189:01,000[' ]| 189:01,000[' ]| 189:01,000[' ]| 189:01,000[' ]| 189:01,000[' ]| 189:01,000[' ]| 189:01,000[' ]| 189:01,001[A ]| As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew 189:01,002[A ]| From nature, I believe 'em true: 189:01,003[A ]| They argue no corrupted mind 189:01,004[A ]| In him; the fault is in mankind. 189:01,005[A ]| This maxim more than all the rest 189:01,006[A ]| Is thought too base for human breast; 189:01,007@z | "In all distresses of our friends 189:01,008@z | We first consult our private ends, 189:01,009@z | While nature kindly bent to ease us, 189:01,010@z | Points out some circumstance to please us." <10> 189:01,011[A ]| If this perhaps your patience move 189:01,012[A ]| Let reason and experience prove. 189:01,013[A ]| We all behold with envious eyes, 189:01,014[A ]| Our equal raised above our size; 189:01,015[A ]| Who would not at a crowded show, 189:01,016[A ]| Stand high himself, keep others low? 189:01,017[A ]| I love my friend as well as you, 189:01,018[A ]| But would not have him stop my view; 189:01,019[A ]| Then let me have the higher post; 189:01,020[A ]| I ask but for an inch at most. <20> 189:01,021[A ]| If in a battle you should find, 189:01,022[A ]| One, whom you love of all mankind, 189:01,023[A ]| Had some heroic action done, 189:01,024[A ]| A champion kill'd, or trophy won; 189:01,025[A ]| Rather than thus be overtopp'd, 189:01,026[A ]| Would you not wish his laurels cropp'd? 189:01,027[A ]| Dear honest Ned is in the gout, 189:01,028[A ]| Lies rack'd with pain, and you without: 189:01,029[A ]| How patiently you hear him groan! 189:01,030[A ]| How glad the case is not your own! <30> 189:01,031[A ]| What poet would not grieve to see, 189:01,032[A ]| His brethren write as well as he? 189:01,033[A ]| But rather than they should excel, 189:01,034[A ]| He'd wish his rivals all in hell. 189:01,035[A ]| Her end when emulation misses, 189:01,036[A ]| She turns to envy, stings and hisses: 189:01,037[A ]| The strongest friendship yields to pride, 189:01,038[A ]| Unless the odds be on our side. 189:01,039[A ]| Vain humankind! Fantastick race! 189:01,040[A ]| Thy various follies, who can trace? <40> 189:01,041[A ]| Self-love, ambition, envy, pride, 189:01,042[A ]| Their empire in our hearts divide: 189:01,043[A ]| Give others riches, power, and station, 189:01,044[A ]| 'Tis all on me an usurpation. 189:01,045[A ]| I have no title to aspire; 189:01,046[A ]| Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher. 189:01,047[A ]| In Pope, I cannot read a line, 189:01,048[A ]| But with a sigh, I wish it mine: 189:01,049[A ]| When he can in one couplet fix 189:01,050[A ]| More sense than I can do in six: <50> 189:01,051[A ]| It gives me such a jealous fit, 189:01,052[A ]| I cry, 189:01,052@a | "Pox take him, and his wit." 189:01,053[A ]| Why must I be outdone by Gay, 189:01,054[A ]| In my own humorous biting way? 189:01,055[A ]| Arbuthnot is no more my friend, 189:01,056[A ]| Who dares to irony pretend; 189:01,057[A ]| Which I was born to introduce, 189:01,058[A ]| Refined it first, and showed its use. 189:01,059[A ]| St John, as well as Pulteney knows, 189:01,060[A ]| That I had some repute for prose; <60> 189:01,061[A ]| And till they drove me out of date, 189:01,062[A ]| Could maul a minister of state: 189:01,063[A ]| If they have mortified my pride, 189:01,064[A ]| And made me throw my pen aside; 189:01,065[A ]| If with such talents heav'n hath blest 'em, 189:01,066[A ]| Have I not reason to detest 'em? 189:01,067[A ]| To all my foes, dear fortune, send 189:01,068[A ]| Thy gifts, but never to my