Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/366

354 But, to patch up all our quarrels, Quote you texts from Plutarch's Morals: Or from Solomon produce Maxims teaching Wisdom's use? If I treat you like a crown'd head, You have cheap enough compounded; Can you put in higher claims, Than the owners of St. James? You are not so great a grievance, As the hirelings of St. Stephen's. You are of a lower class Than my friend sir Robert Brass. None of these have mercy found: I have laugh'd, and lash'd them round. Have you seen a rocket fly? You would swear it pierc'd the sky; It but reach'd the middle air, Bursting into pieces there; Thousand sparkles falling down Light on many a coxcomb's crown: See what mirth the sport creates; Singes hair, but breaks no pates. Thus, should I attempt to climb, Treat you in a style sublime, Such a rocket is my Muse: Should I lofty numbers choose, Ere I reach'd Parnassus' top, I should burst, and bursting drop, All my fire would fall in scraps; Give your head some gentle raps; Only make it smart a while: Then could I forbear to smile, When I found the tingling pain Entering warm your frigid brain; Make