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CLOSE / Parnassiad

Peace and Other Stories

Fragments of a Formerly Active Sex Life

The Dean's Complaint, Translated and Answered
by Jonathan Swift  /  poetry  /  15 Nov 2007

DOCTOR. Deaf, giddy, helpless, left alone.
ANSWER. Except the first, the fault's your own.
DOCTOR. To all my friends a burden grown.
ANSWER. Because to few you will be shewn.
        Give them good wine, and meat to stuff,
        You may have company enough.
DOCTOR. No more I hear my church's bell,
        Than if it rang out for my knell.
ANSWER. Then write and read, 'twill do as well.
DOCTOR. At thunder now no more I start,
        Than at the rumbling of a cart.
ANSWER. Think then of thunder when you f--t.
DOCTOR. Nay, what's incredible, alack!
        No more I hear a woman's clack.
ANSWER. A woman's clack, if I have skill,
        Sounds somewhat like a throwster's mill;
        But louder than a bell, or thunder:
        That does, I own, increase my wonder.

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