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Dean Swift 
 
 A Drama 
 
 In Four Scenes, Four Acts and an Epilogue. 
 
 Period of Queen Anne, 1716 
 
 ELEANOR CORDE, Author 
 
 Copyrighted in the United States and Great Britain 
 
 (This play is fully protected by copyright law, all requirements 
 of which have been complied with. In its present printed form K> 
 ie d^e^isat^ to lihfc i*eadin?j Ru<t?Kc <Wty, &rfl| no performance may 
 be given except by special permission from the owner of the 
 acting rights, who may be addressed in care of the publisher.) 
 
 McBride Publishing Co., 
 
 Los Angeles, Cal. 
 
 mcmxxii. 
 
£0* 
 
 T<& 
 
 Copyright 1922 in the 
 United States and Great Britain 
 by 
 Eleanor Corde 
 
 JMi »7 1923 
 ©CLD 63416 
 
 <V 
 
Foreword 
 
 In the 18th century, during the troubled reign of 
 Queen Anne, an obscure Irish clergyman arrived in 
 London. But when it became known that he was 
 the author of "The Battle of the Books" both Whigs 
 and Tories fought for the aid of his powerful pen. 
 
 Now, Jonothan Swift was a Whig — but a 
 Churchman first. So he threw in his fortunes with 
 the Tories and became, within six months, a Tory 
 Chief without a portfolio. According to Johnson, 
 "Swift was the Dictator of the politics of the Eng- 
 lish nation." 
 
 For reward, the Premier offered him money, which 
 Swift refused with scorn; with flattery, which also 
 failed ; with power ; which Swift accepted, taking the 
 helm of State into his own hands. In the eloquent 
 language of The London Times, "Swift was the 
 Government; Swift was the Queen, the Lords and 
 the Commons." And had Anne listened less to back- 
 stair influence, Swift had died a spiritual Peer. 
 
 Two splendid women loved Swift and he loved 
 both. But to discover how he rewarded each has re- 
 mained a mystery — the despair of historians, becom- 
 ing for the past two hundred years a never-failing 
 source for debate — as lively a topic for the world 
 as though the three actors in the splendid drama 
 walked the streets of today. 
 
 This play is based upon that mystery — the identity 
 of the woman that Swift really loved; the author 
 solving it by its results — the wrecking of Swift's 
 happiness and that of the two women who so de- 
 votedly loved him. 
 
 — E. C. 
 
PERSONS IN THE PLAY 
 
 Jonothan Swift (Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral 
 Dublin) 
 
 Charles Ford (Dublin gentleman) 
 
 Richard Hayes (English dragoon) 
 
 Lord Oxford (Treasurer of the Tory ministry) 
 
 Viscompte Bolinbroke (Tory Secretary of State) 
 
 Erasmus Lewis (Under Secretary of State) 
 
 Dr. Delany (Dublin patriot) 
 
 Lord Lovelace (English fop) 
 
 Harcourt (English Politician) 
 
 Stella Johnson (Swift's ward) 
 
 Esther Van Homrigh (Swift's London friend and < 
 pupil) 
 
 Duchess of Marlbro (Swift's political enemy) 
 
 Mistress Van Homrigh (Esther's mother) 
 
 Molly Van Homrigh (Esther's sister) 
 
 Mistress Dingley (Swift's house-keeper) 
 
 Ladies Tattleton and Nettleton (Of the English 
 Court) 
 
 Misstresses Walsh and Grannan (Her twin girls) and 
 Mistress Delany (Of Dublin) 
 
 Patrick (Swift's peasant-servant) 
 
 Jeems (Footman in the Von Homrigh home) 
 
 Preceptor and Choristers (Of St. Patrick's Cathedral) 
 
 Duchess' mute servant, lords and ladies, footmen, 
 (All of London) 
 
 Lord Mayor, citizens (All of Dublin) 
 
ACTI. 
 
 Sitting-room in the Deanery of St. Patrick's 
 
 Cathedral, Dublin. Sunny Morning 
 
 in April, 1716 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Drawing-room in the Van Homrigh Home, London. 
 Three Months Later 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Lord Oxford's Gardens, London. Evening of Same 
 
 Day 
 
 ACT IV. (Scene First) 
 Sitting-room of the Deanery. Two Months Later 
 
 ACT IV. (Scene Second) 
 
 (Instant Rise of Curtain.) Sacristy of St. Patrick's 
 Cathedral, Dublin 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Sitting-room of the Deanery. Twenty-five Years 
 
 Later 
 
Dean Swift 
 
 ACT FIRST 
 
 Scene, Sitting-room in the Deanery of St. Patrick's 
 Cathedral, Dublin, Ireland. Sunny morning in April, 
 1716. 
 
 A shallow room taking up the entire width of stage. The 
 entrance door 1, at left, opens inward, showing a bit 
 of green lawn beyond. Above this door is a two-paned 
 window, opening against inner wall. Door 2 at 
 back-centre, up few shallozv steps, opens out into a 
 room, shows a table and few chairs, supposed to be the 
 dining-room. Door 3 at right, opens outward onto 
 a corridor. To right of door 1 is a quaintly-carved 
 mantel-shelf holding vases of simple flowers. Beneath 
 this shelf are several wooden pegs that serve as a hat- 
 rack. The open fire-place below is filled with green 
 boughs. Down right-front is a wire stand of blooming 
 plants. Beyond this a wooden settee. To right of 
 door 2 is a hanging shelf. On it several volumes 
 simply bound, a short, yellow silken curtain half- 
 drawn over same. A large round table drawn front- 
 centre holds ink-pot, quills, sand-box, a large ledger and 
 a pile of coins. On a wooden chair to right of table is 
 a large wicker basket filled with simple aprons, little 
 knitted shawls, a pair of children's shoes, a frilled 
 muslin cap and a pair of clumsy men's boots. At left 
 of table is the only rich-looking article in sight — 
 Swift's massively-framed, velvet-covered arm-chair, 
 
2 DEANSWIF1' 
 
 its back rising into a quaint twist. A simply quaintly- 
 furnished, attractive room, but almost hinting of 
 poverty. 
 
 At rise. Stella Johnson, aged twenty-two, stands at the 
 table intent on a page of the ledger and the different 
 articles in the basket. In an age of powder and beauty- 
 spots she wears neither. Brown-haired, lovely, simply 
 dressed, her face wears a pleased smile, and though 
 she is English, her animated manner suggests the 
 Latin. 
 
 Mistress Dingley, Swift's house-keeper, aged forty, in 
 black dress, black apron and keys at belt, with gray 
 hair primly tucked into a mob cap, sits grim-visaged, 
 off to right, working on a large white cotton square 
 while she watches her companion with disapproving 
 looks. 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 Chut — pish — . Botherin' yer head, child, wi' that bas- 
 ket — . When Swift's beggars shud be seekin' work an' 
 not clutterin' up the Deanery steps for something to cover 
 their nakedness — . Sure — to go naked shud be teachin' 
 em* a lesson — 
 
 Stella. 
 
 [Consulting ledger and picking up articles.] Two 
 knitted shawls — there should be three — Ah — here's the 
 third— 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 Chut — pah! [Holding up square.] See, Stella, child — 
 
 Stella. 
 Three aprons — two caps — . What is it, Dingley, dear ? 
 
DEAN SWIFT 3 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Why — this square — finished at last and am that glad — 
 Ah-h-h— 
 
 Stella. 
 
 [Teasingly.] Tis a gift for that gossiping friend o' 
 yours 'cross the channel — who writes you those 1-o-n-g 
 letters ! 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Aye — 'tis for Mistress White, o' Lunnun. [Sighingly] 
 Ah-h-h— 
 
 Stella. 
 London's like heaven — isn't it, Dingley, dear? 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Aye — 'tis what I've thought sin' we've come to live 
 here in Dublin. A-h — me! 
 
 Stella. 
 
 An apron for the little Widow Mac — this frilled cap 
 for Granny O'Toole — [putting on cap roguishly.] An' 
 how d'ye like me, Dingley, dear? 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Chut — pish — bah! Wi' Swift's grannies and his 
 widows! 'Tis no wonder they crowd round him in the 
 streets to knale an' kiss his hand — for what? But to get 
 frilled caps an' aprons ! 'Tis said that Swift buys up all 
 their nadles and pins an' gives 'em back to some "poor 
 widdy" at the very next corner — 
 
 Stella. 
 A shawl for old Stumphanympha — 
 
4 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Pah! — 'tis a quare trick o' Swift's to be namin' his 
 poor — 
 
 Stella. 
 And boots for the Duke o' Daily-gate — 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Pah! — bekase ould Dally hants the Deanery gate — 
 Swift's christened him a jooke — 
 
 Stella. 
 A shawl for old Tearagowns — 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Ha ha! — the Dean's christened the ould slattern right 
 that time. 
 
 Stella. 
 
 And shoes for the two little Kelleys — [A sudden roar 
 of voices from beyond door.] Hark — 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Tis the Dean's beggars. Faith — they're gettin' weary 
 o' waitin' for the Dean's "bounty." Ha ha — 
 
 Stella. 
 Nay, Dingley, they are the Dean's parishioners — [go- 
 ing to door 2, opening it and calling.] Patrick — [return- 
 ing at table. Enter Patrick, aged thirty-five, red- 
 cheeked, t ousel-headed, shrewd Irish peasant. Patrick 
 pretends fear of Dingley when she speaks to him, giving 
 a little "lape" on those occasions.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye, aye — young rascal — wastin' time at the kitchen 
 door when ye shud be doin' your chores — 
 
DEAN SWIFT 5 
 
 Patrick. 
 Yis'm — no, m'm — [saluting Stella.] Yis, Miss? 
 
 Stella. 
 Patrick, take this basket out. 
 
 Patrick. 
 
 [Shouldering basket.] Yis'm. 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 An' place it out o' rach o' them beggars lest they steal 
 it, basket an' all — 
 
 Patrick. 
 
 Yes, m'm — [opening door 1. A babble of moans, cries, 
 etc., comes from beyond. Patrick closes the door again 
 with a comical look to Stella.] 
 
 Stella. 
 They're too near the door, Patrick — Bid them move 
 far beyond the sacristy — 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Saluting.] Yis, Miss — [exit door 1. The babel 
 again heard but fading off later. Stella stands at the 
 table and begins to count the coins there with doleful 
 looks.] 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 The brazen beggars — 'tis the street they shud be 
 waitin' in. Hantin' the Deanery gates as though Swift 
 had the wealth o' the Indies. 
 
 Stella. 
 How few shillings — how few! [Going to bookshelf, 
 taking a small china box from behind books, peering with- 
 in, shaking her head dolefully, replacing box and return- 
 ing to coins on table.] Ah-h — [again counting coins.] 
 
6 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Hah, child — Ye'd better be handin' over them shillings 
 to me, for the Deanery kitchen nades new crockery — . 
 Aha — 'twas a cracked plate that the Dean ate his break- 
 fast off this mornin'. Him as used to be dinin' in Lunnun 
 wi' jooks an' lords off gold an' silver dishes — ha ha — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Just — twenty shillings — No more! 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 'Tis just two months sin' those Tories made a Dean out 
 o' Swift — . Aha — oho — 'Twas a bishop's gown he'd 
 counted on — would ha' gotten it, too, but for Duchess 
 what's-her-name. What's the name o' Swift's Duchess, 
 child? 
 
 Stella. 
 
 Marlbro — Marlbro — . Don't bother me, Dingley, dear. 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Re-entering with suppressed merriment.] Miss? 
 
 Stella. 
 Patrick? 
 
 Patrick. 
 Another nady wan, Miss — . A new wan — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Another? Dear me, Patrick — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 Tim Casey — as wuz nivir known to wor-r-k a day — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Won't work ? He shud be hung instead o' fed — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 7 
 
 Patrick. 
 [To Stella.] An' the father o' six childer — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Six children? He shud be hung an' quartered — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Bid the poor man wait with the others — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 Yis, Miss — [Exit door 1 again.] 
 
 Stella. 
 Ah — the poor Dean's list of poor helpless ones grows 
 longer daily — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Aye — an' 'twill bring his proud spirit to the dust when 
 he's no longer able to feed his beggars — that follow him 
 in crowds — . Faugh! 
 
 Stella. 
 Nay, Dingley, just as those Londons beggars did. 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Ah — but aren't English beggars a more dacent lot? 
 
 Stella. 
 
 Silly Dingley — that can see nothing good on earth lest 
 'tis English — [Beginning to dust Swift's chair with her 
 handkerchief, tenderly brushing the velvet.] Heaven 
 grant that Cathedral bazaar nets Swift's poor not less 
 than twenty pounds. 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 The bazaar, forsooth — when the only fat purse there 
 will be that of Charles Ford who'd gi' the moon did ye 
 ask for it — . 
 
8 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Stella. 
 [Laughing.] Nay, nay — the moon indeed! 
 
 Dingley. 
 For 'tis aisily seen that he adores ye — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Silly old Dingley. Charles is merely my friend. 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Bitterly.] Let but Swift step aside an' gi' young Ford 
 his chance — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Be quiet, Dingley dear. 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 [Bitterly.] Humph — One'd think 'twas a Prince Royal 
 was to sit in that chair — . 
 
 Stella. 
 
 So 'tis. A Prince Royal o' wit, wisdom and all that 
 goes to make a kingly man. As for goodness — 'twas your- 
 self told me how he took me from my dead mother's 
 arms. He gave me the shelter of his home — the privilege 
 of his friendship — . So — how can I help but revere him ? 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 Yet ye can't make him out more'n a dean — an Irish 
 parson. Faugh ! 
 
 Stella. 
 
 Ah — 'tis a great change. Banished from the English 
 court of which he must have been its finest ornament — . 
 Exiled here to Dublin — to the paltry duties of a 
 deanery — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 9 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Him as used to rub elbows wi' English lords — sneer 
 at maids o' honor becase they painted their faces a bit — 
 Aye — aha — him as used to visit the Quane's bed-cham- 
 ber — Bah — bed-chamber — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Fie, Dingley ! fie ! fie ! For the Queen's bed-chamber is 
 a reception-room — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Bah — . Isn't a bed-chamber a bed-chamber the 
 wur-rld over? I say it is — an' more shame to Swift to be 
 in't — aven wi' his Queen — . 
 
 Stella. 
 But — if there were forty others present, Dingley dear? 
 
 Dingley. 
 I telle a bed-chamber's a bed-chamber where-e'er it is, 
 an' oft have I remembered it when Swift was thundering 
 forth his sermon from the pulpit o' his Cathedral o' a 
 Sunday — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Going to Dingley and placing a hand gently on her 
 shoulder.] Dingley dear, why so hard on the poor Dean? 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Pushing aside the hand roughly.} Hard on him, am 
 I? And I mane to be hard on him so long's he so blind 
 to what's so plain to me — your love for him. 
 
 Stella. 
 [Recoiling.] My — love — for Swift? [Moving off.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — just that! 
 
10 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Stella. 
 But — no — no — no. 
 
 Dingley. 
 Haven't I heard ye murmur his name in dreams ? 
 
 Stella. 
 In — dreams? [Suddenly laying a hand on her own lips.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 Hah — 'tis true, then? 
 
 Stella. 
 [Recovering.] In dreams, maybe. But in broad day- 
 light I well know that a simple girl like me can never hope 
 to mate with a genius like Swift. Ha ha — Swift — that 
 never bothers with silly womankind — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Yet Mistress White's letters tell o' Swift's Lunnun 
 charmer — a Mistress Esther Van Homrigh — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Down front, agitatedly, aside.] Esther Van Homrigh ! 
 
 Dingley. 
 Who rides in her coach — has flunkies at her mother's 
 door — at whose house Swift kapes his best gown — where 
 Swift's Tory lords can ever find him when wanted — in 
 Mistress Esther's coffee-room — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Pooh — such gossip worries me not — for why shouldn't 
 the Dean have women friends — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Let 'em be ould an' ugly, then — not beautiful as this 
 Mistress Esther's said to be — . An' 'tis reported — . 
 
DE AN SWIF T 11 
 
 Stella. 
 [Passionately.] Stop — stop — I'll not listen to aught 
 against the Dean — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 But if it be the truth, child. Isn't it better to know 
 the truth an' stop eatin' your heart out for one that loves 
 another — . 
 
 Stella. 
 I tell you I'll not listen — not listen — [Almost in tears.] 
 
 Patrick 
 [Bursting in at door 1.] A' say, Miss — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Say yer say, fool, an' be quick about it — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Patrick? 
 
 Patrick 
 Coompany comin' Miss, coompany — The ladies De- 
 lany — Walsh an' Grannan wi' her two twins — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Brightly.] Bid them enter, Patrick — [Patrick sa- 
 lutes, exits again.] Promise, Dingley dear, not to sneer 
 at these kindly Irish. 
 
 Dingley. 
 Let 'em say naught 'gainst us English, then. 
 
 [Patrick ushers in at door 1 three quaintly-dressed, 
 middle-aged women, in shawls, poke bonnets, plastered 
 locks and faces shining with friendliness. Two children 
 in pantalettes and Leghorn hats follow shyly in, carrying 
 between them a white cotton, f ringed-out basket. Stella 
 
12 DE AN SWIFT 
 
 hurries forward. There is a babel of greetings, the 
 children adoring Stella with their eyes. Stella instantly 
 falls into using the Dublin accent. Exit Patrick door 1.] 
 
 Mistresses Delany, Walsh and Gannan. 
 Top o' the mornin' — top o' the mornin' — give good day 
 to ye, Miss — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Oh, Mistress Walsh — Mistress Gannan — Mistress De- 
 lany — [shaking hands.] And the dear children — [Who 
 drop basket and rush adoringly to her arms.] 
 
 Mistresses Delany, Walsh and Gannan. 
 [Primly, to Dingley, with suppressed smiles to each 
 other.] Good day to ye — good day, ma'am — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Primly, rising.] Same to ye. An' if ye've time to stay 
 I'll sarve ye refreshment — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Quickly.] Yes, yes, Dingley. [Exit Dingley stiffly 
 door 3.] 
 
 Mistress Walsh. 
 Ach — the poor crature — . 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 Let it not be crame she's to sarve us lest it sour on the 
 way — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Nay, ladies, but her heart's all right. You!re not to 
 mind her. Off wi' your shawls and bonnets — . Hah — 
 those bundles — they're something for the Dean's bazaar — 
 [Mistress Delany, the primmest of the three guests, 
 places her shawl and bonnet on the settee with the others, 
 
DEAN SWIFT 13 
 
 then bashfully retires to rear with her bundle. The children 
 take off hats and rush to door 1 to bring down the f ringed- 
 out cotton basket.] 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 [Showing gift, a knitted shawl.] Faith, Mistress 
 Stella, 'tis a wee small gift indade — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [With enthusiasm.] 'Twill bring shillings to the ba- 
 zaar and a bit o' comfort to some woman's shoulders — 
 [Snatching up the dainty muslin cap from Mistress 
 Walsh's bundle as Dingley primly re-enters with a plate 
 of cake which she silently passes round. The three 
 women take pieces gingerly, the children refuse. Dingley 
 places plate on mantel-shelf and sourly returns to her 
 square. Stella puts the cap on her head.] 'Tis myself 
 as ud fancy a chance to win this cap — . 
 
 Mistress Walsh. 
 [Slyly.] Ye cud wear it as ye sit opposite the Dane 
 at his breakfast table — . 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 An' may ye sit at that same table for the rest o' your 
 life—. 
 
 Stella. 
 Nay — nay — [Embarrassed, yet laughing.] Will ye see 
 this f ringed-out basket, now — ? Ye made it yourselves, 
 children — [They nod.] And bought the cotton wi' your 
 own pennies? Ye darlings — [Embracing both.] 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 I say, Miss — [Slyly indicating Mistress Delany at rear 
 eating her cake with one hand and clutching her bundle 
 with the other.] 'Tis something she refused to show us 
 on the way, Miss. 
 
14 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Stella. 
 [Bringing Mistress Delany down.] Mistress Delany — 
 let us see what ye have there for the bazaar — . 
 
 Mistress Delany 
 [Standing bashfully at table.] Nay, 'tis naught at all, 
 at all. 
 
 Stella. 
 Let us be the judge o' that. [Mistress Delany hesi- 
 tatingly discards the paper cover and displays a yard- 
 square silken quilt of many colors, green predominating. 
 There is a chorus from all the others but Dingley. 
 "Splendid," "Grand!"] 
 
 Stella. 
 Tis magnificent — faith — St. Patrick's self'd be proud 
 o' it—. 
 
 Mistress Delany 
 Then may good luck go with it for the Dane's bazaar — 
 [Giving it to Stella.] 
 
 Stella. 
 'Tis a beautiful gift — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — had it less o' green in it. 
 
 Mistress Delany 
 
 Less — o' — green — [Collapsing into Swift's chair with 
 closed eyes and stiffened limbs. Her two friends toss 
 cake onto table, rush to her, chafe her hands, fan her with 
 kerchiefs, etc.] 
 
 Stella. 
 
 [Hurrying to Dingley.] Dingley, Dingley — [Pointing 
 to the others.] 
 
DE AN SWIF T 15 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Pooh — all I said was the truth, wasn't it? [Mistress 
 Delany revives.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [Joining the others, gayly.] Listen, ladies. You're to 
 know that Mistress Dingley hates even grass 'cause 'tis 
 green — . 
 
 The Three Women. 
 [Mollified.] Hates— grass ? Oh— Oh— . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Chut — pish — bah — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Let a green butterfly or even a green grasshopper hover 
 near — . 
 
 The Three Women. 
 [With pitying looks at Dingley.] Och — the poor 
 crature — to hate a grane butterfly. 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Explosively.] Chut — pish — I'd have ye to know — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [To prevent an outbreak. Drawing children to her em- 
 brace.] Ah — ye dear things — . 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 Ye shud be havin' some av yer own, Miss — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Sure I'd love to — . 
 
 Mistress Walsh. 
 [Slyly.] An' the Dane'd make a splendid father. 
 
16 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Stella. 
 Shame on ye, Mistress Walsh. 
 
 Mistress Walsh. 
 [Gravely.] 'Tis what all Dublin expects. 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — aye — let Swift say to Stella "marry me" — 
 
 Stella. 
 [Rushing to snatch the square from Dingley's hands 
 and holding it up.] See, ladies, the fine square that Mis- 
 tress Dingley has made for the Dean's bazaar — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Snatching it back.] Tis not for the bazaar at all at 
 all — . 'Tis a gift for Mistress White o' Lunnun. 
 
 The Three Women. 
 [With awe.] O' Lunnun? 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye, Lunnun. 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 What news from there, Miss? 
 
 Stella. 
 The war still goes on. Though the Dean declares 'tis a 
 useless waste o' blood an' treasure. But — who cares for 
 Lunnun news now that the Dean is here in Dublin? 
 
 Mistress Walsh. 
 An' may he nivir return to his Tories — . 
 
 Mistress Delany 
 They have nobody now to pull thim out o' trouble, and 
 Doctor Delany says — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 17 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 "Doctor Delany SAYS ! !" Wouldn't ye think 'twas an 
 oracle spoke — . 
 
 Mistress Delany 
 Ow — w — [signs of another collapse.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [ To prevent same. ] Come, children, give us a song. 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 Stop, Johanna, hangin' on Mistress Stella. Sure, she's 
 a grown-up lady. Faith, Miss, they'll sing naught but the 
 new song — 'tis a game as well. Tis called "Lunnun Bridge 
 is fallin' down." Sing, Johanna — Begin, Kitty agra— . 
 
 The Children 
 [Clasping hands at centre and singing the lines] — 
 "London Bridge is fallin' down — ' 
 
 Fallin' down — fallin' down — 
 London Bridge is fallin' down — 
 My — fair — ladye." 
 
 [Standing with raised hands in an arch, all but Dingley 
 pass under. The second time Stella is stopped in the 
 arch, gets a whispered word from a child, on which she 
 goes behind her and clasps her waist. Each of the three 
 women cross under the arch, following Stella's action; 
 till, finally all stand swaying at center, singing, swinging 
 and keeping time with tapping feet.] 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Rushing in at door 1.] Whist — whist — [They ignore 
 him. Upon which Patrick forgets his manners and 
 rushes into the group.] WHIST— THE DAN&-THE 
 DANE—. 
 
