bludgeon. If you had been a lord with a blue riband, who flattered his vanity, or could help is ambition, he would have been the most delightful company in the world. He would have been so manly, so sarcastic, so bright, odd, and original, that you might think he had no object in view but the indulgence of his humour, and that he was the most reckless, simple creature in the world. How he would have torn your enemies to pieces for you! and made fun of the Opposition! His servility was so boisterous that it looked like independence;[1] he would have done your errands, but with the air of patronising you, and after fighting your battles masked in the street or the press, would have
- ↑ "But, my Hamilton, I will never hide the freedom of my sentiments from you. I am much inclined to believe that the temper of my friend Swift might occasion his English friends to wish him happily and properly promoted at a distance. His spirit, for I would give it the proper name, was ever untractable. The motions of his genius were often irregular. He assumed more the air of a patron than of a friend. He affected rather to dictate than advise."—Orrery.
amusing circumstances may be once more repeated here. He had unsparingly lashed the notable Dublin lawyer, Mr. Serjeant Bettesworth—
"So, at the bar, the booby Bettesworth,
Though half-a-crown out-pays his sweat's worth,
Who knows in law nor text nor margent,
Calls Singleton his brother-serjeant!"
The Serjeant, it is said, swore to have his life. He presented himself at the deanery. The Dean asked his name. "Sir, I am Serjeant Bett-es-worth."
"In what regiment, pray?" asked Swift.
A guard of volunteers formed themselves to defend the Dean this time.
