“And, when this is over, we’ll make him amends,

To the Dean he shall go; they shall kiss and be friends: 
But how?  Why, the Dean shall to him disclose
A face for to kiss, without eyes, ears, or nose. 

          
                                                          Knock him down, &c.

  “If you say this is hard on a man that is reckon’d

That sergeant-at-law whom we call Kite the Second,
You mistake; for a slave, who will coax his superiors,
May be proud to be licking a great man’s posteriors. 

          
                                                          Knock him down, &c.

  “What care we how high runs his passion or pride? 

Though his soul he despises, he values his hide;
Then fear not his tongue, or his sword, or his knife;
He’ll take his revenge on his innocent wife. 

                  Knock him down, down, down, keep him down.”

“ON THE ARCHBISHOP OF CASHEL,[1] AND BETTESWORTH.

“Dear Dick, pr’ythee tell by what passion you move? 
The world is in doubt whether hatred or love;
And, while at good Cashel you rail with such spite,
They shrewdly suspect it is all but a bite. 
You certainly know, though so loudly you vapour,
His spite cannot wound who attempted the Drapier. 
Then, pr’ythee, reflect, take a word of advice;
And, as your old wont is, change sides in a trice: 
On his virtues hold forth; ’tis the very best way;
And say of the man what all honest men say. 
But if, still obdurate, your anger remains,
If still your foul bosom more rancour contains,
Say then more than they, nay, lavishly flatter;
’Tis your gross panegyrics alone can bespatter;
For thine, my dear Dick, give me leave to speak plain,
Like very foul mops, dirty more than they clean.”

[Footnote 1:  Dr. Theophilus Bolton. [T.S.]]

The letter to the Earl of Dorset, containing Swift’s version of the story is as follows: 

“January, 1734.

“MY LORD,

“It has been my great misfortune that since your grace’s return to this kingdom I have not been able to attend you, as my duty and gratitude for your favours as well as the honour of having been so many years known to you obliged me to do.  I have been pursued by two old disorders, a giddiness and deafness, which used to leave me in three or four weeks, but now have continued four months.  Thus I am put under a necessity to write what I would rather have chosen to say in your grace’s presence.