OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Archdeacon Walls - 1

TO THE REV. MR. ARCHDEACON WALLS.
WINDSOR CASTLE, OCT. 1, 1713.
I HAD just now a letter from you, wherein you mention the design of making me prolocutor. I will confess to you, there are two reasons why I should comply with it; one is, that I am heartily weary of courts, and ministers, and politicks, for several reasons impossible to tell you; and I have a mind to be at home, since the queen has been pleased that Ireland should be my home: the other reason is, that I think somebody educated in Dublin college should be prolocutor; and I hear there are designs of turning it another way. But, if you find it will not do, I hope you will quit the design in proper season. I condole with you for the loss of your companions this winter; and I was always of opinion they should be in town, unless they find their health better at Trim.
I am a little disappointed in Parvisol's return. ​I hoped it would have amounted to near five hundred pounds in the tithes; I doubt not the cause, and beg you will have no sort of tenderness for him, farther than it regards my interest; as to the land rents, they are one hundred and seventy-four pounds a year in the country, besides some small things in town; and I am in no pain about them, because they are sure; nor do I desire him to concern himself about them.
I hoped, and was told, my license would be under six pounds, though all was paid, and I heard, if lord chancellor had taken his fees, it would have been eight pounds. Tell Mr. Fetherston, I have spoken to baron Scroup about his affair, who promises to dispatch it with the first opportunity. I am now with some ministers and lords, and other company, and withdrawn to a table, and hardly know what I write, they are so loud. My humble service to your Dorothy, and alderman Stoyte, his wife, and Cellarius; and duty to the bishop of Dromore. Your's,
J. S.
* ↑ Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dingley.
* ↑ The dean's agent.
* ↑ Sir Constantine Phipps.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From John Sharpe to Jonathan Swift - 1

FROM THE REVEREND MR. SHARPE.
I WAS commanded by his excellency brigadier Hunter, governor of New York, to deliver the enclosed with my own hand, had I been so happy, for his service and my own satisfaction, as to have seen you at London. I am persuaded your influence here might have contributed to create a better opinion of him, among some leading men in the society for propagation of the Gospel in foreign parts, who have been much imposed on by the clamorous memorials of some indiscreet missionaries abroad. He has the just esteem of two thirds of the clergy in his government, and the greatest part of the laity, who have either sense, probity, or honour; but his adversaries have made the church's cause a favourable handle for their repeated complaints, which, with the application of their friends here, makes them hopeful of success.
I have been twelve years abroad, in the service of the church in America: the last ten were in the station of chaplain to her majesty's forces at New York, where I had the opportunity of being very near to the several governors; and do assure you, that if I had ever observed in him any inclination to weaken the interest of the church there. I could not in conscience offer to excuse him; but he is ​better known to you, than that I, who am altogether unknown, should presume to give his character.
What I beg leave to intreat of you is, to recommend me in my endeavours for his service, to the advice and assistance of your friends. The perplexity of all his affairs at this time claims the good offices of all that wish him well. If, in favour to his excellency, you are pleased to honour me with the pardon of this, and what return the enclosed may require, direct for me to the care of Mr. James Douglas, merchant, in Fen court, Fenchurch street, London. I beg leave to subscribe myself, with great respect, reverend sir, your most obedient and most humble servant,
JOHN SHARPE.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From John Shower to Robert Harley - 1

MR. SHOWER TO THE LORD HIGH-TREASURER OXFORD.
THOUGH there be little reason to expect your lordship should interpose in favour of the dissenters, who have been so shamefully abandoned, sold, and sacrificed by their professed friends; the attempt is however so glorious, in all its views, tendencies, and prospects, that, if it be not too late, I would most humbly beg your lordship not to be immoveable as to that matter. The fatal consequences of that bill cannot be expressed: I dread to think of some of them; and shall as much rejoice with many thousands, if you may be instrumental to prevent it. May Heaven direct you in this, and all your great affairs for the publick good of your country!
I am, my honoured lord,
your most obedient servant,
JOHN SHOWER.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Abigail Masham - 1

