Transform'd by thoughtless rage, and midnight wine, From malice free, and push'd without design; In equal brawl if Savage lung'd a thrust, And brought the youth a victim to the dust; So strong the hand of accident appears, The royal hand from guilt and vengeance clears. Instead of wasting "all thy future years, Savage, in pray'r and vain repentant tears," Exert thy pen to mend a vitious age, To curb the priest, and sink his high-church rage; To show what frauds the holy vestments hide, The nests of av'rice, lust, and pedant pride: Then change the scene, let merit brightly shine, And round the patriot twist the wreath divine; The heav'nly guide deliver down to fame; In well-tun'd lays transmit a Foster's name; Touch ev'ry passion with harmonious art, Exalt the genius, and correct the heart. Thus future times shall royal grace extol; Thus polish'd lines thy present fame enrol. ----But grant---- ----Maliciously that Savage plung'd the steel, And made the youth its shining vengeance feel; My soul abhors the act, the man detests, But more the bigotry in priestly breasts. Gentleman's Magazine, May, 1735. Dr. J.] [Footnote 83: By Mr. Pope. Dr. J.] [Footnote 84: Reprinted in the late collection.] [Footnote 85: In a letter after his confinement. Dr. J.] [Footnote 86: Letter, Jan. 15.] [Footnote 87: See this confirmed, Gent. Mag. vol. lvii. 1140. N.] [Footnote 88: The author preferred this title to that of London and Bristol compared; which, when he began the piece, he intended to prefix to it. Dr. J.] [Footnote 89: This friend was Mr. Cave, the printer. N.] [Footnote 90: Mr. Strong, of the post-office. N.] [Footnote 91: See Gent. Mag. vol. lvii. 1040. N.] [Footnote 92: Mr. Pope. See some extracts of letters from that gentleman to and concerning Mr. Savage, in Ruffhead's Life of Pope, p. 502. R.] SWIFT. An account of Dr. Swift has been already collected, with great diligence and acuteness, by Dr. Hawkesworth, according to a scheme which I laid before him in the intimacy of our friendship. I cannot, therefore, be expected to say much of a life, concerning which I had long since communicated my thoughts to a man capable of dignifying his narrations with so much elegance of language and force of sentiment. Jonathan Swift was, according to an account said to be written by himself[93], the son of Jonathan Swift, an attorney, and was born at Dublin, on St. Andrew's day, 1667: according to his own report, as delivered by Pope to Spence, he was born at Leicester, the son of a clergyman, who was minister of a parish in Herefordshire[94]. During his life the place of his birth was undetermined. He was contented to be called an Irishman by the Irish; but would occasionally call himself an Englishman. The question may, without much regret, be left in the obscurity in which he delighted to involve it.