The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/The Dean's Complaint Translated and Answered
THE DEAN'S COMPLAINT, TRANSLATED AND ANSWERED.
DEAF, giddy, helpless, left alone.
ANSWER.
Except the first, the fault's your own.
DOCTOR.
To all my friends a burden grown.
ANSWER.
Because to few you will be shown.
Give them good wine, and meat to stuff,
You may have company enough.
DOCTOR.
No more I hear my church's bell,
Than if it rang out for my knell.
ANSWER.
Then write and read, 'twill do as well.
DOCTOR.
At thunder now no more I start,
Than at the rumbling of a cart.
ANSWER.
Think then of thunder when you f—t.
DOCTOR.
Nay, what's incredible, alack!
No more I hear a woman's clack.
ANSWER.
A woman's clack, if I have skill,
Sounds somewhat like a throwster's mill;
But louder than a bell, or thunder;
That does, I own, increase my wonder.