hole summers absent from--my garden!
But that the world would think I play'd the fool,
I'd change with Charley Grattan for his school.[3]
What fine cascades, what vistoes, might I make,
Fixt in the centre of th' Iernian lake!
There might I sail delighted, smooth and safe,
Beneath the conduct of my good Sir Ralph:[4]
There's not a better steerer in the realm;
I hope, my lord, you'll call him to the helm."--
"Doctor--a glorious scheme to ease your grief!
When cures are cross, a school's a sure relief.
You cannot fail of being happy there,
The lake will be the Lethe of your care:
The scheme is for your honour and your ease:
And, doctor, I'll promote it when you please.
Meanwhile, allowing things below your merit,
Yet, doctor, you've a philosophic spirit;
Your wants are few, and, like your income, small,
And you've enough to gratify them all:
You've trees, and fruits, and roots, enough in store:
And what would a philosopher have more?
You cannot wish for coaches, kitchens, cooks--"
"My lord, I've not enough to buy me books--
Or pray, suppose my wants were all supplied,
Are there no wants I should regard beside?
Whose breast is so unmann'd, as not to grieve,
Compass'd with miseries he can't relieve?
Who can be happy--who should wish to live,
And want the godlike happiness to give?
That I'm a judge of this, you must allow:
I had it once--and I'm debarr'd it now.
Ask your own heart, my lord; if this be true,
Then how unblest am I! how blest are you!"
"'Tis true--but, doctor, let us wave all that--
Say, if you had your wish, what you'd be at?"
"Excuse me, good my lord--I won't be sounded,
Nor shall your favour by my wants be bounded.
My lord, I challenge nothing as my due,
Nor is it fit I should prescribe to you.
Yet this might Symmachus himself avow,
(Whose rigid rules[5] are antiquated now)--
My lord; I'd wish to pay the debts I owe--
I'd wish besides--to build and to bestow."

[Footnote 1: Delany, by the patronage of Carteret, and probably through
the intercession of Swift, had obtained a small living in the north of
Ireland, worth about one hundred pounds a-year, with the chancellorship
of Christ-Church, and a prebend's stall in St. Patrick's, neither of
which exceeded the same annual amount. Yet a clamour was raised among the
Whigs, on account of the multiplication of his preferments; and a charge
was founded against the Lord-Lieutenant of extravagant favour to a Tory
divine, which Swift judged wort