Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D.

Original Text: 
Jonathan Swift, Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift (London: Bathurst, 1739). B-10 1813 Fisher Rare Book Library (Toronto).
Dans l'adversité de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvons quelque chose, qui ne nous déplaît pas.
["In the hard times of our best friends we find something that doesn't displease us."]
2From Nature, I believe 'em true:
3They argue no corrupted mind
4In him; the fault is in mankind.
5     This maxim more than all the rest
6Is thought too base for human breast:
7"In all distresses of our friends,
8We first consult our private ends;
9While Nature, kindly bent to ease us,
10Points out some circumstance to please us."
11     If this perhaps your patience move,
12Let reason and experience prove.
13     We all behold with envious eyes
14Our equal rais'd above our size.
15Who would not at a crowded show
16Stand high himself, keep others low?
17I love my friend as well as you
18But would not have him stop my view.
19Then let him have the higher post:
20I ask but for an inch at most.
21     If in a battle you should find
22One, whom you love of all mankind,
23Had some heroic action done,
24A champion kill'd, or trophy won;
25Rather than thus be overtopt,
26Would you not wish his laurels cropt?
27     Dear honest Ned is in the gout,
28Lies rack'd with pain, and you without:
29How patiently you hear him groan!
30How glad the case is not your own!
31     What poet would not grieve to see
32His brethren write as well as he?
33But rather than they should excel,
34He'd wish his rivals all in hell.
35     Her end when emulation misses,
36She turns to envy, stings and hisses:
37The strongest friendship yields to pride,
38Unless the odds be on our side.
39     Vain human kind! fantastic race!
40Thy various follies who can trace?
41Self-love, ambition, envy, pride,
42Their empire in our hearts divide.
43Give others riches, power, and station,
44'Tis all on me a usurpation.
45I have no title to aspire;
46Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher.
48But with a sigh I wish it mine;
49When he can in one couplet fix
50More sense than I can do in six;
51It gives me such a jealous fit,
52I cry, "Pox take him and his wit!"
53     Why must I be outdone by Gay
54In my own hum'rous biting way?
56Who dares to irony pretend,
57Which I was born to introduce,
58Refin'd it first, and show'd its use.
60That I had some repute for prose;
61And, till they drove me out of date,
62Could maul a minister of state.
63If they have mortify'd my pride,
64And made me throw my pen aside;
65If with such talents Heav'n has blest 'em,
66Have I not reason to detest 'em?
67     To all my foes, dear Fortune, send
68Thy gifts; but never to my friend:
69I tamely can endure the first,
70But this with envy makes me burst.
71     Thus much may serve by way of proem:
72Proceed we therefore to our poem.
73     The time is not remote, when I
74Must by the course of nature die;
75When I foresee my special friends
76Will try to find their private ends:
77Tho' it is hardly understood
78Which way my death can do them good,
79Yet thus, methinks, I hear 'em speak:
81Poor gentleman, he droops apace!
82You plainly find it in his face.
84Will never leave him till he's dead.
85Besides, his memory decays:
86He recollects not what he says;
87He cannot call his friends to mind:
88Forgets the place where last he din'd;
89Plies you with stories o'er and o'er;
90He told them fifty times before.
91How does he fancy we can sit
92To hear his out-of-fashion'd wit?
93But he takes up with younger folks,
94Who for his wine will bear his jokes.
95Faith, he must make his stories shorter,
96Or change his comrades once a quarter:
97In half the time he talks them round,
98There must another set be found.
99     "For poetry he's past his prime:
100He takes an hour to find a rhyme;
101His fire is out, his wit decay'd,
102His fancy sunk, his Muse a jade.
103I'd have him throw away his pen;--
104But there's no talking to some men!"
105     And then their tenderness appears,
106By adding largely to my years:
107"He's older than he would be reckon'd
108And well remembers Charles the Second.
109     "He hardly drinks a pint of wine;
110And that, I doubt, is no good sign.
111His stomach too begins to fail:
112Last year we thought him strong and hale;
113But now he's quite another thing:
114I wish he may hold out till spring."
