Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/183

Rh He touch'd the pence, when others touch'd the pot; The hand that sign'd the mortgage paid the shot. Old as he was, no vulgar known disease On him could ever boast a power to seize; "But, as he weigh'd his gold, grim Death in spight Cast in his dart, which made three moidores light; And, as he saw his darling money fail, Blew his last breath, to sink the lighter scale." He who so long was current, 'twould be strange If he should now be cry'd down since his change. The sexton shall green sods on thee bestow; Alas, the sexton is thy banker now! A dismal banker must that banker be, Who gives no bills but of mortality!

ENEATH this verdant hillock lies Demar, the wealthy and the wise. His heirs, that he might safely rest, Have put his carcase in a chest; The very chest, in which, they say, His other self, his money, lay. And, if his heirs continue kind To that dear self he left behind, I dare believe, that four in five Will think his better half alive. TO