"The thing was done and past recalling; And therefore hoped she should recover His favour when his passion's over. She valued not what others thought her, And was--his most obedient daughter." Fair maidens all, attend the Muse, Who now the wand'ring pair pursues: Away they rode in homely sort, Their journey long, their money short; The loving couple well bemir'd; The horse and both the riders tir'd: Their victuals bad, their lodgings worse; Phyl cried! and John began to curse: Phyl wish'd that she had strain'd a limb, When first she ventured out with him; John wish'd that he had broke a leg, When first for her he quitted Peg. But what adventures more befell 'em, The Muse hath now no time to tell 'em; How Johnny wheedled, threaten'd, fawn'd, Till Phyllis all her trinkets pawn'd: How oft she broke her marriage vows, In kindness to maintain her spouse, Till swains unwholesome spoil'd the trade; For now the surgeon must be paid, To whom those perquisites are gone, In Christian justice due to John. When food and raiment now grew scarce, Fate put a period to the farce, And with exact poetic justice; For John was landlord, Phyllis hostess; They keep, at Stains, the Old Blue Boar, Are cat and dog, and rogue and whore. [Footnote 1: A tradesman's phrase.--_Swift_.] HORACE, BOOK IV, ODE IX ADDRESSED TO ARCHBISHOP KING,[1] 1718 Virtue conceal'd within our breast Is inactivity at best: But never shall the Muse endure To let your virtues lie obscure; Or suffer Envy to conceal Your labours for the public weal. Within your breast all wisdom lies, Either to govern or advise; Your steady soul preserves her frame, In good and evil times, the same. Pale Avarice and lurking Fraud, Stand in your sacred presence awed; Your hand alone from gold abstains, Which drags the slavish world in chains. Him for a happy man I own, Whose fortune is not overgrown;[2] And happy he who wisely knows To use the gifts that Heaven bestows; Or, if it please the powers divine, Can suffer want and not repine. The man who infamy to shun Into the arms of death would run; That man is ready to defend, With life, his country or his friend. [Footnote 1: With whom Swift was in constant correspondence, more or less friendly. See Journal to Stella, "Prose Works," vol. ii, _passim_; and an account of King, vol. iii, p. 241, note.--_W. E. B._] [Footnote 2: "Non possidentem multa vocaveris recte beatum: rectius occupat nomen beati, qui deorum muneribus sapienter uti duramque callet pauperiem pati, pejusque leto flagitium timet."] TO MR. DELANY,[1] OCT. 10, 1718 NINE IN THE MORNING