115     Then hug themselves, and reason thus:
116"It is not yet so bad with us."
117     In such a case, they talk in tropes,
118And by their fears express their hopes:
119Some great misfortune to portend,
120No enemy can match a friend.
121With all the kindness they profess,
122The merit of a lucky guess
123(When daily "How d'ye's" come of course,
124And servants answer, "Worse and worse!")
125Would please 'em better, than to tell,
126That, "God be prais'd, the Dean is well."
127Then he who prophecy'd the best
129"You know I always fear'd the worst,
130And often told you so at first."
131He'd rather choose that I should die,
132Than his prediction prove a lie.
133Not one foretells I shall recover;
134But all agree to give me over.
135     Yet, should some neighbour feel a pain
136Just in the parts where I complain,
137How many a message would he send?
138What hearty prayers that I should mend?
139Inquire what regimen I kept,
140What gave me ease, and how I slept?
141And more lament when I was dead,
142Than all the sniv'llers round my bed.
143     My good companions, never fear;
144For though you may mistake a year,
145Though your prognostics run too fast,
146They must be verify'd at last.
147     Behold the fatal day arrive!
148"How is the Dean?"--"He's just alive."
149Now the departing prayer is read;
150"He hardly breathes."--"The Dean is dead."
151Before the passing-bell begun,
152The news thro' half the town has run.
153"O, may we all for death prepare!
154What has he left? and who's his heir?"--
155"I know no more than what the news is;
156'Tis all bequeath'd to public uses."--
157"To public use! a perfect whim!
158What had the public done for him?
159Mere envy, avarice, and pride:
160He gave it all--but first he died.
161And had the Dean, in all the nation,
162No worthy friend, no poor relation?
163So ready to do strangers good,
164Forgetting his own flesh and blood?"
166With elegies the town is cloy'd:
167Some paragraph in ev'ry paper
169     The doctors, tender of their fame,
170Wisely on me lay all the blame:
171"We must confess his case was nice;
172But he would never take advice.
173Had he been rul'd, for aught appears,
174He might have liv'd these twenty years;
175For, when we open'd him, we found
176That all his vital parts were sound."
178'Tis told at Court, the Dean is dead.
180Runs laughing up to tell the Queen.
181The Queen, so gracious, mild, and good,
182Cries, "Is he gone! 'tis time he should.
183He's dead, you say; why, let him rot:
185I promis'd them, I own; but when?
186I only was the Princess then;
187But now, as consort of a king,
188You know, 'tis quite a different thing."
190Tells with a sneer the tidings heavy:
191"Why, is he dead without his shoes?"
193O, were the wretch but living still,
195Or had a mitre on his head,
198Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains!
199And then, to make them pass the glibber,
201He'll treat me as he does my betters,
203Revive the libels born to die;
204Which Pope must bear, as well as I.
205     Here shift the scene, to represent
206How those I love my death lament.
207Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay
208A week, and Arbuthnot a day.
209     St. John himself will scarce forbear
210To bite his pen, and drop a tear.
211The rest will give a shrug, and cry,
212"I'm sorry--but we all must die!"
213Indifference, clad in Wisdom's guise,
214All fortitude of mind supplies:
215For how can stony bowels melt
216In those who never pity felt?
218Resigning to the will of God.
219     The fools, my juniors by a year,
220Are tortur'd with suspense and fear;
221Who wisely thought my age a screen,
222When death approach'd, to stand between:
223The screen remov'd, their hearts are trembling;
224They mourn for me without dissembling.
225     My female friends, whose tender hearts
226Have better learn'd to act their parts,
227Receive the news in doleful dumps:
228"The Dean is dead: (and what is trumps?)
229Then, Lord have mercy on his soul!
231Six deans, they say, must bear the pall:
232(I wish I knew what king to call.)
233Madam, your husband will attend
234The funeral of so good a friend.
235No, madam, 'tis a shocking sight:
236And he's engag'd to-morrow night:
237My Lady Club would take it ill,
238If he should fail her at quadrille.
