Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/474

468 I've the humanity to hate A butcher, though he brings me meat; And, let me tell you, have a nose (Whatever stinking Fops suppose,) That under cloth of gold or tissue Can smell a plaster or an issue. Your pilf'ring lord, with simple pride, May wear a picklock at his side; My master wants no key of state, For Bounce can keep his house and gate. When all such dogs have had their days, As knavish Pams, and fawning Trays; When pamper'd Cupids, beastly Venis, And motley, squinting Harlequinis , Shall lick no more their ladies br—, But die of looseness, claps, or itch; Fair Thames, from either echoing shore, Shall hear and dread my manly roar. See Bounce, like Berecynthia crown'd With thund'ring offspring all around; Beneath, beside me, and at top, A hundred sons, and not one fop! Before my children set your beef, Not one true Bounce will be a thief! Not one without permission feed (Though some of J—n's hungry breed:) But, whatsoe'er the father's race, From me they suck a little grace: While your fine whelps learn all to steal, Bred up by hand on chick and veal. My eldest born resides not far, Where shines great Strafford's glittering star: My