[Footnote 1:  Soon after Swift’s acquaintance with Dr. Sheridan, they passed some days together at the episcopal palace in the diocess of Kilmore.  When Swift was gone, it was discovered that he had written the following lines on one of the windows which look into the church-yard.  In the year 1780, the late Archdeacon Caulfield wrote some lines in answer to both.  The pane was taken down by Dr. Jones, Bishop of Kilmore, but it has been since restored.—­Scott.]

DR. SHERIDAN WROTE UNDERNEATH THE FOLLOWING LINES

Thus spoke great Bedel[1] from his tomb: 
“Mortal, I would not change my doom,
To live in such a restless state,
To be unfortunately great;
To flatter fools, and spurn at knaves,
To shine amidst a race of slaves;
To learn from wise men to complain
And only rise to fall again: 
No! let my dusty relics rest,
Until I rise among the blest.”

[Footnote 1:  Bishop Bedel’s tomb lies within view of the window.]

THE UPSTART

The following lines occur in the Swiftiana, and are by Mr. Wilson, the editor, ascribed to Swift.—­Scott.

“——­ The rascal! that’s too mild a name;
Does he forget from whence he came? 
Has he forgot from whence he sprung? 
A mushroom in a bed of dung;
A maggot in a cake of fat,
The offspring of a beggar’s brat;
As eels delight to creep in mud,
To eels we may compare his blood;
His blood delights in mud to run,
Witness his lazy, lousy son! 
Puff’d up with pride and insolence,
Without a grain of common sense. 
See with what consequence he stalks! 
With what pomposity he talks! 
See how the gaping crowd admire
The stupid blockhead and the liar! 
How long shall vice triumphant reign? 
How long shall mortals bend to gain? 
How long shall virtue hide her face,
And leave her votaries in disgrace? 
—­Let indignation fire my strains,
Another villain yet remains—­
Let purse-proud C——­n next approach;
With what an air he mounts his coach! 
A cart would best become the knave,
A dirty parasite and slave! 
His heart in poison deeply dipt,
His tongue with oily accents tipt,
A smile still ready at command,
The pliant bow, the forehead bland—­”
       * * * * *
       * * * * *

ON THE ARMS OF THE TOWN OF WATERFORD[1]

—­URBS INTACTA MANET—­semper intacta manebit,
  Tangere crabrones quis bene sanus amat?

[Footnote 1:  While viewing this town, the Dean observed a stone bearing the city arms, with the motto, URBS INTACTA MANET.  The approach to this monument was covered with filth.  The Dean, on returning to the inn, wrote the Latin epigram and added the English paraphrase, for the benefit, he said, of the ladies.—­Scott.]