[Footnote 2: Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, famous, _inter alia_, for his enthusiasm in urging the use of tar-water for all kinds of complaints.

See his Works, _edit._ Fraser. Fielding mentions it favourably as a remedy for dropsy, in the Introduction to his "Journal of a voyage to Lisbon"; and see Austin Dobson"s note to his edition of the "Journal."--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 3: "Aeneid," xi.]

[Footnote 4: Qu. Flaccilla? see Gibbon, iii, chap, xxvii.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 5: Who lived from 1650 to 1723, and wrote and published several books of travels in Greece and Italy, etc.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 6: See "The Rape of the Lock."]

HELTER SKELTER; OR, 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 Ma.r.s.es 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! never, never to come home.

And with hats so very big, sir, And with powder"d caps and wigs, sir, And with ruffles to be shown, Cambric ruffles not their own; And with Holland shirts so white, Shirts becoming to the sight, Shirts bewrought with different letters, As belonging to their betters.

With their pretty tinsel"d boxes, Gotten from their dainty doxies, And with rings so very trim, Lately taken out of lim--[1]

And with very little pence, And as very little sense; With some law, but little justice, Having stolen from my hostess, From the barber and the cutler, Like the soldier from the sutler; From the vintner and the tailor, Like the felon from the jailor; Into this and t"other county, Living on the public bounty; Thorough town and thorough village, All to plunder, all to pillage: Thorough mountains, thorough valleys, Thorough stinking lanes and alleys, Some to--kiss with farmers" spouses, And make merry in their houses; Some to tumble country wenches On their rushy beds and benches; And if they begin a fray, Draw their swords, and----run away; All to murder equity, And to take a double fee; Till the people are all quiet, And forget to broil and riot, Low in pocket, cow"d in courage, Safely glad to sup their porridge, And vacation"s over--then, Hey, for London town again.

[Footnote 1: _Limbo_, any place of misery and restraint.

"For he no sooner was at large, But Trulla straight brought on the charge, And in the selfsame _Limbo_ put The knight and squire where he was shut."

_Hudibras_, Part i, canto iii, 1,000.

Here abbreviated by Swift as a cant term for a p.a.w.n shop.--_W. E. B._]

THE PUPPET-SHOW

The life of man to represent, And turn it all to ridicule, Wit did a puppet-show invent, Where the chief actor is a fool.

The G.o.ds of old were logs of wood, And worship was to puppets paid; In antic dress the idol stood, And priest and people bow"d the head.

No wonder then, if art began The simple votaries to frame, To shape in timber foolish man, And consecrate the block to fame.

From hence poetic fancy learn"d That trees might rise from human forms; The body to a trunk be turn"d, And branches issue from the arms.

Thus Daedalus and Ovid too, That man"s a blockhead, have confest: Powel and Stretch[1] the hint pursue; Life is a farce, the world a jest.

The same great truth South Sea has proved On that famed theatre, the alley; Where thousands, by directors moved Are now sad monuments of folly.

What Momus was of old to Jove, The same a Harlequin is now; The former was buffoon above, The latter is a Punch below.

This fleeting scene is but a stage, Where various images appear; In different parts of youth and age, Alike the prince and peasant share.

Some draw our eyes by being great, False pomp conceals mere wood within; And legislators ranged in state Are oft but wisdom in machine.

A stock may chance to wear a crown, And timber as a lord take place; A statue may put on a frown, And cheat us with a thinking face.

Others are blindly led away, And made to act for ends unknown; By the mere spring of wires they play, And speak in language not their own.

Too oft, alas! a scolding wife Usurps a jolly fellow"s throne; And many drink the cup of life, Mix"d and embitter"d by a Joan.

In short, whatever men pursue, Of pleasure, folly, war, or love: This mimic race brings all to view: Alike they dress, they talk, they move.

Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand, Mortals to please and to deride; And, when death breaks thy vital band, Thou shalt put on a puppet"s pride.

Thou shalt in puny wood be shown, Thy image shall preserve thy fame; Ages to come thy worth shall own, Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name.

Tell Tom,[2] he draws a farce in vain, Before he looks in nature"s gla.s.s; Puns cannot form a witty scene, Nor pedantry for humour pa.s.s.

To make men act as senseless wood, And chatter in a mystic strain, Is a mere force on flesh and blood, And shows some error in the brain.

He that would thus refine on thee, And turn thy stage into a school, The jest of Punch will ever be, And stand confest the greater fool.

[Footnote 1: Two famous puppet-show men.]

[Footnote 2: Sheridan.]

THE JOURNAL OF A MODERN LADY

IN A LETTER TO A PERSON OF QUALITY. 1728

SIR, "twas a most unfriendly part In you, who ought to know my heart, Are well acquainted with my zeal For all the female commonweal-- How could it come into your mind To pitch on me, of all mankind, Against the s.e.x to write a satire, And brand me for a woman-hater?

On me, who think them all so fair, They rival Venus to a hair; Their virtues never ceased to sing, Since first I learn"d to tune a string?

Methinks I hear the ladies cry, Will he his character belie?

Must never our misfortunes end?

And have we lost our only friend?

Ah, lovely nymphs! remove your fears, No more let fall those precious tears.

Sooner shall, etc.

[Here several verses are omitted.]

The hound be hunted by the hare, Than I turn rebel to the fair.

"Twas you engaged me first to write, Then gave the subject out of spite: The journal of a modern dame, Is, by my promise, what you claim.

My word is past, I must submit; And yet perhaps you may be bit.

I but transcribe; for not a line Of all the satire shall be mine.

Compell"d by you to tag in rhymes The common slanders of the times, Of modern times, the guilt is yours, And me my innocence secures.

Unwilling Muse, begin thy lay, The annals of a female day.

By nature turn"d to play the rake well, (As we shall show you in the sequel,) The modern dame is waked by noon, (Some authors say not quite so soon,) Because, though sore against her will, She sat all night up at quadrille.