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in princess never put his trust:

and, would you make him truly sour,
provoke him with a slave in power.
The Irish senate if you nam'd,
with what impatience he declaim'd!
Fair LIBERTY was all his cry;
for her he stood prepar'd to die;
for her he boldly stood alone;
for her he oft' expos'd his own.
Two kingdoms, just as faction led,
had set a price upon his head;
but not a traitor could be found,
to sell him for six hundred pound.
Had he but spar'd his tongue and pen,
he might have rose like other men:
but power was never in his thought,
and wealth he valued not a groat:
ingratitude he often found,

and pity'd those who meant the wound;
but kept the tenor of his mind,
to merit well of human-kind;

nor made a sacrifice of those

who still were true, to please his foes.
He labour'd many a fruitful hour,
to reconcile his friends in power;
saw mischief by a faction brewing,
while they pursued each other's ruin.
But, finding vain was all his care,
he left the court in mere despair.

And, oh! how short are human schemes! here ended all our golden dreams. What St. John's skill in state affairs, what Ormond's valour, Oxford's cares, to save their sinking country lent,

was all destroy'd by one event. Too soon that precious life was ended, on which alone our weal depended. When up a dangerous faction starts, with wrath and vengeance in their hearts; by solemn league and covenant bound, to ruin, slaughter and confound; to turn religion to a fable,

and make the government a Babel; pervert the laws, disgrace the gown, corrupt the senate, rob the crown; to sacrifice old England's glory, and make her infamous in story: when such a tempest shook the land, how could unguarded virtue stand! With horror, grief, despair, the Dean beheld the dire destructive scene: his friends in exile, or the Tower, himself within the frown of power: pursued by base invenom'd pens. Far to the land of f and fens;

a servile race in folly nurs'd,

who truckle most, when treated worst.
By innocence and resolution,
he bore continual persecusion;
while numbers to preferment rose,
whose merit was to be his foes;
when e'en his own familiar friends,
intent upon their private ends,
like renegadoes now he feels,
against him lifting up their heels.

The Dean did, by his pen, defeat
an infamous destructive cheat;
taught fools their interest how to know

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and
gave
them arms to ward the blow.
Envy hath own'd it was his doing,
to save that hapless land from ruin;
while they who at the steerage stood,
and reap'd the profit, sought his blood.
To save them from their evil fate,
in him was held a crime of state.
A wicked monster on the bench,
whose fury blood could never quench;
as vile and profligate a villain,
as modern Scroggs, or old Tressilion:
who long all justice had discarded,
nor fear'd he God, nor man regarded;
vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent,
and make him of his zeal repent:
but heaven his innocence defends,
the grateful people stand his friends;
not strains of law, nor judges' frown,
nor topics brought to please the crown,
nor witness hir'd, nor jury pick'd,
prevail to bring him in convict.

In exile, with a steady heart,
he spent his life's declining part;
where folly, pride, and faction sway,

remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay."

Alas, poor Dean! his only scope

was to be held a misanthrope.

This into general odium drew him,

which if he lik'd, much good may't do him. His zeal was not to lash our crimes, but discontent against the times : for had we made him timely offers to raise his post, or fill his coffers, perhaps he might have truckled down,

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like other brethren of his gown; for party he would scarce have bled:I say no more-because he 's dead.What writings has he left behind?" "I hear they're of a different kind : a few in verse; but most in prose-" "Some high-flown pamphlets, I suppose :all scribbled in the worst of times, to palliate his friend Oxford's crimes; to praise queen Anne, nay more defend her, as never favouring the Pretender: or libels, yet conceal'd from sight, against the court to show his spite: perhaps his travels, part the third; a lie at every second wordoffensive to a loyal ear:

but not one sermon you may swear.
He knew a hundred pleasing stories,
with all the turns of Whigs and Tories:
was cheerful to his dying-day;

and friends would let him have his way.
As for his works in verse and prose,
I own myself no judge of those.

Nor can I tell what critics thought them;
but this I know, all people bought them,
as with a moral view design'd,
to please and to reform mankind:
and, if he often miss'd his aim,

the world must own it to their shame,
the praise is his, and their's the blame.
He gave
the little wealth he had
to build a house for fools and mad;
to show, by one satiric touch,
no nation wanted it so much.

That kingdom he hath left his debtor,
I wish it soon may have a better.
and, since you dread no further lashes,
methinks you may forgive his ashes."

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page 1

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Life of Swift,
Mrs. Harris's Petition,
Baucis and Philemon,
Description of Morning,
Description of a City Shower,

Horace, b. 2. sat. 6.

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Punning,

- 63

10 Stella to Dr. Swift, on his Birth-
14 day,

19 To Stella, on her Birth-day,
20 Verses by Stella,

22 Stella at Wood park, 1723,

An Inventory of Dr. Swift's Goods 26 To Stella, 1624,

Cadenus and Vanessa,

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- 27 Stella's Birth-day, 1725,

66

66

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67

70

-71

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56 The Place of the damned,

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In Sickness, -
Stella's Birth-day, 1719,
Stella's Birth day, 1720,
To Stella visiting me,

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To Dr. Sheridan on his Art of

G. Nicholson, Stourport.

57 The Dean's Manner of living, 87

59 Dr. Swift's Answer to a Friend, 87

On the Death of Dr. Swift,

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-88

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