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The Farmer s Goose who in the Stubble Has

The Farmer""s Goose who in the Stubble
Has fed without Restraint or Trouble
Grown fat with Corn and Sitting still
Can scarce get o""er the Barn Door Sill
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her Belly in the neighb""ring Pool
Nor loudly cackles at the Door
For Cackling shews the Goose is poor.
But when she must be turn""d to graze
And round the barren Common strays
Hard Exercise and harder Fare
Soon make my Dame grow lank and spare
Her Body light she tries her Wings
And scorns the Ground and upward springs
While all the Parish as she flies
Hear Sounds harmonious from the Skies.
Such is the Poet fresh in Pay
The third Night""s Profits of his Play
His Morning Draughts ""till Noon can swill
Among his Brethren of the Quill
With good Roast Beef his Belly full
Grown lazy foggy fat and dull
Deep sunk in Plenty and Delight
What Poet e""er could take his Flight?
Or stuff""d with Phlegm up to the Throat
What Poet e""er could sing a Note?
Nor Pegasus could bear the Load
Along the high celestial Road
The Steed oppress""d would break his Girth
To raise the Lumber from the Earth.
But view him in another Scene
When all his Drink is Hippocrene
His Money spent his Patrons fail
His Credit out for Cheese and Ale
His Two Year""s Coat so smooth and bare
Through ev""ry Thread it lets in Air
With hungry Meals his Body pin""d
His Guts and Belly full of Wind
And like a Jockey for a Race
His Flesh brought down to Flying Case
Now his exalted Spirit loaths
Incumbrances of Food and Cloaths
And up he rises like a Vapour
Supported high on Wings of Paper
He singing flies and flying sings
While from below all Grub street rings..

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by:- admin posted in:- jonathan swift

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