V—'s HOUSE Built from the Ruins of White-Hall that was Burnt. Written, 1703. Jonathan Swift Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T39454 Swift, Jonathan, 1667-1745. Miscellanies in PROSE and VERSE [poems only]. London printed for John Morphew, near Stationers Hall 1711 pp. 364-371. [14],416p.; 8⁰.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

Typography, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation have been cautiously modernized. The source of the text is given and all significant editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. This text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
V—'s HOUSE Built from the Ruins of White-Hall that was Burnt . Written , 1703. In Times of Old , when Time was Young , And Poets their own Verses Sung , A Verse could draw a Stone or Beam That now would overload a Team ; Lead 'em a Dance of many a Mile , Then rear 'em to a goodly Pile . Each Number had it's diff'rent Pow'r ; Heroick Strains could build a Tow'r ; Sonnets , or Elogies to Chloris Might raise a House about two Stories ; A Lyrick Ode would Slate ; a Catch Would Tile ; an Epigram would Thatch . BUT , to their own , or Landlord's Cost , Now Poets feel this Art is lost : Not one of all our tuneful Throng Can raise a Lodging for a Song . For , Jove consider'd well the Case , Observ'd , they grew a num'rous Race . And should they Build as fast as Write , 'Twould ruin Undertakers quite . This Evil , therefore to prevent , He wisely chang'd their Element : On Earth , the God of Wealth was made Sole Patron of the Building Trade , Leaving the Wits the Spacious Air With Licence to build Castles there : And 'tis conceiv'd , their old Pretence To lodge in Garrats , comes from thence . PREMISING thus in Modern way The better Half we had to say ; Sing Muse the House of Poet V— In higher Strains than we began . V— ( for 'tis fit the Reader know it ) Is both a Herald and a Poet , No wonder then , if nicely skill'd In both Capacities , to Build . As Herald , he can in a Day Repair a House gone to Decay , Or by Atchivement , Arms , Device , Erect a new one in a trice . And as a Poet , he has Skill To build in Speculation still . Great Jove , he cry'd , the Art restore To build by Verse as heretofore , And make my Muse the Architect ; What Palaces shall we erect ! No longer shall forsaken Thames Lament his old Whitehall in Flames , A Pile shall from its Ashes rise Fit to Invade or prop the Skies . JOVE Smil'd , and like a gentle God , Consenting with the usual Nod , Told V— he knew his Talent best , And left the Choice to his own Breast . So V— resolv'd to write a Farce , But well perceiving Wit was scarce , With Cunning that Defect supplies , Takes a French Play as lawful Prize , Steals thence his Plot , and ev'ry Joke , Not once suspecting , Jove would Smoak , And , ( like a Wag ) sat down to Write , Would whisper to himself ; A Bite , Then , from the motly mingled Style Proceeded to erect his Pile : So , Men of old , to gain Renown , did Build Babel with their Tongues confounded . Jove saw the Cheat , but thought it best To turn the Matter to a Jest ; Down from Olympus Top he Slides , Laughing as if he'd butst his Sides : Ay , thought the God , are these your Tricks ? Why then , old Plays deserve old Bricks , And since you're sparing of your Stuff , Your Building shall be small enough . He spake , and grudging , lent his Ayd ; Th' experienc't Bricks that knew their Trade , ( As being Bricks at Second Hand , ) Now move , and now in Order Stand . THE Building , as the Poet Writ , Rose in proportion to his Wit : And first the Prologue built a Wall So wide as to encompass all . The Scene , a Wood , produc'd no more Than a few Scrubby Trees before . The Plot as yet lay deep , and so A Cellar next was dug below : But this a Work so hard was found , Two Acts it cost him under Ground . Two other Acts we may presume Were spent in Building each a Room ; Thus far advanc't , he made a shift To raise a Roof with Act the Fift . The Epilogue behind , did frame A Place not decent here to name . NOW Poets from all Quarters ran To see the House of Brother V— : Lookt high and low , walkt often round , But no such House was to be found ; One asks the Watermen hard by , Where may the Poets Place ly ? Another , of the Thames enquires , If he has seen its gilded Spires . At length they in the Rubbish spy A Thing resembling a Goose Py , Farther in haste the Poets throng , And gaze in silent Wonder long , Till one in Raptures thus began To praise the Pile , and Builder V— . THRICE happy Poet , who may trail Thy House about thee like a Snail ; Or Harness'd to a Nag , at ease Take Journies in it like a Chaise ; Or in a Boat when e're thou wilt Canst make it serve thee for a Tilt . Capacious House ! 'tis own'd by all Thou'rt well contriv'd , tho' thou art small ; For ev'ry Wit in Britain's Isle May lodge within thy Spacious Pile . Like Bacchus Thou , as Poets feign , Thy Mother burnt , art Born again ; Born like a Phoenix from the Flame , But neither Bulk , nor Shape the same : As Animals of largest Size Corrupt to Maggots , Worms and Flyes . A Type of Modern Wit and Style , The Rubbish of an Antient Pile . So Chymists boast they have a Pow'r From the dead Ashes of a Flow'r Some faint Resemblance to produce , But not the Virtue , Tast or Juice . So Modern Rimers wisely Blast The Poetry of Ages past , Which after they have overthrown , They from its Ruins build their own .