ome, trimming Harcourt,[4] bring your mace;
And squeeze it in, or quit your place:
Dispatch, or else that rascal Northey[5]
Will undertake to do it for thee:
And be assured, the court will find him
Prepared to leap o'er sticks, or bind them.
To make the bundle strong and safe,
Great Ormond, lend thy general's staff:
And, if the crosier could be cramm'd in
A fig for Lechmere, King, and Hambden!
You'll then defy the strongest Whig
With both his hands to bend a twig;
Though with united strength they all pull,
From Somers,[6] down to Craggs[7] and Walpole.

[Footnote 1: This fable is one of the vain remonstrances by which Swift
strove to close the breach between Oxford and Bolingbroke, in the last
period of their administration, which, to use Swift's own words, was
"nothing else but a scene of murmuring and discontent, quarrel and
misunderstanding, animosity and hatred;" so that these two great men had
scarcely a common friend left, except the author himself, who laboured
with unavailing zeal to reconcile their dissensions.--_Scott._ With this
exception, the notes are from the Dublin Edition.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: The bundle of rods carried before the Consuls at Rome.]

[Footnote 3: The dilatory Earl of Oxford.]

[Footnote 4: Lord Chancellor.]

[Footnote 5: Sir Edward Northey, attorney-general, brought in by Lord
Harcourt; yet very desirous of the Great Seal.]

[Footnote 6: Who had been at different times Lord Chancellor and
President of the Council.]

[Footnote 7: Afterwards Secretary of State].

IMITATION
OF PART OF THE SIXTH SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.[1] 1714

I often wish'd that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a-year,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace walk, and half a rood
Of land, set out to plant a wood.
Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store;[2]
But should be perfectly content,
Could I but live on this side Trent;[3]
Nor cross the channel twice a-year,
To spend six months with statesmen here.
I must by all means come to town,
'Tis for the service of the crown.
"Lewis, the Dean will be of use;
Send for him up, take no excuse."
The toil, the danger of the seas,
Great ministers ne'er think of these;
Or let it cost a hundred pound,
No matter where the money's found,
It is but so much more in debt,
And that they ne'er consider'd yet.
"Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown,
Let my lord know