X. ANOTHER

That love is the devil, I’ll prove when required;
  Those rhymers abundantly show it: 
They swear that they all by love are inspired,
  And the devil’s a damnable poet.

XI.  ANOTHER, AT HOLYHEAD [1]

O Neptune!  Neptune! must I still
Be here detain’d against my will? 
Is this your justice, when I’m come
Above two hundred miles from home;
O’er mountains steep, o’er dusty plains,
Half choked with dust, half drown’d with rains,
Only your godship to implore,
To let me kiss your other shore? 
A boon so small! but I may weep,
While you’re like Baal, fast asleep.

[Footnote 1:  These verses were no doubt written during the Dean’s enforced stay at Holyhead while waiting for fair weather.  See Swift’s Journal of 1727, in Craik’s “Life of Swift,” vol. ii, and “Prose Works,” vol. xi.—­W.  E. B.]

TO JANUS, ON NEW YEAR’S DAY, 1726

Two-faced Janus,[1] god of Time! 
Be my Phoebus while I rhyme;
To oblige your crony Swift,
Bring our dame a new year’s gift;
She has got but half a face;
Janus, since thou hast a brace,
To my lady once be kind;
Give her half thy face behind. 
  God of Time, if you be wise,
Look not with your future eyes;
What imports thy forward sight? 
Well, if you could lose it quite. 
Can you take delight in viewing
This poor Isle’s[2] approaching ruin,
When thy retrospection vast
Sees the glorious ages past? 
Happy nation, were we blind,
Or had only eyes behind! 
  Drown your morals, madam cries,
I’ll have none but forward eyes;
Prudes decay’d about may tack,
Strain their necks with looking back. 
Give me time when coming on;
Who regards him when he’s gone? 
By the Dean though gravely told,
New-years help to make me old;
Yet I find a new-year’s lace
Burnishes an old-year’s face. 
Give me velvet and quadrille,
I’ll have youth and beauty still.

[Footnote 1:  “Matutine pater, seu Jane libentius audis Unde homines operum primos vitaeque labores Instituunt.”—­HOR., Sat., ii, vi, 20.]

[Footnote 2:  Ireland.—­H.]

A MOTTO FOR MR. JASON HASARD

WOOLLEN-DRAPER IN DUBLIN, WHOSE SIGN WAS THE GOLDEN FLEECE

Jason, the valiant prince of Greece,
From Colchis brought the Golden Fleece;
We comb the wool, refine the stuff,
For modern Jasons, that’s enough. 
Oh! could we tame yon watchful dragon,[1]
Old Jason would have less to brag on.

[Footnote 1:  England.—­H.]

TO A FRIEND WHO HAD BEEN MUCH ABUSED IN MANY INVETERATE LIBELS