239He lov'd the Dean--(I lead a heart)
240But dearest friends, they say, must part.
241His time was come: he ran his race;
242We hope he's in a better place."
243     Why do we grieve that friends should die?
244No loss more easy to supply.
245One year is past; a different scene!
246No further mention of the Dean;
247Who now, alas! no more is miss'd,
248Than if he never did exist.
249Where's now this fav'rite of Apollo!
250Departed:--and his works must follow;
251Must undergo the common fate;
252His kind of wit is out of date.
254Inquires for "Swift in Verse and Prose."
255Says Lintot, "I have heard the name;
256He died a year ago."--"The same."
257He searcheth all his shop in vain.
259I sent them with a load of books,
260Last Monday to the pastry-cook's.
261To fancy they could live a year!
262I find you're but a stranger here.
263The Dean was famous in his time,
264And had a kind of knack at rhyme.
265His way of writing now is past;
266The town hath got a better taste;
267I keep no antiquated stuff,
268But spick and span I have enough.
269Pray do but give me leave to show 'em;
271This ode you never yet have seen,
273Then here's a letter finely penn'd
275It clearly shows that all reflection
276On ministers is disaffection.
279The hawkers have not got 'em yet:
280Your honour please to buy a set?
282'Tis read by every politician:
283The country members, when in town,
284To all their boroughs send them down;
285You never met a thing so smart;
286The courtiers have them all by heart:
287Those maids of honour who can read
288Are taught to use them for their creed.
289The rev'rend author's good intention
290Hath been rewarded with a pension.
291He doth an honour to his gown,
292By bravely running priestcraft down:
294That Jesus was a grand imposter;
295That all his miracles were cheats,
296Perform'd as jugglers do their feats:
297The church had never such a writer;
298A shame he hath not got a mitre!"
299     Suppose me dead; and then suppose
301Where, from discourse of this and that,
302I grow the subject of their chat.
303And while they toss my name about,
304With favour some, and some without,
305One, quite indiff'rent in the cause,
306My character impartial draws:
307     "The Dean, if we believe report,
308Was never ill receiv'd at Court.
309As for his works in verse and prose
310I own myself no judge of those;
311Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em:
312But this I know, all people bought 'em.
313As with a moral view design'd
314To cure the vices of mankind:
315His vein, ironically grave,
316Expos'd the fool, and lash'd the knave.
317To steal a hint was never known,
318But what he writ was all his own.
319     "He never thought an honour done him,
320Because a duke was proud to own him,
321Would rather slip aside and choose
322To talk with wits in dirty shoes;
323Despis'd the fools with stars and garters,
325He never courted men in station,
326Nor persons held in admiration;
327Of no man's greatness was afraid,
328Because he sought for no man's aid.
329Though trusted long in great affairs
330He gave himself no haughty airs:
331Without regarding private ends,
332Spent all his credit for his friends;
333And only chose the wise and good;
334No flatt'rers; no allies in blood:
335But succour'd virtue in distress,
336And seldom fail'd of good success;
337As numbers in their hearts must own,
338Who, but for him, had been unknown.
339     "With princes kept a due decorum,
340But never stood in awe before 'em.
341He follow'd David's lesson just:
343And, would you make him truly sour,
344Provoke him with a slave in pow'r.
346With what impatience he declaim'd!
347Fair Liberty was all his cry,
348For her he stood prepar'd to die;
349For her he boldly stood alone;
350For her he oft expos'd his own.
352Had set a price upon his head;
353But not a traitor could be found
354To sell him for six hundred pound.
355     "Had he but spar'd his tongue and pen
356He might have rose like other men:
357But pow'r was never in his thought,
358And wealth he valu'd not a groat:
359Ingratitude he often found,
360And pity'd those who meant the wound:
361But kept the tenor of his mind,
362To merit well of human kind:
363Nor made a sacrifice of those
364Who still were true, to please his foes.
366To reconcile his friends in pow'r;
367Saw mischief by a faction brewing,
368While they pursu'd each other's ruin.
369But, finding vain was all his care,
370He left the Court in mere despair.
