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vere reflection on Mr. B. in his poem on the words Brother Pro testants and fellow-christians *. The provocation given by Swift

, was, certainly, very great; but not so great as the Lawyer's indiscretion, in his manner of resenting it. It is in general, knowa that he paid the Dean a visit, on this occasion, and that he behaved somewhat boisterously towards him; but the particulars of what paffed between them will best appear from the Dean's own account of that matter, in a letter to the Duke of Dorset to dated January, 1733-4:--of which the following is an extra&t:

On Monday lait week, towards evening, there came to the deanry one Mr. Bettesworth ; who, being told by the servants that I was gone to a friend's house, went thither to enquire for me, and was admitted into the street-parlour. I left my company in the back room, and went to him. He began with alking me, whether I were author of certain verses, wherein he was reñected on? The fingularity of the man, in his countenance, manner, action, style, and tone of 'voice, made me call to mind that I had once seen him, about two or three years ago, at Mr. Ludlow's country house. But I could not recollect his name; and of what calling he might be I had never heard. I therefore desired to know who, and what he was; said I had heard of some such verses, but knew no more. He then fignified to me, that he was a serjeant at law, and a member of parliament. After which he repeated the lines that concerned him, with great emphasis; said, I was mistaken in one thing, for he assured me he was no booby, but owned himself to be a coxcomb. However, that being a point of controversy wherein I had no concern, I let it drop. As to the verfes,' he infilted, that, by his taste and skill in poetry, he was as sure I writ them as if he had seen them fall from my pen. But I found the chief weight of his argument lay upon two words that rhymed to his name, which he knew could come from none but me. He then told me, That, since I would not own the verses, and that since he could not get satisfaction by any course of law, he would get it by his pen, and thew the world what a man i was. When he began to grow over-warm and eloquent, I called in the gentleman of the house, from the room adjoining; and the Serjeant

, going on with less turbulence, went away. He had a footman in the hall during all his talk, who was to have opened the door for one or more fellows, as he hath since reported; and, likewife, that he had a sharp knife in his pocket, ready to stab or

Thus at the bar that bonby Bett'sworih,
Though half a crown oue-pays his Sweatsworth,
Who knows in law nor text nor Margent,
Calls Singleton bis brother Serjeans.

+ The Duke was then Lord Lieutenant of Ircland.



maim me* But the master and mistress of the house, who knew his character, and could hear every word from the room they were in, had prepared a sufficient defence in such a cale, as they afterwards told me. He hath since related to five hundred perfons of all ranks, above five hundred falsehoods of this converTation, of my fears and his own brutalities, against all probability as well as fact; and some of them, as I have been affured, even in the presence of your Grace. His meanings and his movements were indeed peevish enough, but his words were not. He threatened me with nothing but his pen, yet owned he had no pretence to wit, And indeed I am heartily glad, for his own fake, that he proceeded no further; for, the least uproar would have called his nearest neighbours first to my asistance, and next, to the manifest danger of his life. And I would not wilJingly have even a dog killed upon my account. Ever since he hath amused himself with declaring, in all companies, especially before Bishops, and Lords, and members of parliament, his resolutions for vengeance, and the feveral manners by which he will put it in execution.

. It is only to the advice of some judicious friends that your grace owes the trouble of this letter. For, though I may be dispirited enough by sickness and years, yet I have little rea'on to apprehend any danger from that man; and thofe who feem to have most regard for my safety, are no more apprehensive than myself, especially such as best know his character. For his very enemies, and even his ridiculers, who are, of the two, by far the greater number, allow him to be a peaceable man in all things except his words, his rhetorical action, his looks, and his hatred to the clergy; which however are all known, by abundance of experience, to be perfectly harmless; and particularly as to the clergy.'

After all, Betterworth's great fault, and what rendered him particularly obnoxious to Swift, was his being a very zealous Whig, and an active man among the leaders of that party, at a time when party animofities ran high in Ireland; and, indeed, in both kingdoms.

We come now to the poctical articles contained in this posthumous publication; the first of which is a poem by Dr. Parnell, addressed to Swift, on his birth-day, November 30, 1713. Parnell's poetical talents are well known ; and therefore we shall pass immediately to the next article, which is a congratulatory Epistle from Swift to Lord Harley, on the marriage of the latter. These verses abound in wit and compliment; but will interest few Readers in these days. Next follow two small pieces, one by Bishop Atterbury, the other by Parnells, and then we

It is pretty obvious that Swift has here endeavoured to place Mr. B's behaviour rot only in the most absurd and ridiculous, but in the wordt light that he poaby could.

Y 2


come to a pretty long poem of the Dean's, entitled diredions for making a birth-day long, 1729. This is so severe a satire on the royal family, that we do not wonder it was not printed in the late reign. The whole house of Hanover is most infolently abused in it; but it must be owned the piece, considered merely as a poem, is excellent: yet after the just character we have given of it, it would not be decent or proper for us to make extračts from such a virulent lampoon.

