A sore disease this scribbling itch is!
His Lordship, in his Pliny seen,[1]
Turns Madam Pilkington in breeches,
And now attacks our Patriot Dean.
What! libel his friend when laid in ground:
Nay, good sir, you may spare your hints,
His parallel at last is found,
For what he writes George Faulkner prints.
Had Swift provoked to this behaviour,
Yet after death resentment cools,
Sure his last act bespoke his favour,
He built an hospital—for fools.
[Footnote 1: Lord Orrery translated the letters of the younger
Pliny.—Scott.]
TO DOCTOR DELANY ON HIS BOOK ENTITLED "OBSERVATIONS ON LORD ORRERY'S REMARKS"
Delany, to escape your friend the Dean,
And prove all false that Orrery had writ,
You kindly own his Gulliver profane,
Yet make his puns and riddles sterling wit.
But if for wrongs to Swift you would atone,
And please the world, one way you may succeed,
Collect Boyle's writings and your own,
And serve them as you served THE DEED.
EPIGRAM
On Faulkner's displaying in his shop the Dean's bust in marble, (now
placed in the great aisle of St. Patrick's church), while he was
publishing Lord Orrery's Remarks.
Faulkner! for once you have some judgment shown,
By representing Swift transform'd to stone;
For could he thy ingratitude have known,
Astonishment itself the work had done!