THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.1

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind:
Reason, they say, belongs to man;
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglecius,

By ratiocinations specious,

Have strove to prove, with great precision, With definition and division,

Homo est ratione preditum;

But for my soul I cannot credit 'em;
And must in spite of them maintain,

That man and all his ways are vain ;
And that this boasted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature;
That instinct is a surer guide

Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;
And that brute beasts are far before 'em ;
Deus est anima brutorum.

Who ever knew an honest brute

At law his neighbour prosecute,
Bring action for assault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?

1 From The Busy Body, No. 5.

O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,

No politics disturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport,

Nor know who's in or out at court.
They never to the levee go

To treat as dearest friend a foe:
They never importune his Grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob.1
Fraught with invective, they ne'er go
To folks at Paternoster Row:
No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,
No pickpockets or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupeds;
No single brute his fellows leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each others' throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape;
Like man he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling passion:
But, both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape surpasses.
Behold him humbly cringing wait
Upon the minister of state;
View him soon after to inferiors,
Aping the conduct of superiors:

1 Sir Robert Walpole.

He promises with equal air,

And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators:

At court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters,
Their masters' manners still contract,
And footmen lords and dukes can act.
Thus, at the court, both great and small
Behave alike, for all ape all.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A
MAD DOG.1

GOOD people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes:
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

1 See Vicar of Wakefield, c. xvìi.

In the Citizen of the World, vol. ii. lett. lxvi. is a paper on the Epidemic Terror, the dread of mad dogs, which now prevails: the whole nation is now actually groaning under the malignity of its influence.'

This dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain his private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets

The wondering people ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That show'd the rogues they lied;

The man recover'd of the bite;

The dog it was that died.