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HIMSELF. 263 Poor York! the harmless tool of others hate; He sues for pardon *, and repents too late.

Now, -her vengeance vows On Swift's reproaches for her From her red locks her mouth with venom fills; 55 And thence into the royal ear inftills. The Queen incens'd, his services forgot, Leaves him a victim to the vengeful Scot. Now thro' the realm a proclamation spread to To fix a price on his devoted head.

60 While innocent, he scorns ignoble flight; His watchful friends preferve him by a sleight.

By Harley's favour once again he shines ; Is now caress’d by candidate divines, Who change opinions with the changing scene : 65 Lord! how were they mistaken in the Dean! Now Delaware I again familiar grows ; And in Swift's ear thrusts half his powder'd nose. The Scottish nation, whom he durst offend, Again apply that Swift would be their friend B 70

By faction tir’d, with grief he waits a while His great contending friends to reconcile, Performs what friendship, justice, truth require : What could he more but decently retire ** ?

His Grace was forry for what he had said, and sent a mer sage to the author to delire his pardon.

+ The proclamation was against the author of a pamphlet, called, The public spirit of the Whigs, against which the Scotch Lords complained. See it in vol. v:

# Delaware, then Lord Treasurer of the household, always caressed the author at court; but, during the trial of the printers before the house of Lords, and while the proclamation hung over the author, his Lordship would not seem to know him.

|| The Scotch Lords treated and visited the author more after the proclamation than before, except the Duke of Argyll, who would never be reconciled.

About ten weeks before the Queen's death, I left the town upon occasion of that incurable breach among the great men at court, and went down to Berkshire. See vol. iv. p. 22.



Written soon after the author's coming to live in Ire

land, upon the Queen's death, October 1714.

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MIS true,

then why should I repine
To see my life so fast decline ?
But why obscurely here alone,
Where I am neither lov'd nor known ?
My state of health none care to learn;,-
My life is here no foul's concern :
And those with whom I now converse,
Without a tear will tend my herse.
Remov'd from kind Arbuthnot's aid,
Who knows his art, but not his trade,
Preferring his regard for me
Before his credit, or his fee.
Some formal visits, looks, and words,
What mere humanity affords;
I meet perhaps from three or four,
From whom I once expected more ;
Which those who tend the fick for pay,
Can act as decently as they :
But no obliging tender friend
To help at my approaching end.
My life is now a burden

To others, ere it be my own.

Ye formal weepers for the fick,
In your laft offices be quick :
And spare my absent friends the grief
To hear, yet give me no relief;
Expir'd to-day, intomb'd to-morrow,
When known, will save a double forrow.





To the Earl of OXFORD, late Lord Treasurer.

Sent to him when he was in the Tower, before his trial.

Out of Horace.

Written in the year 1716. !



OW bless'd is he who for his country dies,

Since death pursues the coward as he flies !
The youth in vain would fly from fate's attack,
With trembling knees, and terror at his back;
Tho' fear should lend him pinions like the wind,
Yet swifter fate will seize him from behind.

Virtue repuls’d, yet knows not to repine :
But shall with unattainted honour shine ;
Nor stoops to take the staf *, nor lays it down,
Just as the rabble please to smile or frown.

Virtue, to crown her fav’rites, loves to try
Some new unbeaten passage to the sky;
Where Jove a feat among the gods will give
To those who die for meriting to live.

Next, faithful silence hath a sure reward
Within our breast be ev'ry secret barrd :
He who betrays his friend, shall never be
Under one roof, or in one ship, with me.
For who with traitors would his safety trust,
Left with the wicked heav'n involve the juft?
And tho' the villain 'scape a while, he feels
Slow vengeance, like a blood-hound, at his heels.


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A white staf is the ensign of the Lord Treasurer's office.

Ad amicum eruditum THOMAM SHE

17" "RIDAN.

Scripsit O&. ann. Dom. 1717.




ELICIÆ Sheridan musarum, dulcis amice,

Sic tibi propitius Permessi ad flumen Apollo Occurrat, seu te mimum convivia rident, Æquirocosque fales spargis, feu ludere versu Malles ; dic, Sheridan, quisnam fuit ille deorum, 5 Quae melior natura orto tibi tradidit artem Rimandi genium puerorum, atqueima cerebri Scrutandi? Tibi nafcenti ad cunabula Pallas Aftitit ; et dixit, mentis præsaga futuræ, Heu, puer infelix ! nostro sub fidere natus ; Nam tu pectus eris fine corpore, corporis umbra ; Sed levitate umbram superabis, voce cicadam : Musca femur, palmas tibi mus dedit, ardea crura. Corpore fed tenui tibi quod natura negavit, Hoc animi dotes fupplebunt; teque docente, Nec longum tempus, furget tibi docta juventus, Artibus egregiis animas instructa novellas. Grex hinc Peonius venit, ecce, salutifer orbi. At illi causas orant; his infula visa est Divinam capiti nodo constringere mitram.

NATALIS te horæ non fallunt figna, sed ufque Conscius, expedias puero {eu lætus Apollo Nascenti arrifit ; sive illum frigidus horror, Saturni premit, aut feptem inflavere triones.

Quin tu altè penitusque latentia semina cernis, 25 Quæque diu obtundendo olim sub luminis, auras Erumpent, promis; quo ritu fæpe puella Sub cinere hefterno fopitos suscitat ignes.

Te dominum agnoscit quocunque sub aëre natus ; Quos indulgentis nimium cuftodia matris

3® Peffundat ; nam fæpe vides in ftipite matrem.


Aureus at ramus, venerandæ dona Sibyllæ, Ænez sedes tantùm patefecit Avernus ; Sæpe puer, tua quem tetigit semel aurea virga, Cælumque, terrasque videt, noctemque profundam. 35


Written in the year 1720...


IGHT trustý, and so forth, we let you to know

We are very ill us'd by you mortals below. For, first, I have often by chymills been told, Tho's know nothing on't, it is I that make gold, Which when you have got, you for carefully hide it, 5 That, fince I was born, I hardly have spy'd it. Then it must be allow'd, that whenever I thine, 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 these curmudgeon *

lubbards Lock up from my sight, in cellars and cupboards. That I have an ill eye they wickedly think, And taint all their meat and four all their drink. But, thirdly and lastly, it must be allow'd, I alone can inspire the poetical croud: This is gratefully own'd by each boy in the college, Whom if I inspire, it is not to my knowledge. This ev'ry pretender to rhyme will admit, Without troubling his head about judgment or wit. 20 These gentlemen ufe me with kindness and freedom; And as for their works, when I please I may read 'em:



Gurmudgeon, a word here used as an adjective, now signifies a sordid niggardly fellow : but was perhaps in its original fense of more extensive import, being probably a corruption of cour mo.. chant, a wicked heart. Huwkef:

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