Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/104

92 Thus in a sea of folly tost, My choicest hours of life are lost; Yet always wishing to retreat, O, could I see my country seat! There leaning near a gentle brook, Sleep, or peruse some ancient book; And there in sweet oblivion drown Those cares that haunt the court and town.

A crazy prelate, and a royal prude ;
 * By an old pursu'd,
 * By an old pursu'd,
 * By an old pursu'd,

By