TO LADY MASHAM.
I HAD the honour of a letter from your ladyship a week ago; and, the day after, came the unfortunate news of the queen's death, which made it altogether unseasonable, as perhaps it may be still, to give your ladyship this kind of trouble. Although my concern be as great as that of any other good subject, for the loss of so excellent a princess; yet I can assure you, madam, it is little to what I suffer upon your ladyship's particular account. As you excel in the several duties of a tender mother, a true friend, and a loving wife; so you have been the best and most faithful servant to your mistress, that ever any sovereign had. And although you have not been rewarded suitably to your merits, I doubt not but God will make it up to you in another life, and to your children and posterity in this. I cannot go about to comfort your ladyship in your great affliction, otherwise than by begging you to make use of your own piety, and your own wisdom, of both which you have so great a share. You are no longer a servant; but you are still a wife, a mother, and a friend; and you are bound in conscience to take care of your health, in order to acquit yourself of these duties, as well as you did of the other, which is now at an end.
I pray God to support your ladyship, under so ​great a share of load, in this general calamity: and remain, with the greatest respect and truth, madam,
Your ladyship's most obedient
and most obliged servant.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/A Letter to Mrs. Susannah Neville

A Letter to Mrs. Susannah Neville.
I WILL not trouble you with any grave tophicks, lest I should discurmode you; but rather write in a farmiliar and jocosious way.
​You must know then, I was the other night at Mrs. Tattle's, and Mrs. Rattle came in to drink some jocklit with us, upon which they fell into a nargiment about the best musicioners in town. At last, Rattle told Tattle, that she did not know the difrence between a song and a tympany. They were going to defer the matter to me; but I said that, when people disputed, it was my way always to stand muter. You would have thought they were both intosticated with liquor, if you had seen them so full of outrageousness. However, Mrs. Tattle, as being a very timbersome woman, yielded to Rattle, and there was an end of the disputement. I wonder you do not honour me sometimes with your company. If I myself be no introducement, my garden, which has a fine ruval look, ought to be one. My Tommy would be glad to see you before he goes for England, and so would I; for I am resolved to take the tower of London before I return. We intend to go to Norfolk or Suffolk, to see a clergyman, a near cousin of ours. They say that he is an admiral good man, and very horspital in his own house. I am determ'd, when this vege is over, never to set my foot in a stagecoach again; for the jolting of it has put my blood into such a firmament, that I have been in an ego ever since, and have lost my nappetite to such a degree that I have not eaten a mansion of bread put all together these six weeks past. They allow me to eat nothing at night but blanchius manshius, which has made a perfect notomy of me; and my spirits are so extorted, that I am in a perfect liturgy; for which I am resolved to take some rubrick, although the doctors advise me to drink burgomy. And what do you think? when I went to my cellar for a flask, I ​found that my servants had imbellished it all: for which I am resolved to give them some hippocockeny to bring it up again. — I fear that I have been too turbulent in this long and tedious crawl; which I hope you will excuse from, your very humble servant.
Mary Howe.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 15/Journal to Stella – Letter 65

LETTER LXV.
Chester, June 6, 1713.
I AM come here after six days. I set out on Monday last, and got here to day about eleven in the morning. A noble rider, faith! and all the ships and people went off yesterday with a rare wind. This was told me, to my comfort, upon my arrival. Having not used riding these three years, made me terrible weary; yet I resolve on Monday to set out for Holyhead, as weary as I am: 'tis good for my health, man. When I came here, I found MD's letter of the 26th of May sent down to me. Had you written a post sooner, I might have brought some pins: but you were lazy, and could not write your orders immediately, as I desired you. I will come, when God pleases; perhaps I may be with you in a week. I will be three days going to Holyhead; I cannot ride fester, say what you will. I am upon Stay-behind's mare. I have the whole inn to myself. I would fain 'scape this Holyhead journey; but I have no prospect of ships, and it will be almost ​necessary I should be in Dublin before the 25th instant, to take the oaths; otherwise I must wait to a quarter session. I will lodge as I can; therefore take no lodgings for me, to pay in my absence. The poor dean can't afford it. I spoke again to the duke of Ormond about Moimed for Raymond, and hope he may yet have it, for I laid it strongly to the duke, and gave him the bishop of Meath's memorial. I am sorry for Raymond's fistula; tell him so. I will speak to lord treasurer about Mrs. South to morrow. — Odso! I forgot; I thought I had been in London. Mrs. Tisdall is very big, ready to lie down. Her husband is a puppy. Do his feet stink still? The letters to Ireland go at so uncertain an hour, that I am forced to conclude. Farewell, MD, FW, Me, Lele, &c.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16

