Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/155



SINCE Anna, whose bounty thy merits had fed, Ere her own was laid low, had exalted thy head; And since our good queen to the wise is so just, To raise heads for such as are humbled in dust, I wonder, good man, that you are not envaulted; Prithee go, and be dead, and be doubly exalted.

HER majesty never shall be my exalter; And yet she would raise me, I know, by a halter!

O thee, dear Swift, these spotless leaves I send; Small is the present, but sincere the friend. Think not so poor a book below thy care; Who knows the price that thou canst make it bear? Though tawdry now, and, like Tyrilla's face, The specious front shines out with borrow'd grace; . VIII.