Volume I Part 30 (2/2)

Lindsay, 'tis you have set me on, To state this question _pro_ and _con_.

My satire may offend, 'tis true; However, it concerns not you.

I own, there may, in every clan, Perhaps, be found one honest man; Yet link them close, in this they jump, To be but rascals in the lump.

Imagine Lindsay at the bar, He's much the same his brethren are; Well taught by practice to imbibe The fundamentals of his tribe: And in his client's just defence, Must deviate oft from common sense; And make his ignorance discern'd, To get the name of counsel-learn'd, (As _lucus_ comes _a non lucendo_,) And wisely do as other men do: But s.h.i.+ft him to a better scene, Among his crew of rogues in grain; Surrounded with companions fit, To taste his humour, sense, and wit; You'd swear he never took a fee, Nor knew in law his A, B, C.

'Tis hard, where dulness overrules, To keep good sense in crowds of fools.

And we admire the man, who saves His honesty in crowds of knaves; Nor yields up virtue at discretion, To villains of his own profession.

Lindsay, you know what pains you take In both, yet hardly save your stake; And will you venture both anew, To sit among that venal crew, That pack of mimic legislators, Abandon'd, stupid, slavish praters?

For as the rabble daub and rifle The fool who scrambles for a trifle; Who for his pains is cuff'd and kick'd, Drawn through the dirt, his pockets pick'd; You must expect the like disgrace, Scrambling with rogues to get a place; Must lose the honour you have gain'd, Your numerous virtues foully stain'd: Disclaim for ever all pretence To common honesty and sense; And join in friends.h.i.+p with a strict tie, To M--l, C--y, and d.i.c.k Tighe.[3]

[Footnote 1: The G.o.ddess of Justice, the last of the celestials to leave the earth. ”Ultima caelestum terras Astraea reliquit,” Ovid, ”Met.,” i, 150.--_W. E .B._]

[Footnote 2: Highwaymen of that time were so called.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 3: Richard Tighe, Esq. He was a member of the Irish Parliament, and held by Dean Swift in utter abomination. He is several times mentioned in the Journal to Stella: how he used to beat his wife, and how she deserved it. ”Prose Works,” vol. ii, pp. 229, 242, etc.--_W. E. B._]

A DIALOGUE

BETWEEN AN EMINENT LAWYER[1] AND DR. JONATHAN SWIFT, D.S.P.D. IN ALLUSION TO HORACE, BOOK II, SATIRE I

”Sunt quibus in Satira,” etc.

WRITTEN BY MR. LINDSAY, IN 1729

DR. SWIFT

Since there are persons who complain There's too much satire in my vein; That I am often found exceeding The rules of raillery and breeding; With too much freedom treat my betters, Not sparing even men of letters: You, who are skill'd in lawyers' lore, What's your advice? Shall I give o'er?

Nor ever fools or knaves expose, Either in verse or humorous prose: And to avoid all future ill, In my scrutoire lock up my quill?

LAWYER

Since you are pleased to condescend To ask the judgment of a friend, Your case consider'd, I must think You should withdraw from pen and ink, Forbear your poetry and jokes, And live like other Christian folks; Or if the Muses must inspire Your fancy with their pleasing fire, Take subjects safer for your wit Than those on which you lately writ.

Commend the times, your thoughts correct, And follow the prevailing sect; a.s.sert that Hyde,[2] in writing story, Shows all the malice of a Tory; While Burnet,[3] in his deathless page, Discovers freedom without rage.

To Woolston[4] recommend our youth, For learning, probity, and truth; That n.o.ble genius, who unbinds The chains which fetter freeborn minds; Redeems us from the slavish fears Which lasted near two thousand years; He can alone the priesthood humble, Make gilded spires and altars tumble.

DR. SWIFT

Must I commend against my conscience, Such stupid blasphemy and nonsense; To such a subject tune my lyre, And sing like one of Milton's choir, Where devils to a vale retreat, And call the laws of Wisdom, Fate; Lament upon their hapless fall, That Force free Virtue should enthrall?

Or shall the charms of Wealth and Power Make me pollute the Muses' bower?

LAWYER

As from the tripod of Apollo, Hear from my desk the words that follow: ”Some, by philosophers misled, Must honour you alive and dead; And such as know what Greece has writ, Must taste your irony and wit; While most that are, or would be great, Must dread your pen, your person hate; And you on Drapier's hill[5] must lie, And there without a mitre die.”

[Footnote 1: Mr. Lindsay.--_F_.]

[Footnote 2: See Clarendon's ”History of the Rebellion.”]

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