Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/193

Rh While the water and sweat Splish-splash in their pumps. Bless you late and early, Laughlin O'Enagin ! By my hand, you dance rarely, Margery Grinagin. Bring straw for our bed, Shake it down to the feet, Then over us spread The winnowing sheet. To show I don't flinch, Fill the bowl up again; Then give us a pinch Of your sneezing, a Yean. Good Lord! what a sight, After all their good cheer, For people to fight In the midst of their beer! They rise from their feast, And hot are their brains, A cubit at least The length of their skeans. What stabs and what cuts, What clattering of sticks; What strokes on the guts, What bastings and kicks! With cudgels of oak, Well hardened in flame, Rh