ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
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.
Rev. Jonathan Swift:
1690: Sir William Temple
1704: William King
1713: Bp. Francis Atterbury
1713: Matthew Prior
1713: Alexander Pope
1716: Sir Richard Blackmore
1722: Matthew Concanen
1726: John Gay
1729: Thomas Cooke
1732: Rev. Jonathan Swift
1733: Patrick Delany
1733: P. B.
1734: A. V-gh-n
1734: John Sican
1737: Alexander Pope
1739: Edward Lonergan
1742: John Winstanley
1745 ca.: Anonymous
1745: C. B-r
1746: Henry Jones
1750: William Shenstone
1752: Nathaniel Weekes
1755: Robert Lloyd
1758: G. G.
1766: John Cunningham
1772: Rev. John Ball
1773: Samuel Johnson
1776: James Beattie
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1783: Rev. Hugh Blair
1784: Thomas Sheridan
1788: A Young Author in Dublin
1796: Thomas Green
1797: William Godwin
1799: Lady Catherine Rebecca Manners
1802: Thomas Dermody
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1807: Robert Southey
1808: Thomas Clio Rickman
1814: Isaac D'Israeli
1814: Sir Walter Scott
1816: Leigh Hunt
1818: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1818: William Hazlitt
1822: Tobias Oldschool
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1826: Richard Ryan
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1846: Denis Florence M'Carthy
1858: Walter Savage Landor
1860: George Gilfillan
1880: Edmund Gosse
1882: Epes Sargent
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.