Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/377

Rh You'll find it soon by woeful proof; She'll come no more beneath your roof.

The kingly prophet well evinces, That we should put no trust in princes: My royal master promis’d me To raise me to a high degree; But now he's grown a king, God wot, I fear I shall be soon forgot. You see, when folks have got their ends, How quickly they neglect their friends; Yet I may say, 'twixt me and you, Pray God, they now may find as true!

My house was built but for a show, My lady's empty pockets know; And now she will not have a shilling, To raise the stairs, or build the ceiling; For all the courtly madams round Now pay four shillings in the pound; 'Tis come to what I always thought: My dame is hardly worth a groat. Had you and I been courtiers born, We should not thus have lain forlorn: For those we dextrous courtiers call, Can rise upon their masters' fall. But we, unlucky and unwise, Must fall because our masters rise.

My master, scarce a fortnight since, Was grown as wealthy as a prince; 4