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One maid she had belov'd above the reft;
Secure of her, the fecret fhe confefs'd;
And now the chearful light her fears difpell'd
She with no winding turns the truth conceal'd,
But put the woman off, and ftood reveal'd:
With faults confefs'd commiffion'd her to go,
If pity yet had place, and reconcile her foe;
The welcome message made, was foon receiv'd;
'Twas to be wifh'd, and hop'd, but scarce believ'd;
Fate feem'd a fair occafion to present;
He knew the fex, and fear'd fhe might repent,
Should he delay the moment of confent.
There yet remain'd to gain her friends (a care
The modefty of maidens well might (pare;)
But fhe with fuch a zeal the cafe embrac'd,
(As women, where they will, are all in hafte,)
The father, mother, and the kin befide,
Were overborne by fury of the tide:
With full confent of all fhe chang'd her ftate;
Refiftlefs in her love, as in her hate.
By her example warn'd, the reft beware;
More eafy, lefs imperious, were the fair;
And that one hunting, which the devil defign'd
For one fair female, loft him half the kind."

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(Dr. Jonathan Swift, geboren 1667, gestorben 1745, erwarb sich zwar den meisten Ruhm durch seine prosaischen Schriften satirischer Gattung; aber auch als Dichter behaurtet er unter seinen Landesleuten eine rühmliche Stelle; und man findet in seinen meisten Versen eben die reiche Ader des Wizes und der Laune wieder, die seine Prose so reich durchfirdmt. Ihr Ton ist leicht und munter, und ihre Schreibart korrekt. Der aus Ovid's Metamorphosen (B. VIII, v. 618. ff.) bekannten Fabel von Philemon und Baucis hat Swift in folgender Erzählung eine sehr glückliche komische Wendung zu geben gewußt. Eine Nachahmung beider Dichs ter findet man in von Hagedorn's Fabeln und Erzähluns gen.)

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Where dwelt a good old honeft Yeoman,
Call'd in the Neighbourhood, Philemon.
Who kindly did the Saints invite
In his poor Hutt to pass the Night;
And then the hospitable Sire
Bid Goody Baucis mend the Fire;
While he from out the Chimny took
A Flitch of Bacon off the Hook;
And freely from the fatteft Side
Cut out large Slices to be fry'd:
Then ftept afide to fetch 'em Drink
Fill'd a large fugg up to the Brink;
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful) they found,
'Twas ftill replenif h'd to the Top,
As if they ne'er had toucht a Drop.
The good old Couple was amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;
For both were frighted to the Heart,
And just began to cry;
What art!
Then foftly turn'd afide, to view
Whether the Light were burning blue.
The gentle Pilgrims foon avare on't,
Told 'em their Calling, and their Errant:
Good Folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but Saints, the Hermits faid;
No hurt fhall come to you or yours;
But, for that Pack of Churlifh Boors,
Not fit to live on Chriftian Ground,
They and their Houfes fhall be drown'd;
Whilst you shall fee your Cottage rise,
And grow a Church before your Eyes.

They fearce had fpoke, when, fair and foft,

The Roof began to mount aloft;
Aloft rofe ev'ry Beam and Rafter
The heavy Wall climb'd flowly after.

The Chimney widen'd, and grew high'r,
Became a Steeple with a Spire.

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The Kettle to the Top was hoist,
And there stood faft'ned to a Joift:
But with the Upfide down, to show
Its Inclination for below;
In vain; for a fuperior Force.
Apply'd at Bottom, ftops its Course,
Doom'd ever in Sufpenfe to dwell,
'Tis now no Kettle, but a Bell.

A wooden Jack, which had almost
Loft, by difufe, the Art to roaft,
A fudden Alteration feels,
Encreaf'd by new Inteftine Wheels:
And, what exalts the Wonder more,
The Number made the Motion flow'r:
The Flyar, tho' 't had leaden Feet,
Turn'd round fo quick you fcarce could fee't;
But flacken'd by fome fecret pow'r
Now hardly moves an Inch an Hour.
The Jack and Chimney near ally'd,
Had never left each others fide;
The Chimney to a Steeple grown,
The Jack would no be left alone,
But up against the Steeple rear'd,
Became a Clock, and ftill adher'd:
And ftill its Love to Houl hold Cares
By a fhrill Voice at Noon declares,
Warning the Cook-maid not to burn
That Roaft-meat which it cannot turn.
The groaning Chair began to crawl
Like a huge Snail along the Wall;
There stuck aloft in publick View,
And, with fmall Change, a Pulpit grew.

The Porringers that in a Row
Hung high, and made a glittering Show,
To a lefs noble Subftance chang'd,
Were now but Leathern Buckets rang'd.

The Ballads pafted on the Wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,



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But being old, continu'd juft

As thread-bare, and as full of Duft.
His talk was now of Tythes and Dues,
Could (moak his Pipe, and read the News ;
Knew how to preach old Sermons next,
Vampt in the Preface and the Text.
A Chriftnings well could act his Part,
And had the Service all by Heart;
Wifh'd Women might have Children faft,


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