Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/61

Rh The kettle to the top was hoist, And there stood fasten'd to a joist, But with the upside down, to show Its inclination for below: In vain; for a superiour force Apply'd at bottom stops its course: Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell, 'Tis now no kettle, but a bell. A wooden jack, which had almost Lost by disuse the art to roast, A sudden alteration feels, Increas'd by new intestine wheels; And, what exalts the wonder more, The number made the motion slower. The flier, though it had leaden feet, Turn'd round so quick you scarce could see 't; But, slacken'd by some secret power, Now hardly moves an inch an hour. The jack and chimney, near allied, Had never left each other's side: The chimney to a steeple grown, The jack would not be left alone; But, up against the steeple rear'd, Became a clock, and still adher'd; And still its love to houshold cares, By a shrill voice at noon, declares, Warning the cookmaid not to burn That roast meat, which it cannot turn. The groaning-chair began to crawl, Like a huge snail, along the wall; There stuck aloft in publick view, And with small change, a pulpit grew. The porringers, that in a row Hung high, and made a glittering show,. VII.