Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/469



HERE lies a round woman, who thought mighty odd Ev'ry word she e'er heard in this church about God. To convince her of God the good dean did endeavour; But still in her heart she held Nature more clever. Tho' he talk'd much of virtue, her head always run Upon something or other she found better fun: For the dame, by her skill in affairs astronomical, Imagin'd, to live in the clouds was but comical. In this world she despis'd ev'ry soul she met here; And now she's in t'other, she thinks it but queer.

SIR, I admit your gen'ral rule, That ev'ry poet is a fool: But you yourself may serve to show it, That every fool is not a poet.

WELL then, poor G—— lies under ground! So there's an end of honest Jack. So little justice here he found, 'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back. EPIGRAM