ON CUTTING DOWN THE OLD THORN

AT MARKET-HILL*.

T Market-Hill, as well appears,

AT

By chronicle of ancient date,
There ftood for many hundred years
A fpacious thorn before the gate.
Hither came every village-maid,

And on the boughs her garland hung;
And here, beneath the fpreading fhade,
Secure from Satyrs fate and fung.

Sir Archibald †, that valorous knight,
The lord of all the fruitful plain,
Would come and liften with delight;

For he was fond of rural strain.

A village near the feat of Sir Arthur Achefon, where the Dean fometimes made a long vifit. The tree, which was a remarkable one, was much admired by the Knight. Yet the Dean, in one of his unaccountable humours, gave directions for cutting it down in the abfence of Sir Arthur; who was of course highly incenfed, nor would fee Swift for fome time after. By way of making his peace, the Dean wrote this poem; which had the defired effect. N.

+ Sir Archibald Achefon, fecretary of state for Scotland.

(Sir Archibald, whose favorite name
Shall ftand for ages on record,
By Scottish bards of highest fame,

Wife Hawthornden and Stirling's lord *.)

But time with iron teeth, I ween,

Has canker'd all its branches round;
No fruit or blossom to be seen,

Its head reclining towards the ground.

This aged, fickly, fapless thorn,

Which muft, alas! no longer ftand,
Behold the cruel Dean in fcorn

Cuts down with facrilegious hand.
Dame Nature, when the faw the blow,
Aftonish'd, gave a dreadful shriek,

And mother Tellus trembled fo,

She scarce recover'd in a week.

The Sylvan powers, with fear perplex'd,
In prudence and compaffion, fent
(For none could tell whofe turn was next)
Sad omens of the dire event.

The magpye, lighting on the flock,
Stood chattering with inceffant din ;
And with her beak gave many a knock
To rouze and warn the nymph within.

Drummond of Hawthornden, and Sir William Alexander earl of Stirling, who were both friends to Sir Archibald, and famous for their poetry.

The

The owl forefaw, in penfive mood,
The ruin of her ancient feat;
And fled in hafte, with all her brood,
To feek a more fecure retreat.

Laft trolled forth the gentle swine,
To eafe her itch against the stump,
And difmally was heard to whine,
All as the fcrubb'd her meazly rump.
The nymph who dwells in every tree,
(If all be true that poets chant)
Condemn'd by Fate's fupreme decree,
Muft die with her expiring plant.
Thus, when the gentle Spina found
The thorn committed to her care
Receiv'd its laft and deadly wound,
She fled, and vanish'd into air.

But from the root a difmal groan
First iffuing ftruck the murderer's ears
And, in a fhrill revengeful tone,

This prophecy he trembling hears:
"Thou chief contriver of my fall,
"Relentless Dean, to mischief born;
"My kindred oft' thine hide shall gall,
"Thy gown and cassock oft' be torn.
"And thy confederate dame, who brags
"That the condemn'd me to the fire,
"Shall rend her petticoats to rags,

"And wound her legs with every brier.

"Nor

"Nor thou, lord Arthur *, fhalt escape; "To thee I often call'd in vain,

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Against that affaffin in crape;

"Yet thou could'ft tamely fee me slain :

"Nor, when I felt the dreadful blow,

"Or chid the Dean, or pinch'd thy spouse; "Since you could fee me treated fo

"(An old retainer to your house):

"May that fell Dean, by whofe command
"Was form'd this Machiavilian plot,
"Not leave a thistle on thy land;

"Then who will own thee for a Scot?

“Pigs and fanatics, cows and teagues,
"Through all thy empire I forefee,
"To tear thy hedges, join in leagues,
"Sworn to revenge my thorn and me..
"And thou, the wretch ordain'd by fate,.
"Neal Gahagan, Hibernian clown,
"With hatchet blunter than thy pate,
"To hack my hallow'd timber down;

"When thou, fufpended high in air,.
"Dy'ft on a more ignoble tree.

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(For thou shalt steal thy landlord's mare), "Then, bloody caitif! think on me."

*Sir Arthur Achefon.

MY

LADY'S *

LAMENTATION AND COMPLAINT

AGAINST THE DEAN.