Dick, A Maggot

As when, from rooting in a bin,
All powder'd o'er from tail to chin,
A lively maggot sallies out,
You know him by his hazel snout:
So when the grandson of his grandsire
Forth issues wriggling, Dick Drawcansir,
With powder'd rump and back and side,
You cannot blanch his tawny hide;
For 'tis beyond the power of meal
The gipsy visage to conceal;
For as he shakes his wainscot chops,
Down every mealy atom drops,
And leaves the tartar phiz in show,
Like a fresh t - d just dropp'd on snow.

Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift was an Anglo-Irish satirist, essayist, political pamphleteer, poet and cleric who became Dean of St Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. Swift is remembered for works such as "A Tale of a Tub" (1704), "An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity" (1712), and "Gulliver's Travels" (1726). Swift originally published all of his works under pseudonyms—such as Lemuel Gulliver, Isaac Bickerstaff, Drapier's Letters as MB Drapier—and works were sometimes attributed to Anonymous.

Jonathan Swift

Epigram[1]

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

The Dean's Reasons For Not Building At Drapier's-Hill

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

Mrs. Frances Harris's Petition, 1699

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

Dr. Sheridan Wrote Underneath The Following Lines

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

English

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Dick's Variety

Dull uniformity in fools
I hate, who gape and sneer by rules;
You, Mullinix, and slobbering C -    -
Who every day and hour the same are
That vulgar talent I despise
Of pissing in the rabble's eyes.
And when I listen to the noise
Of idiots roaring to the boys;
To better judgment still submitting,
I own I see but little wit in:
Such pastimes, when our taste is nice,
Can please at most but once or twice.
    But then consider Dick, you'll find
His genius of superior kind;
He never muddles in the dirt,
Nor scours the streets without a shirt;
Though Dick, I dare presume to say,
Could do such feats as well as they.
Dick I could venture everywhere,
Let the boys pelt him if they dare,
He'd have them tried at the assizes
For priests and jesuit...

Jonathan Swift

Dick * * * *, A Character.

Of various scraps and fragments built,
    Borrowed alike from fools and wits,
Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt,
    Made up of new, old, motley bits--
Where, if the Co. called in their shares,
    If petticoats their quota got
And gowns were all refunded theirs,
    The quilt would look but shy, God wot.

And thus he still, new plagiaries seeking,
    Reversed ventriloquism's trick,
For, 'stead of Dick thro' others speaking,
    'Twas others we heard speak thro' Dick.
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding,
    Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats;
One day with Malthus, foe to breeding,
    The next with Sadler, all for brats.

Poor Dick!--and how else could it be?
    With notions all at random caught,
A sort of mental fricassee,

Thomas Moore

Tom And Dick[1]

Tim[2] and Dick had equal fame,
    And both had equal knowledge;
Tom could write and spell his name,
    But Dick had seen the college.

Dick a coxcomb, Tom was mad,
    And both alike diverting;
Tom was held the merrier lad,
    But Dick the best at farting.

Dick would cock his nose in scorn,
    But Tom was kind and loving;
Tom a footboy bred and born,
    But Dick was from an oven.[3]

Dick could neatly dance a jig,
    But Tom was best at borees;
Tom would pray for every Whig,
    And Dick curse all the Tories.

Dick would make a woful noise,
    And scold at an election;
Tom huzza'd the blackguard boys,
    And held them in subjection.

Tom could move with lordly grace,
    Dick nimbly skipt the gutter;<...

Jonathan Swift

Wood An Insect.

By long observation I have understood,
That two little vermin are kin to Will Wood.
The first is an insect they call a wood-louse,
That folds up itself in itself for a house,
As round as a ball, without head, without tail,
Enclosed cap à pie, in a strong coat of mail.
And thus William Wood to my fancy appears
In fillets of brass roll'd up to his ears;
And over these fillets he wisely has thrown,
To keep out of danger, a doublet of stone.[1]
The louse of the wood for a medicine is used
Or swallow'd alive, or skilfully bruised.
And, let but our mother Hibernia contrive
To swallow Will Wood, either bruised or alive,
She need be no more with the jaundice possest,
Or sick of obstructions, and pains in her chest.
    The next is an insect we call a wood-worm,...

Jonathan Swift

Clad All In Brown

TO DICK[1]

    Foulest brute that stinks below,
        Why in this brown dost thou appear?
    For wouldst thou make a fouler show,
        Thou must go naked all the year.
Fresh from the mud, a wallowing sow
Would then be not so brown as thou.

    'Tis not the coat that looks so dun,
        His hide emits a foulness out;
    Not one jot better looks the sun
        Seen from behind a dirty clout.
So t - ds within a glass enclose,
The glass will seem as brown as those.

    Thou now one heap of foulness art,
        All outward and within is foul;
    Condensed filth in every part,
        Thy body's clothed like thy soul:
Thy soul, which through thy hide of buff
Scarce glimmers like a dying snuff.

    Old carted bawds s...

Jonathan Swift

The Upstart

The following lines occur in the Swiftiana, and are by Mr. Wilson, the editor, ascribed to Swift. - Scott.

" -    -    The rascal! that's too mild a name;
Does he forget from whence he came?
Has he forgot from whence he sprung?
A mushroom in a bed of dung;
A maggot in a cake of fat,
The offspring of a beggar's brat;
As eels delight to creep in mud,
To eels we may compare his blood;
His blood delights in mud to run,
Witness his lazy, lousy son!
Puff'd up with pride and insolence,
Without a grain of common sense.
See with what consequence he stalks!
With what pomposity he talks!
See how the gaping crowd admire
The stupid blockhead and the liar!
How long shall vice triumphant reign?
How long shall mortals bend to gain?
How long shall v...

Jonathan Swift