Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/218

206 Much better b' half th'n you, n'r you, n'r him, And that I'd rid'cule their 'nd your flam-flim, Ay b't then, p'rhaps, says you, t's a merry whim With 'bundance of mark'd notes i' th' rim, So th't I ought n't for t' be morose 'nd t' look grim, Think n't your 'p'stle put m' in a megrim; Though 'n rep't't'on day, I 'ppear ver' slim, Th' last bowl 't Helsham's did m' head t' swim, So th't I h'd man' aches 'n 'v'ry scruhb'd limb, Cause th' top of th' bowl Ih'd oft us'd t' skim; And b'sides D'lan' swears th't Ih'd swall'w'd s'v'r'l brim- mers, 'nd that my vis'ge's cov'r'd o'er with r'd pim- ples: m'r'o'er though m' scull were ('s 'tis n't) 's strong's tim- ber, 't must have ak'd. Th' clans of th' c'llege Sanh'drim,

EAR Sheridan! a gentle pair Of Gaulstown lads (for such they are) Beside a brace of grave divines, Adore the smoothness of thy lines: Smooth as our basin's silver flood, Ere George had robb'd it of its mud; Smoother