Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/103

 How think you of our friend the dean? I wonder what some people mean! My lord and he are grown so great, Always together, tête à tête; What! they admire him for his jokes? — See but the fortune of some folks!" There flies about a strange report Of some express arriv'd at court: I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet, And catechis'd in every street. "You, Mr. dean, frequent the great: Inform us, will the emperor treat? Or do the prints and papers lie?" Faith, sir, you know as much as I. "Ah, doctor, how you love to jest! 'Tis now no secret" — I protest 'Tis one to me — "Then tell us, pray, When are the troops to have their pay?" And, though I solemnly declare I know no more than my lord mayor, They stand amaz'd, and think me grown The closest mortal ever known. Thus

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