Then, full of rage, Apollo spoke:
"Deceitful nymph! I see thy art;
And, though I can't my gift revoke,
I'll disappoint its nobler part.
"Let stubborn pride possess thee long,
And be thou negligent of fame;
With ev'ry Muse to grace thy song,
May'st thou despise a poet's name!
"Of modest poets be thou first;
To silent shades repeat thy verse,
Till Fame and Echo almost burst,
Yet hardly dare one line rehearse.
"And last, my vengeance to compleat,
May you descend to take renown,
Prevail'd on by the thing you hate,
A Whig! and one that wears a gown!"
[Footnote 1: Afterwards Countess of Winchelsea.--_Scott_. See
Journal to Stella Aug. 7, 1712. The Countess was one of Swift's intimate
friends and correspondents. See "Prose Works," xi, 121.--_W. E. B._]
ANSWER TO LINES FROM MAY FAIR[1]
NOW FIRST PUBLISHED
I
In pity to the empty'ng Town,
Some God May Fair invented,
When Nature would invite us down,
To be by Art prevented.
II
What a corrupted taste is ours
When milk maids in mock state
Instead of garlands made of Flowers
Adorn their pails with plate.
III
So are the joys which Nature yields
Inverted in May Fair,
In painted cloth we look for fields,
And step in Booths for air.
Pages:
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90