371     "And, oh! how short are human schemes!
372Here ended all our golden dreams.
373What St. John's skill in state affairs,
375To save their sinking country lent,
376Was all destroy'd by one event.
378On which alone our weal depended.
380With wrath and vengeance in their hearts;
381By solemn League and Cov'nant bound,
382To ruin, slaughter, and confound;
383To turn religion to a fable,
384And make the government a Babel;
385Pervert the law, disgrace the gown,
386Corrupt the senate, rob the crown;
387To sacrifice old England's glory,
388And make her infamous in story:
389When such a tempest shook the land,
390How could unguarded Virtue stand?
391     "With horror, grief, despair, the Dean
392Beheld the dire destructive scene:
393His friends in exile, or the tower,
395Pursu'd by base envenom'd pens,
397A servile race in folly nurs'd,
398Who truckle most when treated worst.
399     "By innocence and resolution,
400He bore continual persecution,
401While numbers to preferment rose,
402Whose merits were, to be his foes;
403When ev'n his own familiar friends,
404Intent upon their private ends,
405Like renegadoes now he feels,
406Against him lifting up their heels.
407     "The Dean did by his pen defeat
409Taught fools their int'rest how to know,
410And gave them arms to ward the blow.
411Envy hath own'd it was his doing,
412To save that helpless land from ruin;
413While they who at the steerage stood,
414And reap'd the profit, sought his blood.
415     "To save them from their evil fate,
416In him was held a crime of state.
418Whose fury blood could never quench,
419As vile and profligate a villain,
421Who long all justice had discarded,
422Nor fear'd he God, nor man regarded,
423Vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent,
424And make him of his zeal repent;
425But Heav'n his innocence defends,
426The grateful people stand his friends.
427Not strains of law, nor judge's frown,
428Nor topics brought to please the crown,
429Nor witness hir'd, nor jury pick'd,
430Prevail to bring him in convict.
432He spent his life's declining part;
433Where folly, pride, and faction sway,
434Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay.
436Were always of the middling kind;
437No fools of rank, a mongrel breed,
438Who fain would pass for lords indeed:
440And peerage is a wither'd flower;
441He would have held it a disgrace,
442If such a wretch had known his face.
443On rural squires, that kingdom's bane,
444He vented oft his wrath in vain;
446Who sell their souls and votes for nought;
447The nation stripp'd, go joyful back,
448To rob the church, their tenants rack,
450And keep the peace to pick up fees;
451In ev'ry job to have a share,
453And turn the tax for public roads,
454Commodious to their own abodes.
455     "Perhaps I may allow, the Dean
456Had too much satire in his vein;
457And seem'd determin'd not to starve it,
458Because no age could more deserve it.
459Yet malice never was his aim;
460He lash'd the vice, but spar'd the name;
461No individual could resent,
462Where thousands equally were meant.
463His satire points at no defect,
464But what all mortals may correct;
465For he abhorr'd that senseless tribe
466Who call it humour when they gibe.
467He spar'd a hump, or crooked nose,
468Whose owners set not up for beaux.
469True genuine dulness mov'd his pity,
470Unless it offer'd to be witty.
471Those who their ignorance confess'd
472He ne'er offended with a jest;
473But laugh'd to hear an idiot quote
474A verse from Horace, learn'd by rote.
475     "He knew a hundred pleasant stories
476With all the turns of Whigs and Tories:
477Was cheerful to his dying day;
478And friends would let him have his way.
479     "He gave the little wealth he had
481And show'd by one satiric touch,
482No nation wanted it so much.
484I wish it soon may have a better."

Notes

1] Described on the original title-page as: "Written by Himself: Nov. 1731." First published in 1739. A shortened form of the poem with many alterations was printed by some of Swift's London acquaintances in 1739. Dissatisfied with this version, Swift immediately issued the complete poem, as given in the text, in Dublin. D.S.P.D.: Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin.
La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680) published in 1665 his Réflexions ou Sentences et Maximes Morales. This maxim, number xcix in the first edition, was suppressed by the author in later editions. Back to Line
47] Pope, Gay, and Arbuthnot were Swift's closest friends, and fellow-members of the Scriblerus Club, with whom he had planned, in 1714, a general attack on all the follies of the age, out of which eventually came The Dunciad, The Beggar's Opera, and Gulliver's Travels. See head note to Pope's Dunciad. Back to Line
55] Arbuthnot, physician to Queen Anne, was the most successful imitator of Swift's ironical method in prose satire. See his History of John Bull. Back to Line
59] St. John: Viscount Bolingbroke, Tory Secretary of State, with whom Swift had been closely associated during his political career under the Harley administration (1710-14). See note to Pope's Essay on Man, I, 1.
Pultney: originally a friend of Walpole's, but later, with Bolingbroke, contributor to the political organ of the anti-Walpole faction, the Craftsman. Back to Line
80] Dean: Swift was made Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, in 1713. Back to Line
83] vertigo: the giddiness Swift so often complained of, accompanied by loss of memory. Back to Line
128] approves: gives evidence of . Back to Line
165] Grub-Street wits: inferior poets, literary hacks. Back to Line
168] "The author imagines that the scribblers of the prevailing party, which he always opposed, will libel him after his death. but that others will remember him with gratitude, who consider the service he had done to Ireland under the name of M. B. Drapier, by utterly defeating the destructive project of Wood's Half-pence, in five Letters to the people of Ireland, at that time read universally and convincing every reader." (Faulkner, Swift's Dublin printer, supplied this and the following notes marked F, doubtless with the assistance of the Dean.) Back to Line
177] "The Dean supposeth himself to die in Ireland" (F). Back to Line
179] "Mrs Howard, afterwards Countess of Suffolk, then of the bedchamber to the Queen, professed much friendship for the Dean. The Queen, then princess, sent a dozen times to the Dean (then in London) with her command to attend her; which at last he did, by advice of all his friends. She often sent for him afterwards, and always treated him very graciously. He taxed her with a present worth ten pounds, which she promised before he should return to Ireland, but on his taking leave, the medals were not ready." (F) Back to Line
184] medals: "The medals were to be sent to the Dean in four months, but she forgot them, or thought them too dear. The Dean, being in Ireland, sent Mrs. Howard a piece of Indian plaid made in that kingdom, which the Queen seeing took from her, and wore it herself, and sent to the Dean for as much as would clothe herself and children, desiring he would send the charge of it. He did the former. It cost thirty-five pounds, but he said he would have nothing except the medals. He was the summer following in England, was treated as usual, and she being then Queen, the Dean was promised a settlement in England, but returned as he went, and, instead of favour or medals, hath been ever since under Her Majesty's displeasure." (F) Back to Line
189] "Chartres is a most infamous, vile scoundrel, grown from a foot-boy, or worse, to a prodigious fortune both in England and Scotland. He had a way of insinuating himself into all ministers under every change, either as pimp, flatterer, or informer. He was tried at seventy for a rape, and came off by sacrificing a great part of his fortune. He is since dead, but this poem still preserves the scene and time it was writ in." (F) Back to Line
192] Bob: "Sir Robert Walpole, chief minister of state, treated the Dean in 1726, with great distinction; invited him to dinner at Chelsea, with the Dean's friends chosen on purpose; appointed an hour to talk with him of Ireland, to which kingdom and people the Dean found him no great friend, for he defended Wood's project of half-pence, etc. The Dean would see him no more; and upon his next year's return to England, Sir Robert on an accidental meeting, only made a civil compliment, and never invited him again." (F) Back to Line
194] Will: William Pultney. See note to line 59. Back to Line
196] Bolingbroke: "Henry St. John, Lord Viscount Bolingbroke, Secretary of State to Queen Anne, of blessed memory. He is reckoned the most universal genius in Europe. Walpole, dreading his abilities, treated him most injuriously, working with King George [I], who forgot his promise of restoring the said Lord, upon the restless importunity of Walpole." (F) Back to Line
