Classic Poem

What, doctor, if great Carteret condescends
To chat with Swift and you as private friends,
Must you so silly be to tell the town,
And boast of freedoms he may blush to own?
Is this the modest dutiful behavior
You show your patron for so great a favor?
Think you these honors to your merit due?
What equal honors can reflect from you?
You may perhaps propose immortal fame,
Under the shelter of your patron's name;
If you presume too far, you miss that end,
For the like course lost Swift his Gaulstown friend,
And may in time disturb your patron too,
To see the simple choice he's made of you.
But is my lord still short of his intent?
Or is your merit of that vast extent,
That nothing less than thousands can content?
There was a time when Paddy, out of hope,
Thought a West Indian jaunt his utmost scope.
The world's well mended since with Patrick; now
Nothing but vistas and canals will do.
But pray, great sir, what friend of common sense
Would labor to promote such vain expense?
And must your brethren all in hamlets dwell
T' adorn your busts, and young St. Patrick's cell?
Why may not some of 'em, for aught you know,
Have a desire to build and to bestow?
Retrench then, and be modest if you can, sir,
Or raise objections stronger than your answer.
Think, doctor, after double vicar, double rector,
A dignity in Christ Church lecture—
And something else, which you have still forgot,
A college place. Won't all this boil the pot?
Then judge how very awkwardly it looks—
“You have not yet enough to buy your books.”
Good Patrick, take advice, and first read o'er
The books you have before you call for more;
Resign some of those cures you labor hard in;
If you must spend whole summers in your garden,
Attend some one at least, and quit Glasnevin,
Which will destroy your credit, if you live in;
Let Barber, though polite, at counter wait;
No longer be caressed in pomp and state:
Quickly do this, or you may some provoke
To say you mean to fleece, not feed, the flock.