THE
WORKS
OF THE
REV. JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D.,
DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S, DUBLIN.
ARRANGED BY THOMAS SHERIDAN, A.M.
WITH
NOTES, HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL.
A NEW EDITION, IN NINETEEN VOLUMES;
CORRECTED AND REVISED
BY JOHN NICHOLS, F.S.A. EDINBURGH AND PERTH,
VOLUME XVI.
LONDON:
1801.
CONTENTS
OF THE
SIXTEENTH VOLUME.
| To the Count de Gyllenborg | page 1 |
| Fragment of the history of England | 4 |
| The reign of William Rufus | 9 |
| The reign of Henry I. | 29 |
| The reign of Stephen | 56 |
| The reign of Henry II. A Fragment | 91 |
| Heads for Henry the Second's character. Extracted from the Monks | 96 |
| Directions to Servants | 99 |
| The Duty of Servants | 174 |
| Remarks upon a Book, entitled, "The Rights of the Christian Church" | 179 |
| On the universal Hatred against the Clergy | 239 |
| An Account of a pestilent Neighbour | 243 |
| A punning Letter to Lord Pembroke | 244 |
| Another to the same | 245 |
| A Letter to the King at Arms | 249 |
| A Letter to Mrs. Susannah Neville | 252 |
| On barbarous Denominations in Ireland | 254 |
| Upon giving Badges to the Poor | 260 |
| Considerations about maintaining the Poor | 262 |
| The humble Representation of the Clergy of Dublin | 266 |
| Of the Education of Ladies | 274 |
| Of the Antiquity of the English Tongue | 280 ​ |
| Answer of William Pulteney, Esq. to Sir Robert Walpole | page 292 |
| An Appendix to the Conduct of the Allies | 304 |
| A Vindication of Erasmus Lewis, esq. | 311 |
| Some Thoughts on Freethinking | 320 |
| Hints on good Manners | 323 |
| Resolutions for old Age | 326 |
| Laws for the Dean's Servants | 328 |
| Of mean and great Figures, made by several Persons | 330 |
| Preamble to Mr. Harley's Patent | 336 |
| Remarks on Bishop Fleetwood's Preface | 339 |
| Observations on Heylin's History of the Presbyterians | 342 |
| Preface to the third Part of Sir William Temple's Memoirs | 344 |
| Dedication to Sir William Temple's Letters | 350 |
| Preface to the two first Volumes of Sir William Temple's Letters | 351 |
| Preface to the third Part of Sir William Temple's Miscellanies | 355 |
| Preface to the third Volume of Sir William Temple's Letters | 357 |
| Remarks on Dr. Gibbs's Psalms | 359 |
TRIFLES.
| A Consultation of Physicians | 366 |
| A love Song | 369 |
| An Epigram | ib. |
| To Samuel Bindon, Esq. | ib. |
| Anglo-Latin Letter to Dr. Sheridan | 370 |
| A Cantata with the Music | 372 |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/A Consultation of Physicians

