Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/81

 This fix'd him in his patron's breast, But fir'd with envy all the rest: I mean that noisy craving crew, Who round the court incessant flew, And prey'd like rooks, by pairs and dozens, To fill the maws of sons and cousins: "Unmov'd their heart, and chill'd their blood, To every thought of common good, Confining every hope and care To their own low contracted sphere." These ran him down with ceaseless cry, But found it hard to tell you why, Till his own worth and wit supply'd Sufficient matter to deride: "'Tis Envy's safest, surest rule, To hide her rage in ridicule: The vulgar eye she best beguiles, When all her snakes are deck'd with smiles: Sardonick smiles, by rancour rais'd! Tormented most when seeming pleas'd!" Their spite had more than half expir'd, Had he not wrote what all admir'd; What morsels had their malice wanted, But that he built, and plann'd, and planted! How had his sense and learning griev'd them, But that his charity reliev'd them! "At highest worth dull Malice reaches, As slugs pollute the fairest peaches: Envy defames, as harpies vile Devour the food they first defile." Now ask the fruit of all his favour — "He was not hitherto a saver" — What then could make their rage run mad? "Why what he hop'd, not what he had.