excepi, the sad causes of whose death are at large described in this

HEROIC POEM.

A worthy sage dwelt at All-Hallows,
That did defy all gaols and gallows:
His punctual honesty was such,

Some authors write, he had too much :
And lo! Actonio was his name,
Actonio loudly sung by Fame:
A wight inferior to none

For ponderosity of bum,

And that took more pains to go,

Than coarse Jephsonio would to plow:
A mortal enemy to punning,
Nor mightily inclined to running.
He still with care did guard his heart
From all the wounds of Cupid's dart,
And yet was plump and soft confest,
All but his petrified breast,

That still, alas, did stubborn prove
To all the charming powers of love:
In town or court, no beauteous dame
E'er fann'd his passion to a flame;
For tho' he enjoyed luxurious peace,
Melting his hours in holy ease,

He ne'er was vex'd by that unruly member,

But liv'd as chaste as cold December:

Tho' Cupids in his eyes did play,

Yet in his heart Diana lay.

Lively and sanguine was his face,
Tho' phlegmatic the other place,
Colour as good as ever struck,
But other things belied his look.
When drowsy Aurora rubb'd her eyes,
And came down stealing from the skies,
While that Sol's nags at mangers tarry,
Before the clerks say, Ave-Mary;
Actonio, with his learned friends,
From soaking downy bed descends,
And with the charioteer's assistance,
Heaving himself with all puissance,
He waddles into coach marine,
And jogs his way, a simpleing.

And now they reach the enchanted shore,
Where Circe, in the days of yore,

* In a Satire written in 1682, upon the Members of the College, Acton is

thus described:

Next him sat Acton's belly, big as tun.

By powerful herbs dispos'd of doom,
And magick spells did charm the moon:
Whilst tir'd here with the toils of day,
Our hero picking scions lay:
Rolling securely on the grass,
Too nigh a fatal precipice,
Adown, adown, adown he drops,
'Twixt cruel unrelenting rocks.
Three times he made effort to rise,
But thrice and thrice would not suffice:
His weighty crupper kept him down,
To seas and rocks to make his moan.

Dumque + hic vicini maris auget murmura, dum liquido dolore tristissimum plorat fatum, et philosophorum adagiis se miserum solari conatur, Æsculapius filii sui querelis mitem præbens aurem, et paternâ commotus misericordia, heroem nostrum in umbilicum Veneris transformavit.

Socii nequicquam plorant amissum:

Non illos Cereris, non illos cura quietis
Abstrahere inde potest.

Sed iteratis clamoribus surdum feriunt littus: ægra terque quaterque pulsant pectora: altâ voce deorum proclamant. tyrannidem; nec diutius insano luctui indulgent, sed pedibus telluri affixis, pellibusque in cortices mutatis,

-nulli color qui fuit ante, manet.

Singulis novæ subeunt formæ ; et mirâ quadam metamorphosi in plantas proinde, ut hic sequitur, transmutantur :

Magister Downes in cupressum; Magister Smith in pinguidinem (Anglice) fat-wort; Magister Scroggs in hyacinthum; Mr Lloyd in quercum; Magister Ashe into a redheaded poppy; Sir Fitzsimons, who always dropt after, (as our town of Berwick upon Tweed) into a thistle, which still retains its primitive roughness; Magister Sayers in Narcissum, de quo olim Buchananus sic:

In "the Lady's Dressing-roon," we have an instance of Swift using this uncommon word, adown.

These lines strongly resemble the style of John Barclay: at the begin ning of the ARGENIS we find the words, " sermonem occupavit," as in this Tripos, in Act I. we find "totum occupare sermonem."

Nescio an inspexti Narcissi, Posthume, fontem:
Hoc scio, deliras, Posthume, amore tui.
Ille tamen meritò: nam quod malesanus amavit,
Ante quidem id multis causa furoris erat.
At tua non paulo est major vesania, qui te,
Sed sine rivali, Posthume, solus amas.

Sed dicat mihi quis, quod in totâ hâc corona, vel potius crowdo et presso, nondum vidi dominum Terrill: ni fallor, if he be not here, he's at home with his wife, who, to gain entirely his affections, sent him this stratagemical epistle.

