Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/307

Rh Yet standers by may plainly see They get no nourishment from me. My head with giddiness goes round; And yet I firmly stand my ground: All over naked I am seen, And painted like an Indian queen. No couple-beggar in the land E'er join'd such numbers hand in hand; I join'd them fairly with a ring; Nor can our parson blame the thing: And, though no marriage words are spoke, They part not till the ring is broke; Yet hypocrite fanaticks cry, I'm but an idol rais'd on high: And once a weaver in our town, A damn'd Cromwellian, knock'd me down. I lay a prisoner twenty years, And then the jovial cavaliers To their old post restor'd all three, I mean the church, the king, and me.

borrow'd silver shine, What you see is none of mine. First I show you but a quarter, Like the bow that guards the Tartar; Then the half, and then the whole, Ever dancing round the pole. And, what will raise your admiration, I am not one of God's creation, But sprung (and I this truth maintain) Like Pallas from my father's brain. Rh