When George Faulkner the printer returned from London, where he had been soliciting subscriptions for his edition of the dean's works, he went to pay his respects to him, dressed in a laced waistcoat, a bag wig, and other fopperies. Swift received him with all the ceremony that he would show to a perfect stranger. "Pray, Sir, what are your commands with me?" "I thought it my duty to wait on you immediately on my arrival from London." "Pray, Sir, who are you?" "George Faulkner the printer." "You George Faulkner the printer! why, thou art the most impudent barefaced impostor I ever heard of. George Faulkner is a sober sedate citizen, and would never trick himself out in lace, and other fopperies. Get about your business, and thank your stars that I do not send you to the house of correction." Poor George hobbled away as fast as he could, and having changed his apparel, returned immediately to the deanery. Swift, on seeing him, went up to him with great cordiality, shook him familiarly by the hand, saying, "My good friend, George, I am heartily glad to see you safe returned. Here was an impudent fellow in a laced waistcoat, who would feign have passed for you; but I soon sent him packing with a flea in his ear."
He could not bear to have any lies told him, which he never failed to detect; and when the party endeavoured to palliate them, his usual expression was — "Come, come, don't attempt to darn your cobwebs." It was a saying of his, that an excuse was worse than a lie, because an excuse was a lie guarded.
There was a violent quarrel between the dean and sergeant Bettesworth, which for some time made