The quondam widow, Sir Terrill's mistress, hearing he had laid siege to the bookbinder's sister, and therefore fearing he should give her the willow, partly to be revenged of her rival, partly to secure him to herself, writes to him this epistle :

Sir, I am informed you design to bind yourself to the stationer's sister: if so, take it from a friend, she's a gentlewoman in folio, and consequently will be very tedious to a young student. I was concerned to hear the crafty citizen intended to put into your hands the lumber of his shop; and therefore intreat you, if you have any kindness for yourself, to have nothing to do with that musty piece, whose worm eaten cover may inform you she has been cheapened above these twenty years: and the reason she did not go off is, she was found so old and thumbed, that she was not fit to be perused: and of so little value, that none thought her worthy the press. Besides, Sir, she has lived some time in a learned house, where, it may be presumed, for good reasons, that some of the young scholars, for their curiosity, might ruffle her leaves. If what I've said cannot dissuade you, do but turn her over carefully, and 'tis very probable you'll find she has been abused at least in the sheets, if not in the setting forth of a new edition blotted in the impression. Sir, your humble servant,

JANE BANKS.

And now belike I have made a fair afternoon's work on't. I have not left myself one friend of the Mammon of Unrighteousness. If 1 go to the kitchen, the steward will be my enemy as long as he breathes; if to the cellar, the butler will dash my ale with water; and the clerk of the buttery

will score up my offences five fold. If I betake myself to the library, Ridley's ghost will haunt me, for scandalizing hin with the name of freemason. If I fly to the divines for succour, Dean Manby and Archdeacon Baynard will pervert me; Dr King will break my head because I am a Priscian; and Dr Foy is so full of spleen he'll worry me. Mrs Horncastle and Sir Maddison will talk with me. Mother Jenkinson won't furnish me with cale and bacon on Christmasday, and Dr Loftus will bite me. The Virtuosi will set their brains a-work for gimcracks to pull my eyes out. The freemasons will banish me their lodge, and bar me the happiness of kissing long Laurence. And the astronomers won't allow me one good star, nor inform me when the sun will be totally eclipsed, that I may provide myself with candles. Mr Loftus and Mr Lloyd will nose me; Mr Allen will eat me without salt; Dr Acton, too, I fear, will fall on me Nay, the very provost will shake his head at me, and scour away from me: but that which makes my calamity most insupportable, and me weary of your company, is, that, in all my tribulation, you do nothing but laugh at me; and therefore I take my leave.

APPENDIX, No. III.

THE PRESENT STATE OF WIT.

In a Letter to a Friend in the Country. First printed in May 1711.

This tract, ascribed to Gay, from the initials J. G. being placed at the conclusion, has been received into former editions of Swift as throwing light upon the periodical papers during Oxford's administration. He himself mentions it in the Journal to Stella, 14th May 1711 :—

"Dr Friend was with me, and pulled out a twopenny pamphlet just published, called The State of Wit,' giving a character of all the papers that have come out of late. The author seems to d

VOL. I.

be a Whig; yet he speaks very highly of a paper called The Examiner,' and says he supposes the author of it is Dr Swift. But above all things he praises the Tatlers and Spectators; and I believe Steele and Addison were privy to the printing of it. Thus one is treated by those impudent dogs!"-Vol. II. p. 257.

SIR,

Westminster, May 3, 1711. You acquaint me, in your last, that your are still so busy building at, that your friends must not hope to see you in town this year; at the same time you desire me, that you may not be quite at a loss in conversation among the beau monde next winter, to send you an account of the present state of wit in town; which, without further preface, I shall therefore endeavour to perform, and give you the histories and characters of all our periodical papers, whether monthly, weekly, or diurnal, with the same freedom I used to send you our other town news.

I shall only premise, that, as you know I never cared one farthing either for Whig or Tory, so I shall consider our writers purely as they are such, without any respect to which party they may belong:

Dr King* has for some time lain down his Monthly Philosophical Transactions, which, the title-page informed us at first, were only "to be continued as they sold ;" and though that gentleman has a world of wit, yet, as it lies in one particular way of raillery, the town soon grew weary of his writings; though I cannot but think that their author deserves a much better fate than to languish out the small remainder of his life in the Fleet prison.

About the same time that the doctor left off writing, one Mr Ozell + put out his Monthly Amusement, which is still continued; and, as it is generally some French novel or

The witty Dr William King published, in 1709, three parts of a pe riodical work, entitled, "Useful Transactions in Philosophy, and other sorts of Learning," a burlesque satire of considerable merit.

↑ Jolm Özell, a voluminous translator. He was auditor-general of the City and Bridge accounts, of St Paul's cathedral, and of St Thomas's hospital. His periodical paper above mentioned was a very dull one. He died October 19,

1743.