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They argue no corrupted mind
In him; the fault is in mankind.

This maxim more than all the rest Is thought too base for human breast: "In all distresses of our friends, "We first consult our private ends; "While nature, kindly bent to ease us, "Points out some circumstance to please us.' If this perhaps your patience move, Let reason and experience prove.

We all behold with envious eyes
Our equals rais'd above our size.
Who would not at a crowded show
Stand high himself, keep others low?
I love my friend as well as you;
But why should he obstruct my view?
Then let me have the higher post,
Suppose it but an inch at most.
If in a battle you should find
One, whom you love of all mankind, ́
Had some heroic action done,
A champion kill'd, or trophy won;
Rather than thus be over-topt,
Would you not wish his laurels cropt?
Dear honest Ned is in the gout,
Lies rack'd with pain, and you without:
How patiently you hear him groan!
How glad the case is not your own!

What poet would not grieve to see
His brothers write as well as he?
But, rather than they should excel.
Would wish his rivals all in hell.

Her end when emulation misses,
She turns to envy, stings and hisses:
The strongest friendship yields to pride,
Unless the odds be on our side.
Vain human kind! fantastic race!
Thy various follies who can trace?
Self-love, ambition, envy, pride,
Their empire in our hearts divide.
Give others riches, pow'r, and station,
'Tis all to me an usurpation.
I have no title to aspire;

Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher.
In Pope I cannot read a line,
But, with a sigh, I wish it mine:
When he can in one couplet fix
More sense than I can do in six,
It gives me such a jealous fit,

I civ, "Pox take him and his wit!"
1 grieve to be outdone by Gay
In my own humorous, biting way,
Arbuthnot is no more my friend,
Who dares to irony pretend,
Which I was born to introduce,
Refin'd it first, and shew'd its use.
St. John, as well as Pulteney, knows
That I had some repute for prose;
And, till they drove me out of date,
Could maul a minister of state.
If they have mortified my pride,
And made me throw my pen aside;

1 with such talents Heaven hath bless'd 'em, Ilave I not reason to detest 'em?


[To all my foes, dear Fortune, send
Thy gifts, but never to my friend:
I tamely can endure the first;
But this with envy makes me burst.
Thus much may serve by way of proem
Proceed we therefore to our poem.

The time is not remote, when I Must, by the course of nature, die! When, I foresee, my special friends Will try to find their private ends: And, though 'tis hardly understood Which way my death can do them good, Yet thus, methinks, I hear them speak: "See how the Dean begins to break! "Poor gentleman, he droops apace! "You plainly find it in his face. "That old vertigo in his head "Will never leave him till he's dead. Besides, his memory decays: "He recollects not what he says:

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• He cannot call his friends to mind; Forgets the place where last he din'd; "Plies you with stories o'er and o'er; He told them fifty times before. "How does he fancy we can sit "To hear his out of fashion'd wit? "But he takes up with younger folks, "Who for his wine will bear his jokes.

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'Faith he must make his stories shorter, "Or change his comrades once a quarter: "In half the time he talks them round "There must another set be found.

"For poetry he's past his prime: He takes au hour to find a rhime; "His fire is out, his wit decay'd, "His fancy sunk, his Muse a jade. "I'd have him throw away his pen;

But there's no talking to some men!" And then their tenderness appears By adding largely to my years: "He's older than he would be reckond. "And well remembers Charles the Second. "He hardly drinks a pint of wine;

And that I doubt is no good sign. His stomach too begins to fail: "Last year we thought him strong and ha "But now he's quite another thing: "I wish he may hold out till spring!" They hug themselves, and reason thus: "It is not yet so bad with us!"

In such a case, they talk in tropes,
And by their fears express their hopes
Some great misfortune to portend,
No enemy can match a friend;
With all the kindness they profess,
The merit of a lucky guess

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(When daily how-d'ye's come of course. And servants answer, "Worse and wors Would please them-better, than to teli That, God be prais'd, the Dean is well." Then he who prophesied the best, Approves his foresight to the rest: "You know I always fear'd the worst, "And often told you so at first."


'e'd rather choose that I should die,
han his predictions prove a lie.
ot one foretels I shall recover;
ut all agree to give me over.
Yet, should some neighbour feel a pain
1st in the parts where I complain;
ow many a message would he send!
ith hearty pray'rs that I should mend!
quire what regimen I kept!
That gave me case, and how I slept!
nd more lament when I was dead,
an all the sniv'lers round my bed.
My good companions, never fear;
or though you may mistake a year,
ough your prognostics run too fast,
ev must be verified at last.
Behold the fatal day arrive!
How is the Dean ?"-" He's just alive."
w the departing pray'r is read;
hardly breathes the Dean is dead!
Before the passing-bell begun,

news through half the town is run.
) may we all for death prepare!
What has he left? and who's his heir?
know no more than what the news is;
Tis all bequeath'd to public uses.
o public uses! there's a whim!
Vhat had the public done for him?
lere envy, avarice, and pride!
e gave it all-but first he died.
nd had the Dean, in all the nation,
o worthy friend, no poor relation?
ready to do strangers good,
rgetting his own flesh and blood!"
ow Grub-street wits are all employ'd;
1 elegies the town is cloy'd:

: paragraph in every paper,
arse the Dean, or bless the Drapier.
e Doctors, tender of their fame,
ly on me lay all the blame.

