Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/390

378 But we must go to Aghnecloy ; Or, Mr. Moore will take it ill. The house accounts are daily rising; So much his stay doth swell the bills; My dearest life, it is surprising, How much he eats, how much he swills. His brace of puppies how they stuff! And they must have three meals a day, Yet never think they get enough; His horses too eat all our hay. O! if I could, how I would maul His tallow face and wainscot paws, His beetle brows, and eyes of wall, And make him soon give up the cause! Must I be every moment chid With Skinnybonia, Snipe, and Lean? O! that I could but once be rid Of this insulting tyrant dean!

glass! thou bear'st that name as well as I; Though none can tell, which of us first shall die.

ME only chance can kill; thou, frailer creature, May'st die, like me, by chance; but must by nature. ON