friend: 189:01,069[A ]| I tamely can endure the first, 189:01,070[A ]| But, this with envy makes me burst. <70> 189:01,071[A ]| Thus much may serve by way of proem, 189:01,072[A ]| Proceed we therefore to our poem. 189:01,073[A ]| The time is not remote, when I 189:01,074[A ]| Must by the course of nature die: 189:01,075[A ]| When I foresee my special friends, 189:01,076[A ]| Will try to find their private ends: 189:01,077[A ]| Though it is hardly understood, 189:01,078[A ]| Which way my death can do them good; 189:01,079[A ]| Yet, thus methinks, I hear 'em speak; 189:01,080@x | "See, how the Dean begins to break: <80> 189:01,081@x | Poor gentleman, he droops apace, 189:01,082@x | You plainly find it in his face: 189:01,083@x | That old vertigo in his head, 189:01,084@x | Will never leave him, till he's dead: 189:01,085@x | Besides, his memory decays, 189:01,086@x | He recollects not what he says; 189:01,087@x | He cannot call his friends to mind; 189:01,088@x | Forgets the place where last he dined: 189:01,089@x | Plies you with stories o'er and o'er, 189:01,090@x | He told them fifty times before. <90> 189:01,091@x | How does he fancy we can sit, 189:01,092@x | To hear his out-of-fashioned wit? 189:01,093@x | But he takes up with younger folks, 189:01,094@x | Who for his wine will bear his jokes: 189:01,095@x | Faith, he must make his stories shorter, 189:01,096@x | Or change his comrades once a quarter: 189:01,097@x | In half the time, he talks them round; 189:01,098@x | There must another set be found. 189:01,099@x | "For poetry, he's past his prime, 189:01,100@x | He takes an hour to find a rhyme: <100> 189:01,101@x | His fire is out, his wit decayed, 189:01,102@x | His fancy sunk, his muse a jade. 189:01,103@x | I'd have him throw away his pen; 189:01,104@x | But there's no talking to some men." 189:01,105[A ]| And then their tenderness appears, 189:01,106[A ]| By adding largely to my years: 189:01,107@x | "He's older than he would be reckon'd, 189:01,108@x | And well remembers Charles the Second. 189:01,109@x | "He hardly drinks a pint of wine; 189:01,110@x | And that, I doubt, is no good sign. <110> 189:01,111@x | His stomach too begins to fail: 189:01,112@x | Last year we thought him strong and hale; 189:01,113@x | But now he's quite another thing; 189:01,114@x | I wish he may hold out till spring." 189:01,115[A ]| Then hug themselves, and reason thus; 189:01,116@x | "It is not yet so bad with us." 189:01,117[A ]| In such a case they talk in tropes, 189:01,118[A ]| And, by their fears express their hopes: 189:01,119[A ]| Some great misfortune to portend, 189:01,120[A ]| No enemy can match a friend; <120> 189:01,121[A ]| With all the kindness they profess, 189:01,122[A ]| The merit of a lucky guess, 189:01,123[A ]| (When daily "How'd'y's' come of course, 189:01,124[A ]| And servants answer: "Worse and worse") 189:01,125[A ]| Would please 'em better than to tell, 189:01,126[A ]| That, God be praised, the Dean is well. 189:01,127[A ]| Then he who prophesied the best, 189:01,128[A ]| Approves his foresight to the rest: 189:01,129@c | "You know, I always feared the worst, 189:01,130@c | And often told you so at first." <130> 189:01,131[A ]| He'd rather choose that I should die, 189:01,132[A ]| Than his prediction prove a lie. 189:01,133[A ]| No one foretells I shall recover; 189:01,134[A ]| But, all agree, to give me over. 189:01,135[A ]| Yet should some neighbour feel a pain, 189:01,136[A ]| Just in the parts, where I complain; 189:01,137[A ]| How many a message would he send? 189:01,138[A ]| What hearty prayers that I should mend? 189:01,139[A ]| Enquire what regimen I kept; 189:01,140[A ]| What gave me ease, and how I slept? <140> 189:01,141[A ]| And more lament, when I am dead, 189:01,142[A ]| Than all the snivellers round my bed. 189:01,143[A ]| My good companions, never fear, 189:01,144[A ]| For though you may mistake a year; 189:01,145[A ]| Though your prognosticks run too fast, 189:01,146[A ]| They must be verified at last. 189:01,147[A ]| "Behold the fatal day arrive! 