To Dr. Swift on his Birth-Day 390 On Dr. Swift 390 To the Rev. Dr. Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, a Birth-Day Poem, Nov. 30, 1736 391 Epigrams occasioned by Dr. Swift's intended Hospital for Idiots and Lunatics 393 On the Dean of St. Patrick's Birth-Day 394 An Epistle to Robert Nugent, Esq. 396 On the Drapier, by Dr. Dunkin 399 Epitaph proposed for Dr. Swift 400 To the Memory of Dr. Swift 401 A Schoolboy's Theme 403 Verses on the Battle of the Books 404 On Dr. Swift's leaving his Estate to Idiots 404 On several Petty Pieces lately published against Dean Swift 405 On Faulkner's Edition of Swift 405 Epigram on Lord Orrery's Remarks 406 To Dr. Delany, on his Book entitled "Observations on Lord Orrery's Remarks" 406 Epigram on Faulkner 407 An Inscription 407 An Epigram occasioned by the above 407 Index 409 POEMS OF JONATHAN SWIFT POEMS ADDRESSED TO VANESSA AND STELLA CADENUS AND VANESSA[1] 1713 The 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 freethinkers 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 pray'd an answer, and sat down. The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes; When the defendant's counsel rose, And, what no lawyer ever lack'd, With impudence own'd 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