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How did I tremble when, by thousands bound,
I faw thee ftretch'd on Lilliputian ground;
When fcaling armies climb'd up every part,
Each step they trod I felt upon my heart.

But, when thy torrent quench'd the dreadful blaze,
King, queen, and nation, staring with amaze,
Full in my view how all my husband came !
And what extingufh'd theirs, increas'd my flame.
Thofe fpectacles, ordain'd thine eyes to fave,
Were once my prefent; Love that armour gave.
How did I mourn at Bolgolam's decree !
For, when he fign'd thy death, he sentenc'd me.

When folks might fee thee all the country round
For fix-pence, I'd have given a thousand pound.
Lord! when that giant babe that head of thine
Got in his mouth, my heart was up in mine!
When in the marrow-bone I fee thee ramm'd,
Or on the house-top by the monkey cramm'd,
The piteous images renew my pain,
And all thy dangers I weep o'er again.
But on the maiden's nipple when you rid,
Pray Heaven 'twas all a wanton maiden did!
Glumdalclitch too!-with thee I mourn her cafe:
Heaven guard the gentle girl from all difgrace!
O may the king that one neglect forgive,
And pardon her the fault by which I live!
Was there no other way to fet him free?
My life, alas! I fear, prov'd death to thee.

O teach me, Dear, new words to speak my flame! Teach me to woo thee by thy belt-lov'd name.


Whether the ftyle of Grildrig pleafe thee moft,
So call'd on Brobdingnag's ftupendous coaft,
When on the monarch's ample hand you fate,
And halloo'd in his ear intrigues of state;
Or Quinbus Fleftrin more endearment brings,
When like a mountain you look'd down on kings;
If ducal Nardac, Lilliputian peer,

Or Glumblum's humbler title footh thy ear;
Nay, would kind Jove my organs fo dispose,

To hymn harmonious Houyhnhnm through the nose,
I'd call thee Houyhnhnm, that high-founding name,
Thy children's nofes all fhould twang the fame.
So might I find my loving fpoufe of course
Endued with all the virtues of a horse.


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O thee, fweet Fop, thefe lines I send,
Who, though no spaniel, am a friend..
Though once my tail in wanton play,
Now frifking this and then that way,
Chanc'd, with a touch of just the tip,
To hurt your lady-lap-dog-fhip;
Yet thence to think I'd bite your head off;,
Sure Bounce is one you never read of.

Fop! you can dance, and make a leg,
Can fetch and carry, cringe and beg;
And (what's the top of all your tricks)
Can ftoop to pick up ftrings and fticks.
We country dogs love nobler fport,
And fcorn the pranks of dogs at court.
Fie, naughty Fop! where'er you come
To fart and pifs about the room,



To lay your head in every lap,

And when they think not of you—snap :
The worst that envy, or that spite,
E'er faid of me is, I can bite;
That sturdy vagrants, rogues in rags,
Who poke at me, can make no brags ;
And that to touze fuch things as flutter,
To honest Bounce is bread and butter.
While you and every courtly fop
Fawn on the devil for a chop;
I've the humanity to hate

A butcher, though he brings me meat :
And, let me tell you, have a nose
(Whatever stinking fops fuppofe)
That, under cloth of gold or tiffue,
Can smell a plafter, or an issue.
Your pilfering lord, with simple pride,
May wear a pick-lock at his fide :
My master wants no key of state,
For Bounce can keep his house and gate.
When all fuch dogs have had their days,
As knavish Pams, and fawning Trays:
When pamper'd Cupids, beaftly Veni's,
And motley, fquinting Harlequini's *,
Shall lick no more their lady's breech,
But die of looseness, claps, or itch;
Fair Thames from either echoing shore
Shall hear and dread my manly roar.

* Alii legunt Harvequini's.


See Bounce, like Berecynthia crown'd
With thundering offspring all around,
Beneath, befide me, and at top,
A hundred fons and not one Fop.
Before my children fet your beef,
Not one true Bounce will be a thief;
Not one without permiffion feed
(Though fome of J's hungry breed);
But whatfoe'er the father's race,
From me they fuck a little grace:

While your fine whelps learn all to steal,
Bred up by hand on chick and veal.
My eldeft-born refides not far

Where fhines great Strafford's glittering star;
My fecond (child of fortune !) waits
At Burlington's Palladian gates;
A third majestically stalks

(Happiest of dogs) in Cobham's walks!
One ufhers friends to Bathurst's door,
One fawns at Oxford's on the poor.
Nobles, whom arms or arts adorn,

Wait for my infants yet unborn.
None but a peer of wit and grace
Can hope a puppy of my race,
And, oh would fate the blifs decree
To mine (a blifs too great for me),
That two my talleft fons might grace
Attending each with stately pace.
Jülus' fide, as erft Evander's *,

To keep off Batterers, fpies, and panders;
*Virg. Æn. viii.


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