Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 18.djvu/424

410 How would you blush the shameful birth to hear Of those you so ignobly stoop to fear; For, ill to them, long have I travell'd since Round all the circles of impertinence, Searched in the nest where every worm did lie Before it grew a city butterfly; I'm sure I found them other kind of things Than those with backs of silk and golden wings; A search, no doubt, as curious and as wise As virtuosoes' in dissecting flies; For, could you think? the fiercest foes you dread, And court in prologues, all are country bred; Bred in my scene, and for the poet's sins Adjourn'd from tops and grammar to the inns; Those beds of dung, where schoolboys sprout up beaus Far sooner than the nobler mushroom grows: These are the lords of the poetick schools, Who preach the saucy pedantry of rules; Those pow'rs the criticks, who may boast the odds O'er Nile, with all its wilderness of gods; Nor could the nations kneel to viler shapes, Which worship'd cats, and sacrificed to apes; And can you think the wise forbear to laugh At the warm zeal that breeds this golden calf? Haply you judge these lines severely writ Against the proud usurpers of the pit; Stay while I tell my story, short, and true; To draw conclusions shall be left to you; Nor need I ramble far to force a rule, But lay the scene just here at Farnham school. Last year, a lad hence by his parents sent With other cattle to the city went; Where