Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/278

266 And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excuse. Because my master one day, in anger, call'd you goose: Which, and I am sure I have been his servant four years since October, And he never call'd me worse than sweetheart, drunk or sober: Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge, Though you and your come-rogues keep him out so late in your college. You say you will eat grass on his grave: a christian eat grass! Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or an ass: But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye; Well, well, that's as God pleases; and I don't believe that's a true story: And so say I told you so, and you may go tell my master; what care I? And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary. Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil; I am but a poor servant; but I think gentlefolks should be civil. Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here; I remember it was on Tuesday of all days in the year. And Saunders the man says you are always jesting and mocking: Mary, said he, (one day as I was mending my master's stocking;) My