Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/321

( 309 ) .

house of hair, and lady's hand At first did put me to a stand. I have it now — 'tis plain enough — Your hairy business is a muff. Your engine fraught with cooling gales, At once so like your masts and sails; And for the rhyme to you're the man, What fits it better than a fan?

. 1724-5.

Scottish hinds, too poor to house In frosty nights their starving cows, While not a blade of grass or hay Appears from Michaelmas to May, Must let their cattle range in vain For food along the barren plain. Meagre and lank with fasting grown, And nothing left but skin and bone; Expos'd to want, and wind, and weather, They just keep life and soul together, Till summer showers and evening's dew Again the verdant glebe renew; And, as the vegetables rise, The famish'd cow her want supplies: Without an ounce of last year's flesh; Whate'er she gains is young and fresh;