Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/403



little scribbling beau, What demon made you write? Because to write you know As much as you can fight. For compliment so scurvy, I wish we had you here; We'd turn you topsyturvy Into a mug of beer. You thought to make a farce on The man and place we chose; We're sure a single parson Is worth a hundred beaux. And you would make us vassals, Good Mr. Wig and Wings, To silver clocks and tassels; You would, you Thing of Things! Because around your cane A ring of diamonds is set; And you, in some by-lane, Have gain'd a paltry grisette: Shall we, of sense refin'd, Your trifling nonsense bear, As noisy as the wind, As empty as the air? Rh