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Swift, Jonathan, 1667-1745

"The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 2"

"[2]
This morning I'm growing, by smelling of yew, sick;
My brother's come over with gold from Peru sick;
Last night I came home in a storm that then blew sick;
This moment my dog at a cat I halloo sick;
I hear from good hands, that my poor cousin Hugh's sick;
By quaffing a bottle, and pulling a screw sick:
And now there's no more I can write (you'll excuse) sick;
You see that I scorn to mention word music.
I'll do my best,
To send the rest;
Without a jest,
I'll stand the test.
These lines that I send you, I hope you'll peruse sick;
I'll make you with writing a little more news sick;
Last night I came home with drinking of booze sick;
My carpenter swears that he'll hack and he'll hew sick.
An officer's lady, I'm told, is tattoo sick;
I'm afraid that the line thirty-four you will view sick.
Lord! I could write a dozen more;
You see I've mounted thirty-four.
[Footnote 1: Time.--_Dublin Edition._]
[Footnote 2: The lines "thus marked" were written by Dr. Swift, at the
bottom of Dr. Helsham's twenty lines; and the following fourteen were
afterwards added on the same paper.--_N._]


A TRUE AND FAITHFUL INVENTORY
OF THE GOODS BELONGING TO DR.


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