d,
Your numerous virtues foully stain'd:
Disclaim for ever all pretence
To common honesty and sense;
And join in friendship with a strict tie,
To M--l, C--y, and Dick Tighe.[3]

[Footnote 1: The Goddess of Justice, the last of the celestials to leave
the earth. "Ultima caelestum terras Astraea reliquit," Ovid, "Met.," i,
150.--_W. E .B._]

[Footnote 2: Highwaymen of that time were so called.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 3: Richard Tighe, Esq. He was a member of the Irish Parliament,
and held by Dean Swift in utter abomination. He is several times
mentioned in the Journal to Stella: how he used to beat his wife, and
how she deserved it. "Prose Works," vol. ii, pp. 229, 242,
etc.--_W. E. B._]

A DIALOGUE

BETWEEN AN EMINENT LAWYER[1] AND DR. JONATHAN
SWIFT, D.S.P.D. IN ALLUSION TO HORACE,
BOOK II, SATIRE I

"Sunt quibus in Satira," etc.

WRITTEN BY MR. LINDSAY, IN 1729

DR. SWIFT

Since there are persons who complain
There's too much satire in my vein;
That I am often found exceeding
The rules of raillery and breeding;
With too much freedom treat my betters,
Not sparing even men of letters:
You, who are skill'd in lawyers' lore,
What's your advice? Shall I give o'er?
Nor ever fools or knaves expose,
Either in verse or humorous prose:
And to avoid all future ill,
In my scrutoire lock up my quill?

LAWYER

Since you are pleased to condescend
To ask the judgment of a friend,
Your case consider'd, I must think
You should withdraw from pen and ink,
Forbear your poetry and jokes,
And live like other Christian folks;
Or if the Muses must inspire
Your fancy with their pleasing fire,
Take subjects safer for your wit
Than those on which you lately writ.
Commend the times, your thoughts correct,
And follow the prevailing sect;
Assert that Hyde,[2] in writing story,
Shows all the malice of a Tory;
While Burnet,[3] in his deathless page,
Discovers freedom without rage.
To Woolston[4] recommend our youth,
For learning, probity, and truth;
That noble genius, who unbinds
The chains which fetter freeborn minds;
Redeems us from the slavish fears
Which lasted near two thousand years;
He can alone the priesthood humble,
Make gilded spires and altars tumble.

DR. SWIFT

Must I commend against my conscience,
Such stupid blasphemy and nonsense;
To such a subject tune my lyre,
And sing like one of Milton's choir,
Where devils to a vale retreat,
And call the laws of Wisdom, Fate;
Lament upon thei