The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, D.D., Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, Volume 7

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J. Johnson, J. Nichols, R. Baldwin, Otridge and Son, J. Sewell, F. and C. Rivington, T. Payne, R. Faulder, G. and J. Robinson, R. Lea, J. Nunn, W. Cuthell, T. Egerton, ... [and 12 others], 1801
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Page 350 - Give no more to every guest, Than he's able to digest; Give him always of the prime; And but little at a time. Carve to all but just enough: Let them neither starve nor stuff: And, that you may have your due, Let your neighbours carve for you.
Page 90 - Tis (let me see) three years and more (October next it will be four) Since Harley bid me first attend, And chose me for an humble friend; Would take me in his coach to chat, And question me of this and that; As,' What's o'clock?' and,
Page 315 - That lies in old wood like a hare in her form ; With teeth or with claws it will bite or will scratch, And chambermaids christen this worm a deathwatch ; Because like a watch it always cries click ; Then woe be to those in the house who are sick : For, as sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost, If the maggot cries click when it scratches the post.
Page 333 - THIS day, whate'er the Fates decree, Shall still be kept with joy by me : This day then let us not be told That you are sick, and I grown old ; Nor think on our approaching ills, And talk of spectacles and pills : To-morrow will be time enough To hear such mortifying stuff.
Page 336 - Your former actions claim their part, And join to fortify your heart. For virtue in her daily race, Like Janus, bears a double face; Looks back with joy where she has gone, And therefore goes with courage on.
Page 22 - Then the Bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to Bed, And, God knows, I thought my Money was as safe as my Maidenhead. So when I came up again, I found my Pocket feel very light, But when I search'd, and miss'd my Purse, Lord! I thought I should have sunk outright: Lord! Madam, says Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed, says I, never worse; But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my Purse!
Page 59 - Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, Threatening with deluge this devoted town. To shops in crowds the daggled females fly, Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
Page 58 - A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings, That swilled more liquor than it could contain, And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Page 168 - Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind, And, forming you, mistook your kind ? No ; 'twas for you alone he stole The fire that forms a manly soul ; Then, to complete it every way, He moulded it with female clay : To that you owe the nobler flame, To this the beauty of your frame.
Page 373 - As clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling, Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling, He stopt at the George for a bottle of sack, And promis'd to pay for it when he came back.

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