Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/125

Rh With Pæan's purest fire his favourites glow, The dregs will serve to ripen ore below; His meanest work: for, had he thought it fit, That wealth should be the appanage of wit, The god of light could ne'er have been so blind To deal it to the worst of humankind. But let me now, for I can do it well, Your conduct in this new employ foretel. And first: to make my observation right, I place a statesman full before my sight, A bloated minister in all his geer, With shameless visage and perfidious leer; Two rows of teeth arm each devouring jaw, And ostrich-like his all-digesting maw. My fancy drags this monster to my view, To show the world his chief reverse in you. Of loud unmeaning sounds a rapid flood Rolls from his mouth in plenteous streams of mud; With these the court and senatehouse he plies. Made up of noise, and impudence, and lies. Now let me show how Bob and you agree: You serve a potent prince, as well as he. The ducal coffers, trusted to your charge, Your honest care may fill, perhaps enlarge: His vassals easy, and the owner blest; They pay a trifle, and enjoy the rest. Not so a nation's revenues are paid: The servant's faults are on the master laid. The people with a sigh their taxes bring; And, cursing Bob, forget to bless the king. Next hearken, Gay, to what thy charge requires, With servants, tenants, and the neighbouring squires. Let all domesticks feel your gentle sway; Nor bribe, insult, nor flatter, nor betray. Rh