Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/342

330 In vain we make poor Sheelah toil, Fire will not roast, nor water boil. Through all the valleys, hills, and plains, The goddess Want in triumph reigns: And her chief officers of state, Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.

Far from our debtors; no Dublin letters; Nor seen by our betters.

A companion with news; a great want of shoes; Eat lean meat, or choose; a church without pews. Our horses astray; no straw, oats, or hay; December in May; our boys run away; all servants at play.

Dean, since you in sleepy wise Have op'd your mouth, and clos'd your eyes; Like ghost, I glide along your floor, And softly shut the parlour door: For, should I break your sweet repose, Who knows what money you might lose; Since