Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/128

118 In either case, an equal chance is run; For, keep or turn him out, my lord's undone. You want a hand to clear a filthy sink; No cleanly workman can endure the stink. A strong dilemma in a desperate case! To act with infamy, or quit the place. A bungler thus, who scarce the nail can hit, With driving wrong will make the pannel split: Nor dares an abler workman undertake To drive a second, lest the whole should break. In every court the parallel will hold; And kings, like private folks, are bought and sold. The ruling rogue, who dreads to be cashier'd, Contrives, as he is hated, to be fear'd: Confounds accounts, perplexes all affairs: For vengeance more embroils, than skill repairs. So robbers (and their ends are just the same) To 'scape inquiries, leave the house in flame. I knew a brazen minister of state, Who bore for twice ten years the publick hate. In every mouth the question most in vogue Was, When will they turn out this odious rogue? A juncture happen'd in his highest pride: While he went robbing on, old master died. We thought there now remain'd no room to doubt; His work is done, the minister must out. The court invited more than one or two: Will you, sir Spencer? or, Will you, or you? But not a soul his office durst accept; The subtle knave had all the plunder swept: And, such was then the temper of the times, He ow'd his preservation to his crimes. The candidate observed his dirty paws; Nor found it difficult to guess the cause; But