The last-mentioned article is succeeded by about a dozen pieces of inferior note ; after which we have a poem to Mr. * Delany, on the talents fit for conversation ; an extract from which will serve to enrich our miscellany :

Talents for conversation fit,
Are humour, breeding, sense, and wit:
The last, as boundless as the wind,
Is well conceiv'd, though not defin'd:
For, sure, by wit is chiefly meant
Applying well what we invent.
What humour is, not all the tribe
Of logic-mongers can describe ;
Here nature only acts her part,
Unhelp'd by practice, books, or art:
For wit and humour differ quite,
That gives surprise, and this delight.
Humour is odd, grotesque, and wild,
Only by affe&tation spoild :
'Tis never by invention got,
Men have it when they know it not.

Our conversation to refine,
Humour and wit must both combine :
From both we learn to rally well,
Wherein sometimes the French excel.
Voiture, in various lights, displays
That irony which turns to praise :
His genius first found out the rule
For an obliging ridicule :
He flatters with peculiar air
The brave, the witty, and the fair :
And fools would fancy he intends
A fatire where he most commends.

But, as a poor pretending beav,
Because he fain would make a show,
Nor can arrive at filver lace,
Takes up with copper in the place :
So the pert dunces of mankind,
Whene'er they would be thought refind,
As if the diff'rence lay abftrufe
'Twixt raillery and gross abuse ;
To Mew their parts, will scold and rail,
like porters o'er a pot of ale.

Afterwards Dr. Delany.


Such is the clan of boift'rous Bcars,
Always together by the ears ;
Shrewd fellows and arch wags, a tribe
That meet for nothing but to gibe ;
Who first run one another down,
And then fall foul on all the town;
Skill'd in the horse-laugh and dry rub,
And call'd by excellence The Club.
I mean your Butler, Dawson, Car,
All special friends, and always jar.

The mettled and the vicious steed
Differ as little in their breed ;
Nay, Voiture is as like Tom Lee
As rudeness is to repartee.

If what you said, I wish unspoke,
'Twill not suffice, it was a joke :
Reproach not, though in jeft, a friend
For those defects he cannot mend;
His lineage, calling, shape, or sense,
If nam’d with seorn, gives just offence.

What use in life to make men fret,
Part in worse humour than they met?
Thus all society is lost,
Men laugh at one another's cost;
And half the company is teaz'd,
That came together to be pleasü :
For, all buffoons have most in view
To please themselves by vexing you.

You wonder now to see me write
Go gravely on a subject light;
Some part of what I here design
Regards a friend of yours and mine ;
Who, neither void of sense nor wit,
Yet seldom judges what is fit,
But sallies oft beyond his bounds,
And takes unmeasurable rounds.

When jefts are carried on too far,
And the loud laugh begins the war,
You keep your countenance for thamie,
Yet still you think your friend to blame.
For, though men cry they love a jeft,
'Tis but when others stand the test :
And, would you have their meaning known ?

They love a jest that is their own. About half a dozen other pieces, of various merit, follow next; turning over which, we come to DAPHNE ; a satire on some female character: a character which (begging pardon of the lovely

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Sex) may be pretty generally applied ; for which reason we shall
Lay it before our Readers :

Daphne knows, with equal ease,
How to vex and how to please;
But, the foliy of her sex
Makes her sole delight to vex.
Never woman more devis'd
Surer ways to be despis'd :
Paradoxes weakly wielding,
Always conquerid, never yielding.
To dispute, her chicf delight,
With not one opinion right:
Thick her arguments fhe lays on,
And with cavils combats reason:
Answers in decisive way,
Never bears what you can fay:
Still her odd perverseness shows
Chiefly where the nothing knows
And where the is most familiar,
Always peevisher and fillier :
All her soiries in a flame
When the knows she's moft to blame.

Send me hence ten thousand miles,
From a face that always imiles :
None could ever act that part,
But a Fury in her heart.
Ye who hate fach inconsistence,
To be easy keep your distance ;
Or in folly still befriend her,
But have no concern to niend her.
Lose nct time to contradict her,
Nor endeavour to convië her.
Never take it in your thought,
That he'll oun, or cure a fault.
Inco contradiction warm her,
Then, perhaps, you may reform her:
Only take this rule along,
Always to advise her wrong;
And reprove her when she's right;
She may then grow wife for spight,

No--that scheme will ne'er succeed,
She has be!ier learnt her creed :
She's too cunning, and too skilful,
When to yield, and when be wilful.
Nature holds her forth two mirrors,
One for wuch, and one for errors :,
'Fhat looks hideous, fierce, and frightsui ;
This is flatt'ring, and delightful :
That me throws away as foul;
Siss by this, to dress her foula


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