TRIFLES.
Consultation of Four Physicians upon a Lord that was dying.
First Doctor.
IS his Honor sic? Præ lætus felis pulse. It do es beat veris loto de.
Second Doctor. No notis as qui cassi e ver fel tu metri it. Inde edit is as fastas an alarum, ora fire bellat nite.
Third Doctor. It is veri hei!
Fourth Doctor. Noto contra dictu in my juge mentitis veri loto de. Itis as orto maladi sum callet. [Here e ver id octo reti resto a par lori na mel an coli post ure.]
First Doctor. It is a me gri mas I opi ne.
​Second Doctor. No docto rite quit fora quin si. Heris a plane sim tomo fit. Sorites Para celsus; Præ re adit.
First Doctor. Nono Doctor I ne ver quo te aqua casu do.
Second Doctor. Sum arso: Mi autoris no ne.
Third Doctor. No quare lingat præ senti de si re-His honor is sic offa Colli casure as I sit here.
Fourth Doctor. It is æther an atro phi ora colli casu sed: Ire membri re ad it in Doctor me ades Esse, here itis.
Third Doctor. I ne ver re ad apage in it, no re ver in tendit.
Second Doctor. Fer ne is offa qui te di ferent noti o nas i here.
First Doctor. Notis ab ludi fluxit is veri plene.
Second Doctor. I fitis a fluxit me re qui re ac lis ter.
Third Doctor. I a ver his casis venere alas i disco ver edit in as hanc cor; an da poli pus in his nosce. An di fit be as I cetis, ago no rea me en sue.
First Doctor. It is ad ange rus casas ani.
Fourth Doctor. I mus tellure alitis ago uti humor in his Bel li. Hi sto macto is empti.
First Doctor. It me bea pluri si; avo melis veri pro per fora manat his age.
Second Doctor. Ure par donat præsenti des ire; His dis eas is a cata ride clare it.
Third Doctor. Atlas tume findit as tone in his quid ni es.
Fourth Doctor. Itis ale pro si fora uti se. Præ hos his a poti cari; cantu tellus? Ab lis ter me bene cessa risum de cens. Itis as ure medi in manicas es.
​Third Doctor. I findit isto late tot hinc offa reme di; fori here his Honor is De ad.
Second Doctor. His ti meis cum.
First Doctor. Is it trudo ut hinc?
Fourth Doctor. It is veri certa in. His Paris his Belli sto ringo ut foris de partu re.
Third Doctor. Næ, i fis Ecce lens is de ad lætus en dum apri esto præ foris sole. His Honor has bina Cato liquor a de isti here.
First Doctor. Alor dis sum times as tingi as an usu reris.
Second Doctor. Api stolis alligo time a verbi mi at endans for a forte nite.
Third Doctor. O mei ne vera tendo na nil ordinis sic nes ani more.
Fourth Doctor. Api stolis ne a quin in a nil ordo fis qua liti; sum pes fore times more. It istos mala fito a Doctor o fis hic.
Second Doctor. Lætus paco fitis time.
First Doctor. Abigo ditis hi time, in de editis, forus alto fallas campe ringo fas fastas arato ut offa da iri; fori fera bea tinge veri minute; bimi solido. His lac quis, an das turdis aussi sto ut valet is re di forus.
Second Doctor. Ali feris ab ast in a do; fori here ano is at adis stans.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/A Cantata With the Music

A CANTATA.
# The Works of Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Andrew Fountaine to Jonathan Swift - 1

SIR ANDREW FOUNTAINE TO DR. SWIFT.
JUNE 27, 1710.
I NEITHER can nor will have patience any longer; and, Swift, you are a confounded son of a ——. May your half acre turn to a bog, and may your willows perish; may the worms eat your Plato, and may Parvisole break your snuffbox. What! because there is never a bishop in England with half the wit of St. George Ashe, nor ever a secretary of state with a quarter of Addison's good ​sense; therefore you can't write to those that love you, as well as any Clogher or Addison of them all. You have lost your reputation here, and that of your bastard, the Tatler, is going too; and there is no way left to recover either, but your writing. Well! 'tis no matter; I'll e'en leave London. Kingsmill is dead, and you don't write to me. Adieu.
# Tower of Ivory/The Bugles Pass

THE BUGLES PASS
Who's for the war!
Who more
Makes end of doubting!
Who'll wake
Now trumpets shake
The earth with shouting!
I know
Where dips a way
Has merry ending;
There go
The young and gay
That sing descending.
I know
Where climbs a road
Into to-morrow;
There go
The seed of God
Toward the furrow;
I know
Where shines the sun
On windy spaces,
Where low
The shadows run,
The swallow races;
But Oh!
When youth is gone
The glory passes.
# Tower of Ivory/The Cost of War

THE COST OF WAR
Oh, not the loss of the accomplished thing!
Not dumb farewells, nor long relinquishment
Of beauty had, and golden summer spent,
And savage glory of the fluttering
Torn banners of the rain, and frosty ring
Of moon-white winters, and the imminent
Long-lunging seas, and glowing shoulders bent
To race on some smooth beach the sea-gull's wing:
Not these, nor all we've been, nor all we've loved,
The pitiful familiar names, had moved
Our hearts to weep for them; but oh, the star
The future is! Eternity's too wan
To give again that undefeated, far,
All-possible irradiance of dawn.
# Tower of Ivory/The Reed-Player

