ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Rev. Jonathan Swift
Anonymous, "The Devil's Last Game: A Satire" Daily Journal (9 April 1728).
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
Said Old Nick, to St. Michael; You use me but ill,
To suppress all my Force, and restrain all my Skill:
Let me loose at Religion, I'll shew my Good Parts,
And try, if your Doctrine can balance my Arts.
'Tis a Match, cry'd the Angel, — and drew off his Guard,
And the Devil slipt from him, to play a Coat Card.
The first Help he sought, was a qualified Mind,
That had Compass, and Void, for the Use he design'd.
There occurr'd a Pure Nothing, a Stick of Church Timber,
Who had Stiffness of Will, but his Morals were limber:
To whom Wit serv'd for Reason, and Passion for Zeal,
Who had Teeth like a Viper, and Tail, like an Eel.
Whose Distaste was sincere, and whose Friendship Pretence,
Who supply'd Want of Merit, by Store of fine Sense.
Wore the Malice of Hell, with a Heavenly Grace,
Of Humour enchanting, and Easy of Face:
His Tongue flow'd with Honey, His Eyes flash'd Delight;
He despis'd what was wrong, and abus'd what was right:
Had a Knack to laugh luckily, never thought twice,
And, with Coarseness of Heart, had a Taste, that was nice.
Nature form'd him malignant, but, whetting him fast,
He was edg'd for Decay, and too brittle to last.
He wou'd quarrel with Vertue, because 'twas his Foe's,
And was hardly a Friend to the Vice, which he chose:
He cou'd love nothing grave, nothing pleasant forbear;
He was always in Jest, but was most so, in Prayer.
Lord be prais'd, quoth the Devil! — a Fig for all Grace!
So, He breath'd a new Brogue, o'er the Bronze of his Face:
Lent him Pride, above Hope, and Conceit above Spleen,
Slipt him into Church-Service, and call'd him a DEAN.