Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/284

272 The kind physician grants the husband's prayers, Or gives relief to long-expecting heirs. The sleeping hangman ties the fatal noose, Nor unsuccessful waits for dead men's shoes. The grave divine, with knotty points perplext, As if he was awake, nods o'er his text: While the sly mountebank attends his trade, Harangues the rabble, and is better paid. The hireling senator of modern days Bedaubs the guilty great with nauseous praise: And Dick the scavenger with equal grace Flirts from his cart the mud in ***** 's face.

et natale solum: Fine words! I wonder where you stole 'em. Could nothing but thy chief reproach Serve for a motto on thy coach? But let me now the words translate: Natale solum, my estate; My dear estate, how well I love it! My tenants, if you doubt, will prove it, They swear I am so kind and good, I hug them, till I squeeze their blood. Libertas bears a large import: First, how to swagger in a court; And,