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EPIGRAM[1].
BEHOLD! a proof of Irish sense;
Here Irish wit is seen!
When nothing's left, that's worth defence,
We build a magazine.
TO DR. SWIFT,
ON HIS BIRTHDAY[2].
WHILE I the godlike men of old,
In admiration wrapt, behold;
Rever'd antiquity explore,
And turn the long-lived volumes o'er;
Where Cato, Plutarch, Flaccus, shine,
ln every excellence divine:
- ↑ The dean, in his lunacy, had some intervals of sense; at which time his guardians or physicians took him out for the air. On one of these days, when they came to the Park, Swift remarked a new building, which he had never seen, and asked what it was designed for. To which Dr. Kingsbury answered, "That, Mr. dean, is the magazine for arms and powder, for the security of the city." "Oh! oh!" says the dean, pulling out his pocketbook, "let me take an item of that. This is worth remarking: 'my tablets,' as Hamlet says, 'my tablets — memory, put down that!" — Which produced the above lines, said to be the last he ever wrote.
- ↑ Written by Mrs. Pilkington, at a time when she wished to be introduced to the dean. The verses being presented to him by Dr. Delany, he kindly accepted the compliment. See vol. I. p. 451.
I grieve
