The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dick's Variety
DULL uniformity in fools
I hate, who gape and sneer by rules.
You, Mullinix, and slobbering C——,
Who every day and hour the same are;
That vulgar talent I despise
Of pissing in the rabble's eyes.
And when I listen to the noise
Of idiots roaring to the boys;
To better judgment still submitting,
I own I see but little wit in;
Such pastimes, when our taste is nice,
Can please at most but once or twice.
But then consider Dick, you'll find
His genius of superiour kind;
He never muddles in the dirt,
Nor scours the streets without a shirt;
Though Dick, I dare presume to say,
Could do such feats as well as they.
Dick I could venture every where,
Let the boys pelt him if they dare,
He'd have them try'd at the assizes
For priests and jesuits in disguises;
Swear they were with the Swedes at Bender,
And listing troops for the pretender.
But Dick can fart, and dance, and frisk,
No other monkey half so brisk;
Now has the speaker by the ears,
Next moment in the house of peers;
Now scolding at my lady Eustace,
Or thrashing Baby in her new stays.
Presto! be gone! with t'other hop
He's powdering in a barber's shop;
Now at the antichamber thrusting
His nose to get the circle just in,
And d—ns his blood, that in the rear
He sees one single tory there:
Then, woe be to my lord lieutenant,
Again he'll tell him, and again on't.