Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/233

Rh No Colchester oyster Is sweeter and moister: Your stomach they settle, And rouse up your mettle: They'll make you a dad Of a lass or a lad; And madam your wife They'll please to the life; Be she barren, be she old, Be she slut, or be she scold. Eat my oysters, and lie near her, She'll be fruitful, never fear her.

BE not sparing, Leave off swearing. Buy my herring Fresh from Malahide , Better never was try'd. Come, eat them with pure fresh butter and mustard, Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard. Come, sixpence a dozen to get me some bread, Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead.

COME buy my fine oranges, sauce for your veal, And charming when squeezed in a pot of brown ale; Well roasted, with sugar and wine in a cup, They'll make a sweet bishop when gentlefolks sup. ON