This day (the year I dare not tell)
  Apollo play’d the midwife’s part;
Into the world Corinna fell,
  And he endued her with his art.

But Cupid with a Satyr comes;
  Both softly to the cradle creep;
Both stroke her hands, and rub her gums,
  While the poor child lay fast asleep.

Then Cupid thus:  “This little maid
  Of love shall always speak and write;”
“And I pronounce,” the Satyr said,
  “The world shall feel her scratch and bite.”

Her talent she display’d betimes;
  For in a few revolving moons,
She seem’d to laugh and squall in rhymes,
  And all her gestures were lampoons.

At six years old, the subtle jade
  Stole to the pantry-door, and found
The butler with my lady’s maid: 
  And you may swear the tale went round.

She made a song, how little miss
  Was kiss’d and slobber’d by a lad: 
And how, when master went to p—­,
  Miss came, and peep’d at all he had.

At twelve, a wit and a coquette;
  Marries for love, half whore, half wife;
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in debt;
  Turns authoress, and is Curll’s for life.

Her common-place book all gallant is,
  Of scandal now a cornucopia;
She pours it out in Atalantis
  Or memoirs of the New Utopia.

[Footnote 1:  This ballad refers to some details in the life of Mrs. de la Riviere Manley, a political writer, who was born about 1672, and died in July, 1724.  The work by which she became famous was “Secret memoirs and manners of several persons of quality of both sexes, from the New Atalantis.”  She was Swift’s amanuensis and assistant in “The Examiner,” and succeeded him as Editor.  In his Journal to Stella, Jan. 26, 1711-12, he writes:  “Poor Mrs. Manley, the author, is very ill of a dropsy and sore leg; the printer tells me he is afraid she cannot live long.  I am heartily sorry for her.  She has very generous principles for one of her sort; and a great deal of good sense and invention:  She is about forty, very homely and very fat.”  Swift’s subsequent severe attack upon her in these verses can only be accounted for, but cannot be excused by, some change in his political views.  See “The Tatler,” Nos. 35, 63, edit. 1786.—­W.  E. B.]

THE FABLE OF MIDAS.[1] 1711-12

Collated with Stella’s copy.—­Forster.

Midas, we are in story told,[2]
Turn’d every thing he touch’d to gold: 
He chipp’d his bread; the pieces round
Glitter’d like spangles on the ground: 
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would straight become a golden pippin. 
He call’d for drink; you saw him sup
Potable gold in golden cup: 
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck’d his victuals thro’ a quill. 
Untouch’d it pass’d between his grinders,
Or’t had been happy for gold-finders: 
He cock’d his hat, you would have said