On The Church's Danger

Good Halifax and pious Wharton cry,
The Church has vapours; there's no danger nigh.
In those we love not, we no danger see,
And were they hang'd, there would no danger be.
But we must silent be, amidst our fears,
And not believe our senses, but the Peers.
So ravishers, that know no sense of shame,
First stop her mouth, and then debauch the dame.

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

Another Reply, By Sheridan

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

An Elegy[1] On The Death Of Demar, The Usurer; Who Died On The 6Th Of July, 1720

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

Stella's Birth-Day. 1724-5

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

Upon The Horrid Plot

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

English

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On The Irish Club. [1]

Ye paltry underlings of state,
Ye senators who love to prate;
Ye rascals of inferior note,
Who, for a dinner, sell a vote;
Ye pack of pensionary peers,
Whose fingers itch for poets' ears;
Ye bishops, far removed from saints,
Why all this rage? Why these complaints?
Why against printers all this noise?
This summoning of blackguard boys?
Why so sagacious in your guesses?
Your effs, and tees, and arrs, and esses!
Take my advice; to make you safe,
I know a shorter way by half.
The point is plain; remove the cause;
Defend your liberties and laws.
Be sometimes to your country true,
Have once the public good in view:
Bravely despise champagne at court,
And choose to dine at home with port:
Let prelates, by their good be...

Jonathan Swift

A Poem On High Church

High Church is undone,
As sure as a gun,
    For old Peter Patch is departed;
And Eyres and Delaune,
And the rest of that spawn,
    Are tacking about broken-hearted.

For strong Gill of Sarum,
That decoctum amarum,
    Has prescribed a dose of cant-fail;
Which will make them resign
Their flasks of French wine,
    And spice up their Nottingham ale.

It purges the spleen
Of dislike to the queen,
    And has one effect that is odder;
When easement they use,
They always will chuse
    The Conformity Bill for bumfodder.

Jonathan Swift

Reflections. Addressed To The Author Of The Article Of The Church In The Last Number Of The Quarterly Review.

I'm quite of your mind;--tho' these Pats cry aloud
    That they've got "too much Church," 'tis all nonsense and stuff;
For Church is like Love, of which Figaro vowed
    That even too much of it's not quite enough.

Ay! dose them with parsons, 'twill cure all their ills;--
    Copy Morrison's mode when from pill-box undaunted he
Pours thro' the patient his black-coated pills,
    Nor cares what their quality, so there's but quantity.

I verily think 'twould be worth England's while
    To consider, for Paddy's own benefit, whether
'Twould not be as well to give up the green isle
    To the care, wear and tear of the Church altogether.

The Irish are well used to treatment so pleasant;
    The harlot Church gave them to Henry Plantagenet,^[1]<...

Thomas Moore

On The Irish Bishops.[1]

Old Latimer preaching did fairly describe
A bishop, who ruled all the rest of his tribe;
And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell?
Why truly 'tis Satan, Archbishop of Hell.
And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre,
Surrounded with jewels of sulphur and nitre.
How nearly this bishop our bishops resembles!
But he has the odds, who believes and who trembles,
Could you see his grim grace, for a pound to a penny,
You'd swear it must be the baboon of Kilkenny:[2]
Poor Satan will think the comparison odious,
I wish I could find him out one more commodious;
But, this I am sure, the most reverend old dragon
Has got on the bench many bishops suffragan;
And all men believe he resides there incog,
To give them by turns an invisible jog.
Our bishops, puft up with w...

Jonathan Swift

Ballad

To the tune of "Commons and Peers."

        A wonderful age
        Is now on the stage:
I'll sing you a song, if I can,
        How modern Whigs,
        Dance forty-one jigs,[1]
But God bless our gracious Queen Anne.

        The kirk with applause
        Is established by laws
As the orthodox church of the nation.
        The bishops do own
        It's as good as their own.
And this, Sir, is call'd moderation.

        It's no riddle now
        To let you see how
A church by oppression may speed;
        Nor is't banter or jest,
        That the kirk faith is best
On the other side of the Tweed.

        For no soil can suit
        With every fruit,
Even so, Sir, it is with religion;
        The best ch...

Jonathan Swift

The Famous Speech-Maker Of England

OR BARON (ALIAS BARREN) LOVEL'S CHARGE AT THE ASSIZES AT EXON, APRIL 5, 17IO

Risum teneatis? - HORAT., Ars Poetica, 5.

            From London to Exon,
By special direction,
Came down the world's wonder,
Sir Salathiel Blunder,
With a quoif on his head
As heavy as lead;
And thus opened and said:

Gentlemen of the Grand Inquest,

            Her majesty, mark it,
            Appointed this circuit
            For me and my brother,
            Before any other;
            To execute laws,
            As you may suppose,
    Upon such as offenders have been.
            So then, not to scatter
            More words on the matter,
    We're beginning just now to begin.
But hold - first and foremost, I must enter a...

Jonathan Swift