Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/441

 When, mixing mirth and wisdom with your wine, Like that your wit shall flow, your genius shine; Nor with less praise the conversation guide, Than in the publick councils you decide: Or when the dean, long privileg'd to rail, Asserts his friend with more impetuous zeal; You hear (whilst I sit by abash'd and mute) With soft concessions shortening the dispute; Then close with kind inquiries of my state, "How are your tithes, and have they rose of late? Why, Christ Church is a pretty situation, There are not many better in the nation! This, with your other things, must yield you clear Some six — at least five hundred pounds a year." Suppose, at such a time, I took the freedom To speak these truths as plainly as you read 'em; You shall rejoin, my lord, when I've replied, And, if you please, my lady shall decide: "My lord, I'm satisfied you meant me well: And that I'm thankful, all the world can tell: But you'll forgive me, if I own th' event Is short, is very short, of your intent; At least, I feel some ills unfelt before, My income less, and my expenses more." "How, doctor! double vicar! double rector! A dignitary! with a city lecture! What glebes — what dues — what tithes — what fines — what rent! Why, doctor! — will you never be content?" "Would my good lord but cast up the account, And see to what my revenues amount; My titles ample; but my gain so small, That one good vicarage is worth them all: " And