"O were the wretch but living still,
"And in his place my good friend Will!
"Or had a mitre on his head,
"Provided Bolingbroke were dead!"

Now Curl his shop from rubbish drains :
Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains!
And then, to make them pass the glibber,
Revis'd by Tibbald, Moore, and Cibber.
He'll treat me as he does my betters,
Publish my will, my life, my letters;
Revive the libels born to die,
Which Pope must bear as well as I.

Here shift the scene, to represent
How those I lov'd my death lament.
Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay
A weck, and Arbuthnot a day:
St. John himself will scarce forbear
To bite his pen and drop a tear.
The rest will give a shrug, and cry,
"I'm sorry-but we all must die!"

Indifference, clad in Wisdom's guise,
All fortitude of mind supplies:
For how can stony bowels melt
In those who never pity felt?
When we are lash'd they kiss the rod,
Resigning to the will of God.

The fools, my juniors by a year,
Are tortur'd with suspense and fear;
Who wisely thought my age a screen,
When death approach'd, to stand between:
The screen remov'd, their hearts are trembling a
They mourn for me without dissembling.

My female friends, whose tender hearts
Have better learn'd to act their parts,
Receive the news in doleful dumps:
"The Dean is dead: (pray what is trumps?)
"Then, Lord have mercy on his soul!
"(Ladies, I'll venture for the vole).


Six Deans, they say, must bear the pall:


(I wish I knew what king to call).
Madam, your husband will attend
"The funeral of so good a friend?
"No, madam, 'tis a shocking sight;
"And he's engag'd to-morrow night:
"My Lady Club will take it ill
"If he should fail her at quadrille.
"He lov'd the Dean-(I lead a heart)-
"But dearest friends, they say, must part.
"His time was come: he ran his race;
"We hope he's in a better place."

Why do we grieve that friends should die?
No loss more easy to supply.
One year is past--a difierent scene!
No farther mention of the Dean;
Who now, alas! no more is miss'd
Than if he never did exist.
Where's now the favourite of Apollo ?
Departed-and his works must follow;
Must undergo the common fate;
His kind of wit is out of date.

Some country 'squire to Lintot goes,
Inquires for Swift in verse and prose.

e must confess his case was nice, t he would never take advice. d he been rul'd, for aught appears, might have liv'd these twenty years; I when we open'd him, we found at all his vital parts were sound." om Dublin soon to London spread, told at court, "The Dean is dead." Lady Suffolk, in the spleen, laughing up to tell the Queen: Queen, so gracious, mild, and good, "Is he gone? 'tis time he shou'd. 's dead, you say? then let him rot: 1 glad the medals were forgot. romis'd him, I own; but when? nly was the Princess then : t now, as consort of the King, u know, 'tis quite another thing." ow Chartres, at Sir Robert's levee,

with a sneer, the tidings heavy: nr, if he died without his shoes," Bob, "I'm sorry for the news: Mrs. Howard, at one time a favourite with the Dean. hich the Dean in vain expected, in return for a small present he had sent to the Princess.




Says Lintot," I have heard the name; *He died a year ago?" The same.”. He searches all the shop in vain :

Sir, you may find them in Duck-lane: "I sent them with a load of books, "Last Monday, to the pastry-cook's. "To fancy they could live a year! I find you're but a stranger here. The Dean was famous in his time, And had a kind of knack at rhyme. "His way of writing now is past: "The town has got a better taste. I keep no antiquated stuff;

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"But spick and span I have enough.

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Pray do but give me leave to shew 'em : "Here's Colly Cibber's birth-day poem. "This ode you never yet have seen,

By Stephen Duick upon the Queen. "Then here's a letter finely penn'd

Against the Craftsman and his friend: It clearly shews that all reflection "On ministers is disaffection.


"Next, here's Sir Robert's vindication, "And Mr. Henley's last oration; "The hawkers have not got them yet: Your honour please to buy a set?

"Can we the Drapier then forget? "Is not our nation in his debt?

