Who, though a spinster, yet was able
To serve France for a Grand Constable".
'We make and execute all laws,
Can judge the Judges, and the Cause;
Prescribe all rules of right or wrong,
To the' long robe, and the longer tongue,
'Gainst which the world has no defence,
But our more powerful eloquence.
We manage things of greatest weight
In all the world's affairs of state;
Are ministers of war and peace,
all nations how we please.

That

sway

leans. She was born at the town of Domremi, on the Meuse, daughter of James de Arc and Isabella Romee; was bred up a shepherdess in the country. At the age of eighteen or twenty she pretended to an express commission from God to go to the relief of Orleans, then besieged by the English, and defended by John Comte de Dunois, and almost reduced to the last extremity, She went to the coronation of Charles VII. when he was almost ruined. She knew that prince in the midst of his nobles, though meanly habited. The doctors of divinity, and members of parliament, openly declared that there was something supernatural in her conduct. She sent for a sword, which lay in the tomb of a knight, which was behind the great altar of the church of St. Catherine de Forbois, upon the blade of which the cross and fleur de lis were engraven, which put the King in a very great surprise, in regard none besides himself knew of it: upon this he sent her with the command of some troops, with which she relieved Orleans, and drove the English from it, defeated Talbot at the battle of Patai, and recovered Champagne. At last she was unfortunately taken prisoner in a sally at Compiegne, in 1430, and tried for a witch or sorceress, condemned, and burned in Rouen market-place, in May, 1430.

6 All this is a satire on King Charles II. who was governed so much by his mistresses: particularly this line seems to allude to his French mistress, the Duchess of Portsmouth, given by that Court, whom she served in the important post of governing King Charles as they directed.

We rule all churches, and their flocks,
Heretical and orthodox,

And are the heavenly vehicles
O'the' spirits in all Conventicles :
By us is all commérce and trade
Improved, and managed, and decay'd;
For nothing can go off so well,
Nor bears that price, as what we sell.
We rule in every public meeting,

And make men do what we judge fitting;
Are magistrates in all great towns,
Where men do nothing but wear gowns.
We make the man of war strike sail,
And to our braver conduct vail,
And, when he 'as chased his enemies,
Submit to us upon his knees.

Is there an officer of state,
Untimely raised, or magistrate,
That's haughty and imperious?
He's but a journeyman to us ;
That, as he gives us cause to do 't.
Can keep him in, or turn him out.

'We are your guardians, that increase,
Or waste your fortunes how we please;
And, as you humour us, can deal
In all your matters, ill or well.

"Tis we that can dispose, alone,
Whether your heirs shall be your own,
To whose integrity you must,
In spite of all your caution, trust;
And, 'less you fly beyond the seas,
Can fit you with what heirs we please;
And force you to' own them, though begotten
By French valèts, or Irish footmen.

Nor can the rigorousest course
Prevail, unless to make us worse;
Who still the harsher we are used,
Are further off from being reduced,
And scorn to' abate, for any ills,
The least punctilios of our wills.
Force does but whet our wits to' apply
Arts, born with us, for remedy,
Which all your politics, as yet,

Have ne'er been able to defeat:

For when you 'ave try'd all sorts of ways,
What fools do we make of you' in plays?
While all the favours we afford,

your

heads;

Are but to girt you with the sword,
To fight our battles in our steads,
And have your brains beat out o'
Encounter, in despite of Nature,
And fight, at once, with fire and water,
With pirates, rocks, and storms, and seas,
Our pride and vanity to' appease;

Kill one another, and cut throats,
For our good graces, and best thoughts;
To do your exercise for honour,

And have your brains beat out the sooner;
Or crack'd, as learnedly, upon

Things that are never to be known;
And still appear the more industrious,
The more your projects are preposterous
square the circle of the arts,

Το

And run stark mad to show your parts;
Expound the oracle of laws,

And turn them which way we see cause ;
Be our solicitors and agents,

And stand for us in all engagements.

17.

Ꮮ

‹ And these are all the mighty powers
You vainly boast to cry down ours;
And what in real value's wanting,
Supply with vapouring and ranting:
Because yourselves are terrified,
And stoop to one another's pride,
Believe we have as little wit
To be out-hector'd, and submit:
By your example lose that right
In treaties which we gain'd in fight;
And terrified into an awe,

Pass on ourselves a Salique law;
Or, as some nations use, give place,
And truckle to your mighty race;
Let men usurp the' unjust dominion,
As if they were the better women'.'

7 We see after all, (says Mr. Byron) that the Widow was too cunning to be entrapped either by the threats or entreaties of the Knight's Epistle. All his hypocritical pretences being thus disappointed, we may conjecture that he deemed them unavailable; as we hear nothing further concerning them.

THE

ELEPHANT IN THE MOON.

PREFACE.

It would be very unjust to the memory of a writer so much and so justly esteemed as Butler, to suppose it necessary to make any formal apology for the publication of these REMAINS. Whatever

is the genuine performance of a genius of his class, cannot fail of recommending itself to every reader of taste; and all that can be required from the Publisher is to satisfy the world, that it is not imposed upon by false and spurious pretensions.

This has already been attempted in the printed proposals for the subscription; but as the perishing form of a loose paper seems too frail a monument to preserve a testimony of so much importance, it cannot, I hope, be judged impertinent to repeat the substance of what I observed upon that occasion, that the manuscripts, from which this work is printed, are Butler's own hand-writing; as evidently appears from some original letters of his found amongst them: that, upon his death, they fell into the hands of his good friend Mr. W. Longueville, of the Temple; who (as the writer of Butler's life informs us) was at the charge of burying him; that, upon Mr. Longueville's de