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# The Works of Voltaire/Volume 36/The Death of Adrienne Lecouvreur

Layout 2
Akron, Ohio: The Warner Company, pages 77–Plate
On the Death of Adrienne Lecouvreur, a celebrated actress.
What sight of woe thus harrows up my soul!
Must those love-darting eyes in anguish roll? Shall ghastly death such charms divine invade? You muses, graces, loves come to her aid. Oh! you my gods and hers assist the fair, Your image sure must well deserve your care. Alas! thou diest, I press thy corpse alone; Thou diest, the fatal news too soon is known. In such a loss, each tender feeling heart Is touched like mine, and takes in grief a part. I hear the arts on every side deplore Their loss, and cry, "Melpomene's no more:" What exclamations will the future race Utter, at hearing of those arts' disgrace? See cruel men a burying place refuse, To her whom Greece had worshipped as a muse; When living, they adored her power divine, To her they bowed like votaries at a shrine: Should she then, breathless, criminal be thought, And is it then to charm the world a fault? Seine's banks should now no more be deemed profane, Lecouvreur's sacred ashes there remain: At this sad tomb, shrine sacred to thy shade, Our vows are still as at a temple paid.
I don't revere the famed St. Denis more, Thy graces, charms, and wit, I there adore: I loved them living, incense now I'll burn, And pay due honors to thy sacred urn. Though error and ingratitude are bent, To brand with infamy thy monument. Shall Frenchmen never know what they require, But damn capriciously what they admire? Must laws with manners jar? Must every mind In France, be made by superstition blind? Wherefore should England be the only clime, Where to think freely is not deemed a crime? Oh! London, Athens' rival, thou alone, Could tyrants, and could prejudice dethrone; In that blest region, general freedom reigns, Merit is honored, and reward obtains: Marlborough the greatest general of his age, Harmonious Dryden, Addison the sage, Immortal Newton, charming Oldfield there, The honors due to real genius share. The farce of life had there Lecouvreur closed With heroes, statesmen, kings she had reposed; Genius at London makes its owner great, Freedom and wealth have in that happy state, Procured the inhabitants immortal fame, They rival now the Greek and Roman name. Parnassian laurels wither in our fields, And France no more a crop of merit yields: Wherefore you gods do all our glories fade, Why is not honor due to genius paid?
Adrienne Lecouvreur
Footnotes
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Sheridan's Submission, by the Dean

This is the eleventh of twelve poems on the same subject: 1. On Dan Jackson's Picture; 2. On the same; 3. On the same; 4. On the same; 5. Dan Jackson's Defence; 6. Mr. Rochfort's Reply; 7. Dr. Delany's Reply; 8. Sheridan's Reply; 9. A Rejoinder, by the Dean; 10. Another Rejoinder, by the Dean; 11. Sheridan's Submission, by the Dean; and 12. To the Rev. Daniel Jackson.
SHERIDAN'S SUBMISSION.
BY THE DEAN.
"Cedo jam, miseræ cognoscens præmia rixæ, Si rixa est, ubi tu pulsas ego vapulo tantum."
POOR Sherry, inglorious, To Dan the victorious, Presents, as 'tis fitting, Petition and greeting.
TO you, victorious and brave, Your now subdued and suppliant slave, Most humbly sues for pardon; Who when I fought still cut me down, And when I vanquish’d fled the town, Pursued and laid me hard on.
Now lowly crouch'd I cry peccavi, And prostrate supplicate pour ma vie, Your mercy I rely on; For you, my conqueror and my king, In pardoning, as in punishing, Will show yourself a lion.
Alas! sir, I had no design, But was unwarily drawn in; For spite I ne'er had any; 'Twas the damn'd 'squire with the hard name; The de'el too that ow'd me a shame, The devil and Delany;
They tempted me t'attack your highness, And then, with wonted wile and slyness, ​They left me in the lurch: Unhappy wretch! for now, I ween, I’ve nothing left to vent my spleen But ferula and birch:
And they, alas! yield small relief, Seem rather to renew my grief, My wounds bleed all anew: For every stroke goes to my heart, And at each lash I feel the smart Of lash laid on by you.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Stella's Birthday, 1718-9

