Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 18.djvu/446

432 "But where," say they, "shall we bestow these weavers, That spread our streets, and are such piteous cravers?" The silk worms (brittle beings!) prone to fate, Demand their care, to make their webs complete: These may they tend, their promises receive; We cannot pay too much for what they give!

IS so old, and so ugly, and yet so convenient, You're sometimes in pleasure, though often in pain in't. 'Tis so large you may lodge a few friends with ease in't, You may turn and stretch at your length if you please in't; 'Tis so little, the family live in a press in't, And poor lady Betty has scarce room to dress in't; 'Tis