189:01,148[A ]| How is the Dean? He's just alive. 189:01,149[A ]| Now the departing prayer is read: 189:01,150[A ]| He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead. <150> 189:01,151[A ]| Before the passing-bell begun, 189:01,152[A ]| The news through half the town is run. 189:01,153@x | O may we all for death prepare! 189:01,154@x | What has he left? And who's his heir? 189:01,155@x | I know no more than what the news is, 189:01,156@x | 'Tis all bequeathed to public uses. 189:01,157@x | To public use! A perfect whim! 189:01,158@x | What had the public done for him? 189:01,159@x | Mere envy, avarice, and pride! 189:01,160@x | He gave it all. ~~ But first he died. <160> 189:01,161@x | And had the Dean, in all the nation, 189:01,162@x | No worthy friend, no poor relation? 189:01,163@x | So ready to do strangers good, 189:01,164@x | Forgetting his own flesh and blood?" 189:01,165[A ]| Now Grub Street wits are all employed; 189:01,166[A ]| With elegies, the town is cloyed: 189:01,167[A ]| Some paragraph in every paper, 189:01,168[A ]| To curse the Dean, or bless the Drapier. 189:01,169[A ]| The doctors tender of their fame, 189:01,170[A ]| Wisely on me lay all the blame: 189:01,171@x | "We must confess his case was nice; 189:01,172@x | But he would never take advice; 189:01,173@x | Had he been ruled, for aught appears, 189:01,174@x | He might have lived these twenty years: 189:01,175@x | For when we opened him we found, 189:01,176@x | That all his vital parts were sound." 189:01,177[A ]| From Dublin soon to London spread, 189:01,178[A ]| 'Tis told at Court, the Dean is dead. 189:01,179[A ]| Kind Lady Suffolk in the spleen, 189:01,180[A ]| Runs laughing up to tell the Queen. <180> 189:01,181[A ]| The Queen, so gracious, mild, and good, 189:01,182[A ]| Cries, 189:01,182@d | "Is he gone? 'Tis time he should. 189:01,183@d | He's dead you say, why let him rot; 189:01,184@d | I'm glad the medals were forgot. 189:01,185@d | I promised them, I own; but when? 189:01,186@d | I only was a princess then; 189:01,187@d | But now as consort of the King, 189:01,188@d | You know 'tis quite a different thing." 189:01,189[A ]| Now Chartres, at Sir Robert's levee, 189:01,190[A ]| Tells, with a sneer, the tidings heavy: <190> 189:01,191@e | "Why, is he dead without his shoes?" 189:01,192[A ]| (Cries Bob) 189:01,192@e | "I'm sorry for the news; 189:01,193@e | Oh, were the wretch but living still, 189:01,194@e | And in his place my good friend Will; 189:01,195@e | Or had a mitre on his head 189:01,196@e | Provided Bolingbroke were dead." 189:01,197[A ]| Now Curll his shop from rubbish drains; 189:01,198[A ]| Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains. 189:01,199[A ]| And then to make them pass the glibber, 189:01,200[A ]| Revised by Tibbalds, Moore, and Cibber. <200> 189:01,201[A ]| He'll treat me as he does my betters. 189:01,202[A ]| Publish my will, my life, my letters. 189:01,203[A ]| Revive the libels born to die; 189:01,204[A ]| Which Pope must bear, as well as I. 189:01,205[A ]| Here shift the scene, to represent 189:01,206[A ]| How those I love, my death lament. 