The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Epigrams, Occasioned by Dr. Swift's Intended Hospital for Idiots and Lunaticks
THE dean must die our idiots to maintain!
Perish, ye idiots! and long live the dean!
II.
O GENIUS of Hibernia's state,
Sublimely good, severely great,
How doth this latest act excel
All you have done or wrote so well!
Satire may be the child of spite,
And fame might bid the drapier write:
But to relieve, and to endow,
Creatures that know not whence or how,
Argues a soul both good and wise,
Resembling Him who rules the skies.
He to the thoughtful mind displays
Immortal skill, ten thousand ways;
And, to complete his glorious task,
Gives what we have not sense to ask!
III.
LO! Swift to idiots bequeaths his store:
Be wise, ye rich! consider thus the poor!