Pox take 'em all for me--I fret So much, I shall not eat my meat-- You know I'd rather have a slice." "I know, dear sir, you are not nice; You'll have your dinner in a minute, Here comes the plate and slices in it-- Therefore no more, but take your place-- Do you fall to, and I'll say grace." VERSES ADDRESSED TO SWIFT AND TO HIS MEMORY TO DR. SWIFT ON HIS BIRTH-DAY[1] While I the godlike men of old, In admiration wrapt, behold; Revered antiquity explore, And turn the long-lived volumes o'er; Where Cato, Plutarch, Flaccus, shine In every excellence divine; I grieve that our degenerate days Produce no mighty soul like these: Patriot, philosopher, and bard, Are names unknown, and seldom heard. "Spare your reflection," Phoebus cries; "'Tis as ungrateful as unwise: Can you complain, this sacred day, That virtues or that arts decay? Behold, in Swift revived appears: The virtues of unnumber'd years; Behold in him, with new delight, The patriot, bard, and sage unite; And know, Iërne in that name Shall rival Greece and Rome in fame." [Footnote 1: Written by Mrs. Pilkington, at the time when she wished to be introduced to the Dean. The verses being presented to him by Dr. Delany, he kindly accepted the compliment.--_Scott._] ON DR. SWIFT 1733 No pedant Bentley proud, uncouth, Nor sweetening dedicator smooth, In one attempt has ever dared To sap, or storm, this mighty bard, Nor Envy does, nor ignorance, Make on his works the least advance. For _this_, behold! still flies afar Where'er his genius does appear; Nor has _that_ aught to do above, So meddles not with Swift and Jove. A faithful, universal fame In glory spreads abroad his name; Pronounces Swift, with loudest breath, Immortal grown before his death. TO THE REV. DR. SWIFT, DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S A BIRTH-DAY POEM. NOV. 30, 1736