135
But an Inferior not dependant? worse.
Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live :
But die, and she'll adore you-Then the Bust
And Temple rise-then fall again to dust.



Ver. 139. But die, and she'll adore you--] "It is seldom," says Mr. Walpole," the public receives information on princes and favourites from the fountain-head. Flattery or invective is apt to pervert the relation of others. It is from their pens alone, whenever they are so gracious, like the lady in question, as to have a passion for fame and approbation, that we learn exactly how trifling, and foolish, and ridiculous, their views and actions were, and how often the mischief they did proceeded from the most inadequate causes. We happen to know indeed, though he was no author, that the Duke of Buckingham's repulses, in very impertinent amours, involved King James and King Charles in national quarrels with Spain and France. From her Grace of Marlborough we may collect, that Queen Anne was driven to change her ministry, and, in consequence, the fate of Europe, because she dared to affect one bed-chamber woman as she had done another. The Dutchess could not comprehend how the cousins, Sarah Jennings and Abigail Hill, could ever enter into competition, though the one did but kneel to gather up the clue of favour which the other had haughtily tossed away, and which she could not recover by putting the Whole Duty of Man into the Queen's hands to teach her friendship. This favourite Dutchess, who, like the proud Duke of Espernon, lived to brave the successors in a court where she had domineered, wound up her capricious life, where it seems she had begun it, with an apology for her conduct. The piece, though weakened by the prudence of those who were to correct it, though maimed by her Grace's own corrections, and though great part of it is rather the annals of a wardrobe than of a reign, yet has still curious anecdotes, and a few of those sallies of wit which fourscore years of arrogance could not fail to produce in so fantastic an understanding and yet, by altering her memoirs as often as her will, she disappointed the public as much as her own family. However, the chief objects remain; and one sees exactly how Europe


Last night, her Lord was all that's good and great;
A Knave this morning, and his Will a Cheat.
Strange! by the Means defeated of the Ends,
By Spirit robb'd of Pow'r, by warmth of Friends,
By Wealth of follow'rs! without one distress
Sick of herself through very selfishness!
Atossa, curs'd with ev'ry granted pray'r,
Childless with all her Children, wants an heir.
To heirs unknown, descends th' unguarded store,
Or wanders, Heav'n-directed, to the Poor.

Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design,
Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line;



After Ver. 148 in the MS.

This Death decides, nor lets the blessing fall

On any one she hates, but on them all.

Curs'd chance! this only could afflict her more,

If any part should wander to the poor.


and the back-stairs took their places in her imagination and in her narrative. The Revolution left no impression on her mind, but of Queen Mary turning up bed-clothes; and the Protestant Hero, but of a selfish glutton who devoured a dish of peas from his sister-in-law. Little circumstances indeed convey the most characteristical ideas; but the choice of them may as often paint the genius of the writer as of the person represented. Mrs. Abigail Hill is not the only person transmitted to posterity with marks of the Dutchess's resentment. Lord Oxford, "Honest Jack Hill, the Ragged Boy, the Quebec General," and others, make the same figure in her history that they did in her mind: -Sallies of passion not to be wondered at in one who has sacrificed even the private letters of her mistress and benefactress. The Queen gave her a picture in enamel, set with diamonds. The Dutchess took off the diamonds, and gave the picture to a Mrs. Higgins to be sold."

Ver. 151. Pictures like these,] A lady of wit and literature observed to me, that such an Epistle as this should be written

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Some wand'ring touches, some reflected light,
Some flying stroke alone can hit 'em right:
For how could equal colours do the knack?
Cameleons who can paint in white and black?
"Yet Cloe sure was form'd without a spot.
Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot.
"With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part,
Say, what can Cloe want?"-She wants a heart.
She speaks, behaves, and acts, just as she ought;
But never, never, reach'd one gen'rous Thought.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour,
Content to dwell in Decencies for ever.
So very reasonable, so unmov'd,

As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.




She, while her Lover pants upon her breast,
Can mark the figures on an Indian chest:
And when she sees her Friend in deep despair,
Observes how much a Chintz exceeds Mohair. 170
Forbid it, Heav'n, a Favour or a Debt

She e'er should cancel!-but she may forget.
Safe is your Secret still in Cloe's ear;
But none of Cloe's shall you ever hear.
Of all her Dears she never slander'd one,
But cares not if a thousand are undone.
Would Cloe know if you're alive or dead?
She bids her Footman put it in her head.



every five years, so many new and unimaginable female characters (I am afraid she said foibles and follies) daily arise.

Ver. 159. With ev'ry pleasing,] "These two lines," Lord Huntingdon one day said to me, "exactly paint the character of my old friend, Fontenelle." Tacitus says, that Galba was rather without vices than really virtuous.

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