Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/237

 See what by drinking you have done: You've made your phiz a skeleton, From the long distance of your crown, t' your gullet.

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with saying grace and prayer, I hasten'd down to country air, To read your answer, and prepare reply to 't: But your fair lines so grossly flatter, Pray, do they praise me, or bespatter? I must suspect you mean the latter — Ah! slyboot! It must be so! what else, alas! Can mean by culling of a face, And all that stuff of toilet, glass, and box-comb? But be't as 'twill, this you must grant, That you're a dawb, whilst I but paint; Then which of us two is the quaint- er coxcomb? I value not your jokes of noose, Your gibes, and all your foul abuse, More than the dirt beneath my shoes, nor fear it: