"When thou, suspended high in air, Diest on a more ignoble tree, (For thou shall steal thy landlord's mare,) Then, bloody caitiff! think on me." [Footnote 1: A village near the seat of Sir Arthur Acheson, where the Dean made a long visit. The tree, which was a remarkable one, was much admired by the knight. Yet the Dean, in one of his unaccountable humours, gave directions for cutting it down in the absence of Sir Arthur, who was, of course, highly incensed. By way of making his peace, the Dean wrote this poem; which had the desired effect.] [Footnote 2: Sir Archibald Acheson, secretary of state for Scotland.] [Footnote 3: Drummond of Hawthornden, and Sir William Alexander, Earl of Stirling, who were both friends of Sir Archibald, and famous for their poetry.] [Footnote 4: Sir Arthur Acheson.] TO DEAN SWIFT BY SIR ARTHUR ACHESON. 1728 Good cause have I to sing and vapour, For I am landlord to the Drapier: He, that of every ear's the charmer, Now condescends to be my farmer, And grace my villa with his strains; Lives such a bard on British plains? No; not in all the British court; For none but witlings there resort, Whose names and works (though dead) are made Immortal by the Dunciad; And, sure as monument of brass, Their fame to future times shall pass; How, with a weakly warbling tongue, Of brazen knight they vainly sung; A subject for their genius fit; He dares defy both sense and wit. What dares he not? He can, we know it, A laureat make that is no poet; A judge, without the least pretence To common law, or common sense; A bishop that is no divine; And coxcombs in red ribbons shine: Nay, he can make, what's greater far, A middle state 'twixt peace and war; And say, there shall; for years together, Be peace and war, and both, and neither. Happy, O Market-Hill! at least, That court and courtiers have no taste: You never else had known the Dean, But, as of old, obscurely lain; All things gone on the same dull track, And Drapier's-Hill been still Drumlack; But now your name with Penshurst vies, And wing'd with fame shall reach the skies. DEAN SWIFT AT SIR ARTHUR ACHESON'S IN THE NORTH OF IRELAND The Dean would visit Market-Hill, Our invitation was but slight; I said--"Why let him, if he will:" And so I bade Sir Arthur write. His manners would not let him wait, Lest we should think ourselves neglected, And so we see him at our gate Three days before he was expected, After a week, a month, a quarter, And day succeeding after day, Says not a word of his departure, Though not a soul would have him stay. I've said enough to make him blush, Methinks, or else the devil's in't; But he cares not for it a rush, Nor for my life will take the hint. But you, my dear, may let him know, In civil language, if he stays, How deep and foul the roads may grow, And that he may command the chaise.