Volume Ii Part 66 (1/2)

[Footnote 14: Reflection of the sun.]

[Footnote 15: Motherly woman.]

[Footnote 16: Not grace before and after meat, nor their graces the d.u.c.h.esses, but the Graces which attended on Venus.]

[Footnote 17: Not Flanders-lace, but gold and silver lace. By borrowed, I mean such as run into honest tradesmen's debts, for which they were not able to pay, as many of them did for French silver lace, against the last birth-day.--Vid. the shopkeepers' books.]

[Footnote 18: Girls who love to hear themselves prate, and put on a number of monkey-airs to catch men.]

[Footnote 19: I hope none will be so uncomplaisant to the ladies as to think these comparisons are odious.]

[Footnote 20: Tell the whole world; not to proclaim them as robbers and rapparees.]

AN ANSWER TO A SCANDALOUS POEM

Wherein the Author most audaciously presumes to cast an indignity upon their highnesses the Clouds, by comparing them to a woman.

Written by DERMOT O'NEPHELY, Chief Cape of Howth.[1]

BY DR. SWIFT

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT FROM THE CLOUDS

N.B. The following answer to that scurrilous libel against us, should have been published long ago in our own justification: But it was advised, that, considering the high importance of the subject, it should be deferred until the meeting of the General a.s.sembly of the Nation.

[Two pa.s.sages within crotchets are added to this poem, from a copy found amongst Swift's papers. It is indorsed, ”Quaere, should it go.”

And a little lower, ”More, but of no use.”]

Presumptuous bard! how could you dare A woman with a cloud compare?

Strange pride and insolence you show Inferior mortals there below.

And is our thunder in your ears So frequent or so loud as theirs?

Alas! our thunder soon goes out; And only makes you more devout.

Then is not female clatter worse, That drives you not to pray, but curse?

We hardly thunder thrice a-year; The bolt discharged, the sky grows clear; But every sublunary dowdy, The more she scolds, the more she's cloudy.

[How useful were a woman's thunder, If she, like us, would burst asunder!

Yet, though her stays hath often cursed her, And, whisp'ring, wish'd the devil burst her: For hourly thund'ring in his face, She ne'er was known to burst a lace.]

Some critic may object, perhaps, That clouds are blamed for giving claps; But what, alas! are claps ethereal, Compared for mischief to venereal?

Can clouds give buboes, ulcers, blotches, Or from your noses dig out notches?

We leave the body sweet and sound; We kill, 'tis true, but never wound.

You know a cloudy sky bespeaks Fair weather when the morning breaks; But women in a cloudy plight, Foretell a storm to last till night.

A cloud in proper season pours His blessings down in fruitful showers; But woman was by fate design'd To pour down curses on mankind.

When Sirius[2] o'er the welkin rages, Our kindly help his fire a.s.suages; But woman is a cursed inflamer, No parish ducking-stool can tame her: To kindle strife, dame Nature taught her; Like fireworks, she can burn in water.

For fickleness how durst you blame us, Who for our constancy are famous?

You'll see a cloud in gentle weather Keep the same face an hour together; While women, if it could be reckon'd, Change every feature every second.

Observe our figure in a morning, Of foul or fair we give you warning; But can you guess from women's air One minute, whether foul or fair?

Go read in ancient books enroll'd What honours we possess'd of old.

To disappoint Ixion's[3] rape Jove dress'd a cloud in Juno's shape; Which when he had enjoy'd, he swore, No G.o.ddess could have pleased him more; No difference could he find between His cloud and Jove's imperial queen; His cloud produced a race of Centaurs, Famed for a thousand bold adventures; From us descended _ab origine_, By learned authors, called _nubigenae_; But say, what earthly nymph do you know, So beautiful to pa.s.s for Juno?

Before aeneas durst aspire To court her majesty of Tyre, His mother begg'd of us to dress him, That Dido might the more caress him: A coat we gave him, dyed in grain, A flaxen wig, and clouded cane, (The wig was powder'd round with sleet, Which fell in clouds beneath his feet) With which he made a tearing show; And Dido quickly smoked the beau.

Among your females make inquiries, What nymph on earth so fair as Iris?

With heavenly beauty so endow'd?