Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/332

320 The soldier is ruin'd, poor man! by his pay; His fivepence will prove but a farthing a day, For meat, or for drink; or he must run away. Which, &c. When he pulls out his twopence, the tapster says not, That ten times as much he must pay for his shot; And thus the poor soldier must soon go to pot. Which, &c. If he goes to the baker, the baker will huff, And twentypence have for a twopenny loaf, Then, dog, rogue, and rascal, and so kick and cuff. Which, &c. Again, to the market whenever he goes, The butcher and soldier must be mortal foes, One cuts off an ear, and the other a nose. Which, &c. The butcher is stout, and he values no swagger; A cleaver 's a match any time for a dagger, And a blue sleeve may give such a cuff as may stagger. Which, &c. The, beggars themselves will be broke in a trice, When thus their poor farthings are sunk in their price; When nothing is left, they must live on their lice. Which, &c. The squire possessed of twelve thousand a year, O Lord! what a mountain his rents would appear! Should he take them, he would not have houseroom, I fear. Which, &c. Though