Obsequious at his high command,
Ay shall march forth to tax the land.
Impeachments No can best resist,
And Ay support the Civil List;
Ay, quick as Caesar wins the day;
And No, like Fabius, by delay.
Sometimes in mutual sly disguise,

Let Ayes seem Noes, and Noes seem Ayes;
Ayes be in courts denials meant.
An Noes in bishops give consent.
Thus Ay propos'd-and for reply
No for the first time answer'd Ay.
They parted with a thousand kisses,
And fight e'er since for pay, like Swisses.

THE

LAMENTATION OF GLUMDAL CLITCH

FOR

THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG.

A PASTORAL.

[Pope writes to Swift, that the bookseller wished to print these following pieces before the second edition of Gulliver's Travels, but he refused his permission, as not liking them much. He mentions also commendatory verses from a horse to Gulliver, which do not appear.-See his letter to Swift, 8th March 1726-7.]

Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care,
She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair;

No British miss sincerer grief has known,
Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.
She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.

In peals of thunder now she roars, and now,
She gently whimpers like a lowing cow:
Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears:
Her locks dishevell'd and her flood of tears,
Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain,
When from the thatch drips fast a show'r of rain.
In vain she search'd each cranny of the house,
Each gaping chink, impervious to a mouse.
"Was it for this (she cried) with daily care
Within thy reach I set the vinegar,

And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide,
While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied;
Where twin'd the silver eel around thy hook,
And all the little monsters of the brook!

Sure in that lake he dropt; my Grilly's drown'd!"
She dragg'd the, cruet, but no Grildrig found.

"Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast! But little creatures enterprise the most. Trembling I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw, Nay, mix with children, as they play'd at taw, Nor fear the marbles as they bounding flew; Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you! "Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? Who from a page can never learn the truth? Vers'd in court tricks, the money-loving boy To some lord's daughter sold the living toy, Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, As children tear the wings of flies away. From place to place o'er Brobdingnag I'll roam, Ah never will return, or bring thee home

13

But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind?
How then thy fairy footsteps can I find?
Dost thou bewilder'd wander all alone
In the green thicket of a mossy stone;
Or, tumbled from the toadstool's slipp'ry round,
Perhaps, all maim'd, lie grov'ling on the ground?
Dost thou, embosom'd in the lovely rose,
Or, sunk, within the peach's down, repose
?
Within the kingcup if thy limbs are spread,
Or in the golden cowslip's velvet head,

O show me, Flora, 'midst those sweets, the flow'r Where sleeps my Grildrig in his fragrant bow'r! "But ah! I fear thy little fancy roves

On little females and on little loves;

Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse,
The baby playthings that adorn thy house,
Doors, windows, chimnies, and the spacious rooms,
Equal in size to cells of honeycombs:

Hast thou for these now ventur'd from the shore,
Thy bark a bean-shell, and a straw thine oar?
Or in thy box now bounding on the main,
Shall I ne'er bear thyself and house again?
And shall I set thee on my hand no more,
To see thee leap the lines, and traverse o'er
My spacious palm; of stature scarce a span,
Mimic the actions of a real man?

No more behold thee turn my watch's key,
As seamen at a capstan anchors weigh?
How wert thou wont to walk with cautious tread,
A dish of tea, like milkpail, on thy head!
How chase the mite that bore thy cheese away,
And keep the rolling maggot at a bay !"

She said; but broken accents stopt her voice, Soft as the speaking-trumpet's mellow noise: She sobb'd a storm, and wip'd her flowing eyes, Which seem'd like two broad suns in misty ski

es

MARY GULLIVER TO LEMUEL GULLIVER.

O squander not thy grief! those tears command
To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland:
The plenteous pickle shall preserve the fish;
And Europe taste thy sorrows in a dish.

375

MARY GULLIVER TO CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER.

ARGUMENT.

[The captain, some time after his return, being retired to Mr Sympson's in the country, Mrs Gulliver, apprehending from his late behaviour, some estrangement of his affections, writes him the following expostulating, soothing, and tenderly complaining epistle.]

WELCOME, thrice welcome to thy native place! -What, touch me not? what, shun a wife's embrace?

Have I for this thy tedious absence borne,

And wak'd, and wish'd whole nights for thy return?
In five long years I took no second spouse;
What Redriff wife so long hath kept her vows?
Your eyes, your nose, inconstancy betray;
Your nose you stop, your eyes you turn away.
'Tis said, that thou should'st" cleave unto thy
wife ?"

Once thou didst cleave, and I could cleave for life.
Hear, and relent! hark, how thy children moan!
Be kind at least to these: they are thy own:
Be bold, and count them all; secure to find
The honest number that you left behind.

See how they pat thee with their pretty paws: Why start you? are they snakes? or have they claws?

Thy Christian seed, our mutual flesh and bone:
Be kind at least to these; they are thy own.

Biddel,* like thee, might farthest India rove;
He chang'd his country, but retain'd his love.
There's Captain Pennel,* absent half his life,
Comes back, and is the kinder to his wife,
Yet Pennel's wife is brown, compar'd to me;
And Mrs Biddel sure is fifty-three.

Not touch me! never neighbour call'd me slut:
Was Flimnap's dame more sweet in Lilliput?
I've no red hair to breathe an odious fume;
At least thy consort's cleaner than thy groom.
Why then that dirty stable-boy thy care?
What mean those visits to the sorrel mare:
Say, by what witchcraft, or what demon led,
Preferr'st thou litter to the marriage bed?

Some say, the devil himself is in that mare: If so, our Dean shall drive him forth by pray'r. Some think you mad, some think you are possest, That bedlam and clean straw will suit you best. Vain means, alas, this frenzy to appease! That straw, that straw, would heighten the disease. My bed (the scene of all our former joys, Witness two lovely girls, two lovely boys) Alone I press: in dreams I call my dear, I stretch my hand; no Gulliver is there! I wake, I rise, and shiv'ring with the frost Search all the house; my Gulliver is lost! Forth in the street I rush with frantic cries; The windows open, all the neighbours rise; "Where sleeps my Gulliver? O tell me where!" The neighbours answer, "With the sorrel mare."

* Names of the sea captains mentioned in Gulliver's Travels.-H