Sent By Dr. Delany To Dr. Swift, In Order To Be Admitted To Speak To Him When He Was Deaf. 1724

Dear Sir, I think, 'tis doubly hard,
Your ears and doors should both be barr'd.
Can anything be more unkind?
Must I not see, 'cause you are blind?
Methinks a friend at night should cheer you, -
A friend that loves to see and hear you.
Why am I robb'd of that delight,
When you can be no loser by't
Nay, when 'tis plain (for what is plainer?)
That if you heard you'd be no gainer?
For sure you are not yet to learn,
That hearing is not your concern.
Then be your doors no longer barr'd:
Your business, sir, is to be heard.

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

To Janus, On New Year's Day, 1726

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

The Windsor Prophecy[1]

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

A Character, Panegyric, And Description Of The Legion Club

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

Mrs. Frances Harris's Petition, 1699

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

English

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An Invitation, By Dr. Delany, In The Name Of Dr. Swift

Mighty Thomas, a solemn senatus[1] I call,
To consult for Sapphira;[2] so come one and all;
Quit books, and quit business, your cure and your care,
For a long winding walk, and a short bill of fare.
I've mutton for you, sir; and as for the ladies,
As friend Virgil has it, I've aliud mercedis;
For Letty,[3] one filbert, whereon to regale;
And a peach for pale Constance,[4] to make a full meal;
And for your cruel part, who take pleasure in blood,
I have that of the grape, which is ten times as good:
Flow wit to her honour, flow wine to her health:
High raised be her worth above titles or wealth.[5]

Jonathan Swift

The Answer (Sent By Dr. Delany To Dr. Swift, In Order To Be Admitted To Speak To Him When He Was Deaf. 1724)

The wise pretend to make it clear,
'Tis no great loss to lose an ear.
Why are we then so fond of two,
When by experience one would do?
    'Tis true, say they, cut off the head,
And there's an end; the man is dead;
Because, among all human race,
None e'er was known to have a brace:
But confidently they maintain,
That where we find the members twain,
The loss of one is no such trouble,
Since t'other will in strength be double.
The limb surviving, you may swear,
Becomes his brother's lawful heir:
Thus, for a trial, let me beg of
Your reverence but to cut one leg off,
And you shall find, by this device,
The other will be stronger twice;
For every day you shall be gaining
New vigour to the leg remaining.
So, when an eye has lost its brother,

Jonathan Swift

Written By Dr. Swift On His Own Deafness, In September, 1734

Vertiginosus, inops, surdus, male gratus amicis;
Non campana sonans, tonitru non ab Jove missum,
Quod mage mirandum, saltem si credere fas est,
Non clamosa meas mulier jam percutit aures.

Jonathan Swift

An Answer, By Delany, To Thomas Sheridan

Dear Sherry, I'm sorry for your bloodsheded sore eye,
And the more I consider your case, still the more I
Regret it, for see how the pain on't has wore ye.
Besides, the good Whigs, who strangely adore ye,
In pity cry out, "He's a poor blinded Tory."
But listen to me, and I'll soon lay before ye
A sovereign cure well attested in Gory.
First wash it with ros, that makes dative rori,
Then send for three leeches, and let them all gore ye;
Then take a cordial dram to restore ye,
Then take Lady Judith, and walk a fine boree,
Then take a glass of good claret ex more,
Then stay as long as you can ab uxore;
And then if friend Dick[1] will but ope your back-door, he
Will quickly dispel the black clouds that hang o'er ye,
And make you so bright, th...

Jonathan Swift

A Reply, By Sheridan, To Delany

I like your collyrium,
Take my eyes, sir, and clear ye 'um,
    'Twill gain you a great reputation;
By this you may rise,
Like the doctor so wise,[1]
    Who open'd the eyes of the nation.

And these, I must tell ye,
Are bigger than its belly; -
    You know, theres in Livy a story
Of the hands and the feet
Denying of meat, -
    Don't I write in the dark like a Tory?

Your water so far goes,
'Twould serve for an Argus,
    Were all his whole hundred sore;
So many we read
He had in his head,
    Or Ovid's a son of a whore.

For your recipe, sir,
May my lids never stir,
    If ever I think once to fee you;
For I'd have you to know,
When abroad I can go,
    That it's honour enough, if I see you.

Jonathan Swift

An Epistle To His Excellency John, Lord Carteret By Dr. Delany.

1729[1] (Verses Written During Lord Carteret's Administration Of Ireland)

    Credis ob haec me, Pastor, opes fortasse rogare,
    Propter quae vulgus crassaque turba rogat.
MART., Epig., lib. ix, 22.

Thou wise and learned ruler of our isle,
Whose guardian care can all her griefs beguile;
When next your generous soul shall condescend
T' instruct or entertain your humble friend;
Whether, retiring from your weighty charge,
On some high theme you learnedly enlarge;
Of all the ways of wisdom reason well,
How Richelieu rose, and how Sejanus fell:
Or, when your brow less thoughtfully unbends,
Circled with Swift and some delighted friends;
When, mixing mirth and wisdom with your wine,
Like that your wit shall flow, your genius shine:
Nor with less ...

Jonathan Swift