Lines on a Drawing of a Monument to Swift's Grandfather

Jonathan Swift
Had the gift,
By fatherige, motherige,
And by brotherige,
To come from Gotherige,
But now is spoiled clean,
And an Irish Dean.
In this church he has put
A stone of two foot;
With a cup and a can, Sir,
In respect to his grandsire;
So Ireland change thy tone,
And cry, O hone! O hone!
For England hath its own.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.