Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/438



DISDAIN not, Snow, my humble verse to hear, Stick thy black pen awhile behind thy ear. Whether thy counter shine with sums untold, And thy wide-grasping hand grows black with gold; Whether thy mien erect, and sable locks, In crowds of brokers over awe the stocks; Suspend the worldly business of the day, And, to enrich thy mind, attend my lay. O thou, whose penetrative wisdom found The South Sea rocks and shelves, where thousands drown'd! When