"Thou chief contriver of my fall,
Relentless dean, to mischief born;
My kindred oft thine hide shall gall,
Thy gown and cassock oft be torn.
"And thy confederate dame, who brags
That she condemn’d me to the fire,
Shall rend her petticoats to rags,
And wound her legs with every brier.
"Nor thou, lord Arthur[1], shalt escape;
To thee I often call'd in vain,
Against that assassin in crape;
Yet thou could'st tamely see me slain:
"Nor, when I felt the dreadful blow,
Or chid the dean, or pinch'd thy spouse;
Since you could see me treated so
(An old retainer to your house):
"May that fell dean, by whose command
Was form’d this Machiavelian plot,
Not leave a thistle on thy land;
Then who will own thee for a Scot?
"Pigs and fanaticks, cows and teagues,
Through all my empire I foresee,
To tear thy hedges, join in leagues,
Sworn to revenge my thorn and me.
"And thou, the wretch ordain'd by fate,
Neal Gahagan, Hibernian clown,
With hatchet blunter than thy pate,
To hack my hallow'd timber down;
Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/393
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MARKET-HILL THORN.
381
"When
