The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 2 | Page 4

as she
grew up, there staid
A tincture in the prudent maid:
She managed
her estate with care,
Yet liked three footmen to her chair.
But, lest
he should neglect his studies
Like a young heir, the thrifty goddess

(For fear young master should be spoil'd)
Would use him like a
younger child;
And, after long computing, found
'Twould come to
just five thousand pound.
The Queen of Love was pleased, and proud,

To see Vanessa thus endow'd:
She doubted not but such a dame

Through every breast would dart a flame,
That every rich and lordly
swain
With pride would drag about her chain;
That scholars would
forsake their books,
To study bright Vanessa's looks;
As she
advanced, that womankind
Would by her model form their mind,

And all their conduct would be tried
By her, as an unerring guide;

Offending daughters oft would hear
Vanessa's praise rung in their ear:

Miss Betty, when she does a fault,
Lets fall her knife, or spills the
salt,
Will thus be by her mother chid,
"’Tis what Vanessa never
did!"
Thus by the nymphs and swains adored,
My power shall be
again restored,
And happy lovers bless my reign--
So Venus hoped,
but hoped in vain.
For when in time the Martial Maid
Found out the
trick that Venus play'd,
She shakes her helm, she knits her brows,

And, fired with indignation, vows,
To-morrow, ere the setting sun,

She'd all undo that she had done.
But in the poets we may find
A
wholesome law, time out of mind,
Had been confirm'd by Fate's
decree,
That gods, of whatsoe'er degree,
Resume not what
themselves have given,
Or any brother god in Heaven:
Which keeps
the peace among the gods,
Or they must always be at odds:
And
Pallas, if she broke the laws,
Must yield her foe the stronger cause;

A shame to one so much adored
For wisdom at Jove's council-board.

Besides, she fear'd the Queen of Love
Would meet with better
friends above.
And though she must with grief reflect,
To see a
mortal virgin deck'd
With graces hitherto unknown
To female
breasts, except her own:
Yet she would act as best became
A

goddess of unspotted fame.
She knew, by augury divine,
Venus
would fail in her design:
She studied well the point, and found
Her
foe's conclusions were not sound,
From premises erroneous brought,

And therefore the deduction's naught,
And must have contrary
effects,
To what her treacherous foe expects.
In proper season
Pallas meets
The Queen of Love, whom thus she greets,
(For gods,
we are by Homer told,
Can in celestial language scold:)--
Perfidious
goddess! but in vain
You form'd this project in your brain;
A
project for your talents fit,
With much deceit and little wit.
Thou
hast, as thou shall quickly see,
Deceived thyself, instead of me;
For
how can heavenly wisdom prove
An instrument to earthly love?

Know'st thou not yet, that men commence
Thy votaries for want of
sense?
Nor shall Vanessa be the theme
To manage thy abortive
scheme:
She'll prove the greatest of thy foes;
And yet I scorn to
interpose,
But, using neither skill nor force,
Leave all things to their
natural course.
The goddess thus pronounced her doom:
When, lo!
Vanessa in her bloom
Advanced, like Atalanta's star,
But rarely
seen, and seen from far:
In a new world with caution slept,
Watch'd
all the company she kept,
Well knowing, from the books she read,

What dangerous paths young virgins tread:
Would seldom at the Park
appear,
Nor saw the play-house twice a year;
Yet, not incurious,
was inclined
To know the converse of mankind.
First issued from
perfumers' shops,
A crowd of fashionable fops:
They ask'd her how
she liked the play;
Then told the tattle of the day;
A duel fought last
night at two,
About a lady--you know who;
Mention'd a new Italian,
come
Either from Muscovy or Rome;
Gave hints of who and who's
together;
Then fell to talking of the weather;
Last night was so
extremely fine,
The ladies walk'd till after nine:
Then, in soft voice
and speech absurd,
With nonsense every second word,
With fustian
from exploded plays,
They celebrate her beauty's praise;
Run o'er
their cant of stupid lies,
And tell the murders of her eyes.
With
silent scorn Vanessa sat,
Scarce listening to their idle chat;
Farther
than sometimes by a frown,
When they grew pert, to pull them down.


At last she spitefully was bent
To try their wisdom's full extent;

And said, she valued nothing less
Than titles, figure, shape, and dress;

That merit should be chiefly placed
In judgment, knowledge, wit,
and taste;
And these, she offer'd to dispute,
Alone distinguish'd man
from brute:
That present times have no pretence
To virtue, in the
noble sense
By Greeks and Romans understood,
To perish for our
country's good.
She named the ancient heroes round,
Explain'd for
what they were renown'd;
Then spoke with censure or applause
Of
foreign customs, rites, and laws;
Through nature and through art she
ranged
And gracefully her subject changed;
In vain! her hearers had
no share
In all she spoke, except to stare.
Their judgment was, upon
the whole,
--That lady is the dullest soul!--
Then tapt their forehead
in a jeer,
As who should say--She wants it here!
She may be
handsome, young, and rich,
But none will burn her for a witch!
A
party next of glittering dames,
From round the purlieus of St. James,

Came early, out of pure good will,
To see the girl in dishabille.

Their clamour, 'lighting from their chairs
Grew louder all the way up
stairs;
At entrance loudest, where they found
The room with
volumes litter'd round.
Vanessa