My lord and he are grown so great,
Always together, tête-à-tête;

What! they admire him for his jokes?
See but the fortune of some folks!"

'There flies about a strange report
Of some express arrived at court;
I'm stopped by all the fools I meet,
And catechised in every street.
"You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great ;
Inform us, will the Emperor treat?
Or do the prints and papers lie?"
Faith, sir, you know as much as I.
"Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest!
'Tis now no secret "-I protest

'Tis one to me-" Then tell us, pray,
When are the troops to have their pay?"
And though I solemnly declare

I know no more than my Lord Mayor,
They stand amazed, and think me grown
The closest mortal ever known.

Thus in a sea of folly tost,
My choicest hours of life are lost;
Yet always wishing to retreat,
Oh, could I see my country-seat!
There leaning near a gentle brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient book;

And there in sweet oblivion drown

Those cares that haunt the court and town.1

1 Thus far was translated by Dr. Swift in 1714. The remaining part of the ode was afterward added by Mr. Pope, in whose works the whole is printed. See Dr. Warton's edition, vol. vi. p. 13.-Nichols.

CADENUS AND VANESSA.

(WRITTEN AT WINDSOR, 1713.)

THE

HE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian queen;

The counsel for the fair began,

Accusing the false creature Man.

The brief with weighty crimes was charged,
On which the pleader much enlarged,
That Cupid now has lost his art,
Or blunts the point of every dart;
His altar now no longer smokes,
His mother's aid no youth invokes :
This tempts free-thinkers to refine,
And bring in doubt their powers divine;
Now love is dwindled to intrigue,
And marriage grown a money league,
Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)
Were (as he humbly did conceive)
Against our sovereign lady's peace,
Against the statute in that case,

Against her dignity and crown,

Then prayed an answer, and sat down.

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes:
When the defendant's counsel rose,

And, what no lawyer ever lacked,

With impudence owned all the fact;

But, what the gentlest heart would vex,

Laid all the fault on t'other sex.

That modern love is no such thing
As what those ancient poets sing,
A fire celestial, chaste, refined,
Conceived and kindled in the mind,
Which, having found an equal flame,
Unites, and both become the same,
In different breasts together burn,
Together both to ashes turn.

But women now feel no such fire,
And only know the gross desire;
Their passions move in lower spheres,
Where'er caprice or folly steers ;
A dog, a parrot, or an ape,

Or some worse brute in human shape
Engross the fancies of the fair
The few soft moments they can spare
From visits to receive and pay,
From scandal, politics, and play,

From fans, and flounces, and brocades,
From equipage and park parades,
From all the thousand female toys,
From every trifle that employs
The out or inside of their heads
Between their toilets and their beds.

In a dull stream, which, moving slow,
You hardly see the current flow,
If a small breeze obstruct the course,

It whirls about, for want of force,
And in its narrow circle gathers

Nothing but chaff, and straws, and feathers.
The current of a female mind

Stops thus, and turns with every wind;
Thus whirling round, together draws

Fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws.
Hence we conclude no women's hearts

Are won by virtue, wit, and parts;

Nor are the men of sense to blame
For breasts incapable of flame;

The fault must on the nymphs be placed,
Grown so corrupted in their taste,

The pleader, having spoke his best,
Had witness ready to attest,
Who fairly could on oath depose,
When questions on the fact arose,
That every article was true;

Nor further those deponents knew:
Therefore he humbly would insist

The bill might be with costs dismissed.
The cause appeared with so much weight,
That Venus, from her judgment-seat,
Desired them not to talk so loud,

Else she must interpose a cloud:
For if the heavenly folks should know
These pleadings in the courts below,
That mortals here disdain to love,
She ne'er could show her face above;
For gods, their betters, are too wise,
To value that which men despise.
And then, said she, my son and I
Must stroll in air, 'twixt land and sky,
Or else, shut out from heaven and earth,
Fly to the sea, my place of birth,
There live, with daggled mermaids pent,
And keep on fish perpetual Lent.

But, since the case appeared so nice,
She thought it best to take advice.
The Muses, by the king's permission,
Though foes to love, attend the session,
And on the right hand took their places
In order; on the left the Graces,
To whom she might her doubts propose
On all emergencies that rose.

The Muses oft were seen to frown,

The Graces, half ashamed, looked down,
And 'twas observed there were but few

Of either sex among the crew
Whom she or her assessors knew.
The goddess soon began to see
Things were not ripe for a decree,
And said she must consult her books,
The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes.
First to a dapper clerk she beckoned
To turn to Ovid, book the second;
She then referred them to a place
In Virgil, vide Dido's case.

As for Tibullus's reports,

They never passed for law in courts;
For Cowley's briefs, and pleas of Waller,
Still their authority was smaller.

There was on both sides much to say:
She'd hear the cause another day.
And so she did; and then a third
She heard it-there she kept her word;
But, with rejoinders or replies,

Long bills, and answers stuffed with lies,
Demur, imparlance, and essoign,
The parties ne'er could issue join.
For sixteen years the cause was spun,
And then stood where it first begun.
Now, gentle Clio, sing, or say,
What Venus meant by this delay?
The goddess, much perplexed in mind
To see her empire thus declined,
When first this grand debate arose,
Above her wisdom to compose,
Conceived a project in her head
To work her ends, which, if it sped,