With which paper they, in the name of themselves and all the inhabitants of the city, attended the Dean on January 8, who being extremely ill in bed of a giddiness and deafness, and not able to receive them, immediately dictated a very grateful answer.  The occasion of a certain man’s declaration of his villanous design against the Dean, was a frivolous unproved suspicion that he had written some lines in verse reflecting upon him.”—­Scott.]

[Footnote 2:  Kevan Bayl was a cant term for the rabble of this district of Dublin.]

[Footnote 3:  Swift, in a letter to the Duke of Dorset, January, 1733-4, gives a full account of Bettesworth’s visit to him, about which he says that the serjeant had spread some five hundred falsehoods.—­W.  E. B.]

ON THE ARCHBISHOP OF CASHEL,[1] AND BETTESWORTH

Dear Dick, pr’ythee tell by what passion you move? 
The world is in doubt whether hatred or love;
And, while at good Cashel you rail with such spite,
They shrewdly suspect it is all but a bite. 
You certainly know, though so loudly you vapour,
His spite cannot wound who attempted the Drapier. 
Then, pr’ythee, reflect, take a word of advice;
And, as your old wont is, change sides in a trice: 
On his virtues hold forth; ’tis the very best way;
And say of the man what all honest men say. 
But if, still obdurate, your anger remains,
If still your foul bosom more rancour contains,
Say then more than they, nay, lavishly flatter;
Tis your gross panegyrics alone can bespatter;
For thine, my dear Dick, give me leave to speak plain,
Like very foul mops, dirty more than they clean.

[Footnote 1:  Dr. Theophilus Bolton, a particular friend of the Dean.—­Scott.]

ON THE IRISH CLUB. 1733[1]

Ye paltry underlings of state,
Ye senators who love to prate;
Ye rascals of inferior note,
Who, for a dinner, sell a vote;
Ye pack of pensionary peers,
Whose fingers itch for poets’ ears;
Ye bishops, far removed from saints,
Why all this rage?  Why these complaints? 
Why against printers all this noise? 
This summoning of blackguard boys? 
Why so sagacious in your guesses? 
Your effs, and tees, and arrs, and esses! 
Take my advice; to make you safe,
I know a shorter way by half. 
The point is plain; remove the cause;
Defend your liberties and laws. 
Be sometimes to your country true,
Have once the public good in view: 
Bravely despise champagne at court,
And choose to dine at home with port: 
Let prelates, by their good behaviour,
Convince us they believe a Saviour;
Nor sell what they so dearly bought,
This country, now their own, for nought. 
Ne’er did a true satiric muse
Virtue or innocence abuse;
And ’tis against poetic rules
To rail at men by nature fools: 
But * * *
* * * *