Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/357

Rh From London they come, silly people to chouse, Their lands and their faces unknown: Who'd vote a rogue into the parliament house, That would turn a man out of his own?

poets ragged and forlorn, Down from your garrets haste; Ye rhymers dead as soon as born, Not yet consigned to paste. I know a trick to make you thrive; O, 'tis a quaint device: Your stillborn poems shall revive, And scorn to wrap up spice. Get all your verses printed fair, Then let them well be dried; And Curll must have a special care To leave the margin wide. Lend these to paper-sparing Pope; And when he sits to write, No letter with an envelope Could give him more delight. When