STELLA'S BIRTH DAY.
March 15, 1718-19.
STELLA this day is thirty-four, (We sha'n't dispute a year or more) However, Stella, be not troubled, Although thy size and years are doubled, ​Since first I saw thee at sixteen, The brightest virgin on the green: So little is thy form declin'd; Made up so largely in thy mind. O, would it please the gods to split Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit! No age could furnish out a pair Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair; With half the lustre of your eyes, With half your wit, your years, and size. And then, before it grew too late, How should I beg of gentle Fate, (That either nymph might have her swain) To split my worship too in twain!
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Paulus, an Epigram

The next two poems, The Answer and A Dialogue between an eminent Lawyer and Dr. Swift are in response to this poem.
PAULUS; AN EPIGRAM.
BY MR. LINDSAY.
Dublin, Sept. 7, 1728.
"A SLAVE to crowds, scorch'd with the summer's heats, In courts the wretched lawyer toils and sweats; While smiling Nature, in her best attire, Regales each sense, and vernal joys inspire. Can he, who knows that real good should please, Barter for gold his liberty and ease?" — Thus Paulus preach'd: — When, entering at the door, Upon his board the client pours the ore: He grasps the shining gift, pores o'er the cause, Forgets the sun, and dozes on the laws.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Prologue to a Play for the Benefit of Distressed Weavers

This poem and the next, Epilogue by the Dean, are related to the same play.
PROLOGUE
TO A PLAY FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVERS.
BY DR. SHERIDAN.
Spoken by Mr. Elrington. 1721.
GREAT cry and little wool — is now become The plague and proverb of the weaver's loom: No wool to work on, neither weft nor warp; Their pockets empty, and their stomachs sharp. Provok'd, in loud complaints to you they cry: Ladies, relieve the weavers: or they die! Forsake your silks for stuffs; nor think it strange, To shift your clothes, since you delight in change. One thing with freedom I'll presume to tell — The men will like you every bit as well. See I am dress'd from top to toe in stuff; And, by my troth, I think I'm fine enough: My wife admires me more, and swears she never, In any dress, beheld me look so clever. And if a man be better in such ware, What great advantage must it give the fair! Our wool from lambs of innocence proceeds: Silks come from maggots, calicoes from weeds:
| Hence 'tis by sad experience that we find | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ |
| Ladies in silks to vapours much inclined — | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ |
| And what are they but maggots in the mind? | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ |
That clothes may change our temper like our food. Chintses are gawdy, and engage our eyes Too much about the partycolour'd dyes: Although the lustre is from you begun, We see the rainbow, and neglect the sun. How sweet and innocent's the country maid, With small expense in native wool array'd; Who copies from the fields her homely green, While by her shepherd with delight she's seen! Should our fair ladies dress like her in wool, How much more lovely, and how beautiful, Without their Indian drapery, they'd prove! While wool would help to warm us into love! Then, like the famous Argonauts of Greece, We'd all contend to gain the Golden Fleece!
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Parody on a Character of Dean Smedley

PARODY
ON A
CHARACTER OF DEAN SMEDLEY.
WRITTEN IN LATIN BY HIMSELF.
THE very reverend dean Smedley, Of dullness, pride, conceit, a medley, Was equally allow'd to shine As poet, scholar, and divine; With godliness could well dispense, Would be a rake, but wanted sense; Would strictly after Truth inquire, Because he dreaded to come nigh her. For Liberty no champion bolder, He hated bailiffs at his shoulder. ​To half the world a standing jest, A perfect nuisance to the rest; From many (and we may believe him) Had the best wishes they could give him. To all mankind a constant friend, Provided they had cash to lend. One thing he did before he went hence, He left us a laconick sentence, By cutting of his phrase, and trimming, To prove that bishops were old women. Poor Envy durst not show her phiz, She was so terrified at his. He waded, without any shame, Through thick and thin to get a name, Tried every sharping trick for bread, Ahd after all he seldom sped. When Fortune favour’d, he was nice; He never once would cog the dice: But, if she turn'd against his play, He knew to stop à quatre trois. Now sound in mind, and sound in corpus, (Says he) though swell'd like any porpoise, He hies from hence at forty-four (But by his leave he sinks a score) To the East Indies, there to cheats, Till he can purchase an estate; Where, after he has fill'd his chest, He'll mount his tub, and preach his best, And plainly prove, by dint of text, This world is his, and theirs the next. Lest that the reader should not know The bank where last he set his toe, 'Twas Greenwich. There he took a ship, And gave his creditors the slip. ​But lest chronology should vary, Upon the ides of February; In seventeen hundred eight and twenty, To Fort St. George a pedlar went he. Ye Fates, when all he gets is spent, Return him beggar as he went!
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Stella's Birthday, 1719-20

