Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/364

352 Pulteney deep, accomplish'd St. Johns, Scourge the villains with a vengeance: Let me, though the smell be noisome, Strip their bums; let Caleb hoise 'em; Then apply Alecto's whip, Till they wriggle, howl, and skip. Deuce is in you, Mr. dean: What can all this passion mean? Mention courts! you'll ne'er be quiet On corruptions running riot. End as it befits your station; Come to use and application: Nor with senates keep a fuss. I submit; and answer thus: If the machinations brewing, To complete the publick ruin, Never once could have the power To affect me half an hour; Sooner would I write in buskins, Mournful elegies on Blueskins. If I laugh at whig and tory; I conclude à fortiori, All your eloquence will scarce Drive me from my favourite farce. This I must insist on: for, as It is well observ'd by Horace , Ridicule has greater power To reform the world, than sour. Horses thus, let jockies judge else, Switches better guide than cudgels. Bastings