On sending my Son, as a Present, to Dr. Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, on his Birth-Day.

On sending my Son, as a Present, to Dr. Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, on his Birth-Day.

A Curious Statue, we are told, Is priz'd above its Weight in Gold; If the fair Form the Hand confess Of Phidias, or Praxiteles: But if the Artist could inspire The smallest Spark of heav'nly Fire, Tho' but enough to make it walk, Salute the Company, or talk; This would advance the Price so high, What Prince were rich enough to buy? Such if Hibernia could obtain, She sure would give it to the Dean: So to her Patriot should she pay Her Thanks upon his natal Day.

A richer Present I design, A finish'd Form, of Work divine, Surpassing all the Power of Art, A thinking Head, and grateful Heart, An Heart, that hopes, one Day, to show How much we to the Drapier owe.

Kings could not send a nobler Gift; A meaner were unworthy Swift.