Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/425

How would they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe!
How would they swear not Congreve's self was safe!
Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires
Apollo kindled, and fair fame inspires:
Blest with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease:
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne;
View him with scornful, yet with fearful eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering teach the rest to sneer:
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend:
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieg'd,
And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd;
Who, if two wits on rival themes contest,
Approves of each, but likes the worst the best;
Like Cato, gives his little senate laws,
And sits attentive to his own applause;
While wits and templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise —
What pity, Heaven! if such a man there be;
Who would not weep, if Addison were he!