Swift has been unduly censured for the coarseness of his language upon Certain topics; but very little of this appears in his earlier poems, and what there is, was in accordance with the taste of the period, which never hesitated to call a spade a spade, due in part to the reaction from the Puritanism of the preceding age, and in part to the outspeaking frankness which disdained hypocrisy.  It is shown in Dryden, Pope, Prior, of the last of whom Johnson said that no lady objected to have his poems in her library; still more in the dramatists of that time, whom Charles Lamb has so humorously defended, and in the plays of Mrs. Aphra Behn, who, as Pope says, “fairly puts all characters to bed.”  But whatever coarseness there may be in some of Swift’s poems, such as “The Lady’s Dressing Room,” and a few other pieces, there is nothing licentious, nothing which excites to lewdness; on the contrary, such pieces create simply a feeling of repulsion.  No one, after reading the “Beautiful young Nymph going to bed,” or “Strephon and Chloe,” would desire any personal acquaintance with the ladies, but there is a moral in these pieces, and the latter poem concludes with excellent matrimonial advice.  The coarseness of some of his later writings must be ascribed to his misanthropical hatred of the “animal called man,” as expressed in his famous letter to Pope of September 1725, aggravated as it was by his exile from the friends he loved to a land he hated, and by the reception he met with there, about which he speaks very freely in his notes to the “Verses on his own Death.”

On the morning of Swift’s installation as Dean, the following scurrilous lines by Smedley, Dean of Clogher, were affixed to the doors of St. Patrick’s Cathedral: 

To-day this Temple gets a Dean
  Of parts and fame uncommon,
Us’d both to pray and to prophane,
  To serve both God and mammon. 
When Wharton reign’d a Whig he was;
  When Pembroke—­that’s dispute, Sir;
In Oxford’s time, what Oxford pleased,
  Non-con, or Jack, or Neuter. 
This place he got by wit and rhime,
  And many ways most odd,
And might a Bishop be in time,
  Did he believe in God. 
Look down, St. Patrick, look, we pray,
  On thine own church and steeple;
Convert thy Dean on this great day,
  Or else God help the people. 
And now, whene’er his Deanship dies,
  Upon his stone be graven,
A man of God here buried lies,
  Who never thought of heaven.

It was by these lines that Smedley earned for himself a niche in “The Dunciad.”  For Swift’s retaliation, see the poems relating to Smedley at the end of the first volume, and in volume ii, at p. 124, note.

This bitterness of spirit reached its height in “Gulliver’s Travels,” surely the severest of all satires upon humanity, and writ, as he tells us, not to divert, but to vex the world; and ultimately, in the fierce attack upon the Irish Parliament in the poem entitled “The Legion Club,” dictated by his hatred of tyranny and oppression, and his consequent passion for exhibiting human nature in its most degraded aspect.