18 DE AN SW IF T 
 
 Stella and the Three Women. 
 THE DEAN — [In laughing dismay as all hurry into 
 shawls and hats, Stella helping the twins. Dingley 
 seizes the gifts, thrusts them hastily behind the silken cur- 
 tain at book-shelf, snatches up the plate of cake and hurries 
 through door 3 with it. Instantly returns to sit demurely 
 on settee at right, pretending to work on her square, but 
 plainly anticipating Swift's "catching" the group.] 
 
 Stella. 
 But why hurry away? Sure, the Dean'll not ate ye — . 
 
 Mistress Walsh. 
 Ah — but fancy him findin' us Lunnun Bridgin' in his 
 sitting-room — . 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 The Dane — that ever hates "silly womankind" — . 
 
 Stella. 
 No — 'tis not so at all — . 
 
 Mistress Delany 
 Aye, Miss, but he does. For 'twas only this mornin' 
 that the Doctor said — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 The Doctor SAID! Chut— pish— bah-h-h— . 
 
 Mistress Gannan. 
 [Mistress Delany collapses again. Mistress Gan- 
 nan catches her in time. Mistress Walsh helps. Ap- 
 pealingly.] Ah, Miss — for a short cut to gate — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Patrick shall show ye past the sacristy — beyond the 
 Dean's tulip-bed — [Patrick leads to door 1. The two 
 
BE AN SWIF T 19 
 
 women slowly follow, still supporting Mistress Delany. 
 The twins follow. Door closed.] Dingley dear — when 
 you promised me to be nice to them — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 But wasn't I "nice?" Did I speak aught but the 
 blessed truth? Besides, I have it in for her wonderful 
 "doctor." Sure, I hate every bone in his body. [Door 1 
 
 opens. The twins again rush in. Stella meets them 
 at centre, takes a gay whirl with them, then kneels at cen- 
 tre, embracing them.] 
 
 [Swift enters, unnoticed but by Dingley. Swift, in 
 the forty-fifth year of his age. Tall, commanding, even 
 kingly presence. In black wig, black cloth knee-breeches 
 and jacket, low-cut shoes, silver buckles, black cloak, 
 ie shovel" hat and white linen "bands." His look is moddy. 
 But, as he hangs cloak and hat on pegs under mantel-shelf 
 and views the scene at centre, his face brightens as he 
 comes down. The children discover him, point at him 
 with affrighted looks, rush past him and out at door 1. 
 Swift takes no notice, but comes down to Stella, who, 
 caught in "silliness," droops her head. Swift lifts her 
 face with half -sad, half -bantering smile, lifting her and 
 bringing her down front, his arm about her. Stella, 
 with a little cry as of embarrassment, drops her head on 
 his breast.] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [After a moment, his arm still about her, staring 
 moodily ahead.] You — love — those — children, Stella? 
 
 Stella. 
 [With eager look.] Yes — as I love ALL children — . 
 
20 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Swift. 
 [After a pause.] Ah — would that Swift would be 
 wise — be wise — and so — be happy — [Releasing Stella 
 and sinking moodily into his chair.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [Behind him, touching his shoulder with sympathy.] 
 Swift—. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Patting the hand.] My one — true — friend — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Always! [Turning ledger to him and pointing to it.] 
 See — all's ready — the shillings for your poor, waiting be- 
 yond the door. 
 
 Swift. 
 [With strong distaste, drawing ledger forward.] Ah — 
 ye think to hide from me the bitterness o' my lot? 
 
 Stella. 
 Nay — but to show you the brightness of it. 
 
 Swift. 
 And Dingley there — . She's in the kindly plot too ? 
 
 Dingley. 
 Nay — . If so keen an eye as the Dean's sees not the 
 benefit o' his deanery, may it remain blind till the end. 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Without bitterness.] Aye, Dingley. Caustic's good 
 
 for a wound. Do not hesitate to lay it on. [Mutteringly, 
 
 as he scans page.] Ah — . This dispensing of "charity." 
 
 "Whom the Lord loveth, he chastiseth," eh? And 'tis 
 
DEAN SWIFT 21 
 
 left to "charity" to heal the sore — . God's poor ! Aye — 
 and at the devil's mercy, too, for who DARE deny that 
 poverty leads to crime — and crime to perdition? [Silent, 
 staring. Patrick enters door 1, two featherless chickens 
 in hand.] 
 
 Patrick. 
 Ahem — yer rivirince — . 
 
 Swift. 
 What now, sirrah? 
 
 Patrick. 
 
 [Holding up chickens.] From Archbishop, sor. His 
 futman waits beyant — . 
 
 Swift, 
 
 For my thanks, eh? Throw them over the deanery wall 
 and begone — [Returning to page. Stella dismisses Pat- 
 rick to door 1 and places chickens on chair at left. Mut- 
 teringly with rising fury.] "Catty, the widow" aged 
 eighty, "one shilling." "Mary Meggs" chasted wi' ears 
 that hear not, "one shilling." "Larry Fergus" paralyzed 
 and ever hungry "one shilling." "Peggy Malone" the 
 widowed mother of six, wi' another under her heart — 
 "one shilling." One shilling — [striking the table.] ONE 
 SHILLING — yet I've naught to give her but one shil- 
 ling — [Rising and walking about with fierce gestures and 
 muttering s.] God — oh God — ! [With deep sympa- 
 thetic look at Swift, Stella gathers up the coins, goes to 
 door 1 and out, the distant voices of beggars again heard.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 Humph — she's off now — to gie away the Dean's "pen- 
 nies." Ah-h — 'tis a g-r-e-a-t change fro' dispensin' 
 "favors" to the English nobility — . 
 
22 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 [Hearing only her voice.] Be quiet, woman. 
 
 Dingley. 
 What'll ye say when she gie's hersel' to Ford — as 
 loves her — . Ford — who's young an' rich — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [As before.] Silent, can't ye — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Hanging her square on chair at left, looks back at 
 Swift with sneering look.] Humph — [Exits door 3.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [Re-enters, followed by a red-cheeked, husky, ragged 
 beggar who, on seeing Swift, mutely refuses to advance, 
 remaining at door 1. Stella comes down, touches 
 Swift's arm gently.] Dear, another applicant. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Not turning, gruffly.] Not see him. 
 
 Stella. 
 But poor and hungry — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Have naught for him. 
 
 Stella. 
 But the father of six children. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Wheeling toward beggar.] Six children! SIX CHIL- 
 DREN ! ! [Crossing to beggar, seising his arm and fling- 
 ing him down front, to before him.] So, sirrah! Wi' 
 not a ha'pence in your pocket — yet the father o' six 
 
DE AN SWIF T 23 
 
 children! Girls who'd be fair an' rosey — boys who'd be 
 strong an' straight but for want o' bread ! And how DARE 
 ye look me in the face and ask for charity? [Discarding 
 beggar to rush down front with upflung arms, mutter- 
 ingly.] Heaven witness for me if assistance should be 
 given this unconscious criminal ! ! ! Six children and not 
 another shilling in my treasury till next Monday. [Star- 
 ing about for something to give away. Hurrying to chick- 
 ens, catching them up, also the cotton square to wrap them 
 in, thrusting both into the beggar's hands and roughly 
 pushing him to door 1.] There now — be off — be off — and 
 don't come back here till next Monday — [Beggar, terri- 
 fied, rushes through door 1. Swift, with a look of relief, 
 returns to his chair. To Stella, who has moved to save 
 the square, then refrained.] Can thank Archbishop — now 
 — wi' a clear conscience. [Dingley re-enters door 3 as 
 Patrick enters door 1 with letterbag.] 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Saluting.] Yer rivirince — [Holding up bag.] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Eagerly.] Come hither, man — [Patrick obeys. 
 Swift eagerly seises the bag, empties contents out, dis- 
 cards the bag, which Patrick carries out door 2. Hold- 
 iing up a letter] — For Mistress Rebecca Dingley. [Ding- 
 ley hurries forward and takes it quickly. To Stella] — 
 A newspaper, two useless pamphlets — and no letter for the 
 Dean — . Forgotten — in three short months, fogotton — / 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 [Having opened letter. In triumph.] 'Tis myself as is 
 not forgotten — 'Tis a letter from London — [Swift takes 
 no notice, sinking into moodiness again. Dingley crosses 
 to settee and reads her letter.] 
 
24 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Stella 
 Forgotten by your London friends, but see the newer 
 friends you have — . Archbishop — Dr. Delany — Charles 
 Ford . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Dismissing all as dust.] Pah-pah — . 
 
 Stella 
 And see the fine deanery they've given you — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Four wretched walls — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Wi' Cathedral at its very doors — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Aye — filled with slaves that rise not 'gainst the whip 
 that flays — the taxes that rob them — the rents that rack 
 them to the dust — ! 
 
 Stella. 
 Ah — but now that the great Dean is here to fight — to 
 defend them — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Bah, child — . Swift is but a memory now — . A maggot 
 on a dunghill — . Go — leave me to my misery — [Beginning 
 to read newspaper with little interest.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [Crossing to Dingley, who is now reading her letter 
 and shaking her head over it. In lower tone] — Bad news, 
 Dingley dear? 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Suddenly pressing the letter to her breast.] Yes an' 
 no. 
 
DE AN SWIFT 25 
 
 Stella. 
 [Recoiling.] Dingley — ! 
 
 Dingley. 
 Forgive me, child. Tis a letter from Mistress White 
 o* Lunnun. As for news [with a sniff — replacing it in 
 bosom. Missing the square.] The square — the square — 
 what's become o' the square for Mistress White — ? 
 
 Stella. 
 [Soothingly, indicating Swift as reading.] S-h-h — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Cud that thavin' beggar — Hah — the chickens — Swift 
 gave him the chickens — [Fiercely, seizing Stella's arm.] 
 Could the Dean — . 
 
 Stella. 
 But the Dean had naught to wrap them in — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Beginning to rock back and forth.] Oh, oh — a long 
 month's work— a gift for Mistress White — . 
 
 Stella. 
 There — there. Swift shall pay you for't — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Shaking her fist at Swift.] Aye — that he shall! Pay 
 dearly for't — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Explosively, to himself.] Hah — what's this — what's 
 this? Ah — the madmen — the fools — . What — do the 
 Whigs DARE ! ! Oh — my poor England at the mercy 
 o' her foes at last! [Sinking back into chair again read- 
 ing.] 
 
26 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 [A knock at door 1. Dingley opens it. Enter Charles 
 Ford, aged 28. Scholarly-looking, richly but simply 
 dressed, brown wig, brozvn knee-breeches and coat, 
 brozvn silken stockings, silver buckled shoes. Doctor 
 Delany follows. Aged forty, the chubby type, seeing the 
 bright side of things always. Bubbling over with patriot- 
 ism and bulls. With rolling rs and broad a's. In the simple 
 black of the Dublin professional man. The reverse in 
 every way of his prim, angular wife. Both men glance at 
 Swift, decide not to disturb him yet, salute Stella, Ford 
 with devotion. Dingley closes door and primly waits to 
 be "spoken to." 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Mistress Stella — [Nodding to Dingley, who smiles 
 slightly.] 
 
 Stella. 
 
 [Giving her hand to each, radiantly.] Charles — Dr. De- 
 lany — ? 
 
 Delany. 
 
 Fairest flower o' the morning — [Nodding toward Ding- 
 ley with the corners of his mouth drawn down.] Wi' the 
 gentlest o' guardians — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 [Coming forward.] Chut — pish — bah — [Delany and 
 Dingley cross at the same time thus necessitating a sort 
 of war-dance. Delany with deprecating smile, Dingley 
 with a snort of disdain. Exit Dingley door 3.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Joining Swift, familiar, yet reverential.] Morning, 
 Mister Dean — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 27 
 
 Swift. 
 [Rising and thrusting newspaper into his hand, ignor- 
 ing Delany's humble salute. Delany smiles, joins 
 Stella at right.] Read that bit o' news. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Reading without enthusiasm.] Yes — for the Tories 
 it's bad news indeed — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 The worst — the very worst. This useless war continues 
 year after year — Marlbro is still the "worshipped Gen- 
 eral" — winning useless victories — recklessly spilling 
 precious blood — piling expenses on wretched England that 
 mean enormous profits for his friends — expenses that 
 come back to his own greedy pocket in streams of gold — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Can it be possible that General Marlbro — . 
 
 SwiFt. 
 Knows as well as I do that this war is useless — that 
 all his victories are barren ones, netting his country noth- 
 ing, except that it adds to his own glory — . God of 
 heaven — where will this useless waste of blood and money 
 lead? 
 
 Ford. 
 But why doesn't the Tory ministry — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Because the Tories are at each other's throats — . Boling- 
 broke quarrelling with Lord Treasurer — . Oh — my coun- 
 try—my distracted country — . 
 
 Delany. 
 Tut-tut, Mister Dean. So long's 'tis not Erin that suf- 
 fers, since she's never a farthing with which to bless her- 
 
28 BE AN SWIF T 
 
 self — [Pose of orator.] Erin — wi' its green fields — its 
 flowery dales — its lovely lakes — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Bah ! Erin ! A God-forsaken land — a bog-hole — a sink 
 o' despair — its hills and dales dotted with the sod huts of 
 its wretched peasantry — . 
 
 Delany. 
 Aye-aye, Mister Dean — But — your country just the 
 same — . 
 
 Swift. 
 True — true — Delany. Worse luck for Jonothan 
 Swift—. 
 
 Ford. 
 [Putting newspaper on table.] They miss your hand 
 at the helm, sir. 
 
 Swift. 
 Pah-pah — . 
 
 Delany. 
 And they'll be wantin' our great Dean back again — 
 Ha ha — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Then they'll wish in vain, for the Dean has had enough 
 of their "promises." 
 
 Swift. 
 Nay — Stella, the breaking o' those promises was not 
 Lord Treasurer's fault — . 
 
 Delany. 
 What, sir — ye can forgive them, though they cheated ye 
 out of a Bishop's gown ! ! ! 
 
 Ford. 
 [Warningly.] Delany — [Indicating Swift's moody 
 look.] 
 
DE AN SWIF T 29 
 
 Swift. 
 [To himself.] A bishop's gown — a bishop's gown — . 
 
 Delany. 
 
 [To cheer Swift.] But away wi' politics this fine 
 morning. So long's there's a bottle in the Deanery cel- 
 lars — eh, Mister Dean? 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Dismissing moodiness and rising.] Ah, Delany — 
 would that I were as light of heart as thou — . 
 
 Delany. 
 Faith, sir, 'tis easy. Ye've only to be half English — 
 and wholely Irish — [Leading the way to door 2 which he 
 opens for Swift as for a king.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Ford — ? [Exits door 2 followed by Delany.] 
 
 Ford. 
 [Saluting Stella.] Mistress Stella — . 
 
 Stella. 
 
 [Smiling,] Charles — [Ford salutes, backs through 
 door 2. The voices of the men begin to be heard in ar- 
 gument.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 [Enters door 3. Looks round, listens at door 2 a 
 moment, then comes down.] Listen to 'em — 'tis as usual 
 about politics — . Hah — Swift's body may be here in 
 Dublin — but his soul's in England — wi' his Bolingbrokes 
 an' Oxfords — and did his Tory friends send for him — 
 Swift'd cross the channel again — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Nay, Dingley — you are wrong — . 
 
30 BE AN 8WIF T 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Ye are sure o' that, child? 
 
 Stella. 
 Yes — sure — sure! For why should the Dean return — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Why shud he — WHY? [Taking letter from pocket 
 and holding it up.] For the best o' reasons — Mistress 
 White tells me that Swift's Lunnun charmer is pinin' for 
 him — [Reading from letter.] " Tis reported that Mis- 
 tress Esther Van Homrigh is no longer present when her 
 mamma dispenses coffee to her Tory guests — " And here 
 again, " 'Tis well-known that a certain lovely young Miss 
 is pinin' for a sight o' the great — the world-famous 
 Dean — ." 
 
 Stella. 
 [Who listens with repressed agitation.] Stop — Ding- 
 ley — stop — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Reading.] "And 'tis reported that the young lady may 
 yet cross the channel to visit the Dean at the Irish 
 capitol — " 
 
 Stella. 
 [Tearfully.] I tell you I'll not listen — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Placing letter on table with look of pity.] Then, child, 
 read for yourself — [Backing to door 3. Exits.] 
 
 Stella. 
 No — no — I'll not read it — I — I dare not — [Taking up 
 letter.] Yet — if it be the truth — [Reads letter. Dingley 
 softly enters, waiting at door 3. With a cry of grief, 
 covering her eyes.] 
 
BE AN SWIF T 31 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Running to her, with deep pity.] My poor Stella — my 
 darling Stella — [Opening her arms.] 
 
 Stella 
 Go away, Dingley — go— leave me — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 But — if I want to help you bear your sorrow — [Ford 
 enters from door 2. Dingley snatches letter, quickly 
 exits door 3. Stella mops her eyes hastily.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Coming down quickly.] Mistress Stella — this London 
 news — it may enkindle Swift's desire to help his Tory 
 friends — to rush to their aid — to cross the channel again — 
 We — his friends must prevent — Ah — you also fear that — . 
 
 Stella. 
 
 Nay — Swift will not return — Tis something else that 
 grieves me—. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But — good God — there are tears in your eyes — [Taking 
 her hand.] Tell me— I implore you — . Mistress Stella — 
 I live only to serve you — . 
 
 Stella. 
 'Tis that a woman awaits Swift's return to London — . 
 
 Ford. 
 
 A woman? Hah, if that be all—. Ah — there's but one 
 woman on earth for Jonothan Swift and — [kissing her 
 hand] that woman is yourself ! 
 
32 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 [Hurrying through door 2 followed by Delany.] I 
 tell you, Delany, 'twould be a coward's part to desert his 
 friends in time of need — and if ever England needed a 
 word of advice — 'tis now! [Throwing himself into his 
 chair, drawing forward pen and paper and beginning to 
 write rapidly.] 
 
 Delany. 
 Aye — Mister Dane — a word of advice only. Provided 
 ye won't think o' crossing the channel to aid 'em — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Never — Delany — never — I shall never return. But my 
 pen is at their service always — [Delany, Ford and 
 Stella group off to right, talking softly and watching 
 Swift. Finally sanding the sheet.] There — a word 
 to those quarrelling Tories — a word that, if taken, will 
 surely outwit Marlbro and his profiteering friends and 
 hasten the end of this iniquitous war — . Come hither, 
 Delany — there's no time to waste — . 
 
 Delany. 
 
 [Joining him, unwillingly, his hands behind him.] But, 
 Mister Dean — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Impatiently, flicking the page across the table.] To the 
 printers — to the printers — have 'em strike of! a thousand 
 sheets— say that the Dean demands instant service — . 
 
 Delany. 
 But — sir — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Say that all's to cross the channel at the next sailing — . 
 Hurry — man — hurry — a thousand lives may depend on 
 
DEAN SWIFT 33 
 
 this page's printing. Even the Queen — those cursed Whigs 
 — those fools of Tories — all will read it. 
 
 Delany. 
 But — if it benefit not poor Erin — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Impatiently.'] Erin — and ever Erin! Man — man — 
 get thyself a wider charity — . 
 
 [Door 1 opens. Erasmus Lewis, dapper, keen-eyed, 
 suave court politician, in red wig, travelling dress, depre- 
 cating smile, enters after a loud knock. Swift, frown- 
 ing at interruption, turns. His face beams, he hurries to 
 Lewis, seizes his hands and draws him down.] Lewis 
 — LEWIS — ah — 'tis good to see an English face again — 
 by what good fortune — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Ah — Swift — King of Tories — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [With repressed emotion.] When did you arrive? 
 
 Lewis. 
 But an hour since — . My ship's at anchor in the bay — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Where it shall remain for yet awhile, eh? 
 
 Lewis. 
 Ha ha — well, Swift, that depends on yourself — . 
 
 Swift. 
 On me? Then 'tis settled. [Bringing Lewis down.] 
 Lewis, this is my ward — Mistress Stella Johnson — [Lewis 
 bows.] Stella, you see before you Erasmus Lewis, the 
 wiliest of politicians — . 
 
34 DE AN SWIFT 
 
 Lewis. 
 Ha ha, Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 And the faithfulest of friends — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Any friend of the Dean's is welcome to his deanery — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Kissing her hand, with a sly look at Ford.] Thanks. 
 Mistress Johnson's charms hath oft been told me by — 
 Ah, Ford—. 
 
 Ford. 
 [Smiling and giving his hand.] Ah, Lewis — so far 
 from home and from those wires you so love to pull — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Ah — but in the service of my friends only. Eh, Swift? 
 
 Swift. 
 Always. Lewis, this is Doctor Delany — Patriot — 
 philosopher — yes — and orator — . 
 
 Delany. 
 [Abashed.] Aha — forbear, sir Dean — forebear — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Doctor, this is Erasmus Lewis, Under-Secretary of 
 State in the Tory Ministry — . 
 
 Delany. 
 Of the Tory ministry ? [Withdrawing his extended 
 hand.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 Doctor, the pleasure's mine — Patriot — philosopher and 
 orator — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 35 
 
 Delany. 
 
 [Meaningly.] Faith, Mister Secretary for the Tory 
 ministry — 'tis a f-a-r cry from London to little Dublin — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Pooh, Doctor — what's a long journey — in a good cause? 
 
 Delany. 
 [His fears confirmed.] Good God — [Swift takes 
 Lewis' cloak and hat to mantel-shelf. Stella and Ford 
 join Dela,ny off to right, watching Swift and Lewis 
 with worried looks.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Lewis, I'd begun to think that my London friends had 
 all deserted me — Not a letter — not a single line — In three 
 short months I've been forgotten — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Forgotten? Why, Swift, there are those that think of 
 you daily — hourly — Bolingbroke — Oxford — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Aye — 'tis reported they're at each other's throats — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 God's pity, too — . When so much hangs on a pull al- 
 together — . Forgotten you? When a thousand Tories 
 mourn your absence — when even Her Majesty, the 
 Queen — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Pooh, the Queen — ! 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 Also her Grace of Marlbro — who's made up her quarrel 
 with the Court — . 
 
36 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 Aye — to strengthen her "General's" hands in the con- 
 tinuing of this useless war — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Exactly. And unless all signs fail — . 
 
 Delany. 
 Looke, Lewis, can a Queen be dominated by a mere 
 Duchess ? 
 
 Lewis. 
 Ah, Doctor — you don't know her Grace — . She's the 
 rock in the Tory road to success — the nightmare that rides 
 each Tory's dreams — . Eh, Swift? 
 
 Swift. 
 [Dismissing signs of interest.] Bah, Lewis — what eare 
 I for such news? Since I'm forever out o' politics — ? 
 
 Lewis. 
 Out of politics? Heavens — Swift — I'll not believe — . 
 No — that cannot be — [With dismay.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Ha ha — you'll soon get used to the thought — [Abruptly 
 turning away and joining those at right.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 [Biting his nails and sinking into Swift's chair. After 
 a moment.] One moment, Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Over his shoulder.] Well, Lewis? 
 
 Lewis. 
 You've surely guessed why I've crossed the channel — 
 why I am here in Dublin? 
 
 Swift. 
 Guessed? Pooh — why should I? 
 
BE AN SWIF T 37 
 
 Lewis. 
 Er — . I had hoped — I had hoped — to have laid a cer- 
 tain matter of business before you — er — in private. 
 
 Swift. 
 But — ha ha — since I've no secrets from these — my 
 friends — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 I accept the challenge. Well then, my business is — 
 England's ministry has sent me hither to demand — to im- 
 plore that Jonothan Swift return to his place at the helm 
 of state — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [With savage joy.] So! The storm's overtaken them 
 and they want "the Irish parson" to pull them out again? 
 Nay, Lewis, nay. Here I remain wi' those that love me ! 
 [His arm about Stella's shoulder. Ford takes Delany 
 to left.} 
 
 Delany. 
 [Pose of orator.] Ah, Mister Secretary — I'd have ye 
 know that the Dean hath a nobler work at home — * His 
 wretched country — groanin' under laws that have made 
 slaves o' half of us — exiled the other half and ruined those 
 that's left — [Applause from all. He would resume 
 but — .] 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Rising, animated.] Bravo — doctor — encora — encora — . 
 Sentiments sublime — but — they don't affect the tide — it 
 turns in an hour and my ship must be away — [Getting hat 
 and cloak, then offering his hand to Swift.] So it must 
 be goodbye. 
 
