Prior. I can answer for my self that I had only the Service of my Fellow Citizens in view. Let those whose miserable Aim is writing well, be ashamed if they are criticiz'd, or ridiculed, but he who sincerely strives to serve Millions, must have a Scorn for Malice or Satyr, if he thinks he can feed or cloath half a Nation by scribling. I profess I writ whatever I publish'd, barely for the Joy I had in doing some Service to my Country, and with so little a view to Reputation, that I would have done it, if there had been no such thing as Fame in the World; and surely, there is almost as little of that phantastick Pleasure to be had here as in the Isle of Man, or the Orcades. Nay, Dean, I'll go further, I would have done it for the gratifying the pleasing Instinct that lead me to it, if there had not been a great Lord and Parent of Good to approve and reward it. Hence it was that I troubled the World with a deal of Tracts on publick Subjects; and, I thank Heaven, my Heart is as little asham'd of it, now I am dead, as I was proud of it when I was living, which is what few Authors can say when they are coffin'd. I saw writing absolutely necessary to the well-being of the most neglected Nation under Heaven. I heard, I saw, I felt the Displeasure of some great Men for several Things I wrote, which crost their Views, or even disagreed with their Opinions or Desires. I saw few either willing to appear Medlers or Busy-Bodies this Way; or visibly to hurt their worldly Interests, or to seem fond of either Ridicule or Reputation by bustling about it; and, as I was quite indifferent to those Fears, I hop'd what I did, and the Motives I went on, might be pardonable if not approveable; and whatever was the Event, I as sincerely despised any Abuse I met with, as I did any Credit, that a few solitary thinking Men might allow me for it.
Swift. Why, really Tom, as there is no lying in this World, that we are now launch'd into, I must own there is a great deal of Truth in all you have said; and tho' I often writ for the Sake of Applause, yet writing with such a View is a poor Motive, and the best and noblest, and I had almost said, the only justifiable one, is to do Good in an evil World. I don't see any Thing very desireable in the greatest Talents, or in the largest Affluence of Fortune, unless they are in some Measure employed in the Publick Service, and if they be, it truly dignifies them; nay, that single View is enough to sanctify the poorest Scribling, and to make the meanest scraping and saving of Avarice, pass for the Marks of a worthy Spirit. But tho' Patriots are generally so ill used, by the ungrateful World; you certainly came much better off than I did, for where you met with one Reviler, I met with one hundred. The Pamphlets wrote against me, wou'd have form'd a Library, or rather a Dormitory, where they might have slept in undisturb'd Repose; instead of furnishing Grocers and Pastry Cooks for Years together, to make some expiation for beggaring Printers and Booksellers. I have had Thousands written against me, with Virulence and Scandal.
Prior. And what a wounding Grief must that be, to your generous Mind, to have so much Malice returned, where so much Gratitude was due; surely it gave you infinite Pain to be so lash'd and stigmatised, by a Rabble, of the most invenom'd and imbitter'd Scriblers upon Earth?
Swift. Why, dear Tom, I cou'd laugh a Month at you for this. Why, they made no more Impression on my Spirit, with their scurrilous Pamphlets, than they wou'd have done, on my Statue, had they thrown them at it. I ever consider'd, that Abuse from such Scriblers, who write for a Livelihood, can no more be thought an Affront, than a Barber's taking you by the Nose; 'tis his Trade, and the Wretch would starve if you stopt him. What harm did all their Ribaldry do me? I neither eat, nor drunk, nor slept the worse for it. I don't suppose, that the scape Goat, which the Jews loaded with Curses, and drove into the Wilderness, either died by their Maledictions, or grew a whit the leaner for them; nor was I ever the worse for all I met with. Why Tom, one had as good be a sensitive Plant, as to start and fly back, at every Touch, or every Appearance of being Touch'd, as some weak Men do.
Prior. We may Reason thus, but Nature generally over masters our Opinions.
Swift. Yes, when they are of opposite Sides, but in this point they must agree. Consider, what a wretched Thing would Merit be, whose chief support is a justly deserved good Character, if it depended for its real Fame, on the Writings (if we must call them Writings) of envious Scriblers, or the Tongues, of Slanderers, who wou'd both of them fain get a Scrap of Reputation, by vilifying exalted Names. No, Tom, there is something in true Merit, so independent of Applause and Censure, and so superior to the going out, or coming into Vogue, that it frequently takes the Injuries of such Reptiles as a kind of Homage; like the Abuses offered by the common Soldiers, to Conquerors when they Ride in Triumph, and which they valued as little as the senseless [ Phrases ] and Shouts of the multitude. 'Tis time enough for true Merit and Goodness to expect Justice from Men; when it receives the Euge of the Omnipotent; for then only will Malice be out of Countenance, Envy silent, and then only will Truth (the Language of Eternity) prevail!
Prior. Well, very well, Mr. Dean. But I am much mistaken, if you was not heartily Sick of your Patriotism, when you was so often branded and asperst by such Crowds of Pamphlets and Scriblers.
Swift. Dr. Tom, they never gave me a moment's Pain, for the Truth is, I was too proud to be affronted, and had too high a Spirit to be humbled, by such Insults, or else indeed I had met with Opportunities enough to make me pass my Time very uneasily. But in the next place those who Writ against me, were mere toothless Animals, or at least a Sort of Irish Vipers, that tho' they lov'd to Bite, yet they wanted the pungent Venom which gives the Torment. Many of their Tracts were the poorest Productions that ever disgraced the Press; without Style, or Wit, or Sense, or Argument. I remember one of them, where both I, and the Subject he writ on, were equally ill-treated, begun like a Hebrew Book at the wrong End, with an Apology for the Author's inability to handle such weighty Points as they deserved; and indeed Tom, that single Confession was the only Thing that look'd like Truth or Modesty in the whole Performance. How could I be affronted by such miserable Efforts of Malice? and above all, if the natural elevation of my Mind, had not enabled me to look down on them with Disdain, the Dignity and usefulness of my Life, help'd me to smile on them as impotent and harmless. I was so far from being mortified by their base revilings, that I think, I wrote the better for them, and with higher Spirit, as a well mettled Horse moves the brisker for being lashed. Besides, as I often wrote for the service of the World; and the Interests of Mankind, I always appeared with every Advantage, that Candour, Honesty, and Courage, cou'd give me against Injustice, Oppression, and Tyrany. I wrote for Truth and Reason, for Liberty, and the Rights of my Country and Fellow-Subjects; and it gave me Joy, to see the Minions of a Court, and the Slaves of Power, stare at the dextrous boldness of my Pen, as I fancy a Cuckold does at a Deer, when he sees it cast its Horns.
Prior. Why dear Dean, I will not oppose you too obstinately; but I am sure, you will not deny, that you were sufficiently mortified, with other Things, if you were not with the Sarcasms of your Rival Writers.
Swift. What other Things pray?