197] "Curll hath been the most infamous bookseller of any age or country. His character, in part, may be found in Mr. Pope's Dunciad. He published three volumes, all charged on the Dean, who never writ three pages of them. He hath used many of the Dean's friends in almost as vile a manner" (F). Back to Line
200] "Three stupid verse-writers in London, the last to the shame of the Court, and the highest disgrace to wit and learning, was made laureate. Moore, commonly called Jemmy Moore, son of Arthur Moore, whose father was jailor of Monaghan in Ireland. See the character of Jemmy Moore, and Tibbalds [Theobald], in the Dunciad." (F) Back to Line
202] "Curll is notoriously infamous for publishing the lives, letters, and last wills and testaments of the nobility and ministers of state, as well as of all the rogues who are hanged at Tyburn. He hath been in custody of the House of Lords for publishing or forging the letters of many peers, which made the Lords enter a resolution in their journal-book, that no life or writings of any Lord should be published without the consent of the next heir-at-law or licence from their House." (F) Back to Line
217] Cf. Pope, Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Back to Line
230] vole: the winning of all the tricks at certain card games, such as ombre or quadrille. Back to Line
253] Lintot: publisher of Pope and Gay, and probably the most fashionable bookseller in London. See The Dunciad, II. Back to Line
258] Duck-lane: "A place in London where old books are sold" (F). Cf. Pope, Essay on Criticism, 445. Back to Line
270] Cibber: an inferior poet and dramatist, and hero of the 1742 version of Pope's Dunciad, appointed Poet Laureate in 1730. The appointment was a matter of general ridicule and scorn. Back to Line
272] Stephen Duck: a minor, unlettered, "natural" poet, favoured by Queen Caroline. Back to Line
274] Craftsman: see note to line 59. Back to Line
277] "Walpole hires a set of party scribblers, who do nothing else but write in his defence" (F). Back to Line
278] "Henley is a clergyman, who, wanting both merit and luck to get preferment, or even to keep his curacy in the Established Church, formed a new conventicle, which he calls an Oratory. There at set times he delivereth strange speeches, compiled by himself and his associates, who share the profit with him. Every hearer pays a shilling each day for admittance. He is an absolute dunce, but generally reputed crazy." (F) Celebrated by Pope as "Preacher at once, and zany of thy age." See The Dunciad, II. Back to Line
281] "[Thomas] Woolston was a clergyman, but for want of bread hath, in several treatises, in the most blasphemous manner, attempted to turn our Saviour and his miracles into ridicule. He is much caressed by many great courtiers, and by all the infidels, and his books read generally by the Court ladies." (F) Woolston was not given a pension, but was brought to trial for blasphemous writings on such subjects as the miracles of Christ, and imprisoned in the King's Bench, where he died in 1733. Back to Line
293] A common proverb: cf. Fuller, Church History (1655), VI, ii, 296. Back to Line
300] Rose: a fashionable tavern in Covent Garden; see Pepys, Diary, passim. Back to Line
324] Chartres. See note to line 189. Back to Line
342] See Psalms. 146:3. Back to Line
345] Irish Senate. In one copy of the poem there is the following manuscript addition (possibly by Swift himself) in the form of a marginal note: "The Irish Parliament are reduced to the utmost degree of slavery, flattery, corruption, and meanness of spirit and the worse they are treated, the more fawning and servile they grow; under the greatest and most contemptuous grievances they dare not complain; by which baseness and tameness, unworthy human creatures, the kingdom is irrecoverably ruined." See also the poem entitled The Legion Club. Back to Line
351] "In the year 1713, the late Queen was prevailed with by an address of the House of Lords in England to publish a proclamation promising three hundred pounds to whatever person would discover the author of a pamphlet called The Public Spirit of the Whigs; and in Ireland, in the year 1724, my Lord Carteret at his first coming into the government, was prevailed on to issue a proclamation for promising the like reward of three hundred pounds to any person who could discover the author of a pamphlet called The Drapier's Fourth Letter, etc., writ against that destructive project of coining half-pence for Ireland; but in neither kingdom was the Dean discovered" (F). Back to Line