 Swift. 
 Goodbye? Nay, Lewis. So long a voyage — so brief a 
 visit — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Meaningly, yet gayly.] The fault's not mine, sir. 
 
38 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 You can at least break bread with us — [Taking away 
 hat and cloak and giving them to Ford who again hangs 
 them on pegs under shelf.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Pretending reluctance.] But — affairs of state — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Pooh — Let 'em wait. The deanery cellars be not all 
 empty — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Well — what's an hour more or less? I agree. 
 
 Swift. 
 Ah! Then Mistress Stella — [Joining Stella and tak- 
 ing her to right, where, near the flower-stand he whispers, 
 at the same time plucking a blossom and giving it to her.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 [To Delany and Ford. Bitterly.] And to think that 
 a mere petticoat stands between England and salvation ! 
 
 Ford. 
 But — since "the petticoat" and Swift's happiness — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Pshaw ! Swift's earthly flight — like the eagle's — should 
 be to soar alone. His destiny should be the world's 
 arena — where his genius belongs! 
 
 Delany. 
 But, Mister Secretary — what about Swift's genius to 
 help poor Erin? 
 
 Lewis. 
 What! You'd smother him in an Irish bog when Eng- 
 land's salvation hangs upon him! [His eye suddenly 
 falling on the written page before him.] 
 
DEAN SWIFT 39 
 
 Delany. 
 Hah — the bishop's gown ye cheated him out of ? Nay — 
 nay — the Dean's not to be cheated twice — [Exit Stella 
 door 3. Swift comes to centre.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Staring at page.] Hah — what's this — what's this? 
 
 Swift. 
 Written by me an hour since — ? 
 
 Lewis. 
 But — it's addressed to all England — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Grimly.] Including my foolish friends, the Tories — . 
 
 Ford. 
 [Saluting.] Swift — [who returns it.] Lewis — [who 
 returns it, still intently reading page. Ford moves to door 
 
 i] 
 
 Delany. 
 [Saluting.] Swift — [who now intently watches Lewis 
 and ignores Delany, who smiles, shrugs.] Mister Sec- 
 retary — better luck next time — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Doctor — [Exit Ford and Delany. Throwing down 
 the page with a shrug.] Good enough argument, Swift, 
 but — humph — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Seising the page and reading it.] What's wrong here, 
 Lewis? I've covered the ground — pointed out the best 
 means of — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Yes — yes — But — . 
 
40 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 Then where's the weak point? 
 
 Lewis. 
 Where? WHERE? Tis because 'tis written on Irish 
 soil — . But let Swift thunder it from the floor of the 
 English Parliament — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [After a moment, discarding the page. With finality.] 
 No, Lewis — no. Eternally no! 
 
 Lewis. 
 Swift — a last appeal — . With the ministry at each 
 other's throats — with our treasury empty — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [With fierce joy.] Aha — I foresaw it — ! 
 
 Lewis. 
 With the Queen distracted — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Bah — . She's always hated me — ! 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 Swift — for England's sake — for God's sake return with 
 me — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Return with you? For what reward? An Irish dean- 
 ery? 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 Ah — but then 'twas the best in the Tory gift — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 41 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [With rising fury.] A deanery in wretched Dublin — 
 where the very air reeks of misery — where man is a chat- 
 tel — ruled wi' a whip — refused the right to happiness — 
 aye — even to choose his own way to salvation — . No — 
 no — I'll not return. 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 So — . This is the message that I'm to carry back to 
 your friends? 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Friends, eh? Men who'll use you — . Then — when 
 they've no further use for you — fling you out an Irish 
 deanery as they'd toss a stick into the sea for a dog — 
 "Hi — swim for it and be damned to ye" — [Falling ex- 
 hausted into chair.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 But, sir, 'tis the privilege of the great to forget — to 
 forgive — . 
 
 Swift. 
 No — no — . I can't forget — I can't forgive — [Single 
 boom of cannon.] Hah — what's that? 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 The signal from my ship — [Getting cloak and hat from 
 pegs.] The tide has turned — . I must begone — [Offer- 
 ing hand to Swift.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Rising, agitatedly, taking the hand.] So soon, Lewis? 
 Without breaking bread wi' me? 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Brokenly.] Bread that would choke me — since my 
 mission's failed — Ah, sir — to leave you here — exiled — in 
 
42 DE AN 8WIF T 
 
 what you believe is a land of slaves — your genius 
 blighted — . Ah, sir — [Rushing to door 1 and out. Door 
 closed.] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Staring after him, falling into chair.] "Exiled in a 
 land of slaves." God — oh God — [Covering his face. 
 Lewis softly opens door, peers in with satisfied look, as 
 softly closes door. After a moment a loud knock. Swift 
 instantly recovers.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Enters with smile and letter in hand.] Gad, sir, had 
 near forgotten Lord Treasurer's letter — [Swift snatches 
 it imperiously, tears it open and reads eagerly. Lewis 
 watches with hope. Swift breathes deeply, the letter fin- 
 ished, ponders.] May I be permitted? [Swift gives letter 
 to Lewis who reads with pretended amaze.] Why, sir, 'tis 
 the promise of Canterbury — A promise over Lord Treas- 
 urer's own signature. Canterbury!! Heavens, Swift, you 
 can't refuse NOW ! What ! Bury yourself in Dublin 
 when — for the reaching for it you can become Archbishop 
 of Canterbury — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Bah — . Why waste time and words? I'll none of it — 
 None of it ! 
 
 Lewis. 
 Ah then — [With covered eyes, turning to door.] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Wait — Lewis — wait. [Going to him, his hand on his 
 shoulder.] Tell me, isn't just my wounded pride that re- 
 fuses ? 
 
DEANSWIFT 43 
 
 Lewis. 
 I only know, sir, that my country needs you — that the 
 Tory party is about to fall — perhaps never to rise again — . 
 God, Swift — I can already hear those damnable Whigs 
 even now shouting "victory" — Swift — Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Surrendering without enthusiasm.] Yes — yes — Tis 
 my duty to return — 'Tis my duty — [Hurries to table, takes 
 letters from drawer, divides, thrusting one pile back into 
 drawer.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 Now God be thanked indeed — [Door 2 opens. Lewis, 
 showing fear of interruption, turns quickly. Patrick 
 enters, carrying a small tray, on which are two small 
 glasses and flask of wine. Lewis gaily takes it from 
 Patrick, puts tray on table, thrusts the pile of letters 
 into Patrick's hands and gently pushes him to left. 
 Swift now in a day-dream with frowning brow.] To the 
 quay, man, to the quay — ..Ask for the good ship ''Orient." 
 Hurry — hurry — [Exit Patrick with stolid look. Coming 
 to table, filling both glasses, still fearing interruption. 
 Pushing glass to Swift, who still dreams. Raising his 
 own glass.] To Tory success — to victory — to Swift — to 
 the gown of Canterbury — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [His hand finding the glass but not raising it. Dream- 
 ily.] Canterbury — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 To Jonothan Swift — to History, that shall acclaim 
 Jonothan Swift as England's greatest Primate! 
 
 Swift. 
 [As before.] Canterbury — [moving to right.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Gayly, intercepting.] Where away, sir? 
 
44 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 [As before.] Why — to prepare to depart — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Why, sir — your cabin's prepared — that is — Lord Treas- 
 urer hoping — you understand — [Leading him to left as 
 second boom of cannon is heard.] Hark, sir — we must 
 be off — the tide is at flood, sir — [Snatching Swift's cloak 
 and hat from pegs as he sees Stella enter, followed by 
 Dingley bearing a larger tray covered by a white 
 napkin from door 3.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Turning and crossing with same dreamy look to 
 Stella as Dingley puts tray on table. Taking Stella's 
 hand.] Farewell, child — . I leave ye safe in Dingley's 
 care — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Clinging to his hand.] You — you are leaving Dublin — 
 leaving me? 
 
 Swift. 
 [As before.] Yes — yes — 'tis duty calls — duty and 
 Canterbury — [Another boom of cannon. Swift turns to 
 Lewis.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 Come, Swift — we must be off — [Giving hat as to a con- 
 quer er and throwing the cloak over Swift's shoulder. 
 Swift mechanically exits door 1 without a backward 
 look. Lewis salutes the two women with a radiant smile, 
 exits, door 1 closed.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [With a bitter cry.] Swift— SWIFT— [Falls face 
 down, into chair at table. Dingley stares with clenched 
 hands at door 1 then draws Stella's head to her bosom 
 with a look of pity.] 
 
 End of the First Act. 
 
THE SECOND ACT 
 
 Drawing-room of the Van Homrigh Home, London. 
 A morning in July, three months later. 
 
 A richly furnished room, garish in style, but attractive. 
 The entrance door 1 is at left, a corridor leading off 
 from it. To right of this door is a wide, open window 
 giving a glimpse of street. To right of window is 
 door 2 opening outward into what is supposed to be 
 the coffee-room. Door 3 is down to the extreme right 
 and also opens outward. All doors and the window 
 are draped with silken hangings. At left is a round 
 table. On it is a quaint box holding a pack of cards, 
 a blue satin bon-bon box and a vase of flowers. At 
 right-centre is an escritoire holding pens, ink, paper 
 and a small red-covered book. Chairs set about. 
 Flowers placed lavishly here and there. 
 
 At Rise. Mrs. Van Homrigh, aged forty, sits at the 
 table, a small mirror in hand, with which she is in- 
 tently surveying the set of her "turban." Extrava- 
 gantly dressed, curled brown wig, paint, powder and 
 beauty-spots. Good-natured, superficial and ambitious 
 only for her children. 
 
46 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Molly Van Homrich, aged twenty, a charming duplicate 
 of her mother in extravagant dress, vivacious and 
 saucy, sits at the harpischord strumming away noisily. 
 
 Richard Hays, aged twenty-three, a handsome youth in 
 the uniform of an English dragoon, paces along at 
 right. Richard is quick-tempered yet manly. He bites 
 his nails, tears a flower to pieces and tosses it away, 
 keeping watch on door 3. 
 
 Jeems, the privileged servant in livery, aged forty, stands 
 at door 1, a small silver tray in hand on which are 
 several slips of white paper. 
 
 Molly. 
 [With a final crash of keys. Jumping up, coming to 
 table.] Pah — 'tis wearisome to play to a dull audience — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Thank heaven, Molly child, you've quit makin' a noise 
 as'd wake the seven sleepers — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Mama dear, 'tis yourself has a poor ear for music. 
 Where be the cards? I'll tell me own fortune — [taking 
 cards from box, sitting at table opposite her mother and 
 beginning to shuffle them.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Displaying turban.] Is't on straight, Molly child? 
 
 Molly. 
 Straight wi' the part o' your hair, mother. Ah — ye 
 silly old woman — 'tis an eye for a second father for us 
 you've gotten — . 
 
BE AN SW IF T 47 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 For shame, Molly — an' your dada only five years gone — 
 'Tis not respectful to me ye are — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Why shud I be when ye look like a younger sister? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Laughing.] Shame on ye, Molly — [admiring herself 
 in mirror.] 
 
 Molly. 
 [Spreading out cards.] Come hither, cousin Richard 
 and list to me readin' me fortune — . 
 
 Richard. 
 Pah — pah — let me be, Molly — [listening at door 3.] 
 
 Molly. 
 Oho — aha, cousin Richard — . 
 
 Richard. 
 Let be, I tell you — . 
 
 Molly. 
 But hanging round yonder door won't bring Esther in 
 any the quicker — . 
 
 Richard. 
 I tell you I'm not waiting for Esther — I'm not. 
 
 Molly. 
 Then why are ye marchin' about ? To wear out mama's 
 carpet ? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Be quiet, Molly. Let the boy alone. 
 
48 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Jeems. 
 Ahem—AHEM— . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Who is it, Molly child? 
 
 Molly. 
 Tis only Jeems, mother. 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Come hither, Jeems — [laying down mirror. Jeems 
 comes to table, puts tray on same, salutes, backs to left, 
 exits door 1. Scanning slips with dismay.] Bills — bills — 
 ach one of 'em manin' a fortune gone from the spout o' 
 a coffee-pot — My — oh my — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [Holding up cards.] Look, Richard, a dark man has 
 me in mind — middle-aged, wi' a crown on his head — see — 
 the king o' spades — . 
 
 Richard. 
 Stuff — pah — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Ah-h — Would it were a jack of hearts instead. Patience, 
 cousin Richard, she'll soon appear — . 
 
 Richard. 
 [Angrily, leaving door for window.] Damnation — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Dismally.] Faith, we've used a power o' coffee 
 lately — . Look, Molly, at these bills to pay — . 
 
 Molly. 
 'Tis proud ye shud be that such great men come here 
 to drink your coffee—. Lord Treasurer Oxford, Boling- 
 broke, little Lewis and the g-r-e-a-t genius o' the world, 
 Dean Jonothan Swift. — Eh, Richard? 
 
DE AN SWIF T 49 
 
 Richard. 
 Swift? Pah — pah, I say — ! 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 A fortune gone — a fortune for just brown beans ! 
 
 Molly. 
 [Jumping up, runs round table, snatches tray.] Away 
 wi' your bills — [Runs with same to escritoire, leaves them 
 there, returns to table, sits, pushes over cards.] Cut the 
 cards, mother, an' see if either o' your girls'll win a hus- 
 band — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Tearfully, shuffling cards. ] Ye'll both be spinsters on 
 my hands since neither o' ye'll take what's offered ye. 
 
 Molly. 
 O-oh — mama — 'deed — 'deed I'd marry a scarcrow had 
 he a bag o' guineas and — a fine fat cough — As for my 
 sister — . 
 
 Richard. 
 An' this be a tellin' o' Esther's secrets I'll not listen — 
 [But listening intently.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 If Esther's wise she'll reach for the coronet that's 
 waitin' for her when that ould harridan passes out. For 
 'tis plain that her nephew adores your sister — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Ye mean young Lovelace? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Aye — nephew to a duchess — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Lovelace, whom Swift calls a silly young ass — and 
 
 worse — . 
 
50 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Sharply.] Let the Dean not concern himself about 
 Hesses heart-affairs. Let him concern himself with his 
 Tories an' his Whigs — . Where's Esther this mornin'? 
 
 Molly. 
 Studyin' French in her chamber — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 French ! 'Twas Latin the day before — . 'Twill be 
 Greek tomorrow. Ah — would that Swift'd stop urging 
 Essie to books. 'Tis no employment for a woman o' 
 fashion — . 
 
 Molly. 
 But since Esther hates the powder an' despises the 
 beauty-spots that you and I swear by — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Aye — that's true. What's gotten into the girl lately? 
 
 Molly. 
 What all London's aware of — that Esther is in love. 
 Eh, Richard? 
 
 Richard. 
 Pooh — pooh — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 In love? And wi' who, Molly? 
 
 Molly. 
 Wi' the g-r-e-a-t genius of the world — Dean Jonothan 
 Swift—. 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 In love wi' Swift ! ! ! A mere parson — . When she 
 can choose from half a dozen o' his betters? My — oh 
 my — [weepingly.] 
 
DE AN SWIF T 51 
 
 Molly. 
 [Running to embrace her.] There, mother, there! 
 Weep not — 'tis a love as one-sided as the handle o' a 
 pitcher, for Swift dreams not o' Hesses passion for him — . 
 
 Richard. 
 Then why does he write poems to her in his newspaper ? 
 Where is the thing? [Fumbling over things at escretoire.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Poems — to my daughter Esther? Ah-h 'twill set all 
 Lunnun talking! 
 
 Richard. 
 Aye, aunt, they're talking now. [Finding a slip of paper 
 in red-covered book.] Esther's cut the thing from the 
 printed page and hidden it here in this book. Listen — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [Snatching poem from Richard and reading it ex- 
 pressively, with sly glances at Richard.] 
 
 Would from her height of youth and beauty 
 Stoop low to weary pilgrim's hand 
 My lady fair? For wifely duty 
 Leave all this world can give, 
 At my command? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 "For wifely duty!" Good God — 'tis a declaration of 
 love! ! [Weeping into her handkerchief.] 
 
 Molly. 
 [Replacing slip into book, putting book on escritoire. 
 Gayly.] Nay, mother — 'tis just — poetry! 
 
 Richard. 
 [Savagely.] Poetry? Bah — 'tis trash! 
 
52 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Ah — would that the Dean had remained in Dublin! 
 
 Molly. 
 What, mother! Would you have lost to England the 
 Dean's wonderful services? Swift — that has made the 
 Queen end the war — that has already compelled her to 
 recall her "great general" an' put a stop to his robbing 
 England's treasury? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Aye — that I would, since Esther — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Sh-h-h— 
 
 [Enter Esther Van Homrigh at door 3. She is lovely, 
 richly but simply dressed, wearing neither powder, paint 
 nor beauty-spots. At the age of twenty-two, her carriage 
 and self-possession is in striking contrast to that of the 
 two other women. Richard devotedly places a chair and 
 footrest. With a mere nod of thanks Esther sinks into 
 chair, her hand reaching for the red-covered book, which 
 she opens and reads. Richard signals this to Molly, 
 who shrugs.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Well, Esther, is't Greek or Latin this mornin'? 
 
 Esther. 
 
 [Not looking from page.} Tis neither, mother. Tis a 
 recipe for making puddings without plums — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 
 [Eagerly.] Puddin's wi'out plums — [Coming down.] 
 Show me the line, child? 
 
DEAN SWIFT 53 
 
 Esther. 
 [Pressing the page to her bosom quickly.] No — no — I 
 cannot — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 'Tis not there? Then let me telle that recipes for 
 puddin's be better readin' than studyin' Greek wi' a 
 gown o' forty- four — ! Faith, I'll give Swift a bit o' my 
 mind when he calls this mornin' — [Esther resumes 
 reading.] 
 
 Molly. 
 
 When ye know, mother, that you'll be like the rest of 
 us — listenin' and adorin' his wonderful genius — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 
 'Deed an' I'll tell him he's no business to waste Hesses 
 time wi' Greek an' Latin when she might be at the play 
 an' the dance — . 
 
 Esther. 
 The play — ! The dance! I leave such silly pleasures 
 for fools! 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 
 [Crossing to Esther threateningly.] This — to my face? 
 When your sister an' myself — . 
 
 Molly. 
 
 [Snatching up tray with bills and running to her 
 mother.] Come away, mama — Let's leave Hess to her 
 puddin's without plums — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 
 [Going with Molly to right.] Aye — an J to her poem — 
 ha ha — [Exit both to door 3.] 
 
54 DE AN SWIFT 
 
 Richard. 
 [Hovering behind Esther, summoning courage to ad- 
 vance. Finally going to behind her chair.] Ahem — 
 [Esther takes no notice.] Ahem — I say, Cousin 
 Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Reading.] Are you still there, Richard? 
 
 Richard. 
 Am I not always near when you condescend to appear? 
 Ah, would that I too were a page o' print — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Reading, but reaching a hand.] No — no — Cousin — . 
 When I like you as you are. 
 
 Richard. 
 Ah — if you'd only prove that! — [Kissing her hand 
 ardently.] Esther — [dropping on one knee.] I offer you 
 a life's devotion — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Impatiently. Withdrawing her hand.] Richard ! After 
 all your promises — . 
 
 Richard. 
 But what's a "promise" when every fibre o' my being's 
 calling for you ? Esther — Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Silly boy ! Why not learn dignity — . 
 
 Richard. 
 [Jumping up.] "Dignity!" I leave that for your par- 
 son — 'tis his stock in trade ! 
 
 Esther. 
 [Rising with scorn.] Thou jealous creature — ! To in- 
 sult the Dean behind his back — ! 
 
DE AN SWIF T 55 
 
 Richard. 
 Bah — I'll say it to his face if ye dare me to! 
 
 Esther. 
 [Pointing to door 1.] Go, sir — go — ! 
 
 Richard. 
 [In boyish fury flinging himself to left.] Hah — so ye 
 can waste time on Swift's poem ! ! ! [Running out at 
 door 1.] 
 
 Esther. 
 Swift's poem — and to me! Ah — [Reading poem with 
 sweet emotion.] 
 
 Would from her height of youth and beauty 
 Stoop low to weary pilgrim's hand 
 My lady fair? For wifely duty 
 Leave all this world can give, 
 At my command? 
 
 "For wifely duty." "Leave all this world can give — " 
 Ah — I could — I would — . Ah — he loves me — he loves 
 me — [Pressing poem to lips as Jeems enters door 1.] 
 
 Jeems. 
 Ahem — Mistress Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Hiding the poem in bosom.] Yes, Jeems? [Throw- 
 ing book on escritoire.] 
 
 Jeems. 
 
 A coach and four at the door — My Lord Lovelace 
 and — . 
 
 Esther. 
 
 [Running to right.] Lovelace! No — no — Jeems — I'll 
 not see him — [exits door 3. Jeems returns to door 1.] 
 
56 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 [Enter the Duchess of Marlbro, almost walking over 
 Jeems who backs, bowing to centre. The Duchess, aged 
 forty-five, is extravagantly dressed, powdered and painted. 
 Insolent manner, cackling laugh. Lord Lovelace follows 
 with eager look about him. Pozvdered wig, short sword, 
 laces, satins, an egotistical fop, aged twenty-eight. The 
 Duchess backs Jeems to centre while Lovelace perches 
 himself on table as if at home and begins to eat the bon- 
 bons from the box there. A tall Indian servant of the 
 Duchess remains stolidly at door 1. Indian dress, white 
 turban, brilliant -colored silken sash, a dagger thrust 
 through same. Being mute, he takes his mistress' orders 
 by signs and replies with the same.] 
 
 Duchess. 
 Well, my man — 'tis bad manners to stare at your 
 betters — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Laughing.] Lor, Aunt — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Where are those ye serve? Bid 'em be aware that her 
 Grace o' Marlbro is here — [Jeems bows, backing out at 
 door 3. Duchess begins to feel the draperies.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Aunt — I'll thank ye to be gentler wi' the servants o' 
 this house — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Pooh! Why shud I be? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Because the mistress here has always made me wel- 
 come — . 
 
DE AN SWIF T 57 
 
 Duchess. 
 Heir to a dukedom? The creature's wise. 
 
 Lovelace. 
 And because I adore her lovely daughter. So that 
 even a servant — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Pooh ! I'd ha' honored the man had I tweaked his nose. 
 'Fore God — these draperies be of finest silk an' there be 
 flowers eno' here to supply me wi' bouquets for 
 a f or'night ! These commoners be rich — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Yes. Old Van Homrigh had a coffee plantation in 
 Sumatra or was it Java ? Then, when he flickered out, his 
 widow brought her two fair daughters to settle here in 
 London. Mistress Esther's the best-educated girl in Eng- 
 land. Speaks Latin an' Greek an' French. Think what a 
 help she'll be to me at the Embassy? 
 
 Duchess. 
 Humph! An' where did the young jade learn all that? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Evasively.] Er — from books, of course. 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Startled, coming down quickly.] Looke, nephew, if 
 this girl's the wondrous pupil o' the Dean — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Well — an' if she is? 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Looking about her.] Hah — this must be the very room 
 where Swift penned his damnable pamphlets that spoiled 
 Marlbro's plans an' cut off the stream o' gold just ready 
 
58 BE AN SWIFT 
 
 to reach his hands — that made the Queen stop the war an* 
 call back her army. 'Fore God — it must ha' been here 
 that Swift an' his Tories plotted to lose me the Gold Key — 
 access to her Majesty's bed-chamber — [Turning quickly.] 
 No — no — I'll none o' your love affairs — I wash my hands 
 o' them — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Go then — an' be damned to ye ! 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Looking back.] Then ye mean to marry the girl? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 If I can get her in no other way — yes. 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Coming down, in tearful fury.] Then I'll cut ye off 
 wi' a shillin' — 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Pooh! Since you've just paid all my debts — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Aye — jeweled garters for married jade — necklaces for 
 court hussies — Ah-ah — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Going to her. Soothingly.] Help me to France with 
 this girl an' you're rid o' me for six months — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 But — she's a friend o' the Dean — I dare not — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Pooh! A mere parson! 
 
