It has been held in antient Rules, That Flattery is the Food of Fools; Yet now and then your Men of Wit Will condescend to taste a Bit. SWIFT. Muse of my _Spencer_, who so well could sing, The Passions all, their Bearings and their Ties; Who could in View those shadowy Beings bring, And with bold Hand, remove each dark Disguise, Wherein Love, Hatred, Scorn, or Anger lies: Guide him to _Fairy Land_, who now intends That Way his Flight; assist him as he flies, To mark those Passions, Virtue’s Foes and Friends, By whom when led she droops, when leading she ascends. Yes! they appear, I see the Fairy-Train! And who that modest Nymph of meek Address? Not _Vanity_, though lov’d by all the Vain; Not _Hope_, though promising to all, Success; Nor _Mirth_, nor _Joy_, though Foe to all Distress; Thee, sprightly Siren, from this Train I choose, Thy Birth relate, thy soothing Arts confess, ’Tis not in thy mild Nature to refuse, When Poets ask thine Aid, so oft their Meed and Muse. * * * * * In Fairy-Land, on wide and cheerless Plain, Dwelt, in the House of _Care_, a sturdy Swain; An hireling he, who when he till’d the Soil, Look’d to the Pittance, that repay’d his Toil; And to a Master left the mingled Joy, And anxious Care that follow’d his Employ: Sullen and patient he at once appear’d, As one who murmur’d, yet as one who fear’d; Th’ Attire was coarse that cloth’d his sinewy Frame, Rude his Address and _Poverty_ his Name. In that same Plain a Nymph of curious Taste, A Cottage (plann’d with all her Skill) had plac’d: Strange the Materials and for what design’d The various Parts, no simple Man might find; What seem’d the Door, each entering Guest withstood, What seem’d a Window was but painted Wood; But by a secret Spring the Wall would move, And Day-light drop through glassy Door above; ’Twas all her Pride, new Traps for Praise to lay, And all her Wisdom was to hide her Way; In small Attempts incessant were her Pains, And _Cunning_ was her Name among the Swains. Now, whether Fate decreed this Pair should wed, And blindly drove them to the Marriage-Bed; Or whether Love in some soft Hour inclin’d The Damsel’s Heart and won her to be kind, Is yet unsung: they were an ill-match’d Pair, But both dispos’d to wed and wed they were. Yet though united in their Fortune, still Their Ways were diverse, varying was their Will, Nor long the Maid had blest the simple Man, Before Dissentions rose and she began:--