[Footnote 1: Who in the year 1705 took Barcelona, and in the winter following with only 280 horse and 900 foot enterprized and accomplished the conquest of Valentia.--_Pope_.
"--he whose lightning pierc'd th'Iberian lines, Now forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines, Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain." POPE, _Imitations of Horace_, ii, Sat. 1.
Lord Peterborough seems to have been equally famous for his skill in cookery. See note to above Satire, Pope's Works, edit. Elwin and Courthope, iii, 298.--_W. E. B._]
[Footnote 2: See Voltaire's "History of Charles the Twelfth of Sweden." "He left the name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral or adorn a tale." JOHNSON, _Vanity of Human Wishes_.]
The queen has lately lost a part Of her ENTIRELY-ENGLISH[1] heart, For want of which, by way of botch, She pieced it up again with SCOTCH. Blest revolution! which creates Divided hearts, united states! See how the double nation lies, Like a rich coat with skirts of frize: As if a man, in making posies, Should bundle thistles up with roses. Who ever yet a union saw Of kingdoms without faith or law?[2] Henceforward let no statesman dare A kingdom to a ship compare; Lest he should call our commonweal A vessel with a double keel: Which, just like ours, new rigg'd and mann'd, And got about a league from land, By change of wind to leeward side, The pilot knew not how to guide. So tossing faction will o'erwhelm Our crazy double-bottom'd realm.
[Footnote 1: The motto on Queen Anne's coronation medal.--_N_.]
[Footnote 2: _I.e._, Differing in religion and law.]
When Cupid did his grandsire Jove entreat To form some Beauty by a new receipt, Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene, Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene: From which ingredients first the dext'rous boy Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy. The Graces from the court did next provide Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride: These Venus cleans'd from ev'ry spurious grain Of nice coquet, affected, pert, and vain. Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd; Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD.
(TO SWIFT'S VERSES ON BIDDY FLOYD); OR, MRS. CLUDD
Venus one day, as story goes, But for what reason no man knows, In sullen mood and grave deport, Trudged it away to Jove's high court; And there his Godship did entreat To look out for his best receipt: And make a monster strange and odd, Abhorr'd by man and every god. Jove, ever kind to all the fair, Nor e'er refused a lady's prayer, Straight oped 'scrutoire, and forth he took A neatly bound and well-gilt book; Sure sign that nothing enter'd there, But what was very choice and rare. Scarce had he turn'd a page or two,-- It might be more, for aught I knew; But, be the matter more or less, 'Mong friends 'twill break no squares, I guess. Then, smiling, to the dame quoth he, Here's one will fit you to a T. But, as the writing doth prescribe, 'Tis fit the ingredients we provide. Away he went, and search'd the stews, And every street about the Mews; Diseases, impudence, and lies, Are found and brought him in a trice. From Hackney then he did provide, A clumsy air and awkward pride; From lady's toilet next he brought Noise, scandal, and malicious thought. These Jove put in an old close-stool, And with them mix'd the vain, the fool. But now came on his greatest care, Of what he should his paste prepare; For common clay or finer mould Was much too good, such stuff to hold. At last he wisely thought on mud; So raised it up, and call'd it--_Cludd._ With this, the lady well content, Low curtsey'd, and away she went.