Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/444



Jove win not attend on less, When things of more importance press: You can't, grave sir, believe it hard, That you, a low Hibernian bard, Should cool your heels a while, and wait Unanswer’d at your patron's gate; And would my lord vouchsafe to grant This one, poor, humble boon I want, Free leave to play his secretary, As Falstaff acted old king Harry; I'd tell of yours in rhime and print; Folks shrug, and cry, "There's nothing in't." And, after several readings over, It shines most in the marble cover. How could so fine a taste dispense With mean degrees of wit and sense? Nor will my lord so far beguile The wise and learned of our isle; To make it pass upon the nation, By dint of his sole approbation. The task is arduous, patrons find, To warp the sense of all mankind: Who