THE REED-PLAYER
(After Macleod)
A hollow reed against his lips
He played a soaring strain,
That fled his dancing finger tips
Light as a swallow wheels and dips
Above the flowing grain.
The Song of Songs it was, strange wrought
Beyond the heather hills
From memories and dreams, and taught
By shepherd women who had caught
Its lilt from mountain rills.
The beating of a heart I heard
In that forlorn sweet air,
The singing of a distant bird,
A sigh, a softly uttered word
And echoed laughter there.
"Play me a song of Death," I whispered then.
He raised his hollow reed as one who longs
To turn to dreams, and smiled, and played again
The Song of Songs.
# Tower of Ivory/The Silence

THE SILENCE
A song between two silences Life sings,
A melody 'twixt night and patient night.
He strums his lute against the fading light
To gild the shadow that the gloaming brings,
And Love is but a plucking of the strings,
A throb of music staying music's flight,
A little note that hardly shall requite
Thine outstretched hand that mars Life's lute-playings.
Yet, when the last faint echo of that note
Has stirred the cypress-leaves at eventide,
When night has stilled forever Life's white throat,
And his gold lute lies shattered by his side,
We two shall follow through a world remote
The silence whereinto Love's music died.
# Tower of Ivory/To My Son

TO MY SON
You are her laughter
Blown to a rose,
Singing heard after
The song's at the close.
You are the sorrow
Was dusk in her eyes,
You are the morrow
Is night where she lies.
# Tower v. Fletcher

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
114 U.S. 127
Tower v. Fletcher
M. D. Brainard and J. K. Redington, for motions.
Wm. J. Johnston, in opposition.
WAITE, C. J.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Tower of Ivory/The Circle

THE CIRCLE
Beauty like storms driven
Where my soul is caught,
Peace like sorrow shriven
Where my peace is wrought,
Still I know thee riven
Chained in me, low-brought,
Wind that shakes my heaven,
Rhythm of my thought.
# Tower of Ivory/The Easter of Swords (April 8, 1917)

THE EASTER OF SWORDS
(April 8, 1917)
Now out of this corruption has been born
This incorruption. Out of this decay,
This passionless, sick serving of the day,
This staleness—from this seed, this rotten corn
Of shame and doubt, has sprung this flowered thorn,
This burgeoned pain, this fire. We that were clay
Have lifted up our eyes,—and lo! the spray
Of bright swords and the challenging high horn!
So Christ is risen, so the wakened soul
Has lifted back the heavy stone and stands
Aflame with morning; what then if it be
Death, not the lily, shining in his hands?
Already, ere the first reveilles roll,
Our death is swallowed up in victory.
# Tower of Ivory/The Hills of Cleeve

THE HILLS OF CLEEVE
I heard the fairies keening on the uplands yestereve
When scarce the vagrant grey of dusk was done,
When sheep were calling darkly down the shadow hills of Cleeve
And far below the village candles shone.
I heard the hare-bells knelling in the wet wind off the wold,
I heard the clouds go creeping down the hill,
I heard the dew soft falling from the last long rifts of gold,
I heard how singingly the stars were still.
I heard the fairies keening on the uplands all night long,
A-weeping soft and sadly for their queen;
"She's vanished like the echo of her own forlorn sweet song,
She's turned our twilight dance to twilight teen.
"Oh, dreams are only dim desires, and songs are only tunes,
The flowers deck the graves of other years,
The Springs are fleeting children of a thousand fleeting Junes,
And only old and endless are our tears."
# Tower of Ivory/The Showman (A Portrait)

THE SHOWMAN
(A Portrait)
A golden wind came running down the grass
And in and out the sun and shadow went
The stir of blowing dresses and the tint
Of scarf and leaf and laughter—ay, it was
The scene for her; she sat, self-mimicking,
The center of her central-whirling world,
And tuned her mood to mockery, and skirled
A showman's lilting flourish on the string.
Her words were swift as swallows in a gale—
Darted and flashed and poised, and then in flight
Essayed the Heavens, and then were vanished quite
In some perplexing Orcus—ran the scale
Of mirth from platypod to the eternal sprite—
But never left the wares she had for sale.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/The Epitaph

THE EPITAPH.
HERE, five feet deep, lies on his back A cobbler, starmonger, and quack; Who, to the stars in pure good will, Does to his best look upward still. Weep, all you customers that use His pills, his almanacks, or shoes: And you that did your fortune seek, Step to his grave but once a week; This earth, which bears his body's print, You'll find has so much virtue in 't, That I durst pawn my ears, 'twill tell, Whatever concerns you full as well, In physick, stolen goods, or love, As he himself could, when above.