159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,001[B ]| Could all we little folks that wait, 159:91,002[B ]| And dance attendance on the great, 159:91,003[B ]| Obtain such privilege as you, 159:91,004[B ]| To rail, and go unpunished too; 159:91,005[B ]| To treat our betters like our slaves, 159:91,006[B ]| And all mankind as fools, or knaves; 159:91,007[B ]| The pleasure of so large a grant 159:91,008[B ]| Would much compensate all we want. 159:91,009[B ]| Mitres, and glebes could scarce do more 159:91,010[B ]| To scratch our endless itch of power. <10> 159:91,011[B ]| For next to being great ourselves 159:91,012[B ]| It is to think all great ones elves, 159:91,013[B ]| And when we can't be 9te^te 9a` 9te^te 159:91,014[B ]| Their fellows, turn their dread and hate. 159:91,015[B ]| How amply then does power provide 159:91,016[B ]| For you to gratify your pride? 159:91,017[B ]| Where'er the wind of favour sits, 159:91,018[B ]| It still your constitution hits. 159:91,019[B ]| If fair, it brings you safe to port, 159:91,020[B ]| And when 'tis foul, affords you sport. <20> 159:91,021[B ]| A deanery you got, while in, 159:91,022[B ]| And now you're out, enjoy your grin. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,023[B ]| But hark'ee, is it truly so, 159:91,024[B ]| (And you of all mankind should know) 159:91,025[B ]| That men of wit can be no more 159:91,026[B ]| Than pimps to wickedness in power? 159:91,027[B ]| Then pray, dear Doctor, condescend 159:91,028[B ]| To teach the science to your friend. 159:91,029[B ]| For long inured to musty rules, 159:91,030[B ]| And idle morals in the schools <30> 159:91,031[B ]| My highest progress in the mystery 159:91,032[B ]| Is of short sessions a long history; 159:91,033[B ]| Lampoons on Whigs, when in disgrace; 159:91,034[B ]| Or vile submissions, when in place; 159:91,035[B ]| Poems addressed to great men's whores; 159:91,036[B ]| Or other lapdog cures for sores. 159:91,037[B ]| But formed more perfect gamester, you 159:91,038[B ]| The deepest tricks of courtiers knew. 159:91,039[B ]| Your Horace not content to quote, 159:91,040[B ]| You at a pinch could forge a plot. <40> 159:91,041[B ]| The fatal box itself displayed, 159:91,042[B ]| Where Whigs their cursed trains had laid; 159:91,043[B ]| Nor ceased the faction to pursue, 159:91,044[B ]| Till you had got them in a screw. 159:91,045[B ]| Oh, wondrous box! my lyre unstrung 159:91,046[B ]| Shall be, when thou art left unsung; 159:91,047[B ]| More precious far than even the gist 159:91,048[B ]| Of our metropolis to Swift; 159:91,049[B ]| The gift (good heavens preserve't from thieves) 159:91,050[B ]| Of Lord Mayor, aldermen and shrieves, <50> 159:91,051[B ]| Where, if the curious list to read 'em, 159:91,052[B ]| They'll find his life, and acts, and freedom, 159:91,053[B ]| And the great name engraved most fairly, 159:91,054[B ]| Of him that Ireland saved, and Harley; 159:91,055[B ]| With quaint inscription, which contains, 159:91,056[B ]| Laid out with no less art than pains, 159:91,057[B ]| Most of his virtues, all my brains. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,058[B ]| No wonder you should think it little 159:91,059[B ]| To "lick a rascal statesman's spittle", 159:91,060[B ]| Who have, to show your deep devotion, <60> 159:91,061[B ]| Oft swallowed down a stronger potion, 159:91,062[B ]| A composition more absurd, 159:91,063[B ]| Bob's spittle mixed with Harry's turd. 159:91,064[B ]| Oh, couldst thou teach us how to zest 159:91,065[B ]| Such draughts as this, and then digest, 159:91,066[B ]| Then we might also have in time 159:91,067[B ]| More beneficial ways than rhyme; 159:91,068[B ]| Refuse our patron's call to dine; 159:91,069[B ]| "Pish" at his cookery, damn his wine; 159:91,070[B ]| Assume a dignitary's airs, <70> 159:91,071[B ]| And go to church, and say our prayers. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,072[B ]| Rightly you show, that wit alone 159:91,073[B ]| Advances few, enriches none, 159:91,074[B ]| And 'tis as true, or story lies, 159:91,075[B ]| Men seldom by their good deeds rise: 159:91,076[B ]| From whence the consequence is plain, 159:91,077[B ]| You never had commenced a Dean, 159:91,078[B ]| Unless you other ways had trod 159:91,079[B ]| Than those of wit, or trust in God. 159:91,080[B ]| 'Twas therefore cruel hard, by Jove, <80> 159:91,081[B ]| Your industry no better throve, 159:91,082[B ]| Nor could achieve the promised lawn, 159:91,083[B ]| Though Robin's honour was in pawn; 159:91,084[B ]| Because it chanced, an old grave Don 159:91,085[B ]| Believed in God, and you in none. 159:91,086[B ]| Be this however your relief, 159:91,087[B ]| Whene'er your pride recalls your grief, 159:91,088[B ]| That all the loss your purse sustained 159:91,089[B ]| By that rebuff your virtue gained 159:91,090[B ]| For must you not have often lied, <90> 159:91,091[B ]| And grieved your righteous soul beside, 159:91,092[B ]| The Almighty's orders to perform, 159:91,093[B ]| Not to direct a plague, or storm, 159:91,094[B ]| But 'gainst the dictates of your mind, 159:91,095[B ]| To bless, as now you curse mankind? 