Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/82

"What tyrant e'er invented ropes,
Or racks, or rods, to punish hopes?
Th' inheritance of Hope and Fame
Is seldom Earthly Wisdom's aim;
Or, if it were, is not so small,
But there is room enough for all."
If he but chance to breathe a song,
(He seldom sang, and never long)
The noisy, rude, malignant crowd,
Where it was high, pronounc'd it loud:
Plain Truth was Pride; and what was sillier,
Easy and Friendly was Familiar.
Or, if he tun'd his lofty lays,
With solemn air to Virtue's praise,
Alike abusive and erroneous,
They call'd it hoarse and unharmonious:
Yet so it was to souls like theirs,
Tuneless as Abel to the bears!
A Rook^[1] with harsh malignant caw
Began, was follow'd by a Daw^[2];
(Though some, who would be thought to know,
Are positive it was a Crow)
Jack Daw was seconded by Tit,
Tom Tit^[3] could write, and so he writ;
A tribe of tuneless praters follow,
The Jay, the Magpie, and the Swallow;
And twenty more their throats let loose,
Down to the witless waddling Goose.
Some peck'd at him, some flew, some flutter'd,
Some hiss'd, some scream'd, and others mutter'd:

1. Dr T——r.
2. Right hon. Rich. Tighe.
3. Dr. Sheridan.

The