Classic Poem

As I strole the City, oft I
Spy a Building large and lofty,
Not a Bow-shot from the College,
Half the Globe from Sense and Knowledge.
By the prudent Architect
Plac'd against the Church direct;
Making good my Grandames Jest,
Near the Church--you know the rest.

Tell us, what this Pile contains?
Many a Head that holds no Brains.
These Demoniacs let me dub
With the Name of Legion Club.
Such Assemblies, you might swear,
Meet when Butchers bait a Bear;
Such a noise, and such haranguing,
When a Brother Thief is hanging.
Such a Rout and such a Rabble
Run to hear Jackpudding gabble;
Such a Croud their Ordure throws
On a far less Villain's Nose.

Could I from the Building's Top
Hear the rattling Thunder drop,
While the Devil upon the Roof,
If the Devil be Thunder proof,
Should with Poker fiery-red
Crack the Stones, and melt the Lead;
Drive them down on every Scull,
While the den of Thieves is full,
Quite destroy that Harpies nest,
How might then our Isle be blest?
For Divines allow, that God
Sometimes makes the Devil his Rod:
And the Gospel will inform us
He can punish Sins enormous.

Yet should Swift endow the Schools
For his Lunatics and Fools,
With a Rood or two of Land,
I allow the Pile may stand.
You perhaps will ask me, why so?
But it is with this Proviso,
Since the House is like to last,
Let a Royal Grant be pass'd,
That the Club have Right to dwell
Each within his proper Cell;
With a Passage left to creep in,
And a Hole above for peeping.

Let them, when they once get in
Sell the Nation for a Pin;
While they sit a picking Straws
Let them rave of making Laws;
While they never hold their Tongue,
Let them dabble in their Dung;
Let them form a grand Committee,
How to plague and starve the City;
Let them stare and storm and frown,
When they see a Clergy-Gown.

Let them, 'ere they crack a Louse,
Call for th' Orders of the House;
Let them with their gosling Quills,
Scribble senseless Heads of Bills;
We may, while they strain their Throats,
Wipe our Arses with their Votes. . . .