Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/213

 Have laid aside the general's staff, And publick cares, with you to laugh; Yet I some friends as good can name, Nor less the darling sons of fame; For sure my Pollio and Mæcenas Were as good statesmen, Mr. dean, as Either your Bolingbroke or Harley, Though they made Lewis beg a parley; And as for Mordaunt, your lov'd hero, I'll match him with my Drusus Nero. You'll boast, perhaps, your favourite Pope; But Virgil is as good, I hope. I own indeed I can't get any To equal Helsham and Delany; Since Athens brought forth Socrates, A Grecian isle Hippocrates; Since Tully liv'd before my time, And Galen bless'd another clime. You'll plead perhaps, at my request, To be admitted as a guest, "Your hearing's bad!" — But why such fears? I speak to eyes, and not to ears; And for that reason wisely took The form you see me in, a book. Attack'd by slow devouring moths, By rage of barbarous Huns and Goths; By Bentley's notes, my deadliest foes, By Creech's rhymes, and Dunster's prose; I found my boasted wit and fire In their rude hands almost expire: Yet still they but in vain assail'd; For, had their violence prevail'd, And in a blast destroyed my fame, They would have partly miss'd their aim; Since