Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/44

34 How, with a weakly warbling tongue, Of brazen knight they vainly sung: A subject for their genius fit; He dares defy both sense and wit. What dares he not? He can, we know it, A laureat make that is no poet; A judge, without the least pretence To common law, or common sense; A bishop that is no divine And coxcombs in red ribbons shine: Nay, he can make, what's greater far, A middle state 'twixt peace and war; And say, there shall, for years together, Be peace and war, and both, and neither. Happy, O Market-hill! at least, That court and courtiers have no taste: You never else had known the dean, But as of old, obscurely lain; All things gone on the same dull track, And Drapier's-hill been still Drumlack; But now your name with Penshurst vies, AudAnd [sic] wing'd with fame shall reach the skies. DRA-