189:01,207[A ]| Poor Pope will grieve a month; and Gay 189:01,208[A ]| A week; and Arbuthnot a day. 189:01,209[A ]| St John himself will scarce forbear, 189:01,210[A ]| To bite his pen, and drop a tear. <210> 189:01,211[A ]| The rest will give a shrug and cry 189:01,212@x | "I'm sorry; but we all must die." 189:01,213[A ]| Indifference clad in wisdom's guise, 189:01,214[A ]| All fortitude of mind supplies: 189:01,215[A ]| For how can stony bowels melt, 189:01,216[A ]| In those who never pity felt; 189:01,217[A ]| When we are lashed, they kiss the rod; 189:01,218[A ]| Resigning to the will of God. 189:01,219[A ]| The fools, my juniors by a year, 189:01,220[A ]| Are tortured with suspense and fear. <220> 189:01,221[A ]| Who wisely thought my age a screen, 189:01,222[A ]| When death approached, to stand between: 189:01,223[A ]| The screen removed, their hearts are trembling, 189:01,224[A ]| They mourn for me without dissembling. 189:01,225[A ]| My female friends, whose tender hearts 189:01,226[A ]| Have better learnt to act their parts, 189:01,227[A ]| Receive the news in doleful dumps, 189:01,228@v | "The Dean is dead, (and what is trumps?) 189:01,239@v | Then Lord have mercy on his soul. 189:01,230@v | (Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.) <230> 189:01,231@v | Six deans they say must bear the pall. 189:01,232@v | (I wish I knew what king to call.)" 189:01,233@v | "Madam, your husband will attend 189:01,234@v | The funeral of so good a friend." 189:01,235@v | "No madam, 'tis a shocking sight, 189:01,236@v | And he's engaged tomorrow night! 189:01,237@v | My Lady Club would take it ill, 189:01,238@v | If he should fail her at quadrille. 189:01,239@v | He loved the Dean. (I lead a heart.) 189:01,240@v | But dearest friends, they say, must part. <240> 189:01,241@v | His time was come, he ran his race; 189:01,242@v | We hope he's in a better place." 189:01,243[A ]| Why do we grieve that friends should die? 189:01,244[A ]| No loss more easy to supply. 189:01,245[A ]| One year is past; a different scene; 189:01,246[A ]| No further mention of the Dean; 189:01,247[A ]| Who now, alas, no more is missed, 189:01,248[A ]| Than if he never did exist. 189:01,249[A ]| Where's now this favourite of Apollo? 189:01,250[A ]| Departed; and his works must follow: <250> 189:01,251[A ]| Must undergo the common fate; 189:01,252[A ]| His kind of wit is out of date. 189:01,253[A ]| Some country squire to Lintot goes, 189:01,254[A ]| Inquires for Swift in verse and prose: 189:01,255[A ]| Says Lintot, 189:01,255@w | "I have heard the name: 189:01,256@w | He died a year ago." 189:01,256@x | The same. 189:01,257[A ]| He searcheth all his shop in vain; 189:01,258@w | "Sir, you may find them in Duck Lane: 189:01,259@w | I sent them with a load of books, 189:01,260@w | Last Monday to the pastry-cooks. <260> 189:01,261@w | To fancy they could live a year! 189:01,262@w | I find you're but a stranger here. 189:01,263@w | The Dean was famous in his time; 189:01,264@w | And had a kind of knack at rhyme: 189:01,265@w | His way of writing now is past; 189:01,266@w | The town hath got a better taste: 189:01,267@w | I keep no antiquated stuff; 189:01,268@w | But, spick and span I have enough. 189:01,269@w | Pray, do but give me leave to show 'em; 189:01,270@w | Here's Colley Cibber's birthday poem. <270> 189:01,271@w | This ode you never yet have seen, 189:01,272@w | By Stephen Duck, upon the Queen. 189:01,273@w | Then, here's a letter, finely penned, 189:01,274@w | Against the \Craftsman\ and his friend; 189:01,275@w | It clearly shows that all reflection 189:01,276@w | On ministers, is disaffection. 189:01,277@w | Next, here's Sir Robert's vindication, 189:01,278@w | And Mr Henley's last oration: 189:01,279@w | The hawkers have not got 'em yet, 189:01,280@w | Your honour please to buy a set? <280> 189:01,281@w | "Here's Woolston's tracts, the twelfth edition; 189:01,282@w | 'Tis read by every politician: 189:01,283@w | The country members, when in town, 189:01,284@w | To all their boroughs send them down: 189:01,285@w | You never met a thing so smart; 189:01,286@w | The courtiers have them all by heart: 189:01,287@w | Those maids of honour (who can read) 189:01,288@w | Are taught to use them for their creed. 189:01,289@w | The reverend author's good intention, 189:01,290@w | Hath been rewarded with a pension: <290> 189:01,291@w | He doth an honour to his gown, 189:01,292@w | By bravely running priestcraft down: 189:01,293@w | He shows, as sure as God's in Gloucester, 189:01,294@w | That Jesus was a grand impostor: 189:01,295@w | That all his miracles were cheats, 189:01,296@w | Performed as jugglers do their feats: 189:01,297@w | The church had never such a writer: 189:01,298@w | A shame he hath not got a mitre!" 189:01,299[A ]| Suppose me dead; and then suppose 189:01,300[A ]| A club assembled at the Rose; <300> 189:01,301[A ]| Where from discourse of this and that, 189:01,302[A ]| I grow the subject of their chat: 189:01,303[A ]| And, while they toss my name about, 189:01,304[A ]| With favour some, and some without; 189:01,305[A ]| One quite indifferent in the cause, 189:01,306[A ]| My character impartial draws: 189:01,307@f | "The Dean, if we believe report, 189:01,308@f | Was never ill received at court: 189:01,309@f | As for his works in verse and prose, 189:01,310@f | I own myself no judge of those: <310> 189:01,311@f | Nor, can I tell what critics thought 'em; 189:01,312@f | But, this I know, all people bought 'em; 189:01,313@f | As with a moral view design'd 189:01,314@f | To cure the vices of mankind: 189:01,315@f | His vein, ironically grave, 189:01,316@f | Exposed the fool, and lashed the knave: 189:01,317@f | To steal a hint was never known, 189:01,318@f | But what he writ was all his own. 189:01,319@f | "He never thought an honour done him, 189:01,320@f | Because a duke was proud to own him: <320> 189:01,321@f | Would rather slip aside, and choose 189:01,322@f | To talk with wits in dirty shoes: 189:01,323@f | Despised the fools with stars and garters, 189:01,324@f | So often seen caressing Chartres: 189:01,325@f | He never courted men in station, 189:01,326@f | Nor persons had in admiration; 189:01,327@f | Of no man's greatness was afraid, 189:01,328@f | Because he sought for no man's aid. 189:01,329@f | Though trusted long in great affairs, 189:01,330@f | He gave himself no haughty airs: <330> 189:01,331@f | Without regarding rivate ends, 189:01,332@f | Spent all his credit for his friends: 189:01,333@f | And only chose the wise and good; 189:01,334@f | No flatterers; no allies in blood; 189:01,335@f | But succoured virtue in distress, 189:01,336@f | And seldom failed of good success; 189:01,337@f | As numbers in their hearts must own, 189:01,338@f | Who, but for him, had been unknown. 189:01,339@f | With princes kept a due decorum, 189:01,340@f | But never stood in awe before 'em: <340> 189:01,341@f | And to her Majesty, God bless her, 189:01,342@f | Would speak as free as to her dresser, 189:01,343@f | She thought it his peculiar whim, 189:01,344@f | Nor took it ill as come from him. 189:01,345@f | He followed David's lesson just, 189:01,346@f | ""In princes never put thy trust."" 189:01,347@f | And, would you make him truly sour; 189:01,348@f | Provoke him with a slave in power: 189:01,349@f | The Irish senate, if you named, 189:01,350@f | With what impatience he declaimed! <350> 189:01,351@f | Fair LIBERTY was all his cry; 189:01,352@f | For her he stood prepared to die; 189:01,353@f | For her he boldly stood alone; 189:01,354@f | For her he oft exposed his own. 189:01,355@f | Two kingdoms, just as factions led, 189:01,356@f | Had set a price upon his head; 189:01,357@f | But, not a traitor could be found, 189:01,358@f | To sell him for six hundred pound. 189:01,359@f | "Had he but spared his tongue and pen, 189:01,360@f | He might have rose like other men: <360> 189:01,361@f | But, power was never in his thought; 189:01,362@f | And, wealth he valued not a groat: 189:01,363@f | Ingratitude he often found, 189:01,364@f | And pitied those whe meant the wound: 189:01,365@f | But, kept the tenor of his mind, 189:01,366@f | To merit well of humankind: 189:01,367@f | Nor made a sacrifice of those 189:01,368@f | Who still were true, to please his foes. 189:01,369@f | He laboured many a fruitless hour 189:01,370@f | To reconcile his friends in power; <370> 189:01,371@f | Saw mischief by a faction brewing, 189:01,372@f | While they pursued each other's ruin. 189:01,373@f | But, finding vain was all his care, 189:01,374@f | He left the court in mere despair. 189:01,375@f | "And, oh! how short are human schemes! 189:01,376@f | Here ended all our golden dreams. 189:01,377@f | What St John's skill in state affairs, 189:01,378@f | What Ormonde's valour, Oxford's cares, 189:01,379@f | To save their sinking country lent, 189:01,380@f | Was all destroyed by one event. <380> 189:01,381@f | Too soon that precious life was ended, 189:01,382@f | On which alone, our weal depended. 189:01,383@f | When up a dangerous faction starts, 189:01,384@f | With wrath and vengeance in their hearts: 189:01,385@f | By solemn league and covenant bound, 189:01,386@f | To ruin, slaughter, and confound; 189:01,387@f | To turn religion to a fable, 189:01,388@f | And make the government a Babel: 189:01,389@f | Pervert the law, disgrace the gown, 189:01,390@f | Corrupt the senate, rob the crown; <390> 189:01,391@f | To sacrifice old England's glory, 189:01,392@f | And make her infamous in story. 189:01,393@f | When such a tempest shook the land, 189:01,394@f | How could unguarded virtue stand? 189:01,395@f | "With horror, grief, despair the Dean 189:01,396@f | Beheld the dire destructive scene: 189:01,397@f | His friends in exile, or the tower, 189:01,398@f | Himself within the frown of power; 189:01,399@f | Pursued by base envenomed pens, 189:01,400@f | Far to the land of slaves and fens; <400> 189:01,401@f | A servile race in folly nursed, 189:01,402@f | Who truckle most, when treated worst. 189:01,403@f | "By innocence and resolution, 189:01,404@f | He bore continual persecution; 189:01,405@f | Wile numbers to preferement rose; 189:01,406@f | Whose merits were, to be his foes. 189:01,407@f | When, ev'n his own familiar friends 189:01,408@f | Intent upon their private ends, 189:01,409@f | Like renegadoes now he feels, 189:01,410@f | Against him lifting up their heels. <410> 189:01,411@f | "The Dean did by his pen defeat 189:01,412@f | An infamous destructive cheat. 189:01,413@f | Taught fools their interest to know; 189:01,414@f | And gave them arms to ward the blow. 189:01,415@f | Envy hath owned it was his doing, 189:01,416@f | To save that helpless land from ruin, 189:01,417@f | While they who at the steerage stood, 189:01,418@f | And reaped the profit, sought his blood. 