Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 1.djvu/462

 If you can relish ought of mine, A bit of meat, a glass of wine, You're welcome to it, and you shall fare As well as dining with the mayor." "You saucy scab — you tell me so — Why, booby-face, I'd have you know I'd rather see your things in order, Than dine in state with the recorder. For water I must keep a clutter, Or chide your wife for stinking butter. Or getting such a deal of meat, As if you'd half the town to eat. That wife of yours, the devil's in her, I've told her of this way of dinner, Five hundred times, but all in vain — Here comes a rump of beef again: O that that wife of yours would burst — Get out, and serve the boarders first. Pox take 'em all for me — I fret So much, I shall not eat my meat — You know I'd rather have a slice." "I know, dear sir, you are not nice; You'll have your dinner in a minute, Here comes the plate and slices in it — Therefore no more, but take your place — Do you fall to, and I'll say grace." 