Poems by Jonathan Swift

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Corinna, Pride of Drury-Lane,
Careful Observers may fortel the Hour
Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach
Deprived of root, and branch and rind,
On the Death of a Late FAMOUS GENERAL
Ye poets ragged and forlorn,
Her dead lady's joy and comfort,
To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland,
Stella this Day is thirty four,
The Thresher Duck, could o'er the Q {-}{-}{-}{-}{-}{-} prevail,
Charming oysters I cry:
Desponding Phillis was endu'd
Stella this day is thirty-four,
This day, whate'er the Fates decree,
To the Priest, on Observing how most Men mistake their own Talents
Five hours, (and who can do it less in?)
All folks who pretend to religion and grace,
The Farmer's Goose, who in the Stubble,
A lion sunk by time's decay,
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As, when a lofty pile is raised,
As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew