On The Collar Of Tiger, Mrs. Dingley's Lap-Dog

Pray steal me not; I'm Mrs. Dingley's,
Whose heart in this four-footed thing lies.

Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift was an Anglo-Irish satirist, essayist, political pamphleteer, poet and cleric who became Dean of St Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. Swift is remembered for works such as "A Tale of a Tub" (1704), "An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity" (1712), and "Gulliver's Travels" (1726). Swift originally published all of his works under pseudonyms—such as Lemuel Gulliver, Isaac Bickerstaff, Drapier's Letters as MB Drapier—and works were sometimes attributed to Anonymous.

Jonathan Swift

To Love[1]

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

An Epistle Upon An Epistle

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

Mr. William Crowe's Address To Her Majesty, Turned Into Metre

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

The Description Of A Salamander, 1705

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Dog And Thief.

Quoth the thief to the dog, let me into your door
    And I'll give you these delicate bits.
Quoth the dog, I shall then be more villain than you're,
    And besides must be out of my wits.

Your delicate bits will not serve me a meal,
    But my master each day gives me bread;
You'll fly, when you get what you came here to steal,
    And I must be hang'd in your stead.

The stockjobber thus from 'Change Alley goes down,
    And tips you the freeman a wink;
Let me have but your vote to serve for the town,
    And here is a guinea to drink.

Says the freeman, your guinea to-night would be spent!
    Your offers of bribery cease:
I'll vote for my landlord to whom I pay rent,
    Or else I may forfeit my lease.

From London they come, silly pe...

Jonathan Swift

A Letter To Dr. Helsham

SIR,
    Pray discruciate what follows.

The dullest beast, and gentleman's liquor,
When young is often due to the vicar,[1]

The dullest of beasts, and swine's delight,
Make up a bird very swift of flight.[2]

The dullest beast, when high in stature,
And another of royal nature,
For breeding is a useful creature.[3]

The dullest beast, and a party distress'd,
When too long, is bad at best.[4]

The dullest beast, and the saddle it wears,
Is good for partridge, not for hares.[5]

The dullest beast, and kind voice of a cat,
Will make a horse go, though he be not fat.[6]

The dullest of beasts and of birds in the air,
Is that by which all Irishmen swear.[7]

The dullest beast, and famed college for Teagues,
Is a p...

Jonathan Swift

On Psyche[1]

At two afternoon for our Psyche inquire,
Her tea-kettle's on, and her smock at the fire:
So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle;
Which has she most need of, a spur or a bridle?
Thus a greyhound outruns the whole pack in a race,
Yet would rather be hang'd than he'd leave a warm place.
She gives you such plenty, it puts you in pain;
But ever with prudence takes care of the main.
To please you, she knows how to choose a nice bit;
For her taste is almost as refined as her wit.
To oblige a good friend, she will trace every market,
It would do your heart good, to see how she will cark it.
Yet beware of her arts; for, it plainly appears,
She saves half her victuals, by feeding your ears.

Jonathan Swift

Dingley And Brent[1], A Song

To the tune of "Ye Commons and Peers."

            Dingley and Brent,
            Wherever they went,
Ne'er minded a word that was spoken;
            Whatever was said,
            They ne'er troubled their head,
But laugh'd at their own silly joking.

            Should Solomon wise
            In majesty rise,
And show them his wit and his learning;
            They never would hear,
            But turn the deaf ear,
As a matter they had no concern in.

            You tell a good jest,
            And please all the rest;
Comes Dingley, and asks you, what was it?
            And, curious to know,
            Away she will go
To seek an old rag in the closet.

Jonathan Swift

Dean Swift At Sir Arthur Acheson's In The North Of Ireland

The Dean would visit Market-Hill,
    Our invitation was but slight;
I said - "Why let him, if he will:"
    And so I bade Sir Arthur write.

His manners would not let him wait,
    Lest we should think ourselves neglected,
    And so we see him at our gate
    Three days before he was expected,

After a week, a month, a quarter,
    And day succeeding after day,
Says not a word of his departure,
    Though not a soul would have him stay.

I've said enough to make him blush,
    Methinks, or else the devil's in't;
But he cares not for it a rush,
    Nor for my life will take the hint.

But you, my dear, may let him know,
    In civil language, if he stays,
How deep and foul the roads may grow,
    And that he may command the ...

Jonathan Swift

To Lady Carteret

BY DR. SWIFT

FROM India's burning clime I'm brought,
With cooling gales like zephyrs fraught.
Not Iris, when she paints the sky,
Can show more different hues than I;
Nor can she change her form so fast,
I'm now a sail, and now a mast.
I here am red, and there am green,
A beggar there, and here a queen.
I sometimes live in house of hair,
And oft in hand of lady fair.
I please the young, I grace the old,
And am at once both hot and cold.
Say what I am then, if you can,
And find the rhyme, and you're the man.

Jonathan Swift