IV
Here a Dog dancing on his hams
And puppets mov'd by wire,
Do far exceed your frisking lambs,
Or song of feather'd quire.
V
Howe'er, such verse as yours I grant
Would be but too inviting:
Were fair Ardelia not my Aunt,
Or were it Worsley's writing.[2]
[Footnote 1: Some ladies, among whom were Mrs. Worsley and Mrs. Finch, to
the latter of whom Swift addressed, under the name of Ardelia, the
preceding poem, appear to have written verses to him from May Fair,
offering him such temptations as that fashionable locality supplied to
detain him from the country and its pleasures: and thus he
replies.--_Forster_.]
[Footnote 1: There is some playful allusion in this last stanza, not now
decipherable.--_Forster_.]
VANBRUGH'S HOUSE[1]
BUILT FROM THE RUINS OF WHITEHALL THAT WAS BURNT, 1703
In times of old, when Time was young,
And poets their own verses sung,
A verse would draw a stone or beam,
That now would overload a team;
Lead 'em a dance of many a mile,
Then rear 'em to a goodly pile.
Each number had its diff'rent power;
Heroic strains could build a tower;
Sonnets and elegies to Chloris,
Might raise a house about two stories;
A lyric ode would slate; a catch
Would tile; an epigram would thatch.
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