Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/60

50 Take down thy proudly swelling sails, And rub thy teeth, and pare thy nails: At nicely carving show thy wit; But ne'er presume to eat a bit: Turn every way thy watchful eye, And every guest be sure to ply: Let never at your board be known An empty plate, except your own. Be these thy arts; nor higher aim Than what befits a rural dame. But Cloacina, goddess bright. Sleek claims her as his right: And Smedley, flower of all divines, Shall sing the dean in Smedley's lines.

VII.