The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/An Account of a Pestilent Neighbour
A LETTER,
Giving an Account of a Pestilent Neighbour.
SIR,
YOU must give me leave to complain of a pestilent fellow in my neighbourhood, who is always beating mortar, yet I cannot find he ever builds. In talking he useth such hard words, that I want a druggerman to interpret them. But all is not gold that glisters. A pot he carries to most houses where he visits. He makes his prentice his galley-slave. I wish our lane were purged of him. Yet he pretends to be a cordial man. Every spring his shop is crowded with country-folks; who, by their leaves, in my opinion, help him to do a great deal of mischief. He is full of scruples; and so very litigious, that he files bills against all his acquaintance: and though he be much troubled with the simples, yet I assure you he is a jesuitical dog; as you may know by his bark. Of all poetry he loves the dram-a-tick best. I am, &c.