DE AN SWIF T 59 
 
 Duchess. 
 Hah — ye've never seen Swift in a fury — . Ah — Jove 
 an' his thunderbolt's naught to him — [Going again.] 
 No — no — I dare not — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Seizing her hand and indicating those at right.] Aunt! 
 [Molly enters, half -sup porting her mother who, already 
 overwhelmed by the Duchess' visit is beginning to 
 curtesy.] 
 
 Molly. 
 Lud, mama — she's only a woman — just as you and I — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 But — child — a Duchess ! ! ! [Both coming forward.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Bringing the Duchess down.] Ladies — the dearest 
 o' aunts — her Grace o' Marlbro — Aunt — the ladies Van 
 Homrigh — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [Saluting gayly.] Your Grace — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Overwhelmed again. Saluting.] Your Grace honors 
 this house — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Ignoring her and appraising Molly.] So, nephew — . 
 This be your flame — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Ha ha — no — your Grace — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Saluting Molly.] If 'twere not for her sister — 
 [Molly drops a saucy curtesy.] 
 
60 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Your Grace means my daughter, Esther — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 [Insolently.] My good woman, speak when spoken to. 
 [Molly seises her mother's hand and turns as if to lead 
 her out.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 
 [Preventing.] Ladies, pardon my aunt's bad temper. 
 But she's just lost some thousand o' pounds — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Aye — payin' the debts o' a rascally nephew — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Quickly, saluting Mrs. Van Homrigh.] Her Grace 
 is here this morning to ask for your daughter Esther's 
 hand as my wife. 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 My daughter's hand in marriage — [overwhelmed 
 again.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Yes — Yes — for I love — adore her — [Esther enters 
 door 3. Lovelace salutes her, standing with his hand 
 on his heart.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Oh, your lordship — 'tis a great honor — [Seeing Esther 
 and hurrying to her.] Child — child — here's the best offer 
 o' all — Thy fortune's made — your chance for a crownet — 
 [bringing Esther down.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Mistress Esther — ! 
 
 Esther. 
 [Coldly.] Your lordship — ! 
 
DEAN SWIFT 61 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 This, your Grace, is my daughter Esther — who speaks 
 the Latin, the Greek an' the French — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Walking over Mrs. Van Homrigh to appraise 
 Esther.] So — Lovelace, this is the wondrous creature — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 The fairest girl in England, Aunt, nay, in all the uni- 
 verse — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 Good enough form, fair enough face — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Resenting the appraisal. Haughtily.'] Your Grace — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 And as haughty a mien as the parson's own. No pow- 
 der nor beauty-spots? The parson forbids 'em, eh? 
 
 Esther. 
 If your Grace refers to Dean Jonothan Swift — ! 
 
 Duchess. 
 Aye — none other — him as'd be bishop o' Canterbury — 
 ha ha — but for a certain Duchess — [Esther moves away 
 with haughty look. Aside to Lovelace.] Lookee, 
 nephew, it pleases me, after all, to help you humble yonder 
 haughty minx — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Thanks, aunt — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 [To Mrs. Van Homrigh.] Listen, my good woman. 
 My nephew there is to cross to France tomorrow. But 
 wishes not to go alone. So, if your daughter will accept 
 his offer — . 
 
62 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Aye, she shall, an' wi' thanks to your Grace — [Duchess 
 
 insolently turns again to appraise hangings. Mrs. Van 
 Homrigh joins Molly at harpischord.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Going to Esther. Ardently.] Mistress Esther — I 
 adore you — . I can't live without you — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Yet it is but ten days since we met — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 But 'twas love at first sight. Say that you'll go to 
 France wi' me — . 
 
 Esther. 
 No — no — I must refuse. 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Hah — then you love another? 
 
 Esther. 
 I do not care to leave England — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 But I'll not take "no" for an answer — [seising her 
 hand.] 
 
 Esther. 
 It must be "no." [Breaking from him and leaving her 
 handkerchief in his hand, moving down right.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [To Mrs. Van Homrigh at centre.] If you'll speak 
 a good word for me — ? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Oh, your good lordship — 'twill be a dozen words. 
 
BE AN SW IF T 63 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Impatiently.] Well, nephew, well — ? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Patience, Aunt, patience — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Bah — let her take ye or leave ye — [Exits door 1 quickly, 
 followed by her servant.} 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [To Mrs. Van Homrigh.] I'll return for her answer 
 in an hour. 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Your good lordship — 'twill be "y es -" 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Kissing her hand.] Ah-h — Mistress Molly — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Your lordship — [curt ey sing, Lovelace kisses her hand. 
 Richard enters door 1 pauses there, taking in the scene. 
 Lovelace sees him, purposely waves Esther's handker- 
 chief toward her, kisses it as he nears Richard.] 
 
 Richard. 
 
 [Meeting him at left.] That handkerchief — ? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Again pressing it to his lips with smile to Esther.] 
 'Tis a gift from your fair cousin — . 
 
 Richard. 
 You lie — [reaching for and getting handkerchief.] You 
 stole it — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Hand on sword.] Give it back to me — . 
 
64 d e an sw if t 
 
 Richard. 
 [Holding up handkerchief, hand on sword.] Come and 
 take it — if you dare! 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 RICHARD — ! [Clinging to his arm.] 
 
 Richard. 
 Leave go, aunt — [To Lovelace.] Well, sir — ? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 I fight wi' equals only — [hurrying to door 1.] 
 
 Richard. 
 Equals, eh? Ha ha — [Lovelace hurries out door 1.] 
 I'll see the whelp off the premises — [going through door 1 
 on the run.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Oh — oh — for Richard to insult — the heir to a crow- 
 net — . 
 
 Molly. 
 But isn't Dick the young divil? An' his lordship IS 
 a whelp — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 His lordship's offered his hand and his fortune to your 
 sister. So Richard's sharp tongue nor Esther's obstinacy 
 shall interfere not one whit wi' what's best for my child's 
 future — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Agitatedly.] No, mother — I'll not accept. My body 
 is my own — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 The body that I gave ye ! An' never think that I'll let 
 ye refuse this splendid offer. To be "her Grace" when 
 
DEAN SWIFT 65 
 
 that harridan dies — to be welcome to Court — . So, 'tis 
 settled. An' when his lordship returns — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Pleadingly.] Mother — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Be silent, Miss. Years hence ye'll thank me for makin' 
 a Duchess of ye — Molly, wasn't it tomorrow that the ould 
 harridan said his lordship was to cross to France? 
 
 Molly. 
 Yes, mother, tomorrow. 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 
 Then while I look o'er Hesses wardrobe, do you, Molly, 
 make her see what's best for her — [exits door 3.] 
 
 Esther. 
 Ah — [sinking at table with tears.] Molly — Molly — 
 was ever a poor girl so beset — . 
 
 Molly. 
 But, Hessie — it IS a splendid offer and not one girl in 
 ten thousand'd refuse it. A coronet — to be "her Grace" at 
 some future day — . 
 
 Esther. 
 But I despise the man — My soul revolts at the thought 
 of — [covering her eyes.] 
 
 Molly. 
 You've refused ten good offers in as many months — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Because I cared for — not one of them. 
 
66 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Molly. 
 [Going to her, tenderly.] Hess — is't because you care 
 for someone else? [Esther rises and moves away agi- 
 tatedly.] Tell me, Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Ah — don't ask me, Molly — don't ask me — [throwing 
 herself down again at table with covered eyes.] 
 
 Molly. 
 [Going to her, taking down her hands.] Tell me, Hess, 
 isn't it the Dean that you love? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Agitatedly, after a moment.] Yes — Molly — yes. 
 
 Molly. 
 But — does the Dean love you? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Wildly.] I know not — I only know that I've given to 
 him my heart — my soul — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Ah — poor Esther — I'm afriad 'tis a waste o' affection — . 
 You have no chance — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Startled.] You mean that some other woman — . 
 
 Molly. 
 I mean that Swift thinks naught but of Tory politics 
 and the getting of the gown o' Canterbury — . 
 
 Esther. 
 No — no — I'm sure you're wrong. 
 
DEAN SWIFT 67 
 
 Molly. 
 But has the Dean ever said that he loved you ? 
 
 Esther. 
 But — his poem of yesterday. Here — next my heart — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Pretty words — like bright beads on a string — . 
 
 Esther. 
 But "for wifely duty — " "For wifely duty," Molly? 
 
 Molly. 
 Ah — . If that be all your proofs, Hess! Swift is sure 
 to hear of this, your latest offer — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Quickly.} No — no — I'll never tell him — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Because — ? [Esther drops into chair with covered 
 eyes.] And when he does hear — Let us put the Dean to 
 a test — . 
 
 Esther. 
 I dare not — . 
 
 Molly. 
 You must, Hess. And if he advises you to go to the 
 arms of another than himself — A test — a test — ! 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Entering again.] Two great trunks are ready. An' 
 what's lackin' Hess can buy in Paris — . Well, Molly — 
 'tis all settled, then ? Your sister consents — . 
 
 Molly. 
 
 [Aside to her mother.] 'Twill be wisdom to let Hess 
 alone for awhile — . 
 
68 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 But — his lordship's to return for his answer in an 
 hour — . 
 
 [Jeems appears at door 1. Swift enters in black satin 
 knee-breeches, jacket, silken stockings, silver-buckled 
 shoes, "shovel" hat and linen bands. His look is gracious, 
 as of one sure of welcome.] 
 
 Jeems. 
 Doctor Jonothan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin — 
 [Swift gently pushes Jeems aside, he salutes, exits. 
 Molly turns delightedly to Swift. Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 comes smilingly forward. Esther starts to come down, 
 pauses at right again.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Presenting her brow.] Welcome, Mister Dean — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Pressing his lips to her brow with a comic, comradely 
 smile to Molly.] Your servant, ma'am — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [With extravagant curtesy.] Hail — g-r-e-a-t genius o' 
 the world — . Hail — Majesty! 
 
 Swift. 
 [Pinching her ear.] Silence, ye witch. Wi' thy tongue 
 waggin' like a church-bell on a Sunday mornin' — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Ah [tapping a foot, jealously.] 
 
 Molly. 
 [Indicating Esther, in lower tone.] Beware — be- 
 ware — . 
 
DE AN SW IF T 69 
 
 Swift. 
 Pooh — pooh! A chair — a chair for a weary man — 
 [Mrs. Van Homrigh and Molly daintily dust a chair 
 with handkerchiefs and draw it down. With pretended 
 pomposity, sinking into chair.] Of what use are slaves 
 but to wait upon me — ? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 'Deed, Mister Dean, you're right welcome this very 
 minute — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Appealingly.] Mother — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 Be silent. For the Dean shall hear. Doctor, wi' no man 
 at the head of this house — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Gravely.] At your service, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 There's Esther, blind to the luck that's ready at her 
 hand — . 
 
 Esther. 
 But, mother, a woman's heart-affairs can be of no 
 interest to the Dean — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Teasingly.] And how do you know that, Miss? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Agitatedly.] Ah then — [sitting off at right.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 Hesses offer of a week ago — the Yorkshire baronet as 
 swears his son's the finest in the kingdom — . 
 
70 BE AN SW IF T 
 
 Swift. 
 But, ma'am, doesn't every ape believe that his are the 
 finest monkeys? 
 
 Molly. 
 Ha ha ha — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 But another offer — an hour since — [Esther utters a 
 bitter cry.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [To help Esther.] My coffee — My coffee — . Where's 
 my coffee — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [Dragging her mother to right.] Come, mother, let's 
 prepare the coffee — the brown beans that his Majesty 
 loves — [Taking Mrs. Van Homrigh out door 2.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Looking over at Esther who taps her foot again. 
 Swift smiles, reading her mood.] Esther — [she takes no 
 notice.] Esther — [as before.] Humph — [rising, moving 
 to escritoire, lifting and dropping articles there, yet watch- 
 ing Esther under his brows.] Cards — in daylight? and 
 the rouge-pot not far off — ? [Esther starts at the in- 
 sinuation. Going to her, looking down at her as on a 
 peevish child, then lifting her face. Half -bant eringly.] 
 Esther — 'tis that thy soul is jealous because — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Getting away. Passionately, tearfully.] 'Twas to 
 Molly that you spoke first — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Just as I'd speak to a child that hung about my knee — 
 [sighing, returning to sink into chair as if weary.] Yet — 
 in all London 'tis to you only that I am myself — . 
 
DE AN SWIF T 71 
 
 Esther. 
 [Radiant, nearing the chair.] Ah-ah — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Moodily.] Myself that you're so fond o' finding fault 
 with — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Behind his chair, her hand on his shoulder.] Ah — 
 forgive me — . 
 
 Swift. 
 For just as I begin to forget that you are a woman — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Recoiling, to herself.] A woman! 
 
 Swift. 
 Out blazes that sharp tongue o' thine, demanding sub- 
 mission — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [As before.] Submission! 
 
 Swift. 
 Tis my heart — my weary heart you'll be attackin' 
 next — [in moody r every.] 
 
 Esther. 
 [Coming to his side. Tenderly.] Forgive me, Swift. 
 But for two long days you've been away — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Yet half the time my thoughts were here — away from 
 the quarrels o' the Tory ministry — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Hurrying to bring a footstool and to sit at his feet. 
 Radiant.] Oh — how proud — how proud you make me? 
 Ah, Swift—. 
 
72 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 [Absently twining a curl but NOT as a lover would.] 
 Silly flatterer—. 
 
 Esther. 
 Tis the truth — the truth — [laying her cheek on his 
 hand.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Withdrawing his hand.] Cease, thou foolish child — . 
 
 Esther. 
 And your poem of yesterday — [touching bosom.] See — 
 'tis here — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Pooh — a jingle o' words — rhymes that mean nothing — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Taking out, kissing, replacing poem.] Here — next my 
 heart — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Pah — destroy the thing — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Nay, I'll keep it forever ! 
 
 Swift. 
 [Moodiness rising to fierce anger.] Would that Lord 
 Treasurer Oxford were as kind. He calls me "Jonothan" 
 and "friend Swift." But I begin to believe that his min- 
 istry means to leave me as they found me — a hedge-par- 
 son — flattered — caressed and neglected! 
 
 Esther. 
 [With deep sympathy.] Would Lord Treasurer 
 DARE — after his promises — over his own signature? 
 
DE AN SWIF T 73 
 
 Swift. 
 Promises? The promises of a politician! Hell is 
 paved with them ! The Tory ship o' state is weatherin' the 
 storm — 'Tis the "Irish parson's" kept it afloat these three 
 months — . Delvin' into problems to fatten the treasury — 
 reachin' after ends so hard to find that my pillow's not 
 known me for many a night — . 
 
 Esther. 
 What base ingratitude! But Canterbury — 'Tis re- 
 ported that tonight — at Lord Treasurer's gardens you're 
 to get your commission — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Pah — I'll believe that when I hold the parchment in 
 these two hands — [moving agitatedly about. Then, ex- 
 plosively.] Nay — 'twill be better to leave London — . 
 
 Esther. 
 
 [Aside, agitatedly.] Leave London? [Covering her 
 eyes. ] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 And kill the demon of ambition that's devourin' me! 
 [In surprise, going to her.] Esther? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Recovering.] Ah — don't mind me — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Lifting her face.] Are those tears that I see? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Moving away.] Nay — 'tis just — the vapors. 
 
 Swift. 
 Nay, Esther — 'tis the shadow o' my unhappy self de- 
 mandin' thy soul's sympathy — . 
 
74 DE AN SWIF7 
 
 Esther. 
 Nay — you are wrong — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Gayly.] Ah then — 'tis an idle young hussy that'd bet- 
 ter be shakin' her heels to the tune o' a fiddle than be 
 listenin' to the woes o' a gown o' forty-four — . 
 
 Esther. 
 I tell you — you are wrong. 
 
 Swift. 
 Then Hess, you're in love. Tell me the name o' the 
 lucky man — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [Warningly, from door 3.] Ahem — [coming down, 
 followed by Mrs. Van Homrigh. Swift's manner has 
 not changed. But Esther's has. She flies to the escre- 
 toire, snatches up red book, pretends to read.] Your 
 Majesty's coffee's ready — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Ah — ye good child — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 [Frowning at Esther.] 'Deed, Mr. Dean, I greatly 
 deplore that you've taught Hessie to love books — [Molly 
 sits at harpischord, softly touching keys but listening to 
 the others.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Ye'd rather, ma'am, she'd feed a parrot or entertain 
 some brute in human form? 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 Aye — that would I ! For Hess, this very instant, shud 
 be thinkin' o' choosin' a life-mate — . 
 
DE AN SW IF T 75 
 
 Molly. 
 [Touching keys but speaking the words.] "For 'tis 
 love that makes the world go round — ." 
 
 Swift. 
 Silence, ye witch — . 
 
 Molly. 
 "And leads us all to matrimony — ." 
 
 Swift. 
 "Wi' its attendant children — sickness — discord and 
 loathing — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 [Covering her ears.] Stop, doctor — stop — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Love? Call it "thief" that'd rob ye of wit— call it 
 "Lucifer" that — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 Stop — Doctor — . Tis heresy — . 'Twill corrupt my 
 girls an' make spinsters of them both — . Come — coffee 
 is served — [Pleadingly.] Bid Esther make a choice an' 
 please me ! 
 
 Swift. 
 [With mock seriousness.] She shall, ma'am — she shall 
 this very day. 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 A million thanks, Doctor — [hurrying to right and out 
 door 2.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Going slowly to right, a girl clinging to each arm.] 
 Hess — Ye heard me give my promise to your good mother 
 just now? Faith, ye shall choose, this very day — . 
 
76 
 
 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Esther. 
 
 [Demurely.] But matrimony — with its attendant 
 children — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Pausing with them.] Hah — . 
 
 Molly. 
 Sickness — discord and loathing — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Of all the PRE-tentious young hussies — [All laughing, 
 going out door 2.] 
 
 Richard. 
 
 [After a moment Richard enters door 1. He looks 
 about him with a frown, hears Swift and Molly laugh, 
 stares at door 2, then comes down.] Drink coffee with 
 Swift? I will NOT. [Throws himself into chair in boy- 
 ish misery, bites his nails, mops his eyes. Lewis appears 
 at door 1 with Jeems. Dismissing Jeems, Lewis enters. 
 Hears the gay voices from right, notes Richard's agita- 
 tion. He nods knowingly, comes down softly behind 
 Richard and pokes his ribs. Richard springs up 
 savagely.] Who the devil — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Laughing.] No — . But a distant relation — . 
 
 Richard. 
 Pardon me, Lewis. But I've the most infernal tooth- 
 ache — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Nay, Richard — a heartache. But I know a cure. 
 
 Richard. 
 Then in God's name give it me. 
 
DEAN SWIFT 77 
 
 Lewis. 
 [In guarded tones, indicating door 2.] The Dean — ? 
 
 Richard. 
 [Sullenly.] Is there — taking coffee with the ladies — 
 as usual. 
 
 Lewis. 
 You must be aware, Richard, that your cousin Esther's 
 name — here in London, is being coupled with that of 
 Swift—. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Hah — the Dean is fortunate — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 But there lives in Dublin another woman — . 
 
 Richard. 
 
 [Coarsely.] Oho — the "pious parson — ." 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 His ward — who dwells in his house — receives his 
 friends — . Swift'll marry Mistress Stella/ Johnson when 
 he wins Canterbury — . So that your cousin should be 
 warned—. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Damn your parson ! As for "warning" the lady — warn 
 her yourself — and be hanged to you — [hurrying through 
 door 1. Lewis smiles, shrugs, moves toward door 2, 
 listens, makes as if to enter, then changes his mind, coming 
 dozvn as — ] 
 
 Jeems. 
 
 [Entering door 1 followed by a richly -dressed, middle- 
 aged peer, on his breast a badge of office. Announcing.] 
 My Lord Bolingbroke, Secretary of State — [salutes him, 
 exits. Bolingbroke enters.] 
 
78 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Greeting Bolingbroke familiarly.] Ah — Mister Sec- 
 retary of State — You've come for coffee, as usual? 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Not for coffee — this time. And — the Dean? 
 
 Lewis. 
 In Mistress Van's coffee-room. I'll summon him — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Er — not yet, Lewis — not yet. [Taking parchment from 
 breast, with anxious look at door 2.] Fact is — I want to 
 ask a favor of the Dean — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Which Swift'll grant — that is, if it's anything in 
 reason — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 But it happens to be something not in reason — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Better not ask it, then. 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Nor would I — had I not promised an old friend — er — 
 her Grace of Marlbro — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Her Grace — ! asking a favor for her Grace of Marlbro, 
 who's stood between Swift and Canterbury these two 
 years? Why, sir — Swift'll never grant — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Would to heaven I'd not promised. But — since young 
 Lovelace is my god- son — . 
 
DE AN SW IF T 79 
 
 Lewis. 
 Lovelace — your god-son? Gad, sir, I wasn't aware 
 that—. 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 A relationship I've never mentioned because of the 
 youth's profligate career. But since her Grace vows that 
 a change of scene may save him — a trip to France — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 With the Embassy ? Good God, man, with a record 
 like your god-son's — Swift is sure to refuse. Aha — 
 fancy sending the nephew of the bitterest of Whigs to 
 France with the Tory Embassy! No — no — it can't be 
 done — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Pushing Jeems aside rudely and hurrying through 
 door 1.] I say, god-father — [Exit Jeems.] 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 [Sharply.] Didn't I warn you, sir, to remain outside? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 And I warn you, god- father, that I stir not one step to 
 France without Mistress Esther — . 
 
 Lewis and Bolingbroke. 
 Mistress Esther? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Whom I love — adore ! Her Grace was here an hour 
 ago—. 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Her Grace — here? 
 
 Lewis. 
 Humph — [turning away.] 
 
80 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Lovelace. 
 I swear to't. Her Grace asked for me — most form- 
 ally — for the lady's hand — . As for the lady herself — 
 [foppish gesture.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 Your god-son must reckon with Swift on this, sir. 
 
 Lovelace. 
 With the "parson"? I fancy not. 'Tis an affair be- 
 tween hearts and not dirty politics. 
 
 Lewis. 
 [With scornful gesture.] Pah — . 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 [Haughtily.] If my god-son's offer to the lady be made 
 in good faith — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 
 My honor on't, god- father — my sacred honor — . 
 
 [Door 2 opens. Molly and Esther appear. Lovelace 
 makes to exit at door 1 but changes his mind, retreating to 
 beyond harpischord. Bolingbroke, passing harpischord, 
 places parchment on it. Mrs. Van Homrigh and Swift 
 follow the two girls down. Swift's face still wears a 
 smile.] 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Servant, ma'am — [kissing Mrs. Van Homrigh's 
 hand.] Ladies — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 Morning — morning — [exchange of salutes, laughter, all 
 coming down.] 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 [Saluting Swift as he comes down as an equal.] Morn- 
 ing, Swift — [Swift briefly nods, going to table.] 
 
DE AN SWIF T 81 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Gentlemen — 'tis not too late for coffee — . 
 
 Lewis and Bolingbroke. 
 Not today — another time — [Molly joins Lovelace at 
 harpischord. Lewis joins Esther down right-front.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Well, Bolingbroke — ? 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 [Nervously.] A favor at your hands, Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Imperiously.] Business first, Mr. Secretary o' State — . 
 My orders 'bout the fleet? 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 To Spain, as you advised — . 
 
 Swift. 
 And — the envoy to Holland? ' 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Gone as you suggested — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [Laughing. To Lovelace.] Nay — you flatter us all — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Discovering Lovelace. Frowning, at table.] Hah — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Gad, sir, you've cut out enough work for the Tory 
 ministry to last a for'night — . 
 
82 DE AN SW IF T 
 
 Swift. 
 [Meaningly.] Yet England's Secretary o' State finds 
 time to waste wi' fops an' fools — [Lovelace puts hand on 
 sword. Molly leaves the harpischord and joins Esther.] 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 But — unfortunately my god-son — . Er — Swift — as you 
 are aware, the Embassy to France is short of a secretary — 
 the place will suit a young friend of mine — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Briefly.] Then give it him! 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 You agree to that? 
 
 Swift. 
 Pooh — why should I refuse? 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Er — because the youth is — of the opposite camp — . 
 
