The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 8/The Yahoo's Overthrow
THE YAHOO'S OVERTHROW;
OR
THE KEVAN BAYL'S NEW BALLAD,
UPON SERGEANT KITE'S INSULTING THE DEAN.
To the Tune of, Derry down.
JOLLY boys of St. Kevan's, St. Patrick's, Donore,
And Smithfield, I'll tell you, if not told before,
How Bettesworth, that booby, and scoundrel in grain,
Has insulted us all by insulting the dean.
Knock him down, down, down, knock him down.
The dean and his merits we every one know,
But this skip of a lawyer, where the De'el did he grow?
How greater his merit at Four Courts or House,
Than the barking of Towzer, or leap of a louse?
Knock him down, &c.
That he came from the Temple, his morals do show;
But where his deep law is, few mortals yet know:
His rhetorick, bombast, filly jests, are by far
More like to lampooning, than pleading at bar.
Knock him down, &c.
This pedlar, at speaking and making of laws,
Has met with returns of all sorts but applause;
Has, with noise and odd gestures, been prating some years,
What honester folks never durst for their ears.
Knock him down, &c.
Of all sizes and sorts, the fanatical crew
Are his brother protestants, good men and true,
Red hat, and blue bonnet, and turban's the sames
What the De'el is't to him whence the Devil they came?
Knock him down, &c.
Hobbes, Tindal, and Woolston, and Collins, and Nayler,
And Muggleton, Toland, and Bradley the Taylor,
Are Christians alike; and it may be averr'd,
He's a Christian as good as the rest of the herd.
Knock him down, &c.
He only the rights of the clergy debates,
Their rights! their importance! We'll set on new rates
On their tithes at half-nothing, their priesthood at less:
What's next to be voted with ease you may guess.
Knock him down, &c.
At length his old master (I need not him name)
To this damnable speaker had long ow'd a shame;
When his speech came abroad, he paid him off clean,
By leaving him under the pen of the dean.
Knock him down, &c.
He kindled, as if the whole satire had been
The oppression of virtue, not wages of sin:
He began, as he bragg'd, with a rant and a roar;
He bragg'd how he bounc'd, and he swore how he swore.
Knock him down, &c.
Though he cring'd to his deanship in very low strains,
To others he boasted of knocking out brains,
And slitting of noses, and cropping of ears,
While his own ass's zaggs were more fit for the shears.
Knock him down, &c.
On this worrier of deans whene'er we can hit,
We'll show him the way how to crop and to slit;
We'll teach him some better address to afford
To the dean of all deans, though he wears not a sword.
Knock him down, &c.
We'll colt him through Kevan, St. Patrick's, Donore,
And Smithfield, as rap was ne'er colted before;
We'll oil him with kennel, and powder him with grains,
A modus right fit for insulters of deans.
Knock him down, &c.
And, when this is over, we'll make him amends,
To the dean he shall go; they shall kiss and be friends:
But how? Why, the dean shall to him disclose
A face for to kiss, without eyes, ears, or nose.
Knock him down, &c.
If you say this is hard on a man that is reckon'd
That sergeant at law whom we call Kite the Second,
You mistake; for a slave, who will coax his superiours,
May be proud to be licking a great man's posteriours.
Knock him down, &c.
What care we how high runs his passion or pride?
Though his soul he despises, he values his hide;
Then fear not his tongue, or his sword, or his knife;
He'll take his revenge on his innocent wife.
Knock him down, down, down, keep him down.