Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/403

Rh Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown; And Twickenham such, which fairer scenes enrich, Grots, statues, urns, and Jo—n's dog and bitch; Ne village is without, on either side, All up the silver Thames, or all adown; Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall front are ey'd Vales, spires, meandring streams, and Windsor's tow'ry pride.

IN Yorkshire dwelt a sober yeoman, Whose wife, a clean, painstaking woman, Fed num'rous poultry in her pens, And saw her cocks well serve her hens. A hen she had whose tuneful clocks Drew after her a train of cocks; With eyes so piercing, yet so pleasant, You would have sworn this hen a pheasant. All the plum'd beau monde round her gathers; Lord! what a brustling up of feathers! Morning from noon there was no knowing, There was such flutt'ring, chuckling, crowing: Each forward bird must thrust his head in, And not a cock but would be treading. Yet tender was this hen so fair. And hatch'd more chicks than she could rear. Our prudent dame bethought her then Of some dry nurse to save her hen: She made a capon drunk; in fine He eats the sops, she sipp'd the wine; His