 Swift. 
 What, sir — a Whig? Nay — nay — not while there are 
 plenty o' young Tories for the place — [Lewis moves to 
 harpischord. ] 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 But — to keep a promise to an old friend — Why, sir, 
 with your name on this voucher — [hurrying to bring down 
 parchment from harpischord and spreading it to table be- 
 fore Swift] every door in France will open to my god- 
 son — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Jeeringly.] What — send yonder fop an' fool to France 
 wi' the Embassy? [Lovelace with a muttered word puts 
 hand on sword. Lewis smiles, forbids with shake of the 
 
BE AN SWIF T 83 
 
 head.] Yonder rake — wi' ambition no higher than the 
 laces at his wrist — ? Stand sponsor for HIM? I will 
 not. Ye must be mad, Bolingbroke, to ask that as a 
 "favor." [Discarding parchment.] 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 
 But suppose the youth has a change of heart? [Crossing 
 to Esther.] 
 
 Swift. 
 What's his change o' heart to me? 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 But — since the lady's well known to you — [bringing 
 Esther to center and leaving her there, where she stands 
 agitated, silent.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Going to Esther. In lower tone.] Good God, child, 
 is this he that ye love? This ne'er-do-well — this titled 
 rake — [Mrs. Van Homrigh hurries to Swift.] Ah — 
 I can not believe it — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Nay, doctor — your promise of an hour ago — that Esther 
 make a choice — . 
 
 Swift. 
 But, ma'am — to hand your daughter over to this — 
 this— Ah-h— . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Pah — 'tis just court gossip — nothing more. And wi' a 
 wife to steady him — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Ah — the pity of it — the pity of it — . 
 
84 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 But consider, sir — a future duchess! The strawberry 
 leaves o' a crownet — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Ah-h — Where's the woman in a' London'd refuse the 
 chance? Bolingbroke — [leaving Esther and returning to 
 sit at table with moody look.] 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Swift? 
 
 Swift. 
 That parchment — I'll sign. 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Lewis — [who finds pen and ink-pot on escritoire. He 
 brings both to table where Bolingbroke smilingly speads 
 the parchment open. Presenting pen with a bozv.] Sign 
 here, sir — [Swift takes up pen, stares at parchment, 
 pauses moodily, watching Esther as Lovelace hurries to 
 take her hand.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Tearfully, joyfully, to Molly.] Ah — Molly — a future 
 duchess for thy sister — a duchess — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Mistress Esther — so ye'll go to France wi' me tomor- 
 row — [Esther withdraws her hand.] Nay — nay — let me 
 teach you what love means — I adore you — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [With a low cry.] No — I'll not listen — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Scandalized.] ESTHER ! 
 
DEAN SWIFT 85 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Flippantly.] Give me time, ma'am — give me time and 
 your fair daughter will — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Dashing down pen, rising and coming down quickly.] 
 Looke, sirrah — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Insolently.] What now, sir? 
 
 Swift. 
 Since this house hath no master — as a friend of all 
 under this roof — . This marriage — Is her Grace aware — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Her Grace was here an hour ago and asked for the 
 lady's hand — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Bolingbroke — ? You vouch for the truth of this? 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Yes. Since my god-son's sworn it on his. word of 
 honor — . 
 
 Swift. 
 His "word of honor!" Pah — [Lovelace's hand again 
 on sword.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 My word for't, Mister Dean. 'Twas her Grace as 
 asked me — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [To Esther.] 'Tis as good as done, Mistress — . 
 
 Swift. 
 And — the ceremony is — when ? 
 
86 DEANSWIF'l 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Since the Embassy means to cross channel tomorrow — 
 [taking Esther's hand again.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Tomorrow!!! [Looks at Esther with pity, utters a 
 deep sigh, moves to table, takes up pen.] Bolingbroke — 
 I'll sign after all — [Signing parchment.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Taking Esther down front. In low, ardent tones.] 
 Mistress Esther, why so cold a look? 
 
 Esther. 
 I have told you that I do not love you. Would you 
 marry me, knowing that? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Yes — I would — I will. Marry me — give me time to win 
 you. Marry me — go to France with me tomorrow — to 
 France, where the nights are brighter than the days — 
 France — the land to love in — Ah, Mistress Esther! In 
 France, with me beside you — you'll soon surrender to the 
 passion that's consumin' me — Ah — beautiful body that'll 
 soon be in my arms — [Embracing her.] 
 
 Esther. 
 No — no — you must not — you shall not — [Getting away 
 and coming down front agitatedly.] 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 [Going to her, in low tones.] Child — are ye crazy? 
 
 Esther. 
 I warned you, mother, that my body was my own — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 87 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 Your conduct is scandalous. Ye shall ask pardon this 
 minute — [Bringing Esther down to Lovelace.] Your 
 good lordship — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Appealingly.] Ah, mother — [Mrs. Van Homrigh 
 joins Molly at har pis chord.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 All's forgiven mistress. 
 
 Esther. 
 [Surrendering to fate with a bitter cry.] Ah — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Clasping Esther.] Mistress — you are mine — mine. 
 
 Swift. 
 Looke, Lovelace — the name o' the parson's to tie the 
 knot — [Coming down quickly.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 [Angrily.] Am I a child that must recite a lesson? 
 Besides, 'tis an affair between Mistress Esther and myself 
 only — [seizing Esther again.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Roughly thrusting Lovelace aside and stepping be- 
 tween him and Esther.] Come — his name — the parson's 
 name — . 
 
 Lovelace. 
 I tell you 'tis not your affair. [Reaching across Swift 
 to Esther.] Come away with me, Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 No — no — I will not — I hate — despise you — . 
 
88 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 ESTHER! 
 
 Swift. 
 [Putting Esther behind him. Fiercely, to Lovelace.] 
 So, sirrah — 'twas a mock marriage ye'd planned — . 
 
 Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
 
 A mock marriage? My — oh — my — [weeping into 
 handkerchief .] 
 
 [Duchess and mute servant with Jeems appear at door 
 1. Duchess signals to Jeems — he vanishes.] 
 
 Swift. 
 A mock marriage — [walking almost over Lovelace 
 with savage look, pointing to door 1.] Liar and perjurer — 
 Get ye hence — [Lovelace recoils.] 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Insolently, coming down, the mute remains at door.] 
 What, sir Dean, be this the language to address to MY 
 nephew and an English peer? 
 
 Swift. 
 Ah — your Grace is just in time to hear — . Yonder 
 rascal had planned a mock marriage — he'd have made of 
 Mistress Esther — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 His mistress? Ha ha — What — mistress to a future 
 Duke? 'Twould ha' made the girl famous. Tilly-vally, 
 sir Dean — . 
 
 [Swift crosses to Duchess and eyes her with a glance 
 of scorn. She quails and recoils with a gesture of fear. 
 Then, abruptly turning his back on her, coming to Boling- 
 broke and touching the badge on his breast. Sternly.] 
 Beware, mister Secretary o' State, lest the "Irish parson" 
 deprive ye of your place in Parliament — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 89 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 [Agitatedly.] I call Lewis to witness, sir, that I be- 
 lieved the offer an honorable one — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Bah! [Going to table, snatching up, tearing the parch- 
 ment across and discarding the pieces. Indicating Love- 
 lace who has backed to left.] As for that place on the 
 Embassy — ye can put yonder ass to graze elsewhere! 
 [Pointing to door.] Go, sir, go. The very air's polluted 
 that ye breathe — . 
 
 [Lovelace, with hand on sword, suddenly turns, rushes 
 past the Duchess and exits door 1.] 
 
 Esther. 
 [As Molly runs to her at centre.] Ah — Molly — [both 
 faces radiant — the test a proof of Swift's love for 
 Esther.] 
 
 Duchess. , 
 
 [Coming down a little.] Hah, Swift — ye shall rue this 
 day. Ye shall rue it — . This insult to my house — . 
 
 Swift. 
 As for your Grace — [going to door 1 lifting the 
 drapery, with genial smile] we bid you good morning. 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Pausing under the drapery.] An' though 'tis reported 
 that ye win the gown o' Canterbury at Lord Treasurer's 
 dinner tonight — your commission signed an' sealed — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Genially, as before.] A very good morning — . 
 
90 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Duchess. 
 Hah — . I'll yet find a way to thwart ye — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Genially.] Try it, your Grace — and see which of us — 
 will win ! 
 
 [Swift holding back the drapery with genial smile. The 
 Duchess glaring at him over her shoulder, the Indian 
 mute beyond. Esther and Molly with radiant faces, 
 watching Swift. Mrs. Van Homrigh at harpischord, 
 weeping into handkerchief, consoled by Lewis, who smiles 
 a little. Bolingbroke sits at right with bent head.] 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
THE THIRD ACT. 
 
 Scene — Lord Treasurer's Garden, London. Evening 
 of the same day. 
 
 A wide lawn with a fountain or a parterre of flowers at 
 its centre. Half -circling this is a rustic seat round 
 which most of the incidents occur. At left, at the 
 rear, is a massive gate opening inward from the road. 
 To right of gate along the rear is a platform, a few 
 shallow steps leading to its top. To extreme right of 
 this platform is the door to the banquet-room. Along 
 the top of the platform is a breast-high grillwork. Be- 
 low it the road leading off to both right and left. At 
 the foot of platform are two pedestals holding lighted 
 flambeaux. At the base of both pedestals is dense 
 shrubbery or vines about three feet high. Along both 
 right and left of lawn is shrubbery and beyond the left 
 side are trees. Rustic seats here and there. Many 
 colored lanterns, and a moon rising on distant sky. 
 
 At rise — The English Court in full regalia — the Tory 
 Ministry and their friends. A minuet being danced 
 down centre to the music of an unseen orchestra. A 
 footman stands at gate. 
 
 [The minuet ends, the dancers move off. Two extrava- 
 gantly dressed ladies with escorts pause before the 
 curved seat.] 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 [Young, vivacious.] Listen, friends. 
 
92 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Her Friends. 
 Let's hear — little Nettle — let's hear. 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 Maria Monckton's "diamonds" be all of paste. 
 
 Her Friends. 
 OF PASTE!!! 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 Yes. At the Ballington ball last night, they fell to the 
 floor and exploded. 
 
 Her Friends. 
 EXPLODED ! ! ! 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 Well — when they fell from her bosom they broke into 
 bits—. 
 
 Her Friends. 
 Into bits? Ha-Ha-Ha— . 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 But I never believed she'd paid all those guineas for 
 them — . 
 
 Her Friends. 
 [All moving to right.] Nor I — nor I — . 
 
 Lady Tattleton. 
 [A duplicate of Lady Nettleton and friends come to 
 seat.] Listen, friends — stop and listen. 
 
 Her Friends. 
 Tell us — Let us hear — . 
 
DE AN BW IF T 93 
 
 Lady Tattleton. 
 'Tis reported that when her Majesty, last week, sent a 
 messenger for the key of the royal bed-chamber, her 
 Grace o' Marlbro took it from her bosom and flung it on 
 the floor — . 
 
 Her Friends. 
 FLUNG IT ON THE FLOOR— her Majesty's gold 
 key— Oh— Oh — . 
 
 Lady Tattleton. 
 
 Yes. "There it is," says she. "And give it to whom 
 ye like." Then her Grace shed tears — . 
 
 Her Friends. 
 SHED TEARS? Ha-Ha-Ha— . 
 
 Lady Tattleton. 
 Tore off her wig and danced on it — . 
 
 Her Friends. ■ 
 Danced on her wig? OH-OH — . 
 
 Lord Harcourt. 
 
 [An elderly Peer wearing a badge of office joins the 
 group.] Did you know that her Grace's nephew goes 
 not to France with the Embassy? [Cries of "not to 
 France" and "why not?"] Because the Dean refused. 
 [Applause.] And the best news of all — [cries of "Let's 
 hear."] 'Tis reported that the Dean's commission lies in 
 her Majesty's bed-chamber — . 
 
 Lady Tattleton and Friends. 
 [Startled.] In the Queen's bed-chamber? 
 
94 DE AN SW IF T 
 
 Harcourt. 
 Yes. When her Majesty's physicians told Lord 
 Treasurer that she was ill — [Cries of derision] he insisted 
 that she was well enough to trace her signature on a bit 
 of parchment — [applause] so he left it there and is to send 
 for it within the hour. 
 
 Lady Tattleton and Friends. 
 Bravo the Dean — Viva Swift — Canterbury. 
 
 Harcourt. 
 [Indicating a middle-aged Peer with splendid badge of 
 office as he comes from door of banquet-room.] Hist — 
 our host — Lord Treasurer — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Coming down steps and greeting friends. In his hand 
 is a small white tablet.] Welcome, friends, welcome — . 
 
 Guests. 
 [Saluting him.] Lord Treasurer — Oxford — . 
 
 Harcourt. 
 [loining Oxford down front.] Oxford — is it true that 
 the Dean's to get his commission tonight, here in your 
 garden ? 
 
 Oxford. 
 Yes. I had almost to force my way into the Queen's 
 bed-chamber — . 
 
 Harcourt. 
 Then you don't believe she's ill? 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Frowningly reading tablet.] Most certainly not. Some 
 trick of those damnable Whigs. Oh — she'll sign. I've 
 no fears on that score. 
 
DEAN SWIFT 95 
 
 Harcourt. 
 Thank heaven, we Tories have paid our debt to Swift 
 at last. So her Grace — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 After a battle against the Dean for two long years — 
 her Grace loses the game after all. 
 
 Harcourt. 
 Then — why your worried look, Lord Treasurer? 
 
 Oxford. 
 Why? [Striking the tablet.] Look, you, Harcourt, 
 This tablet holds the name of every Tory invited to this 
 dinner — yet but half of them are here — the other half — 
 [biting his lips.] 
 
 Harcourt. 
 The other half? 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Lewis comes down.] The other half is ready to 
 follow my Secretary of State into the other camp — . 
 
 Harcourt. . 
 
 Bolingbroke to go over to the Whigs? Hah, sir — I 
 can't believe — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 But I've proof of it — proof of it! 
 
 Lewis. 
 My Lord Treasurer — could hear you clear to the 
 gate—. 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 Pooh! since we're among friends — . And doesn't all 
 England know that those damnable Whigs have been try- 
 ing — these many months to turn out the ministry — se- 
 ducing our friends — actually, at this very moment guard- 
 ing the Queen's bed-chamber — ? 
 
96 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Startled.] Guarding the Queen's bed-chamber? For 
 what reason, sir? 
 
 Oxford. 
 Under pretence that she is ill and needs the ministration 
 of all her friends, no matter of what camp — . Ill — though 
 but yesterday she gave audience to three ambassadors. 
 
 Lewis. 
 But, Oxford — Swift's commission for Canterbury — ? 
 
 Oxford. 
 It lies this moment within the royal bed-chamber all 
 but signed — . I've but to send a messenger for it — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Good news indeed — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 To balance the bad news that Bolingbroke's been dicker- 
 ing with the Whigs — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Startled.] Ah—? 
 
 Oxford. 
 Yes. But where's the Dean ? Why is he so late — since 
 I am giving this dinner in his honor? 
 
 Lewis. 
 [Laughing.] He's probably keeping those "lazy beg- 
 gars" as he calls them, waiting his pleasure. 
 
 Oxford. 
 I wish he were here. I feel more secure with Swift 
 at my elbow. [Moving off with Harcourt and Lewis.] 
 
DE AN SWIF T 97 
 
 [A commotion at gate as the Duchess enters alone, ex- 
 travagantly dressed and painted. Laughing guests make 
 way for her with sneering remarks which the Duchess 
 ignores as she comes down to curved seat where she sits, 
 calmly spreading out her splendid dress and waving her 
 fan.] 
 
 Lady Tattleton. 
 [Coming down with escort to seat. Sweetly.] Why — 
 your Grace — 'mong Tories? 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Gayly.] Why not, little Tattle — wi' the rest o' the 
 rag-tag an' bob-tail o' the Court? 
 
 Lady Tattleton. 
 But — alone? And without your great "general," the 
 Duke? And at whose invitation is your Grace here? 
 
 Duchess. 
 Begone, little Tattle an' wash off some of that paint — . 
 
 Lady Tattleton. 
 
 Am no more painted that yourself that's old enough 
 to be my grandam! [Moving off with escort.] 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 
 [Nearing Duchess with escort.] Her Grace o' Marl- 
 bro ! No — no — I must be mistaken — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 Aye — 'twas only yesterday that I heard ye were losing 
 your eyesight. [Low laughter of guests at Lady Nettle- 
 ton's expense.] 
 
98 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 But my eyesight's good enough to behold the ninth won- 
 der o' the world — the bitterest o' Whigs — at a Tory din- 
 ner — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Aha — the tenth wonder — the report that you've already 
 planned to elope wi' your youngest footman — . 
 
 Lady Nettleton. 
 'Tis a lie — a lie — [stamping her foot, tearfully appeal- 
 ing to friends who softly jeer at her. To Duchess.] 
 Oh — you wicked woman ! [Friends carry Lady Nettle- 
 ton off. Again the Duchess calmly arranges her draper- 
 ies, ignoring the sneers about her.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Coming down right with Lewis and discovering the 
 Duchess.] Look — Lewis — look, her Grace of Marlbro — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Gad — so it is — . At whose invitation? 
 
 Oxford. 
 I'll ask her. [Crossing to Duchess, followed more 
 slowly by Lewis.] Your Grace — ? 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Smiling, with the smallest of bows.] Eh, Oxford — ? 
 
 Oxford. 
 Your Grace — at a Tory dinner? 
 
 Duchess. 
 An' why not, Lord Treasurer — if the cookin' be good? 
 
DE AN SWIF T 99 
 
 Oxford. 
 Here — at whose invitation, may I ask? 
 
 Duchess. 
 On my own. Like the rest o' the world I'm here to 
 see the g-r-e-a-t Dean get his commission — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Frowning, coldly turning away.] Humph — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Rising.] Ah well — since ye don't want an old woman 
 at your dinner-table — [turning as if to go.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Coldly.] The "old woman" is welcome — [Moving off 
 with Lewis to right.] 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Again insolently returning the glares of those about 
 her as she spreads her draperies on seat. Bolingbroke 
 enters gate, comes down, saluting guests as, friends. As 
 he nears the curved seat, the Duchess sees him, taps the 
 seat with her fan, with a smile.] Bolingbroke — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 [Startled at seeing her, with a hasty glance about, he 
 joins her.] Your Grace here? 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Merrily.] An' why shudn't I be here? 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 But — in Lord Treasurer's gardens ! Your Grace among 
 Tories — / 
 
100 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Duchess. 
 Come, sit ye down here — . 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 No — no. I must refuse. Has Oxford — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Discovered me? Ha ha — he has. 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 What said he to you? 
 
 Duchess. 
 Mighty little when I told him I'd come — like the rest o' 
 the world, to see Swift get his commission — . 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Then he's not heard of that affair of this morning — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 My nephew's love affair ? Pooh ! Let him hear. And 
 thanks for the loan of your coach — . 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Had I known that your Grace's reason for borrowing 
 my coach was — [agitated] to visit this garden — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Merrily.] Ye wouldn't ha' loaned it, eh? 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Ah — your Grace has ruined me with Oxford — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 But since ye'e been quarrelling wi' him these many 
 months. But — listen to the real reason o' my being here. 
 Tis to answer Swift's challenge o' this mornin' — to see 
 which of us will win. 
 
DEAN SWIFT 101 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Then I hope to heaven your Grace will lose. 
 
 Duchess. 
 Well, I'll take a chance. [Seeing Oxford coming down. 
 Merrily.] Hah — Here's a rod in pickle for ye — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Sternly.] Bolingbroke — . 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 [Saluting. Deprecatingly.] Oxford- Lord Treasurer — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 Mister Secretary of State — this rendezvous — with her 
 Grace — in my garden — At this dinner given to Swift — 
 'Tis an insult to the Dean as well. 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 'Tis not meant to be. Let me explain. 
 
 Oxford. 
 This is the second "favor" you've extended to her 
 Grace today ! That place on the Embassy for her rascally 
 nephew — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Merrily.] Tut, tut, Oxford — let my relatives alone — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Ignoring Duchess.] Report reaches me that you 
 visit Blenhiem — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 But as a friend — as a friend only. Believe me, Lord 
 Treasurer — . 
 
102 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Oxford. 
 That you hobnob with the Whigs there — listen to of- 
 fers to betray your party — . 
 
 BoLINGBROKE. 
 
 [His hand on sword.] He who say that — LIES! 
 
 Oxford. 
 [His hand on sword.] This — to your superior in the 
 Ministry — [Both swords cross at centre. Guests gather 
 with cries of alarm. The Duchess cackles merrily and 
 rises to see the better.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 Bolingbroke — [disarming him, returning sword and 
 taking him to rear.] 
 
 Harcourt. 
 Lord Treasurer — [disarming him.] Before your guests, 
 the ladies — ? [Returning sword and leading Oxford off 
 to right.] 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 [Merrily, addressing guests.] What — must ye always 
 be needing the "Irish Parson" to keep the peace between 
 ye? Swift — who makes laws for e'en the Queen — for- 
 bids paint, powder an' beauty spots to the Maids o' 
 Honor — By my coronet — Swift'll yet be askin' ye to kiss 
 his slipper — . 
 
 [A commotion near gate. Swift enters in splendid 
 court suit of satin, a slight touch of powder on his black 
 wig. He comes down between the double lane of admiring 
 guests. He smiles at guests, not saluting them. His face 
 beams, plainly showing he feels his hour of triumph is 
 near.] 
 
BE AN SWIFT 103 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 [Startled.] Hah — 'tis Swift — [Brazenly seising the 
 arm of the nearest male guest and making him promenade 
 with her at right, within hearing of Swift.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 [Meeting Swift at centre with extended hands.] Wel- 
 come Swift — Welcome, Archbishop of Canterbury — 
 [Loud cries of "Swift" and "Canterbury."] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Shaking Oxford's hands, laughing.] Canterbury? 
 Aha — not yet, Oxford — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 When your commission lies at this moment in the 
 Queen's bed-chamber? 
 
 Swift. 
 Nay, Lord Treasurer — until I hold it in these two 
 hands — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Hail — King of Tories — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Bah — I'd rather be King o' Hades — for then my sub- 
 jects'd be less unruly — [Guests murmur and quiet down.] 
 Oxford, had I known that I was to serve as "a lion" — 
 [With sudden disdainful look at guests.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Laughing.] Nay, Swift, you see here the flower of 
 England's nobility. 
 
 Swift. 
 Corrupt politicians an' a licentious Court — [ Guests mur- 
 mur.] Oxford, where's the bill o' your company — ? 
 
104 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Giving tablet.] 'Tis here, Swift. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Disdaining to read to himself.] Duke o' Ormonde? 
 He'll do. Earl Peterbro — Harcourt — Shrewsbury — 
 Rivers — [mutteringly.] Prior — [suddenly striking the 
 tablet.] Hah— NOTTINGHAM ! ! When ye know, Ox- 
 ford, that he'd sell us Tories for a bag o' ha'pence — 
 [Tossing the tablet back to Oxford.] Either I dine wi' 
 honest men or not at all — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 [Beckoning a footman whose belt denotes a higher rank 
 than his fellows.] Right, Swift, and — as he's not yet ar- 
 rived — [whispering to footman, who salutes, exits quickly 
 through the gate.] 'Tis corrected, Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Mollified.] Ah — [Beginning to view guests as cab- 
 bages.] What's to amuse me here? Three dukes — four 
 "noble" earls — thrice as many Lords — [Discovering the 
 Duchess. Pointing to her merrily.] Hah, Oxford — is't 
 a convert ye have there? [Low laughter of guests.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 [To humiliate Duchess.] Pooh — 'tis just — her Grace 
 of Marlbro. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Peering at the Duchess under his hand.] Faith — so 
 'tis! Come to see "the Irish parson" get his gown? 
 [Saluting her.] Swift is mightily honored — yes — an' 
 pleased ! 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Raising a clenched hand.] Hah, Swift — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 105 
 
 Swift. 
 [Abruptly turning his back on her. To Harcourt who 
 presents a richly-dressed guest.] Well, Harcourt? 
 
 Harcourt. 
 Swift — this is Lord Comstock — [guest bows deeply.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Insolently, ignoring guest.] Bah — Harcourt — have 
 too many "lords" on my list already — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 [In lower tone, laughingly.] Gad, Swift — Comstock's 
 neither Whig nor Tory — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Neither — ? in times like these? He must be neuter 
 gender then — . 
 
