Swift much admires the place and air,
And longs to be a canon there;
In summer round the park to ride,
In winter never to reside.

A canon! that's a place too mean;
No, Doctor, you shall be a Dean;
Two dozen canons round your stall,
And you the tyrant o'er them all :
You need but cross the Irish seas,
To live in plenty, pow'r, and ease.

Poor Swift departs; and, what is worse,
With borrow'd money in his purse;
Travels at least an hundred leagues,
And suffers numberless fatigues.
Suppose him now a Dean complete,
Demurely lolling in his seat;
The silver verge, with decent pride,
Stuck underneath his cushion-side;
Suppose him gone through all yexations,
Patents, instalments, abjurations,
First-fruits, and tenths, and chapter-treats;
Dues, payments, fees, demands, and cheats-
(The wicked laity's contriving
To hinder clergymen from thriving).
Now all the Doctor's money's spent,
His tenants wrong him in his rent;
The farmers, spitefully combin'd,
Force him to take his ivthes in kind:
And Parvisol discounts arrears
By bills for taxes and repairs.

Poor Swift, with all his losses vex'd,
Not knowing where to turn him next,
Above a thousand pounds in debt,
Takes horse, and in a mighty fret,
Rides day and night at such a rate,
He soon arrives at Harley's gate;
But was so dirty, pale, and thin,
Old Read † would hardly let him in.

Said Harley, "Welcome, Reverend Dean! "What makes your worship look so lean? "Why, sure you won't appear in town "In that old wig and rusty gown? "I doubt your heart is set on pelf "So much that you neglect yourself. "What! I suppose now stocks are high, "You've some good purchase in your eye?" "Or is your money out at use?"

Truce, good my Lord, I beg a truce," The Doctor in a passion cried, "Your raillery is misapplied; "Experience I have dearly bought; "You know I am not worth a groat: "But you resolv'd to have your jest, "And 'twas a foily to contest.

A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land set out to plant a wood.
Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store:
But here a grievance seems to lie,
All this is mine but till I die;

'I can't but think 'twould sound more de ver,

To me and to my heirs for ever.

If I ne'er got or lost a groat,

By any trick, or any fault;

And if I pray by reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools:

As thus: "Vouchsafe, O gracious Maker! "To grant me this and t'other acre: "Or, if it be thy will and pleasure, "Direct my plough to find a treasure!" But only what my station fits, And to be kept in my right wits, Preserve, Almighty Providence! Just what you gave me, competence: And let me in these shades compose Something in verse as true as prose;

‹ Remov'd from all th' ambitious scene, Nor puff'd by pride, nor sunk by spleen.' In short, I'm perfectly content,

Let me but live on this side Trent;
Nor cross the channel twice a year,
To spend six months with statesmen here.
I must by all means come to town,
'Tis for the service of the crown.
"Lewis, the Dean will be of use;
"Send for him up, take no excuse.”
The toil, the danger of the seas-
Great ministers ne'er think of these;
Or let it cost five hundred pound,
No matter where the money's found;
It is but so much more in debt,
And that they ne'er consider'd yet.

66

Pray leave me where you found ine first."

$232. Iorace, Book II. Sat. II.

I've often wish'd that I had clear,

For life, six hundred pounds a-year, A handsome house to lodge a friend, A river at my garden's end,

*The Dean's agent, a Frenchman,

"But rudely press before a duke.”
I own I'm pleas'd with this rebuke,
And take it kindly meant to show
What I desire the world should know.
I get a whisper, and withdraw;
When twenty fools I never saw
Come with petitions fairly penn'd,
Desiring I would stand their friend.

The Lord Treasurer's porter.

This humbly offers me his case; That begs my interest for a place: hundred other men's affairs, Like bees, are humming in my ears. To-morrow my appeal comes on; Without your help the cause is gone." The Duke expects my Lord and you, bout some great affair, at two. Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind To get my warrant quickly sign'd: Consider, 'tis my first request." : satisfied, I'll do my best. en presently he falls to tease: You may for certain, if you please: I doubt not, if his lordship knewAnd, Mr. Dean, one word from you-" Tis (let me see) three years and more ctober next it will be four)

ce Harley bid me first attend, d chose me for an humble friend; ould take me in his coach to chat, d question me of this and that; [wind "What's o'clock?" and, "How's the Vhose chariot's that we left behind?" gravely try to read the lines it underneath the country signs:

66

Have you nothing new to-day rom Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay?" h tattle often entertains. lord and me as far as Staines, once a week we travel down Vindsor, and again to town, ere all that passes inter nos ht be proclaim'd at Charing-cross. et some I know with envy swell, use they see me us'd so well. ww think you of our friend the Dean? ronder what some people mean!

lord and he are grown so great, ways together, tête-à-tête: hat! they admire him for his jokes? : but the fortune of some folks!" ere flies about a strange report me express arriv'd at court: topp'd by all the fools I meet, catechis'd in ev'ry street. u, Mr. Dean, frequent the great; orm us, will the Emperor treat? do the prints and papers lie?" , Sir, you know as much as I. , Doctor, how you love to jest! › now no secret."--I protest ne to me.—“ Then tell us, pray, en are the troops to have their pay?" though I solemnly declare w no more than my lord-mayor, stand amaz’d, and think me grown losest mortal ever known. is, in a sea of folly tost, oicest hours of life are lost; ways wishing to retreat, ld I see my country-seat! leaning near a genile brook, or peruse some ancient book;

And there in sweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town.

