Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/70

60 Like a butcher, doom'd for life In his mouth to wear his knife; Hence he draws his daily food From his tenants vital blood. Lastly, let his gifts be try'd, Borrow'd from the mason's side: Some perhaps may think him able In the state to build a Babel; Could we place him in a station To destroy the old foundation. True indeed, I should be gladder Could he learn to mount a ladder. May he at his latter end Mount alive, and dead descend! In him tell me which prevail, Female vices most, or male? What produc'd him, can you tell? Human race, or imps of Hell?

OBIN to beggars with a curse, Throws the last shilling in his purse; And, when the coachman comes for pay, The rogue must call another day. Grave Harry, when the poor are pressing, Gives them a penny, and God's blessing; But,