189:01,419@f | "To save them from their evil fate, 189:01,420@f | In him was held a crime of state. <420> 189:01,421@f | A wicked monster on the bench, 189:01,422@f | Whose fury blood could never quench; 189:01,423@f | As vile and profligate a villain, 189:01,424@f | As modern Scroggs, or old Tresilian; 189:01,425@f | Who long all justice had discarded, 189:01,426@f | Nor feared he God, nor man regarded; 189:01,427@f | Vowed on the Dean his rage to vent, 189:01,428@f | And make him of his zeal repent; 189:01,429@f | But heaven his innocence defends, 189:01,430@f | The grateful people stand his friends: <430> 189:01,431@f | Not strains of law, nor judges' frown, 189:01,432@f | Nor topics brought to please the crown, 189:01,433@f | Nor witness hired, nor jury picked, 189:01,434@f | Prevail to bring him in convict. 189:01,435@f | "In exile with a steady heart, 189:01,436@f | He spent his life's declining part; 189:01,437@f | Where folly, pride, and faction sway, 189:01,438@f | Remote from St John, Pope, and Gay. 189:01,439@f | "His friendship there to few confined, 189:01,440@f | Were always of the middling kind: <440> 189:01,441@f | No fools of rank, a mongrel breed, 189:01,442@f | Who fain would pass for lords indeed: 189:01,443@f | Where titles give no right or power, 189:01,444@f | And peerage is a withered flower, 189:01,445@f | He would have held it a disgrace, 189:01,446@f | If such a wretch had known his face. 189:01,447@f | On rural squires, that kingdom's bane, 189:01,448@f | He vented oft his wrath in vain: 189:01,449@f | Biennial squires, to market brought; 189:01,450@f | Who sell their souls and votes for naught; <450> 189:01,451@f | The nation stripped, go joyful back, 189:01,452@f | To rob the church, their tenants rack, 189:01,453@f | Go snacks with thieves and rapparees, 189:01,454@f | And keep the peace, to pick up fees: 189:01,455@f | In every job to have a share, 189:01,456@f | A gaol or barrack to repair; 189:01,457@f | And turn the tax for public roads 189:01,458@f | Commodious to their own abodes. 189:01,459@f | "Perhaps I may allow the Dean 189:01,460@f | Had too much satire in his vein; <460> 189:01,461@f | And seemed determined not to starve it, 189:01,462@f | Because no age could more deserve it. 189:01,463@f | Yet, malice never was his aim; 189:01,464@f | He lashed the vice but spared the name. 189:01,465@f | No individual could resent, 189:01,466@f | Where thousand equally were meant. 189:01,467@f | His satire points at no defect, 189:01,468@f | But what all mortals may correct; 189:01,469@f | For he abhorred that senseless tribe, 189:01,470@f | Who call it humour when they jibe: <470> 189:01,471@f | He spared a hump or crooked nose, 189:01,472@f | Whose owners set not up for beaux. 189:01,473@f | True genuine dullness moved his pity, 189:01,474@f | Unless it offered to be witty. 189:01,475@f | Those, who their ignorance confessed, 189:01,476@f | He ne'er offended with a jest; 189:01,477@f | But laughed to hear an idiot quote, 189:01,478@f | A verse from Horace, learnt by rote. 189:01,479@f | "He knew an hundred pleasant stories, 189:01,480@f | With all the turns of Whigs and Tories: <480> 189:01,481@f | Was cheerful to his dying day, 189:01,482@f | And friends would let him have his way. 189:01,483@f | "He gave the little wealth he had, 189:01,484@f | To build a house for fools and mad: 189:01,485@f | And showed by one satiric touch, 189:01,486@f | No nation wanted it so much: 189:01,487@f | That kingdom he hath left his debtor, 189:01,488@f | I wish it soon may have a better."