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The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dick, a Maggot

DICK,

A MAGGOT.


AS when, from rooting in a bin,
All powder'd o'er from tail to chin,
A lively maggot sallies out,
You know him by his hazel snout:
So when the grandson of his grandsire
Forth issuing wriggling, Dick Drawcansir,
With powder'd rump and back and side,
You cannot blanch his tawny hide;
For 'tis beyond the power of meal
The gipsy visage to conceal:
For, as he shakes his wainscot chops,
Down every mealy atom drops,
And leaves the tartar phyz in show,
Like a fresh t—d just dropt on snow.