Tom could move with lordly grace,
Dick nimbly skipt the gutter;
Tom could talk with solemn face,
But Dick could better sputter.
Dick was come to high renown
Since he commenced physician;
Tom was held by all the town
The deeper politician.
Tom had the genteeler swing,
His hat could nicely put on;
Dick knew better how to swing
His cane upon a button.
Dick for repartee was fit,
And Tom for deep discerning;
Dick was thought the brighter wit,
But Tom had better learning.
Dick with zealous noes and ayes
Could roar as loud as Stentor,
In the house 'tis all he says;
But Tom is eloquenter.
[Footnote 1: This satire is a parody on a song then
fashionable.--_Scott_.]
[Footnote 2: Sir Thomas Prendergast. See _post_, "The Legion Club."]
[Footnote 3: Tighe's ancestor was a contractor for furnishing the
Parliament forces with bread during the civil wars. Hence Swift calls him
Elsewhere Pistorides. See "Prose Works," vii, 233; and in "The Legion
Club," Dick Fitzbaker.--_W.E.B_.]
DICK, A MAGGOT
As when, from rooting in a bin,
All powder'd o'er from tail to chin,
A lively maggot sallies out,
You know him by his hazel snout:
So when the grandson of his grandsire
Forth issues wriggling, Dick Drawcansir,
With powder'd rump and back and side,
You cannot blanch his tawny hide;
For 'tis beyond the power of meal
The gipsy visage to conceal;
For as he shakes his wainscot chops,
Down every mealy atom drops,
And leaves the tartar phiz in show,
Like a fresh t--d just dropp'd on snow.
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