Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/224

 There sit Clements, D—ks, and Harrison: How they swagger from their garrison! Such a triplet could you tell Where to find on this side Hell? Harrison, and D—ks, and Clements, Keeper, see, they have their payments, Every mischief's in their hearts; If they fail, 'tis want of parts. Bless us, Morgan, art thou there, man! Bless mine eyes! art thou the chairman! Chairman to your damn'd committee! Yet I look on thee with pity. Dreadful sight! what, learned Morgan Metamorphos'd to a Gorgon? For thy horrid looks, I own, Half convert me to a stone. Hast thou been so long at school, Now to turn a factious tool? Alma Mater was thy mother, Every young divine thy brother. Thou, a disobedient varlet, Treat thy mother like a harlot! Thou ungrateful to thy teachers, Who are all grown reverend preachers! Morgan, would it not surprise one! Turn thy nourishment to poison! When you walk among your books, They reproach you with their looks; Bind them fast, or from their shelves They will come and right themselves: Homer, Plutarch, Virgil, Flaccus, All in arms, prepare to back us: Soon repent, or put to slaughter Every Greek and Roman author. Will