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The Dutch-hearted Whigs may rail and complain;

But true Englishmen may fill

A good health to General Hill;
For the Queen now enjoys her own again.


Addressed to the Earl of OXFORD, 1713.

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HARLEY, the nation's great fupport,

Returning home one day from court,
(His mind with public cares pofsest,
All Europe's business in his breast),
Observ'd a parjon near Whitehall
Cheapening old authors on a stall.
The priest was pretty well in case,
And shew'd some humour in his face ;
Look'd with an easy, careless mien,
A perfect stranger to the spleen ;
Of lize that might a pulpit fill,
But more inclining to sit still.
My Lord (who, if a man may say 't,
Loves mischief better than his meat)
Was now dispos'd to crack a jest,
And bid friend Lewis * go in quest
(This Lewis is a cunning shaver,
And very much in Harley's favour),
In quest who might this parfon be,
What was his name, of what degree;
* Erasmus Lewis cfq. the treasurer's secretary.

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If possible, to learn his story,
And whether he were Whig or Tory.

Lewis his patron's humour knows,
Away upon his errand goes,

25 And quickly did the matter fift; Found out that it was Doctor Swift; A clergyman of special note For shunning those of his own coat; Which made his brethren of the gown

30 Take care betimes to run him down : No libertine, nor over nice, Addicted to no fort of vice, Went where he pleas'd), said what he thought; Not rich, but ow'd no man a groat:

35 In state opinions à la mode, He hated Wharton like a toad, Had given the fa£ion many a wound, And libel'd all the junto round: Kept company with men of wit, Who often father'd what he writ: His works were hawk'd in every street, But seldom rose above a sheet: Of late indeed the paper-stamp Did very much his genius cramp:

45 And since he could not spend his fire, He now intended to retire. Said Harley,

“ I desire to know * From his owa mouth if this be fo; Step to the Doctor strait, and say,

50 6. I'd have him dine with me to-day.”






Swift seem'd to wonder what he meant,
Nor would believe my Lord had sent;
So never offer'l once to stir;
But coldly said, “ Your servant, Sir !
“ Does he refuse me?” Harley cry’d;
“ He does, with insolence and pride."

Some few days after Harley spies
The Doctor faften’d by the eyes
At Charing-cross among the rout,
Where painted monsters are hung out :
He puild the string, and stopt his coach,
Beckoning the Doctor to approach.

Swift, who could neither fly nor hide,
Came sneaking to the chariot-fide,
And offer'd many a lame excuse :
He never meant the least abuse
My Lord

the honour you design'el -
“ Extremely proud but I had din'd
“ I 'm sure I never should neglect -
“ No man alive has more respect --"
“ Well, I thall think of that no more,
“ If you 'll be sure to come at four.”

The Doctor now obeys the summons,
Likes both his company and commons ;
Displays his talent, fits till ten ;
Next day invited comes again;
Soon grows domestic, feldom fails
Either at morning or at meals :
Came early, and sleparted late;
In fhort, the gudgeon took the bait.





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My Lord would carry on the jest,
And down to Windsor takes his guest.
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 refide.
A canon! that 's a place too mean;
No, Doctor, you shall be a Dean ;
Two dozen canons round your stall,

o'er them all :
You need but cross the Irish seas,
To live in plenty, power, 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 feat;
The silver verge, with decent pride,
Stuck underneath his cushion-side ;
Suppose him gone through all vexations,
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, fpitefully combin'd,
Force hiin to take his tithes in kind :





Why, fure

And Parvifol * discounts arrears
By bills for taxes and repairs.

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

Said Harley, “ Welcome, Reverend Dean ! “ What makes your worship look so lean ?


in town “ In that old wig and rusty gown?

125 “ 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 ?"

130 “ Truce, good my Lord, I beg a truce," (The Doctor in a passion cry'd) • Your raillery is inisapply'd; • Experience I have dearly bought; “ You know I am not worth a groat :

140 you

refolu'd to have your jest; “ And 'twas a folly to contest; “ Then, since you now have done your worst, “ Pray leave me where you found me first.” * The Dean's agent, a Frenchman. Swift. + The Lord Treasurer's porter.


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