Jonathan Swift

“ The last, O Nugent! which his art
Shall ever to the world impart;
For know, the prime of mortal men,
That matchless monarch of the pen
(Whose labours, like the genial sun,
Shall through revolving ages run,
Yet never, like the sun, decline,
But in their full meridian shine) ,
That ever-honour'd, envied sage,
So long the wonder of his age,
Who charm'd us with his golden strain,
Is not the shadow of the dean:
He only breathes Bœotian air —
"O! what a falling off was there!"
⁠Hibernia's Helicon is dry,
Invention, Wit, and Humour die ”

“ The strongest friendship yields to pride, Unless the odds be on our side. Vain human kind! fantastic race! Thy various follies who can trace? Self-love, ambition, envy, pride, Their empire in our hearts divide. Give others riches, power, and station, 'Tis all on me an usurpation. I have no title to aspire; Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher. In Pope I cannot read a line, But with a sigh I wish it mine; When he can in one couplet fix More sense than I can do in six; It gives me such a jealous fit, I cry, "Pox take him and his wit!" ”

“ What wonderful productions of wit should we be deprived of from those whose genius, by continual practice, hath been wholly turned upon raillery and invectives against religion, and would therefore never be able to shine or distinguish themselves upon any other subject? We are daily complaining of the great decline of wit among as, and would we take away the greatest, perhaps the only topic we have left? Who would ever have suspected Asgil for a wit, or Toland for a philosopher, if the inexhaustible stock of Christianity had not been at hand to provide them with materials? ”

“ Yet merry folks, who want by chance A pair to make a country dance, Call the old housekeeper, and get her To fill a place for want of better: While Sheridan is off the hooks, And friend Delany at his books, That Stella may avoid disgrace, Once more the Dean supplies their place. Beauty and wit, too sad a truth! Have always been confined to youth; The god of wit and beauty's queen, He twenty-one and she fifteen, No poet ever sweetly sung, Unless he were, like Phoebus, young; Nor ever nymph inspired to rhyme, Unless, like Venus, in her prime. ”

“ Yet at the last the box sweeps all away.
⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠VI.
⁠⁠Only the laurel got by peace
⁠⁠⁠No thunder e'er can blast:
⁠⁠Th' artillery of the skies
⁠⁠⁠Shoots to the earth, and dies:
And ever green and flourishing 'twill last,
Nor dipt in blood, nor widows' tears, nor orphans' cries.
⁠⁠About the head crown'd with these bays,
⁠⁠Like lambent fire the lightning plays;
Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace,
⁠Makes up its solemn train with death;
It melts the sword of war, yet keeps it in the sheath. ”

“ The Dean sits plodding on a book; Pope walks, and courts the Muse. Now backs of letters, though design'd For those who more will need 'em, Are fill'd with hints, and interlined, Himself can hardly read 'em. Each atom by some other struck, All turns and motions tries; Till in a lump together stuck, Behold a poem rise: Yet to the Dean his share allot; He claims it by a canon; That without which a thing is not, Is causa sine quâ non. Thus, Pope, in vain you boast your wit; For, had our deaf divine Been for your conversation fit, You had not writ a line. ”

“ But, Stella, say, what evil tongue Reports you are no longer young; That Time sits with his scythe to mow Where erst sat Cupid with his bow; That half your locks are turn'd to gray? I'll ne'er believe a word they say. 'Tis true, but let it not be known, My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown; For nature, always in the right, To your decays adapts my sight; And wrinkles undistinguished pass, For I'm ashamed to use a glass: And till I see them with these eyes, Whoever says you have them, lies. No length of time can make you quit Honour and virtue, sense and wit ”

“ THE DUKE'S ANSWER BY DR. SWIFT Dear Smed, I read thy brilliant lines, Where wit in all its glory shines; Where compliments, with all their pride, Are by their numbers dignified: I hope to make you yet as clean As that same Viz, St. Patrick's dean. I'll give thee surplice, verge, and stall, And may be something else withal; And, were you not so good a writer, I should present you with a mitre. Write worse, then, if you can—be wise- Believe me, 'tis the way to rise. Talk not of making of thy nest: Ah! never lay thy head to rest! ”

“ And 'twas perhaps Parnassus, if in height
⁠It be as great as 'tis in fame,
⁠And nigh to Heaven as is its name:
So, after th' inundation of a war,
When Learning's little houshold did embark,
With her world's fruitful system, in her sacred ark,
⁠At the first ebb of noise and fears,
Philosophy's exalted head appears;
And the Dove-Muse will now no longer stay,
But plumes her silver wings, and flies away;
⁠And now a laurel wreath she brings from far,
⁠To crown the happy conqueror,
⁠To show the flood begins to cease,
And brings the dear reward of victory and peace. ”

“ Marry come up! I wonder where you were bred. I'm sure such words does not become a man of your cloth; I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you call'd my master a knave; fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a shame For a parson who should know better things, to come out with such a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a shame and a sin; And the Dean, my master, is an honester man than you and all your kin: He has more goodness in his little finger than you have in your whole body: My master is a personable man, and not a spindle-shank hoddy doddy. ”

“ And while they toss my name about, With favour some, and some without, One, quite indiff'rent in the cause, My character impartial draws: The Dean, if we believe report, Was never ill receiv'd at court. As for his works in verse and prose I own myself no judge of those; Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em: But this I know, all people bought 'em. As with a moral view design'd To cure the vices of mankind: And, if he often miss'd his aim, The world must own it, to their shame, The praise is his, and theirs the blame. ”

“ There is no objection to be made either to the orthography, propriety, elegance, ease, or spirit of the whole. And what a blockhead am I to answer you in the same language! You, who are incapable of any folly, unless it be the esteem you are pleased to entertain for me: for, it is no merit, nor any proof of my good taste to find out in you all that nature has bestowed on a mortal; that is to say, honour, virtue, good sense, wit, sweetness, agreeableness, and firmness of soul: but by concealing yourself as you do, the world knows you not, and you lose the eulogy of millions. ”

“ Dear Pallas, I have been this morn To see a lovely infant born: A boy in yonder isle below, So like my own without his bow, By beauty could your heart be won, You'd swear it is Apollo's son; But it shall ne'er be said, a child So hopeful, has by me been spoil'd: I have enough besides to spare, And give him wholly to your care. Wisdom's above suspecting wiles; The Queen of Learning gravely smiles, Down from Olympus comes with joy, Mistakes Vanessa for a boy; Then sows within her tender mind Seeds long unknown to womankind: For manly bosoms chiefly fit, The seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit. ”

“ How shall we pass the time between? "Here, Betty, let me take my drops; And feel my pulse, I know it stops; This head of mine, lord, how it swims! And such a pain in all my limbs!" "Dear madam, try to take a nap"— But now they hear a footman's rap: "Go, run, and light the ladies up: It must be one before we sup." The table, cards, and counters, set, And all the gamester ladies met, Her spleen and fits recover'd quite, Our madam can sit up all night; "Whoever comes, I'm not within." Quadrille's the word, and so begin. How can the Muse her aid impart, Unskill'd in all the terms of art? ”

“ To say the truth, my lord, you began to be too happy for a mortal; much more happy than is usual with the dispensations of Providence long to continue. You had been the great instrument of preserving your country from foreign and domestick ruin: you have had the felicity of establishing your family in the greatest lustre, without any obligation to the bounty of your prince, or any industry of your own: you have triumphed over the violence and treachery of your enemies, by your courage and abilities: and by the steadiness of your temper, over the inconstancy and caprice of your friends. ”