Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/364

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352
SWIFT'S POEMS.

Pulteney deep, accomplish'd St. Johns,
Scourge the villains with a vengeance:
Let me, though the smell be noisome,
Strip their bums; let Caleb[1] hoise 'em;
Then apply Alecto's whip,
Till they wriggle, howl, and skip.
Deuce is in you, Mr. dean:
What can all this passion mean?
Mention courts! you'll ne'er be quiet
On corruptions running riot.
End as it befits your station;
Come to use and application:
Nor with senates keep a fuss.
I submit; and answer thus:
If the machinations brewing,
To complete the publick ruin,
Never once could have the power
To affect me half an hour;
Sooner would I write in buskins,
Mournful elegies on Blueskins[2].
If I laugh at whig and tory;
I conclude à fortiori,
All your eloquence will scarce
Drive me from my favourite farce.
This I must insist on: for, as
It is well observ'd by Horace[3],
Ridicule has greater power
To reform the world, than sour.
Horses thus, let jockies judge else,
Switches better guide than cudgels.

  1. Caleb d'Anvers, the writer of the Craftsman.
  2. The famous thief, who, while on his trial at the Old Bailey, stabbed Jonathan Wild.
  3. "Ridiculum acri, &c."

Bastings