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Contents ( 59)
  1. THE BATTLE OF THE BOOKS
  2. * * *
  3. JONATHAN SWIFT
  4. *
  5. Contents
  6. *
  7. Introduction
  8. *
  9. The Bookseller to the Reader
  10. *
  11. The Preface of the Author
  12. *
  13. The Battle of the Books
  14. *
  15. The Episode of Bentley and Wotton
  16. *
  17. A Meditation Upon a Broomstick
  18. *
  19. Predictions for the Year 1708
  20. *
  21. The Accomplishment of the First of Mr. Bickerstaff's Predictions
  22. *
  23. Baucis and Philemon
  24. *
  25. The Logicians Refuted
  26. *
  27. The Puppet Show
  28. *
  29. Cadenus and Vanessa
  30. *
  31. Stella's Birthday, 1718
  32. *
  33. Stella's Birthday, 1720
  34. *
  35. Stella's Birthday
  36. *
  37. Stella's Birthday, 1724
  38. *
  39. Stella's Birthday, March 13, 1726
  40. *
  41. To Stella
  42. *
  43. The First He Wrote Oct 17, 1727
  44. *
  45. The Second Prayer was Written Nov 6, 1727
  46. *
  47. The Beasts' Confession
  48. *
  49. An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity
  50. *
  51. Hints Towards an Essay on Conversation
  52. *
  53. Thoughts on Various Subjects
  54. *
  55. A Modest Proposal
  56. *
  57. * * *
  58. Endnotes
  59. *

The goddess and her train, having mounted the chariot, which was drawn by tame geese, flew over infinite regions, shedding her influence in due places, till at length she arrived at her beloved island of Britain; but in hovering over its metropolis, what blessings did she not let fall upon her seminaries of Gresham and Covent-garden! And now she reached the fatal plain of St. James's library, at what time the two armies were upon the point to engage; where, entering with all her caravan unseen, and landing upon a case of shelves, now desert, but once inhabited by a colony of virtuosos, she stayed awhile to observe the posture of both armies.

But here the tender cares of a mother began to fill her thoughts and move in her breast: for at the head of a troup of Modern bowmen she cast her eyes upon her son Wotton, to whom the fates had assigned a very short thread. Wotton, a young hero, whom an unknown father of mortal race begot by stolen embraces with this goddess. He was the darling of his mother above all her children, and she resolved to go and comfort him. But first, according to the good old custom of deities, she cast about to change her shape, for fear the divinity of her countenance might dazzle his mortal sight and overcharge the rest of his senses. She therefore gathered up her person into an octavo compass: her body grow white and arid, and split in pieces with dryness; the thick turned into pasteboard, and the thin into paper; upon which her parents and children artfully strewed a black juice, or decoction of gall and soot, in form of letters: her head, and voice, and spleen, kept their primitive form; and that which before was a cover of skin did still continue so. In this guise she marched on towards the Moderns, indistinguishable in shape and dress from the divine Bentley, Wotton's dearest friend. "Brave Wotton," said the goddess, "why do our troops stand idle here, to spend their present vigour and opportunity of the day? away, let us haste to the generals, and advise to give the onset immediately." Having spoke thus, she took the ugliest of her monsters, full glutted from her spleen, and flung it invisibly into his mouth, which, flying straight up into his head, squeezed out his eye-balls, gave him a distorted look, and half-overturned his brain. Then she privately ordered two of her beloved children, Dulness and Ill-manners, closely to attend his person in all encounters. Having thus accoutred him, she vanished in a mist, and the hero perceived it was the goddess his mother.

The destined hour of fate being now arrived, the fight began; whereof, before I dare adventure to make a particular description, I must, after the example of other authors, petition for a hundred tongues, and mouths, and hands, and pens, which would all be too little to perform so immense a work. Say, goddess, that presidest over history, who it was that first advanced in the field of battle! Paracelsus, at the head of his dragoons, observing Galen in the adverse wing, darted his javelin with a mighty force, which the brave Ancient received upon his shield, the point breaking in the second fold . . . Hic pauca . . . . desunt They bore the wounded aga on their shields to his chariot . . . Desunt . . . nonnulla. . . .