 Oxford. 
 Also a distant relative of her Grace's — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Disdaining to lower his voice.] Pooh I What's her 
 Grace's "relatives" to me — or her ancestors either? 
 
 Duchess. 
 Thank God there were no "parsons" among 'em! 
 
 Swift. 
 [Genially.] No such good luck, ma'am. 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Laughing.] Desist, Swift, desist. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Superbly.] Pooh! Why should I? Isn't this MY 
 dinner, Oxford? 
 
106 BE AN SWIF T 
 
 [The Duchess with a gesture of fury, suddenly 
 dropping her escort's arm, rushes up steps into banquet- 
 room to laughter of guests.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 To dinner, friends — [Guests begin to move to rear.] 
 Come, Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Seeing Molly with young escort entering gate.] In 
 a moment, Oxford. [Oxford leads guests to banquet- 
 room door, waiting there for Swift.] 
 
 Molly 
 [In extravagant dress, comes to centre with escort. 
 With a sweeping bow.] Hail — Majesty — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Smiling and pinching her cheek.] Molly, ye witch — 
 stop that trick o' droppin' to your knees — . 
 
 Molly. 
 
 Your Majesty looks splendid tonight — ! G-r-a-n-d! 
 O-O-OH— . 
 
 Swift. 
 Another curts'y an' I'll have ye ordered from yonder 
 gate. Where's Esther? 
 
 Molly. 
 On the road with Richard — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Ah — The young jade's always late — [cries from ban- 
 quet-room of "Swift."] 
 
DE AN SWIFT 107 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 [Coming down a little.] Swift — your guests await 
 you — [Swift motions to Molly, she hurries up steps with 
 escort into banquet-room. Swift and Oxford follow. 
 Swift is greeted at the door with clapping of hands, he 
 bows, enters, Oxford follows, the door closes, voices con- 
 tinuing to be heard from there.] 
 
 [A slight pause. Then Esther and Richard enter. 
 Esther is simply dressed. About her waist is a soft, 
 silken white sash. Richard is in military dress, white 
 cloth cuffs, short sword, powdered wig. Esther enters 
 quickly, instantly intent on voices from right. Richard 
 follows with agitated looks. He goes straight to the curved 
 seat and throws himself on it with covered eyes. Esther 
 looks at him, goes up a step or two, looks back at Richard, 
 frowns and comes down to behind seat.] 
 
 Esther. 
 Richard — . 
 
 Richard. 
 [Turning to her appealingly.] Esther — cousin Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Ah — why cannot you be satisfied with a plain "no ?" 
 
 Richard. 
 Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Impatiently, eager to get to banquet-room.] I've told 
 you a dozen times, Richard, that I can never marry you. 
 So ask me not again. 
 
 Richard. 
 Esther, your refusal means exile to me! 
 
108 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Esther. 
 [Startled.] Exile? You'd give up home — friends, 
 country, and your career in the army — . 
 
 Richard. 
 All — all, and bury myself where dangers lurk — 
 America ! 
 
 Esther. 
 Silly boy — [Renewed cries of "Swift," "the Dean" and 
 "Canterbury" Applause. Esther hurries to steps 
 quickly.] 
 
 Richard. 
 [Jumping up, follows, seizing her arm.] Esther — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Let go — how DARE you, Richard — ? 
 
 Richard. 
 [Bringing her down and flinging her to before him.] 
 But before I go you shall answer me one question — . 
 
 Esther. 
 I'll answer no question of yours, Richard — . 
 
 Richard. 
 Then I'll ask and answer the question myself. You 
 refuse me? Why? Because you love the Dean — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Covering her ears.] I'll not listen — I'll not listen — . 
 
 Richard. 
 The Dean who's promised to another — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Not listen — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 109 
 
 Richard. 
 To Mistress Stella Johnson — who lives in his house — 
 receives his friends — . 
 
 Esther. 
 "Tis false — 'tis false — . 
 
 Richard. 
 When Swift wins Canterbury he'll marry Mistress 
 Stella—. 
 
 Esther. 
 [In tearful triumph.] Whom he left to return to me — 
 to me — . 
 
 Richard. 
 OHO— OHO— HA HA—. 
 
 Esther. 
 [Sobbingly.] Oh — cruel Richard, cruel Richard — 
 [Rushing through shrubbery to left.] 
 
 [Richard falls agitatedly on rustic seat, bites his nails, 
 weeps into his handkerchief till renewed cries of 
 "SWIFT" "the DEAN" make him scowl toward banquet- 
 room. Then, deciding to pull himself together, he mops 
 his eyes and throws back his shoulders boyishly. A 
 scream comes from left.] 
 
 [Springing up, his hand on sword.] Esther's voice — 
 Esther — [running to left and through shrubbery. A 
 slight pause. Then Swift and Harcourt come from ban- 
 quet-room, the door closed, down to front.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Frowning.] Now, Harcourt — since you've spoiled my 
 dinner — . 
 
110 BE AN SW IF T 
 
 Harcourt. 
 [Agitatedly.] I tell you, Swift, there's mischief brew- 
 ing — our enemies, the Whigs — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Pho — wi' the bitterest o' 'em eatin' Oxford puddings 
 yonder ? 
 
 Harcourt. 
 But isn't it like her Grace to be on hand when the blow 
 falls? 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Startled.] The blow — what blow d'ye mean? 
 
 Harcourt. 
 This continued report of the Queen's illness — . 
 
 Swift. 
 An' you'd spoil my dinner because an old woman's got 
 an ache in her toe? Bah — . 
 
 Harcourt. 
 From my seat at table — next to her Grace, I could dis- 
 tinctly hear her whisper to Comstock that her Majesty's 
 lain in a coma all afternoon — . 
 
 Swift. 
 A COMA? Hah! we must look into that report. Go 
 you to the palace — insist on seeing the Queen — be she ill 
 or well — [both hurrying to gate] and return here without 
 delay — Your coach — . 
 
 Harcourt. 
 At the foot of the hill — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Make haste, Harcourt, I'll await you here — . 
 
DE AN SWI F T 111 
 
 Harcourt. 
 But — your guests — why not join them — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Pushing Harcourt to gate.] No — no — I'll await you 
 here — Hurry — [Harcourt exits through gate and off to 
 right, to road. Swift comes down to seat, sinks on it as 
 if anticipating the worst.] What if this report be true — 
 What if the Queen expires without signing my commis- 
 sion — what if Canterbury is lost to me? It would mean 
 that I'm to die on Irish soil — like a poisoned rat in a hole!! 
 [A scream from left. Swift comes out of his troubled 
 thought as Esther backs in at left through shrubbery, 
 her dress awry, her sash falling off, her looks agitated as 
 she stares to left. Swift, his woes forgotten, hurries to 
 take her hand.] Esther — [Esther struggles to get away 
 as if not recognizing Swift.] Esther, child — 'tis Swift — 
 fear not — . 
 
 Esther. 
 
 Ah Swift — [pointing to left.] He will kill my poor 
 cousin — . v 
 
 [Clash of swords and savage cries come from left. 
 Then, through the shrubbery Lovelace backs in, his sword 
 crossing that of Richard's. On Lovelace's white silken 
 shirt is a crimson stain. Richard backs Lovelace in, a 
 crimson stain on one white cuff. Both reach the centre. 
 Esther falls agitatedly onto curved seat.] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [ With raised hand walking between the swords. ] Stop — 
 Stop. The meaning of this? [Lovelace lowers his sword 
 and begins sullenly to dig its point into the ground.] 
 
112 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Richard. 
 [Putting up his sword.] I found Mistress Esther 
 struggling with two footmen in the woods yonder — foot- 
 men in the Marlbro livery — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [To Lovelace.] Ah — ? 
 
 Lovelace. 
 'Tis a lie — they were no servants of mine — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [To Richard.] And — Her Graces' nephew — ? 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Skulking behind the trees — in safety. [Esther goes to 
 Richard and begins to bind his wounded wrist with her 
 sash. Richard ignores this.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 'Tis another lie — ye can't prove it — I'd just arrived 
 there — [The Indian servant comes through the shrubbery 
 with Lovelace's jacket and offers to put it on. Loveeace 
 snatches it and flings it across his shoulder. The Indian 
 stands stolidly beyond with folded arms.] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 A lie, was it? With her Grace's footman to prove it 
 truth? So — 'tis not only a kidnaper but a LIAR as 
 well — [nearing Lovelace] and as neither is worthy to 
 wear a sword — [snatching the sword from Lovelace's 
 hand, bending it across his knee, breaking it, tossing the 
 pieces aside.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 
 Hah — my aunt shall hear of this — [turning and going 
 to right.] 
 
DE AN SWIF T 113 
 
 Swift. 
 My compliments to her — and — ha ha — show her that 
 wound in your back. [The belted footman of Oxford 
 enters gate. He presents a letter to Swift who takes it 
 quickly, tearing it open. Lovelace rushes up the steps 
 into banquet-room, closing the door. The Indian turns to 
 left shrubbery. Swift points to him, speaking to the 
 belted footman.] Send yonder footman from these gar- 
 dens. [Reading the letter without interest. The belted 
 footman gestures to the Indian, who turns, moves to gate 
 without haste, then exits to right. The footman runs up the 
 steps, whips off his belt and bends over the grillwork as if 
 lashing the Indian an instant, then enters the banquet- 
 room — a rapid pantomime. The letter hastily finished, 
 Swift thrusts it into his bosom.] As for you, Richard — 
 see to your wound. 
 
 Richard. 
 Tis a mere scratch, sir. [To Esther, snatching away 
 his bandaged hand.] Farewell, Esther — I sail tonight — 
 [Hurrying through the gate.] 
 
 Esther.. 
 [Sinking agitatedly on curved seat.] Ah — poor Rich- 
 ard — . 
 
 Swift. 
 He sails tonight? For what port, Esther? 
 
 Esther. 
 For — for America. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Mistaking her agitation as he moves to behind the 
 curved seat.] Esther — Richard's a fine fellow — the 
 makings of a splendid man — He truly loves you, I'm sure. 
 
114 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Esther. 
 [With rising bosom.] Ah — cannot you understand 
 that—. 
 
 Swift. 
 But, since a woman must marry — why not take a 
 master whose faults are known to her? 
 
 Esther. 
 Marry — Richard ? No — No — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [More lightly.] Ah — 'tis because you love another? 
 
 Esther. 
 Yes — yes — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Some Court dandy — berufTed and bef rilled? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Suddenly rising and facing him, her words a torrent.] 
 Ah — you shall know all now — though you might have 
 guessed it long ago — [with extended arms and trans- 
 figured looks.] Swift — SWIFT — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Recoiling.] ESTHER—. 
 
 Esther. 
 [Sobbingly.] Ah Swift — I was nothing till you taught 
 me how to think — to love what you loved — to despise 
 what you despised — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Coming from behind seat.] Esther — as there's a God 
 in heaven I never dreamed of this — . 
 
DE AN SWIF T 115 
 
 Esther. 
 You have made me what I am and I am yours — 
 [about to throw herself on his breast.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Taking her hands instead.] My child — [Falling on 
 seat with covered eyes.] 
 
 Esther. 
 [Dropping at his knee.] You are my all — on earth — in 
 heaven — [Her head upon his knee.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Brokenly, looking down on her.] Child — Tis 
 blasphemy ! [Struggling for self-control while he gently 
 touches her hair.] Esther — [Lifting her face.] Listen. 
 You shall know me as I am — a miserable wretch — hawk- 
 ing his few talents about the earth — grovelling before 
 yonder Tory lords for the pittance they've promised me — 
 a bishop's gown — [agitated, silent a moment.] 
 
 Esther. 
 Ah Swift — [looking up and laying her hand on his 
 shoulder.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Preventing this. With anguish.] Listen, child. For 
 years I've been like a blasted tree — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Startled, pityingly.] Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 For what the world calls genius has oft been near to 
 madness — and there have been hours when I have been 
 mad — when it would have been better to flee away — . 
 
116 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Esther. 
 Then take me with you — and were this madness to over- 
 take you — Ah — let me be your slave till then — your will- 
 ing slave — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Mournfully.] And is this the reward of all my 
 teachings ? 
 
 Esther. 
 I love you — I love you ! 
 
 Swift. 
 [Taking her hand.] This hand — so white — these lips 
 so eloquent o' promises were I so base as to accept the 
 sacrifice — [Rising and lifting her to her feet. In lighter 
 tones.] Nay, child — keep thy sweet self for a worthier 
 than I—. 
 
 [Confused sounds come from banquet-room door. 
 Laughter, the Duchess' angry tones. Swift puts Esther 
 behind him, his eyes to right. Molly rushes through 
 banquet-room down to Esther.] 
 
 Molly. 
 [With tears, clasping her sister.] Esther — my poor 
 Esther — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Eyeing the banquet-room door as he pushes the girls 
 to gate.] Go — Go — Esther — Molly — my coach at foot of 
 the lane — Patrick'll see ye safely home — . 
 
 Molly. 
 [Half -dragging Esther to gate.] Come — Esther — 
 come — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [With appealing arms to Swift.] Swift — Swift — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 117 
 
 Swift. 
 [Watching door intently as he waves the girls to go.] 
 Go — Go — I'll see ye tomorrow — [Molly carries Esther 
 through gate and off to right. Swift, at centre, awaits 
 affairs with tranquil look.] 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Coming from banquet-room with look of fury. Guests 
 follow her on with suppressed laughter, gaily anticipating 
 her defeat at the hands of Swift. Lovelace is in the 
 crowd, being jostled and teased by the others, his jacket 
 now on. Coming down.] A liar, is he? An' the sword 
 of a British noble's to be broken like a common flail ? 
 
 Oxford. 
 [Coming down from door quickly. Sternly.] Your 
 Grace — this uproar — in my garden? 
 
 Duchess. 
 But, Oxford, the Dean's to blame. My nephew, pacin' 
 the woods yonder — . 
 
 Swift. v 
 
 [Merrily.] Gazin' at the moon — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Was set on by a rascally friend o' the Dean's — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Who wounded him — in the back! [Laughter of guests.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 If your Grace will take your departure — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Throwing herself on curved seat.] But how can I, 
 Lord Treasurer, when I have no coach? 
 
118 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Swift. 
 [Pointing meaningly to left.] You'll find your coach — 
 there ! 
 
 Duchess. 
 Pooh! My nephew's love-affairs are no concern o' 
 mine. 
 
 Swift. 
 Hah — convicted! Then get ye to Blenhiem afoot! 
 
 Duchess. 
 How dare ye, Swift — How dare ye — ? [Mopping her 
 eyes.] 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Swift — Lord Treasurer — [Deprecatingly.] Her Grace 
 came here in my coach. 
 
 Oxford. 
 In your coach? Hah — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Laughingly.] Oxford, we Tories need a new Secre- 
 tary. [Oxford crosses to Bolingbroke, removes the 
 badge from his breast and turns to Swift.] 
 
 Swift. 
 To Lewis — Yes. [Bolingbroke falls on curved seat 
 with covered eyes. Oxford meets Lewis at centre, places 
 the badge on his breast.] 
 
 Guests. 
 Lewis — Lewis — Secretary of State — [clap hands, 
 Lewis bows.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 Lewis, your first official duty — to the palace and bring 
 back to us Swift's commission. [Swift is surrounded, 
 applauded. He smiles as if sure now of victory. Ox- 
 
DE AN SWIF T 119 
 
 ford beckons the belted footman, speaks to him. The 
 footman detaches the left flambeaux, goes to gate. Lewis 
 follows quickly, both heads seen as they go along the road 
 below the grillwork. The Duchess sits on the curved 
 seat, a little space away from Bolingbroke, her back to 
 him.] Come, Swift, come, friends, back to table. [Swift 
 and Oxford go up steps and enter banquet-room. Guests 
 follow with backward looks at the Duchess which she 
 tries to ignore. Door closed.] 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Come, Aunt — [Going to her.] 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Striking him with her fan, tearfully.] Be silent, ye 
 young fool. See where your "love-affairs" ha' landed me. 
 Beaten — Beaten — Sarah o' Marlbro — Beaten by an Irish 
 parson ! Oh — Oh — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 [Mopping his eyes.] Disgraced — ruined! 
 
 Duchess. 
 Looke, Bolingbroke — since the Tories have kicked ye 
 out, why not come wi' us Whigs ? 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 Leave my party? Never! 
 
 Duchess. 
 But ye well know that — [in lower tone] if the Queen's 
 illness is mortal the Tory Ministry falls. If ye'll come in 
 wi' us now, I'll help make ye Premier — . 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 [Rising and mopping his eyes.] Even at that price — . 
 
120 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Duchess. 
 What — ye refuse a Premiership? 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Yes — even at that price. [Saluting.] Goodnight, your 
 Grace. 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Crossly.] Goodnight an' ye can take your coach wi' ye. 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 But — your Grace — . 
 
 Duchess. 
 Yes. Ye mean that as Swift has ordered me out o' 
 these gardens — [Throwing herself on curved seat.] But 
 here I stay a bit longer, just the same. 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 If you think to outwit the Dean even now — ? 
 
 Duchess. 
 Aye — even if his commission lies in her Majesty's 
 chamber. Which does not prove that she has signed it. 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Ah — thank heaven, I can assure you that she has. 
 
 Duchess. 
 WHAT ! ! When all afternoon she has lain helpless ! ! 
 I'll not believe it! 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 But, this morning I saw it signed and sealed. 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Collapsing.] So Swift wins after all! 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Yes. Goodnight, your Grace — [Exit at gate.] 
 
DE AN SWIF T 121 
 
 Lovelace. 
 
 [Coming from left.] Aunt, maybe you'll come home 
 with me now. 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 [Fiercely waving him away.] No — no — no — Not even 
 now! 
 
 Lovelace. 
 
 Then you'll remain here, like a sick cat on a doorstep? 
 Be sensible, Aunt — Come awa}^. 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 Aha — not while there's one chance in a million left. 
 I'll sit me here an' wait for that chance. So ye may run 
 along. 
 
 Lovelace. 
 
 But since you can't get home afoot, I'll wait for you in 
 the woods yonder — [Exit again through left shrubbery.] 
 
 [The Duchess walks agitatedly about a moment. Then, 
 looking to right, she notes the head of the belted footman 
 above the grillwork as he makes his way*, to gate. She 
 retreats to behind shrubbery at foot of the right pedestal. 
 The following in rapid pantomime: The footman enters 
 gate, in his hand a roll of parchment with flaring red seal 
 and ribbons. At his heels follows the Indian, dagger in 
 hand. The footman, unaware of this, runs up the steps. 
 The mute follows, stabs him, tears off the footman's belt 
 and trusses the body. The parchment rolls down the steps. 
 The Duchess rushes out, seizes it and swiftly tears the 
 seal, reading it eagerly. The mute tosses the body over the 
 grillwork to road. Then, seeing his mistress and fearing 
 punishment, he runs down, kneels beside her. A wave of 
 her hand assures him, he takes his place stolidly beyond 
 her.] 
 
122 BE AN SWIF T 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 [In triumph.] Tis Swift's commission! His commis- 
 sion for Canterbury ! ! [Making as if to destroy it. Then, 
 laughing.] Not yet — not yet — Ah — [Seeing Harcourt 
 as he hurries along road beyond grillwork to gate, the 
 Duchess again retreats, this time behind left pedestal, 
 motioning the mute to follow.] 
 
 Harcourt. 
 
 [Entering gate with agitation. Looking round for 
 Swift. Then running to right.] The Queen — The 
 Queen — [running up steps and into the banquet-room. A 
 moment later cries of "The Queen" and u poor lady," 
 from the banquet-room door. The guests stream on and 
 down the steps, agitated, tearful, Oxford leading. A 
 moment later Swift enters, coming calmly down, self- 
 controlled but prepared for the worst.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 [Agitatedly, dismayed.] Swift — you've heard Har- 
 court's report — of her Majesty's probably fatal illness? 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Yes, I've heard. What about my commission, Lord 
 Treasurer ? 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 Heaven grant it has been signed — [Guests point to 
 Lewis, seen beyond the grillwork as he hurries toward 
 gate.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 [Entering gate with agitation.] Swift — Oxford — 
 You've heard? [falling on curved seat with covered eyes.] 
 
DEAN SWIFT 123 
 
 Swift. 
 [With low laugh.] Aye, Lewis — we've heard. But 
 let's leave the poor lady to Him that made her. For a 
 smaller matter concerns us now. My commission — . 
 
 Lewis. 
 Which I sent, signed and sealed, ten minutes ago by 
 Oxford's footman — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Which — aha — has not yet arrived? 
 
 Lewis. 
 Wait. As I raced the road yonder my foot struck 
 something — . 
 
 Guests. 
 [Peering down over grillwork.] The footman — the 
 footman — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Accepting fate calmly.] Humph — ha ha — . 
 
 Oxford. i 
 
 By heaven, if the Queen live but another hour she 
 shall — [moving to gate.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 But, Oxford — the Queen is dead. [Renewed cries of 
 
 sorrow from guests.] Ah, Swift, the footman must have 
 
 been waylaid — [The Duchess steps boldly into view, but 
 
 NOT the Indian. The commission is NOT in her hand.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Meaningly, looking at the Duchess with a half -smile.] 
 And dead men tell no tales, eh? 
 
124 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Duchess. 
 
 [Merrily.] Ha-ha — sir Dean, ye'll be for havin' me 
 drawn an' quartered yet — [Swift ignores her. Loud 
 cries come from road. A mob, carrying banners and 
 torches, comes from right and past gate. Stones begin 
 to fall into the garden, catcalls, hisses and "Down zvith 
 the Tories/' Oxford, Lewis and Harcourt go among 
 guests to calm them. Two footmen rush on and fasten 
 gate, remain there. The Duchess rushes up steps to grill- 
 work, tears off her mantle and waves it to those below. 
 Cries of "Marlbro — Marlbro" — come from mob. Swift 
 stands smilingly down front listening to the cries. Sud- 
 denly the Duchess rushes down, beckons to the Indian 
 who leaves the left pedestal and joins her. Following her 
 gestures, he snatches the parchment from his sash, puts it 
 between his teeth, climbs the right pedestal, and tosses the 
 parchment into the flambeau, where it begins to blaze. 
 He slips down again to stand stolidly at right with folded 
 arms.] 
 
 Lewis. 
 
 [Seeing this too late, rushes to Swift and points to the 
 blazing parchment.] Swift — your commission — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Barely glancing at it over his shoulder.] Aye, Lewis — 
 aye — [With a shrug.] 
 
 Duchess. 
 [Coming to Swift and indicating the mob. Genially.] 
 D'ye hear 'em, Swift? 
 
 Swift. 
 [As genially.] Your Grace's relatives, eh? 
 
 Duchess. 
 An' lightin' the g-r-e-a-t Dean — to oblivion! 
 
DE AN SWIF T 125 
 
 Swift. 
 Mighty civil of 'em, ma'am. [With a gesture toward 
 burning parchment, his voice growing stern, his look such 
 that the Duchess recoils.] But yonder smaller fire — . 
 If the Dean say the word — THE LAW — to which even a 
 Duchess must bow — the law will consign a certain impu- 
 dent female to the Tower — for life! [The Duchess re- 
 treats to right as if in fear as a loud knocking begins at 
 gate. The mob has passed off. Oxford motions to a 
 footman at gate. The footman unbars it.] 
 
 Ford. 
 [Entering quickly and looking eagerly round. Loudly.] 
 The Dean — I demand to see the Dean — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Meeting Ford at centre. Quickly.] Ford — here — 
 in London? 
 
 Ford. 
 This instant arrived — [seizing Swift's arm] Mistress 
 Stella—. 
 
 Swift. 
 [Recoiling.] Stella — Quick Ford, out with your 
 news — . Stella is — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Ill— ill unto death—. 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Unto Death — f Come — Ford — come — [both hurrying 
 to gate.] 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 [In dismay.] Swift — you are leaving us at such a 
 timet 
 
126 DE AN SW IF T 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Near gate. Over his shoulder.] Aye, Oxford — and 
 this time — forever. Come, Ford, to Dublin and to 
 Stella—. 
 
