This insulting of persons by blows and rude speeches, And breaking of windows, which, you know, maketh breaches? Ye ought to resent it, And in duty present it, For the law is against it; Not only the actors engaged in this job, But those that encourage and set on the mob: The mob,[2] a paw word, and which I ne'er mention, But must in this place, for the sake of distinction. I hear that some bailiffs and some justices Have strove what they could, all this rage to suppress; And I hope many more Will exert the like power, Since none will, depend on't, Get a jot of preferment. But men of this kidney, as I told you before.-- I'll tell you a story: Once upon a time, Some hot-headed fellows must needs take a whim, And so were so weak (Twas a mighty mistake) To pull down and abuse Bawdy-houses and stews; Who, tried by the laws of the realm for high-treason, Were hang'd, drawn, and quarter'd for that very reason. When the time came about For us all to set out, We went to take leave of the queen; Where were great men of worth, Great heads and so forth, The greatest that ever were seen: And she gave us a large And particular charge;-- Good part on't indeed Is quite out of my head;-- But I remember she said, We should recommend peace and good neighbourhood, wheresoever we came; and so I do here; For that every one, not only men and their wives, Should do all that they can to lead peaceable lives; And told us withal, that she fully expected A special account how ye all stood affected; When we've been at St. James's, you'll hear of the matter. Again then I charge ye, Ye men of the clergy, That ye follow the track all Of your own Bishop Blackall, And preach, as ye should, What's savoury and good; And together all cling, As it were, in a string; Not falling out, quarrelling one with another, Now we're treating with Monsieur,--that son of his mother. Then proceeded on the common matters of the law; and concluded: Once more, and no more, since few words are best, I charge you all present, by way of request, If ye honour, as I do, Our dear royal widow, Or have any compassion For church or the nation; And would live a long while In continual smile, And eat roast and boil, And not be forgotten, When ye are dead and rotten; That ye would be quiet, and peaceably dwell, And never fall out, but p--s all in a quill. [Footnote 1: Dr. Offspring Blackall. He was made Bishop of Exeter in 1707, and died in 1716.--_Scott_.] [Footnote 2: Swift hated the word "mob," and insisted that the proper word to use was "rabble." See "Letters of Swift," edit. Birkbeck Hill, p. 55; and "Prose Works," ix, p. 35, _n.--_W. E. B._] PARODY ON THE RECORDER'S SPEECH TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF ORMOND, 4TH JULY, 1711