ROBIN AND HARRY by JONATHAN SWIFT

Robin, to beggars, with a curse
Throws the last shilling in his purse,
And when the coachman comes for pay,
The rogue must call another day.
Grave Harry, when the poor are pressing
Gives them a penny, and God's blessing;
But, always careful of the main,
With twopence left, walks home in rain.
Robin from noon to night will prate,
Runs out in tongue, as in estate;
And e'er a twelvemonth and a day
Will not have one new thing to say.
Much talking is not Harry's vice,
He need not tell a story twice,
And, if he always be so thrifty,
His fund may last to five and fifty.
It so fell out, that cautious Harry
As soldiers use, for love must marry,
And with his dame the ocean crossed,
All for love, or the world well lost.
Repairs a cabin gone to ruin,
Just big enough to shelter two in;
And, in his house, if anybody come,
Will make them welcome to his modicum:
Where goody Julia milks the cows,
And boils potatoes for her spouse,
Or darns his hose, or mends his breeches,
While Harry's fencing up his ditches.
Robin, who ne'er his mind could fix
To live without a coach and six,
To patch his broken fortunes, found
A mistress worth five thousand pound;
Swears, he could get her in an hour
If Gaffer Harry would endow her;
And sell, to pacify his wrath,
A birthright for a mess of broth.
A young Harry, as all Europe knows,
Was long the quintessence of beaux;
But, when espoused, he ran the fate
That must attend the married state;
From gold brocade, and shining armour,
Was metamorphosed to a farmer;
His grazier's coat with dirt besmeared,
Nor, twice a week will shave his beard.
Old Robin, all his youth a sloven,
At fifty-two, when he grew loving,
Clad in a coat of paduasoy,
A flaxen wig, and waistcoat gay,
Powdered from shoulder down to flank,
In courtly style address Frank;
Twice ten years older than his wife,
Is doomed to be a beau for life;
Supplying those defects by dress
Which I must leave the world to guess.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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