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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Stella’s Birth-Day: A Great Bottle Of Wine, Long Buried, Being That Day Dug Up. 1722-3</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Resolv'd my annual verse to pay,<br>By duty bound, on Stella's day,<br>Furnish'd with paper, pens, and ink,<br>I gravely sat me down to think:<br>I bit my nails, and scratch'd my head,<br>But found my wit and fancy fled:<br>Or if, with more than usual pain,<br>A thought came slowly from my brain,<br>It cost me Lord knows how much time<br>To shape it into sense and rhyme:<br>And, what was yet a greater curse,<br>Long thinking made my fancy worse.<br>Forsaken by th'inspiring Nine,<br>I waited at Apollo's shrine:<br>I told him what the world would say,<br>If Stella were unsung to-day:<br>How I should hide my head for shame,<br>When both the Jacks and Robin came;<br>How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer,<br>How Sheridan the rogue would sneer,<br>And swear it does not always follow,<br>That semel'n anno ridet Apollo.<br>I have assur'd them twenty times,<br>That Phoebus help'd me in my rhymes;<br>Phoebus inspired me from above,<br>And he and I were hand and glove.<br>But, finding me so dull and dry since,<br>They'll call it all poetic license;<br>And when I brag of aid divine,<br>Think Eusden's right as good as mine.<br>Nor do I ask for Stella's sake;<br>'Tis my own credit lies at stake:<br>And Stella will be sung, while I<br>Can only be a stander by.<br>Apollo, having thought a little,<br>Return'd this answer to a tittle.<br>Though you should live like old Methusalem,<br>I furnish hints and you shall use all 'em,<br>You yearly sing as she grows old,<br>You'd leave her virtues half untold.<br>But, to say truth, such dulness reigns,<br>Through the whole set of Irish deans,<br>I'm daily stunn'd with such a medley,<br>Dean White, Dean Daniel, and Dean Smedley,<br>That, let what dean soever come,<br>My orders are, I'm not at home;<br>And if your voice had not been loud,<br>You must have pass'd among the crowd.<br>But now, your danger to prevent,<br>You must apply to Mrs. Brent;<br>For she, as priestess, knows the rites<br>Wherein the god of earth delights.<br>First, nine ways looking, let her stand<br>With an old poker in her hand;<br>Let her describe a circle round<br>In Saunders' cellar on the ground:<br>A spade let prudent Archy hold,<br>And with discretion dig the mould.<br>Let Stella look with watchful eye,<br>Rebecca, Ford, and Grattans by.<br>Behold the bottle, where it lies<br>With neck elated toward the skies!<br>The god of winds and god of fire<br>Did to its wondrous birth conspire;<br>And Bacchus for the poet's use<br>Pour'd in a strong inspiring juice.<br>See! as you raise it from its tomb,<br>It drags behind a spacious womb,<br>And in the spacious womb contains<br>A sov'reign med'cine for the brains.<br>You'll find it soon, if fate consents;<br>If not, a thousand Mrs. Brents,<br>Ten thousand Archys, arm'd with spades,<br>May dig in vain to Pluto's shades.<br>From thence a plenteous draught infuse,<br>And boldly then invoke the Muse;<br>But first let Robert on his knees<br>With caution drain it from the lees;<br>The Muse will at your call appear,<br>With Stella's praise to crown the year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jonathan+Swift">Jonathan Swift</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426404" data-title="Stella’s Birth-Day: A Great Bottle Of Wine, Long Buried, Being That Day Dug Up. 1722-3 de Jonathan Swift" data-description="Resolv'd my annual verse to pay,
By duty bound, on Stella's day,
Furnish'd with paper, pens, and ink,
I gravely sat me down to think:
I bit my nails, and scratch'd my head,
But found my wit and fancy fled:
Or if, with more than usual pain,
A thoug..."></div>
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