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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 321 pages of information about The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 2.

Answered the same day when sent, Nov. 23.

I desire you will carry both these to the Doctor together with his own; and let him know we are not persons to be insulted.

I was at Howth to-day, and staid abroad a-visiting till just now.

Tuesday Evening, Nov. 23, 1731.

  “Can you match with me,
  Who send thirty-three? 
  You must get fourteen more,
  To make up thirty-four: 
  But, if me you can conquer,
  I’ll own you a strong cur."[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. SWIFT, VICAR OF LARACOR. 
UPON LENDING HIS HOUSE TO THE BISHOP OF MEATH,
UNTIL HIS OWN WAS BUILT[1]

An oaken broken elbow-chair;
A caudle cup without an ear;
A batter’d, shatter’d ash bedstead;
A box of deal, without a lid;
A pair of tongs, but out of joint;
A back-sword poker, without point;
A pot that’s crack’d across, around,
With an old knotted garter bound;
An iron lock, without a key;
A wig, with hanging, grown quite grey;
A curtain, worn to half a stripe;
A pair of bellows, without pipe;
A dish, which might good meat afford once;
An Ovid, and an old Concordance;
A bottle-bottom, wooden-platter
One is for meal, and one for water;
There likewise is a copper skillet,
Which runs as fast out as you fill it;
A candlestick, snuff-dish, and save-all,
And thus his household goods you have all. 
These, to your lordship, as a friend,
’Till you have built, I freely lend: 
They’ll serve your lordship for a shift;
Why not as well as Doctor Swift?

[Footnote 1:  This poem was written by Sheridan, who had it presented to the Bishop by a beggar, in the form of a petition, to Swift’s great surprise, who was in the carriage with his Lordship at the time.—­Scott.]

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