[Footnote 2:  Erasmus Lewis, Esq., the treasurer’s secretary.]

[Footnote 3:  By time.—­Stella.]

[Footnote 4:  Is now contented,—­Stella.]

[Footnote 5:  The.—­Stella.]

[Footnote 6:  Would.—­Stella.]

[Footnote 7:  By.—­Stella.]

[Footnote 8:  “Devoutly” is the word in Stella’s transcript:  but it must be admitted that “demurely” is more in keeping.—­Forster.]

[Footnote 9:  The Dean’s agent, a Frenchman.]

[Footnote 10:  The lord treasurer’s porter.]

[Footnote 11:  I have experience.—­Stella.]

THE AUTHOR UPON HIMSELF

1713

A few of the first lines were wanting in the copy sent us by a friend of the Author’s from London.—­Dublin Edition.

       * * * * *
       * * * * *
       * * By an old ——­ pursued,
A crazy prelate,[1] and a royal prude;[2]
By dull divines, who look with envious eyes On ev’ry genius that attempts to rise; And pausing o’er a pipe, with doubtful nod, Give hints, that poets ne’er believe in God.  So clowns on scholars as on wizards look, And take a folio for a conj’ring book. 
  Swift had the sin of wit, no venial crime: 
Nay, ’twas affirm’d, he sometimes dealt in rhyme; Humour and mirth had place in all he writ;
He reconcil’d divinity and wit: 
He moved and bow’d, and talk’d with too much grace;
Nor show’d the parson in his gait or face;
Despised luxurious wines and costly meat;
Yet still was at the tables of the great;
Frequented lords; saw those that saw the queen;
At Child’s or Truby’s,[3] never once had been;
Where town and country vicars flock in tribes,
Secured by numbers from the laymen’s gibes;
And deal in vices of the graver sort,
Tobacco, censure, coffee, pride, and port. 
  But, after sage monitions from his friends,
His talents to employ for nobler ends;
To better judgments willing to submit,
He turns to politics his dang’rous wit. 
  And now, the public Int’rest to support,
By Harley Swift invited, comes to court;
In favour grows with ministers of state;
Admitted private, when superiors wait: 
And Harley, not ashamed his choice to own, Takes him to Windsor in his coach alone.  At Windsor Swift no sooner can appear, But St. John comes, and whispers in his ear:  The waiters stand in ranks:  the yeomen cry, Make room, as if a duke were passing by. 
  Now Finch[4] alarms the lords:  he hears for certain
This dang’rous priest is got behind the curtain.  Finch, famed for tedious elocution, proves That Swift oils many a spring which Harley moves.  Walpole and Aislaby,[5] to clear the doubt, Inform the Commons, that the secret’s out:  “A certain doctor is observed of late To haunt a certain minister