ON THE

ARCHBISHOP of CASHEL, and BETTESWORTH.

DEAR Dick, prithee tell by what paffion

you move?

[love;

The world is in doubt, whether hatred or And, while at good Cafhel you rail with fuch fpite,

They fhrewdly fufpect it is all but a bite. You certainly know, tho' fo loudly you [Drapier. His fpite cannot wound, who attempted the Then, prithee reflect, take a word of ad

vapour,

vice;

[a trice: And, as your old wont is, change fides in On his virtues hold forth; 'tis the very best

way; [fay, And fay of the man what all honeft men But if, fill obdurate, your anger remains, If fill your foul bofom more rancour con

tains;

Say then more than they; nay, lavishly flatter, [fpatter 'Tis your grofs panegyrics alone can beFor thine, my dear Dick, give me leave to fpeak plain, [clean, Like a very foul mop, dirty more than they

On

ON THE

YE

IRISH CLUB.

Written in the Year м DCC XXIX.

E paultry underlings of ftate, Ye frs, who love to prate; Ye rals of inferior note, Who, for a dinner, fell a vote; Ye pack of penfionary Pers, Whose fingers itch for poets ears; Ye bishops far remov'd from faints, Why all this rage? Why thefe complaints? Why against Printers all this noife? This fummoning of blackguard boys? Why fo fagacious in your gueffes ? Your effs and tees, and arrs, and effes? Take my advice; to make you fafe, I know a fhorter way by half. The point is plain: Remove the cause; Defend your liberties and laws.

Be fometimes to your country true, Have once the public good in view: Bravely defpife Champagne at Court, And chufe to dine at home with Port:

Let Pries, by their good behaviour,
Convince us they believe a Saviour;
Nor fell what they fo dearly bought,
This country, now their own, for nought,
Ne'er did a true fatyric mufe

Virtue or innocence abufe;
And 'tis against poetic rules
To rail at men by nature fools:
But

Dr.

DR. SWIFT. to HIMSELF,

ON

SAINT CECILIA's DAY.

GRAVE

RAVE Dean of St. Patrick's, how comes it to pass,

[an afs, That you, who know mufic no more than That you, who fo lately were writing of Drapiers, [fcrapers? Should lend your Cathedral to players and To act fuch an opera once in a year, So offenfive to ev'ry true Protestant ear, With trumpets, and fiddles, and organs, and finging,

Will fure the Pretender and Popery bring in, No Proteftant prelate, his Lordship, or Grace, Durft there fhew his Right or Most Reverend face:

How would it pollute their crofiers and rochets,

To listen to minims, and quavers, and crotchets ?

The reft is wanting,

To

TO

STELLA.

MARCH 13, MDCC XXIII-IV.

[Written on the Day of her Birth, but not on the Subject, when I was fick in bed.]

TO

ORMENTED with inceffant pains,
Can I devise poetic strains?
Time was, when I could yearly pay
My verfe on Stella's native day :
But now, unable grown to write,
I grieve the ever faw the light.
Ungrateful; fince to her I owe
That I these pains can undergo.
She tends me, like an humble flave;
And, when indecently I rave,

When out my brutish paffions break,
With gall in ev'ry word I speak,

She, with foft fpeech, my anguish chears,
Or melts my paffions down with tears:

Although 'tis easy to defcry

She wants affiftance more than I;
Yet feems to feel my pains alone,
And is a Stoic in her own.

When,