365] "Queen Anne's ministry fell to variance from the first year after their ministry began. Harcourt the Chancellor, and Lord Bolingbroke the Secretary, were discontented with the Treasurer Oxford, for his too much mildness to the Whig party. This quarrel grew higher every day till the Queen's death. The Dean, who was the only person that endeavoured to reconcile them, found it impossible, and thereupon retired to the country about ten weeks before that fatal event: upon which he returned to his deanery in Dublin, where for many years he was worried by the new people in power, and had hundreds of libels writ against him in England." (F) Back to Line
374] Ormond: Lord-lieutenant of Ireland (1703-7), and close associate of the Harley administration. Back to Line
377] "In the height of the quarrel between the ministers, the Queen died [1714]" (F). Back to Line
379] "Upon Queen Anne's death the Whig faction was restored to power, which they exercised with the utmost rage and revenge; impeached and banished the chief leaders of the Church party, and stripped all their adherents of what employments they had, after which England was never known to make so mean a figure in Europe. The greatest preferments in the Church in both kingdoms were given to the most ignorant men, fanatics were publicly caressed, Ireland utterly ruined and enslaved, only great ministers heaping up millions, and so affairs continue until this present third day of May, 1732, and are likely to go on in the same manner." (F) Back to Line
394] "Upon the Queen's death the Dean retired to live in Dublin, at his deanery-house. Numberless libels were writ against him in England, as a Jacobite. He was insulted in the street, and at night was forced to be attended by his servants armed." (F) Back to Line
396] Ireland. Back to Line
408] "One Wood, a hardware man from England, had a patent for coining copper half-pence in Ireland to the sum of £108,000, which, in the consequence, must leave that kingdom without gold or silver [see Drapier's Letters.]" (F). Back to Line
417] "One Whitshed was then Chief Justice. He had some years before prosecuted a printer for a pamphlet writ by the Dean, to persuade the people of Ireland to wear their own manufactures. Whitshed sent the jury down eleven times, and kept them nine hours, until they were forced to bring in a special verdict. He sat as judge afterwards on the trial of the printer of the Drapier's fourth letter; but the jury, against all he could say or swear, threw out the bill. All the kingdom took the Drapier's part, except the courtiers or those who expected places. The Drapier was celebrated in many poems and pamphlets. His sign was set up in most streets of Dublin (where many of them still continue) and in several country towns" (F). Back to Line
420] "[Sir William] Scroggs [1623?-1683] was Chief Justice under King Charles the Second. His judgment always varied in state trials, according to directions from Court. [Sir Robert] Tresilian [d. 1388] was a wicked judge hanged above three hundred years ago" (F). Back to Line
431] "In Ireland, which he had reason to call a place of exile; to which country nothing could have driven him but the Queen's death, who had determined to fix him in England, in spite of the Duchess of Somerset, etc." (F). Back to Line
435] "In Ireland the Dean was not acquainted with one single lord, spiritual or temporal. He only conversed with private gentlemen of the clergy or laity, and but a small number of either." (F) Back to Line
439] "The peers of Ireland lost a great part of their jurisdiction by one single act, and tamely submitted to this infamous mark of slavery without the least resentment or remonstrance" (F). Back to Line
445] "The Parliament (as they call it) in Ireland meet but once in two years; and, after giving five times more than they can afford, return home to reimburse themselves by all country jobs and oppressions, of which some few only are here mentioned" (F). Back to Line
449] "The highwaymen in Ireland are, since the late wars there, usually called rapparees, which was a name given to those Irish soldiers who in small parties used, at that time, to plunder the Protestants" (F). Back to Line
452] "The Army in Ireland is lodged in barracks, the building and repairing whereof, and other charges, have cost a prodigious sum to that unhappy kingdom" (F). Back to Line
480] Swift left his modest fortune to found St. Patrick's Hospital, in Dublin. Back to Line
483] "Meaning Ireland, where he now lives, and probably may die" (F). Back to Line
Publication Start Year: 
1739
RPO poem Editors: 
G. G. Falle
RPO Edition: 
3RP 2.70.
Form: