Hypocrite Swift
After Reading Swift's Journal to Stella
Hypocrite Swift now takes an eldest daughter.
He lifts Vanessa’s hand. Cudsho, my dove!
Drink Wexford Ale and quaff down Wexford water,
But never love.
He buys new caps; he and Lord Stanley ban
Hedge-fellows who have neither wit nor swords.
He turns his coat; Tories are in; Queen Anne
Makes twelve new lords.
The town mows hay in hell; he swims in the river;
His giddiness returns; his head is hot.
Berries are clean, while peaches damn the giver,
(Though grapes do not).
Mrs. Vanhomrigh keeps him safe from the weather.
Preferment pulls his periwig askew.
Pox take belittlers; do the willows feather?
God keep you.
Stella spells ill; Lords Peterborough and Fountain
Talk politics; the Florence wine went sour.
Midnight: two different clocks, here and in Dublin,
Give out the hour.
On walls at court, long gilded mirrors gaze.
The parquet shines; outside the snow falls deep.
