Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/378

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
366
SWIFT'S POEMS.

But now it will be no such thing,
For he'll be poor as any king:
And by his crown will nothing get,
But like a king to run in debt.


MARBLE HILL.

No more the dean, that grave divine,
Shall keep the key of my no — wine;
My ice house rob, as heretofore,
And steal my artichokes no more;
Poor Patty Blount no more be seen
Bedraggled in my walks so green:
Plump Johnny Gay will now elope:
And here no more will dangle Pope.


RICHMOND LODGE.

Here wont the dean, when he's to seek,
To spunge a breakfast once a week;
To cry the bread was stale, and mutter
Complaints against the royal butter.
But now I fear it will be said,
No butter sticks upon his bread.
We soon shall find him full of spleen,
For want of tattling to the queen;
Stunning her royal ears with talking;
His reverence and her highness walking:
While lady Charlotte[1], like a stroller,
Sits mounted on the garden-roller.
A goodly sight to see her ride
With ancient Mirmont[2] at her side.
In velvet cap his head lies warm;
His hat for show beneath his arm.

  1. Lady Charlotte de Roussy, a French lady.
  2. Marquis de Mirinont, a Frenchman of quality.

MARBLE