Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/419

 Revile and slander, fume and storm, Betray, make oath, impeach, inform, With such a constant loyal zeal To serve myself and commonweal, And fret the tories' soul to death, I did but loose my precious breath; And, when I damn my soul to plague 'em, Am, as you tell me, but their may-game; Consume my vitals! they shall know, I am not to be treated so; I'd rather hang myself by half, Than give those rascals cause to laugh. But how, my friend, can I endure, Once so renown'd, to live obscure? No little boys and girls to cry, "There's nimble Tim a passing by!" No more my dear delightful way tread Of keeping up a party hatred? Will none the tory dogs pursue, When through the streets I cry halloo? Must all my d—n mes! bloods and wounds! Pass only now for empty sounds? Shall tory rascals be elected, Although I swear them disaffected? And, when I roar, "A plot, a plot!" Will our own party mind me not? So qualify'd to swear and lie, Will they not trust me for a spy? Dear Mullinix, your good advice I beg; you see the case is nice: O! were I equal in renown, Like thee to please this thankless town! Or, bless'd with such engaging parts To win the truant schoolboys' hearts!