A Dialogue Between Dean Swift and Tho. Prior, Esq. In the Isles of St. Patrick's Church, Dublin, On that Memorable Day, October 9th, 1753

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A

DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

Dean _Swift_ and _Tho. Prior_, Esq;

IN THE

Isles of St. _Patrick's_ Church, _Dublin_,

On that memorable Day, _October_ 9th, 1753.



_By a Friend to the Peace and Prosperity of_ IRELAND.



                      _Quae Gratia Curram
    Armorumque fuit vivis, quae Cura nitentes
    Pascere Equos, eadem sequitur Tellure repostos._

                                     VIRG. AEN. VI.



_DUBLIN_:

Printed for G. and A. EWING, at the _Angel_ and _Bible_
in _Dame-Street_, 1753.




Transcribers Note. Inconsistent spelling has been retained as in the
original text.




ERRATA


_Page_ 7. _Line_ 19. _for_ Phrases _read_ Praises.

_P._ 11. _L._ 18. _for_ attack _read_ attack'd.

_P._ 14._ L._ 25. _for_ they _r._ the Ladies.

_P._ 17. _L._ 22. _for_ emnently _r._ eminently.

_P._ 18. _L._ 25. _for_ Henepius _r._ Henepin's.

_P._ 26. _L._ 26. _for_ their _r._ the.

_P._ 27. _L._ 13. _for_ brag _r._ boast.

_P._ 33. _L._ 25. _for_ runing _r._ running.

_P._ 34. _L._ 5. _for_ St. Foil _r._ St. Foin.

_P._ 36. _L._ 28. _for_ say _r._ see.

_P._ 42. _L._ 25. _for_ adaequate _r._ inadequate.

_P._ 63. _L._ 11. _for_ Teas _r._ Tea.

_P._ 71. _L._ 15. _after_ horrid _r._ and.

_P._ 72. _L._ 3. _for_ we. _r._ they.

_P._ 75. _L. the last_, _for_ 'tis employ'd in, _r._ that accompany it.

_P._ 85. _L._ 10. _after_ Virtue _add_, or Learning.

_P._ 88. _L._ 10. _after_ Wall _add_, of.

_P._ 88. _L._ 31. _for_ that _r._ than.




A

DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

Dean _Swift_ and _Tho. Prior_, Esq;

In the Isles of St. _Patrick's_ Church,
_Dublin, Oct. 9, 1753_.


PRIOR. Mr. Dean, I am sorry to see you up, if any of your private
Affairs disturb you. I came to call at your Grave, and have a little
Discourse with you; but unless 'tis the Publick has rouz'd you, I am
troubled to find you walking as well as my self.

SWIFT. 'Tis my Country keeps me walking! why who can lie still? I don't
believe there are many Ghosts now, that have any share of Understanding,
or any regard for _Ireland_, that are to be found in their Graves at
Midnight. For my part I can no more keep in my Den than if it were the
Day of Judgment. I have been earth'd now eight Years last _October_,
and I think on my Conscience (and you know _Tom_ the Conscience of one
dead Man is worth ten of those that are living) I have had very few
good Days Sleep since I got there. Ah _Tom_! poor _Ireland_! poor
_Ireland_! it plagued my Heart while I was trifling away Life there;
but my Curse on it, I never thought it would have broke my Rest thus
when I was dead. I have tumbled and toss'd from one Side to the other
(and by the by, they make these cursed Coffins so narrow 'tis a Plague
to be in them) first one Thing would come into my Head, and then
another, and often wrought me so, that I have many a time been forced
to walk a whole Moon to rest me and get the better Nap when I lay down.
Prithee how have you done?

PRIOR. Why, very little better; only as I have not been so long shut up
in my Dormitory as you, the Confinement is less irksome. But I was not
affected the same way with you, for I sometimes slept for Months
together like a Dormouse; but when _Ireland_ once gets into my Head and
its present melancholy Circumstances, it works my Thoughts upwards and
downwards from the Great Ones to their Slaves, like a poor Patient with
_Ward_'s Drop and Pill.

SWIFT. That has often been my Case _Tom_. When I get into that Train of
thinking, and consider the present Situation of our Country, it makes
me as uneasy in my Coffin as a Rat shut up in a Trap. I remember an old
She[1] Fool, that was fonder of scribling than reigning, used to say,
that the Dead have that melancholy Advantage over the Living of first
forgetting them; but 'tis as false as ten thousand other Truths, that
your Philosophers and Politicians above Ground keep such a babling with
over our Heads. For my part I never had that Pleasure, for since my
first Nap under my Gravestone, which did not last three Weeks, I have
been as much perplex'd about _Ireland_, as if I was still living at the
Deanry, writing for Posterity, and thinking for my poor Country. What
makes you sigh so _Tom_? Why you draw your Breath as hard as a
broken-winded Racer; some Qualm I suppose about this neglected Island.

      [1] Queen _Christina_ of _Sweden_.

PRIOR. That was the Case indeed. But tho' I am chiefly grieved at the
ill Circumstances of _I----d_, my next trouble is, that the World seems
resolved they shall never mend; and, I think so, by their treating all
true Patriots in the most unhandsome Manner. This is as mad a Measure,
as imprisoning the Physicians in an epidemical Sickness would be. Yet
such Men, who only could heal our Distempers, are treated almost as
common Poisoners, and watch'd as if they were Incendiaries and the
Enemies of Society.