Let me thy Properties explain,
A rotten Cabin, dropping Rain;
Chimnies with Scorn rejecting Smoak;
Stools, Tables, Chairs, and Bed-steds broke:
Here Elements have lost their Vses,
Air ripens not, nor Earth produces:
In vain we make poor Sheelah toil,
Fire will not roast, nor Water boil.
Thro' all the Vallies, Hills, and Plains,
The Goddess Want in Triumph reigns;
And her chief Officers of State,
Sloth, Dirt, and Theft around her wait.
More verses by Jonathan Swift
- To Stella, Who Collected And Transcribed His Poems
- On The Vowels
- Elegy On Partridge
- An Excellent New Song Being The Intended Speech Of A Famous Orator Against Peace
- The Windsor Prophecy