, she's CROSSER than all four.

IV. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER

The church and clergy here, no doubt,
Are very near a-kin;
Both weather-beaten are without,
And empty both within.

V. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER

My landlord is civil,
But dear as the d--l:
Your pockets grow empty
With nothing to tempt ye;
The wine is so sour,
'Twill give you a scour,
The beer and the ale
Are mingled with stale.
The veal is such carrion,
A dog would be weary on.
All this I have felt,
For I live on a smelt.

VI. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER

The walls of this town
Are full of renown,
And strangers delight to walk round 'em:
But as for the dwellers,
Both buyers and sellers,
For me, you may hang 'em, or drown 'em.

VII. ANOTHER
WRITTEN UPON A WINDOW WHERE THERE WAS NO WRITING BEFORE

Thanks to my stars, I once can see
A window here from scribbling free!
Here no conceited coxcombs pass,
To scratch their paltry drabs on glass;
Nor party fool is calling names,
Or dealing crowns to George and James.

VIII. ON SEEING VERSES WRITTEN UPON WINDOWS AT INNS

The sage, who said he should be proud
Of windows in his breast,[1]
Because he ne'er a thought allow'd
That might not be confest;
His window scrawl'd by every rake,
His breast again would cover,
And fairly bid the devil take
The diamond and the lover.

[Footnote 1: See on this "Notes and Queries," 10th S., xii,
497.--_W. E. B._]

IX. ANOTHER

By Satan taught, all conjurors know
Your mistress in a glass to show,
And you can do as much:
In this the devil and you agree;
None e'er made verses worse than he,
And thine, I swear, are such.

X. ANOTHER

That love is the devil, I'll prove when required;
Those rhymers abundantly show it:
They swear that they all by love are inspired,
And the devil's a damnable poet.

XI. ANOTHER, AT HOLYHEAD [1]

O Neptune! Neptune! must I still
Be here detain'd against my will?
Is this your justice, when I'm come
Above two hundred miles from home;
O'er mountains steep, o'er dusty plains,
Half choked with dust, half drown'd with rains,
Only your godship to implore,
To let me kiss your other shore?
A boon so small! but I may weep,
While you're like Baal, fast asleep.

[Footnote 1: These verses were no doubt written during the Dean's
enforced stay at Holyhead while waiting for fair weather. See Swift's
Journal of 1727, in Craik's "Life of Swift," vol. ii, and "Prose Works,"
vol. xi.--_W. E. B_.]

TO