$233. A true and faithful Inventory of the

Goods belonging to Dr. Swift, Vicar of Laracor; upon lending his House to the Bishop of Meath, till his Palace was rebuilt. AN oaken, broken elbow-chair;

A candle-cup without an ear;
A batter'd, shatter'd ash bedstead;
A box of deal, without a lid;
A pair of tongs, but out of joint;
A back-sword poker, without point;
pot that's crack'd across, around
With an old knotted garter bound;
An iron lock, without a key;

A

A wig, with hanging quite grown grey; A curtain worn to half a stripe;

A pair of bellows, without pipe;

A dish which might good meat afford once;
An Ovid, and an old Concordance;
A bottle-bottom, wooden platter,
One is for meal, and one for water;
There likewise is a copper skillet,
Which runs as fast out as you fill it;
A candlestick, snuff-dish, and save-al!:
And thus his household goods you have all.
These to your Lordship, as a friend,
Till you have built, I freely lend:
They'll serve your Lordship for a shift,
Why not, as well as Doctor Swift?

§ 234. An Elegy on the Death of Demar the Usurer, who died the 6th of July 1720. KNOW all men by these presents, Death the

tamer

By mortgage hath secur'd the corpse of Demar:
Nor can four hundred thousand sterling pound
Redeem him from his prison under ground.
His heirs might well, of all his wealth possest,
Bestow to bury him one iron chest.
Plutus, the god of wealth, will joy to know
His faithful steward's in the shades below.
He walk'd the streets, and wore a threadbare
cloak,

He din'd and supp'd at charge of other folk;
And by his looks, had he held out his palms,
He might be thought an object fit for alms.
So, to the poor if he refus'd his pelf,
He us'd them full as kindly as himself.
Where'er he went he never saw his betters;
Lords, knights, and squires, were all his hum-
ble debtors;

And under hand and seal the Irish nation
Were fore'd to own to him their obligation.

He that could once have half a kingdom
In half a minute is not worth a groat. [bought,
His coffers from the coffin could not save,
Nor all his interest keep him from the grave.
A golden monument could not be right,
Because we wish the earth upon him light.

O London tavern! thou hast lost a friend, Though in thy walls he ne'er did farthing spend:

He

You

Though small's the farm, yet there's a house
Full large to entertain a mouse;
But where a rat is dreaded more
Than savage Caledonian boar;
For, if it's enter'd by a rat,
There is no room to bring a cat.

A little riv❜let seems to steal
Down through a thing you call a vale,
Like tears adown a wrinkled cheek,
Like rain along a blade of leek;
And this you call your sweet meander,
Which might be suck'd up by a gander,
Could he but force his nether bill
To scoop the channel of the rill;
For sure you'd make a mighty clutter,
Were it as big as city-gutter.

Next come I to your kitchen-garden,
Where one poor mouse would fare but hard in;
And round this garden is a walk,
No longer than a taylor's chalk;
Thus I compare what space is in it:
A snail creeps round it in a minute.
One lettuce makes a shift to squeeze
Up through a tuft you call your trees:
And, once a year, a single rose
Peeps from the bud, but never blows;
In vain then you expect its bloom!
It cannot blow for want of room.

In short, in all your boasted seat, There's nothing but yourself that's great.

$238.

WELL,

Mary the Cook-maid's Letter to Sheridan. 1723.

if ever I saw such another man s my mother bound my head!

allows:

Perhaps you will say, 'tis in gratitude due, And you adore him because he adores you: Your argument's weak, and so you will find; For you, by this rule, must adore all mankind.

$237. Dr. Delany's Villa.
WOULD you that Delville I describe ?
Believe me, Sir, I will not jibe;
For who would be satirical
Upon a thing so very small?

You scarce upon the borders enter
Before you're at the very centre.
A single crow can make it night,
When o'er your farm she takes her flight:
Yet, in this narrow compass, we
Observe a vast variety;

Both walks, walls, meadows, and parterres,
Windows, and doors, and rooms, and stairs,
And hills, and dales, and woods, and fields,
And hay, and grass, and corn, it yields;
All to your haggard brought so cheap in,
Without the mowing or the reaping:
A razor, though to say't I'm loth,
Would shave you and your meadows both.

where you were bred. [your I'm sure such words do not become a ma I would not give such language to a dog, and troth. [ridan, 'tis a sh Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. For a parson, who should know better this to come out with such a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'us le shame and a sin;

And the Dean, my master, is an honester than you and all your kin;

He has more goodness in his little finger you have in your whole body: My master is a personable man, and not ap dle-shank'd hoddy-doddy. [an exc And now, whereby I find you would fain rat Because my master one day, in anger, ca

You