Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/16

6 Can sometimes drop a voter's claim, And give up party to his fame. I do the most that friendship can; I hate the viceroy, love the man. But you, who, till your fortune's made, Must be a sweetener by your trade, Should swear he never meant us ill; We suffer sore against his will; That, if we could but see his heart, He would have chose a milder part: We rather should lament his case, Who must obey, or lose his place. Since this reflection slipt your pen, Insert it when you write again: And, to illustrate it, produce This simile for his excuse: "So to destroy a guilty land An angel sent by Heaven's command, While he obeys almighty will, Perhaps may feel compassion still; And wish the task had been assign'd To spirits of less gentle kind." But I, in politicks grown old, Whose thoughts are of a different mould, Who from my soul sincerely hate Both kings and ministers of state; Who look on courts with stricter eyes To see the seeds of vice arise; Can lend you an allusion fitter, Though flattering knaves may call it bitter; Which, if you durst but give it place, Would show you many a statesman's face: Fresh