Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 11.djvu/49

 Did you not think yourself par Deo? Pray God you did not; pray God you did not think yourself superare divos.

Confess the truth, doctor, you did; confess it, and repent of it, if it be not too late: but alas! I fear it is.

And now, methinks, I look down into that bog all flaming with bonnyclabber and usquebaugh; and hear you gnashing your teeth and crying, Oh! what would I give now for a glass of that small beer, I used to say was sour! or a pinch of that snuff, which I used to say was the cursed'st stuff in the world; and borrow as much as would lie on a shilling the minute after. Oh! what would I give to have had a monitor in those moments to have put me in mind of the sword hanging by a twine-thread over my head, and to have cried in a voice as loud as S—th—ll's, Memento, doctor, quia Hibernus es, et in Hiberniam reverteris.

Every man in the midst of his pleasures should remember the Roman executioner: and I have been assured, that had it not been for the unfortunate loss of his royal highness the prince, sir Charles Duncomb would have revived that useful ceremony, which might be very properly introduced in the lord mayor's cavalcade.

I would, not be mistaken either in what has gone before, or in that which is to follow, as if I took you to be a bellygod, an Apicius, or him that wished his neck as long as a crane's, that he might have the greater pleasure in swallowing. No, dear