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Where'er he went, he never saw his betters; Lords, knights, and squires, were all his humble debtors;

And under hand and seal, the Irish nation
Were forc'd to own to him their obligation.

He that could once have half a kingdom bought,
In half a minute is not worth a groat.

His coffers from the coffin could not save,
Nor all his interest keep him from the grave. ¡
A golden monument would not be right,
Because we wish the earth upon him light.

Oh London Tavern!* thou hast lost a friend,
Though in thy walls he ne'er did farthing spend:
He touch'd the pence when others touch'd the pot;
The hand that sign'd the mortgage paid the shot.
Old as he was, no vulgar known disease

On him could ever boast a power to seize ;

But as he weigh'd his gold, grim Death in spite
Cast in his dart, which made three moidores light;
And, as he saw his darling money fail,

Blew his last breath to sink the lighter scale."
He who so long was current, 'twould be strange
If he should now be cry'd down since his change.
The sexton shall green sods on thee bestow;
Alas, the sexton is thy banker now!

A dismal banker must that banker be,
Who gives no bills but of mortality!

A tavern in Dublin, where Demar kept his office.-F. Mr Walker found this note in the diary of a deceased friend : "As I passed through Smithfield (Dublin), I saw the house, No. 34, in which the remarkable John Demar, the usurer, lived and died. He was buried in the S. W. corner of St Paul's churchyard. No tombstone for many years."

+ These four lines were written by Stella.-F.

EPITAPH ON THE SAME.

;

BENEATH this verdant hillock lies
Demar, the wealthy and the wise,
His heirs, that he might safely rest,
Have put his carcase in a chest ;
The very chest in which, they say,
His other self, his money, lay.
And, if his heirs continue kind
To that dear self he left behind,
I dare believe, that four in five
Will think his better half alive.

TO MRS HOUGHTON OF BOURMONT,

ON PRAISING HER HUSBAND TO DR SWIFT.

You always are making a God of your Spouse;
But this neither Reason nor Conscience allows;
Perhaps you will say, 'tis in gratitude due,
And you adore him, because he adores you.
Your argument's weak, and so you will find;
For you, by this rule, must adore all mankind.

VERSES,

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE DEANERY HOUSE, ST PATRICK'S.

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, if you came here to dine, You had choice of good meat, but no choice of good wine.

In Jonathan's reign, if you came 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, Would'st 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.

ON ANOTHER WINDOW. †

A BARD, on whom Phoebus his spirit bestow'd,
Resolving t' acknowledge the bounty he ow❜d,

Dr Sterne, the predecessor of Swift in the deanery of St Patrick's, and afterward bishop of Clogher, was distinguished for his hospitality.-F.

+ Written by Dr Delany, in conjunction with Stella, as appears from the verses which follow.

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'
expence ;

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.

APOLLO TO THE DEAN. 1720.

[This was written by Swift, in reply to the verses on the windows.]

RIGHT trusty, and so forth we let you to know
We are very ill us'd 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 spy'd 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 to 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.
But a comrade of yours, that traitor Delany,
Whom I for your sake love better than any."
And, of my mere motion, and special good grace,
Intended in time to succeed in your place,
On Tuesday the tenth seditiously came
With a certain false trait'ress, one Stella by name,
To the deanery house, and on the north glass,
Where for fear of the cold I never can pass,
Then and there, vi et armis, with a certain utensil,
Of value five shillings, in English a pencil,
Did maliciously, falsely, and traitorously write,
While Stella aforesaid stood by with a light.
My sister had lately depos'd upon oath,
That she stopt in her course to look at them both;
That Stella was helping, abetting and aiding;
And still, as he writ, stood smiling and reading: