Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/142

132 The church had never such a writer: A shame he has not got a mitre!" Suppose me dead; and then suppose A club assembled at the Rose; Where, from discourse of this and that, I grow the subject of their chat. And while they toss my name about, With favour some, and some without; One, quite indifferent in the cause, My character impartial draws: "The dean, if we believe report, Was never ill-received at court. As for his works in verse and prose, I own myself no judge of those: Nor, can I tell what criticks thought 'em; But this I know, all people bought 'em; As with a moral view design'd To cure the vices of mankind: His vein, ironically grave, Expos'd the fool, and lash'd the knave. To steal a hint was never known, But what he writ was all his own. "He never thought an honour done him, Because a duke was proud to own him; Would rather slip aside, and choose To talk with wits in dirty shoes; Despis'd the fools with stars and garters, So often seen caressing Chartres. He never courted men in station, Nor persons held in admiration; Of no man's greatness was afraid, Because he sought for no man's aid. Though trusted long in great affairs, He gave himself no haughty airs: "With-