 [Swift and Ford leaving gate. Deep boom of cannon. 
 Oxford and his Ministry despairing at curved seat. Guests 
 continue to murmur. Two footmen go about extinguish- 
 ing the lanterns, the moon rises on distant sky.] 
 
 End of the Third Act. 
 
ACT FOURTH. SCENE FIRST. 
 
 Sitting-room of the Deanery, Dublin, Two Months 
 Later. Morning in October. The room has lost some 
 of its attractiveness. The chairs are set primly against 
 rear wall. The wire stand of plants and the green 
 boughs in the chimney-place are no longer there. The 
 round table is piled high with newspapers. Swift's 
 chair is now to right of table, facing directly left. On 
 the right wall hangs an English flag, large letter 
 T on its centre. 
 
 Dingley stands at table with a sour look, trying to bring 
 order out of chaos, pausing now and then to read a 
 printed newspaper heading with a sneer. Patrick 
 stands behind her, feather duster in hand, prepared to 
 flick furniture, but slyly listening to Dingley and re- 
 pressing enthusiasm. 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Reading.] " 'Gainst Evictions." Humph — and a very 
 good way to be rid o' a bad tenant — to chase him into the 
 open — "Right to Manufacture — ." 
 
 Patrick. 
 Huru-ur. [Refraining to cheer.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 When from England they can buy all they need an' 
 better than they cud ever make it — As for this Copper 
 Coinage — the Dean won the victory for them there — bad 
 luck to't — . 
 
128 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Patrick. 
 Huzz-a — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 And here's a demand for "Liberty." Faith — if they 
 had it they'd not know what to do wi' it — Liberty for- 
 sooth — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 Huzzaha-a-a — . 
 
 Dingle y. 
 [Wheeling on him and facing him off to right.) What 
 are ye doing here, ye lazy clout — pi'zinin' the air wi' your 
 bawlin' — Be off — be off to your pantry — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 Yis'm — yis'm — [exits door 3.] 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Returning to table.] Sure — sin' the Dean's returned 
 the whole island's gone mad on "Liberty." 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Entering door 1 smiling, bouquet in hand behind 
 him.] Morning, Mistress Dingley — [Slyly placing 
 bouquet on mantel-shelf .] 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Half -sullenly.] Morning, Mister Ford — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Still helping the Dean with his newspapers? 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Aye — and a weary task it's been these two months. 
 It wasn't eno' that Swift meddled with the business o' 
 Queen Anne but he must be directin' the affairs o' her 
 successor, the new King — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 129 
 
 Ford. 
 Bravo the Dean! [Coming to help at table.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 Sure, Swift, these two months has set fire to every soul 
 on Irish sod — From the beggars to the nobility — makin' 
 'em think what he thinks an' makin' 'em see what he 
 wants 'em to see — ! Faith, his name is on every lip an' 
 they say his picture's on every wall — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Bravo, the Dean — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Tis said that already there's a price on the head o' the 
 writer o' those Drapier letters, which [looking round, in 
 lower tones] the whole of Ireland knows is Swift — . 
 
 Ford. 
 And not a soul of them'll take the reward that is of- 
 fered — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — an' though his Oxfords and his Bolingbrokes are 
 swept away — [pointing to the flag] look there — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Viva Swift — still King of Tories! 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Jealously.] Ay — ye never saw fault in the Dean — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Nor ever will, Mistress Dingley. Where's the Dean 
 this morning? 
 
 Dingley. 
 In garden wi' Mistress Stella. 
 
130 BE AN SWIF 1 
 
 Ford. 
 Ah — good news indeed! 
 
 Dingley. 
 Ah — he's mighty tender to her now — . 
 
 Ford. 
 [Laughing.] Now, now, Mistress Dingley — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Snorting.] Humph! [After a moment, in lower 
 tone.] D'ye think that Swift's done wi' — that other? 
 
 Ford. 
 [Purposely dense.] What other? 
 
 Dingley. 
 Why — his Lunnun charmer — Mistress Esther — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Sh-h — [warningly. ] 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Snorting.] Humph. [After a moment.] But — d'ye 
 think he's done wi' her? 
 
 Ford. 
 Yes — yes. Quite done with her. I'm sure of it — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Snatching a package of letters from drawer to table.] 
 Well— he's NOT done wi' her — See — Letters arrivin' 
 every week — arrivin' whilst my poor Stella lay on her bed 
 almost dying — [beginning to mop her eyes.] 
 
 Ford. 
 [Peering at but not touching letters. In triumph.] But 
 ma'am, they are unopened! 
 
DE AN SWIF T 131 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Making sure of it. With regret.] Aye, so they are! 
 But — what's to prevent the Dean answerin' 'em later — ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Displeased look, moving from table.] Mistress Ding- 
 ley — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Half -weeping.] Ah, Mister Charles— 'tis NOT that 
 I hate the Dean — no — no — 'tis not that at all. 'Tis that 
 he's been so blind to the love my poor lamb has had for 
 him — so blind these many years — the Dean — that's 
 crossed the channel but two months ago — . 
 
 Ford. 
 To aid his Tory friends — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Passionately.] To his Lunnun charmer's arms — to 
 her arms! Hasn't Mistress White's letters told on him — 
 How he was spending his free hours from court to tach 
 a lovely girl how to speak Latin, Greek and, 'tis reported — 
 love? Ah — 'tis no wonder that — that I Jiate him! [Re- 
 placing letters in drawer. Seeing the bouquet, crossing 
 and bringing it to right.] A love that even yourself 'd be 
 proud to win — . 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Bowing with hand on heart.] Thanks, [Dingley goes 
 to door 3.] But wait — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 [Purposely dense, going.] These shall adorn the dear 
 girl's own chamber — . 
 
132 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Ford. 
 Mistress Dingley — Those letters — Mistress Stella must 
 not know of those letters — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 An' why not? Twould sarve the Dean right to expose 
 him — . 
 
 Ford. 
 What — would you lose him Stella? 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — an' would carry her off — to England! [Exits 
 door 3.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Staring after her.] To England!! [In troubled 
 thought a moment.] 
 
 Delany. 
 
 [Entering quickly door 1, radiant looks, sprig of green 
 in coat.] Morning, Ford. 
 
 Ford. 
 Ah, Delaney — In gala attire? 
 
 Delany. 
 Which all Dublin'll wear this day — Swift's birthday ! 
 Did ye notice the crowds round his Cathedral door — the 
 flags on every house? Faith, St. Patrick's will not be 
 half big enough to hold his admirers at service. Where 
 is the Dean — where? 
 
 Ford. 
 In garden with Mistress Stella — 
 
 Delany. 
 
 [Turning to go.] In garden, eh? 
 
DE AN SWIF T 133 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Laughing and intercepting him.] What — man — 
 would you intrude? 
 
 Delany. 
 An' why not, Ford? 
 
 Ford. 
 [Meaningly.] But Swift — and Mistress Stella! 
 
 Delany. 
 Ah-h — ! But, looke, Ford, today's NO day for the 
 Dean to be me-anderin' about wi' a petticoat — [pose of 
 orator.] Wi' his country prostrate under the fut av her 
 oppressors [Ford reads a newspaper with patient smile] 
 wi' a tax on aven the leather o' her bare-f utted peasantry — 
 [noting Ford's lack of attention. Hoarsely, confiden- 
 tially] Hist — Ford — a surprise for the Dean — . 
 
 Ford. 
 A surprise? 
 
 Delany. 
 A surprise — and — a halo — a h-a-1-o-o — . 
 
 Ford. 
 A halo? 
 
 Delany. 
 Wait an' see — [hurrying left] wait an' see — [exits 
 door 1.] 
 
 [After a moment Patrick comes from door 2 followed 
 by a choir-boy carefully bearing Swift's lustrous, black 
 silken gown.] 
 
 Ford. 
 Ah, Patrick — the Dean's best gown and 'tis NOT Sun- 
 day? 
 
 Patrick. 
 Tis for Thanksgivin' Sarvice, sor — . 
 
134 DE AN SW IF T 
 
 Ford. 
 Oh — and the Dean must look his best today? 
 
 Patrick. 
 Aye, Masther Ford — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Has Archbishop arrived yet? 
 
 Patrick. 
 
 Not yet, sor — [playfully cuffing choir-boy's ear and 
 pushing him to right.] Be off, now — an' kape the Dean's 
 best gown fro' thrailin' — [Exit boy door 3. Patrick to 
 door 2.] 
 
 [Swift enters door 1 half -bearing Stella. She is pale, 
 but smiling, in simple gray dress, in her hand a bunch of 
 tulips. Swift's face is also radiant. Ford comes down 
 quickly, but Swift slightly edges him aside, jealously, as 
 he brings Stella to settee, placing her there with little 
 cries of affection, touches for her comfort. ] See, Ford, 
 the color in her cheek, the sparkle in her eyes — . 'Tis 
 the first time in garden in three long months. Ah, child — 
 art given back to us — for which thanks be to Almighty 
 God—. 
 
 Stella. 
 [Offering her hand.] Charles — . 
 
 Ford. 
 [With emotion, kissing her hand.] Mistress Stella — . 
 
 Stella. 
 
 And see — the last o' the Dean's tulips — though he for- 
 gives me for wanting them — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 135 
 
 Ford. 
 [Retaining the hand but looking at Stella.] How 
 lovely — but how frail — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Half -bant eringly, edging Ford aside again.] Is't 
 Mistress Stella or the tulips you mean — ? 
 
 Ford. 
 [Stepping back confused.] Ah, Swift — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Playfully, to Swift.] Mister Dean — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Forgive me, child. Now, thy medicine — [hurrying to 
 door 2. Half -bant eringly.] And looke, Ford — no more 
 flatteries — [exit door 2.] 
 
 Stella. 
 Charles — you've been so kind — so kind these weary 
 months — . 
 
 Ford. 
 And am repaid — since the Deanery has gotten back its 
 mistress — [Taking her hand, earnest, lower tone.] And 
 the Dean — ah, Mistress Stella — be kind to him. 
 
 Stella. 
 [Understanding, averting her face.] Have I not al- 
 ways been "kind" to Swift? 
 
 Ford. 
 Be more than kind — be generous! 
 
 Stella. 
 [Sweetly. Giving her hand.] Ah, Charles — 'twill be 
 an easy task. 
 
136 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Ford. 
 [Kissing her hand.] Then I am content. [From be- 
 yond door 1, rises a rollicking melody from a band. Cries 
 of "The Dane" — and "Copper Coinage" — "Right to manu- 
 facture"— "Liberty"— "The D-A-N-E—"] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Coming from door 2, a small glass of medicine in hand. 
 Frowning.] That uproar — when my orders were that — 
 during Mistress Stella's illness — . 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Laughing.] But — since half Dublin's seen you both 
 walking in the garden — [Swift gives Stella the glass, 
 she drinks, returns glass to Ford who places it beyond.] 
 
 [Rollicking melody now just beyond door. Delany, 
 followed by a dozen citizens with sprigs of green in coats, 
 enters. Without saluting the others, Delany intently 
 places his friends in a straight line along rear wall. 
 Swift throws himself into his chair to endure. Through 
 the open door is seen the green-coated band playing away, 
 beyond them a cheering crowd of men. His task finished, 
 Delany motions to left, the music and cheers fade off. 
 Ford stands behind Stella and both watch the scene with 
 happy interest.] 
 
 Delany. 
 
 [Coming to stand before Swift in pose of orator.] 
 Mister Dean — . 
 
 Stella. 
 
 [Grimly.] Now, Delany — get it off your mind. 
 
 Delany. 
 Congratulations, sor — Your birthday — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Pooh— What of it? 
 
DE AN SWIF T 137 
 
 Delany. 
 Which Erin's to number — hereafter, in her annual fes- 
 tivals — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 No — no — I forbid — [Cheers from door. Angrily.] 
 Someone close that door. [A young reporter, pencil and 
 book in hand, leaves the line in rear, crosses to door 1 
 gently waves crowd back, closes door and remains there, 
 taking copy. Delany brings down each friend and mutely 
 presents them. Swift almost rudely ignores them. They 
 show no resentment, retiring to rear as Patrick comes 
 from door 2 zvith a large tray, on which many glasses of 
 liquid. Music soft now.] 
 
 Delany. 
 
 [At centre, pose of orator.] Mister Dean — fellow citi- 
 zens — 'tis an occasion — 'tis an occasion — [looking, about 
 him.] Faith — something's wantin' — [Patrick nudges his 
 elbow with tray. Delany brings a glass to Swift who 
 rudely declines it. Ford brings one to Stella, and one for 
 himself. Patrick makes the rounds. Raising Swift's 
 rejected glass to Stella.] To the Dean's inspiration for 
 many a day — [cheers. Stella half -rises, embarrassed, yet 
 smiling, sitting again.] Gentlemen^here's to Irish Lib- 
 erty — may Erin have the pr-r-roud pr-r-rivilege o' wavin' 
 waistcoats for all av us an' thr-r-rousers for those that are 
 left — [laughter. Oblivious to his own bull.] May Erin — . 
 
 [Loud cheers from outside. Citizens point to the two- 
 paned window over door 1 where the head and shoulders 
 of a man appear, in his hand a laurel wreath. Cries be- 
 yond — "THE DEAN" — Delany crosses to Swift, 
 mutely points to wreath, wanting him to speak. Swift 
 refuses. Delany takes counsel with his friends. They 
 urge him forward. He goes to left, the wreath is dropped 
 into his hand. From then on the man in window panto- 
 
138 D E A N tf W 1 F T 
 
 mimes to those without what takes place in the room, 
 thus directing the cheers. Delany blows his nose, clears 
 his throat, wreath in hand and pose of orator, begins, 
 with strong emotion and with eloquence, facing Swift but 
 addressing citizens. ] 
 
 Fellow-citizens — we are gathered here today to celebrate 
 the birthday of the man — who — these many months, has 
 fought and won for us so many civic victories. A strong 
 soul — a brilliant mind — a tender heart. Fellow-citizens, 
 time may come and time may go — but the name of Jono- 
 than Swift will not only adorn the pages of History — but 
 will be enshrined within every Irish heart — FOREVER. 
 [Crossing to Swift, to loud applause, Delany hangs the 
 wreath on the high back of Swift's chair — where it forms 
 a "halo" for his head. Then, joining his friends, all crying 
 as they go to left, the man at window dropping from sight, 
 "To Lord Mayor" — "To Lord Mayor" — "Freedom of 
 City" — "Freedom of City" — the band playing, all hurry- 
 ing off. Ford salutes Stella, then Swift, and follows 
 after. Door 1 closed. Melody and voices fade off as Pat- 
 rick exits with glasses door 2.] 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Making sure that door 1 is closed. Grimly.] Thank 
 heaven — that's over! 
 
 Stella. 
 [Radiant.] But — your name on the pages of history — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 I'll thank History to leave my name in peace — wi' the 
 dust that shall be me — the peace that I've ne'er found on 
 earth — [Coming to Stella. Remorsefully.] Pale shadow 
 of my darling girl — . 
 
BE AN 8WIF T 139 
 
 Stella. 
 [To comfort him.] Nay, Swift — 'twas only that you 
 were so long away — ! 
 
 Swift. 
 [Bitterly.] Aye — away chasm' shadows — will-o'-the- 
 wisps that blinded me to the true gold within my Deanery 
 walls — . 
 
 Stella. 
 But now that you are home again — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Never again to leave it — [Moodily, taking her hand.] 
 Some day you'll be givin' this little hand away — leaving 
 the Deanery to brighten some good man's home — . 
 
 Stella. 
 No — no — Swift — I shall never leave you — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Suddenly moving off, pondering. Then humbly.] 
 Child, there's but one way to make me sure of that — 
 [Stella's radiant look shows she understands.] Tell 
 me — could ye be happy for life — wi' a man that's often 
 moody and sometimes mad? 
 
 Stella. 
 [Half -rising, radiant.] Swift — dear Swift — [coming 
 to him.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Waving her to wait.] Think well, child — 'Tis a sac- 
 rifice I ask of you — . 
 
 Stella. 
 A sacrifice? 'Tis an honor— AN HONOR— I will 
 have it so — [running to his embrace.] 
 
140 BE AN SW IF T 
 
 Swift. 
 [Humbly, kissing her hand.] Ah-h — I'm not worthy 
 so sweet a gift — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Ah, Swift — [her head on his breast.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Not worthy — . 
 
 Stella. 
 And I've loved you so long — so long — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Moodily.] And I — that was ever blind — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 
 [Coming from door 2.\ Yer Rivirence — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Frowning, instantly releasing Stella.] What now, 
 sirrah ? 
 
 Patrick. 
 Archbishop waits in Cathedral — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Imperiously.] Bid him await my pleasure — [Stella 
 gently touches his arm, smiles. Swift's face clears. In 
 softer tone to Patrick.] Ask of Archbishop ten minutes 
 to enrobe — [Patrick salutes, exits door 2.] And thou, 
 child, shalt meet me after service — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Falteringly.] After — service — . 
 
 Swift. 
 In sacristy — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 141 
 
 Stella. 
 In — sacristy — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Then straight to the altar-rails of my cathedral — where 
 the Archcbishop shall make of thee my wife — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Thy wife — till death do us part — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Amen ! [ His arm about her, he takes her to right. 
 Stella slips from his arms as if to open door 3. Then 
 pausing there she looks radiantly back at Swift, throwing 
 wide her arms. Swift, staring at her under his hand, 
 backs to centre. Stella comes to him quickly. Swift, 
 with a strange, hoarse cry of complete surrender, kisses 
 her, LINGERINGLY, on the lips.] 
 
 Stella. 
 Art happy now, Swift? 
 
 Swift. 
 At last — at last ! 
 
 Stella, v 
 Ah-h — [running from his embrace to door 3. Waving 
 her hand there with radiant smile.] To sacristy — to 
 sacristy — [ exits. ] 
 
 [Swift looks after her, sighs deeply, happily, stares 
 round him as if in another world. Lifts the tulips from the 
 settee, tenderly touches them with his lips, then places 
 them on bookshelf.] 
 
 [Jeems, in traveling dress, a letter in the hand behind 
 him, with embarrassed looks, opens door 1, looks about, 
 then enters.] Ahem — Dr. Swift — your Reverence — . 
 
142 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Swift. 
 [Turning, with pleased look.] Ah, 'tis Jeems, in Dub- 
 lin, so far from London — . 
 
 Jeems. 
 Yes sir — [looking down.] 
 
 Swift. 
 Then you've left the good ladies Van Homrigh — . 
 [Sitting at table, reaching for pen and paper.] 
 
 Jeems. 
 Yes, sir — that is, sir — . 
 
 Swift. 
 'Tis a recommend for a place ye want here in Dublin? 
 Shalt have it, too — [writing.] "To whom it may con- 
 cern" — [Repeating the written words.] 
 
 Jeems. 
 But, sir — that is, sir — I've not left the ladies Van Hom- 
 righ—. 
 
 Swift. 
 You've not? [Discarding pen and paper and rising as 
 if to end the interview.] Then why are you here in 
 Dublin? 
 
 Jeems. 
 Your Reverence may have heard that — that Mistress 
 Esther has been ill — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [With indifference.] 111? I'm sorry, Jeems — . 
 
 Jeems. 
 These many weeks. And, 'gainst her mother's wishes, 
 sir. Mistress Esther is here — . 
 
BE AN SW IF T 143 
 
 Swift. 
 Here— IN DUBLIN? 
 
 Jeems. 
 In her coach, sir — at your gate — . 
 
 Swift. 
 AT— MY GATE? 
 
 Jeems. 
 [Timidly presenting letter.] Her message, sir — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Savagely, striking letter from Jeems' hand to table.] 
 I'll not receive her message — [snatching the bundle of 
 letters from drawer and tossing them on table.] Nor 
 those — nor those — Take them back to her as I received 
 them— UNOPENED ! 
 
 Jeems. 
 
 [Affrighted, gathering up letters and backing to door 1.] 
 Yes, yes, sir — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 And — wait, Jeems. Tell her — from Swift — that she 
 can see the Dean no more — . [Exit Jeems door 1.] 
 Here — in Dublin — when I thought I'd made it plain to her 
 that — Here — at my gate — [Suddenly holding his head 
 with his hands, his eyes closed, a look of agony on his 
 face. Then, recovering, and staring about him as if 
 waking from sleep. Sweet bells begin to chime softly.] 
 Ah — 'tis past — 'tis past. And — with Stella beside me — 
 all may yet be well — [Rising, going quickly to right with 
 beaming face. Exits door 3.] 
 
144 BE AN SW IF T 
 
 [A slight pause. Jeems cautiously peers in at door 1. 
 Then he backs in, Esther, pale, weak, pushing him with 
 her hands against his breast. In dark dress, cloak, a lace 
 scarf over her head. Jeems still carries the bundle of 
 letters.] 
 
 Jeems. 
 [Stepping aside as Esther comes down with wondering 
 look and faltering step.] Stay but a moment, Mistress — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Sinking into Swift's chair, her dreamy gaze moving 
 about.] So — this is Swift's home — Swift's home. What 
 said he to you, Jeems, when you told him — . 
 
 Jeems. 
 [To spare her.] Don't ask me, mistress — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Querulously, weakly.] But I must know. Tell me, 
 Jeems — . 
 
 Jeems. 
 Well, then — he — he bade me tell you to return to Lon- 
 don — to your mother at once — That's all, Mistress — . 
 
 Esther. 
 Ah — he that was ever kind — . Oh — that I might see 
 him face to face — to ask of him — . 
 
 Jeems. 
 [Fearing discovery.] Come, Mistress, 'tis time to go — . 
 
 Esther. 
 But — Jeems — I've come to see the Dean — . 
 
DE AN SWIF T 145 
 
 Jeems. 
 Yes — tomorrow — [Trying to lift her from the chair.] 
 Come away — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Resisting.] No — no — I'm so weary — I'll rest here till 
 the Dean — [Patrick enters from door 2. Seeing him 
 with joy.] Ah — Patrick — Patrick — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Coming down.] 'Tis Mistress Esther — but so changed 
 — so changed — [Jeems, behind Esther, signals to Pat- 
 rick.] 
 
 Esther. 
 I've been so ill, Patrick. But when I see the Dean 
 again — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Taking Jeems' cue.] Yes, Mistress Esther— tomor- 
 row — . 
 
 Jeems. 
 Come to your coach, Mistress — . 
 
 Esther. 
 No — I will not — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 But tomorrow, Miss — tomorrow — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Rising with sudden fire.] I shall see the Dean — if at 
 the altar-rails of his Cathedral — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 [To Jeems' look of dismay.] Well, then— best ye wait 
 an' see him in the sacristy — . 
 
146 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Esther. 
 [Eagerly.] Which way, Patrick, which way? [Moving 
 to door 1.] 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Following and opening door 1, pointing off.] See that 
 path yonder? 
 
 Esther. 
 Yes — yes — . 
 
 Patrick. 
 Folly it an' it'll bring ye to the sacristy door — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Looking back gratefully.] Ah — good — kind Pat- 
 rick — [Moving out, followed by Jeems. Patrick remains 
 looking after them.] 
 
ACT FOURTH— SCENE SECOND. 
 
 Instant rise of curtain on scene already set. 
 
 Sacristy of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. A 
 wide, oak-panelled room. Three doors. Door 1 at 
 left opens on a sunny, grassy court ending with an 
 ivy-covered wall. Door 2 in back-centre, open and 
 lighted, shows several white surplices and black cas- 
 socks within. Door 3 down right- front is a double 
 door, leading by a corridor to the Cathedral. One side 
 open at rise. Set high in the centre of the rear wall is 
 a large stained-glass window, the sun shining through 
 and focusing onto the massive reading-desk down 
 centre, an open bible with crimson markings on same. 
 At left is a baptismal font filled with bouquets, the 
 donors' names on cards. A massive settee is along 
 right. A stately scene, its gloom lightened by the 
 stained-glass window and the bouquets. 
 
 At Rise — People passing door 1 quickly, without looking 
 into the sacristy, all going to i the Cathedral service. 
 Choristers sky-larking at centre in white surplices and 
 black cassocks. A tall Precentor is giving out hymnals 
 and trying to keep order. Distant boom of organ and 
 faint chime of bells. 
 
 Precentor. 
 Order there — order — S-h-h — [A boy comes through the 
 double door with raised hand as he opens both sides of 
 door, awaiting Swift.] Open hymnals — page fourteen — 
 yes — page fourteen I said — S-h-h — [Swift comes 
 through double door with gracious smile. All salute him.] 
 
