Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/66

56 Revile that nation-saving paper, Which gave the dean the name of Drapier? R. Why, Tom, I think the case is plain; Party and spleen have turn'd his brain. T. Such friendship never man profess'd, The dean was never so caress'd; For Traulus long his rancour nurs'd, Till, God knows why, at last it burst. That clumsy outside of a porter, How could it thus conceal a courtier? R. I own, appearances are bad; Yet still insist the man is mad. T. Yet many a wretch in Bedlam knows How to distinguish friends from foes; And, though perhaps among the rout He wildly flings his filth about, He still has gratitude and sap'ence, To spare the folks that give him ha'pence; Nor in their eyes at random pisses, But turns aside like mad Ulysses: While Traulus all his ordure scatters To foul the man he chiefly flatters. Whence comes these inconsistent fits? R. Why, Tom, the man has lost his wits. T. Agreed: and yet, when Towzer snaps At people's heels with frothy chaps, Hangs down his head, and drops his tail, To say he's mad will not avail; The neighbours all cry, "Shoot him dead, Hang, drown, or knock him on the head." So Traulus, when he first harangu'd, I wonder why he was not hang'd; For of the two, without dispute, Towzer's the less offensive brute. R. Tom,