Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/419

Rh A word and blow was then enough: Such honour did them prick, If you but turn'd your cheek, a cuff; And if your a—se, a kick.

Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose; At ev'ry turn fell to't; Come near, they trod upon your toes; They fought from head to foot.

Of these the duke of Lancastere Stood paramount in pride; He kick'd, and cuff d, and tweak'd, and trod His foes and friends beside.

Firm on his front his beaver sate; So broad, it hit his chin; For why? he deemed no man his mate, And fear'd to tan his skin.

With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek, With essence oil'd his hair; No vixen civet cat so sweet, Nor could so scratch and tear.

Right tall he made himself to show, Though made full short by God: And when all other dukes did bow, This duke did only nod.

Yet courteous, blithe, and debonnair, To Guise's duke was he: Was ever such a loving pair? How could they disagree?

Oh, thus it was: he lov'd him dear, And cast how to requite him: And