148 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Swift. 
 All's ready, Precentor? 
 
 Precentor. 
 
 [Indicating door 2 with salute.] All's ready, reverend 
 sir — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Precentor, you must make me look grand today. For, 
 after service — detain your choristers — shall want 'em 
 for — Well — detain 'em — [Precentor salutes, precedes 
 Swift into door 2 which he closes. Ford enters door 1. 
 He looks about him, beckons a boy, whispers, the boy nods 
 and points to door 2. Ford smiles, begins to read names 
 on bouquets, the boy rejoins his fellows. A slight pause. 
 Then Swift, stately in cassock and white surplice, comes 
 from door 2, followed by the Precentor, who rejoins his 
 boys at the end of the line.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Meeting Ford at centre with beaming took.] Ford — . 
 
 Ford. 
 [Giving his hand.] Swift — . Your Cathedral is 
 crowded — to see the lion of the hour — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Laughing.] Who'll be a forgotten mouse tomorrow. 
 But — I care not — for — after service Stella gives herself 
 to me — . 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With emotion.] Congratulations — . 
 
 Swift. 
 To me — unworthy me — Stella — the one woman I've 
 always loved — And so — forever done wi' politics — 
 
DE AN SW IF T 149 
 
 for — [hurried look about, in lozver tone.] Looke, Ford — 
 there's often a dizziness here — [indicating brow] an al- 
 most mortal agony — a sudden blank — Ah — [clasping his 
 brow with closed eyes and clenched hands.] Ah-h-h — 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Heavens, Swift — [in deep alarm. Swift recovers.] 
 Good God, sir — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Faintly smiling.] Nay — 'tis past — 'tis past — and with 
 Stella beside me — a quiet fireside — all may yet be well. 
 
 Ford. 
 [Seizing his hands.] God grant it, sir. 
 
 Swift. 
 Then — after service — here in sacristy? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 With all my heart — my soul — [wringing Swift's hand, 
 turning and exits door 3. Swift looks after him with 
 beaming smile. The Preceftor brings an open hymnal 
 to Swift, salutes, goes to the last of the double line of 
 boys, Swift follows, chanting with the rest as they slowly 
 move to double door, the organ as accompaniment.] 
 
 PROCESSIONAL: 
 
 O — worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness — 
 Beauty of holiness — beauty of holiness — . 
 Let the whole earth stand in awe of Him — 
 Awe of Him — awe of Him — . 
 Be Thou exalted above the heavens — 
 And let Thy glory be above all the earth — . 
 O — worship the Lord — 
 Worship — the L-o-r-d — . 
 
150 DE AN SWI F T 
 
 [All exit through double door which closes, the voices 
 gradually die, the organ continuing softly, the bells now 
 silent.] 
 
 [A slight pause. Stella enters door 1. She wears the 
 same dress, a gray cape and a small bonnet of gray, its 
 ribbons tied under her chin. She looks radiantly happy 
 and enters quickly, making for the settee, on which she 
 sits. Dingley follows. In dark dress, shawl and bonnet, 
 with sour look, red-rimmed eyes, a handkerchief in her 
 hand. She follows Stella more slowly, making for the 
 double door and listening there with set lips.] 
 
 Stella. 
 Dingley dear — [Dingley pretends not to hear.] Ding- 
 ley — come here — [patting the seat near her.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 Then we're not to enter Cathedral — . 
 
 Stella. 
 No — no — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Not to hear those silly Irish rej'icin'? 
 
 Stella. 
 The Dean's wishes are, that we await him here in sac- 
 risty — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 Humph — [crossing unwillingly and sitting on settee.] 
 
 Stella. 
 Ah — Dingley — [leaning her head on Dingley's shoul- 
 der.] I'm so happy — so happy — Ah-h — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 It tuck Swift a 1-o-n-g time to make up his mind — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 151 
 
 Stella. 
 Now — now — Dingley dear — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Ow-w-w — [sobbing into her handkerchief .] 
 
 Stella. 
 [An arm about Dingley.] There, there, dear — never 
 weep when I'm so happy — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Getting away from Stella.] Lave me alone — lave 
 me alone — . As for Swift — isn't he takin' ye away from 
 me? 
 
 Stella. 
 'Deed — 'deed — nothing will be changed — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 I know better — [imitating Swift's grand manner.] 
 It'll be "Mistress Dingley — the room for self and wife" 
 or "To almshouse wi' ye, Dingley. Yer ould — an' use- 
 less—." 
 
 Stella. 
 [Coldly.] Ah — you've always hated the Dean — and 
 for no reason! 
 
 Dingley. 
 For no reason, is't? Was it "no reason" that ye fell 
 ill because of him — "no reason" that — because o' his other 
 charmer — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Rising to move off.] MISTRESS DINGLEY—. 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Remorseful, catching her dress.] Child — child — can't 
 ye see that I'm only jealous? 
 
152 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Stella. 
 Yet could coin a lie 'gainst the man I love? 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Fiercely, rising.} 'Tis NO lie — and lest I telle more — 
 [making for door 1.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [Intercepting and bringing her down.] Now — tell me 
 all — ALL — or I must believe that Mistress Dingley is — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 A LIAR? Take it, then! Whilst ye lay ill Swift's 
 other charmer writ letters to him — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Recoiling.] Writ — letters — to Swift? 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — a dozen of 'em — I've held 'em in my two hands — . 
 
 Stella. 
 No — no — I'll not believe — I'll not believe — [yet show- 
 ing she DOES.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 Ford saw 'em, too — the dozen of 'em — . 
 
 Stella. 
 
 For d saw? [Falling on settee to rock back and forth 
 with tears.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 
 [Distracted with remorse, kneeling beside her.] Child — 
 child — Listen to me — 'twas all a lie — . 
 
 Stella. 
 Ah — Swift is false to me — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 153 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 Nay — listen. Tis a lie — . 
 
 Stella. 
 False to me — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Seizing Stella's hands.] Listen, child. [Stella 
 pauses to listen.] 'Twas all a lie — a lie — There were NO 
 letters — . 
 
 Stella. 
 
 DlNGLEY!!! 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 I swear it — not a single letter — . 'Twas a wicked lie — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Mopping her eyes.] Ah — thou jealous Dingley — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 My little Stella — poor lamb — Canst forgive me? 
 
 Stella. 
 [Sweetly, kissing her.] Yes — I can — I do — Ah — thou 
 naughty Dingley — . 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Humbly, kissing her hand.] Sweet child — . 
 
 [Through door 1 Esther enters, followed by Jeems 
 still carrying the letters. Jeems remains near door 1. 
 Esther comes slowly down with faltering step and 
 dreamy look, pausing near the reading-desk.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [To Dingley, pointing to Esther, with a look of 
 suspicion.] Dingley — . 
 
154 BE AN SWIF T 
 
 DlNGLEY. 
 
 [Her face wearing the same look.] Aye, aye — [taking 
 her place behind Stella with set lips.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [Coldly, distinctly.] Madam? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Startled look toward settee.] Ah — ! 
 
 Stella. 
 Madam, your name? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Timidly.] Tis Esther Van Homrigh — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [To Dingley.] 'TIS SHE! [Dingley nods.] 
 
 Esther. 
 And, madam — yours? 
 
 Stella. 
 [Proudly.] 'Tis Stella Johnson — ! 
 
 Esther. 
 [With startled look, to herself.] 'TIS SHE ! 
 
 Stella. 
 And — your errand here? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Pleadingly.] 'Tis to see the Dean — . 
 
 Stella. 
 To see the Dean? And why, madam? 
 
DE AN SW IF T 155 
 
 Esther. 
 Because — ah, madam — for two happy years Swift made 
 our house his home — . He — that had the world for his 
 friends — condescended to be friend to me — . Is't any 
 wonder that I learned to love him? I love him still and 
 have severed ties of home and kindred — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [With scorn.] To follow him to Dublin? 
 
 Esther. 
 To the world's end if need be! Ah, madam — [taking 
 poem from her bosom] this poem — written to me two 
 short months ago — [Reading the poem with tearful 
 emotion. Stella listens with growing belief in Swift's 
 falseness. Dingley with a grim smile.] 
 
 "Would from her height of youth and beauty 
 Stoop low to weary pilgrim's hand 
 My lady fair? For wifely duty 
 Leave all this world can give, 
 At my command?" 
 
 Stella. 
 [Brokenly.] For wifely duty!!! 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — didn't I warn ye? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Kissing and replacing the poem. Swift enters door 
 3. His beaming look changes to a heavy frown as he 
 pauses there. Dingley alone sees him. She utters a 
 low, scornful laugh.] Ah, madam, isn't it proof that 
 Swift loves me? But there are ties that bind him to 
 another — . 
 
156 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Stella. 
 [With tears.] And if those ties were broken — ? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Kneeling and pressing Stella's dress to her lips, her 
 face radiant.] Ah — madam — ah-h — . 
 
 Stella. 
 [Now discovering Swift as he comes down. Looking 
 at him, but speaking to Esther.] Then, madam, from 
 this moment Swift is free — ! [Rising and turning to 
 Dingley with extended arms.] Dingley — Dingley — . 
 
 [Esther rises slowly, sees Swift and retreats to rear 
 with affrighted looks. Jeems nears her protectingly. 
 Swift ignores Esther all through scene.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 [Taking Stella to her bosom and glaring over her 
 head at Swift.] My poor lamb — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Sternly, to Stella.] Stella — [Moving toward her.] 
 
 Stella. 
 [With tears.] Don't touch me — don't touch me — . 
 
 Swift. 
 STELLA—! 
 
 Stella. 
 Dingley, take me away — away — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Fear naught, child. Dingley is here to protect you ! 
 
DE AN SWIF T 157 
 
 Swift. 
 Since when, Mistress Dingley, hath it been needful to 
 "protect" a woman in the Deanery of Swift? 
 
 Dingley. 
 Ask her — your Lunnun charmer — . 
 
 Swift. 
 So then — ye've lured yonder girl across the channel to 
 tell a tale that is but half the truth? [Signs of agony 
 showing.] 
 
 Dingley. 
 She came hersel' — to demand the keepin' o' your 
 promises — ! 
 
 Swift. 
 Promises — PROMISES? [Suddenly flinging up his 
 arms with wild look.] 
 
 Stella. 
 Ah, then — deny her story — . Say that you did not write 
 the poem — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Ha ha ha — Deny it? [Superbly.] Why should I? 
 'Twas writ — like a thousand others, to the beauties o' 
 the English court — . Was missing Maid o' Honor? Find 
 her in the arms of Swift— . Was wanted faithless wife ? 
 Ha ha — seek her in the lodgin's o' the Dean — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Aye — aye — Quane's bed-chamber — Quane's bed-cham- 
 ber — . [To Stella, leading her to left.] Come away, 
 child—. 
 
 Swift. 
 Aye — aye — [jeeringly, down front as if alone.] An 
 honor to be Mistress Swift — an honor — she would have 
 it so. — 
 
158 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Stella. 
 [With appealing arms.] Swift — dear Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Till death do us part — . Her words — her LYING 
 words — . 
 
 Dingley. 
 Come away, child — come away to Mistress White — to 
 Lunnun — [bearing Stella out at left, the door closing 
 with a slam.] 
 
 Swift. 
 [Waking to the noise, staring wildly about, then to 
 settee. Suddenly dashing to door 1 he tears it open and 
 stands in the afternoon sunlight peering off under his 
 hand. Esther shrinks close to door 2 beside Jeems. 
 After a moment Swift re-enters, comes down front with 
 staring eyes, finger on lips. Then, explosively.] She's 
 gone — GONE. 'Twas Dingley took her away — Dingley — 
 curse her — / 
 
 Jeems. 
 [In low tone, seizing Esther's arm.] Come away, 
 Mistress — . 
 
 Esther. 
 [Watching Swift with pitying look.] No — no — I'll not 
 go—. 
 
 Jeems. 
 But, Mistress, can't you see that he's mad? 
 
 Esther. 
 Mad ! ! ! Ah — 'tis what he always feared — . [Be- 
 ginning to move toward Swift, Jeems follows closely.] 
 
DEAU SWIFT 159 
 
 Swift. 
 [Turning, discovering Esther as if a stranger. Beckon- 
 ing her with winning smile.] Come hither, madam — who 
 are you and what do you here? 
 
 Jeems. 
 [Holding Esther back.] Mistress Esther — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Come — I say — [Esther snatches the letters from 
 Jeems and approaches Swift with sweetly pitying look. 
 Swift takes her hand.] Your name, Madam — [Soft 
 tones of organ begin.] 
 
 Esther. 
 Tis Esther Van Homrigh. [Swift's sudden recoil 
 shows his mind is clearing.] 
 
 Jeems. 
 [Loudly.] Mistress — Beware — Beware — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Esther Van Homrigh? Aye — so 'tis [with infinite sar- 
 casm.] And what sees your fine ladyship in wretched 
 Dublin? 
 
 Esther. 
 [Tenderly.] 'Twas to see the Dean — 'tis now to com- 
 fort him — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Towering above her.] So, madam. You've not only 
 crossed the channel in pursuit of me but have forced my 
 gates as well? [Forcing her to her knees.] You have 
 dared— DARED— . 
 
160 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Esther. 
 
 [With terrified look and loosened hair, holding up let- 
 ters.] 'Twas to ask the question that's written here — 
 Swift — Swift — . 
 
 Swift. 
 
 [Snatching letters and flinging them broadcast. Jeems 
 comes and gathers them up quickly.] The question? 
 'Tis answered. [Grandly, thinking Jeems is Patrick. 
 Pointing to RIGHT.] Patrick — summon madam's 
 coach — . Escort her to my gate — [Voices of choristers 
 faintly heard. Swift catches the sounds, moves to read- 
 ing-desk and begins to beat time 'with happy smile. Jeems 
 half -carries Esther out door 1.] 
 
 Choristers. 
 [Faintly chanting beyond door 3. Swift's lips move as 
 if repeating the words.] 
 
 O — praise the Lord — praise the L-o-r-d — 
 Show yourselves joyful to the L-o-r-d — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Beating time and now chanting with the others.] 
 Set me a seal upon mine arm — mine arm — 
 A seal — a seal upon mine heart — . 
 For love — for love is strong as death — 
 As strong as d-e-a-t-h — 
 For 1-o-v-e i-s s-t-r-o-n-g — . 
 
 [Voices die away as Swift wakes to anguish.] 
 "For love is strong as death — " God — oh God — [fall- 
 ing face down at reading-desk.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Enters door 3 with beaming smile. Discovering 
 Swift.] Swift — [thinking him at prayer, pausing. After 
 
BE AN SW IF T 161 
 
 a moment gently touching his arm.] Swift — 'tis time 
 for the ceremony — Archbishop waits — . Time for hap- 
 piness and Stella — . 
 
 Swift. 
 [Raising a haggard face.] Stella? Stella's gone — ! 
 
 Ford. 
 [Recoiling.] Gone, sir? You mean that — . 
 
 Swift. 
 Gone with Dingley — . 
 
 Ford. 
 
 With Dingley? 
 
 Swift. 
 
 To London — Gone from me — forever ! [Again falling 
 face down at reading-desk as Ford retreats to right to 
 stand, his face on his arm against the wall.] 
 
 [Distant sounds, the same rollicking melody, cheers and 
 cries of "The Dean" — "Lord Mayor-r-" — "Freedom of 
 C-i-t-y — /' Delany, his friends and the Lord Mayor in 
 his robes of state, bearing a large golden key on a crimson 
 velvet cushion, enters door 1, the green-coated band play- 
 ing and a cheering crowd of citizens beyond door. De- 
 lany again intent on ranging his friends against the rear 
 wall. Swift's posture is taken by all to mean that he is 
 in prayer till Ford crosses, points to Swift and whispers 
 ■ the truth. Delany whispers the truth to those near him, 
 the Lord Mayor gets it, Delany signals to the band, the 
 crowd beyond. The animated picture becomes a silent 
 tableau as — .] 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 End of Act Fourth. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 Sitting-room of the Deanery of St. Patrick's 
 Cathedral. Twenty-five years later. Late afternoon 
 of an autumn day. 
 
 [The sitting-room shows the marks of time. Chairs set 
 primly against the rear wall. The silken curtains, frayed 
 and faded, drawn apart over the empty bookshelves. 
 The flag with the letter T still hangs on the wall, its 
 colors faded. Table now at back-centre, bare of all 
 but a green-shaded lamp. Swift's chair is at right, 
 its crimson faded. The two-paned window over door 
 1 is open and shows a bit of blue sky. All doors 
 closed.] 
 
 [Ford, richly but sombrely dressed, his hair silvered at the 
 temples and his face older, sits at the table reading a 
 book. Patrick is entering from door 3 a second 
 green-shaded lamp in hand. Patrick's hair is silvered 
 though his cheeks are still ruddy. He walks with the 
 slouching gait of the old peasant as he crosses to place 
 the lamp on the mantel-shelf, turning its wick up and 
 down in childish pleasure, finally moving off to idly 
 flick the chairs with his red cotton handkerchief. 
 After a moment distant music is heard. Patrick 
 listens with childish delight.] 
 
 Ford. 
 [Looking up.] Hark, Patrick — . 
 
DEAN SWIFT 163 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Rubbing his hands with glee.] Aye, Masther Ford — . 
 An' they'll be lightin' the bonfires soon — . 
 
 Ford. 
 [Sadly.] Swift's birthday which Dublin's honored these 
 many years — . [Sighing.] Any letters to answer, Pat- 
 rick? 
 
 Patrick. 
 Nary wan, sor. Sure, the Dane's friends ha' all for- 
 saken him — . 
 
 Ford. 
 But five-an-twenty years make great changes, Pat- 
 rick — . How is the Dean this afternoon? Any clearer 
 in mind? 
 
 Patrick. 
 No. He's sittin' wi' his head on his breast as he's sat 
 these five years — thinkin' av nothin' — [After a moment.] 
 Those mad fits, sor — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Heaven grant they trouble him no more. [Reading 
 again.] 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Coming down, eagerly.] When the Dane's gone am 
 to ring Cathedral bell, sor? 
 
 Ford. 
 [Discarding book to walk about. After a moment.] 
 Yes. 
 
 Patrick. 
 [Rubbing his hands with glee.] A pull for every year, 
 sor — That'll make seventy sthrokes, do'ent they, Masther 
 Ford? 
 
164 DE AN SWIF T 
 
 Ford. 
 [After a moment.] Yes, Patrick, seventy strokes — 
 [Looking at his watch.] Five o'clock. The people will 
 soon be here. Bring the Dean in, as usual, and place him 
 in his chair. 
 
 Patrick. 
 Yes, sor [Slouching out door 3.] 
 [Ford returns to read his book. Then a bronzed and 
 bearded man in travelling dress enters door 1 without 
 knocking. Ford looks up at him as at a stranger, rising 
 with a smile.] 
 
 Richard Hays. 
 
 [Coming quickly forward with extended hand and 
 genial smile.] Ah, Ford — . 
 
 Ford. 
 [Taking the hand.] Yes? And — you? 
 
 Richard. 
 [With a deep laugh.] Richard Hays — at your ser- 
 vice — . 
 
 Ford. 
 [Surprised, smiling.] Indeed? From London? 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Aha — now of America — [taking the chair that Ford 
 indicates, tossing his hat on table and sitting at ease.] 
 Richard Hays — the irritable puppy of other days — ha ha — 
 who "exiled" himself hknodtf for a woman's sake — . 
 But — ha ha — I met another and a fairer Esther who's 
 now the happy mother of sons and daughters — You also 
 married, Ford? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Gravely, after a moment.] No. When did you ar- 
 rive? 
 
DEAN SWIFT 165 
 
 Richard. 
 But yesterday — after a voyage of many weeks. [Look- 
 ing round.] And — the Dean — how is he? 
 
 Ford. 
 You've surely heard — ? 
 
 Richard. 
 Ha ha — there are no post-offices on an American plan- 
 tation. But from the bonfires — the green flags — Swift's 
 name on every lip — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Swift's birthday, which Dublin's celebrated these five- 
 and-twenty years. 
 
 Richard. 
 Ah — Swift was ever a genius — though to my young 
 eyes — [A pause. With regret.] Five-and-twenty years 
 have carried off my London friends. My aunt — little 
 Molly — [rising and walking about. Abruptly.] I heard 
 but once from my cousin Esther — . Swift killed her as 
 surely as if he'd put a bullet into her heart — . 
 
 Ford. 
 Yet the Dean paid the highest price of all — . 
 
 Richard. 
 Mistress Stella — . 
 
 Ford. 
 When the Deanery gates closed upon her — [silent.] 
 
 Richard. 
 And — the Dean? 
 
 Ford. 
 Devoted himself to his country's welfare — Till — a sud- 
 den darkness — . 
 
166 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 Richard. 
 A — sudden darkness? You mean — ? 
 
 [Ford points to right where Patrick is leading the 
 Dean in. Swift is the shadow of his former self. 
 Shrunken form, lustreless eyes, his snowy hair falling to 
 his shoulders. In black cassock and linen bands. In his 
 right hand he carries a white handkerchief. Patrick 
 the awe of "the masther" absent, places Swift in his 
 chair and moves to rear, beginning to flick the chairs with 
 his handkerchief. Swift's head begins to roll from side 
 to side, his eyes closed, on his forehead a querulous 
 frown.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Moving to Swift and gently brushing a silver lock 
 from his brow. Not lowering his voice.] Come nearer, 
 Richard — . 
 
 Richard. 
 
 [Moving to Swift, his face showing his amaze, regret. 
 Lowering his voice.] God — what a change is here — what 
 a change. For how long? 
 
 Ford. 
 [Not lowering his voice.] These five years past — . 
 
 Richard. 
 He remembers nothing of the past? 
 
 Ford. 
 Try him and see. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Swift — 'Tis Richard Hays — [Swift makes no sign.] 
 Forgotten ! 
 
DEAN SWIFT 167 
 
 Ford. 
 [As if addressing Swift.] As is the name of — MIS- 
 TRESS STELLA! [Swift makes no sign. The rollick- 
 ing melody of other days and the cheering voices reach 
 to beyond door 1.] 
 
 Richard. 
 [Frowning.] That uproar — . 
 
 Ford. 
 He hears it not — . 
 
 [Patrick hurries to Ford and points to the head and 
 shoulders of a man rising within the two-paned window, a 
 wreath in one hand, a page of printed matter in the other. 
 Ford beckons Richard to stand with him beyond Swift's 
 chair. Man at window pantomimes to those below for 
 silence. Reading from page.] 
 
 Fellow-citizens, we are gathered here today to celebrate 
 the birthday of the man — who — these many years — has 
 fought and won for us so many civic victories. A strong 
 soul — a brilliant mind — a tender heart. Fellow-citizens, 
 time may come and time may go — but the name of Jono- 
 than Swift will not only adorn the pages of History — but 
 will be enshrined within every Irish heart — FOREVER. 
 
 [Wild cheers without. Ford crosses to left, man in 
 window drops the wreath into his hand, pantomiming in- 
 cidents within to those outside. Ford places the wreath 
 on the twist at the back of Swift's chair, where it forms 
 a "halo" for his snowy head. Loud cries of "The 
 D-A-N-E—."] 
 
 A Voice Outside. 
 [Vibrant, like a trumpet-call.] Swift — Swift — VIVA 
 SWIFT— SPEECH— S-P-E-E-C-H— . 
 
168 DE AN SW IFT 
 
 [Swift's eyes open suddenly, his head stops rolling, he 
 shows that he hears the call. Ford, Richard and Patrick 
 draw nearer. Swift struggles to rise, his glance up at the 
 window, he rises, raises his hand with the authority of 
 other days — makes an effort to speak — suddenly collapses 
 into chair, the hand holding the handkerchief falls from 
 his breast. Man at window drops out of sight, the music 
 and cheers fade. Swift's eyes close, his head ceases 
 to roll, the handkerchief drops from his hand. Patrick 
 whispers to Ford, who nods, Patrick slouches quickly out 
 of door 3. Ford and Richard draw nearer. Swift's 
 face changes to a look of peace. Deep booming of 
 Cathedral bell as — .] 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 END OF THE PLAY. 
 
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