Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/151

Rh Nor is old Nanny Shales, whene'er she does brew, sick. My footman came home from the church of a bruise sick, And look'd like a rake, who was made in the stews sick; But you learned doctors can make whom you choose sick: And poor I myself was, when I withdrew, sick; For the smell of them made me like garlick and rue sick, And I got through the crowd, though not led by a clew, sick. Yet hop'd to find many (for that was your cue) sick; But there was not a dozen (to give them their due) sick, And those to be sure, stuck together like glew, sick. So are ladies in crowds, when they squeeze and they screw, sick; You may find they are all, by their yellow pale hue, sick; So am I, when tobacco, like Robin, I chew, sick.

IF I write any more, it will make my poor Muse sick. This night I came home with a very cold dew sick. And I wish I may soon be not of an ague sick; But I hope I shall ne'er be like you, of a shrew sick, Who often has made me, by looking askew, sick. DR.