Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/272



cudgels Ned, yet Ned's a bully; Will cudgels Bess, yet Will's a cully. Die Ned and Bess; give Will to Joan, She dares not say her life's her own. Die Joan and Will; give Bess to Ned, And every day she combs his head.

mournful ditties, Clio, change thy note, Since cruel fate has sunk our justice Boat. Why should he sink, where nothing seem'd to press, His lading little, and his ballast less? Tost in the waves of this tempestuous world, At length, his anchor fixt and canvas furl'd, To Lazy hill retiring from his court, At his Ring's end he founders in the port. With water fill'd, he could no longer float, The common death of many a stronger boat. A post so fill'd on nature's laws entrenches: Benches on boats are plac'd, not boats on benches. And yet our Boat (how shall I reconcile it?) Was both a Boat, and in one sense a pilot. With