Judas / Jonathan Swift

By the just vengeance of incensed skies,

Poor Bishop Judas late repenting dies.

The Jews engaged him with a paltry bribe,

Amounting hardly to a crown a-tribe;

Which though his conscience forced him to restore,

(And parsons tell us, no man can do more,)

Yet, through despair, of God and man accurst,

He lost his bishopric, and hang'd or burst.

Helter Skelter / Jonathan Swift

THE HUE AND CRY AFTER THE ATTORNEYS

UPON THEIR RIDING THE CIRCUIT

Now the active young attorneys Briskly travel on their journeys, Looking big as any giants, On the horses of their clients; Like so many little Marses With their tilters at their a--s, Brazen-hilted, lately burnish'd, And with harness-buckles furnish'd, And with whips and spurs so neat, And with jockey-coats complete, And with boots so very greasy, And with saddles eke so easy, And with bridles fine and gay, Bridles borrow'd for a day, Bridles destined far to roam, Ah!

Directions for a Birthday Song / Jonathan Swift

To form a just and finish'd piece, Take twenty gods of Rome or Greece, Whose godships are in chief request, And fit your present subject best; And, should it be your hero's case, To have both male and female race, Your business must be to provide A score of goddesses beside.

Some call their monarchs sons of Saturn, For which they bring a modern pattern; Because they might have heard of one,[1] Who often long'd to eat his son; But this I think will not go down, For here the father kept his crown.

Catullus de Lesbia / Jonathan Swift

"Lesbia mi dicit semper mala nec tacet unquam

De me: Lesbia me dispeream nisi amat.

Quo signo? quia sunt totidem mea: deprecor illam

Assidue; verum dispeream nisi amo."

Catulli Carmina, xcii.--W. E. B.]

Lesbia for ever on me rails,

To talk of me she never fails.

Now, hang me, but for all her art,

I find that I have gain'd her heart.

My proof is this: I plainly see,

The case is just the same with me;

I curse her every hour sincerely,

Yet, hang me but I love her dearly.

Cassinus and Peter / Jonathan Swift

Two college sophs of Cambridge growth, Both special wits and lovers both, Conferring, as they used to meet, On love, and books, in rapture sweet; (Muse, find me names to fit my metre, Cassinus this, and t'other Peter.) Friend Peter to Cassinus goes, To chat a while, and warm his nose: But such a sight was never seen, The lad lay swallow'd up in spleen. He seem'd as just crept out of bed; One greasy stocking round his head, The other he sat down to darn, With threads of different colour'd yarn; His breeches torn, exposing wide A ragged shirt and tawny hide.

Baucis and Philemon / Jonathan Swift

In ancient time, as story tells, The saints would often leave their cells, And stroll about, but hide their quality, To try good people's hospitality. It happen'd on a winter's night, As authors of the legend write, Two brother hermits, saints by trade, Taking their tour in masquerade, Came to a village hard by Rixham,[2] Ragged and not a groat betwixt 'em. It rain'd as hard as it could pour, Yet they were forced to walk an hour From house to house, wet to the skin, Before one soul would let 'em in. They call'd at every door: "Good people, My comrade's blind, and I'm a creeple! Here we lie starving in the street, 'Twould grieve a body's heart to see't, No Christian would turn out a beast,

An Epistle to Mr. Gay / Jonathan Swift

How could you, Gay, disgrace the Muse's train, To serve a tasteless court twelve years in vain![2] Fain would I think our female friend [3] sincere, Till Bob,[4] the poet's foe, possess'd her ear. Did female virtue e'er so high ascend, To lose an inch of favour for a friend?

A Beautiful Young Nymph going to Bed / Jonathan Swift

Corinna, pride of Drury-Lane, For whom no shepherd sighs in vain; Never did Covent-Garden boast So bright a batter'd strolling toast! No drunken rake to pick her up, No cellar where on tick to sup; Returning at the midnight hour, Four stories climbing to her bower; Then, seated on a three-legg'd chair, Takes off her artificial hair; Now picking out a crystal eye, She wipes it clean, and lays it by. Her eyebrows from a mouse's hide Stuck on with art on either side, Pulls off with care, and first displays 'em, Then in a play-book smoothly lays 'em. Now dext'rously her plumpers draws, That serve to fill her hollow jaws, Untwists a wire, and from her gums A set of teeth completely comes;

Three Sermons and Prayers / Jonathan Swift

The Apostle having, in many parts of this Epistle, given directions to Christians concerning the duty of subjection or obedience to superiors, in the several instances of the subject to the prince, the child to his parent, the servant to his master, the wife to her husband, and the younger to the elder, doth here, in the words of my text, sum up the whole by advancing a point of doctrine, which at first may appear a little extraordinary. "Yea, all of you," saith he, "be subject one to another." For it should seem that two persons cannot properly be said to be subject to each other, and that subjection is only due from inferiors to those above them; yet St. Paul hath several passages to the same purpose. For he exhorts the Romans "in honour to prefer one another;" and the Philippians, "that in lowliness of mind they should each esteem other better than themselves;" and the Ephesians, "that they should submit themselves one to another in the fear of the Lord."

A Modest Proposal / Jonathan Swift

A MODEST PROPOSAL FOR PREVENTING THE CHILDREN OF POOR PEOPLE IN IRELAND FROM BEING A BURDEN TO THEIR PARENTS OR COUNTRY, AND FOR MAKING THEM BENEFICIAL TO THE PUBLIC

It is a melancholy object to those who walk through this great town or travel in the country, when they see the streets, the roads, and cabin doors, crowded with beggars of the female sex, followed by three, four, or six children, all in rags and importuning every passenger for an alms. These mothers, instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in strolling to beg sustenance for their helpless infants: who as they grow up either turn thieves for want of work, or leave their dear native country to fight for the Pretender in Spain, or sell themselves to the Barbadoes.

The Bickerstaff-Partridge Papers / Jonathan Swift

I have long consider'd the gross abuse of astrology in this kingdom, and upon debating the matter with myself, I could not possibly lay the fault upon the art, but upon those gross impostors, who set up to be the artists. I know several learned men have contended that the whole is a cheat; that it is absurd and ridiculous to imagine, the stars can have any influence at all upon human actions, thoughts, or inclinations: And whoever has not bent his studies that way, may be excused for thinking so, when he sees in how wretched a manner that noble art is treated by a few mean illiterate traders between us and the stars; who import a yearly stock of nonsense, lyes, folly, and impertinence, which they offer to the world as genuine from the planets, tho' they descend from no greater a height than their own brains.