Jonathan Swift (Джонатан Свифт)

On a Circle

I'm up and down, and round about,
Yet all the world can't find me out;
Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure,
They never yet could find my measure.
I'm found almost in every garden,
Nay, in the compass of a farthing.
There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill,
Can move an inch except I will. 

1. Sid Hamet’s Rod
2. Jack Frenchman’s Lamentation
3. On Cutting down the Thorn at Market-Hill
4. On the Posteriors
5. Louisa to Strephon

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