Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 18.djvu/437

To the next, says the God, "Though now I won't choose you,
I'll tell you the reason for which I refuse you:
Love's Goddess has oft to her parents complaln'd,
Of my favouring a bard who her empire disdain'd;
That, at my instigation, a poem you writ,
Which to beauty and youth preferred judgment and wit;
That, to make you a Laureat, I gave the first voice,
Inspiring the Britons t'approve of my choice,
Jove sent her to me, her power to try;
The Goddess of beauty what God can deny?
She forbids your preferment; I grant her desire.
Appease the fair Goddess: you then may rise higher."
The next^[1] that appear'd had good hopes of succeeding,
For he merited much for his wit and his breeding.
'Twas wise in the Britons no favour to show him,
He else might expect they should pay what they owe him.
And therefore they prudently chose to discard
The Patriot, whose merits they would not reward:
The God, with a smile, bad his favourite advance,
"You were sent by Astræa her envoy to France:
You bent your ambition to rise in the state;
I refuse you, because you could stoop to be great."
Then a bard who had been a successful translator^[2],
"The convention allows me a versificator."
Says Apollo, "You mention the least of your merit;
By your works, it appears you have much of my spirit.

1. Mr. Prior.
2. Mr. Pope was probably here meant.