STELLA'S BIRTH DAY, 1719-20.
ALL travellers at first incline Wheree'er they see the fairest sign: And if they find the chambers neat, And like the liquor and the meat, Will call again, and recommend The Angel Inn to every friend. What though the painting grows decay'd, The house will never lose its trade: Nay, though the treacherous tapster Thomas, Hangs a new Angel two doors from us, As fine as dauber's hands can make it, In hopes that strangers may mistake it, We think it both a shame and sin To quit the true old Angel Inn. ​Now this is Stella's case in fact, An angel's face a little crack'd, Could poets or could painters fix How angels look at thirty six: This drew us in at first to find In such a form an angel's mind; And every virtue now supplies The fainting rays of Stella's eyes. See at her levee crowding swains, Whom Stella freely entertains With breeding, humour, wit, and sense, And puts them but to small expense; Their mind so plentifully fills, And makes such reasonable bills, So little gets for what she gives, We really wonder how she lives! And had her stock been less, no doubt She must have long ago run out. Then who can think we'll quit the place, When Doll hangs out a newer face? Or stop and light at Cloe's head, With scraps and leavings to be fed? Then, Cloe, still go on to prate Of thirty-six, and thirty-eight; Pursue your trade of scandal-picking, Your hints, that Stella is no chicken; Your innuendoes, when you tell us, That Stella loves to talk with fellows: And let me warn you to believe A truth, for which your soul should grieve; That should you live to see the day, When Stella's locks must all be gray, When age must print a furrow'd trace On every feature of her face; ​Though you, and all your senseless tribe, Could art, or time, or nature bribe, To make you look like Beauty's Queen, And hold for ever at fifteen; No bloom of youth can ever blind The cracks and wrinkles of your mind: All men of sense will pass your door, And crowd to Stella's at fourscore.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Peace and Dunkirk

PEACE AND DUNKIRK.
BEING AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG UPON THE SURRENDER OF DUNKIRK TO GENERAL HILL. 1712.
To the Tune of, "The King shall enjoy his own again."
I.
SPITE of Dutch friends and English foes, Poor Britain shall have peace at last: Holland got towns, and we got blows; But Dunkirk's ours, we'll hold it fast. We have got it in a string; And the whigs may all go swing, For among good friends I love to be plain; All their false deluded hopes Will, or ought to end in ropes; "But the Queen shall enjoy her own again."
II.
Sunderland's run out of his wits, And Dismal double Dismal looks; Wharton can only swear by fits, And strutting Hal is off the hooks; Old Godolphin full of spleen, Made false moves, and lost his queen; Harry look'd fierce, and shook his ragged mane; But a prince of high renown Swore he'd rather lose a crown, "Than the Queen should enjoy her own again."
​III.
Our merchant ships may cut the Line, And not be snapt by privateers, And commoners who love good wine Will drink it now as well as peers: Landed men shall have their rent, Yet our stocks rise cent per cent. The Dutch from hence shall no more millions drain: We'll bring on us no more debts, Nor with bankrupts fill gazettes; "And the queen shall enjoy her own again."
IV.
The towns we took ne'er did us good: What signified the French to beat? We spent our money and our blood, To make the Dutchmen proud and great: But the lord of Oxford swears, Dunkirk never shall be theirs. The Dutch-hearted whigs may rail and complain; But true Englishmen may fill A good health to general Hill; "For the queen now enjoys her own again."
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/A Punning Letter to Lord Pembroke 1

A Letter to the Earl of Pembroke,
It is now a good while since I resolved to take some occasions of congratulating with your lordship, and condoling with the publick, upon your lordship's leaving the admiralty; and I thought I could never choose a better time, than when I am in the country with my lord bishop of Clogher, and his brother the doctor; for we pretend to a triumvirate of as humble servants and true admirers of your lordship, as any you have in both islands. You may call them a triumvirate; for, if you please to try-um, they will vie with the best, and are of the first rate, though they are not men of war, but men of the church. To say the truth, it was a pity your lordship should be confined to the Fleet, when you are not in debt. Though your lordship is cast away, you are not sunk; nor ever will be, since nothing is out of your lordship's depth. Dr. Ashe says, it is but justice that your lordship, who is a man of letters, should be placed upon the post-office; and my lord bishop adds, that he hopes to see your lordship tossed ​from that post to be a pillar of state again; which he desired I would put in by way of postscript. I am, my lord, &c.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/An Epigram

