The Works of the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Swift ...

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C. Bathurst, W. Strahan, 1784
 

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Page 143 - tis a shocking sight, And he's engaged to-morrow night; My Lady Club will take it ill, If he should fail her at quadrille. He loved the Deanó (I lead a heart,) But dearest friends, they say, must part. His time was come: he ran his race; We hope he's in a better place.
Page 35 - You had like to have put it quite out of my head. Next day to be sure, the Captain will come At the head of his troop, with trumpet and drum.
Page 160 - His shape and beauty made him proud : In diet was perhaps too nice, But gluttony was ne'er his vice : In every turn of life content, And meekly took what fortune sent : Inquire through all the parish round, A better neighbour ne'er was found ; His vigilance might some displease ; 'Tis true, he hated sloth like pease. The...
Page 36 - Your ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen (For sure I had dizen'd you out like a queen). The captain, to show he is proud of the favour, Looks up to your window, and cocks up his beaver. (His beaver is cock'd ; pray, madam, mark that, For a captain of horse never takes off his hat, Because he has never a hand that is idle ; For the right holds the sword, and the left holds the bridle...
Page 143 - To fancy they could live a year ! I find you're but a stranger here. The Dean was famous in his time, And had a kind of knack at rhyme : His way of writing now is past ; The town has got a better taste. I keep no antiquated stuff, But spick and span I have enough.
Page 142 - My female friends, whose tender hearts Have better learn'd to act their parts, Receive the news in doleful dumps, 'The Dean is dead, (and what is trumps?) Then Lord have mercy on his soul.
Page 142 - I'll venture for the vole.) Six deans, they say, must bear the pall : (I wish I knew what king to call.) Madam, your husband will attend The funeral of so good a friend.
Page 141 - He'll treat me as he does my betters, Publish my will, my life, my letters ; Revive the libels born to die : Which Pope must bear as well as I. Here shift the scene, to represent How those I love my death lament.
Page 137 - I grieve to be outdone by Gay In my own hum'rous biting way. Arbuthnot is no more my friend, Who dares to irony pretend, Which I was born to introduce, Refin'd it first, and shew'd its use.
Page 37 - The servants amaz'd are scarce ever able To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the table ; And Molly and I have thrust in our nose, To peep at the captain in all his fine clo'es. Dear madam, be sure he's a fine spoken man, Do but hear on the clergy how glib his tongue ran ; And, 'madam,' says he, 'if such dinners you give, You'll ne'er want for parsons as long as you live.

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