Are the guests of this house still doom’d to be cheated? 
Sure the Fates have decreed they by halves should be treated. 
In the days of good John[1] if you came here to dine,
You had choice of good meat, but no choice of good wine. 
In Jonathan’s reign, if you come here to eat,
You have choice of good wine, but no choice of good meat. 
O Jove! then how fully might all sides be blest,
Wouldst thou but agree to this humble request! 
Put both deans in one; or, if that’s too much trouble,
Instead of the deans, make the deanery double.

[Footnote 1:  Dr. Sterne, the predecessor of Swift in the deanery of St. Patrick’s, and afterwards Bishop of Clogher, was distinguished for his hospitality.  See Journal to Stella, passim, “Prose Works,” vol. ii—­W.  E. B.]

ON ANOTHER WINDOW[1]

A bard, on whom Phoebus his spirit bestow’d,
Resolving t’acknowledge the bounty he owed,
Found out a new method at once of confessing,
And making the most of so mighty a blessing: 
To the God he’d be grateful; but mortals he’d chouse,
By making his patron preside in his house;
And wisely foresaw this advantage from thence,
That the God would in honour bear most of th’expense;
So the bard he finds drink, and leaves Phoebus to treat
With the thoughts he inspires, regardless of meat. 
Hence they that come hither expecting to dine,
Are always fobb’d off with sheer wit and sheer wine.

[Footnote 1:  Written by Dr. Delany, in conjunction with Stella, as appears from the verses which follow.—­Scott.]

APOLLO TO THE DEAN.[1] 1720

Right Trusty, and so forth—­we let you know
We are very ill used by you mortals below. 
For, first, I have often by chemists been told,
(Though I know nothing on’t,) it is I that make gold;
Which when you have got, you so carefully hide it,
That, since I was born, I hardly have spied it. 
Then it must be allow’d, that, whenever I shine,
I forward the grass, and I ripen the vine;
To me the good fellows apply for relief,
Without whom they could get neither claret nor beef: 
Yet their wine and their victuals, those curmudgeon lubbards
Lock up from my sight in cellars and cupboards. 
That I have an ill eye, they wickedly think,
And taint all their meat, and sour all their drink. 
But, thirdly and lastly, it must be allow’d,
I alone can inspire the poetical crowd: 
This is gratefully own’d by each boy in the College,
Whom, if I inspire, it is not to my knowledge. 
This every pretender in rhyme will admit,
Without troubling his head about judgment or wit. 
These gentlemen use me with kindness and freedom,
And as for their works, when I please I may read ’em. 
They lie open on purpose on counters and stalls,
And the titles I view, when I shine on the walls.