See the footnote on Page 366 for an explanation of the language.
An Epigram.
DIC, heris agro at, an da quar to fine ale, Fora ringat ure nos, an da stringat ure tale.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/A Love Song

See the footnote on Page 366 for an explanation of the language.
A Love Song.
A PUD in is almi de si re, Mimis tres I ne ver re qui re, Alo veri findit a gestis, His miseri ne ver at restis.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/Anglo-Latin Letter to Dr. Sheridan

To the Rev. Mr. SHERIDAN.
Terse I ow I ane you are wry.
Am I say vain a Rabble is,
GAUDY o tea rue ry dy you sale you tye in service he: Said lynk way mere Ass, eat red Eye, add nose sight O. Quipp ye knife all or tame Puss East. Tea Mary Tuck Sr; Tea may rent Family are ease. Anne lewd is cart is? Veal some no ill dull jest I? Anne Jo Cuz ty by place eat? Meer Rum spare O Freak went her Bib is: Lack Tea compleat: Ayd is, ride ease, Lock were is, do neck fat I gat us ease. A wry Debt nay, Rage in a eat may right us tye by? Do my Tea here I Eggs peck't have I; said may day say pist I. Usquebach come aen Ass; Force an I buy ass her o buss East; Codd mark a Toryes nice Eye ass I dumb mine I may hay bent. Said post hose Dairy lick toes add nose vain I. You buy inn do mow Day can at us bone um Salt 'em by beam us, sign on Mealy o'r'em fall or no. ​Satyr nigh, dye ease nose ty feast us east. May come air is; Sigh mull soke ray to Carmen a Pan game us. Ride end 'um, buy bend 'um e'r it come so dayly buss; nigh least carry us invite a.
Sick Dice it Whore ah see us: Spare take um Sick way pot you it wag and Team Fall e'er he tast a.
Et a lye by: Back 'um in Ray mote is Carrmen are you Pye-buss. Said; For tune a lay to save an egg o show.
Sate I sope I nor sight ha' shown um: add fine 'em proper and 'um East. Valiant a Mice I Vestry, eat you in Shoe pair vally Ass.
Ah my Cuz vest are. Day can us.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/An Account of a Pestilent Neighbour

A LETTER,
Giving an Account of a Pestilent Neighbour.
SIR,
YOU must give me leave to complain of a pestilent fellow in my neighbourhood, who is always beating mortar, yet I cannot find he ever builds. In talking he useth such hard words, that I want a druggerman to interpret them. But all is not gold that glisters. A pot he carries to most houses where he visits. He makes his prentice his galley-slave. I wish our lane were purged of him. Yet he pretends to be a cordial man. Every spring his shop is crowded with country-folks; who, by their leaves, in my opinion, help him to do a great deal of ​mischief. He is full of scruples; and so very litigious, that he files bills against all his acquaintance: and though he be much troubled with the simples, yet I assure you he is a jesuitical dog; as you may know by his bark. Of all poetry he loves the dram-a-tick best. I am, &c.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 5

