AN ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF DEMAR, THE USURER;

WHO DIED ON THE 6TH OF JULY, 1720.

My late regretted friend, Mr. Cooper Walker, favoured me with the following notices concerning this elegy:-"The subject was John Demar, a great merchant in Dublin, who died 6th July, 1720. Swift, with some of his usual party, happened to be in Mr. Sheridan's, in Capel Street, when the news of Demar's death was brought to them; and the elegy was the joint composition of the company."

KNOW all men by these presents, Death, the tamer,
By mortgage has secured 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 possess'd,
Bestow to bury him one iron chest.

Plutus, the god of wealth, will joy to know

His faithful steward in the shades below.

He walk'd the streets, and wore a threadbare cloak;
He dined 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 refused his pelf,

He used them full as kindly as himself.

Where'er he went, he never saw his betters; Lords, knights, and squires, were all his humble debtors;

And under hand and seal, the Irish nation
Were forced to own to him their obligation.

He that could once have half a kingdom bought, In half a minute is not worth a groat.

His coffers from the coffin could not save,
Nor all his interest keep him from the grave.
A golden monument would not be right,
Because we wish the earth upon him light.

Oh London Tavern!* thou hast lost a friend, Though in thy walls he ne'er did farthing spend ; He touch'd the pence when others touch'd the pot; The hand that sign'd the mortgage paid the shot. Old as he was, no vulgar known disease

On him could ever boast a power to seize;

"+ But as he weigh'd his gold, grim Death in spite Cast in his dart, which made three moidores light; And, as he saw his darling money fail,

Blew his last breath to sink the lighter scale."
He who so long was current, 'twould be strange
If he should now be cried down since his change.
The sexton shall green sods on thee bestow;
Alas, the sexton is thy banker now!

A dismal banker must that banker be,
Who gives no bills but of mortality!

* A tavern in Dublin, where Demar kept his office.-F. Mr. Walker found this note in the diary of a deceased friend; "As I passed through Smithfield (Dublin,) I saw the house, No. 34, in which the remarkable John Demar, the usurer, lived and died. He was buried in the S. W. corner of St. Paul's Churchyard. No tombstone for many years."

+ These four lines were written by Stella.-F.

EPITAPH ON THE SAME.

BENEATH this verdant hillock lies
Demar, the wealthy and the wise,
His heirs that he might safely rest,
Have put his carcase in a chest ;
The very chest in which, they say,
His other self, his money, lay.
And, if his heirs continue kind
To that dear self he left behind,
I dare believe, that four in five
Will think his better half alive.

TO MRS. HOUGHTON OF BOURMONT,

ON PRAISING HER HUSBAND TO DR. SWIFT.

You always are making a god of your spouse; But this neither Reason nor Conscience 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.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE DEANERY HOUSE, ST. PATRICK'S.

ARE the guests of this house still doom'd to be cheated?

Sure the Fates have decreed they by halves should be treated.

In the days of good John,* if you came here to dine, You had choice of good meat, but no choice of good wine.

In Jonathan's reign, if you come here to eat,

You have choice of good wine, but no choice of good

meat.

O Jove! then how fully might all sides be blest,'
Would'st thou but agree to this humble request!
Put both deans in one; or, if that's too much trouble,
Instead of the deans, made the deanery double.

ON ANOTHER WINDOW.†

A BARD, on whom Phoebus his spirit bestow'd,
Resolving t' acknowledge the bounty he owed,
Found out a new method at once of confessing,
And making the most of so mighty a blessing:

* Dr. Sterne, the predecessor of Swift in the deanery of St. Patrick's and afterward Bishop of Clogher, was distinguished for his hospitality.-F.

+ Written by Dr. Delany, in conjunction with Stella, as appears from the verses which follow.

To the God he'd be grateful; but mortals he'd chouse, By making his patron preside in his house;

And wisely foresaw this advantage from thence, That the God would in honour bear most of th'

expense;

So the bard he finds drink, and leaves Phoebus to

treat

With the thoughts he inspires, regardless of meat.
Hence they that come hither expecting to tine,
Are always fobb'd off with sheer wit and sheer wine.

APOLLO TO THE DEAN. 1720.

This was written by Swift, in reply to the verses on the windows.

RIGHT trusty, and so forth-we let you to know
We are very ill used by you mortals below.
For, first, I have often by chemists been told,
Though I know nothing on't, it is I that make gold;
Which when you have got, you so carefully hide it,
That, since I was born, I hardly have spied it.
Then it must be allow'd that, whenever I shine,
I forward the grass, and I ripen the vine;
To me the good fellows apply for relief,

Without whom they could get neither claret nor beef:

Yet their wine and their victuals, those curmudgeon lubbards

Lock up from my sight in cellars and cupboards.