Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/164

To show their parts, will scold and rail,
Like porters o'er a pot of ale.
Such is that clan of boisterous bears,
Always together by the ears;
Shrewd fellows and arch wags, a tribe
That meet for nothing but a gibe;
Who first run one another down,
And then fall foul on all the town;
Skill'd in the horselaugh and dry rub,
And call'd by excellence The Club.
I mean your Butler, Dawson, Car,
All special friends, and always jar.
⁠The mettled and the vicious steed
Differ as little in their breed;
Nay, Voiture is as like Tom Leigh,
As rudeness is to repartee.
⁠If what you said I wish unspoke,
'Twill not suffice it was a joke:
Reproach not, though in jest, a friend
For those defects he cannot mend;
His lineage, calling, shape, or sense,
If nam'd with scorn, gives just offence.
⁠What use in life to make men fret,
Part in worse humour than they met?
Thus all society is lost,
Men laugh at one another's cost;
And half the company is teaz'd,
That came together to be pleas'd:
For all buffoons have most in view
To please themselves, by vexing you.
⁠You wonder now to see me write
So gravely on a subject light;
Some part of what I here design
Regards a friend^[1] of yours and mine;

1. Dr. Sheridan.

Who,