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Our bishops puft up with wealth and with pride,
To hell on the backs of the clergy would ride.
They mounted and labour'd with whip and with

spur,
In vain for the devil a parfon would stir.

20 So the Commons unhors'd them; and this was

their doom, On their crosiers to ride, like a witch on a broom. 'Though they gallop'd so fast, on the road you may

find 'em,
And have left us but three out of twenty behind 'em.
Lord Bolton's good grace, Lord Car, and Lord

Howard *,
In fpite of the devil will still be untoward.
They came of good kindred, and could not endure
Their former companions should beg at their door.

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When Christ was betray'd to Pilate the Prætor,
Of a dozen apostles, but one prov'd a traitor ; 30
One traitor alone, and faithful eleven;
But we can afford you fix traitors in seven.
What a clutter with clippings, dividings, and

cleavings!
And the clergy forfooth must take up with their

leavings. If making divisions was all their intent,

35 They've done it, we thank ’em, but not as they

meant ;
And so may such bishops for ever divide,
That no honest heathen would be on their fide.
How should we rejoice, if, like Judas the first,
Those splitters of parsons in funder should burit? 40

Now hear an allusion : A mitre you know Is divided above, but united below.

* Archbishop of Caltel, Bishops of Killaloe and Elphin.

If this you consider, our emblem is right;
The b s divide, but the clergy unite. 44
Should the bottom be split, our bps would dread
That the mitre would never stick faft on their head;
And yet they have learn’d the chief art of a sov’reigo,
As Machiavel taught 'em, Divide, and ye govern.
But courage, my

I-ds; tho' it cannot be said
That one cloven tongue ever sat on your head ; 50
I'll hold you a groat, and I wilh I could see't,
If your stockings were off, you could shew clover

feet.

But hold, cry the bps, and give us fair play; Before you condemn us, hear what we can say. What truer affection could ever be shown, 55 Than saving your fouls, by damning our own? And have we not practis'd all methods to gain you; With the tithe of the tithe of the tithe to maintain

you; Provided a fund for building your fpittals? You are only to leave four years without victuals, 60 Content, my good L-ds; but let us change hands; First take you our tithes, and give us your lands. So God bless the church, and three of our mitres; And God bless the Commons for biting the biters.

AFSCHANSGESTESTET *S$

Vestes Veste To the Reverend Dr. SWIFT, D. S. P. D.

With a present of a paper-book finely bound, on

his birth-day, November 30. 1732,

By the Right Hon. John Earl of ORRERY.

T

10

Othee, dear Swift, these spotless leaves I send;

Small is the present, but sincere the friend. Think not so poor a book below thy care; Who knows the price that thou canit make it bear? Though tawdry now, and, like 'Tyrilla's face, 5 The specious front shines out with borrow'd grace; Though pasteboards glittring like a tinsel'd coat A rasa tabula within denote : Yet if a venal and corrupted age, And modern vices should provoke thy rage : If warn’d once more by their impending fate, A finking country and an injur'd late, Thy great assistance should again demand, And call forth reason to defend the land

; Then shall we view these sheets with glad surprise, 15 Inspir'd with thought, and speaking to our eyes : Each vacant fpace ihall then, enrich'd, dispense True force of eloquence, and nervous fenfe; Inform the judgement, animate the heart, And sacred rules of policy impart. The spangled cov'ring, bright with splendid ore, Shall cheat the fight with empty show no more : But lead u inward to those golden mines, Where all thy soul in native lustre shines.

20

* It was occasioned by an annual cuflom which I found pursued a. mung h.st. iends, oi niaking him a present on his birthday, Orrery. Vol. VIII.

S

So

So when the eye surveys fome lovely fair, 25
With bloom of beauty grace’d, with shape and air,
How is the rapture heigten’d, when we find
Her form excell'd by her celestial mind!

*******

VERSES left with a silver standish on the

DEAN of ST. PATRICK's desk on his birth-day, by Dr. DELANY.

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Hliher from Mexico I came

To serve a proud Iernian dame :
Was long submitted to her will;
At length she loft me at quadrille.
Through various shapes I often pafsd,
Still hoping to have reft at last :
And still ambitious to obtain
Adinittance to the patriot Dean;
And sometimes got within his door,
But foon turn'd out to serve the poor *;
Nor strolling idleness to aid,
But honest industry decay'd.
At length an artist purchas'd me,
And wrought me to the shape you fee,

This done to Hermes I apply'd :
• O Hermes, gratify my pride :
“ Be it my fate to serve a fage,
“ The greatest genius of his age ;
“ That matchless pen let me supply,
“ Whose living lines will never die."

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I grant your suit, the God reply'd, And here he left me to refide.

* Ailuding to 500 1. å-year lent by the Dean, without interest, 20 poor tradesmin.

VERSES written by Dr. Swift, occasioned

by the foregoing presents.

5

A Paper-book is sent by Boyle,

Too neatly gilt for ine to-foil.
Delany sends a filver standish,
When I no more a pen can brandish,
Let both around my tomb be place’d,
As trophies of a mufe deceas'd :
And let the friendly lines they writ
in praise of long departed wit,
Be grav'd on either side in columns,
More to my praise than all my volumes ;
To burst with envy, spite, and rage,
The Vandals of the present age.

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A LOVE-SONG in the MODERN TASTE.

Written in the year 1733.

I.
FLutt’ring spread thy purple pinions,

Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart ;.
I a slave in thy dominions ;
Nature must give way to art.

II.
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,

Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
See my weary days consuming

All beneath yon flow'ry rocks.

5

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Thus

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