THE Sceptics think 'twas long ago
Since gods came down incognito,
To see who were their friends or foes,
And how our actions fell or rose;
That since they gave things their beginning,
And set this whirligig a-spinning,
Supine they in their heaven remain,
Exempt from passion and from pain,
And frankly leave us human elves
To cut and shuffle for ourselves;
To stand or walk, to rise or tumble,
As matter and as motion jumble.
The poets now, and painters, hold
This thesis both absurd and bold,
And your good-natur'd gods, they say,
Descend some twice or thrice a-day,
Else all these things we toil so hard in,
Would not avail one single farthing;
For when the hero we rehearse,
To grace his actions and our verse,
'Tis not by dint of human thought
That to his Latium he is brought;
Iris descends by Fate's commands,
To guide his steps through foreign lands,
And Amphitritè clears his way
From rocks and quicksands in the sea.
* See Gayton's festivous notes on Don Quixotte, whence this story is supposed to be taken.
And if you see him in a sketch,
(Though drawn by Paulo or Carache)
He shows not half his force and strength,
Strutting in armour and at length;
That he may make his proper figure,
The piece must yet be four yards bigger:
The nymphs conduct him to the field,
One holds his sword, and one his shield;
Mars, standing by, asserts his quarrel,
And Fame flies after with a laurel.
These points, I say, of speculation,
(As 'twere to save or sink the nation)
Men, idly learned, will dispute,
Assert, object, confirm, refute;
Each mighty angry, mighty right,
With equal arms sustains the fight,
Till now no umpire can agree them,
So both draw off, and sing Te Deum.
Is it in equilibrio
If deities descend or no?
Then let the' affirmative prevail,
As requisite to form my Tale;
For by all parties 'tis confess'd
That those opinions are the best,
Which in their nature most conduce
To present ends and private use.
Two gods came, therefore, from above,
One Mercury, the other Jove;
The humour was, it seems, to know,
If all the favours they bestow,
Could from own perverseness ease us,
And if our wish enjoy'd would please us.
Discoursing largely on this theme,
O'er hills and dales their godships came,
Till well-nigh tir'd at almost night,
They thought it proper to alight.
Note here, that it as true as odd is,
That in disguise a god or goddess
Exerts no supernatural powers,
But acts on maxims much like ours:
They spied, at last, a country farm,
Where all was snug, and clean, and warm;
For woods before, and hills behind,
Secur'd it both from rain and wind:
Large oxen in the field were lowing,
Good grain was sow'd, good fruit was growing;
Of last year's corn in barns great store;
Fat turkeys gobbling at the door;
And Wealth, in short, with Peace consented,
That people here should live contented;
But did they in effect do so?
Have patience, friend, and thou shalt know.
The honest farmer and his wife,
To years declin'd from prime of life,
Had struggled with the marriage noose,
As almost every couple does :
Sometimes 'My plague!' sometimes My darling?"
Kissing to-day, to-morrow snarling;
Jointly submitting to endure
That evil which admits no cure.
Our gods the outward gate unbarr'd;
Our farmer met them in the yard;
Thought they were folks that lost their way,
And ask'd them civilly to stay;
Told them, for supper, or for bed,
They might go on and be worse sped.
So said, so done; the gods consent;
All three into the parlour went:
They compliment, they sit, they chat,
Fight o'er the wars, reform the state;
A thousand knotty points they clear,
Till supper and my wife appear.
Jove made his leg, and kiss'd the dame;
Obsequious Hermes did the same.
Jove kiss'd the farmer's wife, you say!
He did-but in an honest way:
Oh! not with half that warmth and life
With which he kiss'd Amphitryon's wife.-
Well, then, things handsomely were serv'd; My mistress for the strangers carv'd.
How strong the beer, how good the meat,
How loud they laugh'd, how much they eat,
In epic sumptuous would appear,
Yet shall be pass'd in silence here;
For I should grieve to have it said
That, by a fine description led,
I made my episode too long,
Or tir'd my friend, to grace my song.
The grace-cup serv'd, the cloth away,
Jove thought it time to show his play:
"Landlord and landlady,' he cried,
'Folly and jesting laid aside,
That ye thus hospitably live,
And strangers with good cheer receive,
Is mighty grateful to your betters,
And makes e'en gods themselves your debtors.
To give this thesis plainer proof,
You have to-night beneath your roof
A pair of gods: (nay, never wonder)
This youth can fly, and I can thunder.
I'm Jupiter, and he Mercurius,
My page, my son, indeed, but spurious.
Form then three wishes, you and Madam,
And, sure as you already had them,
The things desir'd, in half an hour
Shall all be here, and in your pow'r.'
'Thank ye, great gods,' the woman says;
'Oh! may your altars ever blaze!
A Ladle for our silver dish
Is what I want, is what I wish.'-
'A Ladle !' cries the man, a Ladle!
'Odzooks, Corisca, you have pray'd ill!
What should be great you turn to farce,
I wish the Ladle in
your a-
With equal grief and shame my Muse
The sequel of the Tale pursues:
The Ladle fell into the room,
And stuck in old Corisca's bum.
Our couple weep two wishes past,
And kindly join to form the last;
To ease the woman's awkward pain,
And get the Ladle out again.
THIS Commoner has worth and parts,
Is prais❜d for arms, or lov'd for arts;
His head aches for a coronet,
And who is bless'd that is not great?
Some sense, and more estate, kind Heav'n To this well-lotted peer has given:
What then? he must have rule and sway,
And all is wrong till he's in play.
The miser must make up his plum,
And dares not touch the hoarded sum;
The sickly dotard wants a wife,
To draw off his last dregs of life.
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