Yet, when we fee thee thus array'd,
The neighbours think it is but just,
That thou fhould's take an honeft trade,
And weekly carry out the duft.

Of cleanly houfes who will doubt,
When Dick cries, "Duft to carry out ?"

DICK'S

VARIET Y.

DULL uniformity in fools,

I hate, who gape and fneer by rules..

You, Mullinix, and flobbering C
Who every day and hour the same are;
That vulgar talent I despise

Of piffing in the rabble's eyes.
And when I listen to the noise
Of ideots roaring to the boys;
To better judgements ftill fubmitting,
I own I fee but little wit in ;

Such paftimes, when our tafte is nice,
Can please at most but once or twice.
But then confider Dick, you'll find.
His genius of fuperior kind;
He never muddles in the dirt,

Nor fcowers the ftreets without a fhirt;
Though Dick, I dare prefume to say,
Could do fuch feats as well as they.
Dick I could venture every where,

Let the boys pelt him if they dare;

He 'd

He'd have them try'd at the affizes
For priests and jefuits in difgulfes;
*Swear they were with the Swedes at Bender,
And lifting troops for the pretender.

But Dick can fart, and dance, and frisk,
No other monkey half so brisk;
Now has the fpeaker by the ears,
Next moment in the houfe of peers;
Now fcolding at my lady Eustace,
Or thrashing Baby in her new ftays.
'Prefto! be gone! with t'other hop
He 's powdering in a barber's fhop;
Now at the anti-chamber thrusting
His nose to get the circle just in,
And d-ns his blood, that in the rear
He fees one fingle Tory there :

Then, woe be to my lord lieutenant,

Again. he 'll tell him, and again on 't.

AN E PITAPH

TO'N

GENERAL GORGES* AND LADY MEATH†.

UN

NDER this ftone lie Dicky and Dolly; Doll dying firft, Dick grew melancholy; For Dick without Doll thought living a folly.

* Of Kilbrue, in the county of Meath. N.

Dorothy dowager of Edward earl of Meath. She was married to the General in 1716; and died Apr. 10, 1728: her husband furvived but two days. N.

2

Dick

Dick loft in Doll a wife tender and dear: But Dick loft by Doll twelve hundred a year; A lofs that Dick thought no mortal could bear.

Dick figh'd for his Doll, and his mournful arms croft; Thought much of his Doll, and the jointure he loft: The first vex'd him much, the other vex'd most.

Thus loaded with grief, Dick figh'd and he cry'd ; To live without both full three days he try'd: But lik'd neither loss, and so quietly dy’d.

Dick left a pattern few will copy after:

Then, reader, pray shed some tears of falt-water;
For fo fad a tale is no fubject of laughter.

Meath fmiles for the jointure, though gotten fo late;
The fon laughs, that got the hard-gotten estate;
And Cuffe grins, for getting the Alicant plate.
Here quiet they lic, in hopes to rise one day,
Both folemnly put in this hole on a Sunday,
And here rest-sic tranfit gloria mundi !

VERSES ON I KNOW NOT WHAT.

MY latest tribute here I fend,

With this let your collection end.

Thus I confign you down to fame
A character to praise or blame :
And, if the whole may pafs for true,
Contented reft, you have your due.
Give future times the fatisfaction,
To leave one handle for detraction.

*John Cuffe of Defart, Efq; married the general's

eldest daughter. N.

VOL. II.

DR. SWIFT'S COMPLAINT, ON HIS OWN DEAFNES.S. WITH AN ANSWER.

DOCTOR.

DEAF, giddy, helpless, left alone;

ANSWER.

Except the firft, the fault 's your own.

DOCTOR

To all my friends a burthen grown :

ANSWER.

Because to few you will be fhewn.
Give them good wine, and meat to stuff,
You may have company enough.

DOCTOR.

No more I hear my church's bell,
Than if it rang out for my knell.

ANSWER.

Then write and read, 'twill do as well.

A woman's clack, if I have skill,
Sounds fomewhat like a throwfter's mill;
But louder than a bell, or thunder;
That does, I own, increase my wonder.

DR.

DR. SWIFT TO HIMSELF,

GRA

ON

SAINT CECILIA'S DAY.

RAVE Dean of St. Patrick's, how comes it to pass, That you, who know mufic no more than an ass, That you, who fo lately were writing of Drapiers, Should lend your cathedral to players and scrapers ? To act fuch an opera once in a year,

So offenfive to every 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 Moft Reverend face:
How would it pollute their crofiers and rochets
To listen to minims, and quavers, and crotchets I
The reft is wanting. ]

* Dr. Sheridan was publisher of the "Intelligencer," a weekly paper, written principally by himfelf; but Dr.

H 2

Swift