TO THE LORD TREASURER OXFORD
1710
Atlas, we read in ancient song,
Was so exceeding tall and strong,
He bore the skies upon his back,
Just as the pedler does his pack;
But, as the pedler overpress'd
Unloads upon a stall to rest,
Or, when he can no longer stand
Desires a friend to lend a hand;
So Atlas, lest the ponderous spheres
Should sink, and fall about his ears,
Got Hercules to bear the pile,
That he might sit and rest awhile.
Yet Hercules was not so strong,
Nor could have borne it half so long.
Great statesmen are in this condition;
And Atlas is a politician,
A premier minister of state;
Alcides one of second rate.
Suppose then Atlas ne'er so wise;
Yet, when the weight of kingdoms lies
Too long upon his single shoulders,
Sink down he must, or find upholders.
[Footnote 1: In these free, and yet complimentary verses, Swift cautions
Oxford against his greatest political error, that affectation of mystery,
and wish of engrossing the whole management of public affairs, which
first disgusted, and then alienated, Harcourt and Bolingbroke. On this
point our author has spoken very fully in the "Free Thoughts upon. The
present State of Affairs."--_Scott_. See "Prose Works," v,
391.--_W. E. B_. ]
LINES WRITTEN EXTEMPORE ON MR. HARLEY'S BEING STABBED,
AND ADDRESSED TO HIS PHYSICIAN, 1710-11 [1]
On Britain Europe's safety lies,
Britain is lost if Harley dies:
Harley depends upon your skill:
Think what you save, or what you kill.
[Footnote 1: For details of Guiscard's murderous attack on Harley, see
Journal to Stella, March 8, 1710-11, "Prose Works," ii.--_W. E. B._]