The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 2 | Page 8

the project vainly tried,

Could better now the cause decide.
She gave due notice, that both

parties,
Coram Regina, prox' die Martis,
Should at their peril,
without fail,
Come and appear, and save their bail.
All met; and,
silence thrice proclaimed,
One lawyer to each side was named.
The
judge discover'd in her face
Resentments for her late disgrace;
And
full of anger, shame, and grief,
Directed them to mind their brief;

Nor spend their time to show their reading:
She'd have a summary
proceeding.
She gather'd under every head
The sum of what each
lawyer said,
Gave her own reasons last, and then
Decreed the cause
against the men.
But in a weighty case like this,
To show she did
not judge amiss,
Which evil tongues might else report,
She made a
speech in open court;
Wherein she grievously complains,
"How she
was cheated by the swains;
On whose petition (humbly showing,

That women were not worth the wooing,
And that, unless the sex
would mend,
The race of lovers soon must end)--
She was at Lord
knows what expense
To form a nymph of wit and sense,
A model
for her sex design'd,
Who never could one lover find.
She saw her
favour was misplaced;
The fellows had a wretched taste;
She needs
must tell them to their face,
They were a stupid, senseless race;
And,
were she to begin again,
She'd study to reform the men;
Or add
some grains of folly more
To women, than they had before,
To put
them on an equal foot;
And this, or nothing else, would do't.
This
might their mutual fancy strike;

Since every being loves its like.

"But now, repenting what was done,
She left all business to her son;

She put the world in his possession,
And let him use it at
discretion."
The crier was order'd to dismiss
The court, who made
his last "O yes!"
The goddess would no longer wait;
But, rising
from her chair of state,
Left all below at six and seven,
Harness'd
her doves, and flew to Heaven.
[Footnote 1: Hester, elder daughter of Bartholomew Vanhomrigh, a
Dutch merchant in Dublin, where he acquired a fortune of some
£16,000. Upon his death, his widow and two daughters settled in
London, about 1710-11, where Swift became intimate with the family.
See "Prose Works," especially Journal to Stella. After Swift became

Dean of St. Patrick's, Vanessa and her sister, on their mother's death,
returned to Ireland. The younger sister died about 1720, and Vanessa
died at Marlay Abbey in May, 1723.]
[Footnote 2: A lace so called after the celebrated French Minister,
Colbert. Planché's "British Costume," 395.W. E. B.]
[Footnote 3: See the verses "On Censure," vol. i, p.160.--W. E. B.]
TO LOVE[1]
In all I wish, how happy should I be,
Thou grand Deluder, were it not
for thee!
So weak thou art, that fools thy power despise;
And yet so
strong, thou triumph'st o'er the wise.
Thy traps are laid with such
peculiar art,
They catch the cautious, let the rash depart.
Most nets
are fill'd by want of thought and care
But too much thinking brings us
to thy snare;
Where, held by thee, in slavery we stay,
And throw the
pleasing part of life away.
But, what does most my indignation move,

Discretion! thou wert ne'er a friend to Love:
Thy chief delight is to
defeat those arts,
By which he kindles mutual flames in hearts;

While the blind loitering God is at his play,
Thou steal'st his golden
pointed darts away:
Those darts which never fail; and in their stead

Convey'st malignant arrows tipt with lead:
The heedless God,
suspecting no deceits,
Shoots on, and thinks he has done wondrous
feats;
But the poor nymph, who feels her vitals burn,
And from her
shepherd can find no return,
Laments, and rages at the power divine,

When, curst Discretion! all the fault was thine:
Cupid and Hymen
thou hast set at odds,
And bred such feuds between those kindred
gods,
That Venus cannot reconcile her sons;
When one appears,
away the other runs.
The former scales, wherein he used to poise

Love against love, and equal joys with joys,
Are now fill'd up with
avarice and pride,
Where titles, power, and riches, still subside.

Then, gentle Venus, to thy father run,
And tell him, how thy children
are undone:
Prepare his bolts to give one fatal blow,

And strike
Discretion to the shades below.

[Footnote 1: Found in Miss Vanhomrigh's desk, after her death, in the
handwriting of Dr. Swift.--H.]
A REBUS. BY VANESSA
Cut the name of the man [1] who his mistress denied,
And let the first
of it be only applied
To join with the prophet[2] who David did chide;

Then say what a horse is that runs very fast;[3]
And that which
deserves to be first put the last;
Spell all then, and put them together,
to find
The name and the virtues of him I design'd.
Like the
patriarch in Egypt, he's versed in the state;
Like the prophet in Jewry,
he's free with the great;
Like a racer he flies, to succour with speed,

When his friends want his aid, or desert is in need.
[Footnote 1: Jo-seph.]
[Footnote 2: Nathan.]
[Footnote 3: Swift.]
THE DEAN'S ANSWER
The nymph who wrote this in an amorous fit,
I cannot but envy the
pride of her wit,
Which thus