THE
WORKS
OF THE
REV. JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D.,
DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S, DUBLIN.
ARRANGED BY THOMAS SHERIDAN, A.M.
WITH
NOTES, HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL.
A NEW EDITION, IN NINETEEN VOLUMES;
CORRECTED AND REVISED
BY JOHN NICHOLS, F.S.A. EDINBURGH AND PERTH,
VOLUME V.
LONDON:
1801.
CONTENTS
OF THE
FIFTH VOLUME.
| | Page |
| A Tritical Essay upon the Faculties of the Mind | 1 |
| Predictions for the Year 1708, by Isaac Bickerstaff, esq. | 10 |
| An Answer to Bickerstaff | 24 |
| An account of the death of Partridge the Almanack maker | 31 |
| Squire Bickerstaff detected | 37 |
| A Vindication of Isaac Bickerstaff, esq. | 47 |
| Merlin's Prophecy | 56 |
| A Meditation upon a Broomstick | 61 |
| A Proposal for correcting, improving, and ascertaining the English Tongue | 63 |
| A Letter to a Young Clergyman | 85 |
| An Essay on the Fates of Clergymen | 111 |
| An Essay on Modern Education | 122 |
| A Letter to a very young Lady on her Marriage | 133 |
| The Wonderful Wonder of Wonders | 146 |
| The Wonder of all the Wonders | 153 |
| Tatlers | 157 to 199 |
| Spectator, No. 50 | 200 |
| Intelligencers | 206 to 226 |
| Hints toward an Essay on Conversation | 227 |
| Advice to a Young Poet | 239 |
| Some Arguments against enlarging the Power of Bishops | 267 |
| The Presbyterians Plea of Merit | 291 |
| The Advantages proposed by repealing the Sacramental Test | 313 |
| Queries relating to the Sacramental Test | 325 |
| Reasons humbly offered to the Parliament of Ireland for repealing the Sacramental Test in favour of the Catholicks | 333 ​ |
| A short Character of Thomas Earl of Wharton | 348 |
| Remarks upon a Letter to the seven Lords of the Committee appointed to examine Gregg | 373 |
| A New Journey to Paris | 401 |
| The Importance of the Guardian considered in a second Letter to the Bailiff of Stockbridge | 421 |
| Thoughts on various Subjects | 453 |
| An Essay on National Rewards | 466 |
Tatler Number 66 Tatler Number 67 Tatler Number 74 Tatler Number 81 Tatler Number 258 Tatler Number 5 Tatler Number 20 Tatler Number 24 Tatler Number 230 Intelligencer Number 1 Intelligencer Number 3 Intelligencer Number 19
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 5/A Meditation Upon a Broomstick

A
MEDITATION
UPON A
BROOMSTICK.
ACCORDING TO THE STYLE AND MANNER OF THE HONOURABLE ROBERT BOYLE'S MEDITATIONS.
THIS single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected corner, I once knew in a flourishing state in a forest: it was full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs: but now, in vain does the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying that withered bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk: it is now, at best, but the reverse of what it was, a tree turned upside down, the branches on the earth, and the root in the air; it is now handled by every dirty wench, condemned to do her drudgery, and by a capricious kind of fate, destined to make other things clean, and be nasty itself: at length, worn to the stumps in the service of the maids, it is either thrown out of doors, or condemned to the last use, of kindling a fire. When I beheld this, I sighed, and said within myself, Surely man is a Broomstick! nature sent him into the world strong and lusty, in a thriving condition, wearing his own hair on his head, the proper branches of this ​reasoning vegetable, until the axe of intemperance has lopped off his green boughs, and left him a withered trunk: he then flies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon an unnatural bundle of hairs (all covered with powder) that never grew on his head; but now, should this our broomstick pretend to enter the scene, proud of those birchen spoils it never bore, and all covered with dust, though the sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, we should be apt to ridicule and despise its vanity. Partial judges that we are of our own excellencies, and other men's defaults!
But a broomstick, perhaps you will say, is an emblem of a tree standing on its head; and pray what is man, but a topsyturvy creature, his animal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head where his heels should be, grovelling on the earth! and yet, with all his faults, he sets up to be a universal reformer and corrector of abuses, a remover of grievances, rakes into every slut's corner of nature, bringing hidden corruption to the light, and raises a mighty dust where there was none before; sharing deeply all the while in the very same pollutions he pretends to sweep away: his last days are spent in slavery to women, and generally the least deserving; till worn out to the stumps, like his brother besom, he is either kicked out of doors, or made use of to kindle flames for others to warm themselves by.
# Theme with Variations

This poem is based on a passage from Lalla Rookh by Thomas Moore.
* "Tèma Con Variazióni" in Rhyme? and Reason? (1883)
* "Theme with Variations" in The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (1920)
# Then

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Then."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* "Then", a poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen
* "Then", a poem by Rose Terry Cooke
# Then Marched the Brave

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Illustrations by Anna S. Hicks

### Contents

* CHAPTER I Andy McNeal
* CHAPTER II A Stranger in the Night
* CHAPTER III The Crowning Of Andy McNeal
* CHAPTER IV Through the Cave
* CHAPTER V A Suspicion
* CHAPTER VI Then Marched the Brave
* CHAPTER VII Andy Hears a Strange Talk
* CHAPTER VIII At Headquarters
* CHAPTER IX Peace
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1925, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 98 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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