A canon! that's a place too mean:
No, Doctor, you shall be a Dean;
Two dozen canons round your ftall,
And you the tyrant o'er them all :
You need but crofs the Irish feas,
To live in plenty, power, and ease.
Poor Swift departs; and what is worse,
With borrow'd money in his purse,
Travels at least a hundred leagues,
And fuffers numberless fatigues.

Suppofe him now a Dean complete,
Demurely lolling in his feat
The filver verge, with decent pride,
Stuck underneath his cufhion-fide ;
Suppofe him gone through all vexations,
Patents, inftalments, abjurations,

Firft-fruits and tenths, and chapter-treats;

Dues, payments, fees, demands, and cheats-105
The wicked laity's contriving

To hinder clergymen from thriving.
Now all the Doctor's money spent,

His tenants wrong him in his rent;
The farmers, fpitefully combin'd,
Force him to take his tithes in kind :
And Parvifol* discounts arrears
By bills for taxes and repairs.

Poor Swift, with all his loffes vex'd,

But was fo dirty, pale, and thin,

Old Read * would hardly let him in.

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Said Harley, "Welcome, Reverend Dean! "What makes your worship look fo lean? "Why, fure you won't appear in town "In that old wig and rufty gown? "I doubt your heart is fet on pelf "So much, that you neglect yourself. "What! I fuppose, now stocks are high, "You've fome good purchafe in your eye? "Or is your money out at ufe ?"—

"Truce, good my Lord, I beg a truce," (The Doctor in a paffion cried)

"Your raillery is mifapplied;

Experience I have dearly bought;

"You know I am not worth a groat;

"But you refolv'd to have your jeft,

"And 'twas a folly to contest;

"Then, fince you now have done your worst,

Pray leave me where you found me first."

HORACE, BOOK II. SAT. VI.

I'VE often wifh'd that I had clear,
For life, fix hundred pounds a year,
A handfome houfe to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land set out to plant a wood.
Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store;

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The Lord Treasurer's porter.

• But

G4

But here a grievance feems to lie,

All this is mine but till I die ;

I can't but think 'twould found more clever,
To me and to my heirs for ever.
• If I ne'er got or lost a groat,
By any trick, or any fault;
And if I pray by reason's rules,

And not like forty other fools:

As thus, "Vouchfafe, oh gracious Maker! "To grant me this and t'other acre :

Or, if it be thy will and pleasure,
"Direct my plow to find a treasure!"
• But only what my station fits,
And to be kept in my right wits,
Preferve, Almighty Providence!
Juft what you gave me, competence :
And let me in thefe fhades compofe
Something in verfe as true as profe;
Remov'd from all th' ambitious fcene,
Nor puff'd by pride, nor funk by spleen.'
In fhort, I'm perfectly content,

Let me but live on this fide Trent;

Nor crofs the Channel twice a year,
To fpend fix months with statesmen here.
I must by all means come to town,
'Tis for the fervice of the crown,
"Lewis, the Dean will be of use,
"Send for him up, take no excufe."

The toil, the danger of the feas,
Great minifters ne'er think of these;
Or let it coft five hundred pound,
No matter where the money's found,

10

15

29

25

30

35

40

It

It is but fo much more in debt,

And that they ne'er confider'd yet.

"Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown, "Let my Lord know you're come to town."

I hurry me in haste away,

45

Not thinking it is levee-day;
And find his honour in a pound,

Hemm'd by a triple circle round,

Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green:
How should I thrust myself between?

Some wag

obferves me thus perplex'd,

And, fmiling, whispers to the next,

"I thought the Dean had been too proud,

"To juftle here among a crowd!"

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Another, in a furly fit,

55

Tells me I have more zeal than wit,

"So eager to exprefs your love,

"You ne'er confider whom you shove, "But rudely prefs before a duke."

I own,

I'm pleas'd with this rebuke,

And take it kindly meant, to fhow

What I defire the world fhould know.

I get a whisper, and withdraw; When twenty fools I never faw Come with petitions fairly penn'd, Defiring I would ftand their friend.

This humbly offers me his cafe
That begs my interest for a place
A hundred other men's affairs,
Like bees, are humming in my ears.
To-morrow my appeal comes

Without your help, the cause is gone-,'

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бо

63

70

The

The duke expects my lord and you,
About fome great affair at two ---
"Put my lord Bolingbroke in mind,
"To get my warrant quickly fign'd:
"Confider, 'tis my first request."

my

--

Be fatisfy'd, I'll do beft:
Then presently he falls to teaze,
"You may for certain, if you please;
"I doubt not, if his lordship knew
"And, Mr. Dean, one word from you
"Tis (let me fee) three and more,
(October next it will be four)
Since Harley bid me firft attend,
And chofe me for an humble friend;
Would take me in his coach to chat,
And question me of this and that;

years

As "What's o'clock?" And, "How's the wind?"

"Whofe chariot's that we left behind?"

Or gravely try to read the lines

Writ underneath the country signs;

Or, "Have you nothing new to-day

"From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay?"

Such tattle often entertains

95

My lord and me as far as Staines,

As once a week we travel down

To Windfor, and again to town,
Where all that paffes inter nos
Might be proclaim'd at Charing-crofs.

Yet fome I know with envy fwell,

Because they see me us'd fo well:

"How think you of our friend the Dean?

"I wonder what fome people mean!

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" My