Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/423

 Tim, with surprise and pleasure staring, Ran to the glass, and then comparing His own sweet figure with the print, Distinguish’d every feature in't, The twist, the squeeze, the rump, the fidge in all, Just as they look'd in the original. "By —," says Tim, and let a fart, "This graver understood his art. 'Tis a true copy, I'll say that for't; I well remember, when I sat for't. My very face, at first I knew it; Just in this dress the painter drew it." Tim, with his likeness deeply smitten, Would read what underneath was written, The merry tale, with moral grave, He now began to storm and rave: "The cursed villain! now I see This was a libel meant at me: These scribblers grow so bold of late Against us ministers of state! Such jacobites as he deserve — D—n me! I say, they ought to starve."

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and Dick had equal fame, And both had equal knowledge; Tom could write and spell his name, But Dick had seen the college. Dick