Had given the faction many a wound,
And libell'd all the junto round:
Kept company with men of wit,
Who often fathered what he writ:40
His works were hawk'd in every street,
But seldom rose above a sheet:
Of late indeed the paper stamp
Did very much his genius cramp;
And since he could not spend his fire,45
He now intended to retire.
Said Harley, "I desire to know
From his own mouth if this be so;
Step to the doctor straight, and say,
I'd have him dine with me to day."50
Swift seem'd to wonder what he meant,
Nor would believe my lord had sent;
So never offer'd once to stir;
But coldly said, "Your servant, sir!"
"Does he refuse me?" Harley cried;55
"He does, with insolence and pride."
Some few days after, Harley spies
The doctor fasten'd by the eyes
At Charing-cross among the rout,
Where painted monsters are hung out:60
He pull'd the string, and stopt his coach,
Beckoning the doctor to approach.
Swift, who could neither fly nor hide,
Came sneaking to the chariot side,
And offer'd many a lame excuse:65
He never meant the least abuse —
"My lord — the honour you design'd —
Extremely proud — but I had din'd —
I'm sure I never should neglect —
No man alive has more respect —"70