"Twas he that writ the Drapier's Letters!" "He should have left them for his betters; "We had a hundred abler men, "Nor need depend upon his pen. "Say what you will about his reading, "You never can defend his breeding "Who in his satires running riot, "Could never leave the world in quiet; "Attacking, when he took the whim, "Court, city, camp-all one to him. "But why should he, except he slobberl, "Offend our patriot, great Sir Robert, "Whose counsels aid the sovereign pow': "To save the nation every hour? "What scenes of evil he unravels

In satires, libels, lying travels: "Not sparing his own clergy cloth, "But eats into it, like a moth!"

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Perhaps I may allow the Dean "Had too much satire in his vein, "And seem'd determin'd not to starve it, "Because no age could more deserve it.

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Yet malice never was his aim;

He lash'd the vice, but spar'd the name

"Here's Wolston's tracts, the twelfth edi-" No individual could resent,

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"Where thousands equally were meant: "His satire points at no defect "But what all mortals may correct;

"" For he abhorr'd the senseless tribe "Who call it humour when they jibe: "He spar'd a hump or crooked nose, "Whose owners set not up for beaux: True genuine dullness niov'd his pity, Unless it offer'd to be witty.

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"Those who their ignorance confess'd "He ne'er offended with a jest; "But laugh'd to hear an ideot quote


A verse from Horace learn'd by rote. Vice, if it e'er can be abash'd," "Must be or ridicul'd or lash'd. If you resent it, who's to blame? "He neither knows you, nor your name. Should vice expect to 'scape`rebuke, "Because its owner is a duke?

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His friendships, still to few confir'd, "Were always of the middling kind; "No fools of rank or mongrel breed, "Who fain would pass for lords indeed Where titles give no right or pow'r, And peerage is a wither'd flow'r; "He would have deen'd it a disgrace "If such a wretch had known his face. "On rural 'squires, that kingdom's bane, "He rented oft his wrath in vain.

« ******** squires to market brought, "Who sell their souls and **** for nough "The ******** go joyful back, "To rob the church, their tenants rack, "Go snacks with ***** justices,

And keep the peace to pick up fees;

Walston is here confounded with Wollaston.


In every job to have a share, A gaol or turnpike to repair; And turn to public roads Commodious to their own abodes. He never thought an honour done him Because a peer was proud to own him; Would rather slip aside, and choose To talk with wits in dirty shoes; And scorn the tools with stars and garters, So often seen caressing Chartres. He never courted men in station, No persons held in admiration ; Of no man's greatness was afraid, Because he sought for no man's aid. Though trasted long in great affairs, He gave himself no haughty airs; Vithout regarding private ends, pent all his credit for his friends nd only chose the wise and good, o flatterers, no allies in blood: ut succour'd virtue in distress, nd seldom fail'd of good success ; s numbers in their hearts must own, ho, but for him, had been unknown."



kept with princes due decorum; et never stood in awe before 'em.

e follow'd David's lesson just,

1 princes never put his trust; id, would you make him truly sour, ovoke him with a slave in pow'r. c Irish senate if you nam'd, ith what impatience he declaim'd! ir LIBERTY was all his cry,

r her he stood prepar'd to die; r her he boldly stood alone; r her he oft expos'd his own. o kingdoms, just as faction led, d set a price upon his head; t not a traitor could be found, sell him for six hundred pound. Had he but spar'd his tongue and pen might have rose like other men: pow'r was never in his thought, d'wealth he valued not a groat: gratitude he often fouud, d pitied those who meant the wound: kept the tenor of his mind, merit well of human-kind:

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unade a sacrifice of those

o still were true, to please his foes.. labour'd many a fruitless hourreconcile his friends in pow'ri. mischief by a faction brewing, Ele they pursu'd each other's rain: - finding vain was all his care, left the court in mere depair. nd, O! how short are human schemes! = ended all our golden dreams. at St. John's skill in state affairs,

at Ormond's valour, Oxford's cares, ave their sinking country lent. all destroy'd by one event. soon that precious life was ended, which alone our weal depended.

"When up a dangerous faction starts, "With wrath and vengeance in their hearts; "By solemn league and cov'nant bound, "To ruin, slaughter, and confound; "To turn religion to a fable, "And make the government a Babel; "Pervert the laws, disgrace the gown; Corrupt the senate, rob the crown; "To sacrifice Old England's glory, "And make her infamous in story: "When such a tempest shook the land, "How could unguarded Virtue stand? "With horror, grief, despair, the Dean "Beheld the dire destructive scene: "His friends in exile, or the Tower, "Himself within the frown of power; “Pursu'd by base envenoni'd pens, Far to the land of s and fens; "A servile race in folly nurst, "Who truckle most when treated worst. "By innocence and resolution, He bore continual persecution; "While numbers to preferment rose, Whose merit was to be his focs; "When ev'n his own familiar friends, "Intent upon their private ends, "Like renegadoes now he feels

Against him lifting up their heels. The Dean did, by his pen, defeat "An infamous, destructive cheat;


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Taught fools their interest how to know, "And gave them arms to ward the blow. Envy hath own'd it was his doing, "To save that hapless land froin ruin ; "While they who at the steerage stood, "And reap'd the profit, sought his Llood. "To save them from their evil fate, "In him was held a crime of state.



