Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/86

76 And though he had no other notion, But building, planning, and devotion; Though 'tis a maxim you must know, "Who does no ill, can have no foe;" Yet how can I express in words The strange stupidity of birds? This lark was hated in the wood, Because he did his brethren good. At last the Nightingale comes in, To hold the doctor by the chin: We all can find out what he means, The worst of disaffected deans: Whose wit at best was next to none, And now that little next is gone. Against the court is always blabbing, And calls the senate-house a cabin; So dull, that but for spleen and spite, We ne'er should know that he could write; Who thinks the nation always err'd, Because himself is not preferr'd: His heart is through his libel seen, Nor could his malice spare the queen: Who, had she known his vile behaviour, Would ne'er have shown him so much favour. A noble lord has told his pranks, And well deserves the nation's thanks. O! would the senate deign to show Resentment on this public foe; Our Nightingale might fit a cage, There let him starve, and vent his rage; Or, would they but in fetters bind, This enemy of humankind! Harmonious Coffee, show thy zeal, Thou