Volume Ii Part 28 (1/2)
With fawning whine, and rueful tone, With artful sigh, and feigned groan, With couchant cringe, and flattering tale, Smooth Bawty[3] did so far prevail, That Music gave her leave to litter; (But mark what follow'd--faith! she bit her;) Whole baskets full of bits and sc.r.a.ps, And broth enough to fill her paps; For well she knew, her numerous brood, For want of milk, would suck her blood.
But when she thought her pains were done, And now 'twas high time to be gone, In civil terms, ”My friend,” said she, ”My house you've had on courtesy; And now I earnestly desire, That you would with your cubs retire; For, should you stay but one week longer, I shall be starved with cold and hunger.”
The guest replied--”My friend, your leave I must a little longer crave; Stay till my tender cubs can find Their way--for now, you see, they're blind; But, when we've gather'd strength, I swear, We'll to our barn again repair.”
The time pa.s.s'd on; and Music came Her kennel once again to claim, But Bawty, lost to shame and honour, Set all her cubs at once upon her; Made her retire, and quit her right, And loudly cried--”A bite! bite!”
THE MORAL
Thus did the Grecian wooden horse Conceal a fatal armed force: No sooner brought within the walls, But Ilium's lost, and Priam falls.
[Footnote 1: _See post_, ”A Tale of a Nettle.”]
[Footnote 2: The Church of England.]
[Footnote 3: A Scotch name for b.i.t.c.h, alluding to the kirk.]
HORACE, BOOK III, ODE II
TO THE EARL OF OXFORD, LATE LORD TREASURER SENT TO HIM WHEN IN THE TOWER, 1716
These spirited verses, although they have not the affecting pathos of those addressed by Pope to the same great person, during his misfortunes, evince the firmness of Swift's political principles and personal attachment.--_Scott._ See Moral Essays, Epistle V, Pope's ”Works,” edit.
Elwin and Courthope, iii, 191.--_W. E. B._
How blest is he who for his country dies, Since death pursues the coward as he flies!
The youth in vain would fly from Fate's attack; With trembling knees, and Terror at his back; Though Fear should lend him pinions like the wind, Yet swifter Fate will seize him from behind.
Virtue repulsed, yet knows not to repine; But shall with unattainted honour s.h.i.+ne; Nor stoops to take the staff, nor lays it down, Just as the rabble please to smile or frown.
Virtue, to crown her favourites, loves to try Some new unbeaten pa.s.sage to the sky; Where Jove a seat among the G.o.ds will give To those who die, for meriting to live.
Next faithful Silence hath a sure reward; Within our breast be every secret barr'd!
He who betrays his friend, shall never be Under one roof, or in one s.h.i.+p, with me: For who with traitors would his safety trust, Lest with the wicked, Heaven involve the just?
And though the villain'scape a while, he feels Slow vengeance, like a bloodhound, at his heels.
ON THE CHURCH'S DANGER
Good Halifax and pious Wharton cry, The Church has vapours; there's no danger nigh.
In those we love not, we no danger see, And were they hang'd, there would no danger be.
But we must silent be, amidst our fears, And not believe our senses, but the Peers.