A wicked monster on the bench, "Whose fury blood could never quench; "As vile and profligate a villain "As modern Scroggs, or old Tressilian; "Who long all justice had discarded, "Nor fear'd he God, nor man regarded; "Vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent, "And make him of his zeal repent. "But Heaven his innocence defends, "The grateful people stand his friends : "Not strains of law, nor judge's frown,

Nor topics brought to please the crown, Nor witness hir'd, nor jury pick'd, Prevail to bring him in convict. "In exile, with a steady heart, "He spent his life's declining part; "Where folly, pride, and faction sway, "Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay." Aias, poor Dean! bis only scope "Was to be held a misanthrope:


This into general odium drew him; "Which if he lik'd, much good may't do him. "His zeal was not to lash our crimes, "But discontent against the times; "For had we made him timely offers "To raise his post, or fill his coffers,


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Against the court to shew his spite; Perhaps his travels, part the third; "A lie at every second word"Offensive to a loyal ear: "But not one sermon you may swear."



"He knew an hundred pleasing stories, "With all the turns of Whigs and Tories : "Was cheerful to his dying day, "And friends would let him have his way.

“As for his works in verse or prose, "I own myself no judge of those; "Nor can I tell what critics thought them, “But this I know--all people bought them, "As with a moral view design'd

To please and to reform mankind : "And, if he often miss'd his aim, "The world must own it to their shame, "The praise is his, and theirs the blame. "He gave the little wealth he had "To build a house for fools and mad; "To shew, by one satiric touch, "No nation wanted it so much. "That kingdom he hath left his debtor,

I wish it soon may have a better. "And, since you dread no farther lashes, Methinks you may forgive his ashes."

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And cruel parents teach, to read and write!
What need of letters? Wherefore should we
Why write our names? A mark will do as
Much are the precious hours of youth mis-

In climbing Learning's rugged, steep ascent;
When to the top the bold advent'rer's got,
He reigns, vain monarch, o'er a barren spot; '
Whilst, in the vale of Ignorance below,
Folly and vice to rank luxuriance grow;
Honours and wealth pour in on ev'ry side,
And proud preferment rolls her golden tide.
O'crcrabbed authors life's gay prime to waste,
To cramp wild genius in the chains of taste;
To bear the slavish drudgery of schools,
And tamely stoop to ev'ry pedant's rules;
For seven long years debarr'd of lib'ral ease,
To plod in college trammels to degrees;
Beneath the weight of solemn toys to groan,
Sleep over books, and leave mankind unknown;

To praise each senior blockhead's threadbare tale,

And laugh till reason blush, and spirits fail; Manhood with vile submission to disgrace, And cap the fool, whose merit is his place; Vice-chancellors, whose knowledge is but small,

And chancellors, who nothing know at all; Ill-brook'd the gen'rous spirit, ia those days When Learning was the certain road to prise, When nobles, with a love of science blest, Approv'd in others what themselves posses, But now, when dullness rears alof: her


When lordly vassals her wide empire own; When Wit, seduc'd by Envy, starts aside, And basely leagues with Ignorance and Pride. What now should tempt us, by false hop misled,

Learning's unfashionable paths to tread; To hear those labours which our fathers bon, That crown withheld which they in trine

wore? [ing's When with much pains this boasted Lear Tis an affront to those who have it not. In some it causes hate, in others fear, Instructs our foes to rail, our friends to s With prudent haste the worldly-minded fo Forgets the little which he learn’d at school The Elder Brother, to vast fortunes born, Looks on all science with an eye of scom; Dependent brethren the same features wer And younger sons are stupid as the Heir. In Senates, at the Bar, in Church and Sun Genius is vile, and Learning out of date.

Is this O death to think! is this the Where Merit and Reward went hand in 1Where Heroes, parent-like, the Poet ries By whom they saw their glorious deed


Where Poets, true to honour, tun'd theirk »

And by their Patrons sanctify'd their pras
Is this the land where on our Spenser's ten
Enamour'd of his voice, Description hor
Where Jonson rigid gravity beguil'd,
Whilst Reason thro' her critic fences smi
Where Nature list'ning stood while Shaks

And wonder'd at the work herself had
Is this the land, where, mindful of her er
And office high, fair Freedom walk'd at lar.
Where, finding in our laws a sure defenc
She mock'd at all restraints, but those of Ses
Where, Health and Honour trooping b


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