159:91,000[B ]| 159:91,096[B ]| You tell me, till my fortune's made, 159:91,097[B ]| I must take up the sweetening trade. 159:91,098[B ]| I own, the counsel were not wrong, 159:91,099[B ]| Did Congreve's wit inspire my song: 159:91,100[B ]| Or could my muse exert the rage <100> 159:91,101[B ]| Of Addison's immortal page, 159:91,102[B ]| When rapt in heavenly airs, he sings 159:91,103[B ]| The acts of gods, and godlike kings. 159:91,104[B ]| But formed by you, how should their model 159:91,105[B ]| E'er enter any mortal's noddle? 159:91,106[B ]| Our thoughts, to hit your nicer taste, 159:91,107[B ]| Must in a different mould be cast; 159:91,108[B ]| The language Billingsgate excel, 159:91,109[B ]| The sentiments resemble hell. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,110[B ]| Thus, should I give your humour place, <110> 159:91,111[B ]| And draw like you my patron's face; 159:91,112[B ]| To pay him honour due, in course 159:91,113[B ]| I must compare him to a horse; 159:91,114[B ]| Then show, how statesmen oft are stung 159:91,115[B ]| By gnats, and draw the nation's dung, 159:91,116[B ]| The stinking load of all the crimes, 159:91,117[B ]| And nastiness of modern times, 159:91,118[B ]| Not only what themselves have shit, 159:91,119[B ]| For that were not unjust a bit, 159:91,120[B ]| But all the filth both spiss, and sparse <120> 159:91,121[B ]| Of every rogue that wears an arse. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,122[B ]| To add more dignity and light 159:91,123[B ]| To an allusion so polite, 159:91,124[B ]| The devil ready stands, my Swift, 159:91,125[B ]| To help our fancy at a lift; 159:91,126[B ]| Yet envy not, that I repeat 159:91,127[B ]| The damnable, the dear conceit. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,128[B ]| "So when poor Irish rapparee, 159:91,129[B ]| Is sentenced to the fatal tree, 159:91,130[B ]| Or naughty boy escapes from school, <130> 159:91,131[B ]| Or pretty miss has played the fool, 159:91,132[B ]| And cracked her tender maidenhead 159:91,133[B ]| With lying too hard on a bed; 159:91,134[B ]| Their loads they all on Satan lay: 159:91,135[B ]| The devil did the deed, not they!" 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,136[B ]| The simile would better jump, 159:91,137[B ]| Were you but placed on Satan's rump; 159:91,138[B ]| For if bestrode by you, old Nick 159:91,139[B ]| Himself could scarce forbear to kick, 159:91,140[B ]| And curse his wicked burden more <140> 159:91,141[B ]| Than all the sins he ever bore. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,142[B ]| Is this the art, good Doctor, say, 159:91,143[B ]| The true, the genuine sweetening lay? 159:91,144[B ]| Then must it truly be confessed; 159:91,145[B ]| Our ministers are void of taste, 159:91,146[B ]| When such adepts as you, and I 159:91,147[B ]| So long unbishopricked lie by, 159:91,148[B ]| While dunces of the coarsest clay, 159:91,149[B ]| That only know to preach and pray, 159:91,150[B ]| Devour the church's tiddest bits, <150> 159:91,151[B ]| The perquisites of pimps and wits. 159:91,152[B ]| And leave us naught but guts and garbage, 159:91,153[B ]| Or dirty offals cooked with herbage. 159:91,000[' ]| 159:91,154[B ]| No less than reasons of such weight, 159:91,155[B ]| Could make you so sincerely hate 159:91,156[B ]| Both kings and ministers of state. 159:91,157[B ]| For once there was a time, God wot, 159:91,158[B ]| Before our friends were gone to pot, 159:91,159[B ]| When Jonathan was great at court, 159:91,160[B ]| The ruined party made his sport, <160> 159:91,161[B ]| Despised the beast with many heads, 159:91,162[B ]| And damned the mob, which now he leads. 159:91,163[B ]| But things are strangely changed since then, 159:91,164[B ]| And kings are now no more than men; 159:91,165[B ]| From whence 'tis plain, they quite have lost 159:91,166[B ]| God's image, which was once their boast. 159:91,167[B ]| For Gulliver divinely shows, 159:91,168[B ]| That humankind are all Yahoos, 159:91,169[B ]| Both envy then and malice must 159:91,170[B ]| Allow your hatred strictly just; <170> 159:91,171[B ]| Since you alone of all the race, 159:91,172[B ]| Disclaim the human name, and face, 159:91,173[B ]| And with your virtues pant to wear 159:91,174[B ]| (May heaven indulgent hear your prayer!) 159:91,175[B ]| The proof of your high origin, 159:91,176[B ]| The horse's countenance divine. 159:91,177[B ]| While Grattan, Sheridan, and I, 159:91,178[B ]| Who after you adoring fly, 159:91,179[B ]| An humbler prospect only wait, 159:91,180[B ]| To be your asses' colts of state, <180> 159:91,181[B ]| The angels of your awful nods, 159:91,182[B ]| Resembling you as angels gods.