Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/148

138 Where folly, pride, and faction sway, Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay." "His friendships there, to few confin'd, Were always of the middling kind; No fools of rank, a mongrel breed, Who fain would pass for lords indeed: Where titles give no right, or power, And peerage is a wither'd flower; He would have held it a disgrace, If such a wretch had known his face. On rural squires, that kingdom's bane, He vented oft' his wrath in vain: ******* squires to market brought; Who sell their souls and **** for nought. The ******* go joyful back, To *** the church, their tenants rack, Go snacks with ******* And keep the peace, to pick up fees: In every job to have a share, A gaol or turnpike to repair; And turn the tax for publick roads, Commodious to their own abodes. "Perhaps I may allow the dean Had too much satire in his vein; And seem'd determin'd not to starve it, Because no age could more deserve it. Yet malice never was his aim; He lash'd the vice, but spar'd the name. No individual could resent, Where thousands equally were meant; His satire points at no defect, But what all mortals may correct; For he abhorr'd that senseless tribe Who call it humour when they gibe: "He