Rev. Jonathan Swift

Anonymous, "A Satire occasion'd by Gulliver's teizing the People of Dublin, with repeated Pamphlets, about Wood's Brass-Farthings" Gulliveriana: or, a Fourth Volume of Miscellanies (1728) 37-39.

Most reverend Dean, pray cease to write,
Nor longer dwell, on Things so trite:
Forbear to court unto thy Aid,
Each Grace and Heliconian Maid:
Apollo's tir'd: Minerva swears
She never more will hear thy Pray'rs;
And, to speak Truth, I think it odd is,
To Nauseate thus the God and Goddess,
Still, with one Tale, to cloy the Town,
And write, and write their Spirits down.

Great Sir, you've skillfully behav'd;
Your Person's safe, your Country's sav'd;
And Proclamations, not proclaim
Your Impudence, but raise your Fame.
The Grand Dispute! you've mad an End on't:
Your Church and State are Independent.

But tho' in writing you have Skill,
Can joke off-hand, have Wit at will;
Why will you thus the Irish cully,
And feed with nought but Chapon boulli?
And Wood his Farthings only write on,
And squander Wit, and vent your Spite on;
Unless, that, now, and then you deign
To praise yourself, in humble Strain.
Yet, before you, I am sure, not any
Poor Poet, e'er, wrote against Money.

But pray, Sir, tell, where's the great Glory,
You're like to get by this long Story?
You print, just as you preach and pray;
No Mortal, ever yet, said Nay.
You write, and you, again, write on,
Solely possess'd of pro and con.
This One-side War, then, prithee close,
Unless, in Friends, you'll find no Foes.