Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/95

 Had given the faction many a wound, And libell'd all the junto round: Kept company with men of wit, Who often fathered what he writ: His works were hawk'd in every street, But seldom rose above a sheet: Of late indeed the paper stamp Did very much his genius cramp; And since he could not spend his fire, He now intended to retire. Said Harley, "I desire to know From his own mouth if this be so; Step to the doctor straight, and say, I'd have him dine with me to day." Swift seem'd to wonder what he meant, Nor would believe my lord had sent; So never offer'd once to stir; But coldly said, "Your servant, sir!" "Does he refuse me?" Harley cried; "He does, with insolence and pride." Some few days after, Harley spies The doctor fasten'd by the eyes At Charing-cross among the rout, Where painted monsters are hung out: He pull'd the string, and stopt his coach, Beckoning the doctor to approach. Swift, who could neither fly nor hide, Came sneaking to the chariot side, And offer'd many a lame excuse: He never meant the least abuse — "My lord — the honour you design'd — Extremely proud — but